It took him two days to work up the courage to see her.  Even then he got off the elevator on the maternity floor and found a dozen excuses to dawdle.  He used the payphone to check his voice mail, checked in at the station, got a cup of bitter coffee from the vending machine.  He wandered down to the nursery, gazing through the glass at the abies in their bassinets, wondering not for the first time what it would be like to have a child of his own.  He focused his attention on Blair's daughter, taking in the wide blue eyes that regarded their surroundings calmly.  They met his briefly, and the intelligence peering back at him startled Jim, a chill running down his spine.

Turning away, he bumped into Dr. Twofeathers.  "Quite an amazing child, isn't she?"

Jim stared down at the small woman, wondering where he had seen her before, and then he remembered her from the emergency room.  "You're the doctor that delivered her, right?"

"That's right.  Jim, isn't it?"  At his nod, she continued, "I'm not so sure Mr. Sanborn would approve of your presence here, seeing as you are responsible for his wife's condition."

"I . . . uh . . . it was an accident.  I never meant to hurt her."  That wasn't the exact truth, at the moment he'd pulled the trigger, he'd wanted nothing more than to blast Alex out of existence.  But seeing what his actions had done to Blair, he regretted even having had the thought, let alone acting on it.

The obstetrician gave him a suspicious look.  "Just don't cause any trouble for my patient, okay?  She's not in any shape to go tooth and nail with you now."

Jim nodded, and the doctor left, leaving him to wonder what she knew about territoriality among Sentinels.

Finally he could find no other excuses to avoid what he'd come to the hospital to do.  Still, he hesitated outside the door of her room, and would have turned away if she had not said for his ears only, "Took you long enough to get here, Ellison."

Flushing slightly, he moved into the doorway to Drea's room, finding her propped up in bed, her complexion still a little pale, her gesture for him to enter accompanied by a slight grimace.  He came to stand beside the bed, meeting her eyes for a brief second, then looking at the floor.  "I . . . um . . . I came to apologize, for what happened the other night, for shooting you.  I never meant to put your child in any danger . . . if I had known . . ."

"It's all right, Jim, I forgive you.  You couldn't have known, you couldn't have known any of it."  She smiled at him.  "Have a seat."

Pulling the chair a little closer to the bed, he sat down stiffly.  "Couldn't have known what?  That you were pregnant?  That doesn't excuse what I did."

Drea shook her head.  "You couldn't have known I wasn't the same person who tried to kill you a year ago.  You couldn't have known he changed me.  Hell, sometimes I can't believe it myself, but I know it's true.  Alex, and all her anger, was left behind in the temple, when . . ." Her voice trailed off at the stricken look on Jim's face.  "I'm sorry.  Me talking about that must be very painful for you."

Shaking his head, Jim looked out the window.  "It's just been a really bad year for me.  Starting with you running off with Blair, then thinking you'd killed him, to the other night."

"What?  What do you mean you thought I'd killed Blair?  How could you even consider such a thing? The Sentinel can't harm the Guide; that's the most basic rule, Ellison.  Blair's my life, my world . . ."

He turned his eyes back to her.  "Alex . . . Drea, calm down.  A decomposed body was found in the Brazilian jungle with Blair's passport on it.  Whoever this person was, he'd been killed execution style by a bullet to the head.  I didn't know what else to think at the time, but now I'm starting to wonder if the two of you didn't plan it that way."

"Blair's passport was stolen when we were in Rio . . ." She suddenly realized what he was hinting at, and her hand came up to her mouth in shock.  "Are you accusing us of killing some innocent person to make you think Blair was dead?  Didn't you hear what I just said?  I'm not that person any longer.  I haven't been since the day Blair chose to go with me, to be my Guide.  And Blair would never kill anyone!"

Jim folded his arms across his chest.  "Just like he didn't kill Carl Hettinger?" he said softly.

Drea closed her eyes for a moment, trying to compose herself, but when she opened them again, Jim could clearly see her agony.  "It was an accident," she said hoarsely.  "Carl shot me; Blair was trying to stop him from killing us both.  They fell down the stairs . . . It was an accident!"  Her fingers clenched at the blanket.  "Blair still has nightmares about it.  He feels guilty enough as it is; he doesn't need you to add to it by accusing him of murder."

Her eyes were flashing as she finished, and Jim had the feeling that if she hadn't been recovering from surgery, she would have had him shoved up against the wall, Sentinel protecting the Guide.  "I'm sorry, Drea.  I didn't mean to upset you.  It's just that on the surface that's what it looked like."

Shaking her head, she said, "You still don't get it, do you?  No, of course you don't or you wouldn't have pushed him away in the first place."  She sat up a little further.  "Over there in the closet, can you get my purse?"

Rising, Jim crossed the room and retrieved the bag.  Handing it to her, he sat back down, watching as she dug through the contents, finally unzipping an inside pocket and withdrawing a worn and creased envelope.  "Here."  She handed it to him, and he could see his name and address on the outside, along with a stamp.  "Blair wrote this letter on the way to Sierra Verde.  He was going to mail it to you when we stopped to refuel, but he . . . he decided it would probably hurt more than it would help.  He threw it away and I fished it out of the trash.  I've hung on to it ever since.  I have to admit I read it and it . . . well, it made me realize how much he gave up to help me.  I spend every day trying to make sure he doesn't regret that decision."  She wiped at her eyes.  "I think you should go now.  Blair should be back soon, and he'll go through the roof if he finds you in here.  He can be pretty overprotective."

Jim got to his feet, shoving the letter in his pocket.  "Drea . . ." he started.

"I know, but I'm glad you came by.  I wanted to let you know I don't blame you for what happened, that I forgive you.  It may take some time, but I'm sure Blair will forgive you too.  Mica's fine, I'll be fine, and he'll see it for what it was, an accident."  She gave him a small smile.

"I . . . um . . . you take care of yourself, and Blair, okay?" He had to force the words past the lump in his throat.

"I will, Jim, I promise."

Giving her a nod, Jim turned and left the room.  Hearing Blair's voice in the hallway, he reversed directions, and took the stairs.  He didn't read the letter until he returned to the loft.

"Hey, baby," Blair said in way of greeting as he bounced into the room.  "How are you doing?" He gave her a lingering kiss before he dropped into the chair next to the bed.  He waved a sheaf of paper at her.  "I got it."  Giving her a grin, he handed her the papers.

She flipped through them, nodding her approval.  "These are the steam tunnels, right?"

"Uh huh."  The guide then rose from the chair to sit on the bed next to her.  "I was right.  I can get into the museum without ever being above ground.  It'll take a little longer, since I'll want to enter the tunnels pretty far away, in case anyone spots me.  But once I'm in, I'll pick up my pack from where I left it, get in, get the mask and get out.  We'll be home free, and I can concentrate on you and Mica."  He leaned closer to his wife, nuzzling her neck.  "I also stuck Mica's passport application in the mail.  If they rush it back like I asked, we should have it in a couple weeks, and we can go home."

"Mmm . . ."  Drea laid her head on Blair's shoulder.  "That sounds really nice.  I'm looking forward to lying on the beach and just enjoying our daughter."

"Me, too."  He leaned against the pillows, and she moved gingerly into the curve of his arm.  "How's the pain?"

"Fine.  I've been able to keep it dialed down, so they're cutting back on my painkillers.  That stuff just knocks me out."

Picking up the photocopies, Blair began to talk through the plan with her, letting her guide him in visualizing each step.  When they'd gone through it enough times that she was satisfied he wouldn't make any mistakes, she set the papers aside and curled up next to him, sliding her arm around his waist.  They rested in comfortable silence for a few minutes, then Drea said, "Jim came to see me today."  She felt Blair tense, and she began to rub his stomach.

"What in the hell did he want?" he growled.

Her hand moved up to rest on his chest.  "He wanted to apologize.  He really regrets what happened."

Blair snorted.  "I'll bet.  And what did you tell him?"

She kissed his cheek gently.  "I told him I forgave him."

He turned his head to stare at her.  Her blue eyes gazed back, a tentative smile on her lips.  "You are . . . amazing," he finally said.  "Every time I think I finally know you, you do something like this and surprise the hell out of me."  He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

She settled down next to him again, her arm tightening around him in a hug.  "You taught me everything I know about forgiveness, babe.  The least I could do was pass a little of that on to him."

"I hope you're not thinking I'm going to follow in your footsteps, Drea.  I don't think I'm ready to forgive him yet.  You could have died; Mica could have died.  And there's a lot of other unresolved stuff between Jim and me, stuff that has nothing to do with what happened the other night."

"I know that, and so does he.  I just want you to keep an open mind, okay?  He was your friend once, your best friend, and if there's a chance of getting any of that back, then you should do whatever it takes."

Blair stared at her, not believing the words coming out of her mouth.  "How can you say that?  Aren't you afraid?  Afraid that if I try to make things right with Jim that I'll leave you behind?"

Drea blinked at him as if the idea had never crossed her mind.  "No, I'm not afraid.  You're my Guide, my lover, my husband.  I have nothing to fear from Jim, or from you.  You won't hurt me, you can't hurt me."

Blair hugged her closer, letting her confidence, her belief, strengthen him.  Maybe she was right.  Maybe there was some way he could get past his anger and talk to Jim, at least explain the way things were to him.  And maybe, just maybe he could help Jim find a Guide of his own.  But not now.  The wound, the hurt was still too fresh.  He pressed his cheek against his wife's silky hair.  "I'll think about it, Drea, but I can't make you any promises."

"That's all I ask," she replied.  "Now isn't it about time for Mica to be fed?"

Giving her a grin, Blair rose to go get her.

Entering the loft, Jim dropped his keys in the basket and taking the envelope out of his pocket; he laid it on the kitchen table.  Going to the fridge, he grabbed a beer, twisted the cap off, and took a long drink.  Turning around, he leaned against the counter, his gaze going immediately to the wrinkled envelope.  After a few minutes of staring, he crossed to the table, and pulling out a chair, sat down.

He continued to regard the envelope while finishing the beer, his heightened vision taking in the minute variances in the letters of his name on the outside, as if the writer's hand had been shaking.  With a long sigh, he set the beer bottle down, and picked up the envelope, opening the loose flap and sliding the folded sheets of paper out.  He unfolded them carefully, smoothing the creases out, taking in the familiar handwriting of his former partner without really seeing the words.

He read through it slowly, his finger underlining the sentences.  The first half was a summary of Alex's life, written, he suspected, to point out to Jim the similarities between the two Sentinels, so that he would feel a connection to her.  And he had to admit it was moving, not so much the matter of fact way Blair had put it down, but what was written between the lines.  He could clearly see the two of them in some hotel room, Blair gently coaxing the painful story out of her, encouraging her when it became too difficult, consoling her when she cried.  A couple lines further down, he felt his heart stop.

But as she told me, "It was kind of comforting, because that's where I came from, that's what I understood.  I didn't do too well in those families that talked about love.  I mean, what's there to love about me?"  I started bawling then, just listening to her talk about herself that way.  I'm trying to help her, I really am, but I think it might take a lifetime to make her see that she really is worth loving.

It had happened that quickly.  Three days was all it had taken for him to connect with her.  It had taken three years for Jim to begin to feel comfortable talking about himself to Sandburg.  And even then he hadn't been able to trust him with the kind of deep, intimate feelings Alex seemed to have shared with him.  Rising, he went to get another beer before he continued to read.

After downing half of it, Jim realized he was well on his way to losing himself in that comfortable liquid haze.  No . . . he'd worked too long and too hard over the past three months to do that.  He poured the rest of it down the sink, and sat back down at the table, quickly finding where he had left off.

He read through the rest of it, Blair's theory that Guides were genetically connected to Sentinels making him stop and think, the other man's refusal to put any of the blame for what had happened between them on Jim made his heart ache.  He could clearly read the fear his friend had felt about facing down Carl and Arguillo, about running blindly from the only life he knew into the uncertain future of a fugitive from the law.  But nowhere in Blair's words did he find regret, or the wish that he could change things back to the way they had been.  As scared as he must have been, he had still made the choice to go with her, to help her, to be what Jim had never really allowed him to be, a true Guide to his Sentinel.

Jim reread the letter several more times, then rising, he grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door and his keys from the basket.  Leaving the loft behind, he went in search of Blair Sandburg.

Leaning over Drea, Blair gave her a last kiss, then grabbed his backpack off the floor.  "See you in a couple hours," he told her.

"You sure you're up to doing this by yourself?" she asked, shifting Mica slightly in her arms.

"Yep.  I was trained by the best.  Besides, the exhibition ends tomorrow and the artifacts go back to their private collection.  If I don't do this now, we'll lose our chance, and the Chinitez people will have to suffer through another year of drought."  He brushed his fingers lightly over his daughter's cheek, then kissed the top of her head.

Drea caught at his hand as he turned away.  "You know I'll be right there with you, babe."

"I'm counting on it." He gave her a grin.  "I love you."

"Love you, too.  Hurry back."  Kissing her one more time, Blair left the room.

Jim pulled the truck to a stop in the hospital parking lot in time to see Blair getting into a Jeep Cherokee.  That was kind of strange.  Visiting hours weren't over, and he knew the Guide normally stayed with his wife until the hospital staff kicked him out.  He was putting the pickup into drive and dropping in behind the Jeep before he was consciously aware of what he was doing.

Blair drove like a man with a purpose, either unaware he was being followed, or just not caring.  "Of course," Jim thought, "he could just be going to pick up dinner."  That theory was disproved when the Shaman turned onto Rainier University campus, driving to the basketball arena and parking in the lot.  Glancing at the marquee, Jim noted RU was playing the Huskies that night.  A good game, sure, but certainly not enough to drag Blair from his wife's side.  Growing more suspicious by the moment, Jim parked a couple rows away from the SUV and waited a few minutes before following Blair to the arena gate.

The detective watched as Sandburg bought a ticket and went inside, using the time the man spent in line to extend his senses and lock onto his heartbeat.  Purchasing a ticket himself, Ellison followed him through the door and into the crowd.  He tracked him through the hallways of the stadium, patting himself on the back for being able to focus on that one sound without zoning, or becoming confused by the herd of basketball fans.  It was at just that moment Blair's heartbeat disappeared.

"Damn it!" Jim swore under his breath, then began using his vision to try and locate the errant anthropologist.  When that failed, he switched to scent, but couldn't filter out the thousands of other smells.  It took him nearly twenty minutes to realize Blair had deliberately given him the slip.  Who better to know how to lose a sentinel than a guide?

Frustrated, Jim headed back to the parking lot, only to find the Cherokee where Blair had parked it.  Something was going on, but damned if he could figure it out at the moment.

Blair wound his way through the press of basketball fans, heading for the lower level of the arena and the entrance to the steam tunnels he knew was just off the electrical room.  Sliding a hand into the front pocket of his backpack, he flipped on the white noise generator, and became instantly invisible to Sentinel ears.  Reaching his destination, he checked to make sure no one was watching, then picked the lock on the door and slipped inside.  Taking out a flashlight, he flipped it on, and began walking.

It took him nearly thirty minutes to traverse the maze of tunnels to the museum.  He found his pack from the first theft attempt right where he'd left it.  A quick check showed nothing missing, thank god.  If the replica of the mask Drea had worked on for weeks had been gone, all their planning and sacrifice would have been for nothing.  Swapping the pack with his tools for the one he'd brought, he headed for the tunnel entrance into the museum.

He made short work of the lock, easily bypassing the alarm there, and entered the basement of the museum to find himself in an artifact storage area.  Blair crossed the darkened area silently, coming to a stop at the floor to ceiling chain-link fence enclosing the space.  A padlocked gate stood between him and the rest of the building.  "Shit," he swore under his breath.  Setting his backpack down, he took out his picks again, and maneuvered his fingers through the gaps in the wire to grasp the lock.  Turning the glow from his flashlight on it, he groaned audibly.  It was a top of the line BestLock, a model he had never successfully opened, no matter how many times Drea had coached him.

Breathe, man, breathe.  Let everything else go.  Closing his eyes, he worked on the lock using touch alone, but each time he felt like he almost had it, the pick slipped.  Nervous sweat trickled down his back.  Damn it, this was taking too much time.  Ellison wasn't stupid; he was bound to figure out where Blair had gone before too long.  Once again he tried to calm himself.  This time when he took hold of the lock, he could feel Drea's hands over his, guiding him as she had when she'd first begun to teach him the skill.  The pick caught, he twisted, and the lock fell open.  "Thank you, honey," he whispered as he opened the gate and eased through, pulling the ski mask over his head.

Climbing the stairs to the main level of the museum, he slid out the door, keeping to the shadows as he hit the button on the small remote he pulled from his pocket.  This was where it got tricky.  Without Drea in the control center of their van to  confirm it, he could only hope the program overriding the video surveillance system had kicked in.  Just to be on the safe side, Blair worked his way to the exhibition room slowly, listening intently for the guards, careful to stay in the cameras' blind spots.

Making sure the room was clear, the thief traversed the perimeter of the room, coming to a halt behind the display case holding the mask of  the rain god.  A few minutes later he had jumpered the alarm on the case, and was working on the simple lock.  Once he had the case open, he quickly exchanged the copy for the real mask, tucked it in his pack, relocked the case, and reset the alarm.

He had just stepped into the hall when the overhead lights came on in the room he had just vacated.  Voices drifted toward him as he squeezed himself into the space between a large case and the wall. "I'm telling you, Ellison, it's been dead here all evening.  No funny stuff, not like the other night."

Blair felt a smile spreading across his face.  He'd known not to underestimate the Sentinel.  It would be interesting to see if Jim could pick up any clue he'd been there.  The white noise generator was still running, so his heartbeat was masked, but the detective still had four other senses to go on. Too bad he couldn't afford to stick around to watch.

Ducking into the shadows, he trotted quickly back to the basement, clicked off the camera override, and left the way he'd come in. Gathering up all his stuff from the tunnel, Blair made his way to the exit inside the student union building.  Before leaving the passageway, he pulled the gold and turquoise mask from his bag, and wrapped it securely in bubblewrap, then packaged it in the prepaid and addressed FedEx box he'd brought in the backpack he'd carried from the hospital.  The bag now being empty, he rolled it up and stuffed it in the one containing his tools, then exited the tunnels.

Strolling nonchalantly through the student union, he stopped outside the bookstore to drop his package in the FedEx bin, then left the building, heaving a long sigh of relief.  He stopped on the stairs, breathing in the cool night air, and gazing up at the stars.  "It's done, baby," he whispered to the sky, "now we can go home."

Tearing his eyes away from the heavens, he looked down to find himself in the blue-tinged darkness of the jungle.  The underbrush rustled and parted, the spotted jaguar slinking toward him.  She paused a few feet from him, morphing gracefully into his partner, his Sentinel.  Drea stood before him, dressed in the leathers and paint of a warrior, a bow and quiver of arrows hanging from her back.  Taking a step forward, she pulled him into an embrace, pressing her cheek to his. Finally she moved back, her eyes meeting his questioning gaze.

"Drea, what's going on?  Why am I here?  Why now?" Blair's voice was frightened.

Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him tenderly, whispering 'I love you's' against his lips.  He returned her caress and her words. Pulling away, she said, "Blair, I will always be with you, looking out for you, protecting you, loving you."

"I will always be here for you.  Drea, I love you . . ." He watched her back away from him silently, then changing into the jaguar she disappeared into the night.  He started to go after her, but the wolf was suddenly before him, a tiny spotted cub hanging by the scruff of her neck from his jaws.  Before he could figure out the meaning of his vision, something vibrated at his waist.

Looking down at his pager, Blair was no longer in the jungle, but standing on the steps outside Rainier's student union.  Shaking off the eerie, creepy feeling that had come over him, Blair pressed the button on top of the beeper, the number for the hospital coming up in the small screen.

And he knew.  No . . . no . . . no . . . He dug frantically for his cell phone, punching in the number with shaking fingers, stuttering his name when the line was picked up.  A sad, kind voice in his ear was saying something about an embolism and massive stroke, very quick, no pain, she didn't suffer, they were very sorry...With a scream, he threw the phone away from him, tears spilling down his face, violent sobs threatening to tear him apart.

He staggered the rest of the way down the stairs, nearly falling as he reached the street, his shattered mind not registering the blinding light or the squealing tires.

Ellison drove aimlessly through the campus, trying to figure out what was going on.  He knew now that Blair had deliberately given him the slip at the arena, but he was damned if he could figure out why.  At first he thought Blair was making another attempt at the museum, but his inspection had turned up nothing amiss.  If Sandburg had been there, he had left everything untouched.

Jim had just turned down the street in front of the student union, when someone stumbled out of the shadows into the path of the truck. Standing on the brakes and yanking the wheel hard to the left, Jim still felt and heard the sickening thump as the bumper made contact. Slamming the Ford into park, he leapt from the cab, running around the front of the truck to find a black-clad man using the hood to slowly pull himself to his feet.  The man's head lifted, the curtain of hair parting, and Jim found himself staring into the haunted eyes of Blair Sandburg.  "Oh, god!  Blair, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!  Are you okay?"

With an agonized cry, the Guide sagged forward into the Sentinel's arms, sobbing hysterically, calling out his wife's name.  Jim went to the ground with him, kneeling in the brilliant light of the headlights, simultaneously trying to find out if Blair was okay, and decipher his disjointed words.  Something had happened to Drea, he finally figured out, and the only thing he could think of that would have Blair this upset would be . . . "No, oh, no!  She can't be!  I just saw her this afternoon . . . oh, god . . ."  Guilt slid through him like a knife.

Jim felt Blair's hands on either side of his face, lifting his head, forcing him to look at the Guide.  He fought him, afraid to meet his eyes afraid of what he would find there.  But when blue eyes finally met blue, he saw only pain, and yes, anger, but not directed at him. It was anger at the cruel world that would bring Blair's love back from the brink of death three days ago, only to snatch her away from him the moment true happiness and freedom were within their grasp.

Wrenching himself out his despair, Jim heard Blair saying something, repeating it over and over, as if the words could bring her back.  "I forgive you, Jim, I forgive you . . ."  Tears burned their way down his face, and he pulled the smaller man into his embrace, giving him something solid to hold onto, rocking him as he cried.

Epilogue:  Costa Rica, three weeks later

Blair stood barefoot on the beach in front of his home, only peripherally aware of the water lapping at his feet.   Mica was cradled against his chest with one hand, and he held a small enamel box in the other.  As the setting sun began to turn the sky to flame, he flipped the lid of the box open awkwardly, scattering all that remained of his wife, his love, his Sentinel, upon the waves.  The prayer for the dead fell from his tongue, sending her spirit to its final resting place.

The simple ceremony finished, the Guide hugged his daughter closer, watching the pink sun dip into the ocean and disappear, symbolically closing the door on that part of his life.  Letting out a long sigh, he felt a strong hand come to rest on his shoulder, and the trace of a smile played across his lips.

"You gonna be okay?"

Blair turned to face the speaker.  "Yeah, Jim, with your help, I think we're gonna be fine."  He gripped the other man's arm for a long moment, meeting and holding his steady gaze.  "Just fine."  Together they walked back up the beach to the house.

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