WHERE WE LOVE

Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. -- Oliver Wendall Holmes

PROLOGUE

"Would you lay off the damn dials, already! I'm trying to work here!"

Every head in the bullpen came up, and Blair Sandburg stared in shock at his partner. Ellison's words would mean nothing to the others but even the vague reference was dangerous.

Ellison closed his eyes briefly as he realized the enormity of the slip. "Just... Not now, OK?"

Sandburg shook his head, stung by the unwarranted attack and not quite ready to forgive him. "Whatever, man."

"Blair," Henri Brown called across the room. "You got a minute? I can't get this file to print."

"Sure." Sandburg left Ellison's desk and perched on the corner of Brown's. "Uh, clicking on PRINT might be a good start." He reached across and clicked the button.

"Yeah," Brown said. "Look, don't take Ellison's crap personally. Gionetti walked on a technicality. You're just a convenient target."

"Aw man. He put everything into that case."

"Yeah. Well, some days you get the bear..."

"Some days the bear gets you," Sandburg finished. "I know, but..." He stopped, well aware that his partner was listening in. "He didn't need that right now, is all. I gotta go, but thanks for... you know."

"Just your props, bro."

Sandburg flashed him a quick grin and then returned to Ellison's desk. "I'll see you at home."

Ellison looked up from the file he was taking notes on. "Yeah. Ok. Want me to bring Chinese?" It was as close as Ellison was likely to come to an apology.

"That's OK. I thought I'd cook. I need a break from the books."

"Right," Ellison said, and went back to taking notes.

Sandburg left him to it and headed home. It was going to be a long night. He had sixty exams to grade, and a source he had to return to the library in the morning that he'd hardly had time to get into. If he had to cook dinner, and make time to eat with Jim instead of getting straight to work, he'd be lucky to squeeze in a couple of hours' sleep. Ellison was so going to owe him for this.

SPRING

Fog. Who the hell had ordered fog? It was bad enough in the city, but out here on these godforsaken back roads Blair had insisted on dragging him down, it was flat-out treacherous. Even a sentinel couldn't see through a wall. Ellison risked a glance at his companion, who was leaning forward as far as his seatbelt would allow, peering into the fog as if he thought it would help Ellison see better.

"Sit back," Ellison said. "You're not helping and I don't want your head anywhere near the dash, just in case."

Sandburg sat back without a word. Christ, but the kid was touchy these days, walking around on eggshells, like he expected Ellison to blow up in his face at any moment. It was annoying as hell. Ellison forced back his irritation and tried to focus on the road in front of him. First town they came to, Ellison intended to stop and wait out the fog, but they hadn't seen one in two hours and it took all his focus just to stay on the road, let alone look for exits. He was pretty sure this wasn't what Simon had in mind when he'd ordered him to take some down time.

Even with all of his senses focused, Ellison never saw it coming. One second he was driving on what he was pretty sure was a clear road and the next his chest was slamming into the seatbelt and his right arm was flying out in an instinctive attempt to protect his passenger.

"What the hell...?" Sandburg wheezed.

"I don't know," Ellison said. "I didn't see a thing. You okay?"

"Other than my sternum being where my spine should be? Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. Stay put. I want to see what we hit." Ellison unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the truck. He still saw nothing to account for their abrupt halt. He walked around the truck, peering under it from the front and both sides. Nothing. If he'd hit an animal he'd be smelling blood, or seeing some sign of it on the grill. He wasn't. Nor was there any of the damage he'd expect if he'd collided with another vehicle. Puzzled, he turned to walk along the road a little, looking for tracks, either animal or vehicle that might explain things. Predictably, Blair appeared at his side, still looking a little worried.

"What was it?"

"I thought I told you to stay in the truck. I don't know. There's nothing here. And the truck looks fine. It's like we just ran into a wall of air or something."

"Maybe a deer bounced off the hood and took off?"

"Maybe. There's no blood, though, so if it was a deer it couldn't have been hit hard. Not hard enough to stop us like that."

"Yeah. Man, this fog is weird. It's like a solid wall."

Ellison nodded. "All right, the truck looked okay, so let's just get back in and get out of here. We'll pull off in the first town we come to. I don't want to drive in this stuff any longer than I have to."

"I'm down with that." Sandburg turned back toward the truck. And froze. "Jim?"

"Yeah." Ellison turned to join him.

"Where is it?" Sandburg's voice was edging into the panic range. "Jim, where's the truck?"

"Relax," Ellison said, despite the primal fear stirring in his gut. "We just can't see it in the fog. That's all. Come on. Just stay on the road."

"You can smell it, right? The engine's still hot, so you can smell it."

That was it. The thing that was making the back of his neck prickle. He couldn't smell it. Nor could he hear the little cooling down engine noises. "My senses are a little screwy," he admitted. "But we can't be more than a hundred yards from it. Come on." He parked a hand in the middle of Sandburg's back and nudged him forward, but one step later they both stopped short.

"Where's the road?" Sandburg looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. "How'd we get off the road?"

This time Ellison didn't have a pat answer. There was no sign of the pavement they'd been traveling on. He tried to tell himself they'd just stepped off the edge of it but he knew for a fact he'd walked straight down the road for no more than a hundred yards, with the pavement solid under his feet. Then they'd turned around and taken only a couple of steps straight back the way they'd come. There was no way they could have ended up on a dirt track with no pavement in sight. And yet, here they were. "We probably took a wrong turn in the fog and ended up on some Forest Service road. The pavement probably ended a few feet back. We know where we came from, so we're good."

He started back the way they'd come. Sandburg stayed close enough to touch, but it didn't really matter. The way his heart was pounding, Ellison could have tracked him from three miles away. Ten minutes walking took them farther back than they'd walked from the truck. They backtracked again, this time crossing back and forth over the dirt track, in the hope of finding the spot where they'd left the pavement. It brought them back to where their tracks ended. Ellison stopped there, and stood chewing on his lower lip and considering his next move.

"This is just too weird," Sandburg said.

"It's the fog," Ellison said. "We just got disoriented."

"So what now? We keep wandering around like this, who knows where we'll end up by morning?" Sandburg tugged his wool jacket closer and folded his arms across his chest.

"You're right," Ellison said, having reached the same conclusion moments before. Logic told him they couldn't be more than fifty feet from the road, but his eyes insisted there was nothing but the rough dirt track they were standing on. And they hadn't exactly stepped out of the truck equipped for a camp-out. The fog clung to him in clammy tendrils, making his skin crawl. Beside him, Sandburg had begun to shiver. "It's not exactly sleeping under the stars weather. If we don't get back to the truck we'll have to sit it out under a tree."

"Yeah," Sandburg grumbled. "Cold and damp just seems to be my lot in life. Why couldn't I have found a sentinel in Arizona?" He shrugged. "I don't know what else to do though. If you can't locate the truck with your senses, it's not there to be located. I'm not even sure..." He stopped.

"Not sure what?" Ellison prompted.

"Nothing, man." Sandburg shook his head. "It's... nothing."

Ellison frowned down at him. "If you've got an idea, speak up. It's not like my ideas are getting us anywhere."

"What if... I mean, it's a truck, right? How the hell can you lose a truck and a road? What if we didn't really lose them? What if we're still back there?"

"I think this fog is getting into your brain, Chief, because that doesn't even come close to making sense."

"We hit something. What if... You know, when I died at the fountain, I didn't know I was dead. I didn't feel dead. I was just... somewhere else. I couldn't find the way back."

"So-- what? You're saying we're dead? We're not dead, Sandburg. We're just lost. We'll take one more shot at finding the truck. If we don't find it, we'll just stay put until daylight. It won't be a lot of fun, but as soon as it's light enough to get a better look around, we'll find the truck, drive to the nearest town and get a hot shower."

"Hot shower sounds like heaven about now."

"Closest you're gonna get to heaven for a long time," Ellison said, turning his attention back to the search.

It proved as fruitless as the last effort, even with Sandburg grounding him and coaching him through some exercises to extend his senses. In the end they had to admit defeat and take what shelter they could find in a clump of trees just off the track. At least the ground there was fairly dry and, with a boulder to lean on, it wasn't as bad as it might have been. They had no way to build a fire. Ellison's Chopec fire-bow skills were far too rusty. He gave it a try anyway, and it wasn't a total loss. Sandburg's fascination with it took his mind off the cold and damp for a while. Ellison had never been overly sensitive to cold, and growing up on the west flank of the Cascades, damp was just the normal state of affairs. Sandburg, on the other hand, was a heat sponge, soaking up warmth anywhere he could find it and never more miserable than when he was cold and wet. He didn't complain, but Ellison could feel the tremors running through him and could only hope he didn't get hypothermic. That was another thing you learned growing up in the Pacific Northwest -- that hypothermia is not a problem that confines itself to arctic conditions. It creeps in insidiously at temperatures that most people would find comfortable for a spring outing. Sandburg was damp, chilled, tired, and underdressed for a night in the open. All the factors were in place.

"Hey," Ellison said, tugging the younger man's arm. "Get over here. You're shivering."

"I'm okay," Sandburg protested, shrugging off the contact.

"Well I'm not," Ellison said. "I'm freezing. So come on over here before we both end up with hypothermia."

"If you put it that way," Sandburg said, and moved in close enough to share body heat.

"Coffee," Ellison said three hours later.

"Oh God, yeah," Sandburg said. "Hot tub."

"Oh yeah. At the same time as the coffee."

"Is there any other way?" Sandburg settled in closer. "Okay Let's see. Um... Oh I got it. Sonora in the summer."

"Good one. Electric blanket."

"Yeah. I'm feelin' it, man. Cindy Carruthers."

"What?" Ellison shifted to look down at him.

"Seriously hot, I'm tellin' ya."

"You're hopeless. No way I'm giving you that one."

"All right. All right. Just gimme a second here. Five-alarm chili."

"Now you're talking."

"How long you figure it's been?"

Ellison shrugged. "Three, four hours. I don't know. My watch stopped working."

Sandburg twisted to look up at him. "Don't you think that's a little weird?"

"Not particularly. I probably whacked it on something. Or the battery ran out. Batteries do that."

Sandburg hummed the theme from The Twilight Zone just loudly enough to earn him a swat. "Hey!" he protested. "I could be dying of hypothermia here. Show a little respect."

"Respect this," Ellison retorted, extending a hand from his sleeve just far enough to make the message clear.

"Ooooh! Scarin' me now!" Sandburg leaned back in for warmth, and grinned up at his partner. "So. Are we there yet?"

Ellison sighed. It was shaping up to be a really long night.

The fog lifted overnight, leaving the morning cool and overcast. At the first hint of daylight, they renewed the search, following their own tracks back along the dirt road, but the tracks ended abruptly, as if the men had simply been dropped from the sky and begun walking. Ellison studied the terrain, trying to make sense of it. He hadn't had a clear view of it last night, but it had seemed higher then, and craggier than the hills he was looking at now.

As if reading his mind, Sandburg said, "This doesn't look right. We must have really got off on the wrong road last night, because I've been there once before and I don't remember this at all. And where the hell's the truck? We couldn't have walked so far last night that we can't even see the road. Could we?"

"I wouldn't have thought so," Ellison said, still scanning the area. "But I'm not ruling anything out just now."

"This is nuts, man. This is seriously nuts." Sandburg shivered, and tugged his jacket closer. His normally expressive blue eyes were dull and dark-circled from lack of sleep.

Ellison sighed. "Okay. Let's just keep going for a bit. It's probably just around that bend. If we'd come from the right or the left, we'd have had to come over one of those ridges. We'd have noticed the grade."

"Right."

Rounding the bend gave them a clear view for a good quarter mile back. Neither the truck nor the road were anywhere in sight.

"Jim..." Sandburg began.

"I know," Ellison said, "And I'm beginning to agree with you. This is seriously nuts."

"So what do we do? I know we didn't come this far last night."

"I guess we stay on the road," Ellison said. "We're bound to come to a town or a ranger station or something. Someone local can tell us where we went wrong and maybe give us a ride back to the main road. In any case, I think we could both use breakfast and a shower."

"Amen to that," Sandburg said, "But what direction?"

"I guess one's as good as another at this point. Might as well keep going as backtrack again. We hadn't seen a town in awhile. What?" Sandburg was studying him with narrowed eyes.

"Do I look as bad as you do?"

Ellison snorted. "Worse. You're wearing half the local vegetation in your hair." He plucked a twig from Sandburg's unruly curls and flicked it at him.

"Least I got hair to wear it in," Sandburg retorted, but his usual enthusiasm was lacking.

"Come on," Ellison said. "We'll both be warmer moving."

"All right, but I'm taking point. Your sense of direction isn't what it used to be." Sandburg set off at a good pace, and Ellison fell in behind him.

A quarter of a mile later, Ellison called a halt.

Sandburg gave him a puzzled look. "What's up?"

"Thought I heard something." Ellison put a hand on his partner's shoulder both to ground himself and to keep the younger man still. "Yeah. There it is. Something's coming. Like a cart or a wagon. Horses. Ahead of us."

"Hey, I'd take camels if they knew where the road was." Sandburg started down the road with a little more of his usual spirit. "Come on. There's a shower calling my name and I'm not waiting for you if you can't keep up!"

Chuckling, Ellison followed his lead.

They didn't have far to go before they met up with the source of the sound -- a wagon that looked as if it had driven straight out of the 19th century, with a driver whose obviously handmade woolen clothing fit loosely on his bulky frame. Ellison waved him down and he pulled the horses to a halt and peered down at them. "You fellas all right?"

"Yeah," Ellison said. "We just took a wrong turn in the fog last night."

"Real wooly one we had last night," the driver said. "You folks ought to be more careful. That fog's dangerous."

"Anyway," Ellison continued, "We thought we ran into something. Got out to check it out and got turned around. Couldn't get back to the truck. Any chance you could give us a lift to the main road?"

The driver's heavy brows drew together in confusion. "You're standing on it."

Ellison felt Sandburg tense beside him, and laid a hand on his sleeve to settle him. "I meant the highway."

"Oh!" The driver smiled in sudden understanding. "You must not have been back this way in some time. The high road washed out in a bad rain two summers ago. Third time in as many years. Folks decided it would make more sense to cut the loop off with a short stretch of new road than to repair it just to have it wash out again. This is the only way in or out of town with a team now. You say you've been out here on foot all night?"

"Pretty much," Ellison said.

"Well you both look done in and your friend there looks about chilled through. Climb on up and I'll take you into town. We can have some of the men look for your rig later on."

"'Preciate it," Ellison said, glancing down at Sandburg. The kid was usually the first to jump in to negotiate social situations but he'd been strangely silent since they'd come on the wagon. You'd think he'd never seen a horse and cart before. "Sandburg? You okay?"

"Yeah." Sandburg looked up at the driver. "Sure it's all right? You're Mennonite aren't you?"

"Mennon...? No. Mather is my name. Renfield Mather. And of course it's all right. Sow kindness, reap friendship. That's the way of it, ain't it?" He put a hand out to help Sandburg scramble up beside him. Ellison climbed into the back of the wagon with the burlap sacks and paper-wrapped parcels.

"Blair Sandburg," Sandburg offered, "And my friend's Jim Ellison."

"Pleasure, son." The driver got the horse moving again. "Where were you traveling from?"

"Cascade."

"I don't believe I know it. Course, I'm not exactly what you'd call a well-traveled man. Now my sister, she's been clear up to New Seattle once, just to say she saw it. But me, I'm happiest at my own hearth and that's the truth." He glanced over his shoulder at Ellison. "You a traveling man, Mr. Ellison?"

"I was once," Ellison said. "Not so much anymore."

"Can't say I blame you. Would you have a look around you there and see if there might be an empty sack? Your friend seems to have caught a chill."

Ellison glanced around at the assortment of cargo until he found an empty burlap sack. He handed it forward and Sandburg settled it around his shoulders.

Mather grinned. "Well, it's no match those fancy city clothes, but it'll do to be getting on with."

"It's great," Sandburg said. "Thanks. How far are we going?"

"Just around the bend. No more than two miles."

Sandburg nodded and fell silent. Ellison watched him from the back of the wagon. The kid looked more spooked now, with the prospect of a shower and a hot meal on the horizon, than he had when they'd been lost in the fog in the middle of the night. And he was the one who'd insisted that an isolated rural environment was just what they needed to relax. Go figure. Ellison hoped he wasn't still stuck on that nonsense about being dead. That had been more than a little disturbing. Sandburg had bounced back pretty well from his near drowning, and after Ellison had rebuffed his one foray into the subject at the hospital, had never spoken of it again. Ellison had been relieved at the time, but now he wondered if he should have done more. Encouraged him to talk about it. Made sure he was really okay with it. Once they got back home, maybe he'd take the kid somewhere and get him good and drunk. Let him do a little venting. The wagon lurched over a rock, jolting him out of his thoughts. Damn. Sandburg wanted rural isolation. Looked like he was getting it in spades.

Their trip ended abruptly with more confusion than it had begun. The tiny settlement was more than rural. It looked as if it had been frozen in time, two hundred years in the past. The cottages surrounding the central meadow were actually thatched. The few people visible were dressed, like Mather, in loose fitting clothing of simple design, utilitarian but not unattractive. If it wasn't a movie set, then it had to be a religious community, like the Amish, or the monastery Blair had taken him to. What little technology was visible was no later than 19th century.

Mather halted the horses near one of the cottages and handed the reins to Sandburg. "If you wouldn't mind holding these boys while I unload a few things."

Ellison climbed down along with him. "Let me give you a hand."

"Thank you kindly." Mather pointed out the parcels to be unloaded. They were headed for the cottage with them when a woman came across the central green to greet them. Like Mather, she wore simple, loose fitting clothing that appeared to be made from natural fibers -- linen and wool in muted colors. Somehow hers seemed to accentuate a shape that Ellison couldn't help tracing with his gaze. Her green eyes regarded Ellison with frank curiosity.

"Renny? What's this you've brought us?"

"A pair of lost lambs," Mather said. "Do you think you can find them something to eat?"

"Of course." She offered her hand to Ellison. He tried to shift his armload of parcels, but couldn't get a hand free, and they both chuckled at the awkward moment. "Forgive me," she said. "I'm Serena."

"Jim. And that's Blair. If you could just let me use a phone."

"Pardon?"

"I just need to make a phone call."

She walked beside him as they carried the parcels inside. "I'm afraid I don't understand. But please -- sit, while I get you and your friend something to eat."

"They were caught in the fog last night," Mather said.

Serena looked sharply at Ellison. "You were out in the fog?"

"'Fraid so."

"You should be more careful. It's not safe to be wandering around in the fog."

"We hadn't intended to be," Ellison said, setting his load on one of the benches that flanked a heavy, rustic pine table.

Serena smiled. "Well. You don't seem to have come to any harm. Renny, go on out and show his friend in."

Mather left them, and a moment later, Sandburg appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Mather asked me to tell you he's gone to deliver the rest of his load." He looked around the small cottage. "Wow. This is amazing. Do you stay here all year round?"

"You really are city folks, aren't you?"

"I didn't mean anything by it," Sandburg said. "It's just that..." He seemed to think better of it and shook his head. He still looked spooked but his curiosity was coming to the fore, as usual.

Serena smiled at him. "It's all right. Sit down, both of you. Breakfast is over, but I'm sure I can find something to feed you." She set out two plates. The east end of the room was dominated by a cast iron stove. She set a pot on it, then added water from a pitcher and a handful of what appeared to be grain but smelled like coffee with a hint of cinnamon. Ellison couldn't identify it.

"Is that chicory?" Sandburg asked.

"It is. I hope that's all right. Coffee won't be in until after the fogs."

"That's great. As long as it's warm." Sandburg settled on one of the benches.

Ellison stayed where he was. "Look, there's no need for you to go to any trouble. We just need to make a phone call."

"Jim," Sandburg said quietly, "They don't have a phone."

"There must be someone..."

"They don't have a phone," Sandburg insisted, his eyes warning Ellison to drop it.

Serena laid thick slices of freshly baked wheat bread on the plates, and then added irregular chunks of cheese and a few shelled walnuts. She smiled at both of them but it was Ellison her eyes followed as he joined Sandburg at the table. "You haven't any bags," she said.

"They were in the truck," Ellison said around a mouthful of bread.

"Pardon?"

"The fog caught us by surprise," Sandburg said. "We'd left everything and when we tried to get back to it, we got turned around in the fog."

"Good fortune that Renny found you then." She went to the stove to pour two mugs of the chicory beverage, and set them in front of the two men.

Ellison thanked her and took a cautious sip. The scent hinted of cinnamon, but the taste was more like coffee with a hint of maple. A little bitter, but not as acidic as coffee. Sandburg gulped it down as if he'd been drinking it all his life, which, for all Ellison knew, was entirely possible.

"Where were you headed?" Serena asked.

"Weston," Ellison said. "Blair has friends there."

Her brow furrowed. "You were traveling a long way, then? I've never heard that name."

"It's not very big. Sandburg here thought dragging me into the middle of nowhere would help me relax."

She laughed. "And has it?'

"Absolutely. More relaxing than a cattle stampede."

She frowned suddenly and he thought he'd offended her until he realized she was looking past him at a little red-headed boy about six years old peering in through the doorway.

"Ian," she said, "I believe you're supposed to be at your lessons."

"I wanted to see the visitors." He sized them up boldly. "Your clothing is strange."

"Ian!"

"Well, it is!"

Sandburg chuckled. "Jim's said for years that my clothes are strange."

Ian's freckled face screwed up into a frown. "But his are stranger than yours."

"That's enough," Serena said. "Go on back to your lessons now. You can visit with them later."

"Aw," Ian grumbled but he ran off obediently.

"My nephew," Serena said. "Renny's boy."

"Cute kid," Sandburg said.

"I don't mean to be rude," Ellison said, "But we need to get back on the road. Mr. Mather said someone could--"

"Jim," Blair interrupted. "The man's got a wagon to unload. We can wait a little."

What the hell was wrong with the kid? He was just plain acting weird. Then again this whole damn mess was weird.

"Yes," Serena said. "Please. Rest and finish your meal. I'll go and catch up with Renny, and see what arrangements he's made for you."

"Thanks," Sandburg said. "We appreciate the hospitality."

"You're most welcome." She smiled at Sandburg but her gaze returned to Ellison for a moment before she left them.

"Oh, man," Sandburg crowed, when she was gone. "You dog! She is so into you."

Ellison rolled his eyes. "Look around you. She's some kind of religious fanatic. They all are."

"I don't think so." Sandburg tore off a bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully. "I don't think that's what this is." He spoke with scientific detachment, but his hands fidgeted with nervous energy.

Ellison frowned. "What's gotten into you? You've been on edge since Mather picked us up. You're usually the first one to embrace any subculture that comes along."

"Why couldn't we find the truck? And you heard him. New Seattle. He said his sister went to New Seattle. We're not talking subculture here."

"Then how about you tell me what you think we are talking about."

Sandburg spread his hands. "Time travel? Alternate reality? How the hell should I know? All I know is we're not in Kansas anymore! Maybe we're--"

"We're not dead! Would you get off that already? We got off the main road, and we've stumbled into some kind of commune or something. You ought to feel right at home."

"I'm telling you, Jim--"

Ellison was out of patience. "All right! Enough. I know we've both been under stress lately and obviously this thing's triggered some issues for you, but could we just try to maintain some hold on reality until we get this sorted out?"

"Fine. We'll just go with denial. That'll help." Sandburg took a long swallow from his mug, raising it like a wall between them. Ellison had to give him credit. In the absence of a door to slam, he could make do with just about anything.

Fifteen minutes passed before Serena returned. "There's rain moving in," she said. "Renny says there's no point going back out today. You'd only get soaked. First thing tomorrow, if the weather looks better, he'll take you out himself, or send his son Paul with you. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but Renny really doesn't think it would be wise to go back there today."

"If you'd just tell us where the nearest place with a phone would be, we'd..." Ellison's protest died on his lips as he saw the confusion in the woman's eyes.

"I'm afraid you're a long way from the city, Mr. Ellison. We don't have the sorts of luxuries I'm sure you're accustomed to. I do apologize, but there's truly nothing we can do about your wagon until tomorrow. Please, allow us to offer our hospitality until then."

It didn't look like they had much choice, unless they wanted to walk back the way they'd come, and in the rain at that. Ellison had no doubt how Sandburg would vote. He sighed. "Thanks. I guess we don't have any choice."

"What Jim means," Sandburg said, "Is that we're grateful for your help. And your hospitality."

Serena stood for a moment with her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed slightly in thought. "Oh," she said finally. "I know just the thing. Granny Beecham's place is empty. She passed away this winter, and no one's to be married until summer, so no one's moved in. You'll have some privacy there and the boys can move another bed in."

"Thank you," Sandburg said. "We appreciate it." He glared at Ellison. "Both of us."

"Right," Ellison said, trying -- with only limited success -- to sound sincere.

The accommodations proved similar to Serena's cottage. There were essentially two rooms. The main room served as both kitchen and living quarters. Someone had already laid a fire in the big stove, which was beginning to take the edge off the chill. A slightly smaller room behind it held a posted bed, a dresser, and a rocking chair. A second bed, not so ornate and a little smaller, had been crowded in against one wall. Ellison's nose told him that both had been made up with fresh linens. He wondered how it had happened so quickly.

"This is yours, for as long as you need it," Serena told them. "And, of course, please feel free to go anywhere you like, though I daresay the rain may make it less than pleasant for exploring. I hope you'll join the rest of the village for midday meal on the common. We don't get a lot of visitors, and we're always happy to get news from outside. But, if you'd rather, I'll see that plates are brought here for you. I know you've had a long night. No one will be offended if you're not up to visiting."

Ellison nodded. "Thanks."

"Well then. I'll leave you. I'm sure you'd like to rest. As for me, I've had entirely more rest than I had time for. If I don't get the bread in, there may not be a midday meal for anyone today."

She left them then, and both retreated to sprawl on the beds. Ellison was asleep almost immediately. He woke to find, to his embarrassment, that the sun was low on the horizon, and Blair was coming back from somewhere, chattering with the locals like one of them.

Ellison rose, yawning and went into the next room, just as Blair opened the front door of the cottage.

"Hey!" Blair said, "You're up. Cool." He set the plate he was carrying on the table. "I brought dinner. You must be starving by now."

Ellison's stomach rumbled conspicuously at the sight of the plate piled with bread and butter, dried fruit, cheese, and something that looked like baked beans, but was thick enough to mound on the plate like potatoes. "What time is it?" Ellison asked. "And where have you been?"

"I have no idea," Blair said. "Almost sundown though. And I've been to lunch. And the stables. And the lake. And dinner. You were fried, man. I thought it was better to let you sleep."

Ellison yawned again and scrubbed at the back of his neck. "I guess I needed it. You gonna share that?"

"I told you. I already had dinner. This is all yours." Blair shoved the plate in Ellison's direction and settled on the opposite bench, resting his elbows on the table.

Ellison didn't need any more coaxing to tear into the food, but about halfway through it he looked up. "Don't suppose there's anything to drink around here?"

Blair left the table and found a mug in one of the cupboards. "Back in a sec." He darted out the door and was gone nearly ten minutes, before he returned and set the mug in front of Ellison. "There's water but I thought you'd like this better."

Ellison picked up the mug. Aha. No wonder Blair was in such a good mood all of a sudden. The sweet odor of blackberries wafting from the mug was countered with the acidity of fermentation. He took a sip and let the sweet-tart taste roll over his tongue. "Damn. That's good stuff."

"Even the kids drink it," Blair said, "Half and half with water, though. So I talked with Paul -- that's Renny's oldest son -- and he's arranged for some horses for us. I guess you noticed the rain's stopped. So anyway, the horses -- first thing in the morning, and they'll send someone with us if we want, you know, to take the horses back once we find the truck. I'm not sure what's up with the low-tech thing yet, 'cause I haven't wanted to ask too many questions until I had a better idea what we're dealing with, but man, there's gotta be some cool cultural shit going on, ya know? 'Cause these people are really isolated here. Almost like they don't even know the rest of the world's out there. But there's no ceremonial center that I could find, no churches. No -- Did I tell you the meals are all communal? But there's no religious ritual around them, so it's like this totally secular thing, which is really odd, you know, 'cause usually isolated social groups like this originate --"

"Sandburg!" Ellison bellowed.

Blair stopped short and stared at him across the table. "Huh?"

"Breathe," Ellison said. "Just breathe for a second, and then back up. What about the horses?"

"Oh. Paul will have them ready in the morning, so we can ride out and see about finding the truck."

"Thank God," Ellison muttered, as much about silencing his partner as about the horses.

The following morning dawned, clear and cool. After joining the rest of the villagers for an early breakfast, they followed the path around the outside edge of the village to the stables. Ellison expected to be overwhelmed by the odors. Even a clean stable was bound to reek of horse sweat and urine and damp straw. To his surprise, the odor as they approached was horsey but not unpleasant. He wasn't aware of having dialed things back. It seemed to have happened naturally. Maybe he was finally starting to get it.

Renny's eldest son, Paul, met them at the barn door, leading a bay mare and a buckskin gelding. Both were saddled and ready to go. "It's a beautiful day for a ride," he said. "Are you sure you don't need a guide? Mr. Sandburg said he didn't think you would, but I'd be happy to ride out with you."

"We'll be fine," Ellison said, a little surprised that they'd be allowed to take the valuable animals without supervision.

Sandburg was already admiring the horses, scratching their foreheads and running appreciative hands over their flanks.

"All right then." Paul patted the mare's shoulder and handed her reins to Ellison. "This is Maire. She's gentle enough, but she'll stop every other step to eat, if you let her get away with it. Mr. Sandburg?"

"Please. Just Blair." Sandburg reached for the gelding's reins. "Who's this big boy? I don't think I met him yesterday." The gelding lowered his head and shoved him hard in the chest. Sandburg laughed. "I know. I stopped petting you, didn't I, ya big goof?" He reached up to rub the whorl of hair between the horse's eyes.

"His name's Minas. Because he's all gold." Paul offered the reins.

Sandburg accepted them, and then eyed the stirrups critically. "Those are going to be a little long. Will he stand?"

"Probably, but I'll hold him."

Paul took hold of the bridle, and stood rubbing the horse's nose and murmuring to him while Sandburg adjusted the stirrups. Then Sandburg moved around to the horse's left side and mounted easily.

Ellison followed suit, albeit with slightly less confidence.

"You haven't changed your mind about a guide?" Paul said.

"Thanks," Ellison said. "We'll just follow the road out to where your father picked us up. Once we find the truck, one of us can drive it into town and pick someone up to take the horses home. That way no one needs to be tied up all day helping us."

They rode out along the track they'd come in on. Ellison had no trouble identifying the spot where they'd spent the night huddled under the trees. In daylight, the surrounding territory was easily visible -- and eerily empty. The dirt track trailed eastward over the hills, a solitary line in an otherwise unbroken landscape. There was no sign of the paved road they'd driven in on. Ellison shifted in the saddle to look at Sandburg, and was startled to find him staring up into the clear blue sky, looking thoroughly spooked again.

"Blair? You okay?"

Sandburg blinked and turned to look at him. "Have you seen any planes since we got here?"

Ellison frowned at him. "I can't say as I've noticed."

"Because I haven't. No planes. No contrails. Nothing. Even in the most remote jungles on earth... Hell, even on the top of Mt. Everest, there are jets going over all the time."

"Jets don't always leave contrails."

"Come on. We're talking about the west slopes of the Cascades. Temperate rain forest. When was the last time the air was dry enough over the west side of the Cascades for jets to leave no contrails?"

He was right, but Ellison wasn't ready to admit it and accept the implications. "Come on. We still have plenty of daylight."

Sandburg nudged his horse forward without a word.

They left the road, heading for the top of the ridge. It was the highest point around, and it gave them a clear view of the surrounding country, but it gave them no answers. The dirt track was the only thing marring the land for as far as Ellison could see. There was no longer any denying it, and for the moment, no reason to go farther. They both dismounted to stretch their legs.

"You gotta admit it's pretty amazing," Sandburg said.

Ellison scowled at him. "It won't be so amazing when you're looking for a hot shower or a chocolate cheese danish."

"I know. All I'm saying is, it's pretty mind-blowing."

"So how do we get back?"

"I'm an anthropologist, not a physicist. But, we're way beyond Hawking here. We're on our own with this one." Sandburg was pacing, his body driven by the energy of his racing mind. "There must be a rift. Some kind of hole in the fabric of space-time."

Ellison leaned against his horse. "Then why aren't people falling through it all time?"

"Maybe they are. How many missing persons cases go unsolved every year?"

"OK, but wouldn't it go both ways? We'd be getting immigrants from alternate universes."

"I remember this bizarre case. This guy appeared right in the middle of the road, dressed for the 18th century. They put him in an institution. Said he was delusional, because he thought he was living in the 18th century and didn't seem to recognize anything modern."

"Well, if they're all going missing and not coming back, where does that leave us?"

Sandburg stopped pacing to look at him for one stunned moment. Then he shook his head. "Maybe they do come back. Maybe they just don't tell anyone. Or they talk about it and people think they're nuts."

"But someone would notice they'd been missing."

Sandburg's brow furrowed as he considered the point. "Maybe it can't last more than a couple of days. Like a rubber band leash. You can stretch things just so far and then, bam! You snap back to where you came from."

"In which case, we just have to wait for it?"

"I don't know! You look at me like I'm supposed to have all the answers. I'm an anthropologist! I study human culture. Do you have any idea how far that is from theoretical physics?" He glared at Ellison, challenge in every line of his rigid stance.

Ellison quirked a half smile that he didn't feel. "Yeah but you're a hell of a lot smarter than I am, Chief."

It did the job. Sandburg dropped the challenge and flashed an apologetic grin back at him. "Sorry. It's just... I'm a little freaked out here."

"You're not the only one."

They were silent for a moment, and then Sandburg looked up at him. "I'm still glad I didn't stay in the truck."

This time Ellison's brief smile was genuine. "Call me a selfish bastard, but so am I."

Oddly, it was that admission that eased the last bit of tension from Sandburg's shoulders. A little uncomfortable with the quick stab of emotion that realization brought, Ellison turned away. "We'd better get moving. We're burning daylight and I don't think horses come with headlights."

"Headlights are for wimps, man. We don' need no steenkin' headlights."

"One of us doesn't," Ellison said.

"Yeah, but I'll bet you could learn to wear one of those stiff leashes, so we're good."

Ellison swiped at him and missed. For a laid-back guy, Sandburg had some pretty decent reflexes. Probably the basketball.

"Hey, Jim," Sandburg said wearily. His hair was damp and he smelled of lake water. He was carrying a rough towel in one hand. "You just back? Did you get anything to eat?"

"They sent me off this morning with enough for three days. You okay?"

"Yeah." Sandburg followed him inside. "Just tired. I thought I was in decent shape, but man, even the kids kept up better than I did! At least I was able to talk to people, and get some idea what's going on here."

"What have you got?"

Sandburg dropped onto a bench and rested his elbows on the table. "I think they used to be high tech. A lot like us. But something happened. Something horrific, that reduced technology to the dark ages. Sociologically, it's fascinating stuff. Human nature should have driven them into small, warring factions. But that's not what happened. The survivors seem to have pulled together to completely rework their society. It's like they looked around and said, "Well that didn't work," and set out to create a society based on cooperation rather than competition."

Ellison frowned. "I don't know. You make it sound like some kind of utopia."

Sandburg took a moment to choose a cookie from the plate Florrie Maynard had sent. Florrie was the oldest of the villagers, ninety some years old and nearly blind. She'd adopted Blair from day one. Blair took a nibble from the edge his cookie before he said, "It's not perfect. They live in small, isolated communities. Almost totally insular. What trade there is, is seasonal, and there's no integrated communication system, so there's not much in the way of advancement in medicine or science. They don't use electricity, or engines of any kind. The weird thing is, I think -- as a culture -- they understand the technology. They just don't use it."

"Like the Amish." Ellison set a pot of water on the stove.

"Sort of," Sandburg said, finishing the last of his cookie. "Only it's not a religious thing. It's like they're not willing to go there again. Whatever happened, it yanked the rug out from under their civilization. I think -- and you gotta understand, I'm talking culturally here -- I think they decided that they wouldn't be dependent on technology again."

Ellison came back to sit across from him. "Isn't that like trying to stuff the genie back in the bottle?"

"No. No, that's not..." He paused, frowning as he tried to find the words. "You build a town in a dry riverbed, and the whole town gets destroyed by a flood. You rebuild the town, but do you rebuild it in the riverbed again?"

"Right," Ellison said. "So... they're not afraid of reinventing the hydrogen bomb. They're afraid of building another civilization so dependent on technology that it collapses when the power goes out."

"Exactly." Sandburg slid back on the bench a little, so that he could lay his head on his folded arms.

Ellison felt a stab of guilt. While Sandburg labored in the fields, Ellison had spent the day on horseback, searching for anything that might connect them to the world they knew. He was pleasantly fatigued, but Sandburg looked beyond exhausted. "You OK?" Ellison asked.

"Yeah." Sandburg raised his head just far enough to rest his chin on one wrist. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Ellison got up to check on the water.

"Like you feel guilty for not being in the fields with me all day. You know it made more sense to do it the way we did it. I can't research the culture if I don't mix with it. And if there's anything to be found on the road, you're a lot better equipped to find it than I am."

"Yeah. I know. It's just..." He paused with the pot poised to pour.

"What?" Sandburg raised his head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Someone's coming." He set the pot down and crossed the small room, opening the door to usher Serena in.

"Hello," she said. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," Ellison said, feeling unaccountably awkward.

Sandburg wiggled his fingers in a tired wave and laid his head back down on his folded arms.

"I brought some salve for Blair's hands," Serena said, but her smile was directed at Ellison.

He forced himself not to stare at her. "What's wrong with his hands?"

"Nothin', man. 'Sall good," Sandburg's muffled voice said from the shelter of his arms. He didn't bother to lift his head.

"He worked like three men today," Serena said, "But he has the hands of a scholar, and more pride than common sense. Renny should have paid more attention."

"Sandburg?" Ellison deliberately put a note of warning in his tone.

Sandburg sighed and raised his head. "Well hurry up and do what you're going to do, then, because I'm going to pass out as soon as I can figure out how to get my feet to move me to the bed."

King of the drama queens. Ellison chuckled. Some things never changed. "Give it up, Sandburg. The hands."

Serena took a seat on the bench beside Blair and set a small handmade pot on the table, along with a rag and a narrow roll of clean white cloth. Sandburg gave up the act and held out his hands. Both palms bore broken blisters. Ellison winced at the sight, but Serena took it in stride. No doubt it was a common sight in her world. And she'd never seen Sandburg's agile fingers dancing over a keyboard.

"Men and their pride." She looked up at Ellison. She was still holding Sandburg's hands but despite the intimacy of the contact, somehow her gaze made Ellison feel as if they were alone. He turned away, suddenly uncomfortable with his own feelings.

Sandburg seemed to read his mind. He drew his hands from Serena's. "You know what? I appreciate the concern, but it's just a couple of blisters, and I'm really bushed, so you kids just --" He waved vaguely in Ellison's direction. "I don't know. Talk amongst yourselves. I'm gonna call it a night."

"No." Serena turned back to him. "Please. Forgive me. I was... It won't take but a minute."

"Stay put, Chief," Ellison ordered. He couldn't walk out without being rude and, more to the point, obvious. But damned if he'd let Sandburg throw him to the wolves. So to speak.

"Coward," Sandburg mouthed in his direction.

Serena reached for the lid of the clay pot.

Sandburg's hand shot out to stop her. "Wait. This might not be a good idea. Jim has allergies."

"Pardon?"

"He's sensitive to strong scents."

"Oh..."

"No," Ellison said. "It's all right. I don't seem to be having as much trouble with it here."

"Really?" Sandburg looked up sharply, eyes widening with alarm. "Are your...?"

"Fine," Ellison cut him off. "Less trouble is a good thing," he added, when Sandburg continued to scrutinize him.

"Right."

"So let go of the lady's hand."

"Oh. Right." Sandburg flashed a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

Serena looked back and forth between them. "Are you sure you're not brothers?"

"Absolutely," Sandburg said. "All the men in my family have brains."

"And the ones in mine are good-looking," Ellison countered.

Serena laughed, and reached for Sandburg's hands again. "I'd better finish this before you fall asleep on the table." She made quick work of spreading salve over the blisters and wrapping them in strips of clean cotton. "There. That should take the sting out. It's messy stuff, so keep them wrapped tonight, if you don't want to be washing it out of your hair in the morning."

"Thanks," Sandburg mumbled through a yawn. "Now I really am going to bed."

"Of course." Serena gathered up her supplies. "And I should go. I need to be up early." She glanced at Ellison. "Sleep safely, both of you."

"And you," Sandburg said, getting to his feet.

"Thanks," Ellison said. "I mean for..." He gestured vaguely toward Sandburg. What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't seem to put two coherent words together.

"Don't mention it." Serena nudged the door open. "Good night."

"Good night."

Ellison stood in the doorway looking after her until Sandburg grumbled, "Get your tongue up off the floor. Or go after her."

Ellison shut the door and glared at him. "I thought you were going to bed."

The glare had no effect at all. Sandburg only taunted him with an unrepentant grin before retreating to collapse on his bed. Barely a minute later, Ellison glanced through the doorway and found him already asleep, sprawled on top of the quilt. Ellison tugged the quilt from his own bed and laid it over him. Then, too restless to sleep, he left the cottage and settled on the bench outside. Darkness fell, and the stars ignited above him, unimpeded by the haze of technology. Without thinking about it, Ellison loosed the rigid control he normally kept on his senses and let himself soar amongst the glittering galaxies and blazing nebulae. It was exhilarating. It was also dangerous.

Ellison sighed and drew back, taking a firm hold on the imaginary dials Sandburg had taught him to visualize to gain control of his senses. It had been a damn fool thing to do. He could have drifted into a zone and still been sitting there when Sandburg came out in the morning. But it hadn't felt dangerous. It had felt... free. He shook his head, shoving the notion aside. Right. The sentinel in its natural habitat. Sandburg would have a field day. He stood and headed back inside.

They were both awake at dawn. By the time Ellison emerged, Sandburg had the stove stoked and a basin of water heating to wash up in.

Afterward, they joined the group converging for breakfast. Despite the circumstances, Ellison couldn't help thinking that a man could get used to this. In recent years, breakfast had been half a bagel, or a donut washed down with lukewarm coffee at the station. Always on the run. Always a step behind. Nothing like this cheerful gathering around tables laden with fresh fruit and warm bread and honey-sweetened oatmeal. But then, he'd seen Sandburg's condition after yesterday's work. It might look like an idyllic life, but Sandburg was right. It wasn't an easy one. The sooner they got home, the better.

His explorations had gotten them nowhere. A longer trip would take planning and equipment, and Ellison wasn't willing to go much farther afield without his partner to help keep him grounded. Although he wasn't going to say it aloud, he was also not entirely at ease about leaving Sandburg alone with people who might not be at all what they appeared to be. Sandburg's wide-eyed, trusting approach to new cultural experiences might be commendable in an anthropologist, but it scared the hell out of a cop who'd spent his life dealing with the worst humanity had to offer. You'd think a couple of kidnappings would have dampened Sandburg's enthusiasm, but he never seemed to learn.

So for today, Ellison would stay and join the field crew. The image of Serena's hands smoothing healing ointment over Sandburg's palms came unbidden to mind and in the instant before he managed to banish it, it occurred to him that a few blisters might not be such a bad thing.

With breakfast finished, he joined the group headed for the fields. The weather was nearly perfect; clear and calm, and just cool enough to be called brisk, with the promise of warmth once the sun climbed a bit higher. Sandburg's crew had turned the soil in one field yesterday. Today's field crew separated into two groups: one to plant that field, and one to get a second field turned and prepped for planting. Because the planting was less strenuous, each crew would spend half of the day in each field, which meant Ellison would have an easier day of it than Sandburg had yesterday. Sandburg had volunteered to join the field hands again, but he'd been reassigned to the stables at Serena's suggestion, to give his blistered hands a break.

From Blair's Journal

So it looks like I have a tougher job than I thought. These people don't keep much in the way of records. Births and deaths. Not much else. I'm guessing they have strong oral traditions. I'm hoping to interview some of the older folks. They're in the middle of spring planting, which is, of course, the busiest time of year, short of harvest, so no one has time to sit around and tell me bedtime stories. That's the problem with agrarian societies. They're labor intensive. Nomadic hunting-gathering cultures have a much higher percentage of leisure time.

I worry about the fact that there's no way to control the environment. If Jim's senses go haywire, I can't just turn on a white noise generator. Even a faucet would do it, but they don't have anything here but hand pumps. I don't even want to think about allergens.

Fortunately, he hasn't had any major issues since we got here. Which is interesting in itself. He usually does better when we're camping too. Maybe sentinels never evolved to operate in a technological society. Maybe Jim's like the sentinel equivalent of the "forbidden experiment," a sort of sentinel feral child. He'd kill me if he heard me say that, but the parallel's there. If his senses first came online in Peru, then the sentinel was only six months old when he was taken out of sentinel society and left to fend for himself, until I found him. But just like Victor, and Kamala and Genie, he'd missed a window of opportunity. Only in this case the prize isn't language. It's sensory control. Just as none of them could ever develop linguistically beyond a rudimentary level, maybe Jim can never develop more than rudimentary sensory control outside of a primitive setting. It's a scary thought.

SUMMER

"And it's a big city, this Cascade you come from?"

"Bigger than you can imagine," Ellison said, stretching his long legs out and plucking a ripe plum from the nearby basket. The whole village was taking an afternoon off to picnic on the beach, and Ellison was enjoying it tremendously.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Serena said. "I can imagine quite a lot. I went to New Seattle once. There must be nearly two hundred people there."

"Ah." Ellison split the plum with his teeth and extracted the pit. The juice ran over his chin and he wiped it away with his wrist.

"You needn't sound so smug. How many people live in Cascade?"

"Thousands."

"Now you're teasing me."

"It's the truth."

She stared at him. "There aren't that many people in the world."

"In your world, maybe."

Serena shook her head. "You're a strange man."

"But handsome." He winked at her and then paused to scan the beach. Old habits were hard to break.

"He's there -- in the water with Johan and Ian." Serena studied him for a moment, her eyes much too knowing. "What happened to him?"

Ellison gave her a sharp look. "I'm not sure what you mean. He's fine."

"But he wasn't, once. I see it in your eyes. You're so... I don't know. Watchful, I suppose. It's as if you expect the sky to fall on him, or the earth to open up and swallow him."

He looked into her eyes and saw no ridicule -- only curiosity and concern, and for the first time since that awful day, he wanted to talk about it.

"We'd had an argument. It was my fault. I found out he'd been spending time with a woman I was... interested in. Blair didn't know. It wasn't really even an argument. It was just me. Yelling. Saying really vicious things to him." He paused, half expecting to see recrimination in her eyes, but she only laid a hand on his knee, encouraging him to continue.

"He walked away. He was hurt. Angry. He had a right to be. I should have gone after him. Made things right. But I couldn't see past my own jealousy, so I just let him go. Drove him away, really. And right after he left, he was attacked and left for dead. By the time I got there, even the... the doctors thought he was gone."

"But he wasn't."

"To this day," Ellison said, turning from her to watch Sandburg splashing with the youngsters like an overgrown child, "I honestly don't know. All I know is that I screamed at him like a madman. Ordered him to come back. And he did." He turned back to face her and her smile was like sunshine.

"A miracle," she said. "You shouldn't feel guilty for a miracle."

"Not for the miracle," he said. "For making it necessary."

"He doesn't seem to blame you."

"He never does. It's not in him to hold a grudge for long. Doesn't make it right. In a way, it's worse. Like kicking a puppy."

Serena laughed. "Well, he's not a puppy. Every unmarried girl in the village is mooning over him, and a few married ones too, no doubt. But I know what you mean. Everything is a wonder to him. Sometimes I think he's from another world entirely."

Ellison choked on the plum he was just finishing. "Sometimes I think that myself."

"Jim!" Sandburg called from the lake. "Come on in, man! It's great!"

Ellison couldn't resist. He got to his feet and stretched, then charged into the lake to give his partner a good dunking. The children screamed with laughter as Sandburg came up shaking water out of his curls like a hound. They laughed even harder when he bent over, pretending to catch his breath, only to use the crouched position to tackle Ellison like a quarterback, then pumped his fist in a victory dance when the big man went down. The victory didn't last long. Ellison came up under him, slung him over one shoulder and stalked to the shoreline, where he dumped him in the sand and rolled him over once before letting him up.

Undaunted, Sandburg grinned up at him. "Aw man. Now I got sand in my shorts. I'm just gonna have to ask Serena to help me get it out."

Ellison growled and dumped him on his butt again.

"Not jealous, are you?" Sandburg mocked. "After all, you're not interested, right?"

"Neither are you. Or you're not getting up."

"Geeze, man. For a guy who's not jealous, you sure are a touchy bastard."

Ellison only growled again, but he put out a hand to haul Sandburg to his feet. Sandburg shook the sand out of his hair and began brushing it off his skin.

Ellison was about to leave him and return to Serena when a child's scream from the lake stopped him in his tracks. There was pure terror in the cry. Sandburg turned at the sound and they both raced for the water, even as Ellison scanned for the source. Every person on the beach ran to the water's edge.

"Mr. Ellison!" It was Johan, crying and pulling at something in the water. "Help me! He's too heavy!"

Ellison reached the child before Sandburg. He pulled Ian from the water, and ran for the shoreline. Sandburg scooped Johan up and followed. The doctor met them at the water's edge. Ellison laid the boy on the sand. His lips were blue.

"Ian!" Renny shouted, but others held him back to allow the doctor to work.

Shoving in beside Ellison, the doctor put his ear to the boy's lips and felt for the pulse at his wrist. He shook his head and then looked up at Renny's stricken face. "I'm sorry."

"No!" Renny roared, surging forward.

Ellison shoved the doctor aside. "For God's sake don't just sit there looking at him! Sandburg, help me." He straddled the boy's legs and applied a few gentle Heimlich thrusts. Water dribbled from the boy's mouth. Sandburg dropped to his knees and felt for the carotid pulse. "He's got a pulse, but he's still not breathing."

Ellison moved up and shouldered him aside. With practiced efficiency he positioned the child's head and blew three sharp breaths into the slack mouth, then lowered his head to listen. Nothing.

"What are you doing? Leave him alone! Give him to me!" Renny demanded, breaking free of the men who held him.

Sandburg moved to intercept him and met only Renny's rock hard fist. His head rocked back and he landed hard on his back, blood trickling from a split lip.

Ellison was aware of it but couldn't afford to look up to check on him. He used the time Sandburg had bought him to get in three breaths. Just as Renny reached him, he puffed in a fourth and this time felt a little resistance. He sat back on his heels and lowered his head. "He's okay."

"What?" the doctor said, moving forward, not quite believing.

Ian stirred and began to cough. Renny dropped to the sand and gathered him up. Paul, white-faced with shock, finally caught up and nearly fell to his knees when he saw the boy alive and breathing in Renny's arms. The rest of the crowd stared in awed silence.

"It's a miracle," one woman near Ellison whispered.

"It's not a damn miracle!" Ellison snapped, unaccountably angry.

"No," the doctor said, laying a hand on Ellison's shoulder. "Not a miracle but a damned amazing piece of work. What you did there -- can you teach me the technique?"

"I could teach Johan," Ellison said wearily. "It's simple." The world suddenly came into focus around him and he remembered. "Blair!"

"Right here, big guy." Sandburg rolled over and got to his knees.

"You okay?"

Sandburg swiped a wrist over the blood trickling down his chin. "Yeah. I'm good."

Still cradling his son, Renny looked up and winced at the sight of Sandburg's bloody lip. "Did I do that?"

Sandburg shrugged. "No big deal. Forget it, man."

"Lemme down!" Ian demanded. "I'm not a baby!"

Renny was laughing as he let him go, but the tracks of his tears still glistened on his cheeks.

The doctor turned toward Sandburg. "Well, I seem to have lost one patient and gained another, but I can't say I'm sorry." He took hold of Sandburg's chin and tilted it upward to get a look.

Sandburg pulled away. "It's nothing."

"I'm inclined to agree," the doctor said. "But if it gets too painful, I'd suggest getting some pretty young thing to kiss it better for you."

Sandburg waggled his eyebrows. "Now that's my kind of prescription. How often should I take it, Doc?"

Ellison rolled his eyes. "You had to encourage him."

"Jim," Renny said, offering a hand to help him to his feet. "I can't even begin to know how to thank you."

Ellison accepted the hand and stood, brushing the sand from his limbs. "There's no need. I'm glad the boy's all right." The beach had lost its appeal. He turned away and strode back toward the house he and Sandburg shared. Sandburg had the sensitivity not to follow him.

They joined the others at the communal table for the evening meal. Ellison had turned away from the house at the last moment and gone for a long walk, which had restored his equilibrium. When the doctor came to take the seat next to him he wasn't surprised.

"I wanted to ask you about what you did with the boy this afternoon," the doctor said. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Ellison sipped from his mug and set it aside. "Where I come from, every child knows how to do it."

"Every child knows how to bring the dead to life?" The doctor didn't bother to hide his skepticism.

"Hardly," Ellison said. "The boy wasn't dead."

"He wasn't breathing. He had no heartbeat."

"He had a heartbeat. You checked it at the wrist. Circulation to the limbs shuts down first, to protect the brain. He had a carotid pulse-- at the throat. It was faint but Sandburg felt it."

The doctor nodded. "I see. We could sure use a man of your skills around here."

"Thanks," Ellison said, "But Sandburg and I need to get back to where we came from."

"And that would be?"

"Cascade."

"So you've said. No one here seems to have heard of it."

"I get the feeling no one here gets around much."

"Touche. Still, forgive me, but something's kept you here up to now. I don't think it's this missing wagon of yours. Anyone here would loan you a wagon to get home with. I think maybe a certain young lady has something to do with your reluctance to leave. Am I wrong?"

Ellison glanced down the table to where Serena was collecting dishes to be washed. She'd drawn clean-up duty tonight and so had eaten earlier. "It's complicated," he said.

"Yes. So Mr. Sandburg said when I spoke to him earlier. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight. I'm too restless to sit here. It must be all the excitement this afternoon. If you've finished eating, perhaps you'd fill your mug and walk with me."

His intention was plain. Ellison considered it. Sandburg's research into local history was interesting but so far hadn't turned up anything useful. The doctor was clearly intelligent and open-minded. Maybe asking outright some of the questions Sandburg had to tiptoe around would give them something. On the other hand, if the doctor saw him as delusional and spread the word, things could get ugly all around.

"Most folks find me pretty easy company," the doctor said. "You could tell me about the technique you used on Ian."

Ellison nodded, and rose from the bench. "I guess I could use a walk, myself."

"Jim?" Sandburg called from the other side of the table as Ellison moved away.

Ellison turned back to him. "I'm just going to give the doc here the basics of CPR."

"No problem," Sandburg said, but his casual tone was forced. He'd been reluctant to be separated after dark since they'd arrived, afraid one of them might stumble back through the rift alone. "Just don't get lost, huh?"

"I never get lost unless you're navigating. I won't be long."

"Right."

Ellison followed the doctor down the narrow path to the beach. Neither spoke until they reached it, and then the doctor said, "Maybe if you tell me what kind of trouble you're in, I can help."

"In order to help, you'd have to believe me."

The doctor stopped, settling his back against the enormous log that dominated the scene. "I'm pretty open-minded. Try me."

"Sandburg and I come from a lot farther away than you think."

"That's clear enough. You guard every word as if anything you say could give away some dark secret. And the boy asks so many questions a man might think he'd come into the world yesterday."

"What if I told you he had? That we both had?"

The doctor laughed. "I'd say you might have been born yesterday, but I wasn't."

"That's about what I thought you'd say." Ellison sighed. "It's all right. How about I tell you about what I did with Ian? Better yet, why don't we arrange to open the schoolroom tomorrow night? Sandburg and I will teach anyone who wants to learn."

The doctor frowned at the change of subject, but he didn't pursue it. "I'd say it sounds like a fine idea. Is it specific to drowning, or will it work under other circumstances?"

"It's always worth a try. It's not magic, though. If a man's dying of old age, or severe trauma, it's not going to save him. All you're doing is keeping air in the body until the brain figures out how to breathe again."

"But..." The doctor's agile mind was already following the concept out. "Suppose a child were hurt in the fields, or a man injured some distance from home. It's not uncommon for a patient to die before he can be brought to help. With your technique, perhaps he could be kept alive long enough to reach assistance."

Ellison nodded. "That's how we use it, mostly. You'd still have to deal with the injuries. But it might buy him some time."

"Amazing. I must confess that I take a certain guilty satisfaction from your circumstances. You obviously have a thing or two to teach me, and I'm not too proud to say so." He raised his mug and looked at it. "I am, however, entirely out of wine, so I'd say it's time to return for a refill."

"No argument there," Ellison said.

From Blair's Journal:

Coffee!!!! We got COFFEE! A trader came through. Or rather a trade clan. It's kind of cool, really. They're a little like gypsies, only their whole function is to facilitate redistribution of goods. The whole group, from what I could figure, consisted of extended family. They never stay anywhere more than a few days. We -- the village I mean -- traded quilts and preserved stuff like jam and wine, cheese, parched corn and dried apples, some fresh milk, and labor (they needed horses shod and wagons repaired). In exchange we got woven cloth, tools, sugar, salt. The doc got some medical supplies. And we got coffee!

Sam and I looked after their horses and they gave me this journal and a fountain pen in exchange. Or so they said. According to their customs, it would have been incredibly rude for me to notice that it was a gift. They take great pride in making profitable trades. Acknowledging the gift would be like publicly exposing an embarrassingly bad trade.

It was when they were leaving. The big guy -- Job was his name -- came with a couple of kids, to collect the horses. Scared the hell out of me. He just stood there, scowling like something was wrong. Finally he says, "These horses have been exceptionally well cared for."

I felt like I ought to apologize!

"I'm afraid," he says, "That we haven't paid you sufficiently, but the women have already packed everything of value. I have these small things. I'm ashamed to offer them, but as I said, everything else is packed away."

Thank God I'd spent some time studying their customs! I pretended it wasn't at all odd that he'd just happen to be carrying a brand new journal and a fancy fountain pen when he came to pick up the horses. I only said that, coincidentally, I happened to be in need of just such a thing. That's as close as I could come to thanking him without causing offense. Cool folks. If I were planning to stay here, I'd be tempted to spend some time traveling with them. But we're not staying. I haven't had much luck with that, but something's bound to turn up any day now. I just have to keep plugging away at it. Jim trusts me entirely too much. He just assumes I'll get it done. It's been weeks since he's even bothered to ask for an update. Of course. he's a little preoccupied these days. Can't say as I blame him. I could use a little "distraction" myself, but I don't want to be leaving any little curly-headed responsibilities behind when we go.

AUTUMN

Oh-dark-thirty and Blair was getting dressed. Again. Ellison propped himself up on one elbow. "What are you doing? Do you know what time it is?"

"Nope." Blair sat on the edge of his cot and pulled his boots on. "Neither do you. Your watch hasn't worked since we got here. Remember?"

"Don't be a smart ass. You know what I meant. You haven't slept through to sunrise in two weeks."

Sandburg shrugged and bent to tie his boots. "I told you I'd be working in the stables."

"This time of the morning? If you can call it morning."

"Horses have to eat before they go to work. Go back to sleep. I'll see you at breakfast." He left before Ellison could speak again.

Ellison heard him rummage briefly in the cupboard and then heard the door open and close. He settled back, but not to sleep. Something wasn't sitting right with him and he couldn't pin it down. The villagers were early risers and they'd both made the adjustment after a few days but Ellison still had to roll his partner out of bed most days, to make sure he got breakfast. This early morning thing was definitely out of character.

But then, maybe it was a good thing. Sandburg had been on edge lately, and Ellison had no doubt that it was because he was reaching the same conclusion that Ellison was. They hadn't spoken of it but they'd fallen out of the habit of riding out to their arrival point every afternoon. After three months, there didn't seem to be much point. In all of their explorations, they hadn't come across a single sign. They'd gone out for days at a time at first, exploring the area both alone and with Paul as a guide, but there was nothing anywhere that resembled the highway they'd been driving on.

Sandburg's research into the culture had showed promise early on. He'd learned that the villagers never went out when the valley was cloaked in fog. There were tales of children who had strayed into the fog, never to return. But every culture had its missing persons. The sad fact was that life was dangerous. People fell from cliffs. People got drunk and drowned in lakes and rivers. And even the most nonviolent societies had their predators. The criminally insane, masquerading as model citizens, preying on the innocent and the vulnerable. There was nothing to indicate that the man-eating fog was anything more than the typical superstitious response to unexplained deaths in a society without forensics. It was beginning to look as if they were here for the long haul.

Maybe in his work at the stables, Sandburg had found a way to begin making his peace with the situation. He was good with the horses. Ellison loved to watch him work. The constant motion that could make Sandburg so wearying to be around at times was channeled then, and focused. Working a horse, Sandburg became a dancer, weaving a complex pattern of approach and avoidance while his equine partner moved in the center of the pattern, until all at once they were moving together with effortless grace, one mind in two bodies. Not unlike the way Sandburg had made his way into Ellison's life.

Ellison sighed and rolled over. If he was lucky, he could still get a couple of hours of sleep before breakfast. If Sandburg seemed unsettled then, they could talk. In the meantime, Serena seemed determined to slip into his dreams, and he wasn't in the mood to stop her. It sure beat the dreams dealing with the seedy side of Cascade tended to leave him with. Not that he didn't miss home, but even in dreams a man needed a vacation now and then.

He woke again with the sun, stretching muscles that were no longer constantly knotted with tension. Sandburg hadn't returned. Ellison washed up in the kitchen, not bothering to heat the water first. He'd come to enjoy the brisk splash to shock the remnants of sleep from his mind. He dressed quickly in the loose fitting work clothes Serena had made for him, and then strolled across the green to join the group already gathering for breakfast. The day was beautifully clear and still, and it set the mood for the morning. Even the ones who normally grumbled their way awake through breakfast seemed in good spirits. Serena stood up to greet him with a kiss.

"Well, good morning to you, sleepyhead. I thought you'd decided to sleep through lunch."

Ellison gave her a quick one-armed hug before they sat down. "If I'd known it was an option, I might have." He grabbed a mug from the center of the table and held it up to be filled. "Thanks, Jeannie."

The teen with the kettle blushed and ducked her head. Apparently she wasn't over her crush. Ellison filled his plate quickly from the communal dishes and then turned back to Serena.

"Have you seen Blair yet?"

She shook her head. "Not this morning. Isn't he at home?"

"He's been going to the stables early. Practically in the middle of the night."

"He's cast from the same mold as Sam, I think. Sam would rather be with horses than humans. He stops by long enough to take a biscuit with him for breakfast and that's all anyone ever sees of him until dinner. I'll tell you one thing though. If Blair takes up those habits, there are going to be a lot of disappointed girls."

"He tends to leave a string of them wherever he goes."

Ellison looked up from his meal to see a rider approaching, and frowned a little when Sandburg pulled the horse up and slipped off. He already looked as if he'd put in a day's work. One cheek was smudged with dust, and his chestnut curls were working free of the leather strip he'd tied them back with. He tugged the tie out and stuffed it in his jeans pocket, then secured the horse to a tree and came to the table. The group on Ellison's bench shifted to let him in.

"Hey," Sandburg said wearily, settling in beside Ellison.

"Hey," Ellison said, snagging a plate and setting it in front of him. "Rough morning? You look pretty fried."

"Nah. I'm okay. Mornin', Serena. Did you save me any apricots?"

"Not a one," Serena said, and then laughed at his crestfallen expression.

Ellison transferred three apricots from his own plate to Sandburg's. "You owe me big time," he said.

"Ha," Blair said, around the apricot he'd stuffed in his mouth. "Youn eben lyem enhow."

"Yeah well, you still owe me. I had to fight Ian for them. It wasn't pretty."

Sandburg swallowed the apricot. "Good thing Serena was here to help, then." He rolled his eyes at Ellison's formidable glare. "Don't bother. It might work on the kids, but I'm not one of the kids."

"Couldn't prove it by me," Ellison retorted.

"Ouch!" Serena said. "I think you drew blood that time."

"You see what he's like," Blair lamented.

Serena laughed. "I do, but don't you be fluttering those pretty lashes at me. I know what you're like, too."

"Aw man," Sandburg grumbled. "I can't win for losing. I got work to do." He drained the mug one of the women had set in front of him, pocketed the two remaining apricots and grabbed an oatcake to go before sliding from the bench. "I'll see you tonight, Jim."

"Hold on," Ellison said. "Seriously. You look beat. Sit and eat, at least."

"I'm already behind," Sandburg said over his shoulder as he headed for his horse. "Sam'll skin me alive if I don't get back."

"Blair..."

Blair was already mounted and turning the horse. He raised a hand in a casual wave without looking back.

From Blair's Journal:

It's all bullshit. I mean, Jim says he's still looking to go home, but he's talking out of his ass. I've seen lovesick idiots before and he's so friggin far gone he can't see anything but her. He won't say it but I know he's already decided to stay. Well that's just fuckin great for him, but where the hell does it leave me? Less than a year away from a PhD and I'm stuck in a goddamn cliche. PhD = Post Hole Digger. Congratulations, Sandburg. I feel like crap. My head's killing me. I just want to go home and crash on a real sofa and watch bad TV in high def. But no, Jim's gotta think with his southbound head. Now I'm whining. Great. Goddamn applejack always kicks me in the head. I probably shouldn't write shit when I'm this drunk, cause I know it trashes my judgment, but what the hell. It's not like anyone's ever going to read it, right? I'm really really drunk. Jim's gonna be freakin pissed.

Even two weeks before Harvest Festival, a birth had to be properly celebrated. The party for Jazzie and Ted's newborn son lasted well into the night. All danced out and pleasantly tired, Ellison and Serena shared a lingering kiss at Serena's door.

"You could stay," she said, keeping hold of his hand.

Ellison was sorely tempted, but the work of keeping a village fed and sheltered didn't allow for too many days off, and dawn would come early. He needed sleep, and he suspected neither of them would get much of that if he stayed.

"I'd better not," he said. "We both need to get some sleep before morning."

"Has anyone ever told you, you're a terrible bore sometimes?" Serena teased, but she released his hand with a sigh. He didn't hear her door close until he'd nearly reached his own.

He found Sandburg asleep at the table with his cheek pillowed on his open journal, one hand curled loosely around his pen. Ellison's nose wrinkled. 'Asleep' wasn't exactly accurate. The kid reeked of alcohol. He'd left the celebration early and sober, or at least mostly so, but that had clearly changed in the meantime.

Caught between amusement and concern, Ellison laid a hand on Sandburg's back. "Blair. Time for bed, buddy."

Sandburg didn't move. Ellison took the pen from his hand and set it aside. "Blair. Let's go. Wake up."

Sandburg stirred slightly but it was clear he wasn't going to be any help.

For a moment Ellison was tempted by the open journal. He forced himself to ignore it. Living in close quarters with a sentinel didn't leave Sandburg with much privacy. Tempting as it might be, Ellison wouldn't violate the little he did have.

Sighing, he hefted Sandburg to his feet and managed to get him to his bed. As an afterthought, he retrieved the journal and put it away in the cupboard Sandburg kept it in. He doubted Sandburg would remember ever taking it out.

Though Ellison was far from hammered, he'd drunk enough to get a good buzz on and he was more than ready to sleep it off. He undressed, doused the lantern and fell into bed, not waking again until dawn filtered a rosy light into the room.

Sandburg didn't seem to have moved since Ellison had dumped him on the bed. Ellison gave him a rough nudge. "Hey. Better get moving. Sun's up."

Sandburg groaned and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow. "Oh, man. Just kill me."

"Don't bother looking to me for sympathy. You did it to yourself. Come on. Up and at 'em. I'll get some wash water heating for you but I'm not leaving you any if you're not there in ten minutes."

"Yeah, I'm up," Sandburg grumbled. He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows. He didn't share Ellison's enthusiasm for splashing in cold water, so the threat was a serious one.

Satisfied that he was moving, Ellison left him and went to get water heating on the stove.

Sandburg dragged in just about the time Ellison was ready to leave. If not for the steady sound of his heartbeat, Ellison might have mistaken him for the walking dead. His greenish pallor, dark-circled eyes and shuffling gait made him look like an extra in a horror film. Ellison was tempted to say so, but the kid really did look miserable, so he only asked, "You want me to wait for you?"

"No. Go on," Sandburg said, with a faint, rueful smile. "I plan on making a huge detour around the tables. I don't even want to smell food. For the rest of my life."

Ellison chuckled. "You didn't look like you'd had that much when you left the party." He was fishing. Sandburg didn't bite.

"Applejack always leaves me feeling like crap. I ought to stay away from it."

"Guess so. All right. I'll see you at dinner. I hear we're having pickled squid with chocolate sauce."

"Bastard," Sandburg growled.

Ellison only grinned and waved over his shoulder as he headed across the green to meet Serena for breakfast.

A week later, Ellison lay in the predawn darkness, listening to the familiar clatter of Sandburg's attempts to slip out without waking him. Unable to go back to sleep, He finally gave up trying, rose and dressed. It was too early for breakfast. He followed the road around to the stables. The sun was just creeping over the horizon, but the stables were dark, the heavy doors securely fastened. Ellison went around to the fenced pasture. A couple of horses were grazing peacefully. One mare wandered over to see if Ellison might be carrying a treat. He leaned over the fence and rubbed her muzzle absently. There was no sign that anyone had been there.

Puzzled, Ellison walked back around to the stable. Sam Barrett was just coming out of the one-room cottage he kept beside the stable. When he spotted Ellison he paused for a moment and then came forward.

"Jim? A little early isn't it? Everything all right?"

"I think so. I was just looking for Blair."

Barrett scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand on end in random spikes. "He won't be here for two hours yet. He comes in after breakfast."

"After breakfast."

"Yes."

"What about feeding the horses?"

"Paul and I feed them and turn them out. Blair comes in after breakfast to clean the stalls and work the ones who need working. Are you sure everything is all right?"

"Yeah. I just wanted a word with him. He's probably meditating on the beach."

"Or riding," Barrett said. "I haven't checked the stalls yet. Sometimes he takes Minas out for an early run."

Ellison's jaw clenched. "Where?"

Barrett frowned at Ellison's intensity. "I can't say as he's ever told me. Is it important?"

"No," Ellison forced himself to say. "It's all right. I'll catch up with him later on."

"If I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"Thanks."

Ellison turned back along the roadway and across the green to where a group of the women were just beginning to lay out breakfast preparations. It would be another half hour before the meal would be ready. He returned to the cottage he shared with Blair, and stirred the embers in the stove up enough to boil water. The small stash of coffee called to him, but he resisted the temptation, and threw in a handful of the chicory blend instead. He might be angry with his roommate, but Ellison couldn't think of an offense bad enough to warrant the cruelty of making real coffee without him.

By the time he headed out to breakfast, Sandburg was already parked on one of the long benches, flirting with Marcy Teller between spoonfuls of oatmeal. Ellison grabbed a plate and slid in beside him.

Sandburg left off flirting to greet him. "Hey Jim." His smile faltered at the sight of Ellison's stony expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Ellison reached across the table for a thick slice of buttered bread. "You get those horses all fed?"

"Sam's turning them out. Look, if you don't think I'm pulling my weight..."

"I didn't say that. Eat your breakfast."

"Jim..." His expressive eyes held hurt and confusion, but Ellison wasn't inclined to let him off the hook.

"Not now, Sandburg." He finished filling his plate, and accepted a mug of mixed berry juice from one of the younger girls.

Sandburg watched him for a moment longer, and then shook his head and returned to his oatmeal. When he'd finished it, he rose silently to leave. Ellison didn't stop him.

The early vegetables had started to come in, and the first of the blackberries, but the harvesting of them was considered light work. Mothers with small children took them to the fields to let them have the fun of helping. Older children pitched in after their lessons.

Ellison wasn't needed there, so he spent the day with a maintenance crew, learning to rethatch roofs. Sandburg had found the process fascinating and joined the first thatching project available. He'd chattered nonstop about it for days. Ellison couldn't quite muster the same level of excitement about tying bundles of straw on cottage roofs, but he found it to be pleasantly relaxing work for an autumn day.

The only down side was the incessant tickling of bits of straw on his sensitive skin. When they'd finished for the day, he spent half an hour in the lake sluicing the annoying stuff off, then waded back to shore and used his linen shirt to dry off with. He was beginning to realize how terribly under-appreciated terrycloth was. If he ever made it back, he intended to go out and buy the thickest, softest Egyptian cotton terry towels he could find.

Sandburg didn't show up for dinner. Darkness was falling when he finally turned up. He'd bathed in the lake and smelled of moss and wet stone. He hesitated in the doorway, as if he'd hoped to find Ellison asleep instead of sitting at the table waiting for him.

"You gonna bite my head off if I come in? 'Cause it's been a long day, and I left most of my patience at the barn."

"You get anything to eat?"

Sandburg gave an exasperated sigh, annoyance warring with confusion in his expression. "Ari saved me some cheese toast and applesauce. You want to tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Sit."

Sandburg rolled his eyes. "Fine." He settled on the bench.

"I stopped by the stables this morning," Ellison said. "Thought I'd watch you work for a bit. It's pretty impressive the way you handle the horses."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Only you weren't there. Sam said you're never there before breakfast."

Sandburg stood abruptly. "What the hell, Jim? You're spying on me now? What difference could it possibly make to you whether I start work before or after breakfast?"

Ellison reigned in his own temper, which was rising to meet Sandburg's self-righteous indignation. "What difference does it make? For weeks you've been crawling out of bed before dawn every day, telling me you have to get to work. Now I find out you don't go to work until after breakfast? Why would you lie about something like that?"

Sandburg got to his feet. "Maybe because I wanted to avoid exactly this. 'Cause you know what? You may have forgotten we weren't born here, but I haven't."

"I haven't forgotten anything. I want to get back as much you do."

"Back." Sandburg practically spat the word.

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You used to say 'home.'"

Ellison shook his head, a little bewildered by how quickly this was spiraling out of control. "It's the same thing. What's the big deal?"

Sandburg turned away. "Nothing, man. Forget it. Just forget it." He reached up to shove his hair behind his ears. It was getting long enough to get in his way.

Ellison stood and moved around the table to stand beside him. "I don't think we should forget it. Not if it's got you this wound up. You think I don't want to go home? Is that it?"

Sandburg looked up at him, challenge sparking in his eyes. "When was the last time you rode out and helped me look?"

Ellison let out a frustrated sigh. "We've been over that road a hundred times. There's nothing there. We'll find a way. I just don't think that's it."

Sandburg wasn't going to let it go. "The way you're talking, it's pretty clear don't want me looking, either."

Ellison reached out, intending to lay a hand on his shoulder but Sandburg stiffened, and he never completed the contact.

"If I died," Sandburg said deliberately, "Would you go home?"

Shocked, Ellison stared at him. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"I'm just saying. If I weren't in the picture, what would you do? Would you still be looking for a way home?"

"All right, for one thing," Ellison said, "If you died, I doubt I'd give a damn where I was, because I don't know if I could take losing another partner. Okay? So forget it. We're not going there."

Sandburg put a hand on his arm. The grounding gesture was so instinctive he probably didn't even know he was doing it. "Relax, will you? I told you. I didn't mean it literally. I just meant..."

"I don't care what you meant!" The fear was still coiling in his gut, feeding his fury. "Jesus Christ, Sandburg. What the hell kind of thing was that to say?"

"All right! Okay. Bad choice of words. I'm sorry! Just chill, man."

Ellison continued to glare at him, unwilling to let go of the anger that was his only shield. "Fine," he said. He knew he sounded like a sullen ten-year old and he didn't care.

"You haven't answered the question," Sandburg persisted.

Christ, the kid was worse than pit bull puppy. He just had no clue when to let go.

"I'm a cop," Ellison said, "Not a farmer. And somewhere out there, the Jags are kicking Portland's ass on cable TV, and Dominoes has an extra large pizza with my name on it. I don't need you to help me hear it calling. Okay?"

"Then why are you so pissed at me for looking?"

"I'm not. I'm concerned about you. That's all. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You're run down. You're losing weight. You're not sleeping. I've seen you do this to yourself before, and I know how it ends. You wear yourself down until you end up with a case of the flu. Then you ignore that until it turns into pneumonia. Well, in case you hadn't noticed? You can't just get a prescription called in to an all night pharmacy around here."

"Jim," Sandburg said with exaggerated patience, "You don't get the flu from getting up early. You get it from being exposed to a virus."

"And we have no idea what kind of viruses are floating around here that we have no resistance to. So the last thing you need to be doing is wearing yourself down to the point where your immune system's trashed."

Sandburg shook his head. "This is nuts, man. I can't believe this."

Ellison was rapidly running out of patience. "Great. I show a little basic concern for you, and you think it's nuts."

Sandburg's short bark of humorless laughter didn't exactly smooth his ruffled feathers.

"No," Sandburg said, "What's nuts is you thinking I'm going to buy that this has anything to do with me catching some hypothetical alien cold. Gaaagh!" His wordless growl of frustration backed Ellison off a step. "We're not doing this now. I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"Chief..."

"Goodnight, Jim."

Sandburg stalked past him into their shared sleeping quarters and tugged his clothes off, dropping them in a pile beside his cot, before flinging himself down with his face to the wall.

Ellison stared after him in frustration. How in hell had he lost control of the discussion so quickly? He shook his head. There was no way he was going to let Sandburg make him the bad guy in this. Sandburg had been lying to him for weeks. How was that possibly Ellison's fault? And what really burned his ass was that Sandburg had succeeded in making him feel guilty and he didn't even know what for. It was like being married all over again.

Nonetheless, before Sandburg stirred in the predawn darkness, Ellison was up and dressed. Sandburg stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

"Jim? What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep." Ellison pushed a mug into his hands and waited.

Sandburg raised the mug automatically, then choked as the taste reached his foggy brain. "Oh man! I thought I was dreaming. God! That's better than sex."

Ellison grinned. "You sure you remember what sex was like?"

Sandburg looked up from his mug. "At this moment? Not a clue. Who cares?" He slid onto a bench at the table. "You gotta tell me how you did this."

"Boiled the coffee down until it looked like roofing tar and smelled about the same. Dumped in milk, honey, and mint leaves, then boiled the whole mess again. It's not exactly Starbucks."

Sandburg clutched the mug in both hands and leaned over it, inhaling the rising steam. "Oh God. This is heaven, man. You got some too?"

"Not a chance." Ellison lifted his own mug and sipped, letting the rich, bitter taste linger on his tongue. "I never did understand how you could ruin perfectly good coffee with all that milk, not to mention the bizarre flavors. I like a candy bar as much as the next guy, but they're meant to be eaten, not mixed into a cup of coffee."

Sandburg chuckled, but his attention was clearly on the makeshift latte he was sipping. Ellison could see the tension leaving his shoulders as he savored the small taste of home. But his pleasure at having made Blair happy for the moment gave way almost at once to a renewed feeling of guilt. He forgot, sometimes, how hard this all was on Sandburg.

"Drink up," he said roughly. "We have to get moving if we want to get back in time for breakfast."

Sandburg looked up at him hopefully for a moment and then shook his head. "I appreciate the gesture. I really do. And the coffee -- there's a lifetime supply of brownie points in this cup. But you don't have to do this."

"I know." Ellison drained the last of his coffee, setting the mug aside reluctantly. "But maybe you're right. I haven't been out in awhile. Maybe there's something we've missed."

Sandburg took another sip from his mug. "You ever wish you'd been carrying your travel mug when you got out of the truck?"

"Every day," Ellison said.

"Ah well, I can walk and drink. We might as well get started."

The morning was still chilly. The sun hadn't even begun to show its face, and the dull starless sky didn't offer much hope of seeing any later. Ellison wore his own modern jacket over his local clothing. It made an odd, but effective combination.

Sandburg had arrived in a wool jacket that was reasonably warm, but not much use if it rained. After the first really hard rain, they'd come home to find a sturdy waxed linen duster laid out on Sandburg's cot. No one had ever owned up to the donation. Sandburg loved the thing. Thought it made him look like a gunslinger. Ellison was still trying to figure that one out. The peacenik scholar who wanted no part of carrying a gun, tickled to death by the idea that his new coat made him look like a cold-blooded killer.

Sandburg chose two horses and saddled them with practiced ease, murmuring affectionately to the big animals as he worked. He'd chosen a big bay for Ellison, and for himself, a slightly smaller buckskin that Ellison had seen him with several times before. They rode out as far as the spot they'd arrived on and then turned off the road and up to the ridge above it. By then it was raining steadily. They were both chilled and the horses were stamping impatiently and shaking the rain from their coats. Sandburg stood in his stirrups, scanning the area on both sides of the ridge.

Ellison reached out with all of his senses, stretching them effortlessly to their limits, but finding nothing out of the ordinary. He settled back with a sigh, automatically relaxing his senses. He hadn't needed to resort to imaginary dials since the first week after they'd arrived and the freedom was exhilarating. He glanced at Sandburg, who had settled into his saddle, resting his crossed wrists on horn. He'd pulled his hood up, but the ends of his hair were hanging forward, unprotected, and dripping cold rain. There was nothing Ellison could say, so he only turned his horse back down the ridge to the road. He'd made the coffee as an apology. He wished now that he'd saved it. At least then he'd have some comfort to offer. Sandburg reached the road first and nudged his horse into a lope. Cursing the awkward gait, Ellison did his best to keep up without landing in a ditch.

They dismounted in front of the stables. Sandburg took Ellison's horse. "They'll need to be rubbed down. I'll see you at lunch."

"Let me help," Ellison offered, "So you'll have time for breakfast."

Sandburg turned the horses toward the stable. "I got it," he said, leading them off.

Ellison looked after him for a moment, but he knew better than to follow. He headed back along the road intending to go home and wash up before breakfast, but that wasn't where his feet took him. He hesitated a moment and would have turned away. Then the door opened, and Serena took his hands and drew him in.

The stove was well stoked, and a fire on the hearth made the small cottage a welcome haven of light and warmth. It wasn't the loft, but it almost felt like home.

"You're soaked!" Serena said, as Ellison paused to kick off his muddy boots.

"I took a ride out with Sandburg."

She looked up at him with puzzled eyes. "I don't understand what he's looking for. He can't possibly be driving himself like he does over your missing wagon."

"He wants to go home." Ellison took off his wet jacket and hung it on the hook beside the door.

Serena came and put her arms around his waist. "We'd give him a wagon. He knows that. Is it because he won't leave you?"

Ellison wrapped both arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head to avoid having to meet her eyes. "It's more complicated than that."

Serena pulled away and went to sit on the bed. "Whatever it is, it eats at you, too. I see how it comes between you. Tell me."

Ellison shook his head, but he followed her to the bed. "You won't believe me."

She put a hand out to him, pulling him down to sit beside her. "Why? I don't understand."

Ellison sighed. "Suppose something happened to you. Something so strange that no one in the world would believe it. So strange that you'd question your own sanity, if you didn't have someone standing beside you who'd been through it with you."

"You mean when you saved Blair's life? Is that why he won't leave you?"

He hesitated a moment longer. "Don't you ever wonder why Blair's so curious about everything?"

"He's a scholar. He studies cultures and traditions. He's told me so."

Ellison looked down into her puzzled eyes. "He teaches --taught-- at a University in a place called Cascade, Washington. It's a city, but not a very big one. Only a few hundred thousand people."

"That's..."

"Just hear me out."

Serena settled against him, and he continued. "I'm a police officer. It's my job to enforce the law. When he's not teaching, Blair helps me. We had some time off, and Blair wanted to go someplace quiet -- away from the city. We were in a truck, not a wagon. A truck, with an engine that burned gasoline. We came into a fog and something stopped the truck. We got out to see what we'd hit and when we turned around, everything was gone. The truck. The road. Everything. Blair's not looking for a wagon. He's looking for a way home. Only I'm not sure anymore that there is a way."

Serena's eyes had gone wide with shock. "You're telling me you're both from what? Another world?"

"Yeah. That's about the size of it."

"I can't imagine why you'd think I wouldn't believe a story like that."

Ellison sighed, and shifted back against the wall, so that he could stretch his legs out on the bed. "I know. It sounds insane."

"The most insane thing about it is how many things suddenly make sense if a person accepts it. The things you know, like how to save a drowned child. The things every child knows, but you don't. The things you try to pretend are familiar. Blair's fascination with archives and old stories. And the shadows in his eyes." She slid back to meet his gaze. "There were shadows in yours when you came here. But when I look in your eyes, now, the only shadow I see is your worry for Blair."

He reached out and pulled her close. "I don't know. I miss home, but at the same time, my life there isn't always easy, dealing with murderers and kidnappers, and thieves. It's not a bad life. I like to think I make a difference. I just get tired sometimes. So, yeah, I want to go home, but lately I've been thinking, what if we can't? What if there's no way back? Do we spend the rest of our lives fighting it? It wouldn't be much of a life."

"Why are you telling me all this now?"

"Because you asked. Remember?"

She frowned at him. "I'm serious. You've always been so secretive before."

Ellison tightened his arms around her, nuzzling her hair absently while he considered his response. "I guess because I have some decisions to make."

"And do they involve me?" Serena teased, reaching up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Ellison tickled her face with the end of her braid. "They might."

"Maybe I can find a way to help those decisions along." She slid a hand under his shirt.

"Maybe you --" He stopped short as a new sound entered his consciousness.

Serena sat up. "Jim? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Blair. Something's happened to Blair."

She caught his sleeve as he moved to leave. "How can you possibly know that?"

"I have to go." He pulled away and broke into a run, his head pounding in time with Sandburg's racing heart, his own chest tightening with Sandburg's agonized gasps.

He didn't need to go far. They were already coming across the green. Renny was on his big sorrel gelding, supporting Sandburg in front of him.

"Help me with him," Renny called.

Ellison raced across the yard to meet them and caught Sandburg as he slid from the horse.

"Don't freak, man," Sandburg gasped. "I'm OK. Knocked the wind outta me's all. Be fine in a minute. Ohgodsonofabitch that hurts."

"What happened?" Ellison demanded, as Renny slid to the ground and dropped the reins.

"That damn roan stallion of Barrett's," Renny said. "Come on. We need to lay him down. I told Barrett the boy wasn't ready to be anywhere near that horse. Paul's gone for the doctor."

"I got ya, Chief." Ellison got an arm around Sandburg's waist on one side, while Renny supported him from the other. Together they got him inside and laid him on Serena's bed. Ellison slid his shirt up and swore when he got a look at the massive bruise already purpling under his right ribs.

"Oh no!" Serena gasped coming to join them.

Ellison spared her a brief glance. "Water. As cold as you can find it. And cloth. We need some cold compresses." She nodded and left them. Ellison sat on the edge of the bed. "Okay, buddy, I know you're hurting but I need to know if you're having any trouble breathing."

Sandburg shook his head. "Hurts to breathe," he grated out between clenched teeth, "But just 'cause it hurts."

Ellison forced a smile. "It's a little scary that I know you well enough to have understood that." What was far scarier was Sandburg's pale complexion and the fact that his brow was cool and damp when Ellison reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes. Ellison grabbed the pillows from the top of the bed and settled them gently under Sandburg's legs. "How you doing? You cold?"

"A little. Jim, don't make a huge deal here. I'm just bruised up."

"And looking shocky, so stay put and let us take care of you."

"I promise you, man, I am not going anywhere any time soon."

Serena returned with the cold water and rags, just as Dr. Fields' voice called, "Hello the house!" He didn't wait for an answer but came in through the still open door, and straight to the bedroom. "So, Paul tells me you got yourself into a pissing contest with a stallion."

"Something like that," Sandburg said, and then gasped when the doctor probed the bruise gently.

"His ribs seem all right," Fields said, "But I don't like his color. Are you in a great deal of pain, son?"

"Not as much as I was," Sandburg said.

Fields chuckled. "I don't doubt that. Serena, if you'll get some cold compresses on those bruises, I'd like to speak with Jim for a moment."

The two men left the bedroom and Fields gestured toward the yard. "I didn't want to frighten the boy," he said, "But as you probably know, this sort of injury can damage the organs, causing them to bleed into the body cavity."

"Yeah," Ellison said, "That's what has me worried. He looks pretty shocky for just being bruised."

"Beg pardon?"

Shock... He looks like he's going into shock. He's pale, and chilled and..."

"Oh. Yes. Unfortunately , those symptoms may indicate that he's bleeding internally, and if that is the case, there's very little anyone can do for him."

"Surgery could..."

"Surgery," Fields interrupted, "Is the last thing he needs. It would be virtually impossible to find the source of the bleeding. Surgery would only add to the blood loss and the risk of infection would be far greater in an open wound. Let's not borrow trouble. It's likely there's no bleeding at all, or very minor bleeding that will resolve itself without interference. But I'd like you to keep him very still for the next day or two, just as a precaution." He smiled and laid a hand on Ellison's back. "I don't envy you the task of keeping that young man down."

"I'll get some rope from the stable."

Fields laughed. "That ought to do it."

They rejoined the others. Serena had laid a cold compress over the bruised area. Sandburg seemed to be breathing easier, but his features were taut with pain. Renny and Paul had retreated as far as the corners of the room, unwilling to leave until they heard the prognosis.

Fields took a bottle from his bag and mixed a small measure of its contents into a mug of water. "All right, young man. Here is where you'll need all your courage. I won't lie to you. It's awful stuff, but if you survive the taste, it will help with the pain. Are you up to the challenge?"

"I eat Jim's cooking. How bad could it be?" Sandburg upended the mug, took the bitter liquid down in one gulp, and grimaced in a fair imitation of a gunfighter in a bad western.

Ellison snorted. "Can't say you missed your calling. How you doing?"

"Better. I told you. Just got the wind knocked out of me."

"Yeah, well, the doc says you're probably right, but you're going to have to stay down for a few days, just in case."

Fields laid a hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "I think it would all right to move him to his own bed. Get the men to rig a stretcher."

"Stretcher? Jim--!"

"Ah!" Ellison jabbed a finger at him. "Don't even start, Junior."

Sandburg subsided with a sigh. "Man, what was in that stuff?" He yawned. "ThasSO... noffffair...J'm."

The doctor leaned over him, checking his pulse with a smile of satisfaction. "You saw how much I gave him?"

Ellison nodded.

"I wanted him to sleep." He glanced back at his patient. "Of course you and I both know he wouldn't have swallowed if he'd known that. Half that amount is enough to ease pain and help him relax. Use it only if he really needs it and no more than three times a day. There's a danger of addiction."

"Right," Ellison said.

"I'll look in on him later on. You keep him in bed, no matter what he says. He may be fine, and in that case there's no harm in a couple of days of rest. If he's bleeding, keeping him still may be the only thing between full recovery and death."

While Sandburg slept, Ellison and Renny moved him to his own bed. Ellison had intended to join one of the apple-picking crews for the day, but now he settled in the cottage, where he could monitor his partner's heartbeat. Since he'd arrived, he'd taken up whittling. He wasn't particularly good at it, but the children were fascinated by the toy cars he turned out. He didn't mention the engines. Once Harvest Festival was over, Ellison figured he'd rally them to make their own models for an old-fashioned soap-box derby. He puttered with one at the table to keep his hands busy, though he couldn't seem to keep his mind on it. Serena brought him a well-filled plate at midday. He picked at it, but set most of it aside.

Late in the afternoon, Doc Fields stopped to look in on his patient. By then, Ellison's concern had abated a little. Sandburg seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and the color had returned to his face. Fields nodded in satisfaction and then led Ellison out into the damp air where they could speak without waking Sandburg.

"He's looking much better," Fields said. "I expect he'll be fine, but let's keep him quiet for a few days anyway."

Ellison nodded. "I'll sit on him if I have to."

Fields chuckled, and then turned serious. "Could I ask you something?"

Ellison leaned back against the cottage wall. "Sure, Doc. What's up?"

"You asked me once what I'd say if you told me you and Blair had only just come into the world. What did you mean by that?"

"It's complicated," Ellison said.

"That's what you said the last time I asked. I'm a man of science. I can handle complicated."

Ellison moved away from the wall and sat on the bench. The movement gave him time to consider his response. "It's beyond complicated. I don't need the hassle of whatever it is you do to the insane here."

The doctor laughed. "I think I'm a fair judge of insanity, and you're not it."

Ellison rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "You wondered how I knew what to do on the beach that day."

"I'll wager Blair knows a few things as well. What on earth is a laptop, anyway?"

Ellison was on his feet in an instant. "Where did you hear that?"

Fields's eyes sparkled with amusement at Ellison's reaction. "Don't give yourself a stroke. I overheard Blair one night. I was just coming up to your door and he was saying how much he missed his laptop. At first I thought he was talking about a woman."

"Well sometimes I think he's married to the thing, but it's just a tool. He uses it for research, to help him organize information."

"And it does that how, exactly?"

"It's..."

"Complicated. I know. Tell me anyway."

"It's a sort of a typewriter."

"I see. It sounds useful. I wonder where a person would come by one of these laptops."

"We don't know how we got here." Ellison committed himself to the decision and braced himself for the response. "One minute we were on the road, headed off on vacation. The next, we were here. For us it's as if we've gone back a good hundred and fifty years in time. Only there are differences."

"Differences," Fields said flatly.

"You know what? Forget it. I told you..."

"Don't get your hackles up," the doctor interrupted. "I'm not saying I don't believe you."

Ellison wasn't ready to back down. "You saying you do?"

"I'm not exactly saying that either. Blair believes this as well?"

"He doesn't have to believe it," Ellison snapped. "He lived it."

Fields frowned. "You have to admit, it sounds a little --"

"Insane?"

"Insane."

"That's because you don't have quantum theory yet."

Fields cocked an eyebrow.

Ellison moved back to sit on the bench again. "I'm not a scientist. Blair could explain it. It has to do with how matter and energy interact at the smallest levels. One of the theories that come out of it is the idea that the universe is constantly branching, like a tree."

"I'm not sure I follow you."

"Okay." Ellison paused to find a better approach. "Take little Ian. Who knows what he might do in his lifetime. What his children might do. Maybe he'll have a son who finds the cure that saves a million lives. But what if, that day on the beach, I'd realized I was getting sunburned, and I'd forgotten to bring a shirt. What if I'd gone back to get one?"

Fields frowned. "Then Ian would be dead."

"Before he really lived. Before he had that son who saved a million lives. And those million people..."

"Dead as well." Fields nodded, following the logic but clearly not sure where Ellison was going to take it.

"Right. So there's a theory that says there's another universe where it happened that way. That every time we make a decision..."

"Branches," Fields interrupted. "Like a tree. Now I follow you. And you think that you and Blair somehow slipped from one branch to another?"

"Something like that."

"All right, so, assuming you're neither insane nor a liar --" Fields nodded at him. "And you don't strike me as either -- Can you go back?"

Ellison sighed. "I don't know. We hoped at first that it would happen naturally, but that hardly seems likely anymore. We've gone back over and over to the place we first came through, but there's nothing there."

"You know," Fields said, "There are stories -- very old stories, from before the fall, about creatures called faeries, who could send men astray in their own back gardens."

"We have the same stories," Ellison said.

"What I'm thinking about," Fields continued, "Is that they're said to have magical abilities. Their world is supposed to be full of wonders. Seems to me, you and Blair have likely seen some things that would look pretty magical to me."

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "You saying I'm a faery?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Well, do me a favor, would you?" Ellison shook his head. "Don't mention that one to Blair."

"I'd think, as a scholar, he'd --"

"No. Trust me. Just don't. I'd never hear the end of it."

Fields looked baffled.

Ellison sighed. "Where I come from, calling a man a faery suggests that he's..." He felt his face flushing. "That he has certain... preferences."

Fields was no fool. He looked puzzled for a moment longer and then his eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, my." His cough was a transparent cover for the laughter he couldn't quite suppress.

Ellison looked everywhere but at the doctor.

"You have my word," Fields said. "Not a word in front of your friend."

"He's not my friend!" Ellison snapped. "Well, I mean he's my friend. We're friends. But he's not my... friend. Not that there's anything wrong with it. I mean if I were... but I'm not..." He gave up.

"Relax." The doctor slapped him on the shoulder. "I'm just -- what was it Blair said last week? -- yanking your chain. That's a great expression." He paused. "There's something else about those old stories. It's said that if you go into the land of the faeries, you can never go home again, because time passes differently there. You might dance with the faeries all night and come home to find that a lifetime has passed in your own world while you were away."

Ellison glanced across the green to the smoke rising from Serena's chimney.

Fields didn't miss the look. "Have you ever considered the possibility that fate is a self-correcting system? As you said, maybe Ian's going to have a son who saves a million lives. It's odd, isn't it, how Serena never married? She's long past the usual age, and there have been plenty of offers. A person might almost think she's been waiting for something. Or someone. I'll stop by in the morning to look in on Blair." He laid a hand against Ellison's back for a moment, then walked away, leaving Ellison looking after him silently.

After a moment, Ellison sighed and went back inside. If Blair was awake, he'd be hungry. Ellison didn't want him getting up to raid the cupboards.

"Jim?" Sandburg mumbled, two nights later. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ellison said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay" Sandburg pushed himself up in the bed. "What are you doing up?"

"Just getting some water."

"You sure that's all? Because if you're worrying about me, you can quit. It's been two days. If there were anything serious going on, I'd have gotten worse, not better. And that didn't happen. I'm a hundred percent better than I was. The doc's cutting me loose tomorrow. It's all good."

"I'm not worried," Ellison said. "Not really. I guess I just feel responsible."

"What? That's nuts. How could you possibly be responsible for me getting kicked by a horse?"

"Maybe if I'd--" Ellison began, and stopped. They needed to talk about it, but did he really want to get into it at this hour, with Sandburg half asleep, and his own thoughts so tangled he couldn't make sense of them himself? "Never mind. Go back to sleep."

"I will, just because it's an absurd time to be awake. See ya in the morning, big guy."

"Night, Chief." Ellison stepped outside and stood for a long time looking up at the diamond-dusted expanse that was so much more vivid than it was back in Cascade. A meteor streaked overhead and he felt a childish urge to make a wish on it. Only, he no longer knew what to wish for. He stood there a moment longer, then sighed and returned to his bed.

Morning brought a stiff, hobbling, but elated Sandburg to the breakfast table. Ellison was already there. He rose immediately to give Sandburg a hand. "What are you doing? I was going to bring your breakfast."

Sandburg grinned broadly. "No way! I've been liberated! I'm a free man, with a constitutional right to get my own breakfast."

Serena leaned in to plant a kiss on Sandburg's cheek. "It's wonderful to see you up."

"I'll drink to that," Renny said, raising his mug.

"Hear, hear!" Paul raised his own mug and the rest of the group followed suit.

Sandburg was too busy settling into his place on the long bench to respond immediately, but once he was settled he filched Ellison's mug and raised it. "And I'll drink to the warmest welcome I've ever had. Thanks guys." He winked at Serena. "And ladies. You gonna kiss me again if I come back for lunch?"

Ellison snaked an arm around her waist. "She is not."

The kiss Serena gave him bore no resemblance at all to the chaste peck she'd planted on Sandburg's cheek. "Jealousy looks good on you," she said when they came up for air.

"Share with five, we all survive," Sandburg sang out.

Ellison snorted. "The anthropologist goes native when it suits him."

Sandburg chuckled and let the game drop. Someone slid a plate to him. He began to fill it from the communal bowls of bread, cheese, and sliced fruit, while the rest of group returned to their own meals.

Ellison watched him for a moment longer, relieved beyond measure to see that their fears had been unfounded. It felt like a good omen. Whatever remnants of guilt he felt stirring, he pushed them aside. Sandburg was joking with Paul and Renny, and flirting with every unmarried girl at the table. He didn't seem unhappy. Tonight would be as good a time as any for the talk Ellison had been planning to have with him.

He waited until the late afternoon sun was warming the wall of the cottage, and Sandburg had settled on the bench outside, to soak up the last rays. Then he went out to stand beside him. "You got a minute, Chief? there's something I need to talk to you about."

Sandburg leaned back against the stone side of the cottage and closed his eyes. He was clearly still hurting but there was no telling him to slow down. He sighed, stretched, winced, and finally said, "What's up?"

Ellison sat on the bench beside him. "You know we've done everything in our power to find a way home."

Sandburg didn't speak. He obviously wasn't intending to make this easy.

"The thing is," Ellison said, "We could spend the rest of our lives searching for a way back and never find it. Maybe it's time we stopped fighting it and just accepted that this is our reality now. There's no way back, and we're just going to have to make the best of it."

"Bullshit, man." Sandburg sat up and glared at him. "You don't know that. There's no way you could know that, so why don't we just lay it on the line here?"

"Chief, I'm just saying--"

"You're saying you don't want to go back. I get it. I just don't like it."

"This is not about what I want."

"Bullshit," Sandburg said again. "It's all about what you want. Or what you don't want. You were running on total burnout back home. And now you got this perfect little paradise with a perfect woman and a perfect little tribe and no bad guys and no stress. You were fed up with your life and you don't want it back.

"Well, you know what? I liked my life. I liked teaching. I liked research, and I liked working with you. I have friends there. Good friends. So do you. My life was just fine, and I want it back." He settled against the wall again, but his relaxed posture had given way to rigid tension.

Ellison sighed and laid a hand on Sandburg's knee. "All right, look. We don't have to do this right now. It can wait. I got a pot of what passes for coffee around here. Why don't you come on inside?"

"In a minute."

Ellison stood there a moment longer but there was obviously no point trying to talk to the kid now. He left him and went inside to pull the kettle off the woodstove. He wasn't sure what he'd expected. Sandburg was right, really. Sure, Ellison missed Simon and the guys, and Jags games on TV. But he didn't miss examining the dead bodies of twelve-year-old rape victims, or interrogating apathetic drug addicts or giving everything he had to take some mafia assassin off the streets only to have the bastard's blood money pay some high-priced lawyer to get him off on a technicality. It wasn't a bad trade-off. And it wasn't like they hadn't tried to get home. They'd done everything humanly possible. A freak accident of nature had brought them here and there was no way to change that. Was he wrong to accept it, instead of wasting his life fighting something that couldn't be changed?

Sandburg shuffled in a few minutes later and dropped into a chair at the table. Ellison poured a cup of the bitter chicory brew, sweetened it with honey, and slid it across the table to him.

"Thanks," Sandburg said, sipping it cautiously.

"How you feeling?"

"Like I've been kicked by a horse."

"The doc left some of the laudanum."

Sandburg looked up from his mug and shook his head. "It's not that bad. More stiff than anything. Where's Serena tonight?"

"Quilting, I think." Ellison shrugged. "Some kind of hen party anyhow."

"She really loves you, you know."

This was absolutely not the time to get into it, given Sandburg's earlier reaction, but it looked like Blair was going to plow straight into it anyhow.

"I know."

"Maybe you ought to talk to her."

"I have."

Sandburg flashed a relieved grin. "Great. So it's cool, then."

"I asked her to marry me."

"What?" Sandburg shoved his mug away. "Jim, what the hell were you thinking?"

"That we love each other, and that I can't spend the rest of my life trying to get back to something that for all we know may not even exist anymore. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask you to be my... Well, they don't have a best man, exactly, but it's the same idea."

Sandburg stared back at him with wide blue eyes, a dozen emotions warring in his expression. "That's it then? That's really what you want? You're sure?"

"Of course not. I'm terrified. I've already blown the whole marriage thing once. But, yeah. It's what I want."

"All right. Then... I'd be proud to stand with you." Sandburg pushed himself up from the table. "Congratulations, man," he said and left without looking back. Ellison let him go.

An hour later though, he began to get a little concerned. It was already getting dark, and Ellison couldn't hear him anywhere nearby. The temperature was dropping as well. It wouldn't get dangerously cold by any means, but it wasn't like Sandburg to stay out and get chilled if he had any choice.

Ellison pulled on his own jacket, grabbed Sandburg's and headed out along the path that led to the beach. Intuition served him well. As the narrow path opened out onto the beach, he spotted Sandburg perched cross-legged on the enormous driftwood log that he'd taken to using for meditation. He didn't move as Ellison approached. Ellison assumed he was meditating or asleep, but when he came up beside him, he saw that he was awake, staring out over the dark expanse of water.

"Hey," Ellison said. "You okay?"

Sandburg sighed and turned to accept the jacket Ellison was holding out. "Guess I lost track. I'm okay. You didn't have to come after me."

Ellison shrugged. "Just because the doc says you're not bleeding to death, doesn't mean you're capable of finding your way across a street in the dark."

Sandburg snorted. "Stop with the sentiment already. You're gonna make me cry." He unfolded stiffly, and accepted a hand down from the log. Ellison thought he'd head for home, but instead he walked to the water's edge and stood looking down at the small waves lapping at the shore.

Ellison moved to join him. "Talk to me."

Sandburg shook his head. "And say what? You've made your decision. I respect that."

"Detach with love, huh?"

Sandburg shot him a sharp glance, and then looked away again, avoiding his gaze. "Something like that."

"Hey, come on. I'm the caveman, remember? You're the one who always says we gotta talk about things."

"Yeah, well, news flash! Sandburg's not perfect! Come on. Let's just get back." He walked away, moving stiffly, but making a point of getting a few feet ahead so that Ellison had nothing but his back to talk to.

The following evening was Harvest Festival, a sort of last fling before the heavy fall rains, and the last of the open-air meals. After Harvest Festival, the communal meals would be served in what the villagers called "the winter barn," a sort of great hall with two large open hearths and plenty of room for tables -- or for dancing when there was cause to celebrate. Harvest Festival was also the traditional time for wedding engagements to be announced, and Serena proudly dragged a blushing Ellison to the fore to make their announcement and take part in an awkward ritual of linking arms and attempting to drink down "betrothal cups" of cider. The playful ritual was intended to illustrate the difficulties of living your life joined with a partner. The less spilled, the more harmonious the ensuing marriage was expected to be. Friends of the groom generally felt obliged to jostle the groom, resulting in hilarity all around.

While the village celebrated, Sandburg nursed a mug of blackberry wine, and poked unenthusiastically at the slice of walnut cake one of the women had forced on him. Ellison watched him with a mixture of concern and annoyance. It wasn't like Blair to let anything get him down for long, but he'd been distant and withdrawn since Ellison had announced his engagement. Ellison knew him too well to think he was giving him the cold shoulder out of spite, but he had no idea how to make things right with him. Disengaging his hand from the girl who was trying to tug him into the dance circle, he filled his mug from one of the pitchers making the rounds and settled on the bench beside Sandburg.

"You eating that cake or dissecting it?"

Sandburg glanced at the crumbled mess. "Little of both, I guess. There are way too many women around here who think one more piece of cake will cure bruised ribs."

Ellison peered into his mug and frowned "This stuff must be stronger than I thought. I could swear I just heard you use the phrase, 'too many women' in a sentence."

Sandburg chuckled. "What can I say? I'm only human. I can only satisfy so many at once."

"You don't look like you're having much fun. You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good." He paused and then shook his head. "Actually, to be totally honest, not really. I suppose it's a good sign, but the bruises are stiffening up big time. I'd kill for a sofa and a heating pad."

"You want to go back to the house? I could heat a blanket on the stove."

"No way! It's your party. You mind if I cut out though?"

"I'd feel better if you did. Doc may have cleared you, but I saw the colors under your shirt this morning. Sure you don't want me to go with you?"

"Totally, man," Sandburg said. "Go on. Get outta here. Mingle. Eat cake."

"Yeah, OK." Ellison laid a hand briefly on Sandburg's shoulder, then rose and put out a hand to help him up. They both turned at Florrie Maynard's voice behind them.

"Blair, love, did I hear you say you were leaving?"

"Yeah," Sandburg said. "This party's too wild for the likes of me."

"Could I trouble you to guide an old woman?"

"I'd be happy to, if there were an old woman around here," Sandburg said, tucking her arm around his. "But I don't see any, so maybe you'd do me the honor of allowing me to escort you instead."

"You're a terrible flirt, young man. You know that?"

"I do. But I'm sure I'll get better with practice. Jim -- I'll see you later on." He paused deliberately and then leered at him. "Or... not. I won't wait up."

Still chuckling at the exchange, Ellison nodded. "Get some rest, Chief."

He watched Sandburg leave with Florrie, and smiled at the way the curly head tilted toward the old lady, as if they were lovers sharing confidences. He admired that about Blair. Dealing with people had never come easily to Ellison. He'd never quite mastered the niceties. He could be professional when he had to be, but he always seemed to be rubbing someone the wrong way. Sandburg put people at ease without even trying.

"Everything all right?" Serena asked, coming to slip an arm around his waist.

Ellison smiled down at her. "I think so."

"He doesn't approve," She said.

Ellison caught her gently by both arms and turned her to face him. "What did he say to you?"

"That he loves me like a sister. That he knows I'll make you very happy, and that we'll make beautiful babies together. He's Blair. What else would he say? But he doesn't approve. I can feel it."

"He's still pretty sore. That's all it is."

She moved into his arms again. "You don't believe that."

He sighed. "It's complicated. But I promise you, it's not about you. He adores you. He just..." He shook his head, not sure how to say it.

Serena smiled sadly. "I think we both know what's on his mind."

"I wish I knew what to do for him."

"For tonight, nothing. We'll talk to him together in the morning. Come on. They're doing Wedding Rings. If you don't learn the steps, we'll be a laughingstock on our wedding day."

She took him by the hand and led him into the circle. The steps were trickier than they looked and he'd already had enough wine to give him two left feet. It took another mug to convince him that it was fun anyway. When he finally made his way home, he was feeling decidedly mellow.

Slipping in quietly so as not to wake Sandburg, he paused to stand over him for a moment. Sandburg was curled carefully on one side, the bruised muscles curbing his usual facedown sprawl, but he was sleeping peacefully enough. Ellison laid a hand lightly on his brow. He did feel a little warm but he was under a blanket and Ellison's hands were still cool from the night air. For once Sandburg had been telling the truth. He was just tired, sore, and unhappy with the situation they were in. They seemed to have better luck in this reality than they did back home. It would just take time to get used to, after a lifetime of "getting kicked in the teeth by karma," as Sandburg liked to put it.

Sandburg stirred under his hand and woke, looking a little confused. "Hey Jim. What are you doing? What time is it?"

"I don't know," Ellison said. "Not too late. I was just checking on you. You didn't look like you were feeling so great earlier."

Sandburg shifted to look at him, not quite sitting up. "I wasn't, but I'm okay now. Something just didn't settle right earlier. Probably all that sweet stuff they kept forcing on me tonight."

Ellison parked one hip on the edge of the bed. "I don't know. Maybe I ought to get the doc in, just in case. You could have been hurt worse than we thought."

"If I had been, I'd have been dead three days ago. Seriously. Get over it already. How was the rest of the party?"

"Serena made me learn to dance Wedding Rings. I made an ass of myself. Paul had too much blackberry wine and passed out under the table. Renny tried to carry him home over his shoulder. I think they're in the stable. Gillian pinned Jacob to the wall and stuck her tongue down his throat. I think he got the message. If neither of them dies of embarrassment when the wine wears off, it'll be an even four couples on Joining Day."

Sandburg chuckled. "Gotta love a small town." He yawned. "Well... welcome home, O victorious warrior. Better drink some water before you go to bed, or you'll be feeling it in the morning."

"I'm already feeling it. Go back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Mmph."

Ellison gripped his shoulder briefly and then left him to sleep. His own bed was calling. Loudly. He stripped off his boots and fell across the bed fully clothed. It really wasn't a bad life. His last drowsy thought was that as parallel universes went, they could have done much worse.

His dreams were unsettled, blending elements of Cascade with visions of his current life. Henri Brown danced Wedding Rings with Megan in the middle of the bullpen, while Ellison and Simon Banks sat on the beach and watched a Jags game on a big screen where the lake should have been. Only, Simon wouldn't shut up. He kept nudging Ellison and saying, "Jim. Jim. Hey Jim."

Ellison shoved him away. "For God's sake, will you shut up and watch the game?"

"Sorry, man."

Ah hell. That wasn't Simon. Ellison forced his eyes open and peered blearily at his roommate. "Blair? What is it? You okay?"

Sandburg's blue eyes were wide, his pupils dilated to enormous dark pools. "I don't know. Not really." He dragged a hand through his tousled curls, then wrapped both arms around his ribs. "Sorry about waking you, but... shit. It's like red hot steel... twisting."

Ellison was awake instantly. He rolled to his feet and reached out to ease Sandburg down on the bed. "All right. I gotcha. Try to lie still."

"Can't..." Sandburg tried to curl into a ball, and cried out sharply when it only made things worse.

"All right. Okay" Ellison laid a hand on his brow. The flicker of warmth he'd felt earlier had grown to a raging bonfire. "It's gonna be okay, but I'm going to have to leave you for a minute. Okay? I'll be right back."

Sandburg nodded, and closed his eyes.

Ellison raced out into the night and across the small clearing to Serena's cottage. His insistent pounding brought her to the door, clad in a thin linen shift and wrapped in a blanket. She was still blinking sleepily when he caught her by one arm and shoved her in the direction of the doctor's house. "Get Doc. Now! Tell him Blair's in real bad shape."

"What --?"

"Just go!" Ellison shouted at her.

She took off running, dropping the blanket when it tangled around her legs. Ellison raced back across the clearing to the cottage, where Sandburg was shifting restlessly, in a futile attempt to find a position that didn't hurt.

"Serena's gone for the doc," Ellison told him, utterly at a loss and painfully aware that his own 20th century medical knowledge probably exceeded the local doctor's, but it was almost useless without the accompanying technology. The prospect of subjecting Blair to primitive surgery with questionable anesthesia sent chills though him, but it was likely to be the only chance they had to save his life.

Sandburg nodded an acknowledgement. "I could really use a dose of that laudanum about now."

"I know, buddy." Ellison rested a hand on his partner's knee. "But I think we'd better wait until the doc gets here. Can you hang on a little longer?"

"If I can't, Simon gets the big mask, and you get my laptop. If you can get to it." Sandburg forced a grin for his partner's benefit.

"Wise ass," Ellison retorted, glancing impatiently toward the door.

Dr. Fields arrived as fast as he could get there, but in the end all he could do was to give Sandburg a heavy dose of laudanum and suggest that they do everything possible to keep his fever down.

"I've given him a tincture of silver," he said, when Sandburg had finally succumbed to the laudanum and slipped into an uneasy sleep. "It may help or it may not." He hesitated. "I told you this might happen. I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can do for him. We'll keep giving him the silver, and hope for the best. The fever will get worse. It's important to do whatever we can to keep it down, to give the silver time to work. I won't lie to you. There's a chance, but not much of one."

"What about surgery?"

Fields shook his head. "I told you. It's too dangerous. I don't know if he can survive this. But I do know that he wouldn't survive surgery. I'm a doctor, not a butcher. If he's going to die, it's not going to be by my hand."

Ellison wanted to argue. He wanted to put the man against a wall and demand that he do more. But he only nodded.

"All right," Fields said. "I have to leave you for now. I left Sadie Bell in labor, and there's no way she'll deliver twins without help. She's just too small. There's nothing I can do here that you can't. Try to keep him cool. I'll be back in a few hours to give him more of the silver."

Ellison nodded again, not trusting his voice. He barely felt the hand Fields laid on his shoulder in parting. He stood for a moment, making an effort to pull himself together. Unconscious or not, he wouldn't risk Blair witnessing the terror that had his hands shaking, and his heart pounding. When he was sure he could sound confident, he returned to his friend's bedside.

Serena carried water back and forth for him, replacing it with fresh, cold water as it warmed. Ellison counted the trips at first, needing some way to mark the passing time, but he soon became oblivious to anything but his partner, and his task.

"How is he?"

Ellison looked up from where he was seated beside the bed. "The laudanum put him out, but the fever's worse. He needs..." He cut the thought short. It didn't matter what he needed. They didn't have it, and they couldn't get it. If only he'd tried harder to get them home. Blair had kept trying, had begged him to help. And now... "Damn it!" He stalked across the room and slammed a fist into the steel mirror, wishing irrationally that it would shatter.

Serena came to him and took his fist in both her hands. "Hurting yourself won't help him. The doctor..."

"The doctor can't help him! Don't you get it? There's nothing anyone in this goddamned primitive...!" He pulled away and dropped back into the chair. Forcing his fear and fury to the back of his mind, he laid a shaking hand on Sandburg's brow. "You're not going to leave me. You hear me? I don't give a damn about your detach with love bullshit. I swear to God I will come after you and drag your neo-hippy punk ass back. I've done it before and I'll do it again. You got that?"

A soft hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up into Serena's eyes and met utter desolation.

"Where you come from," she said, "Could they help him there?"

"What difference does it make? He wanted me to keep trying, but I was too damned selfish to think about what he wanted, what he needed. Maybe we could have found a way, but it's too late now."

"But could they save him?" she persisted.

"I don't... Maybe. Yeah. At least he'd have a chance. They'd know what's causing it. They have drugs -- powerful drugs -- to fight infection. Surgery is safe there."

Serena drew a deep breath. The tears spilled over onto her cheeks, but she nodded as if she'd come to a decision.

"There might be a way."

"What?" He caught her by both shoulders. "You know how to get us home? You've known all along how to get us home?"

"No! Not for sure. There are stories. That's all. In spring and fall. When the fog comes. People have disappeared. And you're not the first to come here. When my mother was a child, a man appeared from nowhere, just as you did. He talked about strange machines. He was never happy here."

"He went back?"

"No. He lived for some months, and then he fell ill and died."

Sandburg shifted on the bed, a vague, restless movement that told Ellison the effects of the laudanum wouldn't last much longer. Ellison paused to replace the cold compress before responding.

"Then what makes you think there's a way back?"

"He told my grandmother that he had found a way. But it was too late. The summer had come. There was nothing he could do until the fogs returned in the fall. That summer, there was an outbreak of mosquito fever. Our people never die from it. It only affects children, and the very old. But he became very ill. The doctor said it was because he wasn't from here. His body didn't know how to fight the fever, and he died."

"You said he figured it out."

"He told my grandmother that he had to wait until the fogs came back. But Jim, feel the air. There'll be fog on the hill tonight. He talked to my grandmother. Maybe he talked to Florrie too."

Ellison's hand clenched around his partner's wrist. "Get her. And send for a wagon."

She leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips and then turned and ran from the room.

Ellison folded one of Sandburg's hands in his. "We're going home, buddy. I know you're hurting, but you gotta hang on just a little longer, OK?"

His gaze fell on the linen bag that Florrie had made for Blair to carry his ever-present notes in. Blair would never forgive him if all of his research notes were lost. Ellison made a hasty search, gathering up Blair's journal and anything else he could find, along with the few small items he knew were gifts that Blair treasured. As an afterthought, he changed into the jeans, t-shirt and jacket he'd arrived in. He'd have enough tough questions to answer without looking like a refugee from the 19th century.

Serena arrived then, with Florrie in tow. "Paul's getting a team hitched," she said. "And Florrie's found something."

The old woman held out an object so familiar that it took Ellison a moment to register it -- a spiral bound notebook. "If only I'd known what Blair was looking for," she said. "I think this is it. Is he any better?"

Ellison took the notebook from her, beginning immediately to scan the contents. "If I don't get him home, he's not going to make it, but it's going to be a rough ride. It might be too much for him."

Florrie reached into a pocket for a scrap of cloth tied up with string. "I've brought something that will help, if we can get it into him. It's not a miracle, but it might give him strength enough to hold on. I think he'll take it if we put it in a little honey."

"I'll help you," Serena said, taking her arm.

Ellison dismissed them both from his mind, focusing his whole attention on the notebook. The writer wasn't a scholar like Blair. His notes were a chaotic mix of conjecture, commentary on daily events, and rock lyrics. And he'd seen The Lost World way too many times. Ellison flipped impatiently to the final pages. There he found what he was looking for, but man's theory was simplistic. He'd intended nothing more than to go back into the fog and hope it would take him home. Ellison flung the notebook aside. They might as well click their heels and chant, "There's no place like home." It would likely have the same effect.

Behind him, Sandburg coughed and muttered in protest as Serena force-fed him Florrie's remedy. In desperation, Ellison retrieved the notebook, and read on, in search of any scrap of information that might give him a clue. As he read, he realized that the theory behind the man's hope was based on the same idea that Sandburg had raised when they'd first arrived -- the idea that they were tied somehow to their point of origin and might simply snap back into place after a few days. The writer was convinced that the fog formed around a sort of portal or conduit, and that if he stepped into it, he'd be drawn naturally back to where he belonged. Just like in Sandburg's elastic tether theory. Could it be that simple? The writer had arrived in the fall, around the time the fogs ended for the season. By the time he'd made the connection the following summer, it was too late.

The rattle of the wagon pulling to a stop outside spurred Ellison to action. He stuffed the notebook into the linen bag. Sandburg would be fascinated by the narrative. "Let's get him wrapped up. We have to go."

The women had already begun tugging the edges of the bedding free of the mattress. Ellison pulled the mattress from the second cot and heaved it into the bed of the wagon, then returned with Paul beside him. Between them, they carried Sandburg to the wagon and settled him on the mattress. Serena followed with extra blankets to cover him.

It was then that the doctor returned, and stared at them in shock. "What are you doing? He can't be moved!"

Ellison looked up from his task of arranging the bedding around Sandburg. "There's no other choice, Doc. You said yourself there's nothing you can do for him."

"Moving him could kill him."

"Leaving him here will kill him for sure."

The doctor shook his head. "Where are you taking him? There's fog on the hill."

"I know, Doc." Ellison moved to the side of the wagon, and reached over it to offer his hand. "Thanks for everything. And you keep on with the CPR classes."

"You're going home."

"We have to try. It's his only chance."

For a moment longer, the Doctor stared challengingly at him. Then he shook his head and reached out to grip Ellison's hand firmly. "Good luck, then. And an easy road."

"You too, Doc." He leaned toward the front of the wagon. "We're ready, Paul."

Serena sat back in the corner of the wagon. The doctor stepped away, and the wagon jolted forward. Ellison shifted to a more stable position, and did his best to buffer his partner against the worst of the jolts. Sandburg seemed to have slipped beyond any awareness of his surroundings. His stillness was frightening, but Ellison felt a sort of guilty relief. He didn't think he could have handled witnessing the torture this trip would have inflicted on his partner, if he were aware enough to feel it. After a few minutes, Serena moved closer and reached for Ellison's hand. He closed his fingers tightly around hers but he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

Half an hour's ride brought them to where they could see the fog looming ahead of them like a wall.

"Paul," Ellison called, "Hold up. Don't let them go into the fog. Just help me get him down. I'll take him from here."

Paul pulled the horses to a halt and secured the reins, then scrambled over into the back of the wagon. "If you get down, Serena and I can slide him back to you."

"Right." Ellison said. He laid a hand briefly on Sandburg's shoulder, and then turned to Serena. "I meant what I said. Come with me. We'll --"

"You know I can't. There's no place for me there."

"There's a place for you wherever I am."

She shook her head. "It's not that simple."

"It could be."

She reached up with both hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks and forced herself to smile for him. "Go, while you can. Get him home."

He took her hands in his and leaned in for a long kiss and then jumped down from the wagon. Between them, they got Sandburg down into his arms.

The dead weight in his arms brought the urgency of his mission home to him again. They exchanged hasty farewells. Paul promised to wait for two hours before leaving for home, in case the effort failed. Then Ellison shifted Sandburg into a more secure position against his shoulder and moved forward into the fog.

He staggered forward blindly, Sandburg's weight in his arms adding an awkward lurch to his movement. After only a few steps, he realized that the surface beneath his feet was smooth and solid. An instant later, his senses were assaulted by brilliant light and deafening noise. Already disoriented, he fell to his knees, struggling to hang on to his burden long enough to cushion Sandburg's impact with the pavement. Then there were hands gripping his shoulders and a voice shouting at him, demanding to know whether he was hurt.

Ellison shook his head, trying to make sense of his surroundings, and finally realizing that he was kneeling in the beams of a pair of headlights. Shrugging off the hands supporting him, he reached frantically to regain his hold on Sandburg. Blair was still unconscious, but breathing. With that marginal reassurance, Ellison focused on the man who was trying to get his attention. "My friend needs to be choppered out of here. Do you have a cell phone?"

"Yeah. Geez, you stepped right out in front of me. I could have killed you."

"Just get on the phone and call 911. Tell them we need a chopper. Not an ambulance. A chopper. You got that?"

"Yeah." He was a big man, but he looked pale and shaken. He left them and ran back to his pickup, returning after a moment with cell phone in hand.

"They got a lot of questions. Are you up to talking to them?"

Ellison shifted Sandburg slightly to free up one hand, and took the phone. "This is Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. I'm with Blair Sandburg, who's a civilian consultant to the Major Crimes Division. He needs emergency surgery. If we don't get him airlifted, he's not going to make it. I'll also need you to contact the Cascade PD and have them get word to Captain Simon Banks."

"Hold on. Slow down." The young man on the other end of the line was obviously new to the job. "We've already dispatched an ambulance. They'll be there in --"

"Cancel the damn ambulance!" Ellison shouted into the phone. "He doesn't have time to wait around for an ambulance. We need an airlift."

"Let me see what I can do."

"Just do it!" Ellison shouted, and shoved the phone back at their rescuer, so that he could get both arms around Sandburg again. Settling to the pavement, he repositioned him carefully to cradle his head and shoulders.

"I'm Mike Chelsea," the driver said, crouching beside them. "How's he doing?"

Ellison shook his head. "I don't know. It's not good."

"What happened to him?"

"He was kicked by a horse." It didn't sound real even as he said it. No way he was telling the full story. "A few days ago. He thought it was just some bruised ribs. Didn't do anything about it. Said he was just a little sore. We get out there in the woods and he says he's not feeling so good after all. I'm guessing there was some internal damage." Desperate to offer some comfort to the unconscious man, and needing both arms just to hang on to him, he lowered his head and brushed a stubbled cheek over the top of his friend's head. "We're home free, partner. You just gotta hang on a little longer for me, okay?"

"Why don't we move him to the truck?" Chelsea suggested. "I got my flashers going but we're not real visible down here on the ground."

"Good thinking. Thanks."

Between them, they lifted the unconscious man carefully and laid him in the bed of the pickup. Ellison shrugged out of his jacket and wadded it up to serve as a pillow, then settled beside him, with his back against the side of the truck.

Chelsea looked up at the dusting of stars overhead. "Your friend must have some pull with the man upstairs. Half an hour ago the fog was so thick you couldn't see ten feet in front of you. No way they'd have been able to get a chopper in through it. Kind of odd, the way it cleared out so fast."

"Odd doesn't half cover it."

"What's that?" Chelsea gave him a puzzled look.

"Nothing." Ellison reached out to lay his hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "He just never does seem to go about things the normal way."

"You two are pretty close, huh? Brothers?"

"Partners."

"Oh yeah. I heard you say you were a cop."

The sound of distant rotors caught Ellison's attention and he looked up, trying to spot the incoming lights. It took him a moment but he spotted the chopper, and his eyes closed briefly in relief. "They're coming."

"I don't hear anything."

"You will."

The chopper was able to land easily on the roadbed. Ellison stayed in the back of the truck, using his body to shield Sandburg from the dust and debris scattered by the rotors until the medics could get him prepped to load. Finally he turned and offered his hand to Chelsea. "Mike. Thanks. You call the Cascade PD any time and ask for Jim Ellison, if there's anything I can do to repay the favor."

"I'll do that," Chelsea said, returning his grip. "I'll be wanting to celebrate with you when he goes home. Good luck!" He backed off to allow Ellison and the others to load up. When Ellison looked back at the ground falling away beneath them, Chelsea was still standing there looking after them, with one hand raised in farewell.

The restless energy that normally drove Ellison to pacing deserted him once Sandburg was rushed away to surgery. He slumped bonelessly in the vinyl waiting-room seat, numb with fatigue and struggling to find a scrap of hope to hang on to. He was distantly aware of the ache of a loss he hadn't yet allowed himself to acknowledge, but he turned his back on it. If he'd turned his back on it earlier, Sandburg might not be fighting for his life now. He tightened his fingers on the linen bag in his lap, feeling the edges of Sandburg's journal beneath the cloth and fighting the temptation to open it. He'd never read it, and even now, when he desperately needed the comfort he might find in Sandburg's familiar scrawl, he wouldn't violate his partner's privacy.

"Jim?"

Ellison raised his head to see Simon Banks striding toward him.

"Jim! My God, it's good to see you! Where's Sandburg?"

"Still in surgery. They say his chances..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

Banks nodded. "He's a tough kid. He'll pull through. And something tells me he wouldn't dare leave without you, anyhow." He stood back a bit, to look Ellison over. "What happened to him? Where the hell have you two been for the last two weeks?"

"What?" Ellison stared at him. "What did you say? Did you say two weeks?"

"That's how long you were missing." Banks folded his tall frame into the chair next to Ellison's. "You didn't know?"

Ellison rested his forearms on his knees, focusing on the floor to avoid Banks' gaze. "The timeline's pretty fuzzy."

Banks frowned and would have spoken again, if Ellison hadn't stood to meet the doctor, who was approaching from the corridor.

"He made it through the surgery," the doctor said without preamble, and then glanced at Banks, who had risen to stand with Ellison.

"He's with us," Ellison said. "Go on."

The doctor nodded. "As I suspected, we found an abscess on his liver, the result, I'm sure, of the blunt abdominal trauma. There was probably some minor bleeding that resolved on its own but led, ultimately, to the infection."

"He'll be okay, then. You took care of it."

"I wish I could tell you it was that simple. His condition is still critical. We'll just have to see what the next few hours bring."

What the next hours brought was hell. Sandburg was barely out of recovery when his temperature began to soar to dangerous levels. The hospital staff no long offered encouragement but only spoke in terms of time, and cautioned Ellison to prepare himself for the inevitable. Even Banks had begun to look at him with pity and concern.

"Jim, you've got to go home. Get some sleep. I'll stay with him."

"No!" Ellison shoved him off. Didn't they get it? How many times did he have to tell them? "I'm not leaving him, so either help me or get the hell out of my way."

He wrung out another cloth in the basin of ice water and went back to work. He had it down to a mindless repetition. Right arm. Left arm. Chest and shoulders. Slide down to where the sheet rested for modesty. Back into the ice water. Wring it out. Fold it to replace the compress at the forehead. Back to the water, and start the next round. He'd been doing it for over twelve hours. Overextended and shorthanded, the ICU staff had given up trying to interfere with him. He wasn't sure whether they believed it was helping or just felt sorry for the nutcase who refused to leave his dying friend. As long as they left him alone, he didn't care. Simon, however, seemed intent on interfering and if he kept it up, Ellison was going to have to hurt him.

"Jim," Banks said again. Ellison ignored him.

"Simon?"

Neither of them had said that. Shocked, Ellison froze and looked down. There seemed to be no change.

"Simon?" Sandburg opened his eyes, and struggled to focus on Ellison's face. "Jim. I thought I heard Simon."

Somehow, Ellison managed to keep his voice steady. "He's right here, buddy. We're home and you're going to be okay."

"Thank God," Sandburg murmured. "I was afraid he was going to miss your wedding." He let out a long breath and his eyes slid closed again. His body seemed to settle into the mattress.

Alarmed, Banks took a long step forward, but Ellison shook his head. "He's okay. He's okay." He leaned on the rail of the bed and put out a shaking hand to brush at a sweat soaked curl. "He's okay," he said, and then his knees buckled and the last thing he was aware of was Banks shouting for a doctor.

He woke on a bed, and turned his head to find Banks in a chair beside him with a copy of Popular Science on his lap. Banks rose as soon as Ellison moved to sit up.

"Whoa. Just stay put for a minute," Banks ordered.

No way he was staying anywhere but in the ICU with his partner. "I gotta get back to Blair. What am I doing here, anyhow?"

"When was the last time you ate? Or slept? What the hell did you think was going to happen, you stubborn bastard?" Banks shook his head, and then took pity on him and added, "Sandburg's fine. Well... better anyway."

Ellison shoved the light blanket back and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and then turned an accusing glare on Banks. "My pants. What did you do with my damn pants?"

Banks laughed, deliberately taunting him. Ellison hadn't realized until this moment just how much he'd missed that. But it didn't change the fact that he was bare-ass naked under the hospital gown. "Simon! My pants."

Banks rose, tossed the magazine on the chair, laughed again, and then turned his back and walked away.

"Simon! God damn it! Simon!" How the hell could a man with such a deep voice have such an obnoxiously high-pitched laugh? He could still hear it retreating down the hallway. "Simon!"

Ellison ushered Banks into the loft ahead of him, then followed, tossing his jacket at the sofa and not caring when it missed the mark.

Banks picked it up. "You need to get some sleep."

Ellison dropped onto the sofa. "Yeah. I know." Now that he was down, getting up again to go to bed sounded like way too much work.

For the first three days after Sandburg had finally woken up, the aggressive drug cocktail they'd had him on had left him confused and disoriented. Any time he woke without Ellison beside him he'd panic, fighting anyone who tried to calm him, and insisting frantically that the fog had taken Ellison without him. Intellectually, Ellison knew it was just the drugs, and that Blair didn't remember it from one awakening to the next but, after witnessing one such incident as he was returning with a cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria, Ellison couldn't stand the thought of letting him go through it again. So he'd parked himself in the room, dozing in a chair through the night, until Sandburg's condition had improved enough to allow a change in his medications.

Today, Sandburg had awakened lucid enough to order Banks to take the exhausted detective home. Somewhere in his muddled brain, Ellison knew it was cause for celebration, but he didn't have the energy to feel anything but a relief that drained both the tension and the strength from every muscle in his body.

"I sure as hell wish you'd tell me," Banks said, dropping into a chair.

"Nothing to tell," Ellison mumbled around a yawn.

"Why's he so stuck on this thing with the fog?"

"Because he's pumped full of painkillers."

"Something put it in his head."

"I told you," Ellison said, "We got caught in the fog. It's probably the last thing he remembers."

"Yeah." Banks didn't sound convinced, but he dropped it. "Okay. Get some sleep. I'm keeping you on medical leave for the rest of the week, so, officially, I don't need to hear from you until Monday. Personally, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep me posted."

"Will do." Ellison closed his eyes, trusting Banks to let himself out. He felt Banks' hand on his shoulder for a moment, and a few seconds later heard the door open and close.

The next thing he was aware of was the bright light of midmorning falling directly on his face. He started awake, feeling immediately guilty. He'd meant to return to the hospital last night. The rest had done him good, though. He was alert and, for the first time in days, ravenous.

He showered, standing under a heavenly flood of hot water until he was truly clean, then dried off with fluffy, soft cotton terry towel. He dressed quickly in jeans and a battered sweater, then raided the fridge. There wasn't much there. He opted for grabbing breakfast on the run, wolfing down two breakfast burritos from a drive-through on the way to the hospital.

Sandburg was asleep, but sensed Ellison's arrival and opened his eyes.

Ellison smiled broadly. "Look who's awake. How you doing?"

"You look better," Sandburg murmured. "You sleep?"

Ellison pulled the chair up beside the bed. "Yeah. Sorry I didn't get back last night. I fell asleep on the sofa, and the next thing I knew it was morning."

"You needed it." Sandburg looked up at him. "It happened, didn't it? It was real."

"It was real. But we were only gone two weeks from here."

"Everything's so fuzzy. I can't get my head around it."

"Give it time. You've been unconscious for most of a week, and they've got you on some heavy duty drugs."

Sandburg nodded and let his eyes slide shut for a moment. Then he forced them open again. "Serena?"

The thought of her was like a knife in his chest. He shook his head. "It all happened so fast. She was afraid. Maybe if she'd had time to think about it."

"I'm sorry." Sandburg's stricken look hurt almost as much as the loss.

Ellison leaned forward. "Hey. You listen to me. This is not your fault."

A slight sound in the hallway made him turn. "Simon."

"I can't stay," Banks said, coming to stand beside the bed. "I just stopped by to see if Sandburg here was up for a little basketball." He grinned down at Sandburg. "Brown's getting his ass kicked without you."

Sandburg's weak chuckle was the most beautiful sound Ellison had heard in days. "Have to be tomorrow. Got a hot date tonight."

"Yeah, I told him it was short notice. I was due in a conference ten minutes ago, so I have to get moving, but how about I stop by the loft tonight and bring dinner?"

"Thanks," Ellison said, "But I'll be--"

"Home," Sandburg interrupted, "He'll be home. And he'd love a hot meal."

Ellison shrugged. "I guess I'll be home."

Simon rested a hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "All right. Well you take it easy. Good to have you back."

"Good to be back," Sandburg said. "You have no idea."

Ellison rose, but Banks waved him away. "Stay with your partner. I'll see you tonight.

"I know what you told the reporters," Banks said, a few hours later, "And the mayor. But I'm still not buying it." He handed Ellison a beer and dropped down beside him on the sofa.

"Thanks," Ellison said, cracking the cap.

"Don't thank me. It's your beer." Banks shrugged. "So how about it?"

Ellison took a long pull from the bottle and leaned back on the sofa. "What do you want me to say? I don't remember much. We ran into something. I never got a good look at it. I must have hit my head. Blair probably hit the dash. It was dark and we were in a fog. He kept leaning forward to try to see out the windshield. I don't remember him taking his seatbelt off but he must have. We must have tried to go for help and got lost. My best guess is, Blair was leading me until my brain came back online. Sometime after that, he collapsed. I carried him until I found the road again. What else would make sense?"

"You tell me." Banks shook his head. "Because that cock and bull story sure as hell doesn't. Sandburg's not talking either, but I guess you know that."

"Sandburg was unconscious or delirious for the better part of a week. I don't imagine he remembers much more than I do." He reached out to toy with the linen bag that was on the coffee table.

"What's that?" Banks reached out as if to pick it up. "You had that in the hospital."

"Don't!" Ellison snatched it out of Banks' reach. "That's... It's Blair's."

"Okay," Banks settled back, but looked at him with concern. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." Ellison set the bag down, but his effort at making it look like a casual gesture fell completely flat. "He just... He hates it when people mess with his research stuff."

"Okay," Banks said, clearly not buying it, but willing to let it drop. "But look, if you're telling the truth, we're talking about two weeks of your life, for all intents and purposes, missing. Are you saying you're not the least bit interested in finding out why?"

"Right now, all I'm interested in is that Sandburg's alive and recovering. Whatever happened, it's over. Water under the bridge. Leave it alone."

"It's some sentinel thing, isn't it? You and Sandburg had to go through some bizarre sexual bonding ritual so he can play witch doctor to your sentinel and you're embarrassed to tell me."

Ellison turned a shocked glare on him. "Jesus, Simon!"

Banks held up both hands. "Kidding! Hey, at least it got a reaction. That's the first reaction anyone's been able to get from you since you got back."

"I've had a few things on my mind. Blair almost died, for chrissake."

"I know that! I care about him too. But I know you, Jim. There's more going on here than that."

"What -- you think that's not enough?"

"You know that's not how I meant it. All right. I give up. If you ever decide you can trust me, I'll be here." He took a quick swallow from his beer and then set the bottle on the coffee table. "But I swear to God, I'm going to ask Sandburg what he meant by that comment about missing your wedding. That's got to be the tale of the century."

"He was delirious."

"Uh-huh."

"Didn't know what he was saying."

"Right."

"Probably doesn't even remember saying it."

"Probably doesn't. So, no reason not to talk to him about it, right?"

"Right."

They stared at each other for a moment longer, Banks intent on getting Ellison to break first and Ellison equally determined not to look away and give Banks any reason to doubt his conviction. In the end, it was Banks who gave up and chuckled.

"Sometimes I wonder what I had to worry about before you dragged your hippy partner into the picture."

EPILOGUE

Sentinel of the Great City. Standing on the balcony of the loft, Ellison surveyed the vast expanse of lights that defined his territory. Somewhere, a siren wailed. Not close enough to cause a spike, but close enough to be painful. Ellison winced, and fumbled with the imaginary dial that controlled his hearing. He was out of practice. One corner of his mind followed Sandburg's approach behind him, but he didn't turn to look.

A moment later, Sandburg came to lean on the rail beside him. "Hey."

Ellison smiled slightly but kept his gaze focused on the city below. "Hey."

"You doing okay?"

"I think that's my line, Chief."

"Nah, man. I'm..." He shook his head and shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "You miss her, huh?"

Ellison opened his mouth to lie, but something in Sandburg's mood stopped him. "Yeah," he said.

"I, uh..." Sandburg stopped and then plunged ahead. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Startled, Ellison turned to look at him. "For what?"

Now it was Sandburg's turn to take refuge in the vista below. "For... You know. If it hadn't been for me, you'd be married now. You'd be living in a place where you weren't fighting with your senses all the time. You'd be happy. You had to give all that up for me."

"Whoa. Whoa. Don't even go there!" Ellison caught his friend's shoulder and turned him -- none too gently -- to face him. "If I hadn't been thinking with the wrong head to begin with..."

Sandburg shrugged free of his hand. "Don't, man. Don't cheapen it like that. You loved her. She loved you. It was the real thing, not some one night stand, and you know it."

Ellison sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, it was. But it wasn't meant to be. That's all. It was... I don't know. A fantasy. A vacation. No one ever wants a vacation to end, but you know me. I can only take so much vacation before I go out of my skull. Sure, I get frustrated. I get burned out. But I'm good at what I do, and I like doing it, so don't be going off on some guilt trip over something that wasn't meant to be, and that wasn't your fault in any case. You can't honestly think I'd have been happy there, if my being there had cost your life?"

Sandburg turned away again. "No. I guess not. But I'm still sorry it had to go down that way. I'm sorry I cost you your chance to make a life with her. To have a real family."

"Hey," Ellison interrupted, reaching out to bring Sandburg back around to face him.

Sandburg looked up at him, regret and puzzlement mingling in his blue eyes. He was barefoot, dressed in a too-large t-shirt over knee-torn jeans that didn't fit as snugly as they had a few weeks ago. Ellison wondered if he'd ever been as young as Sandburg looked.

"Listen to me," he said. "I have all the family I need, right here." He gave Sandburg's shoulder a playful shake and grinned. "A little dysfunctional, maybe, but whose isn't?" When Sandburg didn't return the banter, Ellison dropped it and tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder. "No regrets, Chief."

He meant it to reassure Sandburg, but as he spoke the words, and saw acceptance replace the sorrow in Blair's eyes, he felt a weight slip from his own shoulders. Suddenly nothing sounded better than take-out Chinese and fighting with Sandburg over the remote. Hell, just this once, he might even put his feet up on the coffee table.

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