Primal Urges

Prologue

It was always the same dream, although for a long time he'd been too young to remember much of it, much less understand it. He was older now, and although the meaning was still unclear, he at least recognized the dream itself.

He didn't have it often. Mostly during stressful periods in his life, maybe when he was yearning for someone to really care for him or care about him; perhaps for someone to *take* care of him. This was one of those periods, he supposed, since everything was new, different, a little scary.

In the dream--his dream--there were always four players. Two panthers, a jaguar and a hawk. The hawk was injured, although the dream never showed how that had happened, simply that it was. He sensed instinctively that he was the hawk. There was something about that that uplifted him, seemed to fit him. He didn't know who the panthers or the jaguar were, but felt on some instinctual level that one day that would be revealed to him.

The hawk was on the ground, resting, healing. It looked up when a jaguar entered the clearing it was resting in, disturbed by the noise and the scent. The large cat moved around, looking at the hawk, flicking its tail as if displeased. It paced, eventually cornering the much smaller, defenseless bird. The hawk had prepared to give up and not fight; death would come regardless and this way would be less painful. A loud scream echoed through the clearing and another large cat, bigger even than the jaguar and far darker and sleeker, entered. A panther. He leapt upon the back of the jaguar, biting and clawing, driving the other cat back, leaving a bloodied carcass at the edge of the clearing. When the jaguar was dead the panther paced around restlessly, as if waiting for someone, or something. It looked up, then loped away with a self-satisfied flash of tail when another, much larger, panther entered the clearing.

The hawk looked up at this new intruder, sensing gentleness behind the fierceness he saw on the surface, and was surprised when the cat looked back at him with gentle, sky-colored eyes.

*******************************

Peruvian Jungles, March 1988

The sun was coming up over the mountains, casting a pinkish-golden hue on the lush foliage. Inside the helicopter were eight men--men who'd fought in life and death situations together. They were quiet now; the kind of quiet that descended on them before all intense missions.

No one knew better than Captain James Ellison how intense this mission was going to be; he'd briefed his men, but the burden of all knowledge was his alone. They were to be cut off from radio contact for the duration of their mission, which was at this point an unknown. When he'd dared to question his superiors about this--how could you have an unknown factor like the length of a mission and not have radio contact?--he was coldly informed that *they* would break radio silence when it was deemed necessary, and not before.

He shifted his position and all eyes were on him instantly. Ellison permitted himself a small smile--these were good men. Not for the first time he thanked whomever had smiled upon him in allowing him to pick his own team. Not all Ops commanders got so lucky. He opened his mouth to address them, and the world shifted as the helicopter inexplicably dipped toward the ground, rotors ceasing their motion.

The local natives told him later that at first they had feared that the Sun Gods had become angry. They'd heard a loud noise, ten times louder than a clap of thunder, then seen the flames moving outward…

****************************

Ellison rolled over with a groan, the sounds around him muted from the roar of the explosion still ringing in his ears. He shook his head. Explosion? What was he thinking? No, wait... He froze. Oh, god...his team!

Ignoring his screaming muscles and the flare of pain from burnt skin, Ellison pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and began stumbling through the brush and jungle undergrowth, looking for survivors.

An untold number of hours later he was finished. His own body, injured and fatigued, began to give out, and he sat down heavily, feeling the guilt of those who survive fatal disasters beginning to gnaw at him. He'd found all seven of his men--three of whom he'd only been able to identify through dog-tags, and only two who were still alive. Lieutenant Benjamin Pearson and Sergeant First Class Elson "Smitty" Smith were both alive, but critically injured. Smitty was unconscious and remained that way in spite of all of Jim's attempts to revive him.

Smitty wouldn't last out the night. Jim buried his face in his hands and groaned silently. He'd lost men before, but never like this; never totally helpless to do anything. In the past, he'd been *doing* something; even if it was ineffectual in the end, he'd be acting to preserve those lives. He had no control over this. He looked at Smitty with tears glittering unshed in his eyes. He'd known this man for years. He'd been close to the family, had eaten dinner at his house, spent holidays there. They had, in spite of the disparity in their ranks, been good friends. It hurt to see him like this, and Jim had to reach deep within himself and draw heavily on his reservoir of inner strength to look at him laying there.

//An officer doesn't get emotionally involved, especially in Covert Ops. He can't afford to.// He could hear the voice repeating the words over and over again. It wasn't official doctrine, but damn close. Smitty had been one of his drill instructors, and he'd heard those words almost daily when he went through the extended training. When he graduated and got his commission, Jim returned to the drill camp and 'stole' the sergeant away, putting him in charge of maintaining his team's efficiency. He hadn't been let down. But somewhere along the line, he'd become emotionally involved. Smitty had ceased to be 'just a soldier', and had become a friend.

Jim stared down at Smitty, eyes hot and burning from the smoke of the fire and unshed tears. He hoped the older man would gain consciousness so they could say goodbye, but the medic he'd trained to be knew the odds were slim.

Then there was Pearson. Jim flicked his gaze over to the other man. Pearson *might* make it, if he got proper medical care--meaning a hospital--immediately, but the odds decreased with each minute that passed. Pearson. Oh, god. Another wave of guilt flooded over him. The young lieutenant shouldn't have been on this mission; however, they'd had a vacancy at the last minute when one of his team members became ill and couldn't make the trip. Benny Pearson had been chosen--over Jim's vehement requests otherwise--to do the mission. Now he lay there, most likely dying...and Jim was going to have to live with another set of consequences from breaking the 'don't get emotionally involved rule' for the rest of his life.

"Cap..." a breathless voice gasped, and Jim swiveled his head around to see Pearson watching him, a tender look in his eyes. "Not...your...fault...Jim." The younger man nearly gasped the words, trying to speak around the pressure flooding his chest cavity.

"Pearson. Benny. Take it easy, okay?" Jim shifted closer to his second-in-command, and felt his wrist for the pulse. It was weak and thready, and Pearson's breathing was shallow and labored. Jim had found him laying in a small, but growing, pool of blood, the end of a rib poking through skin. He figured the other jagged end had pierced the lung, judging from the blood being coughed up, and the painful, labored breathing noises he heard when he leant in and listened.

"Wha...happened?"

Jim's jaw clenched involuntarily. He'd like the answer to that question himself. Since all the communications equipment had been destroyed in the crash and subsequent explosion, he had no way of finding out. Never mind the order of silence...

"I dunno, Benny. The chopper crashed. Most of the team was thrown out...but the explosion still caught a lot of them. You, Smitty and I are the only survivors...and..." Jim stopped in horror as he realized what he'd almost said.

"Jim..." The gasps were gurgly now, and Jim envisioned Benny Pearson drowning in his own blood, lungs collapsing under the ever-increasing pressure from oxygen flooding his chest cavity. He shook his head to dispel the image. A cold hand reached toward him; brushed his thigh, lingering for a moment, then moved on to grasp Jim's hand. Jim clenched it in his own, trying to impart some of his warmth, his strength.

"Yeah, Benny?"

"...shoulda...told you..." Benny coughed weakly, and panted, trying to draw air into his lungs.

"Told me what, Benny?" Jim tightened his grip on the cold hand. He knew. He *knew* what Benny was going to tell him, and he wasn't sure he could handle hearing it.

"...love...you." The second word ended on a breathy sigh. "...shoulda told...you...before... Stupid, huh?...was...afraid..."

Jim felt the tears gathering in his eyes again, and reached down with his free hand to gently stroke Benny's face. "Not stupid, Ben." His voice shook slightly, and he tried to find that emotional distance--detachment--he needed, and failed.

"...know you...don't...feel...that way...for...me," Benny's efforts to draw air were becoming almost desperate now, and Jim had to look away for a moment before resuming the conversation.

"I--" He stopped. He did love him, but could he say it? He'd never said it before, and wasn't sure, even now, if he could.

Benny coughed once more, wincing from the pain. "...thought you...should know...before..."

Jim's eyes burned. "You listen to me, Pearson. You're not gonna say 'I love you', then die on me! Not on my watch, soldier." He could hear the tightness in his voice, the barely controlled emotions.

Benny wheezed and coughed again, then shook his head slightly. "C'mon...sir...We...both know..." he paused, panting for air, skin beginning to take on a bluish hue. "Know...I'm dyin'..."

Jim couldn't answer, since he knew as well as Benny did. Better, actually, thanks to his days as a medic when he first joined the service. Blood bubbled out of the corner of the other man's mouth, and the bright red contrasted garishly with the muted green of the camos he wore. Jim swore softly, then bent and pressed his mouth to Benny's, a final kiss of farewell. He pulled back and saw Benny's lips moving, and leant forward, straining to hear.

"...Jim..."

Benny gave a gurgly little sigh and his body relaxed then, as the freedom of death released the hold pain had had on him.

Jim tightened his hold on Benny's hand almost convulsively, as if by sheer strength of will he could keep the younger man with him. A low, primal growl rang in his ears, and he realized it was coming from him.

He'd never said it. Now he'd never get the chance.

*******************************

Rainier University, Cascade, Washington, March 1988

"Whadaya mean, 'not listed'? Man, I cleared all that with the Prof last month. You can*not* be serious!" The young man paced the cramped space of the office impatiently, hair swinging in time with his strides.

"Look, Blair." The secretary leaned forward in sympathy. "I'm sure you followed all the procedural steps. But hon, something goofed. You're not listed in the database."

"Ms. Standish...help me out, please? I gotta go on that expedition. Please? Help me out here--find the info..." He turned large blue eyes on her, and Dorothy Standish sighed. Of all the kids to have been accidentally bumped from this project, Blair was the one who least deserved this trip through academic-paper hell.

"All right, Blair. I'll see what I can do. But!" She held up on finger, forestalling any commentary on his part, "You have to give me a day or so, and promise to leave me alone if I can't fix it."

"I promise," he vowed solemnly as he leaned to give her a hug. She smiled as she watched him leave the room, remembering the child who'd come in where the man was leaving. Had it been two years already? Blair Sandburg had done a lot of growing up in those two years.

Blair headed down the halls of the Anthropology Department of Rainier University. If anyone could find out what had happened to his acceptance form for the trip to Peru, Dorothy Standish could. He sighed, and smiled at the two girls who were moving past him. They smiled back and slowed down, but Blair was in a hurry today--he was meeting with Professor Andano about the Peruvian study, and he didn't want to be late.

//I have to go on that trip. I have to.// He didn't even question why it seemed so important. His mother had raised him to believe and trust in his 'gut' feelings...and his gut feeling was that his destiny was waiting for him in those tropical jungles.

Three years here at the University. Well...this would *be* his third year. He'd been lying about his age for so long now that it seemed second nature any more; although he was 18 now he was still *small*--both in height, and stature. A friend of his was encouraging him to work out with weights somewhat to offset that, and he'd seen a little in the way of results so far. Blair knew he wasn't tiny--he was simply on the short end of average height for a man--but he was still small enough that people often mistook him for younger than he was. //Oh well...maybe someday I'll be glad to look younger than I am.' He shook his head, pushing the long tresses back from his face. That was the other thing, and he refused to cut his hair, laughing in the face of anyone who pushed it. This was the longest it had been since starting college--it was past his shoulder blades now. Maybe he'd trim it; it was on the verge of being *too* long.

He stopped in front of Dr. Andano's office and pulled his glasses out. Vanity took them off; necessity kept putting them back on. He knocked on the door, and at the offered entrance squared his shoulders, and prepared to make a date with destiny.

*******************************

Chopec Pass, Peru, March 1988

Jim Ellison buried both of his subordinates--a lover, and a friend--several hours past sunset, when the moon was full up.

After Benny died he'd cried for what seemed like forever, although he knew that wasn't so, then slept for a while, his sleep marred by the knowledge that he'd lost one person very dear to him...and would soon lose another.

Benny he at least got to say goodbye to. Smitty died without ever gaining consciousness.

Jim saved their dog-tags, placing them around his neck for safe-keeping. He saw to their final resting places, then headed for what remained of the wreckage of the chopper in order to scavenge as many supplies as possible.

A sick sense of grief and guilt assailed him as he rummaged around in the wreckage. What right did he have to survive? A Commander was supposed to go down with the ship, or at least with his men. He had no right to still be walking around on this earth. Jim fell to his knees, choking with his guilt, and was still there, almost in supplication, when the heavens opened and rain poured forth.

****************************

He got sick almost immediately. Wounded himself, then untended while he cared for his injured and buried the dead, his burns and cuts festered. Added to that was the survivor guilt he was carrying around, and a healthy dose of elements, and his system couldn't fight any longer.

When he was conscious he could keep the dreams at bay; when he was out of his mind with fever, and delirious, he saw ghosts that talked to him, and apparitions that made no sense.

A small, brown man appeared in some of those fever dreams, his face painted a brilliant red, a pleasant smile stretching his mouth. Another small person--a woman? She was there on occasion, chanting strange words and pushing foul-smelling liquids down his throat. Images blurred and raced through his brain: Benny dying in his arms, the ghost coming back to kill him in his sleep. His father shooting down his youthful attempts to please the older man, forever telling him he wouldn't be good enough. A large black cat--a panther?--stalking through the darkness, watching him with strangely blue eyes. Another blue-eyed vision…a young man who smiled at him, laughed with him, loved him. Someone he knew? Had known? Would know? He tried to picture, when he was coherent, that face in his mind, but it blurred and jumped out of reach.

He could hear faint explosions echo through his body; strange sounds, like gurgling, churning, flowing. Water? Blood? Something that was both, and neither? The dreams melded into one another, until he could no longer reason nor distinguish between them, reality versus delirium. His eyelids were translucent now, light seeping through regardless…or was that just the burning heat from his fever? His skin burned with touch, but wasn't burnt. Or was it? He couldn't remember now. Explosions again…there'd been one. What was it? Why'd it happen? Why wasn't he dead? Or was he? Dead?! DEADEADEADEADEADEADEADEAD……

"Nooooooooo!"

The scream frightened several flocks of birds, nesting in the various limbs of the nearby trees, out of roost and into the sky.

He woke a day later, clear-headed, bright-eyed, to see a small, brown man crouched over him, his face painted red. The man smiled at him, pointed to himself and said "Incacha."

*****************************

He set up his base of operations a mile or so to the north of the crash site. He'd have been more comfortable being nearer to the site, in case of a rescue attempt; however, there were too many ghosts there. He'd never have an easy night's rest with Benny laying dead near there, no matter he'd said it wasn't Jim's fault.

It was long, hard work, but it was the kind he'd been trained to do. He cleared a perimeter of trees, then used those to build a crude hut for himself; mostly for shelter from the rain. When the weather was clear he would often sleep outside under the stars; he felt less closed in that way.

The wreckage hadn't yielded much of use; a few emergency supplies, some blankets and such--mostly whatever was in the bags that had been thrown far enough from the chopper to not be affected by the explosion. It felt gruesome and a little surreal to be going through the personal effects of his men, scant though they were, but survival often necessitated strange things. And this was definitely a survival situation.

For the most part, the natives were reserved. Most distrusted him simply because he was an outsider with skin that was much lighter than theirs. It took time for them to trust him enough to feel comfortable with his being near their village. He never went to the village--that would have made them too nervous. But at least he could be near it now, without undue unrest.

With time he was able to get the warriors trained and active in the counter-insurgence mission he was supposed to be filling. His guide and friend through the muck that consisted of negotiating with the warriors was Incacha, the man who'd saved him. The shaman of the Chopec tribe.

As the months passed though, and he had not much contact with other human beings, he began noticing strange things about himself: He could hear things so much more clearly. And his eyesight! Why, he figured he could see for a mile...and tried to test it; however, with nothing as a baseline, the test was fairly useless. His sense of smell seemed heightened somehow, too, although that only bothered him if he were near a particularly strong-smelling item. The other changes were more useful in warning him about nearby predators and /or people that

shouldn't be here.

Although mildly alarming the changes weren't unduly stressful; they allowed him to do his job better, and the job was what he lived for now.

He continued his mission: train the locals as best as able to help in surveillance and perimeter guard. They wouldn't keep out everyone, but the natives were fairly savvy individuals for all that they were quite primitive. Jim found himself adopting some of their weapons and habits, and in time he became nearly indistinguishable from other parts of the jungle, including the predators.

***************************

He came awake gasping, body arching against the hand that was stroking himself, Benny's name on his lips. When the spasms of orgasm had died away, Jim rolled over on his mat of grasses and buried his face in the blanket, a few tears sliding from his eyes before he managed to squelch them. During the day he could bury his feelings: the hurt, grief, guilt over Benny's death--over all their deaths. But at night those feelings would come back to him tenfold, wrapping him into a tight, unwanted embrace.

Ellison rose and pulled his boots on. He slept fully clothed but for his boots, always. He could run barefoot if necessary, but in the jungle to be totally naked was to be vulnerable. And he couldn't afford to be vulnerable. Although it was still dark out he was going to walk a perimeter. He didn't need light to see anyway; any more he saw just as well in the dark.

He missed company. Although he'd never been a truly gregarious person by nature it would have been nice to have someone else to talk to...share thoughts with...make love with. He'd caught a couple of the local girls eyeing him once or twice, but had never approached them. It was absolutely against protocol, to get involved with the locals; aside from that he was still too torn over his emotional involvement with Benny. There was too much guilt unresolved, and there was no way in hell he was going to get involved with anyone else that had anything to do with this mission, however remotely.

It'd been, as near as he could figure, about six months since the chopper crashed. That would put the date somewhere around September 1988. What was going on in the world? He wondered when he would be contacted. How long could one person continue to hold perimeter territory by himself? Yeah, he had the natives, but it wasn't the same. They were brash, brave men, but he kept the dirty work to himself. Like the guy last week who'd actually had contraband on him. When he'd resisted, Jim had taken particular delight in snapping the guy's neck like a twig. He could still feel the *snap* the bones had made as he'd twisted; could still feel the strange thrill that had coursed through him at the sound.

Oh, shit. What was happening here? Was he turning into some sort of savage beast? Jim found himself entertaining thoughts along the lines of 'if I ever get out of here I think I'm finished with the Army...'.

******************************

Rainier University, Cascade, Sept. 1988

Blair pushed his way through the jostling crowds of students. It was the first week of classes, and things were always out of control for that first week. //I don't care...I don't care...I'm a senior...// Not only was he a senior and in the last year of his undergrad studies, *Thank you very much!*, but everything was all set for the Peru trip next May. He had only to get his passport updated, and the necessary shots beforehand...and he was free and clear.

His brain itched sometimes when he tried to analyze why this trip to a place he'd never been before was *so* important to him. Naomi had teased him about it when she'd been by to visit over the summer. But underneath the teasing he knew she was concerned for him: her Blair was obsessive by nature, and compulsive, but this was obsessive even for him. He'd gotten defensive the one time she brought it up, and it was never mentioned again.

Blair shrugged to himself. He found a bench in a nice clear grassy area and settled in to do some studying, and reviewing of some text and articles he'd come across in the library. He opened his backpack and drew out a battered and worn book, and opened it reverently. Inside the book were notes and a dissertation on something titled 'Sentinel abilities', or heightened sensory awareness.

He came up for air several hours later, amazed to find he'd read the entire journal. There were notes he'd made to himself stuck in pages throughout the book--this appeared to be a topic he wanted to pursue further, if possible. Blair started his own journal, wishing not for the first time, that portable computers existed. He labeled it 'Sentinel Studies', and felt his brain itch again.

Another hour of scribbling notes, and he glanced at his watch. Almost four now. He was supposed to meet with Julie and David in two hours to go over the notes from lecture yesterday. Blair stretched and slid off the bench onto the grass, stretching his body out. The warm sun above him, and warm grass under him felt good. He closed his eyes, preparing to take a short nap. A shadow fell over him, cutting off the source of pleasant warmth. Blair opened his eyes to see Curtis standing over him. He smiled, a slow welcoming smile.

"Hey, man. Sit down." He patted the grass next to him and the lanky man dropped down.

"Hey, Blair. Kinda early in the day to be sleeping, isn't it?" Curtis stretched out on his side next to Blair and smiled at his friend.

"Wasn't sleepin', man. Just like, you know, dozing."

"Dozing, sleeping, whatever. Still early." Curtis rolled onto his stomach and fixed his gaze on some point in the distance. "Wanna come over this evening?" he asked softly.

"Curtis..."

"Just to watch TV or something, Blair. Talk. We don't have to do anything else."

"But you want to, don't you?"

Curtis sighed. "I don't get you, Blair. You act like you want to have sex with me...but then you pull away. What's up with you?" Blair was silent for so long that Curtis turned his head to look at him. "Well?"

"I don't know," Blair said finally. "I *want* to...but something's holding me back. It's not that I'm afraid or anything...I like everything else we've done...but something about taking that final step..."

"'Cause that way you can tell yourself up to that point you're not gay...this is just two guys having fun, right? Man, I thought you were better than that." There was a bitter quality to Curtis' voice, and Blair rolled on his side to face him.

"No, man, that's not it. I don't subscribe to labels. You should know that by now. I'm not het, gay or bi. I'm just *me*. Whatever that means. If it means I want to date men and women, that's what it is then. And ditto for sleeping with them."

"Blair." Curtis rolled to face him. "Have you ever had sex with a guy before? Actually gone all the way?" Blair blushed slightly, and shook his head no. Curtis sighed. "How about with a woman?"

"A couple of times."

Another sigh. "Man, I forget how young you are. 19? 20? Which is it, Sandburg?"

Blair's turn to sigh. "Eighteen."

Curtis flopped on his back. "Jesus, I'm robbing the fucking cradle. Blair, you've either got to age about six years overnight, or stop acting so *old*. You're sending out mixed signals." He sighed and smiled then as he sat up. "Come on over tonight--we'll watch TV, eat some junk food and sit and cuddle. And talk about the rest of this in a more private setting, okay?"

"Sure, Curtis. About eight? I'm meeting a couple of people at six for study group."

"Eight's fine, Blair. See ya then."

"Later, man." Blair flopped back on the grass, pondering the questions raised here.

******************************

It was far easier, he decided later, to ponder those questions sitting by yourself in the grass, than while wrapped in the warm arms of a lover. All thoughts about that flew out of his head then as Curtis swirled his tongue around the inside of Blair's ear, then sucked on the earlobe. He groaned and gave over to the sensations.

He gave himself over completely to those sensations then, and allowed Curtis to make love completely to him. It was just as nice as Curtis had told him it would be, but he couldn't help feeling that it should be better, like there was something missing...

********************************

Chopec Pass, Peru, March 1989

Jim stood at attention over the markers for his men's graves. Today marked a year--as best he could measure, without a calendar--that they were dead. He listened to the music in his head, Taps played on a lone bugle. His men deserved more than a lone soldier standing over them, hearing imaginary music. It was becoming more clear however, that they were unlikely to receive more than that.

A year. In all likelihood the crash had been spotted, and assumed no survivors. He'd been given up for dead. They all had. He shook his head impatiently. That wasn't how the Army acted; he had to assume that when they deemed his mission completed they'd come for him. He had to hold on to that hope.

It wasn't quite as painful any longer, to remember his men, or Benny and Smitty. There was still guilt of course--just for the fact that he was alive--but the pain of surviving alone had dwindled somewhat. He missed Benny, but knew now that although he'd loved Benny, he hadn't been *in* love with Benny. Of course, that thought always brought a fresh wave of guilt along with it, as though he were desecrating something when he thought like that. It was true though--he'd cared deeply for his lover, but it wasn't an all-abiding love. He wondered if there was such a thing, and his mind flashed briefly on the fever-dream he'd had of a blue-eyed young man loving him.

He could see some of the natives in the hillside around him, watching him. Probably wondering what he was doing. These people, although they retained reverence for their dead, had nothing to do with them once they were so. Dead was dead, there was no visiting graves and crying over bodies and spirits gone. They probably thought he was insane. There were times lately when he'd wondered the same.

Mourning complete Jim shouldered his rifle and blow darts, and set off for his patrol. Eventually he'd be discovered; whether on purpose or by accident remained to be seen. When that happened though, he wanted to be able to reassure his CO that he'd acted in the fullest capacity possible to retain the integrity of his original mission.

*******************************

Cascade, Washington, April 1989

"Come on, Blair…you know you don't want to do this."

Sandburg sighed and shook his head. "No, man. YOU don’t want me to do this. I've been planning this trip for a long time." The young man watched his companion, wondering when Curtis had gotten so possessive. It wasn't like they'd sworn a commitment to each other. Sure, they'd dated exclusively for nearly eight months now…and the sex had been good…but if Curtis thought he was giving up his dream of going to Peru, well, he needed to rethink things a bit.

"What's the draw down there, anyway?" The older man countered.

"I don't know, Curt." Blair shrugged. "I've just known for a long time that I needed to go to Peru. Now I'm going. In a little over a month. And I need you to be cool about the whole thing." The student got off the bed and began gathering his clothing, graceful and at ease with his nudity.

"How long are you going for?"

"Ten weeks. Not a long time, man. I'll be back before the summer is over. Then we can talk about the other stuff."

The 'other stuff' was Blair moving in with Curtis; something the older student had been pushing for several weeks now, and that Blair was balking at.

"I really don't like the idea of you going," Curtis said finally, watching his younger lover.

"And I really don't care," Blair sent back. "I like you, Curt. I like what we've been doing. It's been fun…a lot of fun. But man, you *don’t* own me…and if you can't get past that, we have nothing more to say to each other!"

Curtis' eyes narrowed. "I wish you didn't feel that way."

"Yeah, and I wish you'd stop acting like I'm some damn puppy dog to have and show off. I'm not a possession, Curt. I'm a human being…and I thought I was your friend."

"We're more than friends, though, aren't we?"

Blair sighed. "What do you want from me?" he asked, as gently as he could manage.

"I want you."

"I'm here."

"No, I mean I want *you*."

"Curt…I'm not in love with you, man. I like you…I love you as a friend…but I'm not going to fall in love with you. You and I are too different for anything to work between us."

"Oh and you're so experienced to know this." The older man sneered at him, and Blair felt something inside him snap.

"No, I'm not necessarily the most experienced guy here, but I know what and how I feel…and baby, you're not it." Sandburg pulled his shirt on and shoved his feet into battered sneakers. "Don't bother calling me, man. I'll be gone in a few weeks and out of the country for the summer."

Curtis sat up, the sheet falling off his nude body. "Blair--don’t do this. Don't leave angry like this."

The younger man shoved his hand back through long, tangled curls. //Gotta get a haircut pretty soon.// "I wasn't going to, man. You're the one who turned snotty on me. Let's just leave it alone and maybe we can still be friends."

"Friends."

"Yeah--y'know, friends? Like we used to be, before we went to bed?"

Curtis nodded unhappily. "Sure. Friends."

Blair watched him closely for a minute, then shrugged a little. He didn't know what else to do or say, so he finished gathering his stuff together, then headed for the door. He paused there, searching for something that might make the situation salvageable. The look on Curtis' face disabused him of that.

"'Bye, Curt," he said softly, instead, his eyes solemn. "Take care, man."

"Yeah, you too, Blair-boy." The older man turned away from him. Blair shook his head and left the apartment.

*******************************

Peruvian Jungles, May 1989

Ellison sniffed the air again, frowning. The warm season had come and gone and now the wet season was here. But something wasn't right. Something was very much out of place, and he was damned if he could figure out what it was.

The Chopec Pass was now one of the best guarded against insurgents in the whole Peruvian jungle. Jim and his warriors had seen to that. He'd spent a lot of time lately in the village, consulting with the Chieftain and with Incacha. Although many of the villagers were still wary of him, his blue eyes and pale skin made him a curious thing and a lot of them now spoke to him casually when he ventured into the village, like now. He was always polite, deferential to the elders of the tribe, but he never sought out anyone, save the shaman and chieftain, and Kandiki.

Kandiki was a wise old woman with snapping black eyes who was the tribe's medicine woman. She was sitting just outside, still in the shade, and motioned him over to her hut.

**The air is strange today.** Her eyes were concerned as she looked at him.

**Yes. Something is out of place and I can't figure out what it is.** His grasp of the language had grown considerably, but he still felt he struggled to express himself.

**When you are to know, you will, Enqueri. Some things are not to be rushed.**

**You know something, mother?**

Her eyes snapped at him, the skin around them crinkling merrily. **You're looking for something you didn't know you needed. You will find it soon.**

//A nice cryptic message.// **What is that thing?**

She shrugged. **You'll have to wait and see.**

**I trust your instincts, mother.**

**You should trust your own, Enqueri.**

He nodded his head at her and wondered what the hell she was talking about.

******************************

His chat with Incacha later that morning wasn't much clearer. The shaman alluded to something strange, but wonderful, coming to find him.

"Your abilities as a guardian will lead you to it, and away from it at the same time. They will provide the backbone and at the same time drive you from that which you seek."

He chatted for a little longer with this curious man who'd helped him focus some of his strange sensory abilities, then left to make his way back to his hut and the perimeters he still needed to walk. His hand rubbed absently at the small black tattoo-like mark he now wore just above his left nipple; the mark of a Chopec warrior, with a special symbol for tribal guardian. Incacha had marked him a month ago, shortly after the one year anniversary of the crash. He could still feel slight raised edges of it, proof that it hadn't healed totally. A mark that looked like a strangely-shaped "X", symbolizing two crossed spears, with a circle surrounding it, symbolizing the guardianship.

He sniffed the air again, frowning. Was it a real scent, or something his lately over-active imagination was providing for him? No, Kandiki and Incacha both claimed to smell it too…or had they? Kandiki had merely said the air was strange; that could mean any number of things. And when he'd mentioned her strange message to Incacha, the other man had merely smiled and looked at him like he was staring into his soul.

//Too much fucking hocus-pocus,// Ellison grumbled to himself. //Get your mind back on your job, soldier, not on the strange predictions of a medicine woman in a primitive jungle tribe.// He shouldered his weapons and headed off into the jungle, eyes moving constantly, ears prickling restlessly.

********************************

Near the Chopec Pass, Peru, May, 1989

Blair wandered along in the growing darkness. He'd never have admitted it to anyone, but he was scared. Lost in the middle of the Peruvian jungle, with night closing in. How could he have been so stupid? All the professors and guides had asked was stay close to the camp until they were more acclimated; don't wander off even after.

Well, shit. A couple of days didn't really count for getting acclimated. And he'd wandered about as far as he could go. Could things possibly get any worse than this?

His questions were answered by a loud hiss. He froze. //I didn't hear that,// he thought desperately. Eyes searching the twilight-shrouded jungle around him for the source of the sound. He hoped to locate whatever it was that was hissing, so that he could move away from it... quickly.

He turned to head back in the direction he'd come, and froze. Hanging down from an overhead branch, less two feet away, was the biggest damned snake he'd ever seen. He gulped as the snake swung slowly toward him, forked tongue flicking the air. //Don't move,// he thought, trying to stay calm. //Just keep still until it goes away.//

The snake wasn't cooperating. The big, pointed head came closer, so close that he could feel the forked tongue against his cheek. He tried to slow his breathing, tried to keep perfectly still. Anything to make the big creature lose interest in him. For a moment, it seemed to work. The snake gave his face one final lick, then began to move away. The young man sighed in relief and took a step backwards... right into the rest of the snake's body. He barely had time to whirl around in surprise as the huge coils, as big around as his thigh, suddenly slithered around him, pinning his arms at his sides. The pressure that followed was enough to squeeze his screams out of his body.

"NO!" he wailed, feeling his ribs giving under the snake's muscle power. Knowing the others were too far away to hear him, he nonetheless cried out, shouting as loudly as he could, "Oh God, somebody help me!"

As he emptied his lungs with the frantic cry for help, he felt the snake tighten further. Now he couldn't draw in enough air for even a whisper, and he closed his eyes in despair. //I'm going to die I'm going to die and be eaten by a snake and nobody will ever know what happened to me because I was too stupid to tell anyone where I was going and Mom oh Mom I'm so sorry I love you and oh God whichever one is listening please I promise to be good forever if you just make the PAIN STOP!// His head lolled back as the snake continued to crush him, slowly slipping to the ground to wrap more coils about him.

Ellison was out, doing a twilight perimeter sweep, checking for predators, intruders, hunting down the enemy. He was still a little rattled from his conversations with the tribal members earlier, and had been walking the trails since. He was tired, but alert, and his senses were just informing him that all was quiet on the Ellison front, when he heard it; a scream. A man's scream of pain mixed with terror. Jim's head shot up and his eyes narrowed in concentration as he used his powerful ears to track down the direction of the sound. It was close. He had just taken a step toward the sound when he heard a loud hiss, followed by another gut-wrenching cry and the muted sound of bones slowly compressing. Ellison grimaced and increased his pace. Sounded like whoever it was was about to become Anaconda Chow.

//Strange,// Jim thought as he hurried through the jungle. It was rare for the natives to be taken by one of the big snakes. They all knew how to steer clear of the creatures. And a young man? A hunter for the tribe, probably, and even less likely to become prey. Jim sighed as he moved through what would be pitch darkness to other men, seeing his way easily. He was probably too late anyway. He fully expected to reach the scene and find no young man, but a very fat, happy-looking snake. He focused his ears again on the faint struggling sounds, the next of which stopped him in his tracks like he'd hit a stone wall.

"Oh God, somebody help me!"

Jim's eyes widened. English? ENGLISH?! What the hell? He was the only one in the area that should be speaking English. With new determination, Ellison charged ahead. He now used his superior eyesight to sweep the area of the jungle ahead of him, looking for his target. He spotted him ahead, through the trees. It was a young Western man, small, slight, and flirting dangerously close to death. The snake coiled around him was the largest Ellison had ever seen. He pulled his knife.

The young man was slowly suffocating; his lips turning blue from lack of air. His ribs were being compressed inward; without immediate action they would begin to splinter and break, increasing the likelihood of puncturing internal organs. Black explosions were blooming before his eyes, and he gave in to the approaching blackness. The pain was fading, at last, as he lay helplessly on the soggy ground, wrapped in the snake's coils. As everything began to go dark, he could swear he heard another voice, shouting.

"Hey!"

Jim roared with all his might as he ran up toward the snake and its helpless victim. As he'd hoped, the snake raised its head toward Ellison, to inspect the source of the new sound, the fresh source of food. It was the last thought the big reptile had, as Jim sliced the knife down in an arc, neatly severing the snake's head from its body. Jim flinched as he was splattered by a gout of cold reptilian blood. The huge reptile tightened reflexively, then abruptly relaxed its hold on the youth, and tried to slither away. Jim reached down as soon as the coils let go and grabbed the limp young man's wrists. He dragged the kid backwards, away from the snake which now laying in a writhing, bleeding mass of scales and coils. Jim kept one eye on the monster as the great beast shifted once more, and lay still.

Once the threat of the snake was gone, Jim turned his attention to its intended meal. He carefully pressed his fingers to the younger man's throat, and gave a sigh of relief as he felt the weak but steady beat beneath his fingers. The kid wasn't breathing though, and if Ellison didn't remedy that soon, his vanquishing of the snake would be for nothing. After checking that the young man's neck and spine were intact, the soldier tilted his head back and gently breathed a shallow lungful of air into him. He didn't want to fill the kid's lungs too far, in case there were broken ribs. He'd had enough shit to deal with from Benny dying that way; no need to add to the tremendous guilt by sending a kid on like that.

A few more gentle breaths from Ellison and the younger man gasped. Jim held him by the shoulders as he wheezed and choked, starved lungs demanding air. After a moment, the spasms stopped, replaced by labored, but steady respiration. Ellison smiled in satisfaction. It felt good to be able to save someone. God knew, too much of what he did lately was the taking of lives, rather than saving them.

Jim's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing. He raised his head and scanned the surrounding jungle, spotting the leopard easily. The big cat was still about a quarter mile away, but no doubt homing in on the scent of the snake's blood. They had to get out of there, and now. There was no telling how many other predators would soon be making a beeline for the remains of the anaconda.

Carefully, minding the bruised and likely injured ribs, Ellison slid his hands under the young man and gently lifted the limp body into his arms. As he stood up, the kid's eyes flew open, wide with terror, and he began to struggle weakly.

"No, no it's okay," Jim said quickly, getting the young man to meet his eyes. His heart jumped a couple of beats. God, what eyes. He had to forcibly tear his gaze away from the sapphire pools that looked on him in fear and pain. He began to move through the brush back to his camp, speaking in a soft, reassuring tone to the young man, who was now silent with fright. Jim realized he must look a sight, face streaked with dark paint and snake's blood. Kid probably thought he was some kind of witch doctor. "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you," he said quietly. "I'm taking you back to my camp where you'll be safe, where I can fix you up, all right?" Jim glanced at the pale face again. He was relieved when the kid seemed to relax a little in his arms. He still hadn't said a word, and Ellison was starting to wonder if he might not be suffering some kind of brain damage, or mental trauma.

They went along in silence for a long few minutes. Jim stumbled once, while glancing at the kid when he gasped a little in pain. As Ellison teetered, he felt arms reach up nervously to clutch at his shoulders. "It's okay kid, I've got you," he said in a soft, reassuring voice, regaining his footing and moving on. Soon, the kid's arms were wrapped tightly around his muscular neck, and Jim could see the curl-covered head bobbing as he tried to stay awake. "Go to sleep, if you want," he told him, tightening his arms just a little. Strange, this sudden rush of protectiveness he was feeling. He'd met this person less than an hour ago, well, hadn't even really met him, since they hadn't even exchanged names; yet Jim knew he would do anything to keep him safe. Bizarre. He took a deep breath to calm himself and his wayward thoughts and realized that the strangeness to the air from earlier was gone. If it was possible to scent peace and calm, he had.

His thoughts trailed off as a weak voice suddenly reached his ears.

"Blair."

The big man looked down, actually stopping in mid-stride. "What'd you say?" He'd heard the kid loud and clear, but he wanted to get him to talk a little more. "What was that?" He leaned his head a bit to foster the illusion that he was listening with normal hearing.

"Blair... my name's.... Blair," the kid gasped, wincing as a wave of pain went through him. "I... don't like... to be called... kid," he added weakly. His eyelids were droopy and his skin was cool and a little clammy. Possible shock, the medic portion of Jim's brain offered.

Ellison smiled. "Okay, Blair," he said softly, starting forward again. They went along in silence for awhile, Jim moving steadily through the darkness and Blair laying quiet and unresponsive in his arms. After another few minutes, Jim's curiosity got the better of him. "If you don't mind me asking, ki... Blair; what in the world is a Westerner doing in this part of the jungle?" Jim shuddered at the memory of the young man's body being crushed by the snake. "This is a rough neighborhood, know what I mean?"

Blair was silent for a moment, rallying his strength. "I'm... a student," he said, wheezing against his bruised lungs. "R... Rainier... University... upstate Wa... Washington." He closed his sleep-heavy eyes, head drooping again. "Got... separated from... my group...," his voice trailed off.

"What's a student doing in the Peruvian jungle?" Jim asked. There was no response. The big man looked down sharply, alarmed. The kid was asleep. Jim sighed in relief, then smiled when Blair laid his head on Jim's shoulder; a little gesture of trust that touched his heart. He found himself studying the kid's face as he moved along. Innocent. Beautiful. The long, dark lashes that fluttered against the stubble-roughed cheeks. The full, sensual lips with their little cupid-bow pout, the adorable turned up nose.... Ellison shook his head, trying to clear it. What the hell was wrong with him? Here was this young man, hurt and in need of his help, and all he could think of was....

Ellison pushed the thoughts from his mind. He'd been alone in the jungle for a long time, and the locals weren't a consideration. It was only natural to feel attraction toward the first non-native he had close contact with. Humans, especially Westerners, weren't meant to be alone. His sudden rush of affection for this kid was totally understandable. //Yeah, keep going, Jimbo. Maybe you'll even believe it, eventually,// his mind scoffed at him.

Soon, Ellison came into the familiar clearing where he had made camp, and ducked carefully through the flap of his makeshift hut. He knelt and gently laid his sleeping burden down on the pile of brush he used for a pallet. Blair moaned a little in his sleep, clutching at Jim's arms as the bigger man eased him down.

"Shh, it's okay," Ellison soothed, laying a hand against Blair's forehead in an oddly tender gesture. "You're safe now, Blair. I won't let anyone hurt you." Jim smiled as Blair's body relaxed, and he settled back into sleep.

********************************

Jim left the kid sleeping the next morning when he went out to recon his area. It took several hours to walk the perimeter, since he was by himself, so he left some cold food and a canteen near the pallet. He didn't figure Blair would wake up much, but just in case...

To his surprise, Blair was not only awake, but had managed to prop himself up a bit and was looking around in interest. From what Jim could see his eyes were a little dull--probably from pain. Jim had some herbals Kandiki had given him for that. His nostrils flared as he truly caught Blair's scent for the first time -- although it had registered last night he'd been too caught up in what was happening to take much notice. He realized with a start that this was the scent, or very close to it, that had been bothering him, niggling at him, for the last couple of days. Then it had been an annoyance, something to puzzle over because he couldn't pinpoint the source. Now, however, his body was tightening in response, reminding him again of how long it had been. And this kid was beautiful enough to trigger that automatic response, especially that lush, pouty mouth...