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Blair was restless. It'd been two days since he'd returned from the beach, and there was nothing to do. He'd spent most of the day gathering toad root, wild onions and pine nuts to supplement his dried fish. He had enough provisions for at least a week, and his water supply was still good. There was no reason to venture away from his camp.

He worked at reinforcing his wall, filling in holes and stabilizing the foundation, until he couldn't find anything more to do. He'd finished his only book -- twice -- and not even the magazines held his attention for long.

As daylight began to fade on the second day, a very bored Blair set about building a fire to cook his evening meal. After the rainstorm, he'd taken to stacking his firewood in the corner of the cave to keep it dry. He was loading his arms from the stack when movement between the woodpile and the cave wall startled him.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, throwing the sticks. He stumbled backward, half-expecting a snake to jump out and strike. When nothing happened, he took a tentative step forward and cautiously leaned over to peer behind the wood. Tiny, fearful eyes looked back at him.

"Oh, man, little fella, you scared the crap outta me." Blair leaned closer. It was a tiny little mouse, and the creature had built itself a nest behind the stack of firewood. "Mighty brave little critter, aren't you?"

Blair frowned at the mouse. He wasn't exactly thrilled about sharing his house with a rodent. He really should tear apart the nest and chase the creature out, but it was so tiny, and it seemed so frightened as it cowered beneath his scrutiny.

"Ah, hell, mi casa es su casa. Make yourself at home. And to show you what an easy going guy I am, I got only two house rules. One, get your own food. That means stay the heck outta mine. And two, stay the hell outta my bed. You got that? I don't think it'd do either of us any good to go there. Agreed?"

The mouse finally gathered the courage to move and ducked beneath the stack of firewood, disappearing from sight.

"I'll try not to take that personal. Just see to it you obey the rules, or you're outta here. Got that?"

It was morning before he saw his new roommate again. The mouse ventured to the door of the cave while Blair was sitting beside the fire, enjoying a breakfast of dried fish and toad root. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to find the creature sitting on its hind legs watching him.

"Good morning, lazy bones. I thought you were going to sleep the day away. Just what time did you get in last night, young lady?" At least he assumed the mouse was female, based on the fact that it'd built a nest. Did the males do that?

The mouse raised her head at the sound of Blair's voice and twitched her nose, testing the air.

"Hungry?" He broke off a piece of the toad root and tossed it toward the mouse. "It ain't much, but I doubt your standards are too terribly high. Bon appetit."

The piece of food landed about a foot in front of the mouse and rolled toward her. Startled by food falling from the sky, the creature dropped to all four feet and scurried into the brush.

Blair sighed. "Guess toad root isn't high on your list of gourmet breakfast foods. Think you can do better? Knock yourself out. And bring me back some."

He turned his attention back to his own meal and began mapping out his day's plans. "Let's see, I can read...or...read...or maybe read." Depressed by his boredom, he frowned at the fire. He had to find something to fill the time until Jim showed up.

He could explore the canyon. It was something he'd thought about a couple of times, but he was reluctant to get too far away from camp. Not that he had any doubt Jim would find him. The sentinel could track him anywhere on the island, even if he didn't have heightened senses to help him out.

The problem was, he didn't know what was out there. Wild animals, snakes, poison insects...he didn't know what dangers lurked away from the safety of his cave, and he couldn't take a chance on stumbling into trouble while he was alone. With no one to help him and virtually no medical supplies, a simple cut could set up infection and that could be deadly. No, it was better, at least for the time being, to stay close to the areas he was familiar with.

A sudden chill raised goosebumps on Blair's arms. Just as it had on the beach three days before, a strong sense of being watched worked through him. Without raising his head, he cut his eyes toward the edge of the clearing. For long minutes, he sat completely still, covertly watching for movement in the brush. His ears strained for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing. Not one movement or sound.

Feeling a little foolish, Blair lifted his head and called, "Is someone there?"

He didn't expect an answer, so he wasn't surprised when there was none. Still, he felt obligated to called again, "Hello? Anybody there?"

Damn it, he wasn't imagining it. Someone, or something was watching him. An animal maybe.

"Animals that leave footprints with toes?" he muttered under his breath as his eyes continued to scan the woods. Louder, "Is anybody there? Please, answer me!"

God, maybe he was losing his mind. The feeling was so real, but there couldn't be anyone there.

Could there?

Not his abductors, certainly. Why would they hide out just to spy on him? Not Jim, or any other rescuer. Again, no reason to hide. Who then? Who else would be on the island? Maybe someone else had been stranded here, but why not come forward? Surely, they'd be so glad to see someone else on their island that they'd eagerly come to greet him. Surely.

Blair shook his head as he continued to scan the trees and brush. No matter how he looked at it, it just didn't make sense that someone was out there watching him. It was wishful thinking, pure and simple. A normal, predictable consequence of too much solitude. An imaginary friend...so to speak.

Blair grinned at the thought, memories of a make believe friend he'd invented as a child flooding his mind. Mustafa. Man, he hadn't thought of his Arabic "friend" since he was seven. The day he'd made his first real friend at school, his imaginary friend had left for an "adventure in the deserts of Egypt" and Blair had never seen him again.

He could chuckle now at the silliness of it all, but Mustafa had gotten him through some lonely times back then. Thanks to his mother's nomadic tendencies, they had been slow to settle down and find a public school, so Blair had been older than the other kids in his class by almost two years. It hadn't taken long for him to test out of the class, but then he'd been put with kids who were older than he was. Same problem, only in reverse. It was tough on him until he proved himself and made friends, and Mustafa had been there for him through it all.

And now, it seemed, he had another imaginary friend. Hell, maybe it was Mustafa, come back to see him through another tough time. Psychologically speaking, it made as much sense as anything else.

"Long time, no see, Moose," he called, using the familiar nickname for his old friend. "Why don'cha come on out, and we'll catch up on old times?"

Not waiting for a response that wasn't coming, Blair stood and kicked dirt on the dying embers of his fire. "Sheesh, Blair, you're fast approaching thirty and you've still got imaginary friends. What would the guys say if they could hear you now? They'd say you're every bit as crazy as everyone has always suspected. And they'd be right."

When his fire was safely extinguished, Blair grabbed a couple of bottles of water and some food and shoved them in the backpack, then stepped into the woods. Damned if he was going to spend another the day sitting around the camp reading while his mind slowly took leave of its sanity. Despite his earlier decision not to risk the danger of wandering into the canyon, he had to do something to pass the time. He could look around and still stay relatively close. And he could keep an eye open for anymore of the strange "toed" tracks he'd found at the spring.

The front wall of his "home" was a construction project to be proud of. It would do wonders at blocking wind-blown rain. He knew it would, because it effectively blocked every breath of air, making the cave stuffy and hot. In an attempt to find a breeze, Blair spread his blanket in the clearing between the fire and the cave and stretched out. He laced his fingers beneath his head and stared up at the stars in thought.

Several times during the past week, he'd had the strong sense of being watched, but the feeling no longer alarmed him. He was convinced no one was there. It simply wasn't logical. It made more sense to blame the feeling on Mustafa, a figment of his imagination. If...when...he got off of this damned island, there was a therapist in Cascade who was going to make a fortune off of him. Hell, it'd probably take years to get his head straight again.

His days of exploring were a bust, not good for much of anything other than killing time. He explored the canyon as far north and south as he dared walk, hoping to run across another, closer spring, but had no luck. He'd found nothing. An eagle screeching overhead, a few deer in a grassy clearing, several smaller mammals scurrying through the underbrush, but that was it. There was water somewhere, but he'd be damned if he could find it.

"I get outta here," he informed the stars, "I'm signing up for the toughest, most thorough survival course I can find. I don't care if they have me eating worms and sleeping in slime filled ditches, so long as they teach me how to find water."

A rustling in the stack of firewood drew his gaze to the mouth of the cave. Sniffles, as he'd christened the mouse because of her constantly twitching nose, was venturing out again. She probably did her hunting at night. Rodents were nocturnal, weren't they?

"Have the car home by midnight, young lady. And watch out for slick-talking, beady-eyed boy mice. They'll use you, abuse you, and break your heart."

The mouse swished her tail at his words, then disappeared into the bushes.

Blair returned his gaze to the stars. So now what? How would he kill tomorrow? He'd explored every direction except east, and he just didn't see any purpose in scaling the cliff on the opposite side of the canyon. Well, none other than waste some time. Any water he found in that direction wouldn't be any closer than the spring he'd already found, so why take the risk?

Maybe it was time to head back to the beach. He didn't really need any additional food yet, but it was something to do, and a cool swim in the ocean sounded good. Anything to relieve the heat.

Besides, his clothes could use a good rinsing out at the spring. He'd finally broken down and cut the legs off of one of his two pairs of jeans in deference to the heat, and he'd taken to wearing just the shorts, but his remaining pair of jeans and tee shirt could use a washing, and God knows, he could use a bath.

Tomorrow, laundry and a bath, then a daytrip to the beach for some fun in the sand and surf. Plans made, he rolled to his side and waited for sleep to claim him.

Blair packed two full bottles and the empties, leaving the rest in his cave. He packed only enough food to get him to the beach, planning to catch his meals while there. Carefully wrapping the remainder in a big square of nylon scrap cut from what was left of his windbreaker, he buried it in the corner of the cave. Hopefully, no animals would find it while he was gone, but as an extra precaution, he stacked several large rocks over the cache.

"Keep an eye on it for me, Sniffles, would ya?" He glanced over to where the mouse was peeking out from under the stack of firewood, studying his every move. "And don't get any fancy ideas yourself. Stay outta my food. That's rule one, remember?"

He dug out one of the dried strips of fish and broke it in half. "This'll hold you for a while." He knelt and held the meat out toward the mouse. "Come on, girl, I won't hurt you."

Sniffles lifted her nose, twitching it back and forth as she sniffed the air. She was obviously intrigued by the scent, but her sense of self preservation overcame her curiosity. With one final indignant twitch of her nose, she ducked back under the sticks and disappeared.

Blair called to her a few more time, then gave up, a little disappointed. Despite numerous attempts, he couldn't convince the creature to trust him enough to venture out of her hiding place when he was close by. Disappointed, he set the scrap of food on the ground, knowing she would be out to investigate as soon as he left.

Shouldering his pack, Blair stepped out into the early morning sunshine. He stood for a minute, scanning the woods around his camp. "Where'd ya go, Moose?" The prickly feeling on the back of his neck was absent. Even his imagination seemed to be shunning him this morning.

Ah, well, didn't matter, Blair decided as he turned south. He had places to go, things to do and no time for imaginary friends.

A half hour later, he reached the route he'd been using to get to the top of the cliff face, only to discover that since he'd last descended into the canyon, a rock slide had covered a large part of the path. There wasn't room to go around the rocks, but going over them didn't look like it would be an easy job. The impasse was about twenty yards up and covered about four feet of the trail. Beyond it the path was clear.

Blair chewed his lip as he considered his options. Getting safely over the rocks would be tricky, but his only other option was to detour south to the next closest trail to the top. It was only about an hour's trek, but that path was much steeper than this one, and he preferred to avoid it if he could. The next best path he'd found so far was at least two hours away. Two hours there, then two hours back to this point before he could even start toward the spring, so four hours detour total.

Blair studied the impasse. He could climb over it if he was careful. There was a sturdy looking bush growing very close to the rock slide that should provide a good anchor. He could make it. No sweat.

His decision was made. Blair squared his shoulders and started up the path. His confidence wavered, however, as he approached the impasse. It was much less stable than it had appeared from the bottom. A misstep could prove disastrous.

At the edge of the rock slide, he stopped and contemplated his next move. The bush looked strong enough to hold his weight. He grabbed onto the closest branch and tugged hard. It would hold. The only question was if the rocks would give way under his weight, maybe causing him to lose his footing and slide. He scrutinized it closely. Over or back? Ten minutes up, or four hours around?

If he chose his steps carefully, he would be fine.

Hefting the backpack higher on his shoulders and taking a deep breath, Blair took a tentative step. The rocks held, moving only the slightest bit beneath his weight. With more confidence, Blair continued on, testing each step before putting his full weight down. Inch by inch, he made his way upward.

With only a few feet left to go, he adjusted his grip on the bush and stretched as close to the far side of the slide as he could reach. As his left foot settled, the stones shifted. He stopped, keeping his balance on his right foot until the rocks stopped moving. Slowly, he shifted his weight forward. The rocks slid a few more inches, then seemed to settle.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Blair lifted his right foot and, using the branch of the bush for balance, pulled himself forward to place his foot on the stable ground beyond the rock slide. Seconds before his right foot would have been safely planted on solid ground, the rocks beneath his left foot shifted again.

Caught with all of his weight on the foot, he tightened his grip on the branch in his hands. His feet slid completely out from under him as the rock slide broke loose, tumbling down the incline. Blair fell, all of his weight now on a single branch of the bush. For long tense moments, he hung there, his eyes squeezed shut in panic. Finally, the rocks stopped falling, and he tentatively opened his eyes.

Good God! That had been too close! He mentally cursed himself for taking the risk. A few hours of his day had not been worth the danger. If he'd fallen...

Blair swallowed hard, trying not to think about what would have happened if the bush hadn't held his weight. He tightened his hold and began searching with his feet for a toe hold. One boot caught on something. He cautiously pushed at it, and when it felt strong enough to hold him, he dug in, pushing upward against it in an attempt to regain his footing.

As he did, two things happened at once. A gunshot-like crack filled the air as the branch he held onto broke, and whatever his foot was pushing against gave way. He had only a split second to register both facts before he was falling, tumbling downward at an alarming speed.

With trepidation, Blair opened his eyes. Bright sunlight met the effort and forced them closed again. Memory rushed back with a vengeance. The rocks, the fall, the pain, all of it. He opened his eyes again, trying to ignore the agony that shot through his head with the light. He was lying on his stomach, one arm twisted painfully beneath him.

"Oh, man," he whispered, "...wild ride..."

How unbelievably stupid! What in heaven's name had possessed him to attempt that climb? How many times in the past few weeks had he told himself not to take any risks? How many times had he panicked over the thought of getting hurt with no help and no medical supplies? And then to do something so completely idiotic!

A sharp pain in his arm suddenly made itself known. He tried to roll over and relieve the pressure on his arm, but stopped short with a cry of pain. Shit! That hurt! The move aborted, he lay still for a few minutes, breathing deep until the pain receded enough for him to think again.

Slowly, pain began to check in from various points on his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and took inventory. There was barely a place on him that didn't hurt. It felt like he'd been scoured with sandpaper. What wasn't scrapped or cut was bruised. The worst of the pain was centered on his right arm, which lay beneath him, but his head and left leg were tied for a close second.

Gritting his teeth hard and using his relatively uninjured left hand, Blair pushed himself over to his back. The move ignited a fierce, unbearable pain in his arm, darkening the edges of his thoughts. Too tired and weak to fight it, Blair gave in, letting the pain fade with consciousness.

When he awoke again, Blair was surrounded by deep shadows. Consciousness brought with it a deep, excruciating pain. Biting down hard on his lip, he lifted his good arm and gently probed the lump on his forehead. It was tender and crusted with dried blood, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped sometime while he was out of it. Concussion? Probably, he decided, judging by the way he felt. Shit! Wasn't that just dandy! He could only hope it wasn't too bad, because there was little he could do about it.

It was long minutes before he could gather the courage to try to sit up. His first attempt was a bust. Intense pain met his efforts, and he dropped back to the rocky ground with a cry. Darkness assaulted his vision once again, but this time he fought it. Judging by the length of the shadows, night wasn't far off, and he was far too vulnerable here. He had to get himself up and back to camp before darkness fell.

An eternity later, his vision cleared, and he tried again. This time, he managed it, leaning heavily on his good arm. He breathed through the pain until it calmed to a sufferable level, then opened his eyes and took inventory.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, catching sight of his right arm. The limb lay limply in his lap, dark bruising and swelling around his wrist telling. This was bad. From day one, he'd known that a broken bone would mean trouble. He was going to have to find a way to set it.

Pushing the problem to the side for a moment, he continued his bodily inventory. His once white tee shirt was now torn, dirty and red where the skin beneath it had been scraped away. His eyes were drawn to his left leg, which was throbbing in time to his heartbeat. Both the denim of his jeans and the flesh beneath it were torn and bloody.

Blair gingerly peeled the wet cloth back, wincing at the deep cut he exposed. Judging by the large stain on his jeans and the ground under him, it'd bled a lot, and though the bleeding had slowed, it still oozed from the torn skin.

"Damn!" he hissed as his fingers probed the injury. He had to stop the bleeding. It took one lifetime to work his torn shirt over his head and off of his injured arm, and another to tear it into strips with the aid of his teeth. A few of the strips he used to tie a temporary bandage tightly around the wound on his leg. The remaining pieces he fashioned into a sling to support his wrist. It would have to be set somehow and soon, but his first priority was to get back to the cave before dark.

Blair studied the sky, trying to determine the time. He figured he had about an hour, hour and a half before night fell. It was only two miles, but with a concussion and an injured leg, it might as well be on the other side of the island.

The first thing he had to do was to get to his feet, and that would likely be the hardest part. Biting down hard on his lip, Blair dragged himself to the closest tree and struggled to pull himself up. By the time he'd succeeded, he was breathing hard and fighting back tears. How in the hell was he going to walk all the way back to camp when simply standing was nearly unbearable? He had no choice. He had to make it.

Blair took a tentative step, crying out as his leg nearly folded beneath him. With determination, he took another, and then another. It was a slow, painful process. Within a hundred feet, the wound on his thigh split open again and blood trickled down his leg and into his boot. Another hundred feet and the throbbing had become so intense that he felt he couldn't take another step. But he did.

He set his sights on a nearby tree, allowing himself to think of nothing beyond reaching that tree. Once there, he picked out another, just a few feet away. One tree at a time, he began putting the distance behind him. The trip became a mindless succession of single steps. He blocked out the pain, the exertion, the tears, everything but taking each step.

Several times his leg refused to hold him, sending him to the ground in a cry of agony. Each time, he forced himself to his feet once more to continue the journey. The third time he fell, he almost didn't get back up. He lay on the ground, sobbing, too exhausted to move. It was well beyond dusk, night had almost completely settled on the canyon, and Blair figured he was still almost half a mile from home. So close. So godawful close, and he couldn't even find the strength to get back to his feet.

Five, ten, twenty minutes passed. Darkness deepened around him. The tears stopped, the pain receded to a dull throbbing. He couldn't lay there the rest of the night. He had to move, but he knew he'd never make it to his feet again.

Reaching forward with his good hand, he grabbed hold of a clump of grass and pushing with his uninjured leg, dragged himself forward a few feet. He stopped and caught his breath, then repeated the motion. Bit by bit, the distance between Blair and the cave closed.

Finally, hours after it began, Blair's journey ended. He pulled himself into the clearing of his camp with a sob of relief, dragged himself past the fire ring, into the cave and to his bed, passing out as he reached it.

It was a tossup as to which pain actually woke him. His body felt like it'd been pulled backward through a cheese shredder. There was nothing that didn't hurt, but the worst of the pain was centered in three places: his head, his leg and his arm.

Careful to move as slowly as possible, Blair raised his good hand and scrubbed at his gummy eyes before attempting to open them. Just as he'd known it would, his headache flared with the light. He squinted, but forced them to remain open. Moving was a necessary agony. With an effort, he managed to push himself into a sitting position.

The sight of his right arm sent a stab of panic through him. During the night, it had turned a sickening shade of purple and was swollen to almost double its normal size. There was no doubt it was broken. He was going to have to find a way to set it, but the thought of trying to align the bones scared him. It wasn't going to be fun or easy.

One handedly, he untied the grimy, blood stained bandages on his leg and examined the wound. It had stopped bleeding, thank God. The skin around the cut was dark and swollen and crusted with dried blood. He was going to have to clean and rewrap it.

There were clean bandages and ointments in his first aid kit, which was--

"Oh, man!" Blair knew exactly where the kit was -- in the backpack, which was two miles down the trail, laying right where it had fallen last night. It had never even occurred to him to retrieve it. The kit wasn't very big or well stocked, but without it, he didn't even have an aspirin.

He was going to have to go back for it.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he berated himself. Why had he taken the risk? Had it been worth it just to save a few hours? "Shit!"

This was bad. Really bad. And he was in a lot of trouble. Not only was he injured with no way to treat his injuries, but now he couldn't even climb the path to the top of the cliff, which meant no way to reach fresh water. Or his best food supply. Or the beach. No means to leave the canyon.

"Stupid!" he repeated, banging his fist on the ground.

What was he going to do now? How was he going to survive? He mentally catalogued his remaining supplies. Half of his water bottles were empty and two of the full ones were in his pack, back where he'd fallen. Another reason he was going to have to retrieve the pack. Somehow.

Food was less of a problem. He had enough dried meat to last a few more days, and there was an abundant supply of toad root in the area. Enough to hold him until he was able to work the snares again. It wasn't his favorite meal, and he wasn't sure how nutritious it was, but he could survive on it for a while.

But with only a four full water bottles and no medical supplies, he was going to have to retrieve the pack, preferably sooner, rather than later. The trip last night was a blur of pain and agony, and he knew he couldn't go through it again. At least not yet.

"That's okay," he assured himself. "I've got some water here. I'll just have be careful with it. And I can survive without an aspirin." The way he was feeling, he had doubts a simple aspirin would be much help anyhow. The alcohol wipes and antibiotic cream were more important. Infection was his biggest concern. He was going to have to sacrifice one of his bottles of water to clean the wounds. That was one less day's rations he would have, but there was no way around it.

Grabbing one of the water bottles, Blair set to work. He carefully washed away the dried blood and grime from the wound on his leg and examined it. It was a jagged cut, starting just above his knee and running around the inside of his thigh. Thankfully, it wasn't terribly deep, but it could definitely use some stitches. The skin around it was dark red and angry looking. He would have to watch it for infection.

The little bit of probing he did around the wound to clean away the worst of the dirt started it bleeding again. Having nothing else with which to make bandages, Blair rinsed off the grungy strips of tee shirt he'd just removed and tied them tightly around his leg again. That done, he set to work on the other cuts and scrapes. Most were superficial. Only two, one on his shoulder and one on his stomach would bear watching.

Finally, he tilted his head back and poured the last of the water over the blood encrusted lump on his forehead. He probed it gently with his fingertips, relieved to note the bump didn't feel as prominent as it had earlier.

By the time he finished washing all of the wounds he could reach, he was exhausted. But he'd saved the worst for last, and it couldn't be put off. His arm was going to have to be set, something he definitely wasn't looking forward to. Tucking the injured limb close to his body, Blair dragged himself to the wood pile.

"Sorry, Sniffles, but I'm going to have to rearrange your parlor."

He rummaged through the wood. Sniffles let out an indignant squeak and dashed around the corner of the doorway and into the woods. Blair ignored his irritated roommate and continued the search, but there was nothing that suited his needs in the pile. He was going to have to search outside.

Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, he pushed himself to his feet, gently testing his leg to make sure it was going to hold. The first step was agony. He bit down harder on his lip and forced another step. Limping heavily, Blair stepped out of the door of the cave into the bright sunlight. It looked to be about mid afternoon. He'd slept away a good part of the day.

Making slow, painful steps, he headed for the edge of the clearing and the larger stack of firewood he'd accumulated there. As he passed his fire ring, he stopped, his mouth dropping open.

Against the outer edge of the ring of stones sat his backpack.

"How in the hell...?"

A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature worked through him.

How had that gotten here? Moose...?

If the situation hadn't been so creepy he might have laughed at the absurd thought. He must have brought it back with him last night. He'd just forgotten. Not surprising. He did have a concussion, after all. Thank God he'd had the presence of mind to grab the pack and bring it with him. It would save him from having to go back for it.

Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground, losing his balance and falling the last couple of feet with a pained cry. He took a moment to regain his breath, then ripped open the top of the pack and dumped the contents on the ground. He dug through the spilled supplies for the first aid kit. Opening it, he quickly found the aspirin packets and, using his teeth, tore two of them open, dry swallowing all four tablets. He doubted they'd do much, but maybe they would take the edge off of what he was about to do.

Setting the kit aside for later, he looked through his remaining clothes. There wasn't much left: the pair of jeans he'd cut off for shorts, the two denim legs he'd cut away, a couple of scraps of a dingy, formerly white tee shirt, and one last sleeve of the windbreaker. Blair considered each item, finally deciding on the nylon sleeve of the jacket. It should be strong enough for what he needed.

He wasn't looking forward to what he was about to do, but he knew he had to get it over with before his arm swelled any more than it already was. Leaving the supplies scattered on the ground, Blair struggled to his feet again and resumed his journey to the pile of gathered sticks. There he found what he needed, two strong, straight sticks about two inches in diameter and a foot and a half long.

His supplies gripped tightly in his good hand, Blair staggered to the trees at the edge of the camp and picked out a small, but sturdy sapling. With a groan, he dropped heavily to the ground at its base. He pulled out his knife and started cutting the sleeve into long strips. Once that was done, he tied several of the strips into one long "rope" using his good hand and his teeth, then tied one end of the rope to the wrist of the broken arm. He leaned forward and wrapped the nylon around the sapling, holding the end in his good hand.

Now came the hard part.

Moving the arm was pure agony and by the time he had the limb straightened out and pointed toward the tree, he was fighting tears of pain. He blinked away the tears that blurred his vision and double-checked to make sure everything he needed was close by.

"Okay..." Blair swallowed hard, took a deep breath, than another. "One quick pull should do it." Please God, let it take only one pull. "Pull hard. Get it over with fast." Another deep breath. "Okay." Another. "On three. One..."

He braced his good leg against the trunk of the tree...

"...two..."

...wrapped the end of the nylon rope around his left hand for leverage...

"...three..." ...and yanked!

Blinding agony raced up his arm and washed over his whole body. An explosion of white filled his vision. He heard a sob, knew it was him, but couldn't stop himself. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was far, far worse than he'd anticipated. He swore he could feel the bones grinding against one another. With an audible pop, they finally moved into place. He had to let go of the rope now.

Let go...

God, let go!

But he his left hand had locked when the pain hit, and he couldn't make it turn loose. Darkness blurred his thoughts, creeping ever closer, but he fought it. He had to set the arm now, while the bones were in place...before it swelled any further...

He had to...

...had to...

Crickets. Singing. Loudly.

That wasn't right...

Why was that wrong? Confusion filled Blair as memory pushed him back into consciousness. He'd been trying to set his arm...lost consciousness...

So why were the crickets wrong?

He struggled to sort out the baffling thoughts. He'd made an attempt to align the bones in his arm, but he'd passed out before he could get a splint in place.

Oh. Oh! Shit!

Blair's eyes snapped open as the memory clicked into place. It'd been early afternoon when he'd made the attempt. It was dark now. How long had he been out?

"This is not good," he murmured. "God, I'm going to have to do it again." A small sob escaped him at he idea of going though that excruciating pain again, but he had to do it now, before the arm swelled anymore than it already had.

He rolled to his left side, with the idea of sitting up, but stopped short, staring straight ahead at...flames. Fire? Completely mystified and more than a little spooked he pushed himself up on his good arm and looked around. How had he gotten here? He'd passed out a good hundred feet away, at the edge of the clearing, and now he was laying beside the fire ring.

And where had the fire come from?

A cold chill ran up the back of Blair's neck. He hadn't started a fire. Had he? He'd passed out after pulling the bones into place, right? That's the way he remembered it. He glanced down at his injured arm and the chill became out-and-out shivers. The break had been set. The sticks he'd found and had ready to use were tied neatly into place by the strips of nylon he'd cut.

"What's going on here?"

He'd tied his wrist to the tree...counted to three...then pulled. He remembered an unbearable pain. Remembered the bones grinding together, then popping into place. He remembered screaming with the pain. Darkness had encroached on his vision, but he'd tried to fight it off. Then...nothing. He'd passed out. Right?

Or had he? He'd been fighting it, so maybe he'd managed to hold it off until he got the splint in place. Maybe he'd had the presence of mind to crawl over to the fire ring and build a fire before passing out.

Or...Blair swallowed hard...maybe Moose wasn't so imaginary after all.

Morning broke with a chill in the air. Blair fed the fire and dug four aspirin from the still scattered contents of his backpack. He washed them down with a swig of water, then rummaged through the mess until he found the antibiotic ointment and clean bandages.

Before tackling the wound on his leg, he examined his arm. The excruciating pain from yesterday had settled into a throbbing ache. Hopefully, the aspirin would dull it even further. The fingers were discolored, but the splint, while snug enough to serve its purpose, wasn't tight enough to cut off the circulation. He wriggled his fingers, gasping at the pain that shot up his arm, but was satisfied that they all appeared to work correctly. It looked like he'd done a decent enough job with the splint. Not bad, considering he didn't even remember making it.

"But I did," he insisted quietly to himself. He lifted his head and scanned the trees at the edge of the clearing. "I had to have, because there's no one else around who could have done it for me." Louder, "You hear that, Moose? I don't believe in you. You're a product of a lonely imagination. Therapist fodder."

Then why in the hell am I talking to you?

With a sigh of irritation, Blair turned his attention to his leg. He carefully unwound the dirty bandages, taking his time to gently pry them away from where they had stuck to the top of the wound. Pus ran from where the cloth pulled the scab away. The cut was festering.

Blair frowned. It didn't look good. The skin around the cut was an angry red. The cut itself had crusted over, but it was going to have to be cleaned, and he wasn't looking forward to having to do it.

He reached behind him for a water bottle and used his teeth to uncap it, then poured some across his leg. The cool liquid was soothing. He would have loved to just turn the bottle up and empty it over the inflamed skin, but there wasn't enough left to waste.

For lack of a clean cloth, Blair used the soiled bandages he'd just pulled off. He wet them and used them to gently clean away the dried blood and pus from the top of the wound. The process was slow and incredibly painful and by the time he'd finished, he was nearly in tears.

Once he had cleaned away the worst of the mess, he squeezed a generous amount of the ointment over the top of the cut, then placed a couple of large gauze pads over that. To conserve his only roll of gauze, he wrapped the ace bandage around his leg to hold everything in place. He knew the wound needed more, but there was nothing else he could do with the supplies he had.

He was exhausted by the time he'd finished. He couldn't remember when he'd eaten last, but the thought of food made his stomach churn. It would have to wait until later. He fed the fire a couple of nearby sticks and curled up on his side. Within minutes, he was asleep.

Walking was nearly impossible. Though Blair's broken arm hurt less with each hour that passed, his leg was getting worse. He pulled the bandage off and winced at the sight which greeted him. It was infected, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. There was enough ointment for another day, maybe two at best, not that it mattered. It didn't seem to be doing much good anyhow.

In the three days since the fall, he'd taken nearly all of the aspirin. There were four left, and he was saving them for when he got worse. If the angry red flesh and pockets of pus surrounding the wound were any indication, he knew he would. Get worse, that is.

Blair spread the ointment over the wound, hissing at the pain even his light touch elicited. He was running out of clean bandages, too, he realized as he rewrapped his leg. To top it all off, he was running a fever. Another sign of infection. That didn't much matter, either. Worrying wouldn't change anything. He'd have to either ride it out or...

He wasn't going to dwell on the "or" part of it. He'd ride it out. He was strong, and though he'd lost a lot of weight in the...in the...how the hell long had he been here now? Three weeks? No, longer than that. Four maybe. Hell, now he'd lost his train of thought. That was happening a lot lately, and he knew it wasn't a good sign.

What had he been thinking? Oh, yeah, he was strong, and though he'd lost a lot of weight, he'd been eating healthy. The infection might make him sick, but he could survive it.

He tried not to think about his dwindling supplies. He was down to one water bottle, and with a fever, he knew it would be dangerous to cut back any more on his intake. He hadn't felt like eating a lot in the past two days, so his food supply would hold out a while longer.

"Hell, even my firewood is getting low." He had kept the fire burning day and night in an effort to ward off the chill which seemed to have set into his bones despite the heat of the fever. He glanced over at the stack of firewood just inside the door of the cave. It was low enough that he could see Sniffles' nest poking up in the back. The larger stack on the edge of his camp was even lower. He was going to have to venture into the woods soon for more, or he was going to have to give up his fire.

"Tomorrow," he promised, laying down on the ground. "Tomorrow, I'll feel better. I'll go get firewood, then I'll dig a few more toad roots." He had no idea what he was going to do about water.

Tomorrow wasn't better. If anything, he felt worse. His leg felt like someone had embedded red hot coals under the skin. He longed for a cool soothing bath, something to put out the fire in this leg, but he didn't even have enough water to pour a cupful over the wound. Blair rolled to his side and opened his eyes, blinking in surprise at what he saw.

"That's odd..." He hadn't fed the fire last night, but it was burning brightly.

He struggled to a sitting position. Odder still was the stack of wood just beyond the fire. Where had that come from? He remembered thinking about venturing out to look for some wood tomorrow, which would be today...unless... Had he lost a day?

He scrubbed his eyes with the fingers of his left hand, then looked again. The wood was still there. His gaze drifted around the clearing.

What the...!

Sitting next to his backpack a few yards away were his water bottles. All of them. And they were full!

Adrenaline pumped through Blair, giving him the energy to push unsteadily to his feet. He swayed for a long moment before finding his balance, then made his way slowly toward the bounty. After only a few steps, his leg refused to hold him, and he fell heavily. Blinding pain shot through the limb, exploding in a flash of white behind his eyes. He lay still for an eternity, breathing hard and fighting off tears.

When he could finally see through his pain-blurred vision, he looked again. The full water bottles were still there. Blair pushed with his good leg, dragging himself the final few feet to the water. It wasn't until he touched them that he allowed himself to believe they were real.

Oh, God! Moose was real! He wasn't the product of a lonely imagination. Okay, maybe not Moose exactly, but someone. Someone really was here. Someone...

"Hello? Please...I know you're there. Whoever you are, please... I need your help."

There was no answer. It shouldn't have surprised Blair. Whoever was out there had obviously been there for some time, maybe all along, and he hadn't shown himself yet, so why should he now? He clearly didn't want to be seen.

But Blair had to try again. "Please, I need your help."

He's already helping you. You didn't set your own arm, or built that fire, or bring back your backpack. He hadn't, and he knew that now. This person -- man, if the track he'd seen was any indication -- had been helping him all along.

"Thank you for the water...and the other stuff..."

Still no answer. Was he out there? Or had he done his good deeds and left? Gone back to...to wherever he lived?

"Thank you!" Just in case.

Blair opened one of the water bottles and took a long swig, grimacing at the uneasy feeling it left in his stomach. He poured the remainder of the bottle over his leg in an attempt to quench the fire there. It helped, but only a little bit. The fire cooled, but the pain remained, a steady, unrelenting throb of agony.

Tossing the empty bottle aside, Blair scanned the trees. So, someone really was on the island with him. Who? Why? Why would anyone be here if they didn't have to be? Maybe he did have to be. Maybe he was marooned here, too. But what was to be gained by hiding? Why not show himself?

Blair's pain-fuzzed thoughts refused to offer any clear answers. It was all speculation anyhow, and served no purpose. He'd have to wait until -- if -- the man decided to show himself. He was obviously not dangerous, for which Blair wasn't complaining. If not for the stranger's help...well, Blair didn't want to think what might happen.

He was on fire. Sometime in the night, he must have rolled into the flames and now his clothes were burning, cooking the skin beneath them.

A small part of Blair knew he wasn't really on fire, but he couldn't get himself awake enough to banish the fever induced dream. The flames seemed so real, licking at his body, eating away the flesh in angry, agonizing bites.

He heard himself call out for Jim, knowing there would be no answer. Jim wasn't here, but the part of him that knew that was shrinking with the agony. As he sank deeper and deeper into the mist of delirium, he continued to call for his sentinel.

Time slipped away. His existence became a sequence of sensations. Heat, unbearable, unrelenting. Agonizing.

Pain.

And one thought -- he was going to die. Alone and unmourned.

Jim would mourn. No, Jim wasn't here, it was Moose. Moose was here. Would Moose mourn for him?

Poor Moose, he was just a kid. He couldn't die and leave his little friend all alone. Who would take care of him? Who would help him find his way off the island? Because Jim didn't know about him. No one knew about Moose, so who would come rescue him?

"Won't die...jus' won't..."

"Shhh...rest."

"Moose...?"

"Rest."

The voice was quiet, but commanding, and it sounded concerned. Blair wanted to open his eyes, reassure Moose, let the kid know that he wouldn't die and leave him here all alone, but his eyes wouldn't cooperate.

"Rest. Sleep."

Sleep. He wanted to sleep. Yes, that would be nice. Blair stopped fighting and lay still. Something cool and soothing touched his head, quenching the fire ever so slightly.

"Mmm...feels good, Moose."

There was no answer, but the cool touch became a soothing stroke across his brow. Blair relaxed into the sensation, letting it return him to sleep.

When he awoke again, strong hands were lifting his head.

"Drink."

Blair dutifully parted his lips. A hot, bitter liquid filled his mouth. He turned his head away, but the hands tightened their grip, holding him in place.

"Drink!" the voice commanded.

Forced to swallow, Blair felt his stomach revolt at the invasion. He started to gag and was quickly rolled to his side. By the time he was finished retching, he was exhausted. He tried to lay back, let peaceful sleep claim again, but the owner of the hands had other plans.

"Drink."

Blair didn't have time to turn away before the vile liquid was once more poured into his mouth. He sputtered, nearly choking, but managed to swallow most of it. Once again, his stomach rebelled, and once more he was force fed the drink.

Blair lost track of how many times he vomited the drink back up, but the owner of the hands stubbornly forced more on him after every bout of sickness.

Exhausted and nearly in tears, Blair begged, "Please, no more."

"It'll make you well," came the simple explanation.

"Please, Moose..."

"Drink!"

Around a sob, more of the liquid was poured down his throat, bringing with it flashes of memory. Yellow scarves and poison. Chains and an abandoned warehouse. Jim's rescue. Blair's mind raced from image to image. His mind couldn't sort them, couldn't separate past from present, memory from reality. All he knew was he couldn't swallow the liquid.

But the hands had other ideas. No matter how much he spit out, how many times he vomited what made it down his throat, the hands gave him more. Finally, too exhausted to fight and too weak to vomit, he swallowed and it stayed down.

Satisfied, the hands released him. "Good, good. Rest now. Sleep."

No, don't sleep. Stay awake. Jim's coming. Watch the step, Jim...it's a trap...don't sleep...wait...for...Jim...

You can't be me!

Can't sleep. Wait for...Jim...

...wait...

...for...

Time became a blur. Snatches of fuzzy moments. A soft voice commanding him to drink, sometimes cool, refreshing water, sometimes the vile-tasting liquid. Imploring him to eat. Gentle hands holding him when he was sick, soothing his head when the fire returned, threatening to consume him. Hot. Cold. Alternating chills and sweat.

Through it all, the voice remained. Sometimes soft and gentle, concerned. Sometimes strong and imposing, almost angry. In his more lucid moments, Blair caught snatches of a blurry face above his. His fevered brain supplied the name "Moose," and he had no reason to question the information. When the pain was the worst, and he called out the name, the soothing hands and quiet voice would return, so the name must be right.

But it was another name he longed for, another set of caring hands to help him. He called the name, but knew, even in his delirium that the other wasn't here.

"Jim!"

"Hush."

"Jim..."

"No. Not Jim. Hush."

Blair rolled his head to the side, blinked hard in an attempt to focus his eyes. It was useless. The face remained a dark blur.

"Moose?"

"Close enough."

"You're not...real."

"Yeah, I know."

"How are you here?"

"How are you here?" the blur repeated sounding almost amused.

"You're...'maginary."

Moose laughed, a soft, somewhat subdued sound, as though he wasn't used to laughing. "Yes, yes I am imaginary."

"But...how?"

"You're sick, my young friend. Infection. You're delirious."

"You're not here?"

"Of course not. You're alone, remember?"

Blair closed his eyes. Moose wasn't real. He wasn't here. Just a product of a lonely, sick mind. Not here. Not here. Not here.

A tear worked out of the corner of his eye, rolling sideways across his temple. There was a warm touch on the wet skin, brushing away the errant tear and wiping dry the path it'd left.

"What's wrong?"

"You're not here. I'm alone."

"You don't want to be alone?"

Blair moved his head slightly in a negative response.

"Then why are you here?"

"Not my choice."

"I don't understand."

Blair opened his eyes. Was it getting dark, or was his vision getting worse? "I was put here. Not my choice to be here."

"Well, son of a bitch...guess that explains a few things."

"What?" Talking was becoming difficult. His throat felt tight, like someone was squeezing it.

"You don't exactly have the skills for survival in the wild from what I've seen."

Blair heard the words, tried to piece the meaning together, but it was getting harder to concentrate.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?"

Blinding white agony exploded in Blair's head, radiating out to every part of his body. He felt his arms and legs spasm, drawing in. He was shaking so hard his teeth were literally rattling together.

"Shit! Fuck!"

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to hold him still.

"Stop it! Stop it, you son of a bitch! Stop!"

But he couldn't stop it, and the panic he could hear in his imaginary friend's voice was terrifying Blair. What was happening? The pain worsened until all he knew was an unspeakable agony and the voice screaming in his ear.

"You son of a bitch, don't you dare die! You hear me? Don't you dare die!"

The shaking increased. Blair's teeth suddenly clenched tight together, and he tasted blood. Then, just as he thought he couldn't stand any more, blessed oblivion enveloped him, and he gladly surrendered.

"Wake up!"

Blair tried to ignore the insistent voice, but it wouldn't stop, wouldn't leave him alone.

"Wake up, damn you!" Despite the rough words, the voice itself was gentle and filled with concern. "Where is Jim?"

"Jim?" Was Jim here? It was hard to think past the intense pain in his head.

"No, listen to me. Where can I find Jim? Tell me where he is."

"Jim...loft...home."

"Where is home?"

"Cascade."

"In Washington? Damn, kid, you're a long way from home. Is that where Jim is? Cascade? What's his last name?"

Blair groaned and turned away, wanting nothing more than to be left alone to go back to sleep.

"Answer the question, kid, and I'll leave you alone, okay? Just tell me, what's Jim's last name? Come on, kid, it's a matter of life and death."

Live and death? Was Jim in danger? Was he hurt? Blair struggled to open his eyes. God, he had to get up, go find Jim.

"What's his name?"

"Ellison."

"Good, good. Go back to sleep, kid. Everything's going to be all right now. I'm going to take care of everything, I promise."

Convinced by the vow, Blair stopped his struggle and relaxed, letting sleep take away the pain.

Comfort wasn't something Blair thought he would ever feel again, so he decided he was either dreaming or dead. Not only was there something incredibly soft beneath him, but he was neither burning up nor freezing cold. How long had it been since he could say that? He let out a small groan of pure contentment and burrowed deeper into the softness beneath him.

"Shhh...rest."

Moose was still here. Somehow the thought that his oh-so-real imaginary friend hadn't abandoned him was comforting. He might be crazy, but at least he wasn't alone.

The hands returned, stroking gently across his forehead. Blair leaned into the touch, marveling at how good it felt considering it was a product of his imagination. It was just so damned nice to know someone else was on the island, even if that someone wasn't real.

"Go back to sleep, Chief."

Sleep. Yeah, that was a good idea. He was so, so tired!

Letting the gentle touch at his brow sooth away the vague remnants of pain, Blair reached for the mantle of sleep. But just as he began to pull it over him once more, the softly spoken words sank in.

Chief...

Chief!

Startled, his eyes few open.

"Whoa, Blair. Your heart's going through the roof. What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

"Jim?" He attempted to confirm what his eyes were telling him.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me."

Blair blinked several times to bring the grinning face above him into focus. "Jim! How...omigod! Where'd you come from? How'd you get here?"

"I take it you don't remember having this conversation the first time you woke up?"

"Jim!"

The sentinel's grin grew, threatening to split his face. "I think we've established my identity, Sandburg."

Unexpectedly, tears welled in Blair's eyes. He ignored them, seeing nothing but the face above him, the face he'd longed to see for so long that he'd almost given up hope that he ever would.

Jim's grin faded. He reached for Blair's good hand. "Blair? You okay? Should I get the doctor?"

"Doctor?" Blair tore his eyes away from his friend, his real friend, and looked around. He wasn't on the island anymore? His voice soft, afraid of breaking whatever spell he was under, he asked, "Where am I?"

"Sacred Heart Hospital, Eugene, Oregon."

"I'm rescued?" Blair was afraid it was just his imagination teasing him. Was he still delirious? Would he wake up in his cave?

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yes, Blair, you're rescued."

"It's not a dream? I'm really off the island? Really?" Surely, even an imaginary Jim wouldn't lie to him.

"Really. Blair..." Jim stopped, dropping his eyes to their still clasped hands.

Something was wrong with Jim, and even in his exhausted state, Blair had no trouble figuring it out. "Jim..."

Jim looked up, and when Blair looked into his friend's eyes, his suspicions were confirmed.

"You did it, Jim, you found me. You rescued me." The despair in Jim's eyes nearly broke Blair's heart. "It took so long, Chief."

"But you did it, that's all that matters."

"Blair..."

"No, Jim. You found me, so let go of your guilt, and let's just be happy, okay?"

"Blair--"

"No! Jim, please, just let me be happy about this without having to deal with your guilt, okay?"

The corner of Jim's mouth twitched in a half-smile. "For now."

"Good enough. We can talk later, after I get some sleep."

"More sleep?"

"Exactly how much have I had?"

"Well, I'll need a calendar to figure it..." The half smile grew into a full fledged grin.

"Jim?"

"Four days, six hours and thirty-five minutes."

"Four days?"

"And six and a half hours," Jim added.

"Then why am I so tired?"

"Because until yesterday, it wasn't exactly a restful sleep." Jim's expression grew grim again. "You've been pretty sick, Blair. Infection had set up in your leg. I thought..."

"You thought what?"

"It was too close. I thought we'd found you too late."

"But you didn't."

"One more day and--"

"But you found me, Jim. Let it go. Please."

Jim nodded, but Blair could see they were going to have to finish this conversation in the future. He'd scared Jim, and the man didn't handle fear well. They'd have to find a way to come to grips with it, but later. Right now, all Blair could think about was sleep.

As though reading his mind, Jim said, "Get some sleep. We can talk later."

Obediently, Blair closed his eyes. "Jim?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Am I going to be okay? I mean, my leg--"

"Yeah, Blair, you're going to be just fine. They operated on your arm to set it properly, and you'll be off your feet for a few weeks, but your leg will heal. "

Sleep began to steal over Blair, but there was one more thing he had to know. "Jim...how long?"

"How long?"

"Was I gone, I mean."

There was a long pause, and Blair wondered if Jim was still there. "Jim?"

"Forty-two days."

Lethargy kept Blair from articulating his surprise, but his last coherent thought as sleep claimed him was that his paper was really overdue.

"Sure you don't want me to carry you?"

"Like you could," Blair shot back, irritated by the question.

"Right now, Twiggy, it'd be a piece of cake."

Blair frowned, not appreciating Jim's good humored teasing. He knew the man was right. In the two weeks since his rescue, Blair had gained back five of the thirty pounds he'd lost on the island, but he still looked like a refugee from a third world country. Hell, he made Calista Flockhart look chubby!

Hey, now there's an idea. Maybe I can sell the toad-root and fish diet to Hollywood starlets and make a fortune.

"I could carry you piggyback," Jim suggested, breaking Blair's train of thought.

"No, thank you, Jim. I'm managing just fine." Blair leaned heavily on the hand-carved cane Jim had bought him to use until his leg would once again support his full weight. He clenched his teeth and tried to hide a wince at the pain that shot though his leg with each slow step. "If you're that impatient, why don't you run on ahead and hold the door?"

"I was just teasing, Blair. Lighten up, will you?"

With a sigh, Blair looked up, catching the concerned frown on the sentinel's face, proving he wasn't hiding the pain very well. "Sorry, Jim. I don't mean to be so grouchy. I just..."

"'S okay. Guess I'd be grouchy, too, in your place."

Blair snorted, his mood lifting a bit. "You'd be unbearable. Intolerable. Insufferable. Impossi--"

"I get the picture, Chief."

Slow step by slow step, Blair finally made it from the truck to the door to the elevator to the loft. There, he finally stopped, staring at the numbers on the door and trying hard to ignore the sting of tears the sight brought.

"Something wrong?"

Blair swallowed the lump in his throat. How could he explain the feelings swirling around inside of him? How could he tell Jim what the sight of a stupid green door was doing to his emotions? "It's just...I'm home." A gentle hand on the back of his neck told him he didn't have to explain it. Jim understood.

"Well, almost. Just a few more steps. You up to it? That offer of a piggyback ride is still on the table."

Blair threw Jim a mock glare and moved to the side to let him unlock the door. He was four slow steps into the loft before he noticed it wasn't empty. He visibly jumped as a throng of people moved toward him and yelled, "Surprise!" Thankfully, Jim was standing at his back to catch him.

The mob advanced, and a multitude of hands steered him to the couch and took his cane. Blair sat down, his eyes wandering around the room in surprise. He counted nearly all of the MC gang, a few from other departments, plus several of his friends from the university. Blair dropped his eyes to his lap as they welled once again with tears. Damn medicine! It made him as emotional as a schoolgirl during prom week.

Joel gently lifted Blair's injured leg and placed it on the throw pillow Megan put on the coffee table. The inspector leaned down and placed a kiss on Blair's cheek. "Welcome home, Sandy. Nice tan!"

Blair smiled, not yet trusting himself to speak. Each of the guests came by in turn to pat him on the back, shake his hand or kiss his cheek with a word or two of welcome. Blair managed to hold himself together until they finished. It wasn't until he looked up to find Jim watching him from the kitchen that he lost control and a couple of tears slipped down his cheek. It was the expression on his friend's face that did him in, an expression of uncensored happiness and satisfaction.

Blair was taken aback by the depth of it. Jim normally guarded his emotions fiercely. It was a rare thing to so easily read them on the sentinel's face. He was once again reminded of the treasure that was his friendship with Jim. After six weeks alone, Blair was determined never again to take companionship for granted. He vowed never to let a minute of his life go by that he didn't thank God for the gift of Jim's friendship.

"Enough of the sap," Simon's deep voice boomed.

Blair looked up, surprised to see the concerned smile on the big man's face despite his words.

"This is a welcome home party, and as such, I'd like to propose a toast."

A glass of something that smelled suspiciously like apple juice was shoved into Blair's hand. He looked behind him. Jim was leaning on the back of the couch with a beer in his hand. Blair eyed the beer longingly, knowing it was out of the question. Maybe in another week or so.

"Ladies and gentlemen, though I'm running the risk of becoming uncharacteristically schmaltzy..." Simon paused until the snickers died down, "...we're gathered here today to welcome home one of our own." He faced Blair and raised his glass. "Blair, next time you want to go camping, just ask. I'm sure any of us gathered in this room would be more than willing to accompany you." More laughter, and a few shouts of agreement.

Simon's smile remained in place, but his eyes grew serious as they met Blair's. "To good friends, too long gone."

Blair bit his lip until the surge of emotion brought on by the words passed. He felt Jim's hand tighten on his shoulder. Jim knew. The sentinel knew how close to losing it Blair was.

"Here, here!"

"Welcome home, Blair!"

"No more vacations without us, Hairboy!"

"Welcome home, Sandy!"

"Speech!" The cry was picked up by several more of the guests and quickly became a chant.

Blair turned his glass up and drained it, buying himself enough time to get his emotions under control. He handed the empty glass over his shoulder to Jim, then cleared his throat. "Where do I start?" He paused a minute, pulling together his thoughts. How could he express what he was feeling without totally humiliating himself and becoming a blubbering baby?

He cleared his throat again and gave it a try. "I don't think anyone has ever been as glad to be home as I am at this moment." He looked around the room at the faces of his friends, but avoided making eye contact for fear of choking up again. "One thing I learned over the past month and a half is the value of friendship and companionship. Nothing in life is grand or special without a good friend to share it with. First, I want to thank you all for the welcome. You have no idea what it means to me.

"Second," he paused, a slight grin lifting the corners of his mouth, "anyone know the words to Goofy's food song in Mickey and the Beanstalk?"

Jim smiled as Henri launched into a rousing rendition of the song in question. No one needed Blair to explain his reasons for wanting the words to the song. As Henri listed off the luxurious foods it became obvious.

Megan handed Blair a gift to open and ordered him to get busy, warning him there were many more to come. Jim retreated to the kitchen where the noise level was a little lower and he had a better view of Blair's face. He was monitoring his friend's vitals, watching for signs of overexertion, but he wanted to be able to see Blair's expressions, also.

Hell, he just wanted to see Blair, reassure himself that the young man was really home.

Jim watched as Blair opened the first gift, a box of chocolates from Megan. The next present, from Simon, was a gift certificate to an all you-can-eat buffet-style restaurant. Jim met Simon's eyes with a smirk. The older man just shrugged and looked at Blair, as though that was explanation enough. And it was.

Of all Blair's physical injuries, it was the weight loss that concerned Jim the most, but only because it was so blatantly obvious. He'd been horrified when he'd climbed down the rock wall behind the coast guard rescue team and finally laid eyes on his friend. Blair had been out of his head with fever and a raging infection, and he had looked like a skeleton, too fragile to survive the trip out of there. Jim didn't breathe a sigh of relief until four days later, when Blair finally regained consciousness.

Two weeks had gone by since then, but Jim knew Blair was still a long way from recovered. His physical injuries were healing. The arm would be in a cast for another month or so, and there was a very good chance the leg, with a little bit of physical therapy, would eventually be good as new.

As for the weight loss...Jim frowned to himself, not liking what he saw when he looked at Blair. At least the problem was fixable, and judging by gift after gift of food, candy, cookies and restaurant gift certificates Blair was opening, it wasn't going to take very long. Jim was pleased to know he wasn't the only one in the room determined to solve the problem.

So, Jim decided, the physical problems were temporary. That left the emotional aftermath of Blair's ordeal. The doctors at the hospital were insistent that Blair seek professional help to deal with the inevitable emotional difficulties, and Blair had been agreeable, but he'd also insisted he wanted to get back on his feet physically first. Jim was trying not to push him. He knew it had to be Blair's decision. But at the same time, he couldn't help but notice how close to tears Blair seemed all the time.

It's perfectly understandable, Jim told himself. Hell, with all the medicines coursing through his blood stream, plus the nightmares Blair was sure to be having, plus the readjustments to being around a lot of people again, anyone would be emotional.

Blair really hadn't had much time to himself since the rescue. At first, he'd been surrounded by doctors and medical personnel. Then, when he'd regained his strength, he'd been bombarded by the media, anxious to tell his story. And now that the initial human interest of the story had died down, it was friends and well wishers.

Jim had tried to talk the guys out of the welcome home party, knowing Blair was emotionally exhausted and needed some time to himself, but had finally been convinced by Simon and Megan that this might be just what Blair needed. Hell, for all Jim knew, they were right. Maybe Blair didn't want to be alone just yet. If he could just get the young man to talk about what he was feeling, then maybe he wouldn't have to keep second guessing himself.

Until then -- Jim loaded a plate with a double-sized slice of cake and headed toward Blair -- until then, he'd just have to settle for fixing the problems he could handle.

It didn't take long for it to hit him. It wasn't that Blair didn't appreciate his friends, because he did. Every word he'd said about the value of companionship had come from the bottom of his heart. But it was too much. Too many people, too much noise, too much activity, too many questions all at one time. It made him feel, well, jumpy, like having the radio and the television both on at full volume at once and trying to carry on a conversation at the same time. It was just too much.

Thankfully, Jim must have noticed, because it wasn't long before he started winding the party down, thanking the guests politely as he showed them to the door. Within fifteen minutes, the loft was empty, save for Jim and Blair.

Blair leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. The quiet was nice.

He felt the cushions dip next to him, then Jim's voice said, "You'd sleep better in your bed."

"Not sleeping."

"Well, you should. It was a long trip. Come on, I'll get your medicine and then you can catch a nap before dinner."

"In a minute," Blair said, not opening his eyes. "I just want to rest here for a bit."

"Maybe this was too much, too soon. I should have stuck to my guns and made them wait until you were up to it."

"Nah, it was nice," Blair assured the man, cracking one eyelid and smiling in Jim's direction. "I meant what I said about how good it feels to have my friends around. I'm just worn out. The trip home and all."

Jim nodded, but didn't look convinced. He was frowning at Blair with that same look of concern he'd been wearing for the past couple of weeks. Blair just didn't know what to say to banish the expression and its cause. How could he reassure his friend that he really was okay? Especially when he wasn't so sure himself.

He swallowed hard. Not going there. Not rehashing that same old worry. I'm not crazy, and I'm not losing my mind.

"Blair, let it go."

Blair looked over at Jim, not at all surprised the sentinel knew the paths of his thoughts. He tried to give the man a reassuring smile, though he had a feeling it was anything but.

"Someone called you, Jim."

"One of Pollard's men."

Blair sighed. "Awful big coincidence, don't you think? All that time he kept his mouth shut, never said a word, even weeks after the guy who kidnapped and stranded me was killed, then all of a sudden, right after I got myself injured and couldn't take care of myself any longer, he gets an attack of conscience and tells you where I'd been all along. You didn't use to believe in coincidence, Jim. Why are you so quick to buy into it now?"

"Because they searched the island, and they didn't find anyone."

"Jim, I'm telling you this guy is good. I was on the island for three weeks before I had any hint that I wasn't alone. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be."

"Then how do you explain the fact that I couldn't sense him?"

The question shut Blair up. He didn't have an answer for it. Why didn't Jim's senses pick the guy up? Why didn't he hear or see or feel the man? There had to be an explanation other than the obvious.

"I'm not crazy, Jim."

"No one's saying you are."

Blair threw a disbelieving look Jim's way. "Like hell. Maybe not in so many words, but in every look everyone's giving me, including you, man."

"Blair--" Jim broke off, running a hand through his short hair.

"Hell, Jim, why are you so adamant that there was no one else on the island? Why won't you give me the benefit of the doubt here?"

The older man blew out a long breath, filled with pent up frustration. "Because there was no sign of him. Not one. Not so much as one footprint. Trained professionals searched that island Blair, and relatively speaking it's not that large. There weren't that many places to hide. As much as I would love to buy your argument, it just doesn't make sense."

"It makes more sense that I'm crazy?"

"Not crazy...just confused. Hell, Chief, you were alone in desperate circumstances for over a month. It's enough to make anyone a little confused. Not to mention that the last week or so you were completely out of it with delirium."

"Perfectly valid arguments, Jim. Now. What's the truth?"

Jim stared at Blair for a long minute, and the younger man had a feeling another evasion was about to be launched, but to his surprise, Jim just sighed and looked away as he spoke. "Because that means someone had the means all along to rescue you. Because someone could have saved us all a hell of a lot of nightmares and troubles. Because that would mean this whole damned fiasco was...was...unnecessary."

"Because you'd given me up for dead." Blair read between the lines. "And this person could have saved you from having to go through that."

Jim kept his gaze averted. His silence was his answer.

"Jim, it's all right."

The sentinel swung his gaze around, his eyes flashing angrily. "No, it isn't!"

"Listen, man. Simon told me enough of what went on around here that I can safely say, you didn't give up on me. You might have started believing the worst, but you didn't stop searching. I know you, Jim. You wouldn't have ever stopped, even if you thought you were just searching for a body."

"I gave up, Blair. Yeah, I was still searching, we all were, but we weren't getting anywhere. If that call hadn't come through when it did..."

"Yeah, I know. Which is why I believe there really was someone on the island with me, taking care of me. He knew I wasn't going to make it much longer without proper medical care, and that's why he got word to you where I was."

Jim was quiet for a long time. Finally, he said, "I guess in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Whether there was someone on the island or not, you still need to talk to someone about this. Anyone would. What you've been through, it was enough to affect anyone."

"Even you?"

"Hell, yeah. You think I didn't get professional help after Peru?"

"Bet that wasn't your choice, though."

Jim chuckled. "An easy bet, Darwin. But looking back, I can see that it helped me. It was a good call."

"I'll talk to someone, Jim. I know I need help. But I'm not crazy."

"No one ever said you were. Well, not about this incident, at least."

Blair smiled at the lame joke. "Funny, Jim. Okay. I'll call someone soon. I need about a week's worth of sleep first." To emphasis his words, a huge yawn split his face.

"Go get in your bed. I'll bring you your pills."

Blair let Jim help him to his feet and hand him his cane, then limped slowly to his room. He stretched out on his bed with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

"Feels good to be in my own bed again," he said, knowing Jim was listening from the other room.

After a minute, the sentinel came through the door with a glass of juice and a couple of pill bottles. "I'll bet."

"I think I'll just stay here for a week."

"You're going to be awfully rank after a couple of days."

"Won't bother me. I've gotten used to smelling myself."

"It'll bother me, Chief."

"Okay, I'll get up for showers, but that's it. When I was on the island, I promised myself that when I got home, I'd hire a maid to serve me all my meals in bed for the first month."

"I hope you don't think I look like that kind of maid, Junior."

"Believe me, Jim, after forty two days alone, you are definitely not the kind of maid I had envisioned."

Jim laughed and handed Blair the juice, then fished a pill out of each bottle and handed them over. Blair raised up on one elbow to take the medicine. Once they were down, he tried to hand Jim back the glass, but the man refused it.

"Finish it."

Knowing better than to argue, Blair dutifully turned it up and drained it.

Jim accepted the now-empty glass and headed for the door, switching off the light on his way out.

Blair settled back on the soft pillows, reveling in the comfort. He'd never take anything, even something as relatively insignificant as a pillow, for granted again. God, it was good to be home!

After a few minutes, he rolled to his side and pulled the blankets up to his chin. Just as sleep was claiming him, he felt, rather than heard, someone come into the room. If he hadn't been so utterly exhausted, he'd have opened his eyes, sought out the sentinel he knew was standing watch over him, and thank him. But he was, so he didn't. He was content just to know his friend was there.

He wasn't alone.

Epilogue, two months later...

Blair stepped from the boat into thigh deep water and waded the last few yards to shore. He proceeded up the beach to the remnants of his old fire ring, there dropping his heavy burden to the sand.

A minute later, his friend joined him.

"I know you think this is a mistake, Jim," Blair began.

"Doesn't matter what I think. I know it's important to you, and Doctor Baugh thinks it's a good idea."

Blair almost snorted aloud, remembering what a hard sell this had been to his therapist. The man had his misgivings about the wisdom of the trip, but he'd eventually accepted Blair's insistence and had helped convince Jim, explaining to the detective that Blair needed the closure a short trip back to the island would offer.

Blair had let them both believe it was simply closure he was after. That was part of it, but there were other reasons he needed to come back, reasons best kept to himself. In the past few weeks, he'd accepted everyone's assertion that the island was uninhabited. Outwardly. Inwardly, he still had doubts, and it was those doubts he was here to satisfy. Somehow, he had been sure he would know, one way or another, if he could just come back here.

And now, here he was.

"It's too close to dark to hike inland today, Chief. How 'bout we set up camp here, and head for the cave tomorrow?"

"Sure." Blair turned and pointed to the trees where he'd made camp before, so many weeks ago. "Over there."

Jim followed him to the spot and within minutes, they had set up camp and were sitting beside a small fire.

"So..." Jim started, then paused, as though looking for something to say to break the silence. "This is, um, where you stayed?"

"At first. I wanted to stay close to where I woke up, in case someone came back." Blair stuck a long stick into the flames, stirring the embers as he thought back on those early days. "I was so sure it would only be for a few days." He looked up and found Jim watching him, an unreadable expression in the frost-blue eyes. "I was basing that on the supplies they left me. There was enough to last four to six days, I figured, eating normally, so I convinced myself they'd be back by the time it ran out. I mean, why else leave the stuff at all?"

"They would have, I think, if everything had gone according to their plan."

Blair nodded, turning his attention to the now smoldering end of his stick. "When they didn't come back, I figured something had gone wrong."

"Blair--"

"It's nobody's fault, Jim."

"I don't know about that."

"You couldn't give him what he wanted, man. It was never an option. Even if it had been in your power to get his brother released from prison, you couldn't have done it. The man was a rapist."

"We'd have figured out a way--"

"--if you'd had more time," Blair finished for him. He knew the argument by heart now, they'd had it so many times. "I know you would have."

"I never figured on the man being stupid enough to get himself killed before we found you."

Blair shook his head. "I don't know how stupid the guy was, Jim. I mean, hiding me on an uninhabited island while he tried to blackmail you into getting his brother released ...well, you've gotta admit, it's a damn good plan. At least, on the surface."

Jim didn't answer, doing his own study of the fire.

"Jim, let it go, man. I have. You're the only one holding on the guilt."

"If we could have caught him alive, I'd have gotten him to talk. He'd have told me where you were, and you'd have been off the island within days rather than weeks."

Blair drew in a long breath, letting it out slowly. "Yeah, but that's not the way it went down, man, and we both have to accept it. I think I have, for the most part. At least I'm working on dealing with it. But what about you, Jim? You gonna torture yourself for the rest of your life over this? Or are we gonna move on?"

"We're going to move on," Jim said, his lips curling into a small smile. "But it's evidently going to take me a little more time than it is you. After all, you had the easy part."

Blair lifted an eyebrow.

"Well, all you had to do was sit around in this tropical paradise and wait, after all."

"And work on my tan," Blair added with a chuckle.

"And swim."

"And fish."

"No phone."

"No alarm clock."

"No crime."

"No finals."

"No commissioner." Jim's eyes held a seriousness that belied his light tone, a seriousness which told Blair he understood that nothing about the experience had been easy.

"We've got three days before they'll be back for us," Blair said tantalizingly. "I think I can do what I need to do in half that. That'll leave us a day and a half to fish."

Jim grinned across the fire at him. "Sounds like a plan, my friend. Sounds like a plan."

Blair couldn't help but marvel at how much easier the climb down the cliff wall was with ropes. Jim had insisted on going down first -- just in case -- and Blair wasn't about to argue. He tried hard to hide his immense relief when both feet were finally safely on the ground. He hefted his pack and headed for the cave, Jim at his heels. Thirty minutes later, they entered the clearing, and Blair stopped to take it in.

It looked just as it had when he'd lived there. Not one thing had changed. For some reason that surprised him. The plastic water bottles, some still full, were scattered around the clearing, just as Blair had left them.

He frowned, his doubts growing. Surely Moose -- as he continued to call his mysterious companion on the island -- would have claimed them. Unless maybe he didn't need them. Maybe he had enough containers of his own. Or maybe his camp was closer to a fresh water source.

Or maybe he really is imaginary.

"You build that wall?"

Jim's voice startled Blair. It seemed so odd to hear a voice other than his own here. He shook off the disconcerting feelings and brought his thoughts back to the matters at hand. "Yeah. The cave isn't very deep. I had to do something to keep the wind and rain out.

Stepping over to the wall, Jim ran a hand over the smooth stones. "Looks solid. You did a good job, Chief."

Blair smiled at the unexpected praise. "It kept me busy." He dropped his pack and stepped through the "door" of his former home. His blanket wasn't here. Maybe Moose had claimed it. Or maybe his rescuers had taken it. Jim would probably know, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. He wanted to think Moose had it.

A rustling behind the woodpile drew Blair's attention. He dropped to his knees and peered behind the sticks. A pair of black eyes gazed up at him.

"Hey, Sniffles. How ya doing, girl? Miss me?"

The mouse looked down, adjusted something under her, then looked back up with a soft squeak. Blair looked closer and was shocked to see a mass of pink, wiggly things trying to burrow beneath Sniffles.

"Oh, man, Sniffles! You've been a busy girl! What did I tell you about those smooth talkers? Huh? And now look what you've got yourself into!" He glanced over his shoulder. "Jim, come see! Sniffles had babies!"

The sentinel took a step into the cave and peered over the firewood at the rodent family. "It's a mouse, Chief."

"Sniffles," Blair corrected. "She's my roommate. Was, I mean." He looked up at Jim, a bit embarrassed at the admission. "Bet you think I've lost it, huh? I was just lonely. Talking to Sniffles helped."

"For me, in Peru, it was a tarantula."

Blair shuddered. "Don't take me there, Jim. I don't want to know." He stood and brushed the dirt off his knees.

"Only difference is the number of legs, Chief."

"And what a difference it is, too." Blair went to his pack and rummaged through it until he found a bag of trail mix. He returned to the cave and poured a generous handful of the nuts and dried fruits close enough to the nest that the mama mouse could easily find it. He stood over the stack of wood for a few minutes, watching the little family. "Goodbye, Sniffles. Take care of yourself...and your little rugrats." He exited the cave without a glance back.

He returned the food to his backpack and then just stood there, not quite sure what to do next. This was what he'd wanted, but now that he was here, he didn't know what to do. There was no overt sign of Moose. He could search the area, but he didn't really know what he'd be searching for; Moose was very good at not leaving tracks.

If there really was a "Moose" at all.

Maybe he'd made the whole thing up. The mysteriously appearing items, the refilled water bottles, the track at the spring, his set arm, the face and hands and voice that had comforted him, tended him when he'd been sick, called Jim. Maybe he really was crazy.

He turned, pinning Jim with a searching look. The sentinel was standing quietly just outside the cave door, and though the man was watching him closely, there was no censure in the expression, no condemnation. Jim was trying to understand, and he was willing to give Blair whatever time he needed to find his own understanding.

Blair turned back to face the trees. His own understanding. And just what understanding would that be? That he was certifiable? That the relatively short stint on the island had caused him to lose his grip on reality to the point where he was making up imaginary friends? It wasn't a very flattering conclusion.

He sighed deeply. Why did he feel such an overwhelming need to return to the island? The answers weren't here. There was nothing here.

"What do you want to do, Chief?"

Blair jumped. He hadn't heard Jim approach. He looked up at the sentinel. His friend. A very real one. The minute he looked in Jim's eyes, he saw it. Jim knew why he'd needed to come back. He knew Blair needed to confront his memories, sift through them and find which ones were real. Jim had known all along.

Blair smiled, his heart warmed by his friend's understanding and support. "Let's go fishing, Jim."

"You sure? We can stay the night here if you want."

"No need. I didn't leave anything here that I want back."

"Okay, then." Jim smiled. "Let's get out of here. I can hear the white trout calling my name as we speak."

Jim lifted Blair's pack and held it while Blair slipped it over his shoulders. "I think we need to work on fine tuning your hearing, Jim. They're not calling your name, they're laughing."

The two men headed for the path that would take them back to the route up the cliff. At the edge of the clearing, Blair stopped and turned back. He felt it. The chill and goosebumps that warned him he was being watched.

"Blair?"

"He's here, Jim."

The sentinel scanned the tree line around the clearing. Blair knew the man's senses were at full alert. If someone was there, Jim would find him.

"Well?" he asked, when Jim's silence lasted too long.

"I'm sorry, Chief." Jim shook his head. "I don't sense anyone."

Blair didn't answer. Disappointment flooded him. "So I really am crazy."

"You're not crazy, Blair!" Jim insisted, grabbed Blair's arm and turning him to face him.

"Then why can't you find anyone when I know he's here? I know he is, Jim. I...I...feel him! But you don't feel that, do you? You don't feel a chill running up your spine, goosebumps raising the hair on the back of your neck, on your arms. You can't feel it, and your senses can't find him, because there's no one there. There was never anyone there. I made him up, just like I did when I was a kid. I made him up, because I needed so badly to not be alone."

Jim placed a hand on each of Blair's shoulders and squeezed slightly. "Don't you see, Blair? It doesn't matter if this...this person--"

"Moose," Blair supplied inanely.

Jim's lips twitched a bit at the strange name. "Okay, Moose. It doesn't matter if Moose is real or not. He was real enough to you at a time when you needed him to be. He helped you get through a really tough time. He was there for you when no one else was or could be. So, real or not, he's got my appreciation."

Blair chewed his lip as he searched Jim's face, but he found nothing teasing, nothing condescending there. What he did find was understanding and sincerity. Blair nodded. "Okay. I'm letting this go. Real or not, it doesn't matter." And it suddenly didn't. Moose's existence wasn't going to change anything. If he was real, he was obviously here by choice. His call to Jim on Blair's behalf was proof he could leave the island if he wanted to. And if he wasn't real, well, he'd served his purpose. Like Jim said, he'd gotten Blair through a tough time. Blair had had enough psychology to know that inventing a mechanism to help survive a bad situation didn't make anyone crazy.

But there was one thing Blair had to do. Just in case.

"Wait up a minute, Jim." He jogged over to a small boulder at the opposite edge of the clearing. Acutely aware that Jim was watching him closely, Blair dug into his pocket and pulled out his Swiss Army knife. Without a second thought, he laid the knife on the boulder.

"Thank you," he called softly into the trees.

Just in case.

Then he turned his back and jogged back to Jim's side, and though he knew Jim would never tease him about what he'd just done, he carefully avoided the man's eyes.

Jim grabbed the back of his neck as he got close and squeezed in silent support, then stepped into the woods, leading the way back to the trail out of here. At the edge of the trees, one step before the clearing would be obscured from sight, Blair looked back. Just one quick glance, a final goodbye of sorts. It didn't surprised him at all that the knife was gone. Fallen behind the rock? Maybe. Taken by an unknown, unseen stranger? Possibly.

All he really knew was, it simply didn't matter anymore.

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