~~~~~

Notes: It's been awhile since I saw Northern Exposure, so forgive me if I get the name of the bed-and-breakfast, or the timing of some events wrong. Possibly some anachronisms. I'm pretty sure they didn't have the Food Channel back when either of these shows was on. I don't know the name of the local Indian tribe, but I found this one in a list of Alaskan tribes, and started giggling. I'm not sure if Ruth-Anne was actually postmistress, but it seemed logical. Some dialogue quoted directly from From Dusk Till Dawn. And I've snuck in an in-joke for anyone who's ever read my Proverbs Series. :) And I made up Indian terms for Sentinel and Guide. Sue me.

~~~~~

Blair's teeth were chattering again. "I knew, theoretically, that there were places on Earth that are colder than Cascade, but I always figured I'd have to go to one of the poles, or at least Siberia, to find them. I never thought about such a place being in the United States."

"But not in the contiguous United States," observed Jim, staring balefully at the wisps of steam curling up around the open hood of the truck. "And there is no way in hell I'm trying to start that thing again. The water pump is absolutely shot, and if I try to drive even half-a-mile, it'll fry the engine."

"Fantastic." Blair looked around. He'd been in remote, isolated areas before, but those had all been in temperate-to-tropical environments, and he'd always had an easier time dealing with heat than cold. "Once again, tell me why we're stranded by the side of a stretch of Alaskan highway that probably has more traffic in caribou than cars?"

"Because we both had two weeks vacation coming, and Simon threatened to have us both charged with perverse mule-headedness if we didn't, you should pardon the expression, 'get out of his hair'. Winning the week at an Alaskan bed-and-breakfast in that charity raffle also had a lot to do with it."

"And there I begin to smell some sort of cosmic conspiracy."

Jim wiped his hands on a rag. "Let's get in the truck, so I can listen to you gripe out of the wind. We shouldn't be more than five or ten miles from Cicely, but I don't want to walk unless we have to. If someone doesn't come by in the next hour or so, then we'll hoof it." They got back into the truck cab, Blair still muttering. "Slide over here." Jim pulled a rough blanket from behind the seat and spread it over them both. He wrapped his arms around Blair, sharing his body heat, and said, "Now, what do you mean about conspiracy? Tourist package trips are a big thing with charity raffles."

"Yeah--to places like Cancun, or Branson, or maybe Las Vegas. But Cicely, Alaska? Jim, it's like winning a trip to Fred, Texas--it may exist, but do you want to actually go there?"

"Look, all I know is that it's free, and they included cash for traveling expenses."

"And if you hadn't cashed in those plane tickets, we wouldn't be stuck out here."

"Look, Darwin, the extra cash paid to replace your laptop after you sprayed beer all over the keyboard." Blair looked sheepish. "I still say it might have survived if you hadn't tried to dry it out with the blow-dryer."

Blair sighed. "Yeah, it's my own fault. That'll teach me to drink while I'm cruising My Mongoose Ezines."

"Quit bitching. I hear that there's some great fishing up here, and you have to admit that the scenery is beautiful. I'm sure you'll enjoy hiking, taking in the natural wonders."

"I might get eaten by a polar bear."

"There are no polar bears in Alaska."

"I might get eaten by a grizzly bear."

"Now you're just being obnoxious."

"Yeah. But seriously, Jim, who donates a vacation package in Cicely, Alaska?"

Jim frowned in concentration. "If I remember correctly, it was from something called the Minnifield Corporation for Civic Development. Now, shut up and snuggle."

They huddled together for about another twenty-minutes, then Jim looked up alertly, pulling a little away. Blair said, "Company?"

Jim nodded. "You're gonna have to give up the blanket for a couple of minutes. I want to use it to flag. Can't just assume that whoever it is will respond to the lifted hood--though not to in this region would be pretty fucking cold--literally and metaphorically."

By the time Jim managed to get Blair to let go of the blanket, the sound of the approaching engine was evident to non-Sentinel hearing. Another truck, one with a pickup shell over the bed, came into view around a curve. It wasn't moving at a breakneck pace to begin with, and it slowed immediately. Jim wasn't taking any chances, though. He stepped close to the road, gripped the end of the blanket in both hands, and started flapping more briskly than a corner man using a towel to cool down an overheated fighter.

The truck rolled to a stop just behind them, and the doors opened. Two men, one middle-aged, and one very early twenties got out. The older man's long, graying black hair, high cheekbones, and proud blade of a nose announced his Native American heritage. He nodded to Jim. "Evening."

Jim returned the nod, "I'm glad you were tactful enough not to say good evening. Would you happen to be heading to Cicely?"

"We would indeed. I'd be happy to give you gentlemen a lift into town, as long as you wouldn't mind being a little cramped."

Blair had climbed out, once he was sure they were going to stop. "That's okay--I'll ride in the back."

The younger man said, "You couldn't do that."

"I don't mind, really. As long as I'll be out of the wind..."

"No, you couldn't do that. We have Holling's new air hockey table in the back. Even if you could get in, you probably couldn't get back out without the Jaws of Life. It'll be kind of tight in the cab, but I can sit on someone's lap to save space."

Blair and Jim exchanged looks. The young man was handsome in a quirky way--there was a certain sort of innocence about his angular features. Though they occasionally indulged in swinging, they'd both agreed that this vacation was going to be for them as a couple--a time to recharge and reaffirm their commitment to each other. Having a good-looking man sitting on either of their laps wasn't exactly in that spirit. "I'll sit on Jim's lap," said Blair. Both of the strangers looked at him silently. "I'm short--it happens." Jim reflected later that the first hint he had they might be moving into the slightly off-kilter was the fact that both of the other men nodded, as if this statement made perfect sense.

The radio was on when they walked back to the truck. A mellow voice was saying, "Well, folks, that was the last record of the day here at K-Bear. Yeah, I'm closing up shop a little early, but the new air hockey table is due in at The Brick this evening, and yours truly is hankering for a little friendly competition. In honor of the annual first warm craziness we've all been experiencing, I'm going to leave you with a little Emily Dickinson." There was the whispery sound of a page turning. "This is from her Complete Poems, published in 1924. Part Five: The Single Hound, number thirty-eight. A little madness in the Spring is wholesome even for the King, but God be with the Clown, who ponders this tremendous scene--this whole experiment of green, as if it were his own. Emily might not have moved much in the world, but she knew a thing or two about it. Embrace the craziness, folks."

There was a click of someone shutting off a microphone, then dead air. Blair said, "A DJ who quotes Emily Dickinson?"

"Chris in the Morning," said the young man, turning the radio off. There was a small, secret smile on his face. "He read the collected works of Walt Whitman over the air once."

Introductions were made on the way into town. The driver was Leonard Quinhagak, and the younger man was Ed Chigliak. It turned out that both of them belonged to the Ekwok tribe. Jim knew better, but it was one of those 'mouth is in gear before brains' moments, and he said, "Do many people call you the Ewoks?"

Blair, hand hidden by his body, pinched him, but Leonard said calmly. "Nope. Can't recall that ever happening."

Ed said, "There was this one truck driver who asked me if I knew Chewbacca, but that was a long time ago. You'll be able to get the truck fixed in Cicely. Maurice made sure that we have a good local mechanic. It might take a few days for him to get hold of parts, though. It usually does. He orders what he needs, then picks them up once a week."

"We're booked in at the Aurora Borealis, so that won't be too much of a problem," said Jim.

"Speak for yourself," said Blair. "I don't mind hiking, but not in this sort of weather."

"It'll warm up within the next couple of days," Leonard assured him. "The ice on the lake is just about ready to break."

"Spring will be here any day now," agreed Ed. "I'll be glad. Things get a little crazy around here just before the ice breaks. Like Mrs. Otterstream? We were just visiting her to see if we could help her interpret a dream she's been having for the last couple of weeks. She kept dreaming that she was baking cherry pies in that kitchen stadium that they have on that Japanese show on the Food Channel."

"Doesn't sound all that farfetched," said Jim.

"Well, it's mostly the repetition that makes it significant, but the really odd part was that she wasn't exactly herself--she was Spike Lee."

Jim and Blair were silent for a moment, then Jim said, "Yes, I'd have to agree that's odd, but I'm not sure it deserves calling in a psychotherapist," he looked at Leonard speculatively, "or maybe a psychic?"

"Neither of those," said Leonard casually. "Or maybe I'm a little of both."

"He's a Shaman," Ed explained.

Jim could feel Blair perk up. "This is going to sound so 'me, too', but I'm sort of working my way toward being a Shaman."

Leonard and Ed expressed no surprise or disbelief. Leonard said, "What tribe, and who's your mentor?"

Jim thought this might shut Blair up. No such chance. "The Chopec..."

"That's a Peruvian tribe, isn't it?"

That did shut Blair up for a couple of nanoseconds. "You know about the Chopec?"

Leonard nodded. "The ones studied by Sir Richard Burton, right?"

Blair was almost vibrating with excitement, and Jim was pretty sure he'd forgotten the cold, at least for the time being. The thrill of finding someone else who had even a small awareness of his pet passion had distracted him. "Yes!"

"So your mentor is their Shaman."

"Uh... sort of. His name's Incacha, but he's dead."

Silence in the cab. Ed was looking at Blair, but Leonard didn't take his eyes off the road. "That has to make training a little difficult."

"You know," said Ed, "Leonard and I have discussed whether the Jedi in the Star Wars mythology should be considered Shamen. He doesn't think so, since they function as a sort of peacekeeping or law enforcement unit, even if they do it in a spirituality oriented manner..."

Jim had never in his life been so happy that someone went off on a tangent.

It was fast approaching dusk when they arrived in Cicely. Leonard took them to the garage, and Jim dropped off his key, so that the driver could go tow the truck into town. "I'll drop your luggage off at the Borealas. You shouldn't have a problem till it's fixed," he assured them. "There isn't a heck of a lot in Cicely that can't be considered within walking distance."

It looked like he wasn't exaggerating. As they stood on main street, surveying the area, Blair remarked, "I think most of the campuses I've been on have been larger than this town."

They walked over to the Aurora Borealis, and were pleasantly surprised. With the way things had been going, they'd been expecting the sort of place that had to bribe inspectors just to keep the doors open. The Borealas was small, but it was neat, and modern without sacrificing charm.

A bell went off as they entered the small foyer, and a man with dark, receding hair came out of a side room, giving them a polite, curious smile. Jim said, "Please tell me you have a reservation for Ellison."

The man laughed. "Of course. Maurice has phoned me at least a dozen times in the last week to be sure that I didn't forget. Step over to registration, please." As he went behind a small desk, he said, "Even if the reservation wasn't firmly in place, there are no other guests at present, so it wouldn't have been a problem. By the way, I'm Ron Bantz-Hillman, co-owner."

As Jim signed he said, "Pleased to meet you. Jim Ellison, and this is my partner, Blair Sandburg."

"How nice." He shook hands with them both. "Is this a special occasion?"

"I guess any time I can get away from work for two solid weeks is special."

"I just asked because the honeymoon suite is available, and I could let you have that for no extra charge."

"Er... We're not..."

Blair was giving him a we aren't? look when another man, younger than the first, with reddish-brown hair, came in from outside. He was carrying a large shopping bag, and Ron raised his voice, "Don't tell me you went ahead and bought that extra electric blanket."

"If you wouldn't steal all the covers, I wouldn't have to, would I?" He looked at Jim and Blair questioningly.

Ron said, "Eric, these are Maurice's guests--Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. Jim, Blair--this is my partner--Eric Hillman-Bantz."

Oh. Blair was grinning at him. Jim said, "Pleased to meet you. There isn't anything wrong with the heating in the rooms, is there?"

"No," Ron assured him. "It's just that some people are unbelievably cold natured."

"Yes, well, some people's hot nature might just run up against a wall of ice if they don't stop making an issue of certain things." Eric's tone was pointed.

"Where's a good place to get supper?" said Blair brightly.

"There's The Brick, just up the block," said Eric. "It's more of a tavern than a restaurant, but the food is excellent."

"Sounds good. What time do we need to be back?"

Eric gave him a puzzled look. "Do I look like your father?"

"Uh... I wouldn't know. But I meant isn't there a time we need to be back so you can lock up?"

"Oh, that." Ron waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I'll put you in the suite. No reason why someone shouldn't enjoy it. 2B." He handed Jim a key. "Just lock up behind yourself when you come in, if you can remember to. Eric, tell me that you at least bought one with dual controls, so I don't have to roast."

Blair shivered a little less on the walk to The Brick than he had during their enforced wait alongside the road. While Cicely could by no standard be considered urban, it was still recognizable as a small town, and that seemed to add a little theoretical warmth, at least.

Jim couldn't say exactly what he'd been expecting from The Brick. In his experience the term 'tavern' usually meant that you could get an order of stuffed potato skins or Buffalo chicken wings with your beer, and there was an under-used dartboard somewhere on the premises. The Brick looked like a genuine amalgam of bar and restaurant. At the door he was greeted by the malt aroma of beer and whiskey, but that mingled with the more delicate scents of saffron, rosemary, and lemon. Of course, there was also a whiff of essence of 'it's too cold to take a bath', but that seemed to be limited to one individual, and that was a pretty damn good average for a crowd that size.

They took a table, settling their jackets over the back of their chairs. They'd barely sat when a bright, blonde young woman bustled over. "Hi! I'm Shelley. You must be the guys that Ed picked up." She giggled. "I don't mean picked up like in 'picked up'. I think Ed is pretty steady with Chris these days. But," she pointed at Jim with a pencil. "You're the busted water pump, right?"

Jim blinked. "Have you heard anything about that pay raise I put in for last week?"

"You'll probably get it. You seem like a pretty together dude. Now, what can I get for you? We've got burgers and sandwiches, but Dave has gotten hold of a salmon you wouldn't believe, and what he can do with it will really kick your behind."

"Sounds good. I'll have that with the saffron rice, and can you ask him to go easy on the rosemary with mine?"

Shelley gaped prettily. "Wow, how did you know what the seasoning and side dish is? I know!" She pointed the pencil again. "Your nostrils flared right before you said it. You smelled it! Even with the vent hood going full blast. Oh, that is so cool." She looked at Blair. "How about you, cutie?"

"I'll have the same, no special requests on the preparation. And a beer." Jim nodded agreement on the beer.

She started ticking off on her fingers. "We have Molson, Coors, Budweiser, Miller, and Minnifield Mild."

"Minnifield?" Jim asked. "That's the name of the man who donated our trip."

"Yeah. Micro brewing is one of Maurice's hobbies. Minnifield Mild isn't very strong, but it's pretty rad."

"Adventurous is my middle name," said Blair. "Jim?"

"Why not?"

"Let's have a pitcher."

Shelley was scribbling on her pad. "Very cool. Maurice will be happy that his brew is getting a wider audience. Don't be surprised if you get information about how to have it shipped to you when you go home. Back in a flash." She bustled away again.

"Blair, I think she might just be able to give you a run for the money in the verbal flakiness race."

"I dunno. I think maybe Ed might be leading both of us. She picked up on your sensitive sniffing. That's pretty observant."

Jim grunted. "I'll have to watch it, I guess. The last thing we need is to become the traveling freak show. Not really conducive to relaxation."

A tall, gray haired man, wearing as much flannel as Blair usually did, appeared with a pitcher of beer and a couple of mugs. "Good evening, gents. I'm Holling Vincouer, your host here. Shelley tells me that one of you was able to identify the seasonings for tonight's special while it was still back in the kitchen--with the doors closed." He smiled at them as he unloaded the tray. "She said it was the 'tall hottie with the Muscles Monthly pecs', so I suppose that would be you. Very impressive."

Jim wasn't sure how to respond to that (he was shying away from trying to decide which Holling thought was impressive--his sense of smell, or his pecs) so he just said, "Thanks."

"Won't be long on the food. Salmon won't stand for long cooking." He headed back to the bar.

"I don't believe this," Jim muttered.

"What? You think that women don't talk about guys' bods the way guys talk about theirs?" asked Blair.

"No, but I just saw Shelley and Holling kissing behind the bar, and that damn sure couldn't be considered a father-daughter sort of kiss, not even in Arkansas."

"You think we're the only couple who can have an open relationship?"

"I just wouldn't expect the wilds of Alaska to be quite so... wild as all that, Chief."

"Jim, I somehow get the feeling that Cicely wouldn't be what anyone would expect, no matter what their expectations."

The food came, and it was excellent--as good or better than fare they'd paid a day's salary for back in Cascade. As they ate, they noticed that they were being noticed by the other patrons. But apparently the locals had the tact to let a visitor dine in peace, because no one else approached them while they ate. Finally they ordered dessert (plain Tarte Tatin for Blair, and Jim had the same, but with a scoop of cherry-vanilla ice cream--Shelley's suggestion--and a wedge of cheddar on the side). Blair tipped his head toward the back of the room, and said, "There's our good Samaritan."

Jim twisted around to look. There was a small crowd gathered in the back of The Brick, near a pool table. It wasn't billiards that had attracted an audience, though. There was a hot game of air hockey in progress, and The Brick's new air hockey table was getting an enthusiastic workout. The players were slapping the puck back and forth with lightening vigor. They really threw themselves into the game, and it became a lot more physical than most bar sports. Jim took a moment to appreciate the way the players moved, their lean bodies quick and taut with excitement.

As Blair had indicated, one of the players was Ed Chigliak. The other man was older, probably late twenties. He was very handsome, with a long, humorous face, framed by dark hair that reached almost to his shoulders. As they watched, he slammed the puck, giving it a glancing whack that let it glide past Ed's frantic attempts to block. Ed sighed, throwing up his hands in defeat. "You win."

The other man came around the table and shook hands with him. "Winning isn't all that much, Ed. A wise man once said the ultimate victory in competition is derived from the inner satisfaction of knowing that you have done your best and that you have gotten the most out of what you had to give."

Ed looked thoughtful. "Plato? Socrates?"

"Howard Cosell."

Jim turned back to Blair. "I'm thinking that's Chris In the Morning."

"I'm thinking you're probably right."

Ed noticed them and came over, followed by his friend. "Hey, Mister Ellison, Mister Sandburg. The salmon is pretty good tonight, huh?"

Blair made the okay sign with thumb and first finger. "Better than pretty good, Ed--and it's Blair and Jim." He was rewarded with a happy smile.

The other man clapped Ed on the back, while offering his hand to Jim. "If people around here didn't speak to one another without formal introductions, we'd be a village of mutes. You're Jim and Blair, and I'm Chris Stevens."

Jim and Blair shook hands, and Jim remarked. "Chris In the Morning, right?"

Chris nodded. "Otherwise known as the Voice of KBRH, K-Bear. One good thing about being a lone disc jockey is that I can choose my own hours, as long as I'm not outrageous about it."

"Care to join us?"

"Be happy to." He and Ed pulled out chairs, and Chris waved at Shelley, "Shell, bring another pitcher of whatever they're having."

As she brought over the order, Blair said, "I have to admit that I've never known anyone who'd quote Dickinson and Cosell in the same day."

Chris shrugged cheerfully. "They both had something significant to say, and I don't see any reason to limit my resources. You folks are from Cascade, right? You must be adventurous souls. Cicely isn't the first place that leaps to mind for most people when they begin considering vacation spots."

"I won it in the CLEA charity raffle," Jim told him.

"CLEA?"

"Cascade Law Enforcement Auxiliary."

"Ah, a supporter of the men in blue--or tan, out here."

"I should be. I did my own time in blue before I made detective."

There was a moment of silence. Chris' smile became a tiny bit strained. "Is this trip for business or pleasure?"

Jim frowned. "I just said I won the trip."

Chris relaxed a little. "Just checking. I was pretty sure that West Virginia wouldn't send a Washington detective all the way to collect someone who skipped parole on an auto theft beef. Besides, I think that the judge's time limit ran out," he looked at his friend, "didn't it, Ed?"

Ed frowned in concentration. "I believe they said something about if we didn't find a suitable replacement for you by '95 you had to be handed over to West Virginia authorities--if they sent anyone after you."

Chris looked at Jim. "Professional opinion. Do you think they're still looking for me?"

"Any violence involved?"

"Heck, no! This was back in '86, before carjacking really got going, and I'd never have hurt anyone. I think it would have been termed a joy ride if I hadn't been of age."

"The last date they set for the West Virginia authorities was '95? Unless you actually walk into a police station in the southeastern United States, I seriously doubt you have anything to worry about. And even then, it might depend on how much paperwork they had to complete at that time."

Chris grinned. "Outstanding!" He lifted a mug of beer, as if in a toast, then downed a hefty swallow. "I don't have any plans to leave the immediate area any time soon, but it's still nice to know."

Shelley had been right--Minnifield Mild was very flavorful, and not very alcoholic. However it's still possible to get tipsy if you drink enough of a mildly alcoholic drink. Chris bought the next round, and Ed bought the one after that. Then Holling contributed one on the house. There might have been two or three more pitchers, but those were the ones the boys remembered clearly. That, and the one they got 'for the road' when Shelley gave last call.

By then the crowd had thinned to almost nothing. When Holling locked up, Chris and Ed walked off in one direction, and Jim and Blair sort of wavered off in the other. "You know," said Blair as they made their way up the now deserted main street, "there aren't many areas in Cascade where I'd walk drunk, after dark."

"You said a mouthful," Jim agreed. "And I just might have asked someone for a ride up the road, if any of them had seemed much more sober than us. Still, we ought to be okay. There doesn't seem to be anything dangerous around here."

They were halfway to the bed and breakfast. "What about bears?"

"Haven't seen any bears."

"What about moose?" Blair pointed. "Like that one."

Sure enough, a moose was just stepping out from between two buildings. It wasn't big, as far as moose went, which meant that it was still a little taller than Jim. It stood casually on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. Jim and Blair had stopped about halfway up the block. Now the moose caught sight of them, staring at them. They went from still to frozen. Blair whispered out the side of his mouth, "Okay, stay, or run? I've heard Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer, and have no desire to provide a sequel of Sandburg Got Mowed Down By a Moose."

"Let's just hang on a minute. I don't know moose habits, and for all I know they may run down their prey."

"Vegetarians, man."

"I'm not taking any chances with something that size."

The moose regarded them calmly for about a minute, massive jaws working slowly on his cud. Then he lifted his head slightly, lowered it, turned, and ambled across the road to disappear between another two buildings. The two men relaxed and continued on their way to the inn. "That's something you'd never see in Cascade," said Jim.

"Jim, you know what the drug problem is like in Cascade. I'm pretty sure you could find some people who have witnessed herds on Highland Avenue"

Sure enough, the front door of the Aurora Borealis had been left unlocked, and a light on in the lobby. They were careful to lock up after themselves. They made their way upstairs and, knowing that there were no other guests, made noisy and enthusiastic love.

They slept well, and awoke with much less fall out from the previous night's beer than they'd expected. As they came down the stairs they were greeted with the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and frying bacon. They followed it down a short hall to a small public dining room. There was a folded piece of cardboard on the first table, printed KITCHEN THIS WAY. C'MON IN, and an arrow.

Ron was at the refrigerator, taking a carton of eggs out. He smiled at them. "Good morning! I was wondering if we'd have to amend this to a bed and brunch for you two after last night."

"Yeah, sorry about that," said Jim moving to the counter and taking an interest in a plate of crisp bacon. "We didn't intend to stay out that late, but the folks around here are very friendly."

"I didn't mean your return time, but..." he trailed off and cleared his throat. "How do you two take your eggs?"

"Scrambled is fine," said Jim. Blair nodded. "Are those muffins in that basket?"

"Plain, banana-nut, and cranberry," Ron told him, cracking eggs into a bowl. He indicated a small table against the wall. "Look, would you mind eating in the kitchen today? The table linen has been delayed. I'm not impugning your manners, but we just had the tables refinished, and..."

"No problem," Blair assured him. "For a cranberry muffin, I'd be willing to dine under the table."

Ron was now scrambling the eggs. "Eric should be down in a minute or two, and we can all have a nice, convivial breakfast together."

"I hope he isn't making up our room already," said Jim. "We'll be out most of the day, so there's no hurry."

"No, no." Ron was scraping eggs into a dish. "He's just late taking his shower. One thing about those nests he builds for himself in bed--he just doesn't want to leave them in the morning."

Jim tore his eyes away from the bacon. "You... uh... you sleep upstairs?"

"Yes. Our room is just across from yours, actually." Jim and Blair both went very still, remembering the assortment of cries, moans, and near howls they'd indulged in the night before. Ron glanced at them and smiled apologetically. "We didn't keep you awake, did we? We sort of... made up last night." Jim and Blair joined in a quick babble of assurance that they hadn't.

Eric came downstairs a moment later, glowing from either a recent shower, or a good night of lovemaking. Breakfast was leisurely and very pleasant. Eric and Blair had an interesting discussion about the local Native Americans. Blair, with his interest in anthropology, found a kindred spirit in Eric, who was something of an amateur expert on native crafts.

As he cleared the table, Ron said, "And if you two decide you want a sort of picnic lunch, they can fix one up for you at The Brick. Or give me a little prior notice and I can do it." He grinned. "I won't charge. I'll just tack it onto Maurice's bill."

"He donates the vacation, and now he'll run a tab for our meals? How generous is this Minnifield, anyway?" asked Jim.

"Not too," said Eric. "But he's hoping that you will spread the word of the wonders of Cicely to all your law enforcement buddies. He'd like nothing better than to have every policeman, state trooper, sheriff, and national guardsman on the West coast make Cicely their vacation destination. Maurice is ex-military, ex-astronaut, and has kept that 'salute the uniform' sort of mentality."

Jim and Blair took a stroll around town after breakfast. "I promised the guys in the bullpen I'd send some postcards," said Blair. "I'd better do it today, or we might beat them back, and hand delivering just doesn't cut it."

Jim glanced around. "Well, we've walked from one end of this burg to the other, and I'll be darned if I spotted a post office. Maybe they don't have one."

A woman with dark hair (cropped almost as short as Jim's) was just passing by. She stopped and gave them a look of indignation. "Of course we have a post office. What sort of a town do you think this is?"

The curly haired man accompanying her said, "About what I did when I first came here, O'Connell--a half-step up from a pony-express station. Yes, we have a post office, but you have to look for it." He pointed to a nearby building.

Jim blinked. "General store?"

"And video rental store, UPS and Federal Express sending and receiving--and post office." He shrugged. "Multi-tasking."

There were introductions once again. Jim reflected that there was a real possibility that they'd be on a first name basis with the entire population of Cicely before they left. The couple was Maggie O'Connell and Joel Fleischman--pilot and doctor respectively. Jim said, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't strike me as, um, a typical Cicelian, Joel."

"Oh, I'm better than I was. I apparently had NYC tattooed across my forehead when I first arrived."

"But you've adjusted?" Blair asked.

"Let's say that I don't have fits of near screaming frustration as often as I used to. Two years, 366 days till my contract is up."

Blair gave him an odd look. "Three hundred..."

"Leap year."

"Fleischman, I half expect you to have a calendar tattooed on your chest so that you can ink off each day," said Maggie.

"Not my chest. I might consider one on my ass."

"Your ass is too narrow. Your chest probably is, too, but I was being charitable."

As they walked off, still squabbling, Blair said, "The UST is thick enough to cut with a butter knife."

"UST?"

"Haven't you been reading those fan fictions I assigned you? Unresolved Sexual Tension." They entered the general store, pausing just inside to look around. "Wow. I haven't seen anything this crammed since my last office at the Uni."

Ed's head popped up over an aisle. "Hey, Jim, Blair! Good morning."

"Hey, Ed," Blair answered. "You're sure looking perky for someone who put away as much beer as you did last night."

"Chris knows a lot of hangover remedies. He fixes one up before we go to bed the night before, so we can just swallow it as soon as we get out of bed." He turned around and called back into the store. "Ruth-Anne!"

A small, vigorous woman bustled out of the back of the store. She was gray haired, but she was also the sort that would probably look the same till she was in her nineties, so the boys withheld age estimation, even mentally. "What is it, dear?"

"It's Jim and Blair, the visitors at the Borealas. You know, the policeman and the anthropologist."

Ruth-Anne shook hands with them. "That sounds like a pitch for a television show."

Jim and Blair exchanged looks, and Blair said, "Do you have any postcards, hopefully with local color?"

"I think we can help you with that. Follow me." She led him toward a counter at the back of the store, and Jim started wandering the aisles, checking out the stock.

He paused, plucking a can off the shelf. "Turtle soup?" He looked down at Ed, who was kneeling nearby, stocking a lower shelf from an open box of canned goods. "Kind of exotic. Do you get much call for it? I would have thought that chicken noodle would have been a little more profitable."

Ed looked up, "We don't get much call for chicken noodle. We stock the turtle soup mostly for Maurice. Boy, he got huffy when Doctor Fleischman bought the last can once. Ruth-Anne told him he'd just have to make do with she crab soup for once."

Jim could hear Blair talking to Ruth-Anne, and he wandered over just as he was saying, "I love the one with the town history on it."

"Yes. Don't Roselyn and Cicely make a sweet couple?" said Ruth-Anne fondly.

"Nice. Say, do you have anything with a moose on it? We had a close encounter with a moose last night, and it'd be nice to write the news on one with a moose on it."

"No, I'm afraid not. We're thinking about having one made up, if Ed can get a good shot of Roger."

"Roger?"

"He's probably the one you saw last night. Is he about so high?" Ruth-Anne reached up over her head. "Drat being short."

"Tell me about it." She went on tiptoe, adding another couple of inches to the sketched height. "Had a big nose? Intelligent look?"

"That would be Roger."

"Say," said Jim. "Do you have any sort of moose repellent? We're going fishing later in the week, and I'd just as soon not have Roger stumbling upon us. I'd feel obliged to get away, and it's too cold to either go swimming, or tree climbing."

Jim had been joking, but Ruth-Anne looked thoughtful. "As far as I know there's no sort of spray. I know that when I want to keep the hoofed critters away from my garden and flower beds, I hang little cheesecloth bags of human hair around."

"Don't look at me," said Jim. "I get enough 'high forehead' jokes as it is."

She indicated Blair's ponytail. "If you want to donate a couple of inches to try it, Shelley could give you a trim."

Blair clutched at his hair. "No way! I wouldn't cut it for the academy, and I'm darn sure not going to do it to make Moose-away."

A radio on the counter had been playing soft jazz. The number ended, and Chris Steven's cheerful voice came on. "That was Manitoba Melody, by The Canuk Combo--a lesser known group from the fifties. Thanks to Ruth-Anne for loaning the platter." Ruth gave the radio a small salute. "And a heads up to our visitors from Cascade. Jim, Blair--if you can hear me, Maurice Minnifield requests the pleasure of your company. You can locate him at K-Bear. Please don't stand him up. We have to live with him. In honor of the upcoming Cicely Running of the Bulls, I'll be running... uh... running music. First up, what else? Gonna Fly Now, from Rocky."

Ed looked over from where he was straightening items on a shelf. "That means he'll be doing Chariots of Fire later. Vangelis is good, but I think that piece has been overused as a background for sports scenes in movies. I wish someone would think past using slow-motion to increase the drama."

"K-Bear is to the right as we go out?" asked Jim.

Ruth-Anne nodded. "And thank you for going to meet him. You two were in later than expected yesterday, and he'd given up a chance to meet with Sgt. Semanski. That puts him in a foul mood."

As they left, Blair said, "Sgt. Semanski? Jim, slap my ass if I'm wrong, but doesn't it seem to you that Cicely is more tolerant than most places when it comes to same sex relationships?"

"I know how much you like getting your ass slapped, but you're out of luck this time, Chief. I agree with you. Ron and Eric, Chris and Ed, Roselyn and Cicely, and now it looks like Minnifield and Semanski. We may have found the Great Gay Haven of the North."

The tiny station looked deserted--no receptionist or other personnel in evidence. But a few feet down a very short hall there was a door leading to the broadcast room. There was a window in the wall, and through it they could see Chris, lounging at a bank of broadcasting instruments. He was speaking to a broad, bluff man who seemed to be agitated about something. Chris caught sight of them and grinned, then leaned over and opened the door in time for them to hear the end of his friend's speech. "...and I know that you're of the movie generation, but damn it, Chris, you have to look to Broadway, too, for something like this! You just get out that copy of Brigadoon and find the section where they're trying to stop that young man from leaving town and ending their blessing. That is perfect running music, and if you don't..."

"Maurice, I didn't say I wouldn't use it. I just have a few more things lined up first, all right?" Chris indicated Blair and Jim, out in the hall. "Now, your visitors are here, and it's almost time for me to switch music."

Maurice glanced around, and a broad smile broke across his face. "Outstanding! Let's leave Chris to his tune spinning, shall we?" He stepped out into the hall, shutting the door. Through the window, Blair caught Chris rolling his eyes in relief, and thought that Maurice Minnifield probably showed up to supervise the play list choices on a regular basis.

Introductions were once again made. Blair and Jim were beginning to speculate that a lot of time would have been saved if there had just been a town meeting called at their arrival, and a receiving line set up.

"I'm glad to hear that my little donation went to an actual officer of the law. Boosters are fine people--couldn't do without 'em--but I wanted to show my appreciation to the ones who are actually out there on the front line, making things safe for the average citizen.

"I just wanted to check and make sure your accommodations are satisfactory, or if there's anything you need."

"We're fine," Blair assured him. "The Aurora Borealis is a nice place. I've hit a few B and B's in my time, and it's definitely on the upper side of the scale."

"Yes. When Ron and Eric took it over, I had my doubts. But you have to admit that gay boys have a certain sense of style, and they certainly are good at customer relations."

Blair and Jim exchanged looks. Okay, maybe not everyone in Cicely completely embraced 'alternate lifestyles' in a free and equal manner. Still, Maurice didn't seem any worse than a lot of people they'd run into. He was probably along the lines of 'some of my best friends are fill-in-the-blank' about a lot of things. Blair said, "I dunno about the style sense. Some of 'em still wear turtlenecks." Maurice stiffened slightly, and Blair suddenly knew that there was at least one turtleneck (probably Cashmere) somewhere in Maurice's wardrobe. "Some people can carry it off," he said quickly. Giving Jim a significant look, he said, "And some people look like a 1960s ski instructor named Sven."

Maurice looked mollified. "I'd like to invite you two over to my place tomorrow for dinner." Blair and Jim readily agreed. Maurice gave Jim a thoughtful look, then said, "Good, good. This will give me a chance to introduce you to one of our local officers."

"Would that be Sgt. Semanski?" asked Blair mischievously.

Jim was elbowing Blair, but Maurice didn't seem to notice. "Indeed it would. Say, if you want to come over early, I have a weight room, and you're more than welcome to use it." He smiled proudly as he opened his wallet and showed them a photograph. It was a candid of a woman standing beside a jeep. She was dressed in uniform, wearing a Smokey the Bear hat, and her open jacket hinted at a fairly spectacular bosom. Judging from the jeep, she was somewhere close to Jim's height, and her face was striking rather than pretty--lots of sharp angles and strong planes. "Barbara can press 220 pounds. Come over around four or five, and bring something to work out in. You'll have plenty of time to get in a few sets and shower before dinner. I'll probably use the treadmill, myself." He slapped his thighs. "Need to get the ol' muscles loosened up for the Running of the Bulls."

As he left, Jim said, "Okay, I'm getting mixed signals here. He's into show tunes, unmarried, drawn to uniforms, into fine foods, works out, apparently likes to watch other guys work out, and Sgt. Semanski is a woman."

"Did you get a good look at her, Jim? Amazon. Maybe he isn't strictly gay, but he has issues somewhere."

As they exited the station, Shelley was coming down the street. Jim stared, and said, "What the fuck is that supposed to be?"

Blair looked. "I think the proper ballet term is jette. And that was a pirouette. It's more impressive when they're wearing toe shoes, but that wasn't bad."

Holling was following behind her, carrying a paper sack of groceries, nodding and smiling his approval. Shelley, a little breathless, said, "And that's how the Snowflakes were dancing just before we got hitched. I recognized 'em right away, since my mom took me to see the Nutcracker every Christmas. And there were Russian dancers, the hopping around kind. I was sort of hoping there'd be swing, because I could've really gotten behind some jitterbug."

As they passed, Holling smiled at them and said, "The ice is just about ready to break."

Jim shook his head as they moved out of earshot. "Of course, that explains it all."

"It could. Climate and weather are a powerful influence, Big Guy."

Jim snorted. "Right. And people act nuts during the full moon because the moon's gravity affects tides, and humans are mostly water."

"Jim, you've worked night shifts during the full moon, haven't you?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

Jim stared at him. "I hope the damn ice breaks soon. This is interesting, but too much of it could be nerve wracking."

The Brick was doing a brisk trade when they dropped in for lunch. The special was Buffalo Burgers with pomme frites, and they both ordered that--and iced tea. They weren't about to get started on the micro brew again so soon. When Shelley brought the order she said, "You guys are staying till the end of the week, right?" At their nod she said, "That is so cool! You gonna take part in the Running of the Bulls?"

"I take it we're not talking about Barcelona here, are we?"

Shelley giggled. "As if. No, it's a local custom."

"Good thing," said Blair, "Cause I participated in the famous namesake once. Exhilarating as hell, but not something I plan on repeating in this lifetime. I never again want to be that close to having hoof prints on my backside."

"It's not that kind," Shelley assured him. She frowned. "We might be able to come up with a few milk cows, but they have to truck the bulls in for breeding purposes."

Holling called out from behind the bar. "Shelley, hon--are you making fudge or chocolate lollipops?"

"What? Fudge, of course."

"Well, you'd best go check on your candy, because I do believe that sugar syrup has gone past soft ball to firm ball, and it's moving on toward hard crack."

Shelley yelped. Maggie O'Connell and Joel Fleischman were just coming in, and she called. "Joel! Explain the Running of the Bulls to them, wouldya?" Then she pelted back toward the kitchen.

Joel took a moment to admire the way her butt moved in her tight jeans before he turned back to the men. "I love it when she forgets something on the stove."

"Pig." Maggie's tone was good-natured.

"Oink. So, Running of the Bulls?"

"Yeah," said Blair. "Shelley has invited us to participate."

"Has she?" Maggie's smile was feline. "Oh, she's a good girl. Gotta remember to pick her up something nice next time I fly into Nome."

"What is this thing?" asked Jim. "Chris is playing sort of a tribute to it, Maurice is exercising to get ready for it. It's beginning to sound like some sort of... I dunno, rite of passage."

"That's one aspect of it, I suppose," said Maggie. "But it's more of a farewell to winter and a greeting to spring. It's pretty simple, really. Once the ice has been officially determined to have broken, the men of Cicely gather in the center of town the next morning, then run out to the town limits."

"Marathon?" asked Blair.

Joel snorted. "You've seen Cicely. You have, haven't you? I mean, you've been here about, what? Eighteen hours? You could see every inch of it in that time even if you were walking backward--in snowshoes. It's a little less than a mile."

"Are you going to do it?"

Joel was silent for a moment, expression blank. Maggie said, "Fleischman participated for the first time last year. He's going to do it again this year. Aren't ya, Fleischman?" She poked his arm. "Aren't ya, huh? Huh?"

A very small smile curled the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I guess I am. But there's one thing about the running you should know before you make up your minds, guys. It..."

Maggie interrupted him. "I think I have something in my eye, Fleischman, and I want you to look."

Jim, concerned, started to stand. "Let me. My eyesight is pretty good."

"Sorry, he's the doctor, he looks. Come over where the light is better, Joel." Maggie grabbed his arm and dragged him over to a corner--under a burned out lamp. She shoved Joel up against the wall, putting her back to the visitors, lowered her voice and hissed, "So help me, Fleischman, if you warn them about the dress code for the running, I'm going to fly my plane up your ass and do a barrel roll."

Joel raised his eyebrows. "Have you thought about asking Ruth-Anne to carry something a little stronger than the Chippendale videos, O'Connell? Sexual frustration is such an ugly thing."

"Right, so you do not want to deprive me of those two joining the run. And if you do warn them, I'm going to make sure that Marilyn, Ruth-Anne, Shelley, and every other female patient you're likely to see knows. You only think we're cranky when we have PMS. And if you need any more incentive to keep your trap shut, I'll tell Ron, Eric, Chris, and Ed."

"O'Connell!"

"What?"

"Okay, the fact that they're guys aside--they're couples."

"And you think that stops people from appreciating eye candy? Do we understand each other?"

"I'll never understand you, but I know what you mean here. Okay."

"Fine. Just remember that I'm right beside you, I have excellent hearing, and I filed my nails this morning."

They walked back to the table, and Jim said, "Did she have something in her eye?"

"Just a gleam."

"So, what is it we need to know about the running?"

"Don't assume that Holling is going to be easy to pass. Just remember that he keeps Shelley grinning." They left.

Jim looked at Blair. "Did you just hear something whistle over our heads?"

"Since we've come here, I've heard so many whistles that it sounds like a construction site across from a swimsuit layout shoot."

"What do you think?"

"I think these are perhaps the best french fries I've ever had. The last time I tasted fries this good was at a restaurant with a French name, and I'd misread the menu. They cost me almost as much as my entree." Holling was passing, and he said, "Excuse me, what seasonings do you use on these? They're fantastic."

Holling smiled proudly. "Thank you, but I can't say. That recipe has been a secret for close to twenty years. No one has ever guessed it."

"Yeah?" Blair poked a fry at Jim.

Jim stared at him. "Blair..."

"Oh, come on."

Jim sighed, took the fry, and nibbled it. He squinted in concentration. "Salt and pepper, of course. Mm, a little red pepper, paprika..." He nibbled again. "Rosemary, garlic, onion." He paused, licking his lips.

"That's pretty good," Holling told him. "Better than anyone else so far."

"I'm not done yet. A teeny bit of cumin and... celery. I think it must be from celery seed, not salt. And... olive oil? And the flavor goes deep. It's not like it was just sprinkled on, it's like it soaked in."

Holling gaped. "I don't... No one ever guessed that before. I marinate the potatoes in seasoned olive oil before I drain and fry them. How did you do that? Are you a chemist? But you didn't run any tests..." Holling shook his head. "I'm going to have to talk to Leonard about this."

Jim put a hand over his eyes. "I didn't have anything stronger than beer, and I still acted like a Sentinel in public."

"Jim, you are a Sentinel."

"You know what I mean. They noticed about the smell last night, and now Holling knows about the taste. They're going to figure I'm some sort of freak, or warlock, or something. For all we know, they might still stone people up here."

"Is it Thorazine they prescribe for paranoia? Just chill, Jim. I'm beginning to think that a flying saucer could land on Main Street, Elvis could get out and dance the Hokey-Pokey with Princess Di, and no one would do anything except applaud or join in."

They spent most of the afternoon getting their fishing gear in order, sitting in the lounge downstairs. Early that evening Ron and Eric came in. Eric was carrying a tray of sandwiches, and Ron was lugging a cooler. "Gentlemen," Ron said. "How goes it?"

"Wonderful." Jim checked his reel again. "We'll be ready to head out bright and early tomorrow. Where's the best fishing?"

Eric set the sandwiches down on a table. "I like Sam Rayburn Lake."

Blair blinked. "Texas, right?"

"Land of my birth. But I suppose you mean around here." Eric turned and surveyed their equipment. "You'll want to bring a stout pole with you." When he received a questioning look he said, "No one's told you that we're waiting for the ice to break?"

Jim and Blair gaped. Ron nodded. "There's still a skim around the edge of the water, but it's getting too thin farther out for ice fishing."

"If it's going to be that much trouble," Blair started. He caught Jim's eye, "Do you suppose that a broomstick would work?"

"I think Ed has a pole that was once used to change letters on a movie marquee. He'll lend you that, if you ask."

"I'd hate to wake him up that early," said Jim.

"Oh, you won't have to. He'll be here in a few minutes. It's theater night." He indicated a large screen television, and a VCR.

Ruth-Anne entered, carrying a large paper bag. "I brought the wavy chips, so we won't have to worry about fragments in the dip. Oh, and I brought some of those new Guacamole flavored Doritos, too. If they make a hit, I'll start ordering them regularly."

"That's great, Ruth-Anne. I'll get a couple of bowls," said Eric. "Is Ed coming?"

"Dear, do you think he'd miss a Tarantino night? Besides that, he's responsible for popcorn tonight. He's picking up Chris, I believe. They should be along shortly." She smiled at Jim and Blair. "Hello. I hear that you'll be having dinner with Maurice tomorrow."

"Is there a scrolling ticker tape or an electric marquee somewhere that we don't know about?" asked Jim.

"Small town grapevine, dear. Better than the Internet. Maurice told me to expect a special bottle of Merlot sometime tomorrow, and to let him know the second it arrived." Shelley and Holling entered, carrying Tupperware containers. "What sort of dip do we have this time?"

"Clam, and the traditional California Onion," said Holling, "And queso, just in case you brought corn chips."

Blair looked at Jim. "I'm beginning to salivate like Pavlov's dog."

"That'd probably be from these," said Shelley cheerfully, holding up another container. "Sausage-cheese balls."

"Now I'm salivating," said Jim.

"You'll be joining us, won't you?" said Ruth-Anne. "There's always too much food, even when Joel joins us."

"There won't be with us here," Blair assured her. "Tarantino, huh? Which one are we seeing?"

"Two. We're concentrating more on Tarantino as an actor than director tonight. We'll view From Dusk Till Dawn first, then Pulp Fiction."

Shelley almost bounced. "George Clooney is in Dusk. He's a sexy beast." Jim noticed nods from everyone in the room, including Blair.

"I think at least part of the tattoo is real," said Blair.

Jim cocked an eyebrow at him. "You've seen this?"

"And you haven't? Oh, this is gonna be good."

Ed and Chris showed up a little later. Ed had a small plastic garbage bag bulging with popcorn. "It took me most of the day to do this. One of these days I'm going to convince Maurice that he needs a professional machine. That little hot air popper of mine takes forever."

Blair wrinkled his nose. "Air popped popcorn--no fat, no salt, no flavor."

Chris cheerfully held up a small cardboard box. "Which is why I'm supplying the real butter and a choice of garlic salt or cinnamon-sugar."

Jim shook his head. "I've died and gone to junk food heaven. I'm really going to have to get serious at Minnifield's weight room tomorrow, in penance." The butter was melted, food set up, and snacks and drinks selected. The group distributed themselves in chairs and on sofas, the lights were turned off, and the movie was plugged into the VCR. Jim didn't care much for the beginning of the movie. Being a cop, he saw little entertainment value in hard-core criminals terrorizing people. He had to admit that Clooney was, indeed, a sexy beast, and Tarantino made a disturbingly convincing sexual psychopath. He lost it when Cheech Marin came on as the doorman at the vampire titty bar.

"Pussy, pussy, pussy! All pussy must go. At the Titty Twister we're slashing pussy in half! This is a pussy blow out! Make us an offer on our vast selection of pussy! We got white pussy, black pussy, Spanish pussy, yellow pussy, hot pussy, cold pussy, wet pussy, tight pussy, big pussy, bloody pussy, fat pussy, hairy pussy, smelly pussy, velvet pussy, silk pussy, Naugahyde pussy, snappin' pussy, horse pussy, dog pussy, mule pussy, fake pussy! If we don't have it, you don't want it!"

Jim whispered to Blair, "I thought I'd heard the worst swears in creation when I was working vice, but I have never heard that many vulgarities packed into such a short amount of time."

"It's just one word," Blair protested.

"Yeah, but there's a lot of it."

There was a brief scene with the other characters while Blair and Jim spoke, and then Cheech was on again. "Take advantage of our penny pussy sale." Jim coughed on a popcorn kernel. He took a swallow of soda to clear his throat. "Buy any piece of pussy at our regular price, you get another piece of pussy, of equal or lesser value, for a penny..." The drink hadn't been a good idea. He sprayed. He clutched his nose, eyes starting to water from the sting. Blair started patting him on the back, asking if he was all right. Jim started to assure him that he was, then Cheech continued, "Now try and beat pussy for a penny! If you can find cheaper pussy anywhere," his voice dropped, and he leered knowingly at the camera, "fuck it!"

Jim howled helplessly, sliding down till his butt thumped off the seat. Everyone in the room was looking at him. Ed said, "No one warned him about the pussy speech? Someone should have warned him."

Jim was kicking weakly, trying to catch his breath. "Ed," Blair said, "you mean well, but shut up, okay? I don't want to have to perform artificial respiration on him."

Shelley held up her hand. "I will!" That earned her a few looks. "What? I was a Girl Scout. I got a badge in first aid."

Jim was helped back up on the sofa, still chuckling, and the tape was rewound so that they could see what was missed. Despite Jim's request, it was agreed that it probably wouldn't be a good idea to replay the pussy speech. Later he had a mini-rant over the stupidity of the Bruce Willis character in Pulp Fiction pausing to fix a Pop Tart when he knew there were people looking for him to kill him. "It's just stupid," Jim insisted. "He's a moron."

Blair said, "Do I have to remind you that we know someone who is addicted to Pop Tarts?"

"Yeah, but she'd have enough sense to at least eat them raw, on the run. She wouldn't hang around and toast them when John Travolta was in the bathroom, ready to blow her head off."

Chris had been looking back and forth between them. He looked over at Ruth-Anne. "You know, they fit in well here."

Later, lying upstairs in each other's arms, Jim said, "I don't know whether to feel warm fuzzies that we're accepted, or scared."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Jim and Blair had insisted that Ron and Eric not get up early to fix breakfast. Ron had set the coffee maker and left a thermos beside it, and Eric had left several breakfast sandwiches of eggs and thin-sliced ham in the refrigerator, after pointing out the microwave, so Jim and Blair were well fed and supplied when they started out. They picked up the requested pole outside Ruth-Anne's store the next morning. They'd asked around before the screening broke up, and had been given several different leads about good fishing spots.

The hike out to the lake was refreshing in the brisk air. They walked around the perimeter till they found one of the suggested spots. It had a high bank, and the trees grew right up to the edge, but there was space between them. As they deposited their equipment, Blair squinted off across the lake. "Yeah, the ice hasn't broken yet, but I think it's getting ready to."

"I think you're right." Jim had taken up the pole. Now he reached out with it and poked experimentally at the ice. It broke through easily. "Even here in the shade, it isn't much thicker than a cheap pane of glass. They'll have the run tomorrow, or the next day."

As he watched Jim break a larger section of ice, Blair wrapped his arms around himself, huffing experimentally into the air. "My breath isn't quite fogging. It's warmed up a lot, just since yesterday. Are you going to run with them?"

Satisfied, Jim put down the pole and picked up his rod. "Are you?"

"I asked first, man."

"If I did, I'd probably just sort of jog. After all, I have all the cop running experience. It wouldn't be gracious to show the locals up too badly at their own event."

"Jim Ellison--tact master. I think it would be great. Community bonding experiences don't happen often enough these days. Besides, some sort of ritual to welcome spring is pretty much universal in most cultures. Maybe I could work up a paper from this..."

Jim handed Blair his rod. "This is a vacation. Quit thinking about work"

"But it wouldn't be required, so it doesn't qualify as work, and..."

"Fish--now."

Blair shrugged, smiling. "What's on this thing--a spoon?"

"Spoon for you, weighted spinner for me. Betcha I haul in more than you do." He cast.

"Hey, no fair trying to get a jump on me!" Blair cast, too.

"Right. One pass is going to give me an unassailable advantage."

"Sh. Fishing here."

For Blair to stay silent for more than a couple of minutes at a time (even when reading or working on the computer--then he tended to mutter to himself) was unusual, but he managed it. He only spoke to gloat each time he pulled in a fish. Jim was more dignified--he only pointedly held Blair's fish up next to his own so that the size difference was apparent. They fished for several hours, and were nearing their limit when the visitor arrived.

Jim lowered his rod, looking around. "Someone's coming." He cocked his head. "Someone big." He sniffed, and made a face. "Someone who could really, really use some Dial."

Blair heard the rustling of underbrush and turned around just as Roger emerged, almost at his back. He found himself nose-to-very large, hairy, and rather runny nose with the moose. He didn't react well. Yelling and jumping backward probably wasn't the best idea, since he fell butt first into the lake. It did, however, persuade Roger that they weren't interested in having an audience. He turned with a speed surprising for such a large, gawky looking creature, and made off the way he'd come.

As the crashing, thudding sounds diminished, Blair managed to get his feet under him and stand up, finding himself waist deep in water. He raked hair out of his face, spitting. "I think I swallowed a minnow, and you might stop laughing long enough to pick your happy ass up off the ground and help me out of here."

Jim hauled him up. Just as he scrambled onto the bank, he heard a loud snapping sound behind him, followed rapidly by what sounded like a string of firecrackers going off. That was all the encouragement he needed to launch himself upward, and Jim once again ended up on the ground, this time with a dripping Guide on top of him. Blair found himself babbling about moose herd attacks across frozen lakes.

"I don't think that's a problem we need to worry about, Chief," said Jim as they got to their feet. "Look out there."

Out at the center of the lake, they could see lines and patches of deep blue water, littered with floating chunks of ice. Thick cracks were slowly creeping toward shore, accompanied by more crisp, brittle sounds.

"Well," said Blair, "Looks like spring is officially here." There was a snort nearby, then a cough. The men turned to look, and found a wolf and panther sitting side by side, watching them. The wolf gave them a canine grin, tongue hanging out. "Oh, very good, Lobo," Blair snapped at his spirit animal. "You might have jumped in and saved me."

Lobo gave a growling bark. "I think that translates as 'do I look like Rin Tin Tin?" The panther sneezed again. "Midnight, what is it? I didn't think spirit animals could get allergies." The big cat snarled softly, then shivered and sneezed again. "Son of a bitch, that's right. I guess a South America native would find this area a bit too cold. Well, make for the spirit plane, then." The two animals turned in unison and moved back into the bushes. "This is odd. Usually they don't show up unless we're in physical danger or deep emotional turmoil."

"Maybe they needed a vacation, too. Let's get back to town, Big Guy. These clothes might not actually freeze on me, but it's close enough for government work."

A few minutes later they were making their way through town, Blair squishing with each step. Ed was coming out of the radio station as they passed. "Hey, Jim. Hey, Blair. Wow, that's a nice string of trout, but it doesn't look like you both caught your limit."

Blair cocked an eyebrow at him. I'm dripping wet, with liberal decorations of leaves and aquatic flora, with hair hanging in my face, and Ed chooses to comment on the fish. "Something came up."

Ed just nodded, then grinned. "Hey, if you were out at the lake, you must know that the ice finally broke."

"Well, yeah, we know," said Jim. "But how do you know? It just happened."

"Maurice told me. He came flying through here a few minutes ago. He wanted to get Chris to put a warning out on the radio."

"A warning about the ice breaking? Wouldn't everyone around here pretty much know not to go out on it now?"

"Not about the ice--about the escaped panther and the wolf."

"Pick your jaw up, Jim," said Blair. "Panther and wolf?"

"Yeah. Maurice was going out to find you guys, maybe give you a few fishing tips, and he ran into a panther and a wolf." Ed frowned. "He said that the panther sneezed on him, and the wolf laughed at him."

"Ed, does Maurice drink much in the mornings?" Jim said cautiously.

"I think he sometimes has wine with lunch, but other than that, never before five o'clock."

"You don't seem very surprised about this," Blair ventured.

Ed shrugged. "It's more likely that we'd have a puma up here, I guess. Wolves are no big deal. Anyway, Maurice said to tell you guys that he'll have to call off the dinner tonight, and reschedule. He's going to be busy hunting." Jim and Blair exchanged looks. "I was kinda upset about that. I mean, it's not like he could eat them, right? And trophy hunting is a bummer. Anyway, Leonard said not to worry about it. He's pretty sure they're spirit animals. Blair, are you all right? Did you swallow something when you fell in the lake?"

Jim was patting Blair's back. "A minnow."

"Yeah, that's what usually happens to me when I fall in the lake." He pointed at the fish. "If you want those cooked, Holling will do it for you, if you give him a cut. And if you want to save them to take home, he'll let you store them in the freezer."

"Sounds good, but we'd better go get changed first," said Jim. Ed ambled off, turning into Ruth-Anne's store. Jim could hear him lifting his voice excitedly to tell her the news, and Ruth-Anne's calmer reply. As they continued, Jim said, "I can't believe this."

"Don't fret, Jim. Lobo and Midnight are in no danger, you know that. If they're still around, and Maurice finds them, they'll just laugh their asses off and step up to the spirit plane. Hopefully Maurice won't have a heart attack."

"That's not what I meant. I know they're not in physical danger. What I meant was how many ways is it possible for us to be outed up here?"

"Will you stop worrying? I get the feeling that Cicely is sort of like Las Vegas--whatever happens here, stays here. Let's hurry. Spring may have officially arrived, but you couldn't prove it by me, temperature-wise."

"Okay, and let's hit The Brick like Ed suggested. I'm drooling thinking about what they might do with trout."

The change of clothes turned into a leisurely shared shower, then a little afternoon delight, then a nap. Luckily they'd remembered to put the fish in the refrigerator before going upstairs. Eric was in the kitchen when they went back downstairs. "You boys had good luck this morning. Heaven knows how many you could have pulled in if Blair hadn't fallen in the lake. Any chance of talking you out of a couple of those? Ron loves trout, but neither of us are exactly outdoorsmen. I'd like to make him a special supper to celebrate the ice breaking." He grinned. "And energize him for the run tomorrow."

They sorted out several nice fish, and Jim and Blair took the rest along to The Brick. It was pretty full by the time they arrived, and the buzz of excited conversation was mostly centered around the up coming run. They brought the fish up to the bar, having to stop several times to allow some of the town folk to admire them. Holling greeted them with, "Oh, I hope you're going to let me fix those for you! They're real beauties."

"That's the plan," agreed Jim. "One for each of us, and we'd like to see if we can store the rest, and whatever else we catch while we're here, in your freezer."

"I'd be proud to." Holling took the fish.

"How much?" Jim asked.

"I tell you what--for every day that you catch your limit, give me two or three, and all you'll have to pay for is your side dishes. It'll be a real pleasure to work with this quality of ingredients. You two go have a seat and I'll get started on these. I'm thinking Japanese Panko crumbs for the breading."

They headed for a vacant table. As they passed Ruth-Anne she said, "I hear you two were the first ones to learn about the ice breaking. That's good luck, you know."

"Great," said Jim. "I hope it waits till we get back to Cascade to kick into gear. We could use it."

"Hectic down there?"

"Mad bombers, diamond smugglers, exploding drug labs, twin assassins, crazed militias, hostage situations--yeah, a little stressful sometimes."

"Oh, dear. And I thought it was stressful when Maurice wanted to have a duel with Nikolai."

"A duel?" asked Jim blankly.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you can tell how Maurice feels about communism just by being around him a little, and the supposed trigger event was when Nikolai made misuse of the timer in their annual chess match, but everyone is pretty sure that the real cause was UST."

"UST?" If possible, Jim sounded even blanker.

Blair patted his back. "I explained that to you when you started reading fanfiction on the 'net, remember?" Jim blushed. Blair grinned at Ruth-Anne. "He remembers."

"Oh, speaking of that, do you two intend to run tomorrow?"

Now how could a discussion of UST lead to the subject of the town run? Blair thought. "I intend to." He elbowed Jim. "Jim?"

Jim shrugged. "I jog on a semi-regular basis, so I see no reason why I shouldn't."

Ruth-Anne beamed. "Good! It'll really make it worthwhile to get out of bed. It's going to be at seven o'clock, starting just outside my store." She lifted her voice, "Shelley, Maggie--they're going to run." The other two women exchanged high fives.

After they sat down, Leonard approached. "I need to ask you two a question. If it's too personal, just tell me. I'd prefer it if you didn't slap me silly, though. I'm getting a little old for that."

Jim sighed, sharing a look with Blair. Here it comes--are you gay? "What is it, Leonard?"

"Are you," he direct a finger at Jim, then Blair, "a Ka'honak and a Manawa?" Jim and Blair both blinked several times. "Excuse me, you probably wouldn't know those terms. They translate roughly to Sentinel and Guide."

I will not fall out of my chair, Jim thought. "What makes you ask that?"

"So you know what I'm talking about?" Jim slumped a little more as Leonard continued. "There have been a few clues. Guessing Holling's recipe from taste, knowing the seasonings for the dinner the other night from scent when the scent didn't really carry out here, the sudden appearance of what have to be a couple of spirit animals. I wouldn't have asked, except that there hasn't been a Sentinel and Guide in this region for several generations. I remember my great-grandfather telling me about one he met when he was just a little shaver, and I did some studying when I got older."

"Sir Richard Burton's monograph?" asked Blair.

"It's wonderful what you can get with the Internet and interlibrary loan." Leonard looked at them expectantly.

Jim studied him. There wasn't a shred of skepticism or unease in the Indian's expression. Nothing but polite curiosity. Jim considered denying it, but decided that though Leonard might make a show of accepting his denial, there wasn't a chance in hell he'd actually believe it. "Yes, actually--we are."

Leonard nodded. "Okay, just wanted to satisfy my own curiosity, and don't worry. I know it seems like everyone in Cicely knows everything about everyone else, but this is one thing that won't get passed around the grapevine. And you're both police officers? That's an excellent choice, since this isn't a recognized career anymore. If you two ever decide to relocated, you're definitely welcome up here." He left.

Jim said, "I'm beginning to get a bit of a twilight zone feeling about this."

"Me, too. Great, isn't it?"

Jim smiled reluctantly, "Surprisingly enough--yeah. I'm beginning to be very glad I invested that fifty in raffle tickets."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Ron and Eric had breakfast ready when they went downstairs the next morning. Both of the men were very cheerful. As they were leaving for the center of town, Ron said something about allowing himself one moment of utter insanity a year, and this was it.

They arrived in front of Ruth-Anne's store about ten minutes before the run was scheduled to start. There was somewhere between forty and fifty men milling about in the center of the street, with an equal number of women on the sidelines. Jim observed that he was pretty sure that the entire population of Cicely was there. "Plus a few from the outskirts," Leonard informed him as he walked past.

Maurice came over. "Gentlemen. I'm sorry about having to cancel dinner yesterday. If you're still going to be around, why don't we make it tonight?"

Jim looked at Blair, who nodded. "Sounds good. Will we be meeting Sgt. Semanski?"

"You can do that after the run." Maurice pointed proudly to a tall woman in a tan sheriff's department uniform, hat settled low and business like on her forehead. She noticed Maurice's wave, and raised her Styrofoam cup of coffee in greeting. "She's really something, isn't she? Queen Hippolyta in modern dress."

"Looks like a woman who knows her own mind," Blair observed.

Maurice nodded, beaming. "You know, I don't generally like to be crossed--ask anyone around here. But she never lets me get away with anything."

"Does she carry handcuffs?" asked Blair. Jim elbowed him discretely.

Maurice didn't seem to find anything unusual about the question. "She's never without them." He offered them a handsome silver flask. "I know it's a little early, but you might want a nip to warm up before the run starts."

Blair reached for the flask eagerly, but Jim held up a hand in refusal. On the sidewalk in front of the store, Ruth-Anne raised her hands, and her voice. "All right, all you virile he-men. The ice has broken, news brought to us courtesy of Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg, visitors to Cicely. What there is of the city council..." Holling, Maurice, Chris, and Maggie all raised their hands, "have voted them in as honorary citizens of Cicely, and they've graciously consented to join in the run." There were whoops and whistles of approval, mostly from the women. "Spring has officially arrived, even if it is still a little shy about making itself known, so it's time to welcome it. Gentlemen... start your engines."

Jim and Blair waited to see which direction the pack would take off in. They were both a little startled when no one started running right away. Instead, they started stripping. Blair looked over at Ed, who had removed a thermal shirt and was shucking a t-shirt over his head. "Ed, what's going on?"

"Didn't anybody tell you?" Ed's jacket and shirt were piled at his feet, and he was unbuttoning his jeans. "Gosh, first they don't warn Jim about the pussy speech, then they don't explain the Running of the Bulls. I'm telling you, Chris, people just don't look out for each other these days."

Jim's gaze was ping-ponging all over the place, trying to find a direction where he wouldn't be confronted by rapidly appearing male flesh. It wasn't working. He'd have had to look straight up or straight down. And even thatwouldn't work, he thought, noting bare ankles above a pair of battered Keds. Apparently shoes were allowed. "Are you trying to tell me that the Running of the Bulls is one big-ass streak?"

Chris was down to a pair of tiny green briefs. "Yep, that's pretty much it," he said brightly, hooking his thumbs in the waistband. "But this has been going for a long time before the seventies. Leonard says that their oral history speaks of it as far back as before the white men came to this area."

"So it's a tribal ritual?" said Blair, interest clear in his voice.

"Blair..." said Jim.

Chris was nodding. "A Native American cultural ritual of male bonding, community unity, and the renewal of the life force through the coming of spring."

"Blair, you aren't considering..."

"Maurice, I'll take you up on that nip."

Maurice handed over the flask. Blair took a healthy swig, handed it back, and began to unbutton the first layer of flannel. "Jesus, Sandburg."

Blair, moving with remarkable swiftness, had stripped to the waist. There were shouts from the women. Someone yelled, "What a way to be tickled to death!"

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Jim. I'm not missing it."

Shelley yelled, "You promised, Jim! Take it off!"

Jim could feel himself flushing. He mumbled, "The women aren't going to run the men down and engage in a huge orgy, are they?"

"Nah, they just watch," said Joel. He was naked except for a pair of trainers and a pair of earmuffs. "Though I have noticed form medical records that there are a fair number of babies born almost exactly nine months after each run."

"Joel, I can't believe you're doing this! And I can't believe that you didn't warn us!"

Joel shrugged, various parts of his anatomy moving in an interesting manner. "They got me my first year here, too. You're the first people vaguely like me who have come along to share the weirdness that is Cicely."

There was rhythmic clapping from the women, and a chant of, "El-lis-son! El-lis-son!"

Blair was naked, bouncing briskly in an effort to stay warm. "C'mon, Jim! The longer I have to just stand here, the colder I get. You're making everyone wait."

Jim was now surrounded by naked men, all looking at him expectantly. Well, he thought, with the cold, I suppose I wouldn't have to worry about accidentally getting turned on and embarrassing myself. He made a last ditch attempt. "Blair, one of the women has a video camera!"

"That would be mine," said Ed. "Maggie asked if she could borrow it. This is the first time any of the ladies has done that." He clapped Jim and Blair both on the shoulders. "I think she wants to make a copy for you to commemorate your visit."

Jim sighed. "Fuck it." He started to take off his clothes. "But if anyone strikes up The Stripper I am so out of here, and I'm staying in the middle of the pack."

"Won't do you much good," Maurice commented. "You're going to be like a thoroughbred running with a herd of Shetland ponies." He caught Barbara Semanski's eye, and threw out his chest. "Well, maybe one old warhorse. Hurry up, Ellison. You're holding up the parade."

"Snap it up, Jim," Blair insisted. "Everything I have is starting to seek warmer climates. My nuts haven't been this close against my body since before my bris."

Jim groaned as he shoved down his jeans, and an immediate whoop of, "Commando!" went up from the spectators.

Jim stood back up with his hands on his hips and called, "What do you expect? I'm a former Army Ranger." He jerked his head up the street. "This way?" There was general agreement. "Fine. Eat my dust." He started off at a trot. The whole group started after Jim. The women on the sidelines cheered as the tide of men trotted, swayed, and bounced past. It was a passing display of the entire spectrum on Man--from youth to ripened maturity--muscular, slender, fat, hairy, smooth, dark, light--circumcised, uncircumcised... Living proof, some of the women commented, that all men were not created equal, but weren't they fascinating in their infinite variety?

It was truly an event to be remembered--not least of all for the teeth chattering that came afterward. Though the brisk pace warmed the runners up, it also worked up a sweat. Luckily Ruth-Anne had compassionately loaded all the clothes into her station wagon and brought them to the city limits so that they didn't have to streak all the way back. Of course she'd just pitched them in, so the resulting scramble to sort them out was rather hilarious. The rest of the trip was warm and relaxed. Jim would have never admitted it, but there had been something oddly liberating about the experience.

When they got into their completely repaired, tuned-up, and freshly washed truck to return home, it took a half-hour for the citizens of Cicely to say good-bye. They took with them a few tribal artifacts from Leonard and Ed, a well-thumbed and annotated copy of Walt Whitman from Chris, a copy of From Dusk Till Dawn from Ed (with warnings to steer clear of beverages during some of the scenes), a cooler full of food and drink for the trip from Holling and Shelley, and the single copy of the taped run from Maggie O'Connell. Jim knew that was the only copy because he questioned her about it, using his Sentinel abilities as a natural lie detector. As they drove off, Ruth-Anne waved and called, "Come back soon!"

They drove in silence. Finally Blair looked over and began, "Jim, do you think we could...?"

"Yes," Jim replied promptly. Roger the moose was standing at the edge of town. As they passed, he waggled his head, as if in farewell. "Though maybe a little later in the year next time."

The End

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