by Beth Manz
"Sandburg, we leave for the mountains in two hours. You need your sleep. Go to bed."
Blair looked up at his friend. "Jim? About this weekend? Don't try to involve me in anything, okay?"
Jim frowned. "Don't involve you? What are you talking about?"
"I've been sitting down here trying to come up with a way of going with you guys tomorrow-"
"In two hours," Jim corrected.
"In two hours," Blair repeated. "And not bugging the hell out of your dad, and I think I figured out how."
Jim looked down at him, and even in the dim lighting, the sentinel could make out the hope on Sandburg's face.
"Just let me play tour guide," he suggested softly. "I map out our trail, keep ahead of you guys while we hike--like a scout or something. Generally just stay out of the way."
"That doesn't sound like much fun for you," Jim said
"I'm not worried about having fun. I'm worried about getting through this trip without your father ending up hating me even more than he does right now."
"My father does not hate you, Blair."
"Yeah, he just has an intense dislike of me," he offered quietly. "I heard you on the phone, man. I know he's not happy that I decided to come after all."
"This is ridiculous," Jim ground out, sitting up straighter and reaching for the phone on his night stand. "I'm just going to cancel this whole thing-"
"No, Jim." Blair pushed to his feet, his eyes holding a pleading look. "Just let me do this my way. Let me show your dad that I'm not the intrusion he thinks I am."
Jim withdrew his hand from the phone and frowned down at his partner. "If I agree to this, will you go back to bed?"
"Yes."
"Done." Jim fell back against his mattress and closed his eyes. "And Sandburg?"
"Yeah?"
"If I lay here awake for the next two hours because you woke me up, I'm going to make you carry all my gear tomorrow."
He heard Blair's soft chuckling as his guide padded back to his room.
Part Three
Jim carried his backpack down the stairs and dumped it by the front door with the rest of his gear. He could hear his partner moving around in his bedroom, packing the last of his things. Within minutes Blair emerged from the back room, his camping backpack slung over his right shoulder, his fishing gear in his left hand. His hair was tied back in a loose ponytail and he wore the standard Sandburg camping fare--jeans, hiking boots and a flannel shirt buttoned over a white tee.
He looked tired to Jim. Dark circles dusted the skin beneath his eyes and his face was pale, drawn. Jim couldn't help but wonder if the kid had slept at all last night. As Blair dumped his gear by the door, he glanced briefly at Jim, his gaze weary.
"That's all of it, man."
Usually when they took a trip like this, Blair was energized, talkative. This morning, he had barely said two words. Had only asked one question--when would they be back on Sunday?
"You sure you want to go?" Jim asked.
Blair reached into his back pocket and withdrew a map. "Hey, man, I spent all last night charting out our trail. I'm not letting all that work go for nothing." He smacked Jim on the arm with the map before slipping it back in his pocket. "Don't worry, Jim. It'll be fine. I'll just stay out of the way and keep my mouth shut."
Jim smiled down at his guide. "I still don't like this idea of yours..."
"Jim-"
"But I promise to let you do this your way," he finished before Blair could protest further. The sound of the elevator doors opening reached him. "My dad's here," he said, crossing to the door and pulling it wide.
William stepped inside, his gaze shifting over the pile of gear by the door before locking on Jim. "Stephen's waiting downstairs," he announced coolly.
Jim grabbed up his backpack before turning to Blair. "You ready to go, Chief?"
William's gaze flicked to Blair. "Yes, Chief, are you ready?"
Blair, who had been in the process of lifting his own gear, hesitated, his gaze cutting briefly to Jim. The sentinel could see the embarrassment in his eyes.
"C'mon, buddy," Jim encouraged softly, moving over beside Blair and lifting Sandburg's pack with his free hand. He gave his partner a warm smile. "I'll carry these. You get the fishing gear, okay?"
"Sure," Blair muttered.
The three men rode the elevator to the lobby in silence. As they stepped outside, Jim was surprised to see Stephen leaning against a fully loaded Jeep Cherokee.
"What's this, Dad?" he asked, dropping the gear by the back tailgate.
"I rented it for the weekend," William said, opening the back hatch. "Thought it would be more appropriate than my Lincoln."
Jim and Blair added their camping equipment to the packs already in the back of the new Jeep.
"Hey, Blair. Why don't you sit in back with me?" Stephen suggested, sliding into the Jeep.
"Sure." Blair glanced briefly at Jim before slipping inside and slamming his door shut.
William got in behind the wheel and Jim took the passenger seat, his partner seated directly behind him.
The first hour of the journey was spent in relative silence, broken only by the occasional comment about the weather or the ongoing Jags season from one of the four men. Finally, Stephen turned to Blair and asked, "So, is my brother still a neatness freak?"
Jim turned slightly in his seat so he could see his brother. "A neatness freak?" He shook his head and shot him a challenging glare. "I was never a neatness freak."
"Oh, please." Stephen rolled his eyes before returning his attention to Blair, who had not answered the question. "You should have seen his sock drawer when we were kids. It was a thing to behold--all his socks rolled up and sorted by color."
Jim heard his father chuckle, the first warmth the man had shown all morning. "Don't you encourage him," he scolded his dad teasingly.
"Come on, Jimmy. You have to admit that sock drawer really was something."
"It was just organized," Jim complained.
"Jim, face it," Stephen kept up from the back seat. "Sally used to come to you for cleaning tips."
Blair laughed and reached up to slap Jim on the shoulder. "Hey, man, he's got you so pegged!"
"Come on, Blair," Stephen coaxed. "Give. Is he still like that?"
"He's not so bad," Blair said, shrugging one shoulder. "It's the Tupperware that gets me more than anything else."
"Tupperware?" Stephen said, raising one eyebrow. "What about Tupperware?"
"Jim bought color-coded Tupperware so that our food won't get mixed up."
"Hey, that's only because I ate this... this thing Sandburg made once." Jim turned a bit further in his seat so he could see both of the men behind him. "I'm telling you, Stephen, he cooks up the worst smelling... stuff."
"It's exotic, Jim," Blair defended himself.
"It's disgusting," Jim countered. "And you make up the places you say they're from."
"I do not."
"Zihaya? Come on, Chief. I checked that one. You made it up."
"Zihaya is in Africa," Blair explained to Stephen. "I spent two weeks there once-"
"I went on-line and looked for it!" Jim interrupted, chuckling. "You're lying!"
Blair let out a short laugh. "You went on-line? Now who's lying?"
"Oh, you think I don't know how to get on-line?"
"You have no clue-" Blair's words ended abruptly as his gaze shifted from Jim to William. He sat back in his seat, the smile slowly fading from his face. "You know, I should really check the maps again to see if I can scout out a trail for today."
Jim frowned. But as he glanced at his father, he could see William watching Blair in the rear view mirror, his eyes cold, angry. Jim turned his attention back to Blair as his guide pulled out the map and made a big show of checking their trail, clearly uncomfortable under William's scrutiny.
Jim turned back around and stared out the windshield. He exhaled a long sigh. It was going to be a long weekend.
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William parked the Jeep in an approved area for hikers and the four men quickly unloaded their gear. The three younger men carried the majority of it as they set off into the woods.
Following his plan, Blair spent most of the morning hiking ahead of the rest of them--so far ahead at times that Jim could only keep track of him by listening for his heartbeat. The only time he'd actually talked to his partner all morning was when they stopped for lunch. They ate sandwiches his father had packed and made small talk about the area they were hiking through and their hopes that the weatherman had been correct about his forecast of no rain.
They were headed for a spot Blair had found on the map, a location he felt would be the perfect area for them to use as a campsite for the next two nights. It was half a mile from a lake where they could fish, two miles from a group of caves the anthropologist thought might prove interesting to explore, and three miles from a Federal Wildlife Preserve that Stephen had shown a special interest in visiting.
Now, as they stepped out of a stand of trees, Jim saw his guide. Blair sat on downed tree, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.
"What do you think?" he asked as the men approached, standing and spreading his arms dramatically. He stood in a clearing, large enough to pitch both tents. "I thought we could set up camp here."
Jim crossed to him, returning the grin. "Good job, Chief."
Stephen dropped his pack. "I have to agree, Blair. You found us a great spot."
William moved forward, his gaze sweeping the area, doubt evident in his eyes. "You're sure this clearing is big enough for both tents?" he asked, not looking at Blair.
"There's plenty of room," Blair answered. "We'll put them side by side and set up the campfire over here." He indicated an area by the log he'd been sitting on when they first arrived.
William looked at Jim. "What do you think, Jimmy?"
"It'll be fine, Dad," he ground out.
"If you're sure."
"Dad--"
"Why don't you guys go check out the lake while I put up the tents," Blair suggested, cutting Jim off.
"You can't put up the tents by yourself, Chief."
"Sure I can," Blair assured him confidently.
Jim let out a short laugh. "Sandburg, you can barely get your tent up when I help you. What makes you think you can put up both of these by yourself?"
"I'll stay and help," Stephen volunteered.
"No, Stephen," Blair said, turning toward him. "You go with your dad and Jim. I can do this."
"I want to stay and help." He glanced at Jim. "You guys check out the fishing. We'll put up the tents."
Jim stared at his brother and his partner, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We'll go check out the lake... then come back and help you put up the tents."
/
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Stephen stood back and admired the tent he and Blair had just finished setting up. "Not bad for two city boys," he said, turning to the younger man beside him, grinning widely.
Blair clapped him on the back. "And Jim thought we couldn't do this." He nodded toward the second tent. "Okay, Stephen, grab that main pole there and we'll get started on number two."
"This one here?" Stephen grabbed up the pole, swung around and smacked Blair solidly in the left temple. The anthropologist let out a grunt of pain and collapsed to his knees.
"Oh, god!" Stephen tossed the pole aside and dropped down in front of Blair. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were standing that close. Are you okay?"
"Ow," Blair muttered, reaching up and touching gingerly at the wound on his head.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Stephen leaned in, trying to see how deep the cut was. "Don't move. I'll get the first aid kit."
"Stephen, it's okay." Blair waved his hand, dismissing his concern. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it."
"You're not fine. You're bleeding. Just stay put." Stephen rushed to where they had dumped their packs earlier and dug through Jim's. Pulling out the first aid kit, he moved back to Blair, who was now sitting on the ground cross-legged, eyes closed, his chin resting against his chest. Stephen knelt down in front of him, his gaze taking in the thin trail of blood that ran down the left side of Blair's face. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did this. Jim's going to kill me."
Blair looked up at him, smiling easily. "It was an accident. It's no big deal."
Stephen spun the cap off the disinfectant and poured some onto a cotton pad. Dabbing lightly, he touched it to Blair's head. Sandburg hissed out through gritted teeth, flinching away from the light ministrations.
"You know what?" he said, pushing Stephen's hand away. "That hurts more than the whole hitting me with the pole thing did."
"Blair, I have to clean it out." Stephen came at him again but Blair pushed his hand away before he could touch him.
"It's clean," he said firmly. "Just put a bandage on it and let's get back to work."
Stephen opened a butterfly bandage and applied it to Blair's head, pulling the cut closed in the process. "I am so sorry about this. I didn't--"
"Stephen," Blair held his hand up, stopping his words. "I'm fine. Really. Let's just get this other tent up, okay?"
Stephen stood and, reaching down, helped Blair to his feet.
"See?" Blair said, stepping away from Stephen and spreading his arms wide. "I can stand on my own and everything."
Stephen laughed lightly. "I guess that's a good sign."
Blair reached out and patted him on the arm. "Let's get back to work." He turned away, but Stephen reached out and caught his arm, stopping him before he could move.
"Blair," he began hesitantly. "I just... I want you to know that I don't feel the same way my father does. I'm glad you changed your mind and decided to come on this trip."
"Thanks, but you don't have to-"
"I'm not," he interrupted. "I know the only reason Jim even talks to me is because of you and I'm grateful for it."
"You give me too much credit," Blair replied softly.
"I don't think so," Stephen answered just as softly. "Blair, it's obvious Jim thinks of you as more of a brother than he does me."
Blair shook his head. "Stephen, no-"
"It's okay," he cut in. "I don't resent it. I admit I feel a bit envious sometimes, but I don't resent it."
"Stephen, you're Jim's brother. Nothing and no one can ever change that."
"I know." Stephen dropped his gaze to ground, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. "But I gave up on Jim a long time ago," he said quietly, regret winding through him at the admission. Exhaling a long breath, he looked up at Blair again. "Jim had erected this wall around himself that no one could get past. He was really good at keeping everyone at arms length." He studied Blair, his eyes filled with admiration. "Until you came along. Somehow you got through to him. You stuck with him even though I know it probably hasn't always been easy." Stephen moved closer, his voice dropping in pitch. "Not many people have done that for my brother. But you did and I'm grateful for it."
"Thank you," Blair said, his voice low with emotion. "I appreciate that. I really do." He pushed at a few stray hairs that had escaped his ponytail. "But it doesn't change how your father feels. Jim is just getting to know his dad... I don't want to be responsible for pulling them apart again."
"You're not," Stephen assured him. "Our father will come around, Blair. I'm sure of that. He's just..."
"Stubborn, obstinate, hard-headed?" Blair supplied the terms, bouncing up on his toes, a smile lighting his eyes. "Kind of like Jim?"
"Exactly," Stephen laughed out. "Come on, let's get back to work."
/
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Jim walked beside his father as they headed back toward camp. They'd spent nearly an hour at the lake but hadn't caught even one fish. And it wasn't because they were being too loud and scaring them off. The two men had not spoken the entire time.
At first, Jim had told himself that it was because they were fishin
g and needed to be quiet. But now, as they hiked through the woods in continued silence, he knew that wasn't true. They weren't talking because they simply had nothing to say to each other.
"Your friend is certainly doing a good job of making you and Stephen feel sorry for him," William said at last, his bitter voice cutting through the silence.
Jim gave his father a sidelong look. "Blair is not trying to make anyone feel sorry for him."
"Oh come on, Jim. He plays you. Walks ahead of all of us. Volunteers to put up the tents all by himself."
"He's only acting like that because he thinks that's the best way to make you happy. He's just trying to stay out of your way."
"Right," William ground out.
"Believe me, if Sandburg felt he had a choice, he would have come fishing with us. Not only does he hate putting up tents, he's horrible at it." He glanced at his father but the older man's expression had not changed. "Blair wanted the three of us to go off fishing together," he insisted. "That was his plan."
William stopped walking and turned angrily on Jim. "Except your brother stayed behind because he felt sorry for him."
"Stephen stayed behind because you need two people to put up the tents," Jim countered, his own anger rising. "Dad, Blair is my friend. He's not going anywhere. No matter what you say, no matter how you treat him, he's not going to go away. If you would just accept that, we could put an end to all this nonsense and have a good time this weekend."
William stared up at Jim, his jaw set. "He's your friend, Jim. Not mine. I don't have to accept anything about him." Turning, he started toward camp again.
Jim hesitated only a second before following. Ahead, he could see Stephen and Blair struggling to get the second tent up. Jim moved faster, walking past his father.
"Want some help?" he asked, dropping his fishing gear and crossing to the two men, stopping behind Blair's crouched form.
"I think we might be missing a pole for this one," Blair said, standing and turning to face Jim.
The sentinel's eyes widened as he took in the bandage on his guide's left temple, the skin around it bruised and swollen.
"What the hell happened to you?" Reaching out, he caught Blair by the chin and turned his head so he could look at the wound more closely.
