Prologue

"Where is he?"

Detective Jim Ellison entered the bullpen with all the force of a Cat 5 storm, and Joel Taggart moved in quickly to run interference. "Easy, Jim. He's O.K. Megan's got him in Simon's office. But listen. The kid's pretty shaken up. You charging in there like a wild bull isn't going to help."

Ellison took a deep breath and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "You're right. You're right. O.K." He laid a hand on Taggart's shoulder, both as an acknowledgement and to move Taggart out of his way. Taggart let him go.

Sandburg was sitting on the edge of one of the extra chairs in the office, with a blanket draped over his shoulders. Megan was on her knees beside him, holding his chin with one hand while she blotted gently at a minor cut along his cheekbone. They both looked up when Ellison entered. Megan couldn't hide her relief at the sight of him. Sandburg's red-rimmed eyes just looked haunted.

Ellison forced himself to speak casually. "How's he doing, Megan? That gonna leave him with a nice macho-looking scar?"

"'Fraid not," Megan said. "A week from now, he'll be right back to that sensitive intellectual look we all know and love." She pressed a butterfly over the cut and then got to her feet. "All right. My work's done here. Sandy, you go easy on yourself, all right? Everything's going to be fine. You'll see."

Sandburg looked up at her and nodded. "Thanks."

"Right then. That's me gone."

Ellison waited until she shut the door, then he pulled the other chair up backward and dropped into it, resting his folded arms on the back of it.

Sandburg gave him a strained smile. "You didn't hurt anyone getting here, did you?"

"Not more than two or three. You doing O.K.?"

"Have you seen H?"

"Chief..."

"It shouldn't take this long should it? I mean, it's just a statement, right?"

Clearly, Ellison hadn't been given the whole story. "What's going on here, Chief?"

"They didn't tell you?"

"Just that you'd been attacked."

Sandburg buried his face in his hands. The blanket slipped from one shoulder. Ellison reached out and tugged it back into place. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good news. From the bullpen, he heard Simon's deep voice, saying, "That's fine. Let's give the kid some time. Anyone talked to Brown?"

Sandburg heard it too, and looked up, but the chorus of negatives dashed his hopes and he lowered his head again. Ellison scooted his chair closer and parked a hand in the center of his partner's back. "What happened, Blair?"

Blair drew a long shuddering breath and raked both hands through his tousled curls. "Sorry man. I..." He stopped and shook his head.

Ellison slid his hand up Sandburg's back and squeezed his shoulder. "Take your time. Just tell me what happened."

"Right. He told me to stay put. All I had to do was listen to him. That's it. Just listen to him and do what I was told. Just sit there. But no. You know me."

"Take it easy."

Sandburg looked at him. Looked away again. "Oh man. Jim, he shot a kid. To save me."

"Jesus." It just slipped out. Sandburg's stricken look made him wish he could take it back but all he could do was take a deep breath and try for damage control. "O.K., listen to me. I know you don't want to hear this, but there are kids out there with guns. That's reality. And when a kid picks up a gun, he's every bit as dangerous as an adult with a gun in his hand. That's reality too. H is a good cop. Whatever he did, he did it because he had to."

"What he did, he did because I forced him to. Because I couldn't sit still for ten minutes, there's a kid dead, and H..." For a moment Ellison wondered if he ought to drag the wastebasket closer, but Sandburg pulled himself together. "Can you find out what's going on?"

"Why don't you let me take you home. I'll call when there's any news."

"No!" He made an obvious effort to gain control. "I can't, O.K.? Not until H gets back."

"All right. Just take it easy. What else is there, besides that cut? Do you need to see doctor?"

Sandburg shook his head.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Look, can't you just go and check?"

Ellison sighed. "All right. I'll see what I can find out. Can I let Simon in?"

"I guess he's needing his office back, huh?"

"Something like that."

Sandburg looked up in sudden panic. "God, Jim, what am I going to say to him?"

Ellison gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. "Tell him you're O.K. That's what he's waiting to hear."

He stepped out and closed the door behind him. Simon Banks was waiting for him.

"How's he doing?"

Ellison shook his head. "Blaming himself for the kid. Worried about H. Scared to face you."

"Think he's up to giving a statement? As far as the assault it could wait, but IA's going to be needing one."

Ellison glanced over his shoulder at the young man huddled miserably in the office. "I tried to get the story out of him. He's all over the board. If you could wait until he's seen Brown, I think he'll be more settled."

Banks nodded. "I think we can do that. Where are you headed?"

"I told him I'd see what I could find out about H."

"He's still with IA, but he'll be fine as far as that goes. The gang had Sandburg on the ground with a knife to his throat. Sorry. You didn't need that visual." He hesitated, but Ellison waved him on. "Brown identified himself. One of them drew on him. We recovered the gun, fully loaded with the safety off. The kid meant business, Jim. IA's not going to argue with it."

A commotion near the door heralded Brown's arrival. He barely gave the welcoming committee a nod before disengaging from them to head for Ellison.

"Jim. I don't know what to say, man. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Ellison said. "From what I hear, it sounds like Sandburg and I owe you dinner."

"He shouldn't have been there to begin with. I shouldn't have left him alone. I should have..." He turned away, not yet ready to be forgiven. "Where is he? Is he O.K.?"

"He'll be fine. What about you? How are you doing with it?"

Brown shook his head. "What am I supposed to feel? He was seventeen years old. Not even old enough to vote. But he didn't give me any choice."

"It was a clean shoot," Banks said. "You saved a civilian life as well as your own."

"Thanks, Captain. I'm not sure that makes it right, but... You're sure Sandburg's O.K.?"

Ellison motioned toward the closed office door. "I tried to take him home, but he wouldn't leave without seeing you."

Brown nodded. "I'll go talk to him now. And Jim? Thanks."

"Forget it H. You need anything, you call."

Brown hesitated for a long moment with one hand on the doorknob. When he went in and closed the door, Ellison forced himself not to listen.

Chapter 1

5 MONTHS LATER

"On your way?" Simon Banks flashed a quick smile as Jim Ellison leaned into his office doorway to give him a casual salute.

"Yeah," Ellison shifted his carry-on bag on his shoulder. I'll have my cell if anything comes up."

"Where's your sidekick? Isn't he driving you to the airport?"

Banks didn't miss the brief troubled look that crossed Ellison's strong features. "He offered, but I told him to stay home and keep warm. Between the drizzle and the wind, I didn't figure he needed it."

Banks frowned. "Is he still sick? It's been most of three weeks, hasn't it?"

"Ahh, he's about over it. I guess I'm a little overprotective since... You know."

"I do, and you are. You want me to look in on him later?"

"Nah." Ellison shook his head. "Thanks, but it's really not necessary. The only reason he's not working is that Rainier's between semesters. I just didn't see the point in making him go out in it."

Banks nodded. "Yeah, I hear you. O.K. then. Well, have a safe trip and I'll see you on... Thursday?"

"Friday. I fly in on Thursday, but it'll be closer to Friday morning than Thursday night."

"Right." Banks returned his attention to the files on his desk, dismissing his senior detective. He wasn't looking forward to the next week. Ellison was more than his best detective. Somehow when Banks and his wife had divorced, his wife had won all of their friends in the settlement. The Chief of Police and the Mayor had come to rely on Ellison for last minute miracles. Banks had come to count on him as the one haven of relaxation in an eternally hectic life. And, although he'd slit his own throat as soon as admit it, in the last couple of years he'd gotten awfully used to Ellison's hyperactive, irreverent, hippy throwback of partner. The kid was comfortable anywhere Ellison happened to be but, even now, he was a little uncertain of his welcome in the Major Crimes bullpen without Ellison. If Ellison wasn't there, Sandburg wasn't there. And when Sandburg wasn't there, Banks found to his eternal surprise that he almost... well... missed him. It was hell getting old and soft.

After the call came in, Simon Banks sat for a long moment, with his hand still on the phone he'd just set down. Banks was a born leader and most of the time he enjoyed the challenges of shepherding the tight-knit group of strong-willed men who made up his Major Crimes team. But there was a price. There was always a price, and this was part of it. When the world went all to hell, it was Banks' job to present a composed front. No matter how strong the urge to throw the phone against the glass window of his office and watch both shatter into satisfying wreckage. He sighed, took his hand from the phone and walked out into the bullpen. Brian Rafe was there, tilted back in his chair, laughing with Joel Taggart over some stupidity committed by the rookie Rafe had been saddled with while his partner was away on personal leave.

"Rafe."

Rafe set his chair down with a sharp thud. "Oh. Sorry Cap'n. Been a long day is all. I was just letting off a little steam."

"That's O.K. I need to see you in my office for a moment. Joel, would you mind rounding up Connor for me? I'll need to speak with both of you as well."

Rafe rose slowly from his chair, eyes widening as he made the connection. For once, Banks wished Rafe didn't have to be quite so astute a detective.

"Simon? It's H, isn't it? He's not...?"

"Why don't you come in my office, and we'll talk."

Rafe took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "It's O.K. Whatever it is, you might as well give it to us together."

Simon nodded. "All right. Let me say first that we don't really know anything yet, so let's not jump to conclusions. I guess you're aware that Brown took his Cessna over to Spokane for his uncle's funeral. He was due back last night. He hadn't filed a flight plan, so he'd requested flight following along the way. He checked in ops normal with Yakima about five-thirty. They advised him at that time of some severe weather moving in over the Cascades, but he said he was going to try to slip over before it hit. Fifteen minutes later he made contact -- also ops normal -- with Seattle. At five forty-seven, he advised Yakima that he'd established contact with Seattle and would be closing out with Yakima. That was his last recorded transmission. When he didn't make his fifteen-minute check with Seattle, they attempted to contact him, but got no response. He never arrived in Cascade, so at this point he's presumed down."

"Jesus." Rafe's voice broke on the single word and he ran a hand over his face.

Joel reached out to lay a steadying hand on the younger man's shoulder. "What's being done to locate him?"

Banks shook his head. "Well they've put the word out that he's missing. At this point, there's still a possibility that he put down on one of the smaller airstrips to get out of the weather. It's still a mess over the Cascades. All this rain we're getting is snow there, and the ceiling's down around 4,000 feet. The area Brown last checked in from is over seven. There's no way to get aircraft in safely, and even if they could, they wouldn't be able to see anything on the ground. So nothing much can be done at this point but make plans to go in when the weather clears and hope he checks in, in the meantime, from some Podunk airstrip in the middle of nowhere."

Rafe looked up suddenly. "Someone ought to call Jim."

Banks considered it briefly and then shook his head. "Let's hold off on that for now. Brown may still check in. Until we have more information, I'd as soon not disrupt his conference."

Rafe nodded. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"Simon?" Taggart hesitated.

Banks raised an eyebrow.

"Look, I know he's not officially one of us," Taggart said, "But I think Sandburg would want to know."

Banks sighed. "You're probably right. I hate to tell him though, with Ellison away and him home on his own. You know how hard he'll take it. Maybe we ought to wait until we know more."

"No. I think Joel's right," Rafe said. "Sandburg's tougher than you think, Captain. He'd want to know. If he thought we'd kept it from him..."

Banks pulled off his glasses, polishing them on his sweater while he considered it. "You're right," he admitted finally. "I'll give him a call."

"Why don't you let me do it?" Taggart offered. "I was planning to run by later, anyway."

Banks nodded. "Call me a coward, but I'll let you. Thanks, Joel."

All three started when Megan Connor kicked the door open, both hands occupied by a cardboard tray filled with Seattle's Best coffee cups. "I come bearing gifts. Mochas on the right. Caramels on the left. What's up? Someone lose a bet? The lot of you look like your dog died." The three men turned to face her and she stopped short. "Guys?"

Chapter 2

The supplies had taken most of Sandburg's meager savings but between what he'd bought and what he'd been able to borrow from Jim's camping equipment, he figured he was pretty well equipped. Plenty of lightweight, high-energy food; a backpacking stove; a small pot and a couple of oversized mugs; Space blankets; extra clothing; sleeping bag; butane lighter; flashlight, and all the first aid supplies he could scrape together. He'd carry a pack but, with no way to know what kind of shape he might find Brown in, he decided to purchase a long scoop-shaped plastic toboggan with a sturdy tow rope attached. Though he tried not to dwell on the possibility, he was determined to bring H back no matter what he found when he got there. If he got there. His chances of even finding the wreck were minimal. He had nothing to go on other than the official estimate of where the plane had gone down, and he'd be fighting the weather, albeit in a different way to those attempting to search by air. Jim's enhanced senses would have given him a better shot, but Jim was in Chicago, and it was no use wishing otherwise. The debt wasn't Jim's. It was his, and it had just been called.

The biggest expense was the dark green Land Rover he rented for the trip. Classic though it might be, his own car would be nothing more than a rolling coffin in the conditions he'd be facing once he got off the main roads and up into the hills.

The last detail was the toughest. Sandburg was optimistic by nature but he wasn't a fool. He took up a pen and wrote it all down. Everything he'd always wanted to say. All the feelings that he and Ellison skirted around with blunt humor and playful sparring. When he'd finished it, he sealed and stamped it, addressed it to Ellison and tucked it into his pocket. He'd leave it on his desk in his office at Rainier. If it wasn't needed, he'd shred it when he got back, and no harm done. If things went south, whoever packed up his personal effects would find it and mail it.

One last look around the loft and he was on his way. He'd thought he'd be scared when the time came, but all he felt now was determination, and the conviction that he was doing the right thing. He plugged a CD into the Rover's player and by the time he left Cascade he was singing along with Jackson Browne, and smiling at the irony when the lyrics turned into a prayer. There's just one thing I'd ask you to do. Take my hand and lead me to the hole in the garden wall and pull me through. Pull me through.

"Go away," Henri Brown muttered irritably. "You're not gonna bullshit me. You're a hallucination. Not a very pretty one, either. Hypothermia. H, babe, you're losin' it." He huddled deeper into the safety blanket and poked at the tiny flame he'd managed to keep alive.

Despite his determination to ignore it, the hallucination refused to go away. In fact, it continued to stagger toward him like a child's absurd drawing of a snowman, tugging its little red sled behind it. Ten feet away it stumbled and fell to its knees, swaying drunkenly. Hmm. This one was more interesting than most. With nothing else to occupy his time, Brown squinted through the driving snow, curious to see what it might do next. What it did was to raise its hooded head and call out hoarsely, "H? That you man?" Well, hell. The others hadn't called him by name. Maybe this one was different. Not a hallucination at all. Maybe this one was here to take him to the next stop on the route. Brown wasn't a religious man, but he'd always suspected death wasn't really the end. He should have been afraid, but he couldn't summon up any fear. It was a relief, really, to know that he wasn't going to have to make the trip alone.

"Yeah!" he called back. "It's me. Is it time to go, then?"

To his shock, his heavenly guide began to cough -- deep, harsh coughs, like a man dying of pneumonia.

"Hey!" Brown called out. "If you're not a hallucination, who the hell are you?"

The muffled figure heaved itself to its feet, struggled across the last ten feet, and fell to its knees again, unable to drag its burden any farther. Between harsh coughs, a hoarse, but familiar voice gasped out, "I brought you some stuff, man. Thought you might need it."

Brown stared at him and for the longest time, all he could think was, "I'm dead. Ellison's gonna kill me."

Sandburg's strength had run out hours ago, leaving nothing but sheer stubborn will to move him forward. That ran out when he reached his goal. He felt himself falling and couldn't summon up even the will to do anything about it. He never felt the impact. He could have been lying there five minutes or five days before a voice filtered through the fog of exhaustion, and he recognized the name it was calling as his own. Awareness returned gradually and he struggled upright. "H! you're alive! Thank God!"

Brown stared at him. "Sandburg, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, man." Sandburg struggled to his knees, fumbling awkwardly with the straps of his pack. "Are you OK? What am I talking about? Of course you're not OK. Hold on. I got stuff..." He didn't have the energy to explain. The pack was defeating his limited coordination. He gave up on it and turned his attention to the load on the sled. Loosening the tarp, he tugged out the shelter he'd purchased. He'd had a pretty good idea of how trashed he'd be, and had chosen accordingly. He only had to work it loose from its sack and give it a quick toss. It opened on its own. Sandburg wriggled out of his pack and shoved it inside to keep the lightweight shelter from blowing away.

Brown was still staring at him blankly, clearly too hypothermic to be firing on all cylinders. Sandburg needed to know how badly he was injured, but getting him warm had to come first. He dragged the sleeping bag from the sled, along with two foam pads and an extra blanket, which he spread out before unrolling the sleeping bag.

"O.K." He paused to catch his breath. "Time to get warm. Talk to me, man. Can you move?"

"What?"

"We need to get you into the tent. Can you handle that?"

"I don't know. Right leg's pretty bad off."

"I'll help, OK? Come on."

He tugged at Brown until the big man roused enough to let Sandburg help him crawl into the shelter. Sandburg wrapped him in the sleeping bag, then crawled back out to retrieve more supplies from the sled. When he'd moved the necessities inside, he sealed the tarp back over the rest, then dragged the sled to the wreckage and shoved it into the tail section, tying it down securely as an added precaution. Returning to the tent, he brushed off as much snow as he could, then crawled inside and zipped the door shut. Shaking with cold and exhaustion, he fumbled with the lantern he'd brought as much for heat as for light. It took five attempts to get it going, but finally it hissed to life.

Sandburg turned his attention to Brown, who was still more or less out of it. "Don't worry. It'll be warmer in a minute." He rummaged in his pack for energy bars and bottled water. "Here. You gotta eat something." He unwrapped an energy bar and pushed it into Brown's hands, then opened the water bottle.

To his relief, Brown began to eat, mechanically at first, then with more awareness as the tent began to warm and the easily converted sugars began to work in his chilled body.

Finally, Sandburg allowed himself to relax a little. He unwrapped an energy bar, but he was too tired and too dehydrated to face it. Just the smell of it turned his stomach. He put it aside and settled for a few sips of water. Brown stirred beside him, rousing him from a half doze. Sandburg looked up hopefully. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Brown said. "How the hell did you get here? You didn't come alone? Where's Ellison?"

"Chicago, last I heard." Sandburg shrugged, shedding his wet parka in favor of a survival blanket. "I'd better get a look at your leg. How bad is it?"

"Nothing you can do for it, unless you got a cast in your magic bag. I'm starting to feel it now. I guess there's something to be said for hypothermia."

Sandburg unzipped a pocket of his pack, and pulled out a prescription bottle. "They always prescribe this stuff. I never take it. It's Darvocet. It should help." He moved to hand it over, but he fumbled and dropped it when a fit of coughing took him by surprise. "Sorry." He picked it up and held it out.

Brown seemed to really see him for the first time. He took the bottle but he didn't let go of Blair's hand immediately. "You OK, kid? You look worse than I feel."

"It was a long walk." Sandburg curled up on one side, pulling the safety blanket tighter around him. "Let's wait for the Darvocet to work and then I'll do what I can for your leg."

Brown stared at him. "I still can't believe you're here. You didn't tell Ellison, did you?"

"Sure. Well... I left a note, anyway." He closed his eyes to avoid Brown's penetrating glance.

"Left a note where?"

"On my desk. At Rainier." Brown's deep laugh startled him. He opened his eyes. "What?"

Brown shook his head. "You're a piece of work, Professor. So if you buy it out here, eventually he'll get the note. Is that the general idea?"

"Well I wanted him to know he can have my laptop."

Brown began to laugh again, with a hilarity born of exhaustion. It was contagious. Sandburg was struck with a similar fit, laughing helplessly, even through the bouts of coughing it triggered.

By the time the Darvocet kicked in, they were losing the light. Sandburg resigned himself reluctantly to the fact that tracking down materials for a splint would have to wait for daylight. Reading himself the riot act for not thinking to cut a couple of branches earlier wasn't going to solve the problem and it wouldn't do anyone any good if he slashed a wrist trying to use the hatchet in the dark in his exhausted state.. He sacrificed one blanket, rolling it up tightly and using it as a sort of flexible splint for the night. At least it would minimize movement until he could get out and cut some sturdy branches in daylight. Despite the Darvocet, Brown passed out cold with Sandburg's first attempt to straighten the limb. Sandburg checked to make sure he was breathing easily, and then worked as quickly as he could to finish the job while Brown was beyond feeling it. Afterward, he covered him with two blankets and a sleeping bag, and made himself a similar nest, close enough to share a little warmth, but not so close as to violate any rules of macho propriety. The wind howled over the ridge, nearly flattening the tent around them. Sandburg huddled deeper into his sleeping bag. "Hey, Jim," he murmured. "I made it. Weather's spectacular. Hotel's everything they said it would be. Wish you were here." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Really wish you were here, man."

Chapter 3

Ellison dropped his bag just inside the door. The loft was empty. The light on the answering machine was blinking rapidly. Ellison hit the button and waited impatiently while the machine's mechanical voice droned, "You have... three... new messages." The first message was Simon. "Sandburg? You there? It's Simon. Joel said you were planning to come in. Jim said you had the flu, so don't make it worse coming out in the rain. There's nothing you can do here. We're stuck in a waiting game anyway, until the weather clears. If you'll just stay put in case Jim calls in, that'd be as much help as anything. I'll give you a call if I hear anything."

A second message from Simon followed it. "Sandburg? It's Simon. I wondered if you'd heard anything from Jim. I left a message at his hotel but I don't know if he got it. Call me if you hear from him. No news on Brown yet. The weather's still got everything grounded. I'll keep you posted."

The third message caught his attention, making him frown in concern. It was his own voice. "Hey, Chief. Simon called about the situation with H. I'm going to cut things short here and head home early. Hang in there, O.K.? I'll be home sometime tomorrow afternoon. Oh... and call Simon, would you, and let him know I'm on my way back."

Ellison picked up the phone and dialed Simon's office.

Banks picked it up on the second ring. "Banks."

"Simon it's Jim. Do me a favor would you, and put Sandburg on if he's there."

"Jim? Sorry. The kid's not here. Did you try the loft?"

"I'm standing in it. His car's here but he's not. I thought he might have gone to the station."

"You're where? I thought you were in Chicago."

Ellison ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "I cut things short. Thought my senses might be useful. Sandburg was supposed to tell you."

"Sorry Jim. To be honest, with all that's been going on, I haven't done any more than leave him a couple of messages. He may have tried to return the calls, but if he has, he hasn't gotten through."

"Shit. I was hoping... As far as I can tell, he didn't get the last two you left. All right. Well, I'm sure it's nothing. He's probably at his office."

"I thought Rainier was on break."

"It is," Ellison said, "But most of his sources are there. He goes in to work on his dissertation. Don't worry about it. I'll run by there on the way in. If you see him before I do, tell him to call my cell."

"Will do, Jim."

Ellison put the phone down and took another look around the apartment. Nothing seemed out of place. Sandburg's laptop was sitting on the counter, but that wasn't all that unusual. He often left it home and just carried the files he needed. What was out of place was the absence of a note. Then again, if he hadn't gotten Ellison's message, he'd have no reason to expect Ellison to be looking for him before Thursday. Ellison sighed and set the question aside for the moment. He had to remind himself now and then that Sandburg was an adult with a life of his own. A busy life of his own.

Ellison caught a quick shower and tugged on a clean pair of jeans and a sage green Aran cabled sweater, then stuffed his wallet in his pocket, grabbed his jacket and shoulder holster and headed back to the truck. If Sandburg had been pulling all-nighters at the office, Ellison fully intended to kick his butt. Blair wouldn't have had the flu to begin with if he wasn't overextended, overworked and sleep deprived. Now here he was, barely recovered and obviously going right back to the same old grind. And people said the kid was bright.

Ellison guided the truck into the nearly empty parking lot of Blair's building. The building was locked. He shook the door handle impatiently and was startled when it swung open.

A young woman, casually dressed in jeans and a Rainier sweatshirt, peered out at him. "I heard you knocking. We're on break. Were you looking for someone in particular?"

"Blair Sandburg. Do you know him? His office is..."

"Yeah. Right at the end of the hall. Everyone knows Blair. But he's not here. I heard he was home sick. Flu or something."

Ellison put a hand on the door, just in case she tried to close it. "Are you sure? You haven't seen him in the last few days?"

The girl's smile faded and she regarded him suspiciously. "Not since before break. What do you want him for?"

Ellison reached for his ID and flipped it open. "Detective Jim Ellison. Cascade PD. I'm a friend of Blair's. He's riding with me to collect data for his dissertation."

"Oh, you're *that *Jim." She laughed. "Sorry. He's probably at home. I was just by his office and it's locked up tight."

Ellison could have sworn a cold wind brushed the back of his neck. "Can you get me into his office?

"No. Only the department secretary or maintenance or security could do that." She looked up at him sharply. "Why? You're not thinking anything's happened to him?"

He smiled, doing his best to reassure both of them. "No. I'm sure he's fine. I just need to find him. A good friend of his was on a plane that's gone missing over the Cascades."

"Oh my god!" One hand flew to her mouth. "That's horrible. You know, security might open his office for you if you show your ID. Come on inside and I'll call them."

Ellison followed her into the familiar corridor and into one of labs that lined it. She used the phone from there to call security and then motioned for Ellison to follow her. "I told them we'd meet them by Blair's office. They'll want to see your ID. I'm not sure they'll let you in, but it's worth a try."

"Thanks," Ellison said. "I appreciate your help."

"No problem." She shrugged. "I just hope everything works out all right. Blair's a good guy."

They didn't have to wait long. The security guard who showed up checked Ellison's ID carefully. "Do you have a warrant, Detective?"

"No." Ellison hesitated and decided on honesty. "I'm not really here in an official capacity. Blair volunteers as a consultant with Major Crimes. An officer he's close to was traveling on a plane that's presumed down in the Cascades. You may have seen it on the news. We're a little concerned about Blair. I don't need to do a thorough search, and you're welcome to stay with me. I'm just hoping something on his desk -- a calendar notation, a memo -- might give us some idea where to find him. If you'd like to call the Major Crimes Division of Cascade PD and ask for Captain Simon Banks..."

"That's all right." The security guard studied the badge for a moment longer and then handed it back. "I suppose it's all right as long as I'm with you."

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, but as he was motioning Ellison in after him, he stopped suddenly and looked back at him. "What did you say your name was, Detective?"

"Ellison. Jim Ellison."

The security guard stepped aside and pointed at the familiar chaos of Blair's desk. The one thing defying the chaos was a white envelope, sealed, stamped and carefully addressed to Detective Jim Ellison. "Looks like he was expecting you."

Ellison snatched up the envelope, opened it and scanned the first few lines. "Damn it!" He turned back to the guard. "Thank you very much for your help. Your cooperation may have just saved Blair's life." He took off at a dead run. He was already dialing his cell phone as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Fifteen minutes later he tore into the Major Crimes bullpen hell-bent for leather, and saw immediately that Banks' office was dark. "Where the hell's Simon?"

Joel Taggart looked up from his perch on the edge of Rafe's desk. "He's in a meeting with the Chief. Something about the Canadian officer exchange. I thought you were in Chicago."

"I came back when I heard about Brown's plane."

Taggart frowned at the wild look in his eyes. "What is it? Have you heard something?"

Every head in the room turned when Ellison's fist hit the wall. Taggart got to his feet. "Jim?"

"Sandburg's gone after him."

"What? Gone after who?"

" He's gone after H. Alone. On foot."

Rafe left his chair and moved to join them. "Jim, come on. Sandburg's a bit of an adrenaline junkie, but he's not insane."

"He left a damn note."

"Shit." Taggart and Rafe said in unison. Under different circumstances, Ellison might have been amused.

"What did he say?" Taggart asked. "Did he leave any sort of a game plan?"

Ellison shook his head. "He locked it in his office at Rainier. He never intended me to see it unless..." He saw comprehension in their eyes and let the sentence drop.

"Why would he...?" Rafe began, then closed his eyes. "That kid. That kid last fall."

"He left his car. I'm thinking he probably rented something with four-wheel drive. I need to know anything he might have seen or heard or even overheard about where that plane went down."

"Jim." Taggart put a hand on Ellison's arm. "If he'd said anything at all, if any one of us had a clue what he was thinking, there's no way..."

"I know." Ellison sighed. "Let's just do what it takes to get both of them home."

Chapter 4

As much as he hated the cold, wet aspects of snow, Sandburg sent out a quick prayer of gratitude to the universe for the heavy layer of it that lay over the rocks. Brown was twice his size and would have made a tough load to haul over rough ground. On the snow, it was just a matter of getting the sled moving to begin with. Then, as long as he kept moving forward, it wasn't so bad. The one thing he hadn't thought through clearly was the downhill.

"Untie me," Brown said. "I'll scoot down on my butt."

"You'd get soaked. And you'd probably screw up the splint in the process." Sandburg stood for a long moment, looking down the steep slope. Finally he drew a deep breath and wriggled his shoulders to loosen the knot that was forming between them. "We'll just turn you around. I'll be the brakes."

Brown's brow furrowed at the idea. "I don't know, bro. I weigh a hell of a lot more than you do."

Sandburg mustered up a grin that looked a whole lot more confident than he felt. "It'll work. Trust me."

"Not that I don't, but..."

"It'll be fine. Just hang on." Sandburg swung the sled around and pushed it to the edge of the slope. "O.K., man. Let's do this." Leaning back to brace himself, he let the sled slide forward. It started down over the slick snow, gradually gaining speed, while Sandburg hung on with both hands, leaning hard on the ropes to maintain control. "Piece of cake!" he called to Brown. "Didn't I tell you it would work?"

And it did work. Brilliantly. Right up until the moment his foot came down on a loose fir limb and both feet went out from under him. Brown, facing downhill and concentrating on hanging on, never saw him go down. Terrified of what could happen if the sled got loose and rammed a tree, Sandburg clung doggedly to the ropes, digging his feet into the snow in a vain attempt to stop his descent. He succeeded in keeping the speed down a bit, but not much more. The snow was thick enough to protect him from most of the underlying rocks. Still, more than one got its licks in on him before they reached the flats. A downed lodgepole snag raked his face as he ducked to avoid being blinded or worse. Finally the sled came up against a boulder with a soft thud, hard enough to make Brown curse in pain when it jarred his leg, but not so hard as to do any real damage. Sandburg slid into the sled from behind, looking more snowman than human.

"Damn, Professor," Brown called from the front of the sled, "Couldn't you have missed the boulder? I mean it's the only one in what? Five hundred yards? And you gotta aim for it?"

Sandburg couldn't help it. He laughed. Couldn't stop laughing. He felt like he'd been kicked up one side and down the other. He was pretty sure that was blood running down his face. And it was funny as hell.

Brown twisted against the restraints, trying to get a look at him. "Sandburg? What's so funny back there?"

That set him to laughing even harder. "Nothing. Nothing, man. Sorry. You O.K.?" He laid his head back against the sled, trying to catch his breath.

"Fine." Brown sounded a little bewildered. "You?"

"Oh yeah. Never better. You ready to -- ouch! -- go?"

"Yeah. No. Wait. I want to see you."

"H! I'm flattered, man. Seriously. But I'm seeing someone already."

"Sandburg..." It was a low growl that would have done Jim Ellison credit.

"All right! All right. Geez. No sense of humor." Sandburg scrambled up and slapped at his clothing to get rid of some of the clinging snow.

When he moved into Brown's line of sight, Brown pointed an accusing hand at him. "You're bleeding."

"Just a scratch."

"Let me see it."

Sandburg sighed and dropped to his knees beside the sled. Brown scooped up a handful of soft snow, and used it to clean the blood from Sandburg's face.

"Well?" Sandburg said.

"Yeah. You're right. Bled pretty good, but it's just scratched. How'd you get...? Wait -- you fell, didn't you? You got dragged."

"Like a hero behind a horse. Come on. Let's get this show back on the road." Sandburg turned and trudged back to pick up the ropes, leaving Brown sputtering and cursing behind him.

They made camp at dusk. Sandburg chose a spot with a few large trees, both to give them something to tie the sled to and to provide some extra shelter in case the lowering clouds decided to dump a load of snow on them.

It was all he could do to get the tent up and help Brown into it. The cough left over from his battle with the flu always seemed worse at the end of the day, when he was exhausted and probably dehydrated. He did his best to ignore the worried looks Brown kept sending his way. He was far too tired to fight with him.

The good news was that Brown's condition had improved drastically. He was in pain, but the splint helped, and the Darvocet took the edge off. They had plenty of food and water, and enough creature comforts to let him sleep soundly at night, and, although being dragged over rough terrain was wearying, it took less energy than walking would have. Sandburg no longer had any doubt that Brown would be OK, as long as he could get him to the road, but he was beginning to doubt his own ability to accomplish that task.

"Hey." Brown gave him a nudge. "You in there somewhere?"

"Hm? Oh. Yeah. Sorry. MRE all right for dinner?"

"Sure. Toss one over." Brown caught the packet Sandburg slit open and tossed to him. He added water to the heater pack and folded the pouch around it. "How you feelin'?"

"Half-starved," Sandburg said, slitting the end of a second pouch. He pulled out the flat cardboard entree box and glanced at it briefly before setting it aside in favor of the odd, waffle-like bread and the packet of peanut butter.

"I'm serious, bro. You don't look so good."

Sandburg focused on spreading the peanut butter. "I've been cold and wet all day. I'll be fine as soon as I get warmed up and fed."

"We could stay here. We got food and water and shelter."

"We're not staying. I'm getting you out of here."

Brown unfolded his MRE pouch and crumbled the giant cracker into the hot beef stroganoff. "See how you feel in the morning, but look. I'm not dying here. In fact, I'm better off now than I was yesterday. I'm not saying this leg doesn't hurt like hell, but couple of days isn't going to make that much difference for me. But a couple more days of this? You can't sustain this. You know you can't."

Sandburg took a long swallow from his water bottle. "You think it's too late for coffee? I feel like a cup of coffee, but I don't want to be up all night."

Brown rolled his eyes. "I give up."

Sandburg flashed him a cheeky grin. "That was kind of the point."

"You're nuts. You know that don't you?"

"Oh yeah. Figured that out ten miles back."

Brown sighed. "God, I wish you hadn't come here. Don't think I don't appreciate it, but you shouldn't have taken the risk."

"I had to. It's the law."

Brown snorted. "What law's that?"

"Law of Karmic Return." Sandburg flashed him a tired grin. "A little loosely interpreted, of course. Put it down to cultural variation."

"You know, Jim told me once that when you get going he only understands about every third word. I'm beginning to see what he meant."

Sandburg laughed. "What can I say? Genius is only granted to the precious few. You'd better get some sleep. We got a long day tomorrow."

Chapter 5

"Simon?"

Simon Banks started and he realized he'd been very nearly asleep at his desk. He tugged off his glasses and forced himself to focus. "Joel. What's up?"

"Sorry. I know you got enough to deal with."

Banks sighed and replaced his glasses. "No. It's O.K. What do you need?"

Taggart rubbed at the back of his neck. "Ellison's over in the break room. He looks like hell. I don't think he's slept since he got back. He's already chewed up and spit out two rookies and secretary who didn't know enough to leave him alone, and he damn near took my head off to boot. I thought maybe you could get close enough to find out if he's O.K."

"O.K.'s probably the last thing he is." Banks shoved his chair back. "Thanks, Joel. I'll see what I can do."

He found Ellison slumped on the edge of a chair, with his forearms resting on his knees, pain evident in the taut line of his shoulders, his closed eyes and the way his teeth were clenched on his lower lip. A single sheet of paper dangled from one slack hand. Banks put a hand on his shoulder. The muscles were rigid under his fingers.

"Jesus, Jim. What is it? You need a doctor?"

"I'm OK," Ellison said, without looking at him.

"Hey, it's me. You think I can't tell when you're hurting? Talk to me."

Ellison wriggled his broad shoulders once and drew in a deep breath. "I said I'm all right."

Banks glanced down at the paper in Ellison's hands and instantly recognized Sandburg's distinctive script. Ah. Not a job for a doctor after all. He kept his voice carefully casual. "Whatcha got there?"

Ellison sighed and looked up at him. "Sandburg left it on his desk at Rainier. I guess he figured, if, uh... If Rainier had to clear out his office..."

"Jim, we're going to bring him home. You know that, don't you?"

Ellison didn't seem to hear him. "Security found it when they opened his office for me."

Banks frowned. "His will?"

"Yeah. No. Not really. Just things he wanted me to know if..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yeah," Banks said. He gripped Ellison's shoulder hard. Then, releasing his hold, he added, "My father died a few years back."

"They're not dead," Ellison snapped.

"I know. Just hear me out, OK? He needed a liver transplant. We knew the odds weren't good. I wasn't a match. When he got to the end, we had a long talk. Said a lot of things we should have said years ago, but were too damn stubborn to say. I told him I loved him, for the first time since I was six years old. Well, damned if he didn't get that transplant at the last minute after all. He lived five more years, and died of a heart attack."

"What..." Ellison began.

Banks held up a hand to silence him. "My point is, those five years were great. We'd always had issues between us, and we were both too proud to say the things that mattered. But those last few years, well, we'd said them. We'd said them all. We had five good years knowing what we meant to each other. And we could talk to each other. Really talk to each other. Makes you wonder, doesn't it, why we don't just say those things when it matters, instead of waiting until it's too late?" He chuckled. "And, hell, Jim. If you can't tell how that kid feels about you just by looking at him anyhow, you're blinder than the rest of the bullpen combined."

"Yeah. Thing is, I'm not so easy to read."

Banks patted his shoulder. "Don't kid yourself. Where Sandburg's concerned, you're an open book. Better get some sleep. When we get a break in this mess, we're going to need you on top of your game.

Ellison sighed. "Yeah. O.K. I guess you're right." He got to his feet and then looked back once at Banks. "Look, I about bit Joel's head off a few minutes ago. He didn't deserve it. Tell him I'm sorry, will you?"

"He knows you didn't mean it." Banks said. "Go on. I'll call you if there's any news, but I don't expect to hear anything before morning."

Chapter 6

Despite the menacing clouds, the storm didn't materialize. There was only a dusting of new snow overnight, Brown knew he should be relieved, but he'd half hoped the weather would force the issue that had him at odds with his rescuer. He thought seriously about simply refusing to move, but he suspected Sandburg's reaction would be to leave the supplies with him and set out alone to lead help back in to him. As hard as it was to allow the kid to drag him along as dead weight, the thought of Sandburg out there alone was worse. Brown couldn't move very far or very fast, but he had full use of the rest of his body. He could administer first aid, share body heat, boil water. If Sandburg were injured hiking out alone in his already exhausted state, he wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of surviving to be rescued. Or, for that matter, leading help back in.

So by midmorning they were moving again, making good time at first though fairly level country. Noon found them facing a long incline. Sandburg paused at the base of it. Brown twisted against his restraints to get a look at the obstacle.

"O.K., there has to be another way."

"There isn't. Not unless we want to go ten miles out of our way."

"We'll turn back. There was a decent clearing not too far back. We can camp there."

"We're not going back!" Sandburg set his shoulder to the ropes and trudged doggedly upward. Brown worked his arms out of the blankets and did his best to help, using his hands to keep the sled from sliding backward when Sandburg paused to breathe. Halfway up, Sandburg stumbled. The weight of the sled jerked him off his feet. The bolt of pain it sent through Brown's leg wrenched a cry from him, and a sharp thud followed by a pained grunt told him that Sandburg had landed on stone, but it took all of Brown's focus to brace his hands and keep the sled from dragging Sandburg back down the slope. He could only hope Sandburg was conscious and able to get back up before he lost his hold. An eternity later, he felt the pressure on his arms and hands lessen as Sandburg took up the slack.

"You O.K.?" Brown called out.

"Yeah." It was a barely audible gasp. "Sorry."

"Blair..."

"S'O.K. Hang on."

The sled began to move forward in sharp hitches. Brown could hear Sandburg gasping and panting with the effort but he couldn't turn to look without relinquishing his ability to plant his hands solidly in the snow. All he could do was keep helping as much as he could and hope for the best. Sandburg fell twice more before they crested the ridge, and finally resorted to staying on his knees and backing up the last bit of the slope, but finally they came over the top into a broad saddle. Away from the protection of the hollow they'd been in, the wind smelled of ice and whipped over them like a live thing. Sandburg stopped in the saddle and came back to check on Brown. He had a new cut on his chin, from where it had made contact with a rock. It didn't look too bad. Brown was more concerned with the fact that the fabric at one knee was torn and stained with blood.

"You O.K.?" Sandburg panted. "How's the leg?"

"I'm OK." Brown reached out a mittened hand to shift the bloodstained fabric at Sandburg's knee. "We'd better take a break here and get a look at this."

Sandburg shook his head. "I'd have to undress to get to it and I'm not hanging my cheeks out in the wind on this ridge. It's not worth it."

Brown scowled at the torn, bloody fabric. "At least get the kit out and we'll wrap over your clothes to protect it."

Sandburg sighed. "Yeah, all right." He slipped out of his pack and dug the first aid kit out. He opened a roll of gauze but his mittened hands were too awkward to handle it properly.

"Easier if you take your mitts off," Brown said.

Sandburg gave him a sharp look and shook his head. "It's fine."

"Then let me do it." Brown stripped off his mittens and put a hand out for the gauze. Sandburg shrugged and tossed him the roll, then got down on one knee to give Brown access to the injured one. He winced when Brown pulled the wrapping tight, but he didn't seem to be in serious pain, and it didn't bleed through the wrap after the first few rounds, which was reassuring. Brown tied the bandage off securely and then pulled his mitts back on.

"Well?" Sandburg said, "Am I gonna make it?

"To the other side of the ridge, anyway," Brown said. "Better rest a bit first though."

Sandburg tugged his hood closer around his face and shook his head. "I want to get off this ridge. The wind won't be so bad once we're off the top."

"O.K., but take it easy."

"Yeah. Let me see your hands first."

Brown pulled his mittens off again and turned his hands over for Sandburg's inspection. "They're fine. The mittens gave me plenty of padding."

"Are they wet?"

"Only on the outside."

"Sure?"

Brown gave him a look.

"O.K." Blair stuffed the first aid kit into his pack and moved back to the front of the sled. "Right then. Let's get out of this wind."

With Sandburg limping a little on the injured knee, their pace was slower than it had been. Things weren't helped along any by the fact that Sandburg kept breaking through the crusted snow and ending up thigh deep in the lighter snow underneath. Brown cursed in frustration as Sandburg was forced to fight for every foot of progress. More than once, the sled slipped sideways down the slope of the ridge, hauling Sandburg off his feet or forcing him to reel the rope in hand over hand to get it behind him again. In places, he was forced to drop to his knees and crawl, crablike, across the slope to keep from being tumbled ass over teakettle into the talus below. His passage through those sections left the snow stained with blood, and Brown worried that the injury to his knee might be more serious than it had looked, but stopping halfway across the slope to check it wasn't an option. A foot at a time, they made their way off the ridge and --finally-- out of the worst bite of the wind.

They paused then, in the shelter of a stand of lodgepole pines. Sandburg let Brown rewrap his knee, then dug out trail mix and some odds and ends from MREs for a quick lunch. He dumped most of it in Brown's lap, keeping only a handful of M&Ms and raisins for himself.

Brown frowned at him. "You gotta eat more than that if you're gonna keep moving."

Sandburg looked up from where he was sitting on a rock, still panting and coughing in the aftermath of his exertion on the ridge. His hood was thrown back, and his hair hung loosely around his face. "Later, man. I just need to breathe for a while."

"Why don't we break out the stove? Get something warm into you."

Sandburg glanced at the sky. "Gotta keep moving. We lost too much time getting over that ridge."

"Blair..."

Sandburg shot him a sharp look.

Brown shook his head. "Never mind. You know what I got to say and you've already decided not to listen. I ain't wasting my breath."

They ate in silence for a time and then Sandburg sighed and got to his feet. "All right. Let's do this." He took up the rope and leaned into it. It took a sharp lunge forward to get the sled moving again. Sandburg's quick hiss of pain didn't escape Brown's notice.

"Wait," Brown said.

Sandburg stopped and looked back at him. "What?"

"Take off your mittens."

"What?"

"You didn't take your mittens off to eat. And you wouldn't take them off to handle the gauze back there on the ridge. Why is that?"

"It was cold on that ridge."

"So take them off now. Let me see your hands."

Sandburg stared at him. "Hey, I wasn't the one using his hands for brake pads."

Brown shrugged. "Something under those mittens you don't want me to see?"

"That's ridiculous. Come on. We're burning daylight."

"Then take off the mittens, show me your hands, and we'll be moving again."

Sandburg fixed him with a stubborn glare. "Look, my hands are cold and I'm not taking off my damn mittens!"

"Whine whine whine whine whine," Brown mocked.

"What is your problem, man?"

"The hands, Sandburg."

"They're not... Ah hell!" He yanked the mittens off and threw them to the snow.

"Now get over here where I can see."

Sandburg stalked back to him and held his hands out, palms up. "Satisfied?"

Brown shook his head at the blistered, bloody mess. "Real bright, Professor. When were you going to get around to saying something? Turn around so I can get into the pack."

"We don't have time for this."

"We got time for this. We don't have time for you to get tetanus, or septicemia or gangrene. Y'know what I'm sayin'? Hey, I feel ya babe. You're into this macho shit. You wanna be the man. Well, fine. You da man! But save it for the basketball court. This ain't a game. Y'know what I`m sayin'?"

Sandburg sighed and gave up. He snarled and fidgeted, but he allowed Brown to pad and wrap both hands, if only to appease him and get them moving again.

An hour later, the forward movement stopped abruptly in the middle of a clearing and a soft thud sent Brown's pulse racing in panic. He twisted in frustration, trapped by the bindings Sandburg had devised to keep him safely on the sled. "Sandburg? Blair? Come on. Talk to me. You O.K.?"

"'M O.K." Sandburg mumbled. "Jus' tired. Gotta rest a sec." The words slurred together, giving the lie to any reassurance Sandburg intended by them.

"Come back this way," Brown called. "Rest against me. It'll be warmer."

"Jus' lemme lie here a sec," Sandburg mumbled. "Be O.K. in a minute."

"No! Blair! Don't do that! Don't lie down in the snow! Come back here and talk to me."

Sandburg's only response was a series of harsh, wracking coughs that sent Brown into renewed panic. The kid sounded like he might stop breathing right there.

"Blair! Come on, bro! Something's going really wrong in my leg. It hurts like hell, man. I think it may be bleeding. Come on. I really need you, here." He fought the ropes and blankets, managing to free one arm just as he heard Sandburg moving behind him. "Thank God," he sighed, and went back to working on the restraints. He almost sobbed with relief when Sandburg appeared beside him, on his knees but alive and conscious.

"What is it?" Sandburg gasped. "Let me see."

"It's all right," Brown said. "I'm O.K. I was lyin' to ya, bro. Sorry, but I had to get you up. I couldn't let you fall asleep in the snow."

Sandburg was shaking badly. Brown couldn't tell whether it was from cold, exhaustion or something else entirely. He reached up with the arm he'd managed to get free and pulled the younger man down onto his chest. Sandburg collapsed without a fight. Brown kept the arm around him to hold him there. "There you go, kid. That's it. Just chill for a minute. It's O.K. No one's looking, and I won't tell."

Sandburg convulsed against him, coughing, then lay still while his breathing gradually slowed to something approaching normal.

"Listen to me," Brown said after a minute. "We have to stop. You can't do this anymore."

Sandburg raised his head from Brown's chest. "We're not stopping."

"Blair..."

"No! I'm fine. I just need to rest for a minute."

"You're not fine."

"Shut up! Just shut up. I told you I'm getting you out of here."

"What exactly am I supposed to say to Ellison when they find me alive and you dead in the snow beside me because I let you carry my fat ass until you dropped dead?"

Sandburg shuddered against him again, and Brown was momentarily worried until he realized the kid was actually laughing at him.

"Tell him you were out cold when it happened. Plausible deniability, man."

Brown chuckled. "Like I said, Professor, you're a piece of work."

They stopped speaking. Now that they were still, the silence was amazing. Beautiful, really. Brown could feel his own heartbeat, and Sandburg's weight on his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. Sandburg let out an odd sigh, and Brown realized that the gentle motion was putting him to sleep. Brown couldn't help feeling relieved, though he knew it wasn't safe to let him sleep this way for long. It would be all too easy for both of them to slip off into a hypothermic stupor from which they'd never wake. But he'd let him lie there for a minute longer. There was no way they were moving another foot today. Determination was one thing but Sandburg was exhausted beyond any ability to make coherent judgments. He'd kill himself before he'd make the decision to stop. Brown rubbed a hand roughly over Blair's back. "Hey. Come on. Sorry, kid but you can't sleep here. Let's get the tent up, O.K.?"

Blair stirred and lifted his head. "H? Where are we, man? I was walking..."

"Yeah, that would be before the face-plant in the snowdrift. We need to make camp. I can't reach the gear. I'm sorry. I know you're tired, but do you think you can get me untied?"

"What?" Blair peered at him in confusion for a moment before full awareness came into his eyes. "Shit! Sorry! Aw man, I just meant to rest for a second."

"Yo," Brown said sharply.

It did the trick. Sandburg stopped and looked at him, puzzled by the harsh tone.

"Stop," Brown said. "Listen up, homey. You're not thinking straight. We need to stop -- now. Can you help me get the gear?"

Sandburg shook his head. "It's early still. We can make another couple of miles before dark."

"Forget it. No way you're dragging my ass another inch tonight. Just get me untied and help me get the gear."

For a moment Sandburg's jaw jutted stubbornly and it was clear he intended to put up a fight. It was equally clear that he didn't have the energy for it. He sighed and buried his face in his mittened hands. "All right. Maybe you're right." He freed Brown from the restraints and set about pulling out the gear they'd need for the night. Brown didn't miss the way he fumbled with the tasks, dropping things and cursing as he scrabbled at the fastenings.

"Just toss the pack inside," Brown said. "My arms aren't broken. Just get us inside and I'll help you get things sorted out." He pulled the stack of blankets from behind his head and held them out.

"I got it." Sandburg disappeared into the shelter with the blankets. After a few moments he reappeared. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Brown used his hands to scoot the sled closer to the tent and then put an arm out for a lift.

Sandburg gave him a shoulder and between them they managed to get the big man moved into the tent. With the task finished, they both collapsed on the blankets, Brown swearing fluently at the pain in his leg, and Blair panting between bouts of coughing.

Brown recovered first. "Well that was fun."

Sandburg rolled over onto his back. "You got a strange idea of fun, man." He lay there for a moment longer, then got to his knees. "I gotta get the sled tied down."

It had to be done. Brown knew it, but that didn't stop him from driving a fist into the blankets in frustration when Sandburg crawled back out into the weather to tend to it. Brown had been riding all day. Except for the damned leg, he was in better shape than Sandburg was, but the forced immobility made him dead weight. At least Sandburg had left the pack in reach. Brown sorted through it for a couple of MREs, water bottles, the cooking pot and the stove. Sandburg would bring the lantern with him from the sled when he returned. By the time Sandburg got back, he had water heating on the stove.

Still shivering, Sandburg started on the lantern, but he fumbled the matches, scattering them over the blankets, then nearly knocked the stove over trying to pick them up.

Brown raised an eyebrow at the multilingual stream of obscenities issuing from the normally good-natured anthropologist. "Take it easy. Let me do it."

"I got it, damn it!" Sandburg scrabbled for a match.

Brown picked one up and handed it to him. "O.K. You got it. I'm not gonna fight you, babe." While Sandburg got the lantern going, Brown shut the stove down, filled a cup and stirred a packet of orange juice powder into it. "Drink this. You need the heat and the energy."

"I need to check your leg first."

"It's fine."

"It's not hurting more than it was?"

"It's better, really. With the drugs and the splint you rigged, I barely feel it."

"You can wiggle your toes O.K.?"

"Like a pro."

"No fever or anything?" Sandburg reached up to lay a hand against Brown's cheek.

Brown braced himself for the icy contact, but Sandburg's hand was warm and dry. Brown gave him a sharp look. "No. No fever. Not me anyhow. Maybe you'd better let me check you out."

Sandburg yanked his hand back, and reached for the cup. "I'm just tired. And cold." He wrapped both hands around the cup and sipped the hot liquid gratefully. "Thanks, man."

"No problem. You ready for something to eat?"

"When I'm warmed up a little. You go ahead."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Brown added a little water to the MRE's heater pack. While it heated, he investigated the rest of the packet. "Mmmm. Jackpot. Got the giant cracker and the fake cheese. Want some?"

Sandburg chuckled. "I'm holding out for the stale pound cake." He drained the cup and curled up on the blankets.

"Hey," Brown said. "Don't fall asleep. You gotta eat something. And we should take a look at your knee."

It was obviously too late. Sandburg had probably been asleep before he hit the ground. Grimacing at the pain it sent through his leg, Brown used his hands to scoot himself across the couple of feet that separated them, and dragged the survival blanket over Sandburg. "Yeah. All right. Sleep. You earned it." Brown closed his eyes and sighed, then raised his head to look heavenward. "Ya know what, Boss? I can understand you being pissed off with me. But the kid here's gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to pick up what you dropped, so I'd think you could cut him some slack, don't you?" A sudden gust of wind slammed the tent. "Yeah... Same to ya," Brown muttered. "Forget I asked." He retrieved his heated meal pack, found the spoon that went with it and for the next few minutes, devoted his entire attention to beef stroganoff, mixed fruit and Skittles.

Chapter 7

As darkness fell around the tent, Sandburg woke and nibbled unenthusiastically at a granola bar. Exhausted as he was, Brown thought the kid would go right back to sleep, but he was restless and irritable, impatient with the delay and with his own increasing weakness and fatigue. Brown feared that the restlessness was indicative of a rising fever. Only a week ago, he'd commented on the absence of Ellison's shadow and Ellison had told him Sandburg was down with a case of the flu. If he was over it, he wasn't long over it. Brown didn't need to be a doctor to see that equation through. The thought of it haunted his dreams, and made the night seem longer than ever.

He woke to the first glow of dawn, as usual. He had an effective, if unpleasant, built-in alarm clock that went off six hours after his last dose of Darvocet. Sandburg was careful to leave anything Brown might need in easy reach, so he was able to take another dose with a swig of water from the bottle Blair had left by his right hand.

In the small tent, it was pretty much impossible for one of them to move without alerting the other. Brown's movements woke Sandburg, who sat up, and immediately succumbed to a bout of coughing so intense that Brown panicked and dragged himself across the distance that separated them, afraid the kid was going to choke to death in front of him.

Sandburg waved him off. "Pack... Left... pocket."

A hasty search turned up a half empty bottle of cough syrup. Brown twisted the cap off and handed it over.

Sandburg gulped it gratefully and then put out a hand for the cap. "Thanks, man. You OK? Is your leg Ok?"

Brown stared at him in disbelief. "I'll say it again, kid. You're a piece of work."

Sandburg raked a bandaged hand through his tangled curls and fumbled in the blankets for the hair tie that had come loose during the night. "I want to get an early start. Can you manage breakfast on your own while I get the sled?"

"We're not going anywhere today," Brown said.

"What are you talking about?" Sandburg shoved the blanket off and managed to get to his knees before he swayed and pressed a wrist to his head. "Whoa."

Brown reached out to grip his arm. "Slow down, hero. Lie back down before you fall over and damage that face that babe-magnet face."

Sandburg swiped a hand over his face. Man... This isn't good... It's O.K. I'll be O.K. in a minute. Just give me a minute."

Brown kept a hand on his arm until he was lying down again. "You're going to need more than a minute this time." He rolled to face Sandburg, wincing as his injured leg protested. "Come on. Get the blankets over you again." He tugged awkwardly at the blankets until Sandburg was covered.

"Quit fussing," Sandburg grumbled. "I'm O.K."

Brown laid a big hand on Sandburg's brow and wasn't surprised to find it burning with fever. "If that's what passes for O.K. in your world, you've had one seriously fucked up life."

Sandburg closed his eyes and threw an arm over his face. "Gimme a break here, would you? Jim usually handles all the big macho front stuff. I'm still trying to get a handle on it."

"You catch on fast."

"Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it."

"Sorry about this."

"Don't even go there, Sandburg." Brown worked his way back to a comfortable position. "So I'm thinking oatmeal. You?"

"I could do oatmeal." Sandburg pushed himself up on his elbows. "Take just a minute to get the stove going."

"Stay put," Brown said. "I got it."

Sandburg didn't argue with him. He just lay back and covered his face with his arm again. Brown found that as worrying as the fever.

Brown got the stove going and started some water heating, then dug out a couple of oatmeal cups and a Ziploc bag of raisins. He wondered if Sandburg had gone back to sleep, but when he turned the stove off, Blair sighed and sat up.

Accepting the cardboard cup Brown offered, Sandburg gave it an extra stir and then looked up in surprise. "Raisins." He flashed Brown a tired smile. "Good call, man. Thanks."

"Anytime."

They ate in silence as a matter of practicality. The oatmeal would cool fast and they both needed the comfort of hot food. When they'd finished, Sandburg looked a little stronger.

"Better already," he said, when he caught Brown watching him worriedly. "Told you I'd be O.K. I just needed some fuel. Fell asleep without eating last night. Not the best idea, in retrospect."

"Yeah, for a college boy, maybe you ain't so bright after all. We're still not going anywhere today."

Sandburg sighed. "Don't fight me on this, H. I told you I'd get you out, and I'm going to get you out."

"Why?"

Blair stared at him. "In case you hadn't noticed, there aren't a lot of orthopedic surgeons in these woods."

"Look, let's just say it, O.K.? This is about that kid. It's about you looking for some kind of cosmic absolution, thinking you owe me for something that... Blair, it just happened. Shit happens. Especially in this job. I'm not trying to make light of what happened then and I'm grateful as hell that you turned up when you did this time. You saved my life. But Jesus, kid, you gotta stop this."

Sandburg wouldn't meet his eyes. "You need a doctor."

"If that ain't the pot callin' the kettle African American! Look, you got the supplies in. You've pretty much carried me off the mountain. We're in a good spot here -- visible, and open enough to land a chopper. You've done what you came for. You've saved my life. Game over. Debt paid. There never was a debt to begin with but if you're so set on believing there was, you've paid it with interest. So it stops here, O.K.?"

Sandburg's jaw jutted in the stubborn look that Brown knew drove Ellison insane. "I'm getting you out of here."

Brown shook his head and gave up. "O.K. Fine. Just not today, all right?"

Sandburg looked back at him for a long time before he nodded. He wasn't happy, but Brown wasn't worried about that. He'd take the kid alive and annoyed over dead any day.

With breakfast over, Sandburg pulled on his parka. Brown fixed him with a harsh stare. "I thought we had an agreement."

Sandburg focused on zipping up the parka. "If we're staying, we need to get a signal fire built in case anyone's flying today." He crawled out of his blanket nest and started on his boots.

Brown watched him, unable to argue with the necessity, but hating it nonetheless. "Help me get outside. I can give you a hand."

"No you can't. It makes no sense for you to sit out there in the wind, waiting while I gather wood. It won't take long."

"Blair..."

"I'm O.K." He unzipped the door and crawled out, then turned to zip it back up. "Just take it easy, man. I'll be back."

Brown fought the urge to unzip the door again, to watch while Sandburg worked. At least then he'd know if the kid pulled another face-plant in the snow. He knew better, though. It would only chill the small amount of warmth the tent retained. He settled for listening, but Sandburg's foraging took him well out of earshot. It was a long hour before Sandburg was back again, fumbling at the zippers on the door. Brown shifted to where he could reach them and unzipped it.

Sandburg crawled in without a word and collapsed onto the blankets. His hood fell back and Brown noted with alarm that he was flushed and fairly dripping with sweat, stray tendrils of his hair sticking to his face where they'd escaped the tie.

"Hey," Brown said, ignoring the pain in his leg to shift himself closer. Sandburg didn't respond, but he didn't protest when Brown unzipped his jacket. Under the jacket, the layers of thermal shirts were damp, the innermost one soaked. "You got dry clothes somewhere?" Brown demanded. "Come on. Talk to me."

Sandburg nodded, coughing. "On the sled."

"Damn it." Brown knew he couldn't make it to the sled and back in less than half an hour, and he sure as hell wasn't sending Sandburg back out. "O.K. Let's just get this stuff off you. Can you get your boots off?"

"Yeah."

"O.K." Brown said, rummaging in the pack for matches. He found them and got the lantern going for heat and then turned back to Sandburg, who hadn't moved in the meantime. "Come on. Help me out here. I can't reach your boots."

Sandburg managed to get the boots off, and didn't put up a fight when Brown stripped off the layers of damp shirts and helped him pull the driest one back on. To Brown's eternal relief, he also crawled under the blankets without a protest.

"Hang for a minute, O.K.?" Brown said. "I need to go and get you some dry clothes."

"No!" Sandburg sat up, dislodging the pile of blankets. "Don't go out there, man. If you twist that leg up getting to the sled, I don't know if I can get you back inside."

Brown pushed him firmly back down and replaced the blankets. "Damn. Why you gotta make so much sense, anyhow? We'll just let these dry. How about some of that cocoa you got stashed away?"

"You go ahead." Sandburg shoved the blankets back. "I just want some water."

"Right." Brown found a water bottle and handed it over. He was a little out of his league here. First Aid training had given him a fair grounding in treating injuries, but he wasn't sure what to do for a fever. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be a good idea for Blair to get chilled, but then, but wouldn't keeping him warmly covered only make the fever worse? He settled on pulling the blankets up and leaving the sleeping bag off. "I don't think you'd better get chilled."

Sandburg snorted. "Not likely. It's too hot to breathe in here."

Brown frowned. Sandburg was still sweating and now that he mentioned it, his breathing did seem wrong -- too fast and shallow, like a man trying to breathe in a sauna.

Sandburg closed his eyes. "H?"

"Still here."

"Maybe you were right about staying here today. I'm not feeling so great, after all."

"Yeah."

"Got a fire started. It'll burn down but the embers will stay."

"Good thinking. You ought to get some sleep."

"I'll be O.K."

Brown lay back on his own blankets, and dragged his sleeping bag over him. "Best spring break you ever had, huh?"

Sandburg chuckled. "Jim was away anyhow. I needed something to do."

Brown stared up at the ceiling of the tent. "What is it with you two anyhow? I never would have pegged you guys to be friends."

"I dunno. I was an only kid. Guess I always wished I'd had a brother."

"And him?"

"I'm his guru. I give him pointers on getting women."

"You know," Brown said, "Talk around the station says he's stopped looking since you showed up."

Sandburg pegged the bottle at him. "Thanks for that image. Now I really feel sick. Hey, did you get your Darvocet?"

"Yeah. Took it while you were out. Seriously, though. There's something weird about you two." Brown shifted to get comfortable and folded his arms behind his head. "Jim was losing it. Guys were dissing him behind his back. Simon was ready to fire his ass. Then you show up. A week later you're living with him and suddenly he's Supercop. Y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"He's just doing me a favor. When my place burned I needed a cheap room fast. He had one he was willing to rent out. The fact that he was going through a rough patch at the time -- coincidence, man. Synchronicity. He gives me cheap rent and lets me ride with him for my dissertation. I help him out on cases when I can. Anthro gives me some insight. A fresh angle on things. I guess maybe that gives him a little edge. Oh yeah. And I do all his paperwork. So, unlike the rest of you poor sods, he's actually got time to investigate crimes."

Brown laughed. "You got a sister?"

"'Fraid not. But if you allow stocking feet on the coffee table, I'm there." Sandburg rolled onto one side and curled up under the blankets, dragging his sleeping bag up over the rest of the blankets. "God, it's getting cold in here. When I get home, I'm going to spend three days in the tub, just soaking."

Brown sat up and rolled his sleeping bag into a bundle. Shifting the best he could, he moved close enough to spread it on top of Sandburg's. "Here. This will help."

"Don't," Sandburg said. He was shivering violently. "You need that."

"I'm warm enough. I got a little more insulation on me than you got on your scrawny ass. I'm getting you something hot. You want cocoa or hot Tang?"

"You shouldn't be moving around so much with that leg."

Brown ignored the protest and got the stove running. It only took a few minutes to get the water hot and stir it into a cup of orange juice powder. Sandburg sat up and took the cup in both hands. Brown shut the stove down. "Better?"

"Thanks, man. It's great. Quit looking at me with those spaniel eyes. I'm O.K."

"Sure you are. You know, you're explaining this one to Ellison. No way you're putting that job off on me."

"Got it covered. I told you. I wrote a note."

When he'd emptied the cup, Sandburg curled up under the blankets again. Brown was relieved to see that he dozed off almost immediately. With nothing else occupying his attention, Brown drifted off himself and woke again when the sun was low in the sky. He turned immediately to check on Sandburg and found him awake and watching him. He wasn't shivering anymore. That had to be a good sign.

How you feeling?" Brown asked. "Up to eating some dinner?"

"Yeah. I'll get it. Sorry about earlier. I don't know what hit me. I just kinda ran out of gas all of a sudden." He shoved the blankets aside and set about tugging layers of clothing back on.

"You sure you're up to it?" The kid looked a little better, but Brown knew from past experience how convincing he could be when he wanted to.

"Yeah. You can't be moving around like you have been with that leg. Consider me back on duty." He set a pan of water on the stove to heat, then poked around in the pack for dinner ingredients, coming up with a pack of Top Ramen noodles, a bag of dehydrated mushrooms, another of mixed vegetables and some unidentified spices. He tossed the spice packet from the Top Ramen aside in favor of his own mix. Faster than Brown would have believed possible, the tent was filled with the smell of home cooking, and Sandburg was pushing a mug into his hands.

Brown gave it an appreciative sniff. "Man, and you thought raisins were impressive. This smells like my mama's kitchen on Thanksgiving morning."

Sandburg grinned at him. "See, that's where Jim misses out. He doesn't trust my cooking. The tiniest bit of algae in it and he acts like I'm trying to poison him. He'll eat triple bacon cheeseburgers three times a week and not think twice about it and I'm the one poisoning him? I mean it's so unfair, man."

"Algae?" Brown stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "You put algae in this?"

"You eat mushrooms, don't you? They're fungi. Algae's no worse. It's good for you. You won't even taste it."

"Sez you," Brown grumbled, but he took a bite anyway. He didn't know whether he tasted algae or not. The pungent mix of spices and vegetables was unlike anything he'd eaten before but it was better than a lot of what he ate back home. Certainly not what he expected to eat, struggling for survival in an icy wilderness. "Damn, Professor, this ain't half bad."

"Told ya." Sandburg flashed him a cocky grin, then doubled over in a fit of coughing and fumbled in the pack for the bottle of cough syrup. Brown couldn't help noticing that the level in the bottle was getting low. He hoped Sandburg had another bottle stashed away, but he hadn't seen one.

Sandburg shifted back to his own blankets, and bundled his jacket up as a pillow so he could sit up comfortably.

Brown frowned at him. "You not having any?"

Sandburg studied the texture of the blanket he was pulling over him. "I ate while you were asleep."

"Bullshit, man. That's bullshit. You'd have had to climb over me to get to the pack. Look if our supplies are running low..."

"The supplies aren't running low! Leave it be, will you?"

Brown continued to stare at him.

"All right!" Sandburg said. "I had the flu a couple of weeks ago. I haven't had much appetite since, O.K.? It's nothing to freak out over. You got enough blankets?"

"I'm golden."

"If this snow were just a little denser. I spent a couple of weeks once with an Inuit family. The father taught me how to build a snow shelter. It's amazing how warm it stays in one of those things." Sandburg wrapped his arms around his ribs, rocking slightly as if the motion could warm him.

"If I were an educated man, " Brown said, "I might consider getting under the blankets instead of sitting on top of them."

Sandburg couldn't help laughing at that. He crawled back into his nest of blankets, which almost immediately began vibrating visibly.

Brown's dark eyes narrowed in concern, but there was no point in commenting. There wasn't much he could do for him in any case. He finished his dinner and lay back.

"It's not much farther," Sandburg said. "If we get an early start in the morning..."

"Shit, man! You're not serious?"

Blair's head popped up from his pile of blankets. "You wanted to stay here today. We stayed here today. We can't afford to lose another day. You need..."

"Hell with what I need! You can barely sit up straight. You're coughing like a six pack a day smoker. Sweating one minute, shivering the next. Read the graffiti on the wall, babe. You want to kill yourself, you do it on Ellison's watch, not mine, `cause I'm tellin' you right now, you want me on that sled in the morning, you're gonna have to pick me up and carry me to it. You got that, homeboy? I've already killed one kid this year. Be damned if I'm gonna kill another one."

Blair's eyes went wide and Brown heard the air rush from his lungs as if he'd been kicked in the gut.

Too late, Brown realized what he'd done. "Oh, Jesus. I didn't mean..."

Sandburg shook his head fiercely. "Don't. Don't apologize. Whatever the hell you do, do not apologize to me." He burrowed back into his sleeping bag.

"Blair..."

"I'm just tired, H. Eat your dinner."

Brown sighed. "Yeah, all right. You get some sleep then."

There was a brief silence, as though Sandburg were considering whether to respond, and then he rolled over and curled up with his back to Brown. Brown couldn't be sure whether the kid was just getting comfortable, or shutting him out. Either way, leaving him alone for the moment seemed like the best plan. Brown finished his dinner, set the bowl aside, and before long, dozed off himself.

Chapter 8

Jim Ellison went over the maps one more time, marking the Forest Service roads that intersected trailheads along Brown's flight path. They'd put out an APB on the Land Rover Sandburg had rented, but Ellison doubted it would get them anything. Sandburg wouldn't be on the road now. He'd be way to hell and gone up some mountain trail. Or more likely, lying frozen to death on one. Ellison tried not to let that image in, but his specials ops training kept one corner of his brain relentlessly analyzing the most likely scenarios, whether he wanted it to or not.

"Jim."

Ellison looked up from the maps at the sound of Banks' voice.

"We may have something. A Forest Service fixed-wing picked up something odd. It may not be connected with H or Blair at all."

"What is it?" Ellison broke in impatiently.

"They're not sure. Some kind of broad track, like a sled or a snowboard. Has to have been made since the last snowfall. They couldn't get low enough to get a good look, but they got a GPS reading. It's inside our grid."

"How soon can we get a chopper?"

"Not tonight. At least, not into that area."

"Damn it!" Ellison slammed a hand down on the map table. "Every night they're out there..."

"I know." Banks held up a hand to calm him. "I want you down at the staging area tonight. They'll send a chopper out at first light and we both know your eyes are our best shot at finding them if they're out there." He paused. "We don't know what left that track, Jim. We don't even know that it is a track. It may be nothing."

"You going or staying."

"Going."

"Then shut up and move. We're wasting time. Sir."

Chapter 9

"H? Wake up. I gotta talk to you."

The distress in Sandburg's voice made Brown sit up instantly, but in the pitch darkness he was essentially blind. "Blair? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry."

Was the kid actually crying? If he wasn't, he wasn't far from it. Brown felt around for the flashlight and turned it on, leaving it on the floor of the tent to provide a diffuse light. Then he shifted carefully to where he could reach Sandburg. "You O.K.?"

"I screwed up, man. I screwed up so bad. I should have listened to you and I didn't and... Oh God! I never meant for any of that to happen. It was a mistake." His eyes were wide and shining with unshed tears.

"Hey. Easy, Professor. You O.K.?" Brown laid the back of his fingers against Sandburg's stubbled cheek and frowned. The kid was still way too hot. He probably didn't even know where he was.

"H, man... I never meant for anyone to die. I never meant to screw up your life. And now I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how... I need to make it right, but you can't just fix death. God! I'm so sorry, and I need you to forgive me but I know you can't. I can't ask you to, but, God, I need you to forgive me..."

Sure, it was the fever talking, but it was only removing a few inhibitions. Sandburg had to have been carrying this around all this time, a bleeding wound hidden from even his closest friends. Brown sighed. Ellison would know exactly how to handle it. Brown didn't have a clue, but he'd have to try. "Listen to me for a minute, bro. You got one bad-ass fever going, and it's messing with your head, O.K.? That's all this is. You gotta let it go." He used the flashlight to track down the small hand towel they'd been using for a potholder and soaked the towel with water from one of the water bottles.

"I can't let it go, man. It was my fault. I screwed up. You told me to stay put."

"Chill, Professor. You got nothing to apologize for. You're just not thinking straight right now. That's all." Brown folded the towel up and awkwardly blotted Blair's brow with it. "I'm not exactly Florence Nightingale, but maybe this will help."

"Tell me what to do," Sandburg pleaded. "I need to make it right and I don't know what to do."

"O.K. All right." Brown shook out the towel and waved it in the chilly air to cool it before going back to his awkward ministrations. "You need me to say I forgive you? O.K. I forgive you. I forgive you for everything. Even the time you and Rafe spiked the watermelon at my Fourth of July barbeque and Simon's kid got into it. O.K.? Now give it a rest. We're cool. Just go back to sleep."

Sandburg drew a long, shaky breath. "Thanks, man. Really."

"Sleep." Brown shook his head. They had to get out of this mess soon. He was too tired to go on playing "What Would Ellison Do?" for much longer.

Sunlight. The first clear light Brown had seen since he'd crashed. It filtered through the fabric of the tent and trailed a faint warmth over his face. He sat up and turned to where Sandburg was still dead to the world, and his momentary pleasure at the warmth gave way to fear. The kid seemed somehow too quiet. Too peaceful.

"Blair?" He scooted over the best he could to reach him. "You O.K., bro?" He put a hand out toward him, then drew it back. Finally he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out again, laying his fingers against Sandburg's face. "Oh God. Oh sweet Jesus." He collapsed back onto his blankets. "Oh man, don't scare me like that." It did occur to him briefly that the raging fever he felt burning in Sandburg's body really wasn't cause for the hysterical relief he was feeling, but at the moment it was all his mind had room for.

"H?" Apparently Brown's touch had wakened him.

"Yeah?"

Sandburg coughed a couple of times, and shifted in his sleeping bag. "Is Jim here? I thought I heard Jim."

Brown sat up and rested a hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "Naw, kid. Sorry. It's just me."

Sandburg sighed. "Yeah. I didn't think it made sense, but..."

"I know. I wish he were here too. Him and Rafe both. And Simon. God help me. Never thought I'd say it, but I miss the ol' dog."

"Him and his damn cigars."

"Yeah. But look! We got some sun today. How `bout that?"

Sandburg's smile was weak, but definitely there. "'S good. Sun's good." He closed his eyes. "H?"

"Hm?"

"I'm not sure I can do this, man."

Brown gave him a sharp look. "What you talking' about?"

Sandburg's brow furrowed as he clenched his eyes more tightly shut. "World won't stop spinnin'. Feels like I'm fallin' off it every time I move."

Brown forced a reassuring chuckle. "Well, then, don't move, Professor."

"I gotta get up. Gotta get the sled loaded. We're so close, man. We're so close. I just... I'm so damn tired."

"You're sick, is what you are." Brown tracked down a water bottle and twisted the cap off. "And you're not going anywhere. Think you can get some of this down? I think it'll help stop that spinning."

To his relief, Sandburg managed most of what was left in the bottle, and half of the heavily sweetened oatmeal cup Brown mixed up for him afterward, but there was no doubt he'd finally crashed, and crashed hard. He wouldn't be moving again anytime soon, unless it was on a stretcher. Brown took advantage of his immobility to clean and rebandage his abused hands and the gash on his knee. Then he unzipped the door of the tent to get a look at the blue sky and the crystalline glitter of sun on snow. Despite the chill, he couldn't resist leaving it that way, soaking up the sunlight, while Sandburg slept. More than an hour later, he turned from it reluctantly when he heard Sandburg stir behind him.

"H? `S cold, man. You O.K.?"

"Yeah." Brown zipped the door shut and slid back beside him. It was cold. He'd stopped noticing. "How you doin'?" He touched the backs of his fingers briefly to Sandburg's brow. "You're still pretty warm." `On fire' would have been more accurate, but he just wanted to keep the kid down, not scare the hell out of him.

"We should go," Sandburg said. "Maybe we can make it to the road. It's not that far."

"I don't think so, bro."

Sandburg sat up halfway, propping himself up with his elbows. He didn't need any encouragement from H to lie back down again immediately, but he thumped his head on the blankets once in frustration. "I'm sorry."

Brown reached over and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. "Don't be doin' that to yourself. I'd be a frozen corpse up on that mountain if you hadn't come after me. That you even found me is almost enough to turn me into a churchgoing man. Y'know what I'm sayin'? You got the hard part done for `em. Now all we gotta do is wait for that psychic connection you and Ellison have to kick in and we're home free."

"I guess the psychic rumor's better than the other."

"Hey, I'm not dissin' it, man. You and Ellison -- what you got? That's once in a lifetime. Hell, Rafe and I are worse than an old married couple, and Jim's had partners before. He'd have gone to the wall for any one of them, just like I would for Rafe. But, man... I saw you dead. I saw you stone cold dead. And I swear to God, I stood there and I watched Jim Ellison throw himself clear out of this world and into the next, and haul you back out with him. I mean, Christ Almighty. What kind of friendship... What kind of love makes a man do that? Whatever's between you two, you hang on to it, and don't let anyone mess with it, `cause you're never going to see anything like it again."

"Yeah," Sandburg said softly, without opening his eyes.

Brown shrugged. "You can tell me I'm full of shit if you want to. You wouldn't be the first."

Sandburg chuckled but didn't speak.

Brown looked down at him for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing with concern. "You think you can take a little more water? Yeah? Good. Here... take it slow or I'll end up dumping it all over you. I told you I'm not real good at this Florence Nightingale stuff."

"You got the wrong hat, man," Sandburg mumbled, and closed his eyes again.

Brown shook his head. "If you're still up to giving me shit, I guess you're gonna make it." He left the cap off the water bottle long enough to swallow a couple of Darvocet tablets, then set it aside and lay back on his own blankets. He didn't realize he'd dozed off until a persistent dull thumping noise startled him awake.

Brown raised his head. "Chopper. That's a chopper. Blair! Listen! A chopper!"

Sandburg didn't move. Brown levered himself upright, and reached across to shake him awake. "Blair! Wake up! We gotta get the fire smoking." Sandburg stirred weakly in response but it was clear he wasn't firing on all cylinders yet. "Damn it!" Brown used his hands to push himself toward the door of the tent. The fire that blazed through his leg wrenched a cry from him, but he kept at it, shouting all the way. "Sandburg! Come on. Wake up, kid! Blair! Chopper!"

His shouting finally roused Sandburg, who managed to roll to one side and crawl to the door, where he collapsed again, coughing and gasping for breath. The helicopter passed overhead again, and the sound was enough to drive Sandburg partially upright again. This time he made it to his knees and crawled toward the signal fire, but his pace was agonizingly slow. Brown made a herculean effort to drag himself in the same direction. His leg hurt like a son of a bitch and slowed him down, but he knew he was in better shape than his rescuer. Sandburg made it to the fire first. He tossed on a handful of pine needles, stirred the embers into a smoky blaze, and then toppled over to lie motionless in the snow beside it.

Brown scanned the sky. They had to have seen the smoke. He held his breath as the steady thumping of the choppers blades grew louder. It was coming in low and slow. On the first pass, Brown could make out someone in the left seat leaning out to assess the situation. Brown waved wildly, and the helmeted figure raised a hand in response. The chopper circled once more and then settled to the ground at the far edge of the clearing.

Brown wasn't the least bit surprised to see Jim Ellison leading the pack as the rescuers approached. Their eyes met in silent understanding. Sandburg was still lying in the snow beside the fire. Brown couldn't tell whether he was conscious or not. One of the two men flanking Ellison came immediately to Brown's side, but Brown barely heard the questions being fired at him. His attention was riveted on the scene playing out by the fire as Ellison dropped to his knees beside Sandburg.

Sandburg must have been conscious after all, because he raised one hand and reached for his partner. Ellison caught the searching hand like a lifeline and it was as though something in the big man had broken as he clutched Sandburg fiercely against his shoulder and grated out, "I am so pissed at you, Sandburg. I'm so god damned pissed at you."

Brown turned away. Smoke from the signal fire was making his eyes sting. Wouldn't do for anyone to get the wrong idea.

Chapter 10

"Thought I'd find you here."

Jim Ellison looked up from the chair beside the bed. "H?"

"Already awake in recovery," Simon Banks said. "Took less than half the time they expected. The doctors say Sandburg did a hell of a job stabilizing it. Probably saved Brown months of rehab." He glanced toward the bed. "How's he doing?"

Ellison shook his head. "I don't know."

Banks frowned at him. "They haven't told you anything?"

"The doc says he's doing better."

"But?"

Ellison left his chair and went to lean on the rail of the bed. "He's so quiet."

"And this is a problem, why?" Banks teased.

Ellison's quick glance told him he appreciated the effort, but the effort failed nonetheless. "You didn't see him out there. When we found them, he just..." He scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. "I should have been there. Somehow. I should have..." His hands clenched on the rails. "Damn it, what the hell was he thinking? Of all the god damn stupid stunts!" He turned suddenly and was out the door before Banks could react.

Banks sighed, and looked down on the sleeping man for a moment, then reached down to adjust the edge of the blanket before following Ellison into the corridor.

He found Ellison standing with one arm braced against the wall, radiating the sort of tension that Banks knew from long experience warranted a cautious approach. He came up behind him, but he was careful not to stand too close. "Jim?"

Ellison spun to face him with murder in his eyes.

Banks backed off with both hands raised. "Whoa. Don't shoot me. I'm not the one you're mad at."

"Yeah, well you want to tell me who the hell I am mad at? Because I sure as hell can't seem to figure it out myself!"

Simon chuckled. "You ever stop and think maybe it's because that feeling you're butting heads with isn't anger?"

Ellison stared at him. "Damn it, Simon...!"

"Hey, I'm just saying." Banks laid a hand on his shoulder briefly. "Why don't you go on back and sit with your partner. I'm going to go upstairs and see how Brown's doing."

"Simon," Ellison called after him.

Banks glanced back over his shoulder.

"Look, uh... tell H..."

"I will."

"And keep me posted. I'll be up later. I just gotta..." He gestured toward the room.

"I know."

Ellison's rigid stance relaxed marginally. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Get outta here."

Ellison returned to his seat beside Blair and laced one arm through the rail so that he could rest his fingers on the back of his friend's hand. When that hand twitched under his, he looked up hopefully and found himself facing a pair of amused blue eyes.

"Jim. Buddy. You're holding my hand. People are gonna talk."

Ellison grinned and pulled his hand back. "Got news for ya. They already do. I had to come up with some excuse for the three-year ride-along. How you feeling?"

Sandburg closed his eyes. "Lemme get back to you on that." He sighed and seemed to be drifting off, and then his eyes snapped open and he struggled upright "H! H was with me! I gotta go back! I gotta show you where..."

"Easy! Easy, buddy." Ellison caught his shoulders and held him still. "You did good. You got him out. He's right upstairs."

"He's O.K.?"

"He's O.K." He felt Sandburg relax and released him. "He's better than you are, right now. They had to put him under, to set his leg, so they're keeping him for a couple of days, but he'll be fine."

Sandburg closed his eyes. "You still pissed at me?" he murmured, so softly that Ellison almost missed it.

"Yeah," Ellison said, realizing Sandburg was already out again. He closed his hand tightly around Sandburg's fingers and reached across with his free hand to brush at a stray curl. "Pissed as hell, kid."

Chapter 11

Two days later, Ellison returned to his job. On the third day, Henri Brown was released with a set of crutches, a hovering partner and a firm determination to return to light duty next week if he had to forge a doctor's note to do it. And on the fourth day, Sandburg woke feeling like shit. Again.

He was getting seriously tired of it. Or maybe he was just seriously tired. He shifted on the bed that had seemed so luxuriously soft a few days ago, but now felt like the proverbial bed of nails. His right knee throbbed, and his hands felt as if someone had dumped a handful of glass shards into each before bandaging them. That was just plain unfair. He was supposed to be getting better, not worse, and he was sure that neither of those injuries had been anything more than a vague irritation on the mountain. Sure, he could stay awake longer than he could a couple of days ago. Big deal. At least when he was asleep he couldn't hear his muscles screaming at him. When he was asleep he wasn't wearing his ribs out trying to suck air through molasses. He thought about pushing the call button that hung beside him, but then he realized he didn't have a clue what to ask for. Yeah. This is Blair Sandburg. I'm having a pity party in 213, and I thought I'd invite a few nurses. No thanks.

Sandburg sighed and thumped his head a couple of times on the pillow in a futile attempt to mash the pillow into something a little less like a rock. Apparently he succeeded, because the sound it made was more of a crinkle than a thud. Puzzled, he shifted around to look at it and found a sealed envelope, just visible under the edge of the pillow. He pulled it out, and turned it over. Jim's handwriting. Jim had been here and left without speaking to him. Sandburg's memories of his rescue and the immediate aftermath were muddled, but somewhere in there was a memory of Jim saying he was pissed as hell.

Sandburg had known when he'd made the decision to go after Brown that it wasn't a decision Ellison would understand or forgive him for anytime soon, but it had been the only decision he could make. He'd do it all over again if he had to, but he knew Ellison. When Ellison was pissed, he shoved. When he was scared, he shoved. Or he ran. One or the other. Well, Sandburg had been shoved before. He'd been run out on before. He'd been abandoned more times than he could count. He'd land on his feet. He always did. Experience had taught him that it was best to just grab the arrow and yank, so he opened the envelope quickly and drew out a folded sheet of Jim's favorite faux parchment paper. The faint, familiar scent rising from it brought a lump to his throat. It smelled like home. Sandburg took drew one deep breath, let it out, and began to read.

Blair,

I guess by now you know I'm a coward. Yeah. Big, bad Jim Ellison. Scared shitless by deep water. Any kind of deep water. You know how I deal with it? I pretend it's not as deep as it is. I float on the surface and I tell myself that's all there is. It's ridiculous, really, because the depth is still there, and I know it's there. But it scares the shit out of me to think about it, so I pretend it's not.

I went to your office looking for you last week, because I didn't know where you were and that scared me. That always scares me. I never told you that before, but I'm telling you now. When I don't know where you are, anything could happen to you and I might not get there in time, and that scares me. I guess I've been too late too many times. Fear based responses. Just like you've always said. You're right, you know. You're right about a lot of things.

Anyway, I found the letter, and I needed to know where you were, so I read it. I wish I had the courage to sit down face to face with you and talk about it but, like I said, I'm a coward. So I'll write this, and leave it where you'll find it, and then we can both pretend again, about the water, but it won't matter because we'll both know it's deep as hell, no matter what we pretend, right?

The thing is, Chief, no one much liked the guy I was before I met you. I didn't think much of the bastard myself, truth be told. And then I met you and -- and what? I don't know. All I can say is that I'm a better man for knowing you. You're the family I always wanted. The brother my own brother could never be.

I don't have your flair for words, so I don't know how to say what needs to be said here. I just don't want to be too late again. I know where you are now. But in a few days, you'll be back out in the world again, and then I won't always know where you are. I don't want you out there not knowing what you mean to me. Not knowing how humbled, how honored I am by your friendship and how much I depend on just knowing you're there, even when I tell you to leave me the hell alone. I don't know what I'd do if you ever took me up on that one. Fear's a damned stupid thing isn't it? It's a good thing one of us can swim.

J

Chapter 12

"So I say, `What the hell are you doing here?' And he says... he says..." Henri Brown was on his fifth pint and laughing too hard to get the words out. "He says, `Rescuing you, man,' like it's the most ridiculous question he's ever heard in his life. And I'm thinkin', that's it. I'm dead, `cause there's no way in hell Ellison's gonna let me live after this." He paused to drink deeply from his pint and then raised his glass. "Seriously, though. A toast. To Blair Sandburg, once brilliant scholar, who has, with this one act of courageous stupidity, earned his place in the All Balls, No Brain Club with the rest of us idiots."

A ragged cheer mingled with the clinking of glasses. Jim Ellison, sitting with one arm resting across the back of Sandburg's chair, felt his friend lean into him slightly, and looked down in concern. "Tired?" Ellison had opposed this gathering so soon after Sandburg's release from the hospital, but the others had been determined to do it and he couldn't fight the tide.

Sandburg looked up at him with a slightly goofy grin. He'd barely started on his third pint but it didn't take much to put him under the table at the best of times. "Nah. I'm good. Hey, your beer looks weird. It's all, kinda... you know. Weird."

Ellison grinned and sipped his Coke. "I'm driving. Remember?"

"Aw." Sandburg blinked up at him sorrowfully. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that, Jim. Geez. I forgot. You gotta be the desecrated driver. Desiccated..." He chuckled and gave up. "I think I'm a little drunk."

"I think you're a lot drunk, Chief. Don't worry about it. That's why you got a desiccated driver."

Sandburg stared at him, then burst out laughing. "Oh, man. That's funny! Desiccated driver! Hey, Simon! Did you hear that? Jim says he's the desiccated driver!"

Banks chuckled tolerantly. "Yeah, that Jim Ellison. He's a real card." He drained his glass and pushed his chair back. "I hate to be a wet blanket, but it's been a long couple of weeks and I've got an early meeting."

Ellison stood and gave Sandburg's shoulder a quick squeeze. "I think we'll head out too. What do you say, Chief?"

Sandburg shrugged and shoved his chair back. "Whatever, man. You're the desiccated driver." He made a brief but determined effort to keep a straight face before he choked and dissolved into laughter again. He overbalanced in the process, tangling with the chair in his attempt to get clear.

Ellison caught him by one arm and hauled him upright. "Easy, buddy. Let's try to make it out of here in one piece, huh?"

Sandburg shrugged off the support. "I got it. I'm good. Night guys."

Banks walked with them as far as the parking lot and then left them, laying a hand briefly on Sandburg's shoulder in parting. Ellison loaded his partner into the truck and made him buckle up, then went around to take the wheel. Sandburg was already half asleep, worn out by the extra activity as much as sedated by the alcohol. Ellison let him doze until he pulled into their usual parking spot at home. Sandburg stirred and yawned as soon as Ellison cut the engine.

"Hold on," Ellison said. "I'll get your door." He wasn't sure how steady Sandburg would be, between the alcohol and the nap.

"I got it. Did someone take H home?"

"Rafe's got him."

"That was s'posta be my job."

Ellison put a hand on his back, guiding him inside. "No it wasn't. I drove because you were likely to be drinking, remember?"

"I know that, Jim."

"Then what...? Never mind. Here's the elevator."

They rode up in silence. Sandburg leaned against the back wall of the elevator, practically asleep on his feet.

Ellison shook his head. Sometimes his partner looked closer to seventeen than twenty-seven. "Gonna make it, Chief?"

"Not with you, man. You're not my type."

"TMI, buddy. Come on. You're going to have to move your feet a little. I'm not carrying you."

"Got it covered, big guy. You just drive."

Chuckling, Ellison planted a hand between his shoulder blades and steered him toward the apartment. Sandburg rarely drank at all and almost never to inebriation, but they both knew that when he did, balance and direction were the first casualties.

The one compromise Ellison had managed to negotiate was to start the celebration immediately after work, so it was still early. Having seen Sandburg safely to his room, he grabbed a Harp's from the fridge and returned to the living room. He surfed through the channels until he found Lethal Weapon II, but he couldn't seem to settle and even the incomparable Gibson-Glover partnership didn't hold his attention. He hardly noticed when the credits began to roll. Finally he left the sofa, grabbed another beer and retreated to the balcony. The storms had moved on, leaving the air cool and clear. Ellison leaned on the railing and let his gaze roam over the city, trying to lose himself in the vista. He heard Sandburg shift in bed, coughing, and listened until he heard him settle back again. Sandburg wouldn't thank him for the intrusion if he knew. They had a longstanding, if unspoken, privacy pact. Ellison hadn't been playing by the rules lately. He sighed and took a long pull from his beer. Too tired to be happy standing, and too restless to go back inside, he dropped into a chair and settled his feet on the rail. He was still there, cradling the empty beer bottle, two hours later when his roommate came out to join him.

Ellison looked up in concern. "What are you doing up? You O.K.?"

Sandburg nodded. "Yeah. Kinda wondered if you were. Haven't you gone to bed yet?"

"I guess the party got me wired." Ellison grinned. "You got a little more than wired."

Sandburg shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, I'd figured on stopping before it got to that point." He dropped into the chair beside Ellison's. "So, you gonna tell me what's on your mind? Come on. It's like two in the morning here and I'm probably still drunk. When are you going to find a better opportunity?"

"I don't know."

"That was a rhetorical question, Jim."

"I know. I meant... I don't know what it is. Leave it be, will you?"

"It's about me, isn't it? You're still pissed at me." He was probably right about still being drunk. Drunk enough for honesty, anyway.

Ellison flashed him a quick, startled look. "Didn't you get...?"

"I got it. I get it. Doesn't mean you can't be pissed at me. Hell, I'm pissed at you three times a week. Doesn't mean I don't... well... you know."

"I know. I don't think I really did, before. I mean, I did, but..." He gave up and shook his head.

Sandburg chuckled. "You do know how scary it is that I understood that? He leaned forward a little, bracing his elbows on his knees and looking out over the city.

Ellison slid down in his chair and closed his eyes, listening to his friend's slow, easy breathing.

"Jim?"

"Hm?" Ellison said without moving.

"Remember when you did that undercover gig in the prison?"

Ellison sat up. "I'm not that old, Sandburg."

Sandburg kept his gaze locked on the horizon. "I was totally pissed at you for like a week. After I got over being pissed at Simon."

Ellison stared at him. "What? Why?"

"Well, see, that's the thing." Blair turned his head to meet Ellison's gaze. "I really wasn't. I just thought I was. It was easier than being scared out of my mind by the thought of what could have happened to you. So... I totally get it, man. You want to be pissed at me, I'm down with that. I just thought you ought to know."

He stood and turned away, laying a hand on Ellison's shoulder in passing as he headed back inside, leaving Ellison staring after him and wondering just when it was that Sandburg had become the adult in this partnership.

Chapter 13

Thursday morning dawned without mercy. At exactly twenty minutes to eight, Jim Ellison took a deep breath, braced himself for a fight, and gave the shapeless lump in front of him a nudge. "Blair."

The lump shifted a little, and Sandburg's muffled voice came from under the pillows. "G'way. mSLEEP'n."

"I just need you awake for a minute. You can go back to sleep afterward."

Anyone else might have mistaken the long low sound that issued from under the pillows for a groan. Ellison knew better. "Quit your growling. Roll over. I need to talk to you."

Silence.

"I'm not leaving until you come out."

Sandburg sighed deeply and emerged from under the pillow to glare at him. "What?"

"I'm going in to work..."

"And I care...why?"

Ellison held out the pills and juice he'd brought with him. "After last night, I just wanted to make sure you didn't sleep straight through and skip your meds. Come on. Sit up and take this, and I'll let you go back to sleep."

Sandburg grumbled but he sat up, grimacing as he swallowed the antibiotics with a mouthful of juice.

"Drink the rest of it," Ellison ordered.

"You got your cell?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Get Simon on the line will you?"

Ellison frowned. "What for?"

"I want to report an attempted murder."

Ellison snorted. "Yeah, you keep it up and it'll be more than attempted. Go on. Finish it."

Sandburg emptied the glass and handed it back.

"All right," Ellison said, "I'm out of here. Don't worry about dinner. I'll bring something home."

"Right," Sandburg mumbled, already burrowing back under the covers.

Ellison paused at the door. "Sandburg?"

"What?"

"What you said last night... about being pissed at me sometimes but... you know."

"Yeah."

"Well... Me too."

end

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Saoirse

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]