by Beth Manz
"Sorry, Chief, but I wouldn't eat sushi back in Cascade. I'm not about to eat it out here."
"What happens if you guys don't catch anything?" Darryl asked his father.
"Won't happen, son," Simon replied with confidence. Reaching out, he slapped Jim heartily on the back. "C'mon, Jim. Let's get back to it. We still have to catch our supper."
- - -
Simon shoved a turkey hot dog onto a narrow stick and held his dinner over the blazing fire, turning it slowly so it would cook evenly on all sides. The captain eyed the cooking hot dog with distaste. It wasn't his first choice of what he would have liked for his evening meal, but one glance over at the raw fish filets Blair was passing out to Darryl and Stephen and he was willing to be thankful for the hot dog.
He looked over at Fritz, who was staring contentedly into the fire, chewing on a thick piece of beef jerky. So not even the mountain man likes his dinner raw. He smiled to himself. Certainly can't blame you, old man.
There was the sound of sniffle beside him, then Jim cleared his throat. Simon gave his detective a look of sympathy. He couldn't help but feel terrible about what had happened at the river after the two of them had gone back to try and catch their dinner. They'd been out there nearly an hour with no luck in sight when suddenly Jim got a nibble. But in his excitement to reel in the fish, Jim had stepped on a rock beneath the surface of the water. He'd gone down fast and hard, disappearing momentarily before coming up again, sputtering and coughing.
His cold had actually seemed to be getting better until that moment. Now...now it was worse than ever. The captain leaned over to ask the detective how he was feeling, but stopped when he realized that Jim was staring in the direction of his younger brother, a look of disbelief on his face.
"I can't believe you're going to eat that, Stephen," Jim told him.
"Why not? I ate puffer fish in Tokyo once and it was delicious. I'm guessing this won't be all that different from eating puffer."
Jim wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "It's raw."
Stephen laughed out loud. "C'mon, Jim, surely you ate worse stuff than this in the military?"
"Not that I can recall," he intoned, staring at the fish on his brother's plate with open disgust.
Stephen, obviously taking advantage of Jim's unease, popped a narrow piece of salmon filet into his mouth, then closed his eyes as he chewed. "Mmmmmm," he enthused, opening his eyes and smiling over at his brother. "It's really quite good." He extended his plate toward Jim. "Here, try some."
Jim held up one hand and offered a wan smile. "No thanks." He eyed the turkey hot dog at the end of the stick he held, slowly cooking over the flames. "I'll wait for my own dinner if you don't mind."
"Whatever. But you don't know what you're missing."
"We'll take your word for it," Simon chimed in.
"So, Jim," Blair said around a mouthful of sushi, "Your ears seem better. You doin' okay?"
"Comes and goes," Jim told his partner. "Since my dip in the river...mostly goes."
From the other side of the small fire, Fritz spoke up for the first time since they'd sat down to fix their dinners: "I have a sure-fire remedy for that cold, Detective," he said, staring across at Jim. "All natural."
Jim gave the mountain man an insincere smile and raised one hand to ward off any additional offers. "Thanks, but I've had certain...experiences...with natural remedies in the past." He paused a moment to cast an accusing glance in the direction of his grinning partner, then returned his attention to the mountain man. "I'll just wait the cold out. I'm sure the worst is over by now."
"Up to you." Fritz tore another chunk of jerky off with his teeth and settled back against the log behind him.
Captain Banks listened to the exchange with amused interest. Sighing happily, he balanced the stick he was holding between a couple of rocks then reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a cigar. Leaning back against the rock behind him, he rolled the cigar between his fingers, smelled it, then extracted a book of matches from his hip pocket.
"Excuse me," Blair's annoyed voice cut through the silence that had fallen across the small group, "but what are you doing?"
Simon looked over at the young man. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he shot back. Again, he smelled at the cigar, savoring the mellow aroma, already able to taste it. "I'm going to have a little smoke while I'm waiting for my dinner to cook. Is that all right with you, Sandburg?"
Blair reached over and snatched the cigar from Simon's hands. "No, it isn't all right with me. Haven't you heard that smoking is strictly prohibited in sushi restaurants?" he asked, his tone indicating that the fact was well known and the captain should have been aware of it. "The aroma of the smoke obscures the delicate flavors of the fish. It's a definite breach of courtesy to smoke around sushi."
"We're not in a restaurant, Sandburg," Simon countered, reaching over and grabbing the cigar back. He gestured around him. "This is the great outdoors. The aroma of my cigar isn't going to obscure anything."
"Dad, Blair's right," Darryl jumped into the conversation. He gave his father a knowing look. "You really should abide by the rules. Isn't that what you're always telling me?"
Simon gaped at his son, clearly trying-and failing--to find a way around the boy's reasoning. "Oh, for Pete's sake!" he grumbled at last, standing. "Fine! I'll smoke somewhere else." He pointed off in the distance, to a fir tree about fifty feet away from where the small group was seated. "There, do you think that will be far enough away that my cigar smoke won't interfere with your delicate sushi?"
Blair chuckled and nodded his head. "That should do just fine."
Simon glared down at him, then stalked away in the direction of the tree. "Call me when the hot dogs are done," he threw over his shoulder at Jim.
But Jim evidently didn't quite understand. "I told you three times already that we didn't bring any buns," he groused after the captain.
Simon stopped in his tracks, shook his head in exasperation, then continued on toward the tree without turning around to look at his ailing detective, his steps those of a weary, beaten man. Reaching the tree, he looked around for a comfortable area in which to sit. Finally, spotting a bit of foliage near the base of the trunk, he settled himself down on the soft, needle-strewn ground. He leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes as he took in the soothing aroma of his cigar. Lighting it, he placed it between his teeth and sighed. "Ah, this is better," he told himself happily. "Much, much better."
He opened his eyes and looked around, taking in the untarnished beauty of the forest. Between the trees to his left he could see the Olympic mountain range in the distance, the snow-capped peaks gleaming pink and orange in the light of the setting sun. Thoroughly content, Simon pulled his attention away from the vista and looked down at the ground around him. For the first time he noticed the leafy ground cover upon which he had seated himself. He studied the vine of three-leaved foliage, reached down and caressed the soft leaves in his hands. "Odd looking plant," he said to himself, reaching up to rub absently at his chin. "I don't think I've ever seen any of that before...."
Shrugging, he closed his eyes again and concentrated on the aroma and taste of his cigar, on the sound of birds chirping to one another from the high branches of the towering evergreen trees. "Now, this is the life," he told himself, all irritation over the sushi and Sandburg's no-smoking rule momentarily forgotten. "Yes," he congratulated himself, "this is definitely the life."
/
/
/
Blair looked at the hot dogs roasting over the fire and then up at his partner. A smile breached his face at what he saw. Jim's eyes had slipped closed and the hot dog at the end of his stick was slowly dropping closer and closer to the open flame. It was obvious that the day's hike, his cold, and the dip in the river were taking a toll on the sentinel. Setting aside his plate of sushi, Blair scooted over next to his partner and gently took the stick from his hands.
"What?" Jim asked, confused, comin
g awake instantly.
Blair patted protectively at the detective's arm. "Relax, man. You were about to burn your dinner." He smiled at Jim, then pulled the stick from the fire and gingerly slid the steaming hot dog onto a paper plate. "So," he asked Jim as he placed some chips on the plate, "you hungry?"
He looked up to find Jim surveying the night sky. The sentinel nodded his head then turned his gaze on his partner. "Yeah, I think it'll be sunny. No more rain this trip, Chief."
Blair snorted in amusement and looked directly at Jim. "No," he said, making sure he enunciated his words, "I asked if you're hungry "
Jim nodded his head again. "Yeah, sunny," the sentinel agreed.
Blair closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. Finally, looking back up at his ailing partner, he shoved the plate of food into Jim's hands. "Here," he said loudly, using his hands to act as if he were putting food in his mouth. "Food! Eat!"
Jim gave him a warm smile. "Hey, thanks, Chief. I was really getting hungry."
/
/
/
"Ah...ah...achoooooo!"
"Do you mind?" Simon Banks groused, turning over in his sleeping bag and glaring at his tent-mate.
As Jim watched, his captain pushed his arms out from beneath the covers and squinted at his wristwatch. "1:14 a.m.," he grumbled. "This is unbelievable. Do you think we could get some sleep before the night is over?"
"I'm sorry," Jim replied, his voice nasal. Sitting up in his sleeping bag, he rummaged around until he found his backpack, then extracted a small box of Kleenexes. "I just can't seem to shake this....this....ah...ah...achoo!"
"That's it!" Simon said with finality. "I'm going outside to sleep."
"Are you crazy? The mosquitoes will eat you alive."
"But at least they don't sneeze and sniffle!" Simon barked.
"You think I like this?" Jim bit out, annoyance at the captain's attitude beginning to wear on him. "I have a cold!"
"Fine! You have a cold! But can't you have it more quietly?" Reaching up, he scratched at his face, then his arms.
Jim lay back down, sniffling and wiping at his nose. "I would think you would have a bit more sympathy, you being a father and all."
Simon snorted. "You know who I have sympathy for? Me! I'm not feeling all that great myself, but at least I'm being quiet about it." He scratched at his face again.
Jim glanced over at him, sniffing loudly. "You keep scratching. What's wrong?"
"My skin itches and burns," the captain complained, now using both hands to scratch. "And I think that hot dog I ate was bad. My stomach's killing me."
"I have some Pepto Bismol in my bag."
Simon waved a hand at the detective. "Already found it. It didn't help." He reached up with one hand to scratch at this face, then at his hands again, then at his arms.
"Would you stop that?" Jim asked petulantly, settling back into his sleeping bag again. "It sounds like sandpaper. How am I supposed to sleep with you constantly scratching?"
"What were you just saying about sympathy?" Simon shot back. "Besides, I thought your ears were stopped up. How can you hear me scratching?"
"Unfortunately for me, I can hear that just fine."
Simon grunted and mumbled something under his breath, then settled into his own sleeping bag again, obviously willing to halt the argument....at least for the time being.
Jim turned over and closed his eyes, determined to somehow ignore the cranky captain...and to stop sneezing and sniffling. He had to get some sleep himself.
Scratch.
Scratch scratch.
Scratchscratchscratchscratch...
"Enough!" the sentinel all but shouted, throwing back his covers and sitting up. He found the flashlight and turned it on, pointing it directly into the squinting, scowling face of his captain. "Sit up," he ordered.
"What? Why?" Simon questioned, confused.
"I want to look at your skin. Maybe I can tell what's wrong."
"So now you're into dermatology, is that it?"
"Very funny," Jim answered sarcastically. "You forget I've had medic training? Now, are you going to sit up and let me take a look at you or are you going to keep scratching all night?"
"Oh, all right, if it'll make you happy...." Simon tossed back his own covers, grumbling as he sat up.
Jim shined the flashlight across Simon's face and arms. "I don't believe it," he said after a few seconds, his voice clearly annoyed.
"What?" Simon queried, concerned now. "What is it?"
"You ever been hiking before, Simon?"
The captain snorted in disdain. "You know I have. Plenty of times."
"You know what poison ivy looks like?"
There was a pause in which Simon looked a bit embarrassed, then quickly reverted to defensiveness. "Of course I know what it looks like!"
"Describe it to me," Jim demanded in a no-nonsense tone.
"Um, well...." Simon backpedaled. He straightened and stared at Jim. "It's green...and...and...."
"Green," Jim echoed dryly. "Describe the leaves."
"The leaves?! You expect me to be a botanist or something? How am I supposed to know what the leaves look like?"
"They're grouped in threes, sir. You been rolling around in any plants like that since we've been up here?"
The captain grew quiet, clearly thinking. Before too many seconds a chagrined look crossed his dark features. "Oh...."
"You did, didn't you?"
"Well I didn't roll around in it!" Simon spouted, defensive again. "I just sort of...sat in it." He straightened again and took on an indignant air. "After Sandburg made that fuss about my cigar....I sat in it over by that tree."
"Very smart," Jim bit out.
"Well, this is all Sandburg's fault," the captain complained. "If he'd just have let me--"
"If you two don't shut up, I'm gonna take you out in the middle of the forest and leave you there!"
Jim and Simon both turned to see the intruder crouching just inside their tent door...Fritz Carlyle. The mountain man wore an irate expression and was glaring openly at both of them. In his hands he held a container of some indistinguishable liquid, two metal camp mugs and an old varnish can.
Moving further into the tent, he shoved one of the metal cups at Jim. "Here," he commanded, "drink this."
Jim eyed the liquid that had been poured into a mug and was being offered to him. "What is it?" he asked skeptically.
"Better you don't know. Just drink it." With that, Fritz shoved the drink into Jim's hand and turned to Simon.
"Here," he directed, handing the old varnish container to the captain. Simon took the can, opened it, and stared down into the interior. Jim leaned over and looked as well; the can was filled with a sappy, brown looking salve. "Put that on the rash," Fritz commanded.
"What is it?"
Fritz rolls his eyes. "What did I just tell your friend here?"
"Better I don't know?" Simon repeated Fritz's admonition to Jim.
"That's right. And when you're through with that, drink this." He thrust the remaining mug at the captain, the cup now filled with the same liquid he'd given Jim. Simon, thoroughly chastised, set the mug aside and gingerly dipped his fingers into the gooey concoction in the varnish can. Hesitantly he spread a bit on one arm. "This smells awful," he complained.
"It might smell bad but it'll do the trick."
"And what will this do?" Jim said, sniffing at the liquid he had yet to take.
"Nothing if you don't drink it," the old man complained.
Taking a deep breath and giving the mountain man a chilling look, Jim brought the mug to his lips and quickly downed the noxious drink. "Arggghhh!" he complained, rapidly shaking his head and thrusting the empty mug back at Fritz. "You trying to kill me?"
"The thought crossed my mind, Detective," the old man replied crustily.
"As bad as that stuff tastes and that"-Jim thrust a finger toward the varnish can-"smells, they'd better work!"
"Oh, th
ey'll work," Fritz said, a smug grin on his features. "Trust me."
Jim glanced over at Simon and exchanged an uncertain look. Jim turned to offer one final protest in the mountain man's direction but he was met with only the softly flapping tent door as it moved in the night breeze. Fritz was gone.
/
/
/
Blair lay on his back on the hard ground listening to the sound of Jim and Simon's loud snoring coming from the tent beside theirs. Up until about an hour ago, all he'd heard was Simon and Jim griping at each other. Then Fritz had shown up with his "medications" and since then...just the snoring. Blair couldn't decide which sound was worse.
Beside him, Darryl shifted slightly, curling onto his side. Blair stared at him in the darkness, amazed the kid could sleep through the noise. He smiled at the memory of Simon announcing to the group that his son was going to Duke. He'd said the words and looked at his son with a strong sense of pride, one that had brought a lump to Blair's throat. It was a moment he wouldn't soon forget.
"Blair?"
"Hmmm?" Blair looked over at Stephen. He hadn't realized he was still awake. But when several moments passed in silence, Blair frowned. "Stephen? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Blair turned over in his sleeping bag so he could see Stephen face to face. "All that snoring keeping you awake, too?"
The younger Ellison laughed lightly. "Nah. I listened to Jim snore for years. I'm sensitized."
It was Blair's turn to chuckle. "You'd think I'd be, too, but somehow it hasn't happened yet." He snuggled down into the sleeping bag a bit more, getting comfortable. "Listen, you okay, man? You've seemed a bit distracted at times. I hope you're having a good time. I mean, I know this is sort of strange trip for anyone to take, but--"
"Blair," Stephen interrupted, "I'm having a great time. I'll admit that I'm not a big believer in Sasquatch, but just being out here, camping.... Yeah, it's great."
"Okay," Blair replied doubtfully. "If you're sure...."
"I'm sure. I am a bit distracted, but it has nothing to do with this trip, believe me."
"Anything you want to talk about?"
Stephen sighed, then was silent for several seconds. "Actually, it's about Jim."
