Category: drama, h/c, angst
Disclaimer: Not mine, but don't I wish... They belong to Pet Fly and Paramount, No money no foul, blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda...
Feedback: If you would be so kind. Addictions are so hard to feed. Please do your part.
Notes: Though it may appear so, this is *not* a death story.
Pairing: J/B
Rating: PG
Summary: On his way to a conference, Blair's plane crashes.

Chapter 1

"Come on, Jim, don't DO that!" Blair Sandburg giggled. "Please, man, if you keep that up, I'm gonna miss my flight!"

Jim Ellison purred. Quite literally purred.

"Who needs a plane? I think I can make you fly..."

Spooned back-to-chest in the bathroom, the two men cuddled at the sink. The larger eyed his flushed mate in the steamy mirror. The half-smooth, half-lather look made the younger man appear positively, undeniably adorable.

Jim ducked under the ponytail of barely restrained auburn curls and nuzzled his partner's neck again, giving it another playful lick with a mischievous tongue. Blair wiggled and laughed.

"That TICKLES! Jim, come on, man, I can't miss my flight and I still have to finish shaving...and my bag's not packed and...and my...hair ...oh geez..."

Jim watched his lover's eyes glaze over. Powerful hands roamed up and down Blair's chest and stomach. One hand tweaked both nipples to hardness, while the other hand roamed south, plotting a course through downy chest hair to the wiry jungle at his lover's groin.

Sentinel senses were never more welcome than when he held his beloved in his arms. Touch carried every tremor and thrill. Sound caught every racing heartbeat, snatched breath or whispered love word. Sight drank in every nuance of Blair's beautiful, responsive body. Tasting his lover's essence was the purest ambrosia of the gods. Smell reveled in the salty sweetness of their combined musk.

His large hand gently cradled Blair's rampant cock. Blair groaned and arched, smoky blue eyes closed against the rush of aroused sensation. His left arm pulled Jim's face into the bend of his neck, while his right stroked up and down the larger man's hip and thigh.

Blair's hips bucked in time to his lover's relentless strokes. He gasped and shuddered each time Jim's thumb passed over the crown of his painfully engorged shaft.

Jim watched his lover in the mirror. He found as much pleasure in seeing Blair's love-flushed face as he did in the sensations of his own hard cock pressed into the hot, tight passage between his lover's closed thighs.

Between Jim's expert hand and the steady bump of the cockhead against the back of his balls, Blair lasted only a few minutes. His testicles tightened, and he came in a rush of joy and sound.

Jim held his lover close, riding out the orgasm with him. His own release followed seconds later, leaving both men sweaty, sticky, and smiling like loons.

"Oh geez, Jim," Blair gasped.

The smaller man leaned back into his lover's arms, and accepted a final few moments of pleasure before the demands of the outside world once more intruded.

"Thanks, man. I like really needed that."

"I know," Jim whispered into the gentle curve of his mate's ear. "I did, too. It's going to have to last me four whole days."

Blair laughed at his own reflection. Sweat had left very definite runs through the lather on the right side of his face, leaving white trails all the way down his chest. Before he could more than think that he needed to clean it up, Jim's hand came around again, this time with a wet cloth to tenderly wipe away sweat, lather and semen.

"Thanks, lover, but I think this will call for a more brisk cleaning."

"A shower together sounds wonderful."

"Hold it, Romeo," Blair held up a hand, halting Jim in his tracks. "I better go solo on this one, or I'll never get out of here."

"And this is a bad thing?"

"Yeah, it is. My department head specifically asked me to read our shared paper at the Toronto conference. I'm second author on it, so presenting it at an international symposium is a big feather in my doctoral cap."

"I hear that," Jim said, grinning as he recalled Blair's mother, Naomi, using that phrase at their first meeting. "Tell you what, for the price of a long kiss, I'll pack your bags while you shave and shower. Deal?"

"Deal. Just...remember the underwear this time, okay? The last time you packed for me, I had to make an emergency trip to Wal-Mart."

"What, you don't want to give those stodgy old professors the thrill of seeing you without a panty line in those sexy tight jeans? Might liven the meetings up a bit."

"I will not be wearing jeans." Blair jabbed his finger against Jim's bare chest. "I will be in dress slacks, jacket and tie, thank you. This is a career make-or-break function, not a Jags game, got it?"

"Got it." Jim held up his hands in surrender. "Nines all the way. Nowwwwww, about my payment."

"Here's part in advance, the rest due on completion."

The kiss was tender and sweet, driven by love rather than tense, physical need. Their bodies, though drastically different in build and height, molded together perfectly, like two halves of the same whole. Jim lost himself in the feel of his mate in his arms, the heat of skin touching from knees to lips.

Blair sighed and broke away first, his eyes smoky with love. He took one look at Jim's face and burst out laughing.

"Oops, ummm, sorry, man."

He scooped up the rag and wiped smears of lather from the strong, chiseled chin and jaw. Jim let him finish then swatted Blair's delectably tight rump.

"Into the shower, lover, before I forget myself and jump your academic bones again."

As he transferred items from the closet to Blair's suitcase, Jim listened to the sputters and splashes his partner made in the shower. He suffered a rush of joy as keen as any he'd ever felt before. Having Blair in his life was a gift he'd never thought to receive. He had yet to figure out what wondrous deed had earned him that priceless treasure.

If he ever lost it...

Jim shook off the morbid thought and turned back to the chore of packing. The requisite stack of briefs and boxers went in first, but only after Jim took a deep Sentinel breath of the Blair-aroma that even a thorough wash could not remove. Other items followed, including Blair's ever-ready toiletry bag and small travel hair drier. His best dress slacks, shirt, jacket and tie went into Jim's smallest suit bag. Blair needed to look his best at this conference, and Jim would do all he could to help.

Even if it meant giving him up for four very long, very lonely days.

The hair drier buzzed for several minutes, giving Jim enough warning to put on a pot of coffee and prepare a quick bagel snack for their breakfast. Blair emerged from the bathroom, face red from bending over to dry his hair, and hurried to dress. By the time he joined Jim in the kitchen, the clock on the wall had just turned over to 5:20 a.m.

"Geez," Blair said as he hurriedly swallowed the coffee and snatched a bite of bagel. "One hour ten minutes."

"You sure you don't need a ride to the airport?"

"No, Dr. Carter's going to pick me up. She should be here any second."

"Carter...that's the blonde Assistant Professor over in Sociology, right? The one with legs up to here?" He made a slashing motion at throat level.

"The same. Not jealous, are you?"

Jim offered his most practiced "who-me-not-me" expression. It didn't fool Blair for an instant. "Never, Chief."

"Yeah, right. Rainier has non-fraternization rules, you know."

"So does the Cascade P.D., but that hasn't stopped us, has it?"

"I'm a consultant, Jim, an UNPAID one I might add. Unofficial and off the payroll. No harm, no foul, no reason not to play nookie, right?"

Jim's blue eyes darkened. "It's not just nookie, or sex, or whatever you want to call it. It's..."

Jim sighed in frustration. The words failed to come.

Blair eased his heart with a simple smile and a loving hand on Jim's chest. "I know, man. I feel the same way. You're it for me. I'm it for you. 'Nuff said."

Jim cleared his throat and looked around. "I'll...get your bags."

Jim carried the bags into the living room and set them down beside the door just as a car horn sounded from outside.

"There she is."

"I'll help you carry these down," Jim said and started to reach for the suitcase.

"Uhhh, Jim, I'd love for you to help me carry my bags, but I will freely admit to being the jealous type, and having Dr. Carter see you in your all-together is a little too much for me to accept, okay?...Jim? You're not blushing, are you? You are."

Blair wrapped his flaming lover in a fierce embrace, even as he wrestled down the urge to snicker his head off. The desire to laugh vanished as swiftly as it came over him. He clung even tighter to his lover, suddenly desperate to hold him close and never let go.

"Four days isn't so long, is it, Jim? And we'll...talk on the phone, right?"

"Right. Ten times a day. More if you get lonely."

The car horn sounded again. Blair pushed himself away and reached for his bag.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Chief? You still owe me the rest of that kiss."

Blair dropped the bag and readily complied, tasting his own dislike of separation on Jim's lips. He held the kiss until the car horn honked a third time, a longer, more irate blast. The next, if indeed Dr. Carter waited around that long, would wake the neighborhood.

Blair unlocked the door and grabbed up his bags.

Jim pulled it open, careful to keep the portal between his naked body and anyone who might happen to be in the hallway. Blair turned back one last time and whispered, "Love you, my own."

"Same here, Chief. Stay safe."

"You, too. No reckless chances, okay? Get Simon to back you up, and don't zone."

"Go, Blair. I'll see you in four days."

Chapter 2

Jim Ellison grumbled and growled as a call came in on his cell phone, interrupting his futile efforts to properly word his report. With the exceptions of their personal hours together and Blair's efforts in the field, Jim missed his partner most when it came time to do the reports. Blair Sandburg had the gift for words, not William Ellison's boy.

He snatched up the offensively ringing phone, flipped it open, and muttered, "Ellison."

"Whooo, sounds like a rough day, man. How goes it?"

Jim's face instantly broke into a relaxed smile. "It goes like it always does when you're not around, Chief. Smooth as silk."

"Uh-huh. So what part of the report are you having trouble with?"

"All of it."

Jim didn't need Sentinel hearing to catch the nasty little snicker on the Toronto end of the call.

"So you find this funny, do you? Anyone ever tell you payback's a bitch?"

"Go with it, man. Adversity builds character and all that."

"I have all the 'character' I can stand, thank you. His name is Blair Sandburg."

"At least you can't say your life is boring, right?"

Jim gave up. He should have known better than to banter words with a pro. "Right, Chief."

Henri Brown walked by. Hearing who Ellison was talking to, H waggled his fingers and yelled, "Hi, Hairboy!"

"Who was that, Brown?"

"Yeah," Jim said, "your secret admirer."

H laughed and moved on, leaving the partners to talk in the little privacy offered in the Major Crime bullpen.

"Miss you, my man. Big-time."

"Same here, Chief. Your flight gets in tonight at 8:30, right? I'll be there to pick you up."

"Thanks, love, but Dr. Carter's car is parked in the pay lot at the airport. She can bring me home."

Ellison fought his disappointment. "It's no trouble, honest."

"I know, Jim. But I have this picture in my head of you, waiting for me to come back from my long, boring business meeting, dinner warm in the oven, instrumental music playing on the stereo, light from a dozen candles turning your skin a soft, burnished bronze. Just good food, soft music, romantic candlelight, and us making love on the luxurious new fur rug I bought today."

Jim shifted in his seat and prayed no one asked him to stand up anytime soon. The result would be embarrassing.

"Fur rug, huh?"

"Not real fur, of course. But it's big, and white, and so sinfully thick that when you rub it, you lose your hand up to your wrist. I pictured us on it in front of the fireplace, both of us naked, with me spooned up behind you, my cock cradled in your ass, gently sliding in and out. My arms would cradle your chest. You would be stroking yourself, and I'd watch your hands moving in time with my thrusts."

"Chief-Blair...Shit, I'm at work. Do you have any idea what you're doing to me here? I won't be able to leave my desk for a hour!"

"Only an hour? Damn, I must be slipping...and sliding...in and out..."

"Blair, if you don't stop-"

Blair's chuckle was positively filthy. "Or what, you'll come and get me? I'd love you to, my man. You can 'come' for me anytime."

Jim groaned. His pants, though generously cut, were suddenly and painfully tight.

"I'm in pain here, and you crack jokes?"

"No more pain than I'm in this very second, love. Damn it, Jim, I need you."

"Tonight, lover. I have the next two days off, so we can do whatever our little old hearts desire."

"Mmmmmmm, yes. Forty-eight hours of Jim, Jim, and more Jim."

"With a little Blair thrown in for dessert."

"Growl."

Captain Simon Banks' voice called from his office. "Ellison!"

Jim dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ohhhhshitohshitohshit."

"What?"

"Simon just called me. I've got to go. Any suggestions how to hide a very noticeable bulge in the front of my pants?"

"Carry a lot of files and don't put them down for anything."

Jim smiled. "Right. Thanks a lot, Chief."

"My pleasure, my man. Or at least it will be...tonight."

"Get back to your speeches, Sandburg."

"Love you, too, Jim."

Chapter 3

From his window seat overlooking the port side of the plane, Blair watched the storm roll toward them. The light show both fascinated and terrified him. He wasn't fond of flying even in the calmest of weather, but the brilliant colors and infinite patterns of lightning were nature's own Oscar winning performance, and he had a front row seat.

Around him, other passengers shifted nervously, eyes darting towards the closest windows. Few, if any, were resting. Somewhere in First Class a baby cried and a young child giggled. Blair smiled, his fears momentarily calmed by the innocence of a child's laughter.

Thinking back on the day, he had to admit he'd played a low trick, carrying Jim on the way he had. Sometimes the imp in him was just too strong. In penance he'd refused to bring himself off on daydreams of Jim loving him into orbit. Within a few hours, he would have the real thing, and the four-day separation would be over.

He glanced at his watch: 7:25. One hour to landing. A quick dash through customs and baggage claim, and then home.

The plane bucked and rolled, pushed by storm winds.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the head flight attendant's voice filtered through the speakers. "The Captain has activated the Fasten Seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats and belt yourself in securely. Extreme turbulence due to the weather has caused this flight to be diverted to Tacoma. Air Northwest apologizes for any inconvenience this change in flight plan will cause you. Every effort will be made to get you to Cascade as quickly and as safely as possible. Again, please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. Thank you."

TACOMA! OH MAN! I'LL BE LUCKY TO MAKE IT HOME BY NOON TOMORROW!

A sonic boom slammed into the plane at the same instant lightning struck the right wing. For one eternal instant, the lights inside the cabin were extinguished, throwing the panicked passengers into complete darkness.

Emergency lighting kicked in, casting a surreal, reddish glow across terrified faces. The flight attendants raced down the aisle, urging people into crash position and checking belts. The plane jolted, throwing one of the women into Blair's lap. His quick grab saved her from a nasty blow to the head against the unyielding window glass.

In the brief instant their eyes met, Blair saw Death.

The attendant threw herself back into the aisle and continued on down the cabin. Blair stared after her a moment, then faced forward again as the plane's angle changed. The rough but relatively horizontal flight tilted forward, the pitch increasing with each passing second.

Wind screamed past the plane's wings, so loud as to drown out the screams of the people who knew, without doubt, they were about to die. Flames streamed out behind the flaps. An iridescent blue-white light filled the cabin like a preview of hell.

Blair buried his head in his lap and held tight to his knees, assuming the crash position even though it was a useless defiance against the Final Mystery.

OH GOD I'M GOING TO DIE.

What would Jim do without him? Who would be there for him? Who would love him and protect him? Guide him out of zones and shield him from danger? Raise his spirits or diffuse his temper?

Who could Blair trust to pass the gift of the shaman?

GOD, PLEASE TAKE CARE OF HIM. DON'T LET HIM FACE THIS ALONE.

As the plane began its final, screaming descent, Blair squeezed his eyes closed and threw his final words into the heavens.

"I LOVE YOU, JIM!"

Chapter 4

Jim looked around the loft one last time. Candles in place, the CD changer loaded with every romantic CD he could find at the music store. A fish casserole waited in the refrigerator for the proper moment to cook; a bottle of champagne sat next to it, ready to chill on ice. Wood sat in the fireplace, ready to be lit. Everything was in place except for a sinfully luxurious fur rug and his very sexy, very hot lover.

Nothing spoiled the peaceful setting except the beat of rain against windows and skylight, and the steady drum of thunder.

How many times had he glanced toward his watch? Thirty times? Fifty? The plane wasn't scheduled to land for another hour, and if the weather reports were any indication, all flights into Cascade were most likely running late. By the time they cleared customs, retrieved their luggage, bussed to the pay lot, and drove to the loft, it would be close to ten, if not later.

What if the plane WAS delayed? How late would it be? Obeying his Blessed Protector instincts, Jim picked up the phone and dialed the local ticket office for Air Northwest.

"Hi, I have a friend on Flight 506 out of Toronto, scheduled to land in Cascade at 8:30. Can you tell me-diverted. To where? Tacoma! Do you have any estimate of when the passengers will reach Cascade? No, thanks anyway."

He hung up the phone and muttered a sharp, heart-felt, "Damn!"

So much for a pleasant evening in front of the fireplace. Jim sat on the couch for several minutes, reordering his thoughts and adjusting to the disappointing change in plans.

Well, sitting around the loft in its current romantic setting only made it harder. Jim grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed for the station. At least he could get the last of the paperwork done. If he could sweet-talk Rafe or Henri into taking over the Bonner interviews, maybe Jim could wheedle an extra day off out of Simon.

Ducking stiff storm winds and heavy rain, he dove behind the wheel of his truck and drove toward the station.

From a mile away, even Sentinel ears did not pick up the shrill whine of the loft telephone. The answering machine cut in on the fourth ring.

"THIS CALL IS FOR JAMES ELLISON. MR. ELLISON, THIS IS RACHEL LYONS OF AIR NORTHWEST. IT IS IMPORTANT THAT YOU CONTACT OUR OFFICE IMMEDIATELY. PLEASE CALL ME AT 800-555-1000 AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. THE MATTER IS MOST URGENT."

Chapter 5

When Jim stepped off the elevators outside of Major Crime's main office, affectionately referred to as the bullpen, he knew something bad had happened. Faces were as long as a rainy day-while that's what they had at the moment, a rainy day, he doubted a liberal dousing had so lowered everyone's spirits.

When the third person turned away after giving him a long, sad look, Jim let himself frown. The first stirrings of serious concern churned in his chest. Had there been some major shootout? Was someone from the squad down? Maybe dead?

Jim stepped into the bullpen and took an immediate headcount. Rafe, Joe-Bills, Brown, Taggert, Lewis, Riley, Furillo. Everyone present and accounted for. A familiar, cigar-smoking silhouette against the closed blinds of Simon's office assured Jim that Captain Banks was currently talking on the phone and likewise fine.

There were, however, an inordinately large number of people in the office considering the weather and the late hour. Uniforms and plain clothes all stood around the room, in "waiting" mode.

Absorbed with counting heads, Jim was a long moment noticing the sudden drop in noise. Within seconds of his entry, all speech stopped. All movement ceased. Phones were answered in the softest whispers. Faces either turned away or studied him with heavy sadness.

Jim caught the first eye that didn't flinch away-Joel Taggert's-and asked, "Why is everyone staring at me? Did I accidentally wear my underwear on the outside?"

Simon's door opened. "Jim. Please. Come in."

The concern in his chest quickly sank into his gut. "Joel?"

"You...Simon wants you."

"Rafe?"

The youngest Major Crimes detective could not meet his eyes. As Jim moved past him, his hand came up to rest on the larger man's back, a sign of commiseration and support.

Simon's soft, "Jim," pulled Ellison into his office almost against his will.

Jim glanced back as he crossed the threshold, in time to see Brown slide a black armband up his sleeve.

The large captain closed the door behind him with infinite care.

"Simon, what is going on out there? I haven't seen that many sad faces since junior high when the football team's mascot died."

"Sit down, Jim," Simon said as he perched on the corner of his desk.

Sentinel ears caught the sound of drawers opening, and the subtle whisper of cloth against cloth.

"I don't think I want to, sir."

"Sit."

Jim sat. He rested his hands on the arm of the chair, consciously relaxing them. All he wanted to do was grip the arms hard enough to snap the wood. No, what he really wanted to do was leave, run away before he had to hear news bad enough to throw the entire Major Crimes unit into mourning.

"Jim. I got a call just a few minutes ago...from the airport. Flight 506-"

"Was diverted to Tacoma, I know."

"Jim, PLEASE. This isn't easy."

"Then don't say it."

"Flight 506...went down just a few minutes past 7:30 this evening. Initial reports aren't good."

Jim shook his head. "No..."

"The first emergency crews on the scene report extensive fire damage. The wreckage was scattered...so far, they haven't found any survivors-"

"NOOOOO!"

Jim threw himself out of the chair, blind to his direction. Simon stopped his forward plunge an instant before he would have gone through the window glass. Jim roared denials and struggled against the restraining arms. By the time the storm passed, he knelt on the floor, his shivering body sandwiched between Simon, Rafe, and Henri.

"No. Blair. No no no no no no..."

"Jim...Jim, we're so sorry," Simon's broken voice overlay the Sentinel's mantra of rejection.

"I talked to him just this morning! He was fine...how could he not be fine? I talked to him just...this morning."

"I...I wish I knew the right words to say, but I don't."

Jim's scream of rage and grief echoed down halls and stairwells, like the mournful howl of a beast in pain.

Chapter 6

Simon wrapped Jim's hands around a steaming mug of coffee even as Rafe cocooned him in a blanket and Joel briskly rubbed his arms. Some remote part of his mind felt gratitude for their efforts, however useless.

Blair was dead. Jim would never be warm again.

No, he wouldn't, couldn't believe it. There had to be some hope left. Some tiny scrap of chance. Miracles happen every day. People walk away unscathed from car wrecks and plane crashes that should have killed them. Surely Blair deserved such a miracle.

Henri tapped on the office door and, receiving permission, entered. After a tentative smile at Jim, he turned to Simon.

"The first news reports are coming in. Local channels and CNN."

Jim's voice was a barely recognizable murmur. "Turn it on."

Simon shared concerned looks with the other detectives. "Are you sure?"

"Let me see."

By the time Jim turned his chair, Brown had turned on the television in the far corner and set the channel on CNN.

As the first pictures of the downed aircraft came on the screen, Jim's friends clustered close around him. Touches of shared pain and sympathy barely registered.

The live video feed, taken by a CNN helicopter hovering over the wreckage, showed a scene straight out of Dante's Inferno. Great gouts of flame shot up from pieces that vaguely resembled an aircraft, even though rain still pelted the mountainside where the plane had gone down.

Fragments of fuselage and wing, most of them unrecognizable, were scattered as far as the airborne camera could focus.

Uniformed figures-fire department, mountain rescue, park service, and law enforcement-already moved through the wreckage, combing it for survivors. As hard as Jim looked, with normal vision and the eyes of a Sentinel, he saw no trace of Blair. Or of any survivor.

"Merciful Jesus," Joel Taggert whispered as rescue personnel began the grim task of covering shapeless lumps that had once been human bodies with sterile morgue sheets.

The news anchor did a voiceover of the on-site reporter, announcing that the flight held 137 passengers and 7 crew, most of them either Canadian or American. Again, no survivors had yet been found.

"No one could have lived through that," Rafe whispered, then turned horrified eyes toward Jim.

Ellison, however, did not hear him. He was too busy searching the screen for his beloved. He continued until all video ended, and the cameras cut back to the news anchor in the CNN studios.

"He wasn't there," Jim said, his voice monotone with shock. "I didn't see him."

"Rafe, Brown. Take him home. Make sure he rests."

"No. Can't go home." Jim shook his head. "Won't. I'm going there. I have to find Blair."

"There's nothing you can do, Jim. You need to rest. That's an order."

Jim erupted from the chair. "To hell with your orders. That's my partner out there. I've got to find him."

"Look outside, Jim! You try driving in that, you'll end up dead, too, and won't be able to do a damn thing for anyone!"

"You expect me to just sit around and do nothing?"

"No. Wait until morning. This storm front should have moved through by then. I'll authorize a department chopper to take us to the crash site."

"That's a good idea, Jim," Joel said. "You'll get there even sooner, and you'll have had a night's rest."

"I'll take him home with me," Rafe offered. "He can stay with me until... well, until me know more."

"Thanks, Rafe." Simon rested a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Go with him, Jim. Get what rest you can. If we hear anything, I'll call you. I promise."

Jim obeyed his keeper's gentle tugs, moving on unsteady feet.

Chapter 7

Waking was a staggered process of jumbled thoughts and confused images, none of which would form themselves into a cohesive order. Jim liked order, preferred his thoughts to be outlined and precise. Something told him that, this time, chaos was preferable to reality.

He lay on a strange bed. Unfamiliar linens rubbed against his cold skin. Foreign smells assaulted his nose. He'd never seen that wallpaper before.

Had he been kidnapped? No ropes. No cuffs. Door stood partially open.

Maybe Blair knew what-

Jim moaned and buried his face in the pillow. Memory returned in a rush. His heart all but stopped, his breath arrested in his chest.

Someone approached the door. Jim dimly recognized Rafe by the scent of his after-shave, but he didn't look up.

"Jim? Are you awake?"

"Have they...found him yet?"

Rafe sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Jim's back. He rubbed the broad surface, and noted the violent tremors that raced through the large man's frame.

"Not yet. But there is some hope. The news reported they've found three survivors, two women and a child. There may be more. They've only accounted for about half the passengers and crew."

"What time is it?"

"Just rising six. The weather broken. Simon's arranged for a department chopper to carry him to the crash site. It'll get him there faster than the courtesy flight arranged by the airline, and will take him to the crash site instead of the secluded waiting area."

"I'm going with him."

Rafe nodded. "He figured as much." The young detective pointed to a clean pile of clothes sitting on a nearby chair. "I went by the loft and picked you up some clean, dry clothes. Figured you'd be needing them."

Jim eased himself from beneath the covers, groaning at the arthritic feel of his bones. He felt tired and so incredibly old.

"Thanks, Rafe."

"Anytime. Ummm. Jim. I saw the candles and, uhh, when I went to get your toothbrush, in the bathroom, uhmm-"

Jim offered his uncomfortable friend a wan smile. "Yes, Rafe. Blair and I are lovers. Partners in every sense of the word."

"I have no problem with that. You made him happy, that's all I need to know."

"How do you know he was happy?"

"Come on, Ellison, the kid lit up like a Christmas tree every time you walked into the room. You don't get that kind of glow without happiness and love."

Jim rested a shaky hand on Rafe's knee. "Th-thank you."

"Once you've cleaned up, I'll drive you to the station. Simon said the chopper would take off at eight."

Chapter 8

He was cold. So very...very cold. He'd been cold for so long. He couldn't remember a time when ice hadn't flowed through his veins or numbed his thoughts into rivers of slush.

Wind and rain stole what little heat he possessed, leaving him a miserable hulk. His body was frozen past the shivering point, which was okay, because broken bones and internal bleeding hadn't much cared for goose bumps and chattering teeth.

How long had he laid there, lodged high in the branches of the tree? His watch was gone, ripped off his arm in the fall. The storm had passed. The horrible sounds of rampaging fire and the far-off screams of the dying had ended. Dawn had come, visible as a vague lightening of the overcast sky overhead.

Was he alone? The only survivor? It certainly sounded like it. Hurt, cold, and very much alone.

Staring heavenward, he watched helicopters passing overhead, but he had no way of signaling them.

PLEASE, OH GOD, PLEASE HELP ME. JIM. PLEASE LET SOMEONE FIND ME.

The Cascade Police Department chopper touched down at the rescue coordinator's base camp, some quarter-mile away from the crash site itself. Simon, Jim, Rafe and Henri climbed out into the cold, humid mountain air, and watched the organized chaos around them.

Jim zeroed in on the makeshift hospital set up to handle the survivors. Since Rafe had spoken to him that morning, twelve more had been found, bringing the total to fifteen, with some forty passengers and crew still unaccounted for.

A woman in a bright orange uniform caught Simon and the others before they could follow Ellison to the hospital tent. She looked to be in her mid-forties, with short-cropped blonde hair just starting to gray. Soot smudges marred her skin and clothing.

"Tina Wallace, Ranger Rescue. Who are you?"

Simon displayed his badge. "Captain Simon Banks, Cascade P.D. These are some of my detectives."

"What's your business here, Captain Banks? We appreciate that you may be here to help, but right now we have more hands than we can use."

"One of my men was on that plane. We don't intend to get in the way, just be nearby...in case of news."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Captain. I understand why you're here, but you should be in the secluded zone with the rest of the family and friends."

"My men and I are trained professionals, Ranger Wallace. We've participated in a number of downed aircraft drills. We won't get in the way."

Wallace's attention focused. "You're experienced? That's the one thing we're short of. Lots of volunteers but half of them don't know what the hell they're doing."

"My officers received superior ratings on our last two disaster drills. Just tell us what you want us to do."

By the time Jim Ellison left the hospital tent, Rafe and Brown had been dispatched to help with the rescue efforts. Simon studied the closed expression on Jim's face.

"He wasn't there," Ellison reported. "He must still be up on the mountain."

"I would suggest you open up your senses, see what they can tell you, but...we're a quarter-mile away and it's too strong even for me. I don't think-"

"I'm going to find him, Simon. I'm going to bring Blair home."

The misery in Ellison's eyes brought tears to Banks'. Then the Great Wall of Ellison descended on the Sentinel's face, hiding all emotion. Jim stared up-mountain.

"Hang on, love. I'm coming for you. I'll find you, and we'll go home together."

Voice tight with anxiety, Simon caught Ellison by the arm and demanded, "Jim, what are you planning to do?"

"What I have to do, sir. Find the man I love."

"And after that?"

Jim clenched his jaw tight enough to knot the muscles of his face. He stared up the mountain and did not answer.

"If you're going to do something stupid, I can't let you go up there. I'll tie you up and sit on you before I'd let you hurt yourself."

"That choice is mine to make, isn't it, sir?"

"No, it's Blair's. And you know what choice he would make."

Jim wilted in place. The stone mask cracked. Misery rode his slumped shoulders and darkened his blue eyes.

"Simon, I...I never once told him that I loved him. I mean straight TOLD him. He said it to me hundreds of times, and I always answered with something flip, like 'ditto,' 'same here,' or 'me too.' But I never once came out and said 'I love you, Blair.' Why didn't I? What would it have hurt?"

Simon kneaded Jim's shoulders. "He knew. Trust me on this, dear friend. He knew."

"I have to do this alone."

"Can I trust you, Jim?"

"I just want to find him, sir. Find him and bring him down off the mountain. Alive or...or dead."

Simon handed over a radio talkie. "Take this. It's set to the rescue crew frequency."

Jim accepted the unit and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "Thanks, Simon. For everything."

"Just find the kid, okay?"

"I will."

Chapter 9

It would be so easy to give up, to fall asleep and let the whole nightmare end. Gentle oblivion, the Great Void, the long dark night.

Easy. But not his way.

Blair resisted the darkness. He pushed it away from his mind and refused to admit any thought of death. He would live. He HAD to live. For himself. For Jim. For their life together.

One benefit of the cold was the absence of feeling. Tender explorations had revealed broken bones in both his legs, and swellings along his ribcage that most definitely warned of breaks, perhaps even internal bleeding. Breathing was not difficult, at least not yet. He'd lost significant blood from a scalp wound, but dried blood and rampant, tangled curls had formed a natural bandage.

He lay cradled in the bend of two sturdy branches some twenty feet off the ground. With slow movements and patience, he'd gathered all the broken branches within his reach. Their leaves channeled away the rain but offered only limited protection from the cold.

With nothing to do and hours in which to do it, Blair's thoughts spun around two subjects: the crash and his mate. As for the crash, he dimly recalled the tail of the plane tipping down. Impact. The horrific screams of ruptured metal and people. The gaping hole that appeared in the side of the plane. The snap of bolts holding his seat in place. Tornadic winds sucking him into open air. An eternal fall.

He could not recall his landing. Which was probably just as well. It most certainly would have hurt like hell.

He let his mind drift to thoughts of Jim. His lover would be frantic by now, convinced he was dead yet determined to find him.

DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID, JIM. I NEED YOU ALIVE, NOT A VICTIM OF SUICIDE OR SOME DUMBSHIT THING LIKE THAT.

Pain, as fierce as it was unexpected, shot up both his legs. Blair tried desperately to channel it away. Flashes of color exploded behind his eyes, and his ears rang with the sounds of his moans.

He hovered on the edge of consciousness, precariously balanced. He could not faint. Unconsciousness meant he could not call or signal rescuers when they came. Unconsciousness meant death. He sought anything to keep himself awake, sound, sensation, anything. He found only pain.

The darkness closed in, hungry.

"Help me. Please."

A large, warm weight settled at his side. Hot breath brushed his scratched cheek, and a moist tongue gently cleaned away flakes of blood and dirt. A gentle, comforting purr hummed against his ear.

Bleary eyes opened. Sight of the great black jaguar should have terrified Blair. Instead he smiled. Jim's spirit animal would never hurt him.

He was dreaming, certainly. Delirium or hallucination. But what a wonderful dream. He stroked the great cat behind the ears, drawing out a contented purr.

The cold receded, driven away by his feline protector. When the pain grew too strong, the jaguar would soothe and comfort him. When he began to drift into dangerous sleep, the big cat nibbled his ear and rumbled until Blair withdrew from the brink. When negative thoughts made him think of giving up, sight of the jaguar reminded him of his love and gave him the will to hang on just a few minutes more.

"So, it's just you and me, huh, cat?" Blair addressed the hallucination. "I don't suppose...you could go to Jim and tell him to hurry the hell up and find me."

The cat rumbled and licked Blair's hand. One large paw, its claws carefully sheathed, reached up to bat Blair's cheek.

"Didn't think you would. Was worth a shot, though."

A small songbird landed on a limb close to Blair's head. One throaty growl from the cat sent it flapping away with a loud squawk.

"Protecting me from the vultures, are you?" Blair scratched along its powerful jaw, eliciting a closed-eye, chest-deep, jet-engine purr. "My hero."

Chapter 10

Jim Ellison stood on a small rise of land overlooking the crash site. An hour of searching convinced him his quest would not end inside the burned-out husk of the plane. Whatever Blair's fate, he had not met it there.

The Sentinel's senses, and some unnamed instinct, turned him northward, toward the mountain summit.

Without his Guide to guard him against zone outs, Jim could not open his senses to maximum. By piggybacking sight to hearing or sight to smell, he scanned vast swathes of land faster than three rescue workers could with normal senses. Where possible, he marked pieces of debris or tied strips of cloth to limps to mark the location of bodies.

On four occasions, his hearing located the weak heartbeats of live victims. He stayed with each one, treating and comforting them as best he could until rescue workers arrived in answer to his radio summons for help. With each life he saved, he prayed the next would be the one that meant everything.

Overhead, the clouds of midday broke apart under a stern southeast wind. Golden rays dotted the landscape, first scattered, then in ever-widening pools of warmth and light. The last wisps of fog and storm-chill faded away.

Jim listened as other rescue personnel fanned into an uphill search pattern, some to locate and mark pieces of wreckage, others in the desperate hope of finding more survivors. One pair of wreckage-seekers worked the rise directly above Jim's position, their voices and movements an irritating distraction.

Heartbeats abounded, some two dozen in all, overlapping in a thunderous cacophony within his head. Add to that the rapid heartbeats of forest animals disturbed by the influx of humans into their midst.

Determined concentration eliminated each individual beat, one person, one animal at a time. Until only one slow, ragged beat remained.

A painful nip to his earlobe drew Blair out of a light doze.

"Okay, okay, cat. I'm awake. Quit biting my ear or I won't get you that catnip I promised."

The jaguar stared hard into his eyes, an excited rumble deep in his throat. A nervous paw rubbed the front of Blair's jacket.

"What are you trying to tell me? I don't understand."

The cat voiced a shrill scream and looked down.

Blair turned his body, groaning at the rush of pain that flooded his legs, until he could see the ground close to the base of his tree. There, just coming into view, were two men dressed in bright orange uniforms.

"Oh God. Thank God. Thank you. Help...hey. Up here. Help me."

The men continued their search, attention focused on the ground. Blair tried again, but his voice would not project that far. Desperate to signal them in some way, he searched for something to drop.

The jaguar clawed at his pocket and hissed.

Blair pulled his wallet from the pocket and twisted around. With a fervent prayer, he dropped it almost on the head of one of the men.

"Hey, Cal, here's some more personal affects."

"Bag it and mark its location," Cal said. "We've a lot of ground to cover before it gets dark again."

"Yeah." The smaller of the two men picked up the wallet and dropped it into a bag, then used a marker to jot down the find information. "This is the hardest job of all. Finding things you know once belonged to someone's son or daughter, wife, husband or child, and know there's no way you can ever bring that person back."

In the tree, Blair sobbed against the pain and searched for anything else he could use as a signal.

The jaguar screamed in furious challenge. Claws out, it shredded the limb over Blair's head, raining leaves and bark.

The smaller rescuer wheeled around, certain he'd heard a giant cat. A shower of debris hit his head and drew his eyes upward.

"Shit! Cal, look out!"

"What? Roy!"

"Mountain lion! Black one! Up there!"

"Where? I don't see any...hey, isn't that-holy shit, there's someone up there!"

"But...but I could've sworn I saw..."

"Well there sure as hell isn't a black cat up there now." Cal pressed his mic. "Base, this is Team 44, grid coordinates G-2. We have a victim lodged in a tree some twenty feet off the ground. Over."

"COPY, TEAM 44. CAN YOU ASCERTAIN STATUS? OVER."

Roy, who had circled the tree hoping to get a clearer look at the body, waved at Cal and yelled, "He's moving! I don't know how, but he's alive up there!"

"We have a live one, base. Over."

A LIVE ONE.

Jim heard the call in stereo, both through his radio and an echo from just over the rise. His heart hammered in his chest. Breath snagged as he struggled to overcome the terrain that kept him away from Blair. He pulled himself up the steep incline by sheer force of will.

Ahead of him stood two uniformed men at the base of a tree. And there, through the leaves at the top...

A sob of relief, a heartfelt prayer of thanks. "Blair."

The heartbeat, so familiar, so loved.

"BLAIR!"

The tree should have been impossible to climb. The closest limb hung some eleven feet above the ground, well out of reach.

Jim caught it and pulled himself up. Each move, each stretch, brought him closer to his soul. All the while he whispered thanks to whatever Power watched over Sentinels and Guides.

His weight balanced between two strong branches, Jim stared at Blair, bright tears of joy in his eyes. His hands wrapped around that dearly loved face, soaking up the beauty and life.

"Chief? Blair? Love, I'm here. Wake up, come on, open your eyes for me."

"Hmmmm, ji-im? 'zatyou?"

"Oh, ghad," Jim sobbed and rested his face against Blair's cheek. "I love you, my own. I love you."

"Jim. 'mcold. 'urts."

"I know, lover," Jim said as he carefully shrugged out of his jacket and laid it over Blair's chest. "I'm here now. You're safe. Help's on the way. We'll get you to the hospital, get you fixed up. There's a warm fire and a soft bed waiting for you at home. And I'll be there to tuck you in and kiss you and tell you I love you until you beg me to stop."

"Hey, man, I thought...I'z the one...with the runaway mouth." Blair smiled up at Jim through heavy eyelids.

"I love you, my own."

Blair's grin widened. "You said that already."

"And I intend to go on saying it a thousand times a day for the rest of our lives."

"Sounds good t'me." Blair sighed and surrendered himself to Jim's protection. As sleep danced behind his eyelids, he murmured, "Don't let me forget...the catnip."

Chapter 11

ONE YEAR LATER

Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison joined fellow survivors, family and friends on the mountainside. A granite monument, elegant in its simplicity, marked the site of the crash that had claimed 112 lives.

Save for a track where the forest had been scoured to the ground, all other signs of the crash had vanished from the land. Even Jim's heightened senses could find no trace of the horrors they had endured just one year ago.

The ceremony had been a private one, closed to the media, and limited only to those who had a direct connection to the tragedy. Families who lost loved ones found some closure. Rescue personnel worked through all the feelings and pains that accompanied such tragic circumstances. Survivors faced guilt at having lived while so many others died, even as their own families and friends rejoiced.

Jim stood at Blair's side throughout the morning, holding him close and offering his handkerchief when emotions got the better of them both. By the time the ceremony ended and the attendees filed back to the busses provided by Air Northwest, very few had the energy or the will to do much talking.

Back in Jim's truck at last, the lovers sat in comfortable silence throughout the five-hour drive back to Cascade. As Ellison tooled through familiar city streets, Blair dozed in the passenger side, his head resting comfortably on Jim's shoulder.

Jim pulled his mate closer, welcoming his form and warmth. While the morning's ceremony had offered Blair some comfort, it had revived painful memories for Jim. The terror, the certainty that he had lost the one thing that made his life livable.

One week in the hospital, five in casts, and four more in intense physical therapy had brought Blair back to his pre-crash state of health. Except for a few unavoidable scars along one knee, all other outward signs of injury had faded away. Life, and love, had returned to normal, but the shadows of their near-loss still haunted Jim's dreams.

Hopefully, tonight would banish those nightmares forever.

He pulled into their parking spot in front of the loft and turned off the engine. With tenderness, he leaned down and kissed Blair's forehead.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. We're home."

Blair blinked and leaned back in a languid stretch that brought Jim's eyes straight to that tantalizing triangle of hair visible through his open shirt collar.

"Home already?"

"Yeah. And there's a surprise waiting for you upstairs."

All trace of sleepiness vanished from Blair's eyes. "Surprise? What? Tell me!"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" Jim gave him a playful nudge against one hip. "Out you get, then. The faster you get up there, the faster you'll find out what it is."

Blair begged and wheedled all the way up to the apartment. Jim just smiled and shook his head.

The loft door opened. Blair took a single step inside and froze, wide eyes and slack jaw taking in the fairy tale setting.

Dozens of candles burned around the room, their soft vanilla scents subtle and soothing. Champagne chilled in a bucket of ice, beside which rested two crystal flutes and a tray of cheese and crackers. Soft, romantic music played through stereo speakers.

A fire burned merrily in the fireplace, in front of which rested a luxurious white fur rug.

"But...I don't understand...We've been gone all day. How?"

Jim closed and locked the door, and took his stunned lover into his arms. He nuzzled the line of Blair's neck, already drunk on the familiar scents of shampoo, after-shave, and Blair's natural essence.

"Rafe helped. He saw the place last year, figured we were lovers. When I decided to recreate the night we would have had, he offered to set it up for us."

Blair turned and wrapped his arms around Jim's neck. "We'll thank him. Eventually."

"Remind me again, how does this night go?" Jim nibbled his way all around Blair's face, drawing breathy little sighs from his lover. "A scrumptious dinner warming in the oven, soft music, romantic candlelight, and us making slow, passionate love on a luxurious fur rug."

"Jim..."

"Dinner is in the oven, but it can wait. We have the music and candlelight."

"And we have a fur rug. Want you, lover. Want to love you."

By the time they reached the rug, items of clothing lay scattered across the length of the floor, across the couch, and under the chair. Kisses and touches abounded as the lovers explored familiar territories in search of pleasure, both given and received.

Jim found himself on the bottom, Blair's beloved weight pressing him down into the oval fur rug. His guide's tongue traced a maddeningly slow path from one ear to another, across his throat and down his shoulder to one dusky brown nipple. Blair licked and nibbled the bud to hardness, then served its mate similar attention. Jim arched and groaned as the loving shot straight to his groin.

When Blair rose to his knees, Jim started to follow.

"Lay out, love," Blair said, gently urging Jim back down. "Let me."

Jim watched with mounting excitement as his lover traced his way down his chest, past his navel, and to the thatch of hair at his groin. His cock weeped and throbbed. A gentle tongue flicked out to taste the moisture.

The larger man yelled and bucked when Blair's moist mouth closed around his cock head and sucked.

"You taste so good," Blair murmured around the thick shaft. As he raised his lover to mindless ecstasy, he twisted around until his own hardened cock hung in the air over Jim's face. "Suck my cock while I eat you. But don't make me come."

Jim obeyed, gladly. His lover's musk filled his senses and burned his tongue.

"Blair...so close."

Blair gave Jim's cock a final kiss, then moved away, laughing at his lover's frustrated groan.

"Now comes the good part. Roll onto your side, lover. Let me see you."

Jim curled onto his left side, his right leg arched forward. Blair kissed and licked his way down the smooth line of his lover's back, to the cleft that clenched and relaxed in anticipation.

A tube of KY sat on the floor next to the rug. Blair picked it up with a trembling hand and tenderly applied the clear gel to Jim's center. A single finger worked the pucker of muscle, intruding with loving slowness. Jim growled low in his chest and arched his hips back in a demand for more.

With an infinite patience born of love, Blair refused to rush, treating his mate to all the attention this special night deserved. He added a second, liberally coated finger, stretching the opening. By the time a third finger joined in, Jim bucked and thrashed, near-mindless with pleasure.

"Now, love. Fuck me now before I lose my fucking mind."

"Your wish is my command."

Blair used the KY one final time to coat his own hard cock. He positioned himself, and slowly pushed his way into his lover's welcoming body.

The instant when the head of his cock slipped past the ring of muscle almost undid all of Blair's careful plans. Gasping, he fought off the desire to come and willed away his body's demand for instant release.

With each tiny thrust and withdraw he moved deeper into the hot passage, until at last he lay fully sheathed.

Chest to back, the two lovers lay on the rug, spooned together in love. Blair kept his movements languid and slow, determined to stretch the moment to its farthest limits. True to the fantasy, Jim reached down and pumped his own shaft while Blair watched over his shoulder, reveling in the perfect harmony of their movements.

"You like that, Jim? Does it feel good to have my cock inside of you?"

"Yes. Oh yes. Soooo good. Ah! You're just...too damn SLOW!"

Blair chuckled into his mate's ear. "You really want me to rush things?"

"Not on your life. This is...ohshit...perfect!"

"You want me to talk dirty to you?"

"Yes."

"You like that, then? Like it when I fuck your ass. It's so tight. So damn hot. And all mine. I can feel your muscles grab me, squeezing my cock like a fist. And I love those mindless little cries you give when I bump your button."

To prove his point, Blair deliberately aimed his next thrust toward Jim's prostate, drawing forth the desired cry.

"Yeah, like that. Again. Sing for me, lover, while I fuck you. Let me hear you."

"Please...need to come."

"Soon enough for that. I want to love you insane first."

"Al-ready there!"

"Not quite. But you will be by the time I'm through with you. Yeah, that's it, fist your cock. Work it. Reach under and play with your balls. That's it. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Nngh, uhg, yes. Fuck me. Fuck my ass. I'm...coming!"

Jim cried out and grabbed his cock as semen exploded across his chest and stomach. Great shuddering cries filled the room as wave after wave raced through him.

Blair moved to withdraw, but Jim's hand held him in place. "No. Want you to come inside me. Want to feel it. Keep going."

Blair kissed his mate's broad back. "Love you, my own. Lay on your stomach."

Jim stretched out on the rug, his entire front side buried in the plush fur. Blair's length covered his back, his hard cock still in place.

Blair lengthened and hurried his strokes, reveling in the tight heat. Jim's muscles contracted as he clenched and relaxed his ass cheeks. Blair sighed and groaned, the pleasure almost too much to accept.

Jim thrust back in time with his lover's movements, his own cock hard again as he humped against the fur rug. He was rewarded with a ragged cry and a rapid burst of movement, then Blair came. The hot jet of semen against his prostate proved too much for Jim, who came again with his own matching groan of release.

Blair collapsed across Jim's back, boneless and gasping. The larger man sighed, loving the feel of his lover draped across his back.

"Love you," Jim murmured.

"Love you, my own," Blair whispered and kissed his mate's shoulder.

Sated and loved, they fell asleep on the rug.

THE END