By Maaaaa

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A/N: After reading all the hot, kinky responses to this challenge I turned to my muse and said "Well, muse? Whaddya got?" She fell on the floor, laughing hysterically, and pointed a finger at me mockingly. "Pfffffft," she sputtered. "Here ya go." So this is it, folks. LOL

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It was the smell of the leather that did it.

The swirling blue and red lights reflecting off the wet pavement and the twisted metal accosted Jim's sight, causing him to wince as he stared, unbelieving, at the scene. But with Simon's strong presence at his right side he was able to dial it down to a dull glare.

The storm's electricity still hung in the air and its static pulsing raised the hairs on Jim's arms. Raindrops, falling gently, dug mercilessly into his skin, prickling and knifing, until the soft feel of Megan's palm brushed comfortingly against it.

A bitter taste of spilled gasoline and hot oil coated his tongue. But it was soon washed away as Joel pressed a bottle of water into his hands and forced it to his lips.

Blaring sirens…shouted orders…the creak of metal as the cycle was pried from the tree it hugged…sent Jim to his knees, gasping, panting, grimacing. His guide's heartbeat, faint but steady, was the only thing that kept him from covering his ears.

The smell of Blair's blood gagged him. But it was a familiar smell; a smell that actually helped ground him and he berated himself bitterly at that realization.

It was the smell of the leather that did it.

Charred cow-hide, burned and melted; fused with Blair's blood and skin and hair…

Jim lurched forward, his hands hitting the pavement hard. He vomited as the smell of the leather burrowed into him…invading, permeating, overwhelming.

Jim collapsed onto his side and rolled to his back. He succumbed to the welcome embrace of total darkness, oblivion, just as the wind carried a whispered hope to his ears.

"Jim."

Fin

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