+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

After spending several nights under the stars snuggled in his sleeping bag, Blair had set off again for the city of Owz bright and early each morning. The weather remained ideal for traveling: sunny and warm, with a light breeze. Each time he started off on the golden road, he had attempted to recreate the festive atmosphere of his departure from Uni by performing the funky dance moves, but without the music and the energetic students, the efforts only made him feel self-conscious.

He did not stop for lunch, but instead chose to munch as he walked on some of the dried food the students had provided for him. He could look forward to hot meals each evening, so decided to make good time during the pleasant days. Each night, he had found the remnants of old campfires, firewood and good shelter without much effort on his part at all. A winding river roughly paralleled the brick road, so he felt no concern about the need to find bathing or drinking water. All in all, the land of Owz seemed ideally suited for the foot-bound traveler. If it hadn't been for the dread of a sudden appearance from Lash, he might have thoroughly enjoyed his travels.

In late afternoon on the third day, when he came to a fork in the road, he was keenly disappointed by the lack of a road sign indicating the way he should continue. A perusal of the map showed no such branch in the path, so he stuffed the useless paper back into his backpack. Each segment of the road stretched as far as he could see in either direction, and not a single sign post down either lane was evident.

"So, Larry, which way do you think we should go?"

The Barbary ape had proven himself a good traveling companion thus far. The animated creature would scamper ahead, or hang back at various times, never quite leaving Blair's sight, but providing a bit of entertainment for the anthropologist. They were walking through farm country, and after a while, one field began to look the same as the next. He had gotten bored of looking at the sights, so the ape's antics were a welcome distraction. Still, Blair wished he had someone to talk to on his journey. He was tired of carrying on one-sided conversations. The ape would occasionally seem to pay attention to the anthropologist as he explained the contents of the books he had been reading by the fire at night, gifts from the students at Uni, but more often than not, Blair felt he was talking to himself, Larry having found an errant twig more fascinating than Blair's summaries.

Even Blair was sick of the stories of valiant heroes who battled evil and terror while remaining the best of friends. The tales made him long for home. He didn’t fool himself into thinking that he was anything like those epic heroes, but he felt in his gut that he had friends who would be sorely missing him. There was one friend in particular, whose name and image continued to elude him, but whose presence was strong within Blair’s heart.

Each night, as he lay in his sleeping bag, about to fall asleep, hazy memories of his life in Cascade would seep through his mind. His friend was probably worried sick about him by now. But this person wasn't just an acquaintance, although Blair was certain he had plenty of those, too. No, this man was a true friend, a forever friend, the best of friends. He thought he might actually be a roommate as well, since vague scenes of breakfasts, shared cleaning and murmured goodnights after evenings spent in front of the TV floated in the transom of his mind. Whatever happened here in Owz, he had to make sure he got safely back to Cascade. He felt this friend needed him in some way, and Blair was determined to return to his side.

The anthropologist was tired of 'easing on down the road' today -- all he wanted to do was ease on down into the soft grass and rest for a half hour or so before trying to conquer the mystery of which turn he ought to take.

He moved off the bright road towards a nice patch of grass in the sun, near the fence which stretched around the field he was currently traversing, but not too close to the odd mannequin that was fastened to the aforementioned fence. He had never really liked scarecrows, and though he wouldn't say he had a phobia about them, this particularly life-like and vaguely familiar model gave him the creeps.

Laying back and letting his mind clear itself of all the bizarre occurrences which had taken place in that oh, so jolly land of Uni -- and hoping fervently that the Warlock Lash would not see fit to pop in before he had managed a little down time -- he felt himself relax and begin to doze.

Larry, on the other hand, had wandered away somewhere. Blair was sure his little companion would not wander too far off, so gave him little notice as he clambered about the area, touching flowers and pulling at bits of grass. The tired anthropologist set his internal clock for twenty minutes. A power-nap would do wonders for his energy.

Before he could even clock five minutes, though, Larry's excited chittering disturbed his rest. The little ape was standing on his chest, poking at his face and occasionally screeching for attention. Ignoring the disruption, Blair kept his eyes firmly closed, hoping whatever caught his little friend's attention would catch it again and he would be left in peace. But the ape was not calming down. Finally, unwilling to listen to the annoying creature any longer, he rose to his feet to see what was exciting him.

Larry rocketed off Blair's chest and ran for the fence. Reluctantly, the anthropologist followed him. Within moments, the ape was perched on the shoulder of the scarecrow, and Blair was forced to approach it or risk having the ape start poking at his face again if he tried to resume his nap. Ignoring the chills which coursed through his body as he neared the mannequin, he finally stood not two feet away from the thing. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for Larry to make his simian point so he could go back to resting. Larry proceeded to wave his hand in front of the mannequin’s face in a surprisingly humanistic gesture. One small part of Blair was thrilled that his former research project had proven himself to be a highly intelligent little ape, but the majority of his attention was riveted to the fact that he had made a *big* mistake. The mannequin was *not* a mannequin at all.

"Oh my God, it’s a man. He's alive!" he shouted to Larry

He pressed his fingers to the man’s neck, feeling the pulse that thrummed strongly beneath the skin. Looking carefully, Blair could see the slow rise and fall of the man’s chest as he breathed. The man’s sky blue eyes were open but unfocused. Blair placed his hands on either side of the warm face and gently slapped one cheek.

The man's stare did not waver, nor did he show any signs of acknowledging the anthropologist. Blair tried again, this time shouting loudly at the same time, still with no success. The man didn’t seem to be in any pain, but the slack jaw and empty gaze could possibly be symptoms of a seizure, Blair thought. And who knew how long it would be before the guy quit breathing? Not willing to abandon the helpless man when he might need immediate medical attention, he began calling out to the Good Witch Megan. She had said she would come to him in his times of need, and this was most definitely one of them.

He must have bellowed at the sky for ten minutes before he figured out that Megan was not going to show up. Blair decided that either she had lied to him about appearing when he needed her -- which he was disinclined to believe -- or she considered this situation solvable on his own.

Something tickled at the back of Blair’s skull as he regarded the senseless man. It was the same feeling of deja vu that he had been experiencing since he woke up in the land of Owz, but this occurrence was stronger than the others. The man was tall, muscular, and his hair was cut in a short, almost military style. A handgun had fallen to the ground by his side, probably dropped from nerveless fingers when the seizure had taken hold of him. His shoulder holster was still in place, though, and was caught on the fence, holding the man upright. Blair reached out his hand and grasped the stranger’s chin, trying to figure out if he knew this guy or not. Still unsure, he decided he would try again to wake him up, or stay with him until he came out of it on his own. He resumed his shouting, hoping to get the guy to snap out of it. There was something about the man that brought out a surge of protective instincts in the anthropologist.

After another five minutes, Blair paused his shouts for a moment and considered his approach to the zoned out man. Even *he* was getting sick of the sound of his own voice. It was far too loud and just a bit too high to be considered soothing. If this guy was in a state of shock, a ranting anthropologist was not going to be of any use to him. Moving his hands back to the man's face, he began to speak in a low voice, encouraging him to come back from wherever he was. Unsuccessful at first, he continued to speak, telling the man that he was safe, that he was in no danger, and that he needed to come back.

Finally, the man seemed to respond. The icy blue eyes blinked twice rapidly, then closed. A deep breath emanated from the strong chest, and the stiffened muscles in his arms and legs began to relax. Blair reached a hand around to the man's side and unclasped the buckle to the shoulder holster, allowing the man's feet to fully reach the ground while remaining prepared to catch him should he falter. The man's knees locked, though, and his arms, which had been hooked around the back of the fence, fell to his sides. Blair watched the man's hands clench and unclench and stepped back, pleased that he had been able to help.

What he did *not* expect, however, was for his erstwhile patient to move so quickly once he was out of his trance. The man clutched his lapels in a punishing grip and swung him around, slamming him back into the fence and getting up into his face. Blair barely had time to regret the undignified squeak he had emitted before the man began to speak.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Hey, Joe Friday, relax. I'm not going to hurt you, I only wanted to help."

"My name is not Joe Friday, and I didn’t ask what you wanted, I asked you for your name!"

"Blair. Blair Sandburg. Now let go of me!"

His coat was released so abruptly, he found himself pitching forward into the man's chest before he could find his balance. He was shoved away, back against the fence, but not held this time, and watched as the man bent to pick up his gun and replace it into the loosened holster. He rubbed absently at a sore spot on the back of one shoulder while watching the stranger pace in front of him. Several times, the man looked as if he might begin speaking, but instead he re-clenched his jaw -- *a nasty habit*, thought Blair -- and continued to move swiftly back and forth on the grass in front of the spooked anthropologist. Blair resigned himself to silence. This guy was seriously pissed, and he was not about to provoke him into another manhandling if he could help it. Several more minutes passed before the guy stopped and faced him.

"Who sent you? Plummer? Pendergrast? My father?"

"Umm, no one sent me. Well, that's not exactly true. Megan sent me, but not to find you. I'm just heading for the city of Owz."

"So you weren't sent to check up on me?"

"No way, man. I'm just trying to get home."

The man seemed to relax a bit with Blair's words, well, as much as that guy *could* relax, the grad student mused. His whole body screamed of readiness for action, be it good or bad. All in all, he seemed a very dangerous fellow, but there was something in his face, in his eyes, that called out to Blair, made him want to know him, help him.

"How are you feeling?" Blair asked tentatively.

"What?" The piercing blue gaze was fastened to his once more.

"I asked you how you were feeling. You were pretty much out of it when I found you."

"I'm fine." The cold answer should have been a clear indication that the conversation was over before it could begin, but Blair pressed on.

"You didn't look fine, man. You practically quit breathing on me. Has this happened before? Do you know what causes it? Do you have someone who helps you out when it happens? Have you seen a doctor? Maybe it's some kind of epilepsy, or a rare blood disorder that causes seizures, or you might have some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder that rears up when some sort of outside stimulus is engaged. I think that . . ."

"Shut up!"

Blair clamped his mouth shut, startled by the sudden exclamation from the stranger. Damn, his mouth had run away with his brain again. And now the guy looked even more pissed than before.

"Who the hell are you? Some sort of witch doctor? Or just some punk who decided to barge in where it was none of his business?" The stranger was back in Blair's personal space again, his words an attempt to intimidate the younger man into silence. But the anthropologist was not so easily cowed. In fact, he was livid. Something inside him had finally snapped. The stresses of waking up in a strange world to find himself an apparent warlock killer with a memory like Swiss cheese and a mad sorcerer after him was catching up to his tired person. He shoved back against the taller man and yelled right back at him.

"Where do you get off calling me names? I probably saved your *life* back there, pal. I mean, wicked warlocks just pop in and out in a puff of smoke in this damned country of yours, and if Lash decided to show up and use you for target practice, I don't think you would have been able to stop him."

Blair missed the sudden stiffening of the bigger man's body at Lash's name and plowed on.

"Sure, Kincaid's out of the picture, but now Lash is doubly pissed at me, for killing his brother and stealing his shoes. Like I even did any of it on purpose? No *way*, man, I just woke up in my office and got dumped into this whole frigging fairy tale without anyone asking me if I wanted to become the hero of Uni and walk across the whole country on a golden brick road and try to find some card-trick-playing woman who *might* be able to help me get home. And now there's a split in the road and I have no idea where I'm going, and I'll probably take the wrong path and end up in LaLa Land and have to find myself a little hut to live in because there *is* no card-trick-playing woman, and I'm stuck here forever and my friend will have to keep on needing me but I'll be here, and next thing people are gonna be knocking on my door and asking me to go out and kill dragons, if there even *are* any dragons in this weirdo world. I'm an anthropologist, man, not a dragon killer. I don’t even know how to kill a dragon! Oh God, I don't know how to kill one, what if they ask me to?"

Blair realized he was smack in the middle of a panic attack a few minutes after the stranger had. Strong arms which had so recently shoved him into the fence were now guiding him into a seated position on the grass. He thought he heard a voice saying something about breathing in and out and then he was alone. He wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled his knees up to his chest. Moments later, hands were pressing his canteen to his lips, and he drank thirstily. A hand was awkwardly stroking his back and slowly -- very slowly -- Blair's heart stopped racing and his breathing evened out. The canteen was taken away, and Blair dropped his head down onto his knees, embarrassed that he had lost it so thoroughly, and in front of a stranger, to boot. Several minutes passed in blessed silence while he gained further control of his raging emotions before the stranger spoke.

"You okay?" The voice was the same one he had heard earlier, but it contained no hostility this time.

The anthropologist peeked out from the veil of his hair and regarded the man seated next to him on the grass. There was no censure in his eyes, just genuine concern. He nodded, and accepted the canteen again. He sipped at the water and took several deep breaths before lowering his knees and shifting his body to face the older man.

"Sorry about that. It's been a rough couple of days, man."

"I don't doubt it. Did you really kill Garrett Kincaid?"

"Looks like it. I can't remember a damn thing, but it was my car that was on top of the guy, and the medical examiner declared him dead."

"Do you want to tell me the whole story?" The blue eyes regarding him were no less piercing than they had been when they were inches from his own, but the fire in them had cooled. He didn't understand why, but Blair felt he knew this man, and could trust him. The raging anger he had displayed had been frightening, but it had never truly been directed at him. The man had been scared, and probably as embarrassed as Blair now was, to be seen as vulnerable. The grad student worried that if he told him about what had happened in Uni, that the man would leave him alone. His head was telling him that this was just some guy he had happened upon, and the moment he knew a warlock was hunting him, would take off to the farthest place from the anthropologist as he could get. But his heart was telling him a different story -- that the threads of a bond had been forged, and the warrior who sat beside him would help him, perhaps see him safely to his destination.

He decided to go with his heart, and began the tale of what had happened since he woke up in his office at the university, leaving nothing out.

The big man listened carefully, nodding thoughtfully at times, scowling angrily at the mention of Lash and grinning at Blair's descriptions of the "BITEME" girls. He did not seem to find anything out of the ordinary, and apparently believed every word. Blair finished his tale by describing his attempts to rouse the zoned out 'mannequin' but stopped before recounting their altercation.

After very deep breath, he looked over at his companion, and gave him a brief smile and a shrug, indicating that his tale was complete. The smile was returned, and after resettling himself to lean against the fence, the stranger began his own tale.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

"I suppose I should start with my name. It's Jim. Jim Ellison." Seeing the smaller man at his side start at his words, he frowned. "Something wrong?"

"No, no," Blair said quickly. "It's just. . . your name is familiar to me. I'm not sure how, since I've never met you before, but I think I ought to know that name. . . know you."

Jim looked thoughtfully at the younger man. "If it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way. Like I know you, but not *you* you."

"*Me* me?" Blair replied with a grin. Jim glowered for a moment before breaking into a true smile.

"Just my luck to get stuck with a smartass."

Blair's grin grew wider at the implications of his being "stuck" with Jim. It sounded like he just might not be on his own after all. He was suddenly grateful that Megan had not come and whisked the older man away in her bubble for medical treatment in Uni. Before the teasing could continue, he plastered a solemn look on his face and willed the man to continue speaking. He was not disappointed.

Jim explained that he was a peace officer, and had worked for many years in the city of Owz itself, but that his strange affliction had caused him to lose his job. A friend of the family had given him the job of guarding this remote field, but it was clear that it was done as a favor to his father, with whom he had not spoken for several years, and not out of concern for the officer. He told Blair of the distance created within his family when Jim's strange abilities had manifested themselves. He also shared the disappointment his father had expressed when his son had chosen the life of a peace officer. Jim's father was a money handler, and came from a long line of money handlers. In fact, Jim's brother Steven had followed in their father's footsteps and was now a very rich man. They, too, had grown apart, for lots of tiny reasons that when put together, added up to a large gap between the brothers. Jim confessed that his father had probably gotten him the out-of-the-way job to spare the old man the embarrassment of having a son who was a freak.

He explained that he had had a partner once, Danny Choi, but that he had been killed by the Warlock Lash. Jim and his partner had been working to try and stop both wicked warlocks from further crimes when his senses seemed to go crazy. At first, he had thought that the stress of dealing with the warlocks and the subsequent death of his friend was at fault, but soon he had to admit that he was slowly turning into some sort of freak, and had been for years. He could see things from miles away, hear a whispered conversation in the next building, smell the tiniest traces of scents days after they had been present, feel the residual heat in a room hours after a person had left it, and taste the most subtle of spices in food and drink. Problem was, he had no control over how overpowering the stimuli from his senses got. He had seen countless doctors in Owz, but they seemed to be more interested in sticking needles into him than curing him. One had even suggested he join the circus. He bashfully recounted the dentist bill he had been forced to pay after knocking a few of the man's teeth out. The trances continued unabated, and he found himself missing hours and sometimes days of time as it became harder and harder for colleagues and friends to revive him. His wife, Carolyn Plummer, had left him, unwilling to put up with a part-time zombie husband. He shared his heartbreak at their parting, but knew it had been for the best. They, too, had grown apart as surely as he and his family had. But understanding it didn't make it hurt any less.

Meanwhile, the other members of his department were constantly trying to counteract the continued menaces of Lash and Kincaid. Jim was strictly forbidden to have anything to do with the case, since his partner had been one of Lash's many victims, but Jim had sought out the warlock on his own. He recalled waking up from one of his trances, his boss Jack Pendergrast in his face and a bullet wound in his shoulder. Apparently, he had gotten too close for Lash's comfort and had been shot before he was able to confront him. His superior had all but fired him after he got out of the hospital and had taken Jim's father up on the offer to transfer the peace officer into private guard duty. That was how he ended up out here, bitter and heartsick over not being able to help catch his partner's murderer, but knowing that he would likely be killed before he could seek his revenge for Danny's death. He had hoped the time away from Owz would cure him, but it seemed that the affliction remained.

He had seen Blair approaching from a great distance, and while he concentrated on him, had begun to scale the fence, intent of gauging the threat to the property he guarded. He had 'zoned out' on the sight of the anthropologist and his monkey and became caught on the fence by his shoulder holster when his body had failed him.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

By the time he had finished his story, Jim found himself in the same position that Blair had been when he had finished his -- knees up, arms wrapped closely around his body, eyes averted. Each time he had internally questioned whether to share another intimate detail of his embarrassment, he had glanced over to see two non-judgmental, sympathetic blue eyes gazing intently back at him.

For the first time in his life, someone knew all of Jim's secrets.

This Blair Sandburg had listened to every word, and never once interrupted to call him a fool or a freak. The intense look of concentration the young man now wore looked as though it would lead to words soon, and he hoped desperately that they would not be of the 'get the hell away from me' sort. He schooled his features to blankness and waited for the anthropologist to speak.

"I think I can help you."

Whatever he had expected the young man to say, those few words were not it. Apparently, his shock showed on his face, since Blair rocketed off on another word-fest before he could open his mouth.

"I'm not sure how things are here in Owz, but where I come from, there's a legend about a kind of watchman, a Sentinel to be exact, who has heightened senses which he or she uses to guard his or her tribe. Not that we live in tribes or anything, I mean, I guess you could call modern day cities and town 'tribes' but we're really pretty civilized -- no wandering after herds and moving the villages during the rainy season and such. Then again, Cascade is pretty rainy most of the time and I wouldn't mind moving to, say, sunny California or something during the winters, but a Sentinel could still serve a purpose in modern times. I have spent the past few years studying Sentinels, and you appear to exhibit all the characteristics of one. 'Peace officers' seem to be the same things as police officers, or 'cops', in my universe and someone with gifts like yours, if he could learn some control, could be like, awesome, man, in the war against crime. We don’t have any wicked warlocks, or even friendly ones for that matter, but crime still happens. A Sentinel would be like a human crime lab with organic surveillance equipment. Of course, we would need to do all sorts of tests to find out what makes you go into the fugue state and all, but I'll bet that the overstimulation of one sense, say, sight, like when you were looking at me and Larry, would cause the others to sort of shut down to let the primary sense, the one being used so intensely, take up all the focus. Seeing what happened to you, it makes perfect sense. Oh, pardon the pun. Now, if we made sure that no one sense got your whole focus, then I think you'd be okay. You could go back to your job and blow your colleagues away, man. No need for wire taps if you've got a Sentinel on the team. I suppose you would need a partner, someone to make sure you didn't zone out in the middle of a gun fight or something, but the possibilities, man, can you imagine them?"

Jim just blinked at the young man, uncertain if the flow of words was finished and cautious to interrupt the anthropologist before he got to the part which involved him. He had no idea what half of what the kid said meant, but the words 'I think I can help you' were still ringing in his ears.

"So, you think you can help me?" Jim asked tentatively, hoping the deluge of words had not rescinded the previous statement.

"Sure, man. It's almost simple when you think about it." Which he apparently had. In the span of five minutes, the kid seemed to have figured out his whole problem. He'd put a name on it and come up with several possible means of coping with it, too. It seemed he was in the company of a genius.

"Maybe I'm just stupid," he muttered, resigned to the fact that he would be the brawn in this partnership.

"You don’t need *brains*, man, you need information."

"Which you have in great supply, it seems," he said with a grin. The kid's smile faltered.

"Well, no, not really, but if you'll let me do a few tests, I think we can either prove or disprove the notion that you zone out when you place too much emphasis on one of your senses. I could stick around for a day or two and help you out. I really do want to go home, but I can spare some time to help you out. All I ask is for some good directions to Owz so I don't get stuck at a crossroads again. The next guy I meet might not just slam me into a fence."

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

As soon as the words left Blair's mouth, he cringed. He thought he had gained some degree of trust with the big guy, but bringing up their not so pleasant first few moments was not going to sustain that trust for very long.

"I'm sorry. . ."

"I'm sorry. . ."

Both men had spoken at the same time. Blue eyes met blue eyes in understanding and forgiveness. Blair grinned.

"I suppose you've figured out by now that my mouth can get me into trouble," he explained sheepishly.

"And my temper sometimes gets the best of me," Jim replied with a grin to match his new friend's. "What do you say we go crash at my place for the night, have some dinner and get an early start in the morning? We've got a long way ahead of us before we get to Owz." The tall man rose to his feet and looked expectantly down at the still-seated anthropologist.

"You're coming with me?" Shock was written all over the anthropologist's face. He had been hoping to persuade the former peace officer to accompany him to Owz, but had expected it to be a hard-fought battle. He imagined that after a few days of helping the man with his senses, he might have gained some leverage to use in talking him into the journey. Jim's offering up front to go with him had not been a consideration.

"The way I see it is you need someone to watch your back," the Sentinel began. "Lash is a dangerous guy to have as an enemy, and your killing his brother, whether you meant to or not, has got you in a tough situation. Besides, I have a score to settle with him. I need control over my senses in order to do that, and you can help me get that control. So, it looks like I have a new partner, and you have a new traveling companion. If that's okay with you, that is." He held out his hand and Blair took it, allowing the bigger man to raise him up to his feet. He did not release the hand immediately, though, and instead tightened his hold, sealing the bargain that Jim had proposed.

"That sounds perfect to me," he said softly. He spent a moment just looking at the other man, wondering again at how familiar he seemed to him. Brightening at the thought of a Sentinel at his side should Lash decide to make an appearance, he motioned towards his bags.

"Let me grab my things and find Larry. I'll just be a second."

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Jim watched the energetic young man pull his two packs over his shoulder and whistle for the wandering monkey before gazing back across the field he had patrolled for the past few months. His father would not be pleased that he had shirked his responsibility to his temporary boss, the owner of this land, but there was nothing here that needed guarding anyway. The assignment had been a chance to get Jim away from Owz, plain and simple. There was nothing here that he would miss or that would miss him.

His new 'partner' had begun rooting through the bushes on the other side of the road, calling out to the little creature who was his traveling companion. Jim was still amazed that he had spoken so candidly to the strange young man, but he did not feel any regret in doing so. He felt more focused and calm than he had in years. His instincts had never let him down, and every one of them was screaming at him to protect this man and guide him safely to the capitol. He was odd, of that there was no doubt, but he was sincere in his offer to help him. Jim had learned the trick of focusing on a man's heartbeat to tell if he was lying, but every word of Blair's fantastic story had been true, as was his desire to help the older man with his senses. Whether Sandburg was bereft of warlock powers or not, the kid certainly was special.

He also couldn't wait to tell his peace officer colleagues that Kincaid was dead. The man had been second only to his brother in menacing the people of Owz. They would probably already have heard about it by the time he reached Owz, but the 'warlock killer' himself would be a surprise to them all.

Sandburg certainly didn't look very fearsome as he crawled out from the bushes, stray leaves clinging to his long curls and mud coating his hands and knees, all the while muttering about stubborn simians. Jim chuckled and briefly focused his hearing, listening for a faster heartbeat than his or Blair's. Whirling around, he saw Larry behind him, perched on the top rung of the fence, watching his master wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. Blair must have heard Jim's laughter, and walked over to stand next to him. The ape was given quite a scolding as they walked to the house, a scolding he was sure the little creature paid no mind to.

Tossing an arm over the shoulders of his muddied and frustrated new friend, he began his list of house rules, beginning with 'no muddy shoes in the living room' and continuing with designations for cooking and cleaning duty, and the proper method of storing leftovers.

Once the anthropologist finally looked up to see the devilish gleam in the peace officer's eyes, his previously muttered responses turned into the smartass answers Jim had been hoping for. A little bounce was added to his step, and the quicksilver mind began challenging each and every rule.

Jim was really starting to like this guy.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

The next day found Blair and Jim closing up the small house and hefting their traveling bags over their shoulders. They walked companionably towards the crossroads which had perplexed the anthropologist the day before. Their evening had consisted of a hot meal followed by some more conversation under the stars while sitting out on Jim's porch. Larry had found a stack of blankets in the living room and instantly made a nest, falling asleep shortly after eating his dinner. Jim and Blair had lingered outside well into the night, sometimes talking, but occasionally just sitting quietly side by side, lost in thought. Despite Jim's concerns, Blair had been a relatively neat house guest. The excess hair in the shower drain was small price to pay for having another living, breathing person around. He hadn't realized how lonely he had become until the strange young man had appeared before him by the fence.

They arrived at the crossroads and Jim watched, concerned, as Blair began humming and moving jerkily. The kid hadn't mentioned a propensity for seizures -- maybe Lash was tormenting him in some way? His arms were flailing and his hips were thrusting about as he muttered something about 'easing on down the road' and 'not carrying nothing'. It took a few panicked moments for him to realize that Blair was not in pain, but rather was singing and dancing. Well, attempting it, anyway. The peace officer recalled his friend's story about the great send-off the notoriously wild citizens of Uni had given him, and began chuckling. As the apparent song and dance progressed, his chuckle escalated into a full belly laugh. The kid might be brilliant, but he would never make it on the stage.

His laughter alerted the younger man to his unappreciative audience, and he turned from where he had ended up -- several yards down the road -- to glare at the Sentinel.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You call that dancing?" Jim said around a chuckle.

"For your information, the students said the trip would go much more smoothly if I started out each leg this way." Despite the indignant tone, Jim could see the blush coloring Blair's cheeks.

"Yeah, but you'll probably scare away half of the predators in the countryside with that caterwauling."

"Predators? What predators?"

"Oh, the usual. Panthers and leopards and wolves."

"Panthers and leopards and wolves?" the anthropologist asked, his voice a bit higher than usual. "Oh, my."

All the earlier redness in the young man's face drained away to leave him with a significantly paler complexion. Jim took pity on the kid and spoke quickly to ease his fears.

"Don't worry about a thing, Chief. I can hear them from several miles away, with or without my heightened hearing. I don’t think we'll have a problem."

"Cool. Good," Blair muttered, and walked sedately back to stand right next to Jim, his eyes darting about as he did so. Angry at himself for disturbing his new friend's earlier light mood, he decided to try things Blair's way.

"So, you feel like teaching me some of those moves?"

"You're kidding, right?" the kid said with an arched eyebrow.

"Nope. My ex said I never did have an appreciation of good dancing. Why don't you help me prove her wrong?"

The look on Blair's face told Jim that the anthropologist was not buying that line of bull, but he gamely began a series of demonstrations and gently coaxed the bigger man through the moves of the dance. In the same terrible voice Jim had cringed at earlier, he sang the song, encouraging Jim to add his own terrible singing voice to the chorus. Before long, the men were grooving away, laughing at the spectacle they were creating, but reveling in the upbeat mood.

After several repeats of the song, Jim was laughing too hard at himself and Blair to keep up the dance. Larry had abandoned them a while ago to poke through the bushes on the side of the road. Clapping a hand across the grad student's back, Jim 'eased' them into a comfortable stride.

"Hey Chief." Jim was smirking happily at the memory which had popped into his head.

"What?"

"You've got all the moves, baby."

They were on their way to Owz.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +