Innocence Lost

Fugitive Sentinel 4

By Mickey M.

© July 1998

Late October

"Is the bike gonna make it through the mountains okay?" Blair's voice was tight with worry as he scanned the peaks ahead of them. Some of them already had snowcaps on them. Big snowcaps. 

"IT SHOULD!"

Sandburg sighed and tried to relax. Thing about his sentinel was, he could hear anything Blair said, even with resistance wind of 65-plus miles-per-hour blowing past him. At full shout, Blair could barely hear *him*. "Stop at the next exit, big guy. I gotta use the can."

A nod was his answer, and the bike seemed to gain speed, for all that they were going uphill.

And up and up and up

Colorado was going to take a long time getting through, and they were just on the backside of the mountain range. People in the tiny border town they'd stopped at a couple hours ago shook their heads in worry, telling them it was already winter up in the mountains, and they were fools to try it on the motorcycle. The Rockies extended up and down for nearly a full state's length to either side of Colorado though, the "Front Range" being a long one. There was no time now to detour back to go through Arizona, and besides, they had mountains there and in New Mexico, as well. Better just to go through here now, and pray they made it.

Blair's mind shifted focus off the precarious balancing act they were doing with nature, and onto the even more precarious balance of their real-life, back home--and the things that were developing there.

A hurried phone call to Jack Kelso two nights back, shortly after they met up together, had delivered chilling news: Jack himself hadn't even been aware of Brackett's release, and Jack still had friends in high places within the agency. A cover-up of the highest order was going on, which meant that someone, somewhere, had fucked up big time. The five minute conversation, with both their ears pressed to the receiver, had left them clinging to the sides of the pit of hopelessness they'd been dangling over for a week now.

"But why Simon? What would Brackett want with Simon?" Jim's voice had been taut with grief, sending a fresh wave through Blair. Grief for all the things they'd lost or had to forfeit for this wild ride through the flip side of reality.

Jack's voice was matter-of-fact. "A prize, Detective Ellison. Brackett thinks in terms of 'games' and 'players'. He's going to set up a scenario, and play you for all you're worth. Captain Banks would be your prize."

"So Simon could still be alive?" Blair felt a flush warm him when Jim touched his shoulder comfortingly. The big guy was aching inside, and still tried to offer comfort. They'd both nearly missed Kelso's next words, they were so busy staring at one another.

"In all probability, yes. He'll keep him alive until he's no longer useful--but at this stage, he's likely going to use him as bait for you."

"How would we know this? It's not like he can contact us--or us him." A fresh wave of tension had colored Jim's voice, and the one inside Blair screamed HURRY! Time's running out!

"I'll make discreet inquiries, Detective--see if I can't set up some sort of signal for him." Kelso's voice held an edge that made Blair wonder just how out of the espionage picture his friend really was.

"I can't ask you to get involved, Jack," Jim's voice was tight; apparently, Blair wasn't the only one hearing it.

"You didn't ask--I offered. There's a big difference. Anyway, you're going to need someone to work it over here for you. And I have a feeling that Brackett will expect me to be that one."

"We owe you big, Jack," Blair could hear the gratitude in Jim's voice. "We'll call you every 24 hours, unless it's not feasible."

"Understood."

They broke the connection then, afraid to hold it for too long, in case Jack's number was being traced.

A bump in the road tossed Blair back into the present, and solidly up against Jim's back. He clutched frantically to keep from falling; his thoughts had been well-anchored in the past several days and he was unprepared for the jolt. To his amazement, a large, warm hand reached down and wrapped around his, holding him to Jim's waist. Blair started in surprise, then clutched at the hand, his lungs suddenly having trouble taking in enough oxygen.

It *could* just be Jim steadying him, but if that were the case, why not release him as soon as Blair had regained his balance? The hand was still holding him. Pressing against him. There was tension under his hand; hard muscle and softer skin banding together to create a line of steel. Blair curled his fingers in slowly, holding his breath as bit-by-bit he bestowed the softest caress of his life upon that steel. The flesh beneath his trembled, and the fingers holding his clutched tighter, and his lungs throbbed with their need for air as he forget everything but the few square inches of flesh that was covered by Jim's.

Then the moment was past, and Jim was letting go of his hand, gripping the handlebars of the cycle tightly. Blair could see the white knuckles where his partner was strangling the innocent bits of rubber and plastic. He shuddered lightly, breathing deeply to try and replenish the oxygen in his starved system.

He and Jim had to talk. Soon.

****

It was another tiny town; a place so small it was probably a pinprick on the map--if indeed it showed up at all. Blair looked around, breathing in deeply the cool, crisp air, smiling a little. This was a bonus; at least if he had to be on the run with one friend's freedom, and another's life hanging in the balance, at least he could still find a few simple pleasures. Jim was obviously still in the restroom, so he leaned back against the bike, tilting his head upward to soak up the warmth of the sun's rays. It seemed to be getting progressively colder with each mile upward, and he shivered, there in the warmth of the sunlight, wondering what the temperatures in late October would feel like at eleven or twelve thousand feet.

I wonder if we're going to be able to camp out up there--if there's any place open, still. Far from being novice campers, both men were more than capable of pitching their bedrolls and sleeping wherever--but there had to be a place to do so.

Sandburg opened his eyes when the roar of a dozen or so Harley cycles filled the air around him. He shifted, changing his position on the bike, coiling his muscles within himself, just in case. 'Rules of survival', Jim had called them, when he'd outlined some the other night. The first was always be prepared; expect the unexpected. Immediately after that was Trust No One.

Except each other. But that was an unspoken, unwritten, 'we-both-know-it' kind of rule. They had to trust each other, or they'd be lost. It was in Jim's eyes when he looked at Blair; Sandburg knew his own eyes held the same any time he turned his gaze to Jim.

The bikers were noisy, laughing and talking loudly amongst themselves as they parked the cycles at the pumps and went about the business of filling them up. Blair watched them cautiously--from under lowered lids; he didn't want to chance provoking them unnecessarily. He was working on listening a little to their conversations when a hand dropped on his shoulder. He started in surprise, then jerked violently when the voice in his ear startled him further.

"Hey, Chief."

When his heart stopped pounding enough to hear his own voice, Blair turned toward Jim. "Jesus, man--scare a guy to death, why don't you?"

Jim shrugged apologetically and crooked a half-smile at him. "I got some sandwiches and chips, and a couple apples--we can stop at the next rest stop up the road a bit and eat." His hands were busy stowing the food in Blair's backpack while he talked.

"That'd be great, man. Too noisy, here."

Ellison nodded, his eyes like blue ice-chips as he surveyed the bikers. "I hate stereotyping, but those guys make it hard not to," he murmured in a quiet voice. Blair nodded his agreement and shifted to mount the bike, waiting 'til Jim was settled first. He was getting better at this, and managed to swing his leg over smoothly on the first try this time. Jim reached back and squeezed his thigh briefly. "Good going, Sandburg. We'll make a natural out of you yet."

I'd rather you just make me, Blair's mind whispered. He rolled his eyes at the thoughts and leaned forward. "First chance we get, we need to talk, Jim." He glanced up just in time to see one of the bikers staring at them, his eyes narrowed with hostility. He grabbed at Jim, an instinctive, gut reaction to the blatant animosity leveled in their direction.

"I see it, Chief." Jim's voice was low and guarded, his breath warm on Blair's lips when he turned his head to speak. The younger man swallowed harshly, feeling his breath catch in his throat.

"Get us outta here, man," he whispered roughly, trying to ignore the fact that it would take only a slight shift on either their parts to bring their lips together. His mind flashed on the night just a week ago, when Jim had held him close while he cut his hair, and made love to him with his eyes, through a mirror.

"Going, Sandburg." The engine roared to life, thrumming with life and vitality when Jim gunned it, and gravel flew as the powerful bike moved through the parking area. Blair shuddered when a single, final glance behind him revealed the same biker watching them through still-narrowed eyes as they sped away.

****

His arms wound around Jim's waist of their own accord, holding the larger body snugly against his. Once in a while Blair would feel a strange, shivery vibration ripple through the warm frame, moving from Jim into and through himself. He shivered along with it, losing himself in the pleasant sensation.

When Jim's fingers drifted downward and smoothed over his in a slow, easy caress, Blair's heart nearly stopped.

Is it gonna be this easy? But then…why shouldn't it be? If we both acknowledge what we both obviously know… And *had* known, for a while, if he was honest with himself.

There was no point at which he could say specifically, 'yeah, this is when I decided I was in love with Jim Ellison'. It went a whole lot deeper than just loving him. The emotions were wrapped up in need, and trust, and the whole Sentinel/Guide-Shaman connection.

There were, too, layers of fear and pain; of grief not yet acknowledged, or at least not yet dealt with. Friends had been lost recently, and the layers of emotion wound up with those loses were adding to the load they were both carrying.

I don't know if I'm able to be--Shaman. I've barely got the hang of being a guide for him. But there was more passed to me than Incacha's will and the shamanism; he passed along his love for Jim, and gave me the ability to see mine. It had been there all along, he simply hadn't been looking for it. Hadn't known he should look for it.

Love and trust. Faith and hope. Small words, all of them, but with such powerful implications; such strong meaning. Ellison and Sandburg. Jim and Blair. Sentinel and Guide. The words weren't large, but the whole was much more than the sum of its parts. Separate--alone--they could survive. Together--joined--they would persevere, and flourish.

It is that easy. The 'us' that we create is necessary to keep us safe, sane, whole. We were lacking essential, bare essence parts when we met each other. He needed someone to care for; I needed someone to care. He was looking for someone to fill the empty spaces in his heart; I was looking for a heart to call home. We both needed a friend who we could always know would be there for us; someone who would have strengths to equal our own, in different areas. We're like the yin and the yang; meant to be together. Two halves that interlock and form a solid, complete whole.

With that he gave a little sigh and leaned his head forward, pillowing himself on Jim's back, feeling the leashed strength and power in the solid, muscular frame in front of him. Reflexively, as if responding to words that he hadn't spoken, Blair felt Jim's fingers close over his own, the other man's twining with his. A union to be of hearts, souls, thoughts, and bodies. Perfect.

****

They rode for at least another hour, never losing hold of the other. As they climbed steadily, the temperature dropped at the same pace. Given the air temperature, Blair wasn't very surprised when the first snowflakes hit. He wondered, though, as he tilted his face upward, when the clouds had gathered. Lost in the warmth and brilliance of Jim's touch, of *knowing* the feelings the other man held, as sure as his own, he'd lost track of the weather. A couple flakes landed in his beard, wetting the soft whiskers, and he reached up to smooth the still-unfamiliar growth.

They passed a sign for a roadside stop, and Jim gestured with his head toward it, drawing a nod from the younger man. Even if his stomach wasn't protesting the fact that it'd been at least 12 hours since their last meal, he wanted to pull on the rest of his clothes. He had a feeling it was going to get colder still, and wanted to be as ready for it as possible.

Another feeling nagged at the back of his mind; something cloaked in shadows, drenched in darkness. He couldn't narrow it down beyond a *feeling*, but it was enough to stand the small hairs on the back of his neck on end. A quote from Shakespeare passed through, barely pausing long enough register in his mind. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

Premonition? Strange way to have it; just a funny shiver up his back. But that was enough; when Jim pulled the cycle off the road and into the small rest stop's parking area, he leaned forward and spoke urgently into the sudden quiet left when the motor was cut.

"Something's going to happen. I can *feel* it, Jim."

Ellison turned to him, blue eyes nearly slate with unnamed emotions. "I do too," he said quietly, voice dangerously low. Those icy eyes darted around, taking in the trees, the cloudy sky above them, the soft veil of snow drifting down. "It's--everywhere. Bigger than we are."

"But focused," Blair said softly. "Focusing in on us."

"Yes." Jim shook himself. "Let's eat, then get going. If we can make Steamboat Springs before the storm, we'll stay there for the night."

"We can't afford Steamboat Springs, Jim."

"Then we'll find a hole to dig into, Sandburg! We both feel it--can we ignore it? Acting on instinct saved my ass more than once in Peru." Jim's voice held an uncharacteristic snap, and Blair narrowed his eyes, seeing an echo of the shadows dancing in his mind within the black of his friend's eyes.

"You're the op, man." Blair backed down from the barely-recognized challenge, something inside him shuddering at the raw essence of *Jim* he saw.

"We eat, then move on. Fast." Ellison's voice was neutral, but the younger man heard the warning. He nodded and gently pulled his hand from under Jim's, then swung himself off the bike.

A few steps beyond the cycle the world changed. The strange shadow feeling prickled at him again, sending tremors through his legs. He looked back at Jim, and seeing the bigger man's shoulders stiff and tense made his heart beat faster. "It's coming, isn't it."

Jim nodded, his face closing up tight. "Too fast. We could--leave--but I don't think we can get away from it."

Sandburg took measure of the expression in Jim's eyes, then nodded briskly, his body surging with a sudden rush of adrenaline. "Then we stay. Finish it."

Ellison's eyes darkened, the pupils swelling to nearly consume the irises. "This is just one wave, Chief. There'll be more."

"So we fight the ones we can, and don't worry about the rest." There it was--the emotion between them rising, growing, swelling to epic proportions. It should have frightened him; instead, it was the most comforting thing he'd ever felt. Blair swayed forward, his feet propelling him toward what his heart knew he needed. "Together." The last word came out almost as a caress, and the younger man shivered when the verbal caress was answered with a tactile one as Jim raised one hand to stroke gently over the shorn curls.

"Always together, partner." More verbal caresses; these received, rather than given. He shivered again and nodded, something in his eyes, in his expression reassuring his partner. The world screeched to a halt around them when Jim lifted his other hand to cup Blair's face and gently, lightly touched his lips to the fuller ones tilting invitingly for him. It was the softest kiss Blair had ever felt, and he made a quiet noise in his throat when Jim's lips sipped at his, the very tip of his partner's tongue coming out to tease him, to taste him.

Fingers caressed his face lightly for a moment, stroking over his beard, ruffling the short hairs there. "So soft," Jim murmured, pulling away from Blair's lips to concentrate momentarily on the springy whiskers. "It's you, beneath herebut not you." His fingers traced the rough softness once again, and Blair shivered with the sensation.

"It's me, Jim," he said quietly. "Never anyone else, just--me."

"No 'just'," Ellison said roughly, clutching Blair's face and taking his mouth suddenly with a fierceness that burned into Blair's body and soul at the same time.

He clutched at his partner, hands circling biceps that felt like steel bands beneath his fingers, and opened his mouth wantonly, his blood singing with the promise he tasted in their kiss. Jim's fingers slid up to thread through short curls, and for just a moment Blair experienced a pang of loss, considering what those strong hands would have felt like, knotted in long hair. His hair would grow back, he reminded himself sternly, abandoning those thoughts to the hunger moving through him now as Jim deepened the kiss, tasting him fully.

There was a moment when the world shimmered around them, protecting them while they tasted and touched and discovered each other. Then things shifted back, and in the air around them were the scents of danger and violence.

Jim stiffened and drew away from Blair, turning his body to the west, his features strained with effort. "They're coming," he said grimly. "The bikers from the gas station earlier."

"Following us?" Blair cocked his head, but wasn't surprised when he didn't hear anything. Given the echo-effect here in the mountains, Jim's hearing--the most powerful of his senses--was nearly double what it usually was.

"I doubt it. But they won't be able to miss us." Ellison gestured with his head toward the black and yellow motorcycle not six feet from them. "It's pretty colorful."

"Not to mention *obvious*," Blair said, a tiny grin pulling at his lips. "I mean, c'mon, man. Like there's anything else looking remotely like civilization around here. Not even an outhouse."

"We have a few minutes; I can hear them, but the sound is obviously moving, traveling." Ellison turned back to Blair, catching the younger man by the arm. "I want you to keep your eyes open, and be ready to -- do whatever might be necessary."

"We've been through this before, man. I'm not leaving you." Blair stuck his chin out, telling his partner with his body language just what he thought of that idea.

"I'm not asking you to," Ellison countered. "I just want you to--be aware. We--are vulnerable, Chief. Especially without each other."

What it took Jim to say that, Blair knew he'd never know. Jim Ellison was the most taciturn, *guarded* person he'd ever met, and what his friend had just said was tantamount to a declaration of feelings. Of love. He gulped and shifted a little closer, heart pounding. "I--love you."

The words obviously caught his partner off-guard, because Jim started, his eyes widening briefly. Then a softer light joined the sharp edge within those startling eyes, calming them, and Jim raised a hand to stroke over his cheek. "You too, partner. More--every day." A slow smile moved over the sharp, angular features, and Blair shivered at the naked emotion staring back at him.

"Every day?" he asked quietly, swaying toward Jim.

Ellison nodded, a quick, economical movement. "For a while," he admitted softly. "Loved you--for a while now." There was a long pause while Jim obviously gathered his thoughts, then continued in the same quiet, even tone, "I'm not even sure when it became *love* in my mind; we just seemed to get closer, and things were -- comfortable -- between us, and everything just fit. I went from thinking of you as a pest, to a friend, to someone I couldn't imagine not being in my life with me."

Blair watched in fascination as Jim's face opened, closed, and opened again; emotions and feelings normally shuttered away inside the older man were suddenly exposed, stamped across the sharp features. It was touching, and oddly enough, a little embarrassing, as if he were seeing his friend for the first time.

Maybe I am. Maybe this is the Jim Ellison no one gets to see, because its too intense, too intimate to share that much of himself with just anyone.

Blair reached out and touched Jim's chest, right over his heart. "Yours--is mine."

The roar of Harley Davidsons pulling into the small parking area stopped any response Jim might have made.

****

There were fifteen of them; ten bikes, and five that had double riders -- men with their wives, or mistresses, something. Blair wasn't sure and didn't care. All he knew was that in the space of time it took for his heart to beat, or his eyes to blink, he and Jim went from alone in a world of new discovery to surrounded by hostility, the air reeking of danger and violence.

And some of these guys were *big*. And let's don't forget menacing. He wondered briefly if there was a class somewhere that all bikers took, 'Menacing 101', or something, and the irreverence of the thought nearly startled a laugh out of him. He choked it down, gasping a little, and shifted his position to better see their periphery. Surrounded, in a horse-shoe pattern, with their own cycle as the thing cutting them off.

"We don't want trouble," Jim said calmly, stepping forward just enough to put himself between Blair and the hostile bunch in front of them. "Let us go; we'll be on our way, you won't need to look at us again."

Sandburg shuddered a little at the sudden tic that appeared in Jim's jaw; the constant clenching and unclenching. It was a good sign of how tense his partner was, even if he didn't outwardly appear that way.

One of the bikers stepped forward, a harsh bark of laughter echoing around him. "Maybe you don't want trouble--and maybe we do." He grinned at them, showing ugly, yellowing teeth. "Maybe we feel it our sworn duty to rid the world of pussy-assed motherfucking fags like yourselves." There was a hum of approval from the assemblage as the big man took one step toward them, then another.

Jim shook his head, retreating one step back, his left arm going out to push Blair behind him. "Don't do this," he warned in a low, quiet voice.

"What, you a limp-dicked chicken shit, too?" The big man spat at them, his words more of a hiss now. "I thought you could at least get it up enough to frig your boyfriend's ass, but if you're too chicken-shit, maybe we need to show him what a *real* man is like."

Blair couldn't see Jim's eyes or face for confirmation, but he could see the sudden increase in tension bunching up powerful muscles beneath white cotton and black leather. He reached one hand out to rub Jim's back, trying to soothe and show support at the same time.

"Easy, big guy," he whispered in a voice meant for sentinels. "Don't let him get to you."

"Like hell you're gonna show him anything," Jim snarled, standing his ground. He didn't make any sudden or provocative moves, but based on what was beneath his hand, Blair could almost see the fluid, coiled muscles, ready to pounce in attack, or in counter-attack.

The biker was either too stupid, or too reckless to notice that sudden coiling, the tensing of the large, lean form. Not so much human anymore, Jim's body--especially covered all in black, from head to toe--gave off more of a feline appearance now; the tensely held, yet fluid flow of musculature, and the wary alertness in the way he held himself. Even his voice was a low, raw growl. A wild cat, barely tamed, ready to defend self and territory.

Blair almost missed the first swing from the biker, aware only of Jim shoving him back hard against the bike and the searing, sudden rush of pain as the wind was knocked from him. Then Jim was shouting, "Sandburg! Down!" and there was a frantic, enraged yell as the biker made contact with Jim's fist.

It was a rough, almost jarring perversion of a ballet dance; fists swinging, arms and legs flying, bodies sweating in the cold, damp air. Twice more Blair flattened himself against the cycle when the leather man in front of them rushed Jim; twice more Jim stopped the attack before it began. There was a series of what had to be painful, potentially crippling blows exchanged between the two men; the sickening crunching sound of bone and flesh meeting more bone and flesh. Jim rushed the bigger man with a head butt to his stomach, drawing a grunted "OOF", when he contacted. The biker retaliated by swinging his joined fists down hard on the back of Ellison's neck, and a huge, rocking shout went up from the leather-clad group watching when the cop went down to his knees.

"JIM!" Blair's heart leapt into his throat in a rush, choking him. He made a move toward his friend, stayed by a minute movement from the biker still hunched over, panting harshly.

"Touch him and you both die, Curly." A low gleam of teeth. "Fuck--you might both die anyway; don't all faggots die, usually because of each other?"

Blair didn't acknowledge the thinly veiled threats. His eyes were trained on Jim, who was still kneeling, obviously unaware, on the damp ground. The younger man tried again. "Jim--?"

"O--kay, Chief," came the sudden low, husky rasp. "Fucker can't--take me down that--easily." To Blair's surprise, Ellison staggered to his feet, twisting his head as if to relieve pressure or tension there.

A strange noise, the choked sound of disbelief, followed by a bellow of pure rage, rose around them. The hair on the back of Sandburg's neck prickled and he watched in a haze as the large biker rushed his friend again, sending blow after blow into Jim's body. They weren't as easily countered this time; Ellison was obviously sluggish after the hard blow to the back of his neck and head. He struggled, fought back, and groaned harshly when the biker caught him with a left uppercut that nearly spun him around.

Blair groaned with Ellison this time when punch after punch landed in the soft-tissue areas of Jim's body, until all the older man could do was hunch over and hang on, trying to protect himself. Another blow to the head forced a grunt out of him, and dropped him to his knees again, right in front of Sandburg. Pale blue eyes flickered briefly, meeting darker blue, before sagging closed. A bellow of pure, undiluted rage poured from Blair and he surged to his feet. The biker was coming toward Jim, a large, wicked-looking knife in his hands, evil intent stamped on his face.

"Hope you really like to take it up the ass, fag-boy, 'cause you're sure as shit gonna after we carve your boyfriend up a bit."

It took effort to focus on the words, on the man before him, holding the knife, lowering that knife toward his partner. The rage, the all-consuming need to *protect at any cost* roared through him like a freight train bent on jumping its tracks. Blind need to *do* pushed him, and Blair leaned down, plucking the .45 from Jim's back holster, hidden 'til now by the leather jacket his friend wore.

The biker didn't see the gun; obviously barely registered Blair's actions as anything important, too bent on taking his pleasure in pain. No one else seemed focused on Blair; to the younger man, the whole moment seemed surreal. He watched outside himself as he raised the gun--seemed so slow, taking forever!--aimed it, and pulled the trigger. He watched dispassionately as the biker staggered backward, a low, pained cry issuing from him, hands automatically reaching for his shoulder where blood flowed freely. Two others stepped forward, hands reaching out, and Blair fired a warning shot into the air.

"Stay the FUCK away from us!" He glared around the circle of men and women surrounding them, brandishing the weapon, and knelt awkwardly next to Jim, his free hand running over the older man's head, looking for injury. He kept most of his attention focused on the bikers, jerking the gun up again when one took a step toward them. "*Back*, dammit! Get. The. Fuck. Away!" To his surprise, they backed off again, and he reached for Jim, his hand shaking when he realized his friend was okay and beginning to stir on his own. "That's it, buddy. C'mon."

"'M okay, Chief," Jim's voice was wobbly, and he clutched at Blair's hand as he shifted. Blair moved back to give him room to maneuver, keeping the gun trained on the bikers.

"C'mon, babe," he whispered in a low, tight voice. "This isn't gonna scare 'em forever."

"Know that," Jim sat up, looking around. "Let's go. You drive--"

"Yes," the younger man said shortly. "Anything. Let me get you out of here." He helped Jim up and settled him on the back of the bike, then gave the gun to his friend and hoisted himself onto the driver's seat. None of the bikers had made a move, other than to help their injured friend, but Sandburg kept a wary eye trained on them.

The engine roared to life and they spun out of the rest stop in a spray of leaves and gravel, a slowly thickening cloud of white obscuring the scene of violence behind them.

****

They'd been riding steadily east for an hour, the blinding white growing denser as the minutes ticked by. Blair squinted into the distance, his thoughts racing as quickly as the snow was swirling around them.

I would have killed him. Gladly. Willingly. Protect Jim at any cost--what does that make me? I'm not good with guns; what was I thinking, picking it up and firing like that? Jim could aim with his eyes closed and hit his mark; I'm lucky I didn't kill the guy. Or am I? Was I trying to kill him? Protect at any cost. *Any* cost. I'd do it again. I know I would. Sweat beaded out on his forehead with the last thought, and his stomach clenched. He would have. He'd have killed for Jim, and he'd do it again. As many times as was necessary.

A shaking hand slid around him then, fingers spreading starfish-like over his stomach. He reached down and patted the cold skin, his own shaking in unison. I'll do it again. I'll do it as often as I need to. Protect Jim at any cost, no matter what that cost might be.

It occurred to him then, in the midst of the swirling snow, the very symbol of innocence and purity, that his was gone. Innocence gone, innocence lost. And he couldn't even bring himself to mourn it.

~Finis~

To be continued in Chapter 5, "Love and Tears"

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