Crossings
by Anonymeek

Curled up on a cot in the isolation tent, Sandburg shuddered through another wave of cramps. It was almost enough to make him regret tossing that sedative back into the bottle, but then again he wanted relief not oblivion. Judging from the other patients, the offered sedative wasn't as mild as the doctor claimed. Blair tried to control the rhythm of his breathing...Lamaze versus the killer virus. What started within him as a giggle, came out as an inarticulate moan. This is not funny. The fever is definitely affecting my IQ.

The latest round of muscle spasms released him, and he took several deeper breaths, then rolled onto his back, letting his eyes drift across the ripples of the tent above him. His skin was slick with sweat, but he had no urge to shed his heavy coat. It was cold inside the tent--his face was cold. This sucks. Another fishing weekend bites the dust.

That morning he'd worried that tracking down Jim had been a bad idea. He was right for all the wrong reasons. While misfortune seemed to follow them both independently, when the two of them were together, everyday life defied the laws of probability. No wonder Jim had wanted time off on his own. They'd never had an uneventful camping weekend; plans to relax were inevitably snuffed before they even got started. This time they were stuck quarantined in a town deemed an outbreak hot zone--a circumstance so bizarre he doubted anyone in the office pool would be cashing in.

Sandburg hated being sick. He hated being sidelined. And he hated not having a clue what was going on. When he'd asked the doctor, all he'd gotten was the assurance that he was "getting the best of care." He wanted a prognosis not a patronizing pep talk. As yet, the only medicine he'd been offered was a drug to keep him calm, an offer he thought had more to do with the doctor's desire for control than anything else. He could keep himself calm, thank you very much. No, not true, calm was beyond him, but he was staying in control, shoving all the emotions that couldn't help him down as deep as he could. Above all he resisted the urge to call out for Jim knowing Ellison would turn up if he so much as whispered his name. He needed Jim to be out there pursuing answers, not stuck in isolation holding his hand.

There were voices.... It took Sandburg a moment to realize he was hearing part of a conversation as opposed to simply hearing things. He couldn't make out the words, just the feeling behind them--something important was going down. At first, Blair didn't think he had the energy to pursue it, but it seemed his brain hadn't completely eroded. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, curiosity had him struggling with his stomach muscles to sit up. That done, he ran his hands across his face. He'd made it as far as sitting so he might as well try standing. If he'd been a sentinel, he could've listened from his bed, but he wasn't, so he'd just have to do this the hard way.

It felt like he was walking on jello, but his feet followed one another until he made it to the wall at the far end of the tent. The words became clearer....

...this thing...

...as planned...

...right now...

...no...error...

...we clear?

...ETA for the train is right on schedule.

Good, we've got a short window after recovery kicks in for these people....

The military guys definitely had their own agenda, but then he'd expected as much. Recovery. The doctor had said the magic word. It sounded like he should start feeling better sometime soon; he just had to hold out a little longer. Blair began to work his way back to his cot. He'd heard all he needed to, and he had to make sure they didn't catch him on his feet. If they caught him on his feet, they'd make him take the drug. The drug would make him useless. More useless than already. He had to get back to bed. He had to remember to tell Jim something was up...tell Jim about the drug....

Blair reached his cot and curled up on his side, unconsciously drawing the blanket up to his chin as the fever took him to another place. Later, when Dr. Stone strode through the tent to check on his patients, Sandburg's open-mouthed slumber was not faked.

* * *

Yeah, Ellison, you're brilliant. Jim shook his head as he shoved his shoe-clad feet into a bright blue CDC clean suit. In the attic, when they'd gone searching for a short-wave and found only the gutted remains of one, he'd focused on keeping his senses tuned down so the dust wouldn't drive him nuts. He hated the feel of gritty air dragging against his nasal passages, reaching deeper.... He'd blocked out the sensation, feeling some satisfaction that he could now do that without the aid of his partner. Trouble was he'd blocked out his partner too. He was a sentinel and somehow he hadn't noticed Sandburg was sick until the younger man had been on the verge of collapse...had collapsed.

Jim pulled the inner hood over his head and tied off the draw string, trying to block out the image of Blair curled up in pain, gasping, unable to deny what was happening to him. Blair had wanted fresh air, and Jim had helped rush him outside. Then Sandburg had given in to the muscle spasms rocking his body, and Ellison could only watch--his senses kicking into overdrive and centered on his partner. He barely listened as Fisher indicated he would get the medics, hardly noticing the man's absence until he returned with a couple of military stretcher bearers.

At the sight of the stretcher, the fear in Sandburg's wide eyes had jumped up an order of magnitude. He knew they were going to take him away. Jim had offered automatic words of reassurance, but it was as though his tongue was just an oddly attached lump of muscle operating on its own--part of him had already disconnected. He couldn't think about it. Thoughts of Sandburg being swept away by a disease would have paralyzed him, so a ganglion at the base of his brain decided that as no one had died yet, such thoughts were premature and blocked them out completely. He wondered if being surrounded by military men had triggered that reflexive clamp on his emotions.

Military. Jim was disgusted with himself for taking anything the colonel had told them at face value. Sandburg had distrusted the man and his green-uniformed minions on sight and had been absolutely right. The entire operation was a fake right down to the plague'. Whatever the group's target was, for some reason they'd taken over the town, and Blair wasn't going to get any better left in their care. Initially he'd assumed Sandburg would call out for him if he needed help. Now, he had to face the possibility that Blair hadn't called out because he was too doped up to do so.

Grabbing up the suit's large outer hood, he yanked it on deciding not to tape any of the seams. He didn't need the suit to protect him from a non-existent airborne virus, and it didn't have to pass close inspection. It just had to get him into the isolation tent so he could get Blair out.

All he'd wanted was to relax for a week, to have a wide-open space to himself. If this had been the real thing, Blair's last memories of you would've included the big brush-off. He'd caught Sandburg's stunned expression when he'd requested the vacation time, and then he'd taken the cheap way out, letting a beeping computer cover his exit.

Pushing his way through plastic barriers, Jim entered the isolation tent seeking his partner. The townspeople were lying on cots, draped in blankets and completely out of it. He could smell, but not identify, the chemical trace of the drug the doctor been administering so freely. Jim was prepared to carry Blair out if he had to, though he hadn't the faintest plan as to what to do after that. It didn't matter...he needed Blair and so he found him. Sandburg's heart rate and the degree of tension in his facial muscles indicated that his was a more natural sleep.

Relief flooding him, Jim reached out. Blue eyes blinked open at his touch and began to light up as Blair's brain came back on-line. Sandburg gripped his arm trying to tell him about the drug with stumbling sentences. Jim smiled and helped him to his feet. His guide was sluggish but picking up speed. Jim's grin broadened, and he patted the kid's back--now all they had to do was find out what the colonel was up to and stop him. Simple.

* * *

What the hell am I doing? This running through the forest thing never ends well for me, Sandburg thought to himself, his head throbbing with every step he took. He hadn't meant to fall asleep; but when Jim woke him and hauled him out of bed, he was definitely feeling better. That more than anything else convinced him that he didn't have some deadly cousin of Ebola coursing through his system. He'd met flu bugs that had made him almost as sick and had hung on a lot longer. He still didn't know exactly what was going on and wasn't sure if that was because no one had stopped to explain it to him, or if his brain had been too mushy to catch the explanation. All he knew was he was following Jim; actually he was following Simon who was following Jim, and they were running through the forest. And bad things usually happened when they went running in the forest...or was he mixing up cause and effect?

Guys, I know I said I was feeling better, but "better" is a relative term, Sandburg continued his internal monologue, not sure how much longer he was going to last. His tongue felt thick, and he would've given anything for a glass of water or a few ice chips. Even he knew rest and fluids were the best way to fight a fever, but that incompetent doctor had let him shed half his body weight in sweat and hadn't offered anything to drink beyond a tablespoon of sedative.

Had he remembered to tell Jim about the sedative? Or how weird it was that the doctor hadn't even taken a single blood sample for testing? He remembered trying to tell, trying to make sense of what he'd seen and heard--wait, they were chasing a train. That was it. He had remembered, and Jim had gotten excited when he heard about the train.

To Blair's relief it looked like they were finally slowing down. Maybe now he could step behind a tree and give in to the urge to empty his stomach. The cramps hadn't produced anything earlier, but running had put a whole new spin on the world. He was about to say something when he heard a distant thump. Jim jerked slightly in reaction to the sound, then picked up the pace again. He led them up a hill, down the other side and straight into a trap.

I don't believe this, the friendly inn owner....can't trust anyone anymore. Blair sighed to himself, holding his arms up in the all-too-familiar posture of surrender. Hello, Sentinel, how could you miss hearing six guys with guns? Easy. You were focused on distant sounds and your guide was too far behind to realize. That is not my fault.

Blair was distinctly unhappy but not at all surprised to hear Mr. Fisher spout a few sad lines about their having come to "the end of the line". The $274 million aboard the train went a long way towards explaining what was going on. They were directed into the back of a truck by several over-armed, camouflage-clad individuals. Given an option, Sandburg felt he could happily run another ten miles through the trees.

Endorphins plus adrenaline equal the best all-natural chemical rush there is. A moment ago I thought I was going to puke on my shoes, and now I'm feeling no pain. If my hands weren't shaking so badly, I'd be convinced I was actually better. Man, am I going to pay for this later--that is, if the psycho of the week doesn't simply kill us.

As it was, it looked as though they were headed straight back to town.

* * *

The bad guys (living and dead) had been carted off, emergency services had rolled in, and the rest of the townspeople were steadily recovering from the toxin that had been deliberately introduced into their water supply.

"I suppose you'll be on your way back to Cascade," Linda Conway, the local vet, commented.

"Actually I thought we could all do some fishing tomorrow," Ellison said smiling, now happily willing to include everyone in his vacation plans.

"I'm in," she responded enthusiastically. "And I'll spring for breakfast."

One after another Simon and Sandburg politely declined, both indicating they'd prefer the mayhem of the city. Conway watched Simon Banks go with a wistful smile on her face. She'd enjoyed talking to the police captain and had really hoped he'd stay on awhile under more relaxed circumstances. Her gaze then shifted on to Sandburg, who was slowly following the taller man. He looked like he barely had the strength to hold his head up.

"I'm not surprised your friend is anxious to get back to his own bed," she said. "I'm amazed he managed to stay on his feet at all earlier considering the heavy sedative Dr. Stone administered to everyone in the isolation tent."

"I don't think he took it. Despite being sick, he figured they were up to something and trying to keep everyone down. Do you know what that yellow stuff was?" Ellison asked, watching a state patrol officer walk past supporting another townsperson.

"No, but neither it nor the toxin seem to be having any long-lasting effects," Linda responded. "Actually, the sedative probably helped; forcing them to rest, relaxing cramped abdominal muscles, keeping the stress and fear from draining them further--not that I agree with the doctor's motives."

Ellison felt a pang of guilt at this comment, knowing he'd dragged Blair out of bed to go chasing after Garner and the others. His partner had seemed recovered enough and had held his own through it all. He hadn't considered how much the fever and pain must've taken out of Blair. He hadn't considered not having his guide with him.

"They really did a number on the town," Conway continued. "You know Dr. Stone, if he even was a doctor, had IV bags hanging all around that room but not a single one was hooked up. There were people in there who could've really used a little basic medical attention. Three of our elderly residents have already been taken up to the hospital in Gifford County to be treated for dehydration and exhaustion." Jim noticed another resident wandering down the street looking dazed and more than a little nauseated.

"Mrs. Murphy, what are you doing up?" Linda asked, stepping forward to offer assistance. "Jim, I'm sorry. I better skip the fishing. I think I'm going to be needed around here for the next few days."

Linda looked back at the detective when he didn't respond. The man had a faraway expression, as though he were listening to something in the distance. "Jim?"

Ellison shook off his reverie. "You're right. We'll go fishing some other time. I think I'll be needed at home," he said, then took off down the street.

* * *

"Simon, wait up! I'm with you." Blair skipped, then jogged forward a few steps before abruptly dropping back to a walking pace when his muscles refused him.

"Good idea. You look like you could use some serious down time," the captain responded. Resting one arm on the roof of his sedan, he fished the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the passenger door while waiting for the kid to catch up.

"Oh, that's odd," Sandburg said, stopping a few feet away.

"Blair, what is it?"

"The ground's moving. You know what, I think I better sit down before I..." He took a step forward and stumbled. Simon caught Blair's arm and reached out with his other hand to yank the passenger door of his car open. He guided Blair onto the passenger seat, watching as the kid gripped the door frame and dropped his head down towards his knees.

"Sandburg, will you be okay here while I go get some help?"

"No," Blair answered sharply, raising his head. "I mean, no, you don't need to get help. I'm okay."

Simon pressed his palm against Blair's forehead. "No fever, but you're looking pretty grey."

"The day's just catching up to me, that's all. I overdid it a bit, chasing after Jim like that," Blair confessed. "You say a word to him about this, and I'll infect your computer with another virus."

"Too late," Simon answered.

Blair followed Simon's gaze and saw Jim striding towards them from the end of the block, his expression indicating he'd heard every word.

"Shit." Sandburg dropped his head. He knew the sentinel could pick his voice out of a crowd. He should've kept his mouth shut.

"Sandburg, what's going on?" Jim called out, closing the distance between them.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Fine? Yeah, right," Jim scoffed. "You said that earlier just before you keeled over. Let's see--cold sweat, pale skin, trembling hands, irises in a constant struggle to stay focused..." Ellison, obviously taking full advantage of his enhanced senses, began cataloguing Blair's symptoms.

"Now you're going to pay attention to how I'm feeling?" Blair asked, incredulous. He struggled to his feet, slipping past Simon's soft-handed effort to keep him seated.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jim demanded.

"You're a sentinel. You figure it out," Blair shot back, finding new energy in a surge of emotion.

"If you were too sick to follow, you should have said something," Jim argued.

"That's not what I'm talking about." Blair shook his head, grabbing onto the car again to steady himself. "I wasn't too sick. I made it, didn't I?"

"And now you're paying for it."

"What were my options? Even if you'd had to leave me somewhere on the path, I still would have been better off than if I'd stayed in town with the militia men running things."

"You should have told me you were still feeling sick."

"You should have told me you needed space!"

"I did," Jim responded after a long silence, his voice dropping in volume. He was stunned by the direction the conversation had taken.

"No, we had to follow you up here and drag it out of you." Blair shoved a finger towards Jim's chest. "You left without a word."

"I told you I was burnt out."

"You sprung it on me while I was in Simon's office. Couldn't wait a minute for us to get the computer thing under control and really talk. Didn't even trust me enough to tell me where you were going." "You followed me anyway."

"Because I didn't know what the hell was up with you. If you'd been honest with me..." Blair took a step towards Jim, his words trailed off as Ellison took his elbow offering support, his expression showing nothing more than concern. Blair realized his anger was getting away from him. He'd spent half the day flat on his back thinking a deadly virus was sucking him under. His emotions were all over the map, and Jim didn't deserve to have the maelstrom directed at him. He needed to cool off.

"I need space," he said pointedly. Shrugging off Jim's hand, he started to walk away. It took him only two steps to remember how the conversation had started. He was dizzy, and he was going to fall on his face.

"I'm an idiot," he mumbled to himself as his knees gave way.

"We're both idiots, Chief," Jim responded, stepping forward to catch him in a tight embrace. Blair dropped into the warm support, sighing against Jim's chest, letting his anger go, his fingers curling into Jim's coat. "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you before leaving," Jim said quietly. "This was about having time for me, not getting away from you."

Blair nodded slightly within Jim's grasp. He understood the value of solitary contemplation; it was just that during the drive up with Simon he hadn't been sure that was what Jim was after, and he'd agonized over the other possibilities. Now as he leaned against his partner, leeching strength, his head slowly clearing, it was obvious that Jim didn't intend to abandon their close friendship.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Mhmm." Blair answered, his voice muffled by Jim's coat.

"You got your knees again?" Jim asked, holding Blair slightly away from him, looking down at his partner..

"Yeah," Blair answered, meeting Jim's gaze with damp blue eyes.

"Then let's get you into the truck. We're going home." Jim hooked one arm firmly across Blair's back and began guiding him towards his old blue and white Ford.

"Jim?" Simon interrupted, gesturing to the open passenger door of his sedan.

"Simon, I've got him."

"It's a couple of hours drive back to Cascade," Simon pointed out. "He might be more comfortable stretched out across the back seat of the sedan."

"Guys?" Blair noticed that the grip on his shoulder had suddenly become possessive.

"Then maybe I should come with you," Jim responded to Simon. "I can keep an eye on him while you're driving, then catch a bus up this way in a couple of days to pick up the truck."

"Guys, I'm right here." Blair tried to squirm out of Jim's grasp. Ellison effortlessly held him, automatically adjusting the position of his hand for greater control as though he were a parent handling an unhappy toddler. "Guys!"

Simon finally looked down and took notice. "What would you prefer to do, Blair?"

"Catch a bus back to Cascade, so you two can talk about me without interruption--" Sandburg began to respond then noticed Simon was smiling and nodding. He's not listening to me. Oh, for crying out loud....

"Only one of you, and no doting," Blair directed, using the tone of his voice to curtail further negotiations between the two taller men. Jim's hand drifted up onto the top of his head, affectionately ruffling his hair, and not-so-subtly keeping him from looking up as the conversation went non-verbal...now they're eyeing each other. This is ridiculous.

"If you'll be all right with Jim, I think I'll stay here awhile longer," Simon finally said. "I'll feel better seeing all the little loose ends get tied together--it's a captain-thing."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said, making every effort to look better than he felt. He appreciated all the concern the captain had showed him. "Maybe you'll get some fishing in yet."

Blair hopped into the truck, aware of the strange, tingling lightness of his muscles. As a grad student, he was familiar with the sensation, though usually it took a week of long days and late nights to reach this stage of fatigue.

The captain leaned down to look him over once more. "Make sure you get some rest, Sandburg," he said before closing the door and turning to exchange a few more words with Jim.

Blair could feel sleep drawing at him even before Jim got into the truck. He pasted on a weak smile for Ellison's benefit, when the man looked across at him before turning the keys in the ignition.

"You need anything?" Jim asked.

"No, man. I'm just tired." That said, Blair wasn't sure sleeping would be a good idea. Though he wasn't usually prone to motion sickness, under the circumstances he wasn't sure he could trust his digestive system. As the truck lurched into motion, the dull ache in his stomach woke and reached up to grab at the edges of his diaphragm. Don't think about it, Blair thought to himself, then curled slightly on the seat, leaning against the window, settling in to watch the long miles go by.

* * *

Jim noticed a shift in Blair's breathing pattern and glanced over at his partner. Blair had been sleeping soundly since they'd left Clayton Falls, not even waking when they'd stopped at a roadside store in Gifford. Now he seemed to be caught up in a vivid dream, his eyes moving rapidly beneath lightly closed lids, his muscles twitching ever so slightly.

While still monitoring the road, Jim tried to discern if the dream was pleasant or something Blair would prefer to be wakened from. Sandburg's expression remained clear of distress and Jim relaxed. Reaching down he flicked the radio on, keeping it low enough that only he could hear it. It was one of the advantages of being a Sentinel. A few miles later, the road crossed another set of train tracks. The shocks on the old Ford had always left something to be desired, and Jim wasn't surprised to see his partner stir, then straighten.

"Mm, hey," Blair said, his voice deepened and muzzied by sleep. "How long was I out?"

"Maybe an hour."

"I was dreaming," Blair said, scrubbing a hand across his face. He turned to the window and blinked at the blurry world streaming past them, not bothering to dig his glasses out of his pocket. "Very wacky dream. I was a little kid and there were pine trees growing out of sand and jets screaming overhead. Then the colonel showed up, and I think he tried to steal your Lionel set, but I broke his nose. It's so cool when you wake up and know exactly where your subconscious is coming from...."

Jim silently offered a large bottle of orange juice he had bought at the store.

"Thanks," Blair said, his eyes brightening with gratitude. He swiftly opened the bottle and proceeded to drain half its contents without stopping for a breath.

"You know, I lived in one of those little military towns for a while when I was a kid," Blair said.

Jim hadn't know that, but it was a statement not a question so he didn't interrupt.

Blair paused to drain the last of the orange juice. "I did not fit in with the local brat pack at all," he said as he capped the bottle and set it aside. "Place was called Aniville...funny, huh? Used to call it Any-town, U.S.A." Blair laughed at himself, and Jim smiled although he couldn't quite see why that was funny.

"That's weird..." Blair shook is head, then braced a hand against one side of his forehead. "I can't remember what state Aniville was in. Naomi and I only stayed there for two or three months. This is going to drive me nuts. It was dry--but not Arizona, that was when I was even younger. Definitely not New Mexico, cause that was when we stayed on a reservation and I had to ride this ancient bus to school. I think my brain is fried. I'm usually good with stuff like this. Where was I...?"

"You were talking about not fitting in," Jim prompted, deliberately diverting Blair back to the topic he'd started on. The kid was right, exhaustion had definitely shorted out a few of his mental circuits. "Oh, yeah, Aniville sucked. I got pummeled a few times, they cut my hair, stuff like that."

"Wait. They cut your hair? Who's they?"

"The other kids. They pinned me down and went wild with a pair of blunt scissors," Blair said, as though it were nothing. "My hair wasn't anywhere near as long as it is now, it just didn't match the like-father like-son crew cuts."

Jim suddenly recalled the wild-eyed anthropologist adamantly declaring he would not be cutting his hair. It had been after his first day at the police station--a very eventful day. Sandburg had taken out two terrorists; men clad in combat gear complete with automatic weapons. He'd taken one down with a bathroom stall door, the other with a vending machine. Jim had hardly known Blair at the time and had viewed his emphatic attachment to his long curls as something of a vanity. Yes, it is interesting to know where your subconscious is coming from, Chief.

"What did you do?" Jim asked, wondering how it connected with the dream Blair had described.

"Naomi thinks I let it go. As if! There was this one guy, Tommy Hicks--he used to get his thrills slamming smaller kids into walls. I faked him out and broke his nose. Who'da thought the biggest bully would pass out at the sight of his own blood?" Blair asked rhetorically. There was an exaggerated pause as Blair reflected on something. "You used to do the wall thing, too," he said, finally.

"Wall thing?"

"The toss-Blair-against-the-wall thing," Blair clarified. "When we first met--that hippy-freak' scene you pulled in my office was like a total flashback."

Jim winced inwardly. He didn't like to think about that...how out of control he'd felt when his abilities had first kicked in. "So, I'm lucky you didn't break my nose?"

"Nah, I wouldn't a done that to you. You needed my help," Sandburg answered matter-of-factly.

"Very kind of you," Jim said smiling.

"You don't believe I could do it?" Blair asked. Jim didn't answer, not wanting Sandburg to take anything he said as slighting his resourcefulness.

"Want a demonstration?" Blair asked, a familiar glint sparking deep in his eyes.

"Try me," Jim automatically responded to the challenge, his senses sharpening, his muscles relaxed and ready to respond.

"Nah...not now, man. Not when you're expecting it. I'll surprise you." Blair settled against the door frame again and soon after faded back into sleep.

"You always do," Jim answered quietly.

Oblivious to the curves and rough stretches of road, Blair slipped into the deepest form of slumber. Ellison listened to the slow even swells of Sandburg's heartbeat, the tension draining from his muscles. Finding another long stretch of road in amongst the mountains, Jim glanced over and realized that Blair was drooling on his window. Poor kid.

* * *

Still moving, Blair thought to himself, only half awake, not home yet. Wait. Moving upwards. Not in truck! What the...? Blair cranked his eyes open, got everything in focus and still couldn't make any sense of it until he realized he was staring at an extreme close up of a shoulder. In that moment, the vertical motion stopped with a familiar clank and he realized where he was--in the elevator at the loft and he was being *carried*. "Umm, 'im, whadder you doing?"

"Taking you to bed," Jim answered in all seriousness.

Blair giggled--he couldn't help it. "I'm sorry, honey. I have a headache," he said, limply patting Jim's cheek.

"Sandburg!"

"Sorry, just free associating. Must be the fever?" Blair wriggled slightly, expecting to be put back on his feet.

"You don't have a fever," Jim answered, ignoring the hint and fumbling his keys out with Blair still in his arms.

"I'm awake. Put me down?" Blair suggested.

"We're almost there."

"Doting," Blair said, his tone accusatory.

Jim simply shrugged, the motion taking Blair with it. Sandburg found being part of a shrug directed at himself highly amusing. So amusing, he didn't notice that they'd made it into the loft until Jim was trying to maneuver him into the bedroom.

"Wait," Blair interrupted. "Bathroom first."

Ellison responded to that, crossing the hall and depositing Sandburg on the bathroom tiles, making sure he was properly balanced before leaving, drawing the door half shut behind him. Blair didn't bother with the door. Happy enough with whatever privacy it already provided, he proceeded on in, one hand trailing on the counter. After taking care of necessary business, he went to the sink, washed his hands then leaned in to scoop water from the tap into his mouth.

Thirst satisfied, he caught a view of himself in the mirror. "You look terrible, man," he told his reflection and started giggling again. He couldn't help it, and the giggles hurt. "Oh, my stomach," he moaned quietly. You're exhaustion drunk. Watch out, anything you say can and will haunt you in the morning, some corner of his mind told him, and even that struck him as funny.

"You doing okay, Chief?" Jim asked, and Blair turned to find him standing in the doorway looking concerned. He tried to stifle the laughter as he realized Ellison was systematically evaluating his condition. He's got his Sentinel eyes turned on, Blair thought, demonstration time! Swallowing his giggles, Blair dropped his voice into the melodic tones he used to guide Jim in the use of his senses.

"Jim, what do you see," he said, snagging the edge of the medicine cabinet and drawing the mirror directly into Jim's line of sight. Gotcha! Instant zone. As Jim stood, his eyes wide and focused on infinity, Blair extended his hand and gently placed one finger on the tip of Jim's nose. Then he broke Jim out of the zone by flicking the fingers of his other hand across Jim's line of sight.

"Jim, gotcher nose!" he exclaimed, victorious. Drawing his fingers away, aware that he was being completely juvenile, he slipped his thumb between knuckles and showed Jim his stolen nose'.

"What did you do?" Jim said, staring at him in confused surprise.

"Got your nose," Blair repeated.

"Don't do that," Jim said, looking slightly perturbed.

"Told you I could." Blair dropped his head, feeling bad...not really bad, but a little bad because the cop wasn't laughing. "Didn't play fair though. Made you zone," he explained. "Could do it without that though...just less fun. More likely to end up with broken fingers. Ever get broken fingers, Jim? Always hated that." Blair shook off the distracting thought. "I'm going to bed. I am way gone, man."

He bounced off the door frame trying to get past Jim. "Hello," he said, belatedly realizing that he shouldn't talk to inanimate objects in front of Jim. A hand dropped onto his shoulder and lightly pushed him in the right direction.

"I think you need a good night's sleep," Jim said. Blair made his way to his room under Jim's continued guidance.

"Strip down?" Jim suggested, leaving Blair to pull off a couple of layers of clothing as he shifted some books aside and drew back the blankets on Blair's bed.

As soon as Blair lay down, the blankets flowed up around him and were brusquely tucked in. He turned beneath them, curling slightly and closing his eyes. Jim stood there, breathing softly, not saying anything and yet making no move to go. It was then that Blair found a word stuck in his throat.

As he heard Jim turn to leave, he wanted to say it. He knew it was silly--to say it now when he didn't need to simply because he couldn't say it before. He gave in to the urge. "Jim?"

"Yeah, Sandburg?"

"Just calling you," Blair answered, his eyes still closed.

"You need something?"

"No, just wanted to call you cause I couldn't before."

"When before?" Jim asked.

Blair hadn't actually wanted to talk about this, but now Jim was waiting expectantly. "When I thought I was gonna be dead," Blair confessed. When I was hurting. "I wanted you...I wanted not to be alone. But I never called."

"I would have come," Jim said simply, and Blair knew it was true. Even with the threat of deadly disease, Jim would have come.

"I know," Blair said, conveying as much as he could with the words.

"Sleep," Jim said, and Blair, without another thought, obeyed.

End.

Please send all comments to Shelagh . They will be forwarded to the author.