Jim Ellison, Cop of the Year, and Sentinel of the Great City, came home from a long day at work tired and hungry. He hoped that his roommate had dinner ready. When he opened the door, no smell of cooking dinner reached his sensitive nose. He dialed up his sense of hearing to find his guide- his best friend, and recent self- proclaimed fraud, Blair Sandburg. He located him in his room under the stairs.

He walked over and opened the door, words of admonishment dying on his lips as he saw his young friend lying huddled under the covers, surrounded by used tissues.

"Chief? Blair? Are you okay, buddy?" He quietly asked, not really wanting to disturb him, but needing to make sure nothing was seriously wrong either.

"Wha...? Jim? Oh man, I'm sorry," came the sleepy reply. "I meant to have dinner started. Gimme a sec and I'll get going." He started to struggle out of his bed, hampered by his sheets that seemed intent on keeping him where he was.

"Hang on a second there, Chief," he easily stopped the smaller man in his struggles. "You don't look so good. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, man. It's just a cold. I figure I'll get some rest and drink some healing tea this week. I mean," he chuckled weakly, "it's not like I have anything else to do." At the stricken look that crossed his friend's face he hurried to add, "Jim, no. Don't start. This is not your fault. Don't go all martyr on me."

"But..." Jim decided that he didn't want to get into this discussion now, so he changed the subject. "Are you sure you're up to dinner? Maybe you should go back to sleep. You look like you need it." It was true. The younger man was much paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. 'Why didn't I notice sooner?' he thought. 'After that press conference, I should have paid more attention. But when he agreed to join the academy, I thought everything was okay.' Out loud he continued, "If you need the rest, go ahead. I can fend for myself."

"No, man. It's not like I have anything better to do, really. It does me good to cook. Kinda like a form of therapy, you know. It's relaxes me." He got up and shuffled past the older man but turned before reaching the kitchen. "But first, I need to make a pit stop."

The rest of the evening passed without incident, save a few sniffles on Sandburg's part, so Jim let it go.

He did notice that Blair went to bed early that night, and was still asleep when he left in the morning. Not that it was unusual, Blair kept joking that this was his first real vacation in years. Most of his school breaks had been taken up by anthropological trips, or more recently, work with Jim. Now, he had nothing to do until the next term of the Police Academy started up in two weeks.

Jim spent most of the day doing paperwork and interviewing witnesses. Crime was amazingly low, and Simon was content to let his best detective languish behind his desk for a few days. Officially, it was to let his leg finish healing, but Jim suspected that it was also part punishment for his behavior over the past couple of weeks. Not that he could blame Simon, he had been an ass.

When he returned home that evening, he came bearing gifts. He had called earlier and gotten no answer, so he picked up some Chinese take out from their favorite restaurant.

As he entered the loft, he was once again aware of the lack of activity within. This time, he found his roommate asleep on the couch, wrapped up in his favorite Afghan and once again surrounded by mountains of tissues. A cold cup of tea sat on the table in front of him, obviously untouched for hours.

He was unsure whether or not to wake him, but the decision was taken from him as his partner stirred, and awoke.

"Oh, man. Did I oversleep again? Man, I'm sorry. I'll get to work on dinner. Um, what do we have?" He didn't stop talking long enough to notice the bags in Jim's arms. It wasn't until Jim gripped his arm and steered him to the dinner table that he realized there was no need to cook. He grinned sheepishly up at his friend. "Thanks man. This cold is taking longer to kick than I thought. How was your day?"

Jim was not to be distracted today. "If this cold is so bad, maybe you should see a doctor. There have been some nasty strains of pneumonia going around lately. You don't want to have to deal with that on top of everything else."

"No, man. I'm fine," he quickly denied. "I just need another day. I'll take some ibuprofen and kick it for good."

Now Jim knew something was wrong. Blair rarely took over the counter medicines, especially if he didn't have work. Normally, with time off, he would stick to the holistic remedies he preferred. He was going to say something, but Blair looked ready to fall asleep in his egg foo young, so he gently led him to bed, frowning when he felt the heat coming off his forehead.

He deposited Blair in his bed, then got a bottle of ibuprofen and shook out two pills. He left the pills next to the bottle and a glass of water by his nightstand. 'If he isn't better by tomorrow night, I'll drag him to the doctor kicking and screaming if I have to,' he thought to himself as he dragged his feet up the stairs to his room.

The next morning, Jim looked in on his roommate before he left. He was glad to see that he had taken the ibuprofen during the night, but the rasps he was hearing from his breathing were not encouraging. He mentally reminded himself to check in from time to time during the day. He didn't care if Blair thought he was hovering, because he wasn't, he was just being cautious.

Jim called home no less than ten times that day, and Blair only picked up three of those times. He had started to worry when his first three calls had gone unanswered. He was getting ready to drive back and check for himself when Blair finally picked up. And promptly chewed him out for being over protective.

Jim paid special attention to his roommate's breathing when he called, and grew worried as the wheezing became more and more pronounced as the day progressed.

Finally, it was time to go home. He made a quick stop off at the store to pick up more ibuprofen and some cough syrup, just to be on the safe side.

When he got home, there was no sign of his roommate. Quickly, he dialed up his hearing and caught the sound of labored breathing coming from Blair's room. He hastily crossed the loft and barged in without bothering to knock first.

He found his guide huddled beneath the covers again, shivering and struggling to breathe. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and when he coughed, he sounded ready to hack up a lung.

"Damnit Sandburg! That's it. I'm taking you to the hospital," he snapped and began hunting the room for clothes for his sickly roommate.

"No, ~cough, cough~ no hospital, ~cough~ I can handle it," he wheezed weakly as he endeavored to free himself once again from his bed sheets.

"Listen to yourself, you can barely talk, much less breathe. You need to see a doctor." Jim began trying to get Blair to get dressed, but the smaller man fought him off.

"No, ~wheeze~ no doctor. Let me, ~cough, cough~ let me deal with this. I just need more tea." He tried to stand, only to be restrained by a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll get it. You just stay here. When I get back you can explain why you are being more stubborn than usual about this. Now stay." With that, he got up and went into the kitchen.

He put the tea kettle on to heat and opened the cupboard that housed Blair's strange smelling teas, but all he could find was a half empty box of generic tea. Jim frowned. Blair always said he would drink swill before the store name generic. He must have put his regular assortment somewhere else. However, a search of the remaining cabinets came up empty, so Jim used the generic stuff and filed away the information to ask about later. But fist, he had a sick Guide to tend to.

As he carried the tea back into Blair's room, he once again sized up his condition. He was still very pale, and thinner than Jim remembered. 'He's probably dehydrated, too,' he thought.

Blair struggled into a sitting position as he entered, and Jim propped up some pillows behind him to keep him upright. After making sure that he had drunk at least half the mug of tea, Jim started.

"So, do you want to explain this sudden aversion you have to doctors?"

Blair looked guiltily into his mug. "No."

Well, that didn't help. "Look, Sandburg. You're sick. You have a fever of close to a hundred and three. You can barely breathe. You have to see a doctor."

"I can't," was the only reply.

"Why not?" he asked, exasperated. Blair's reply was mumbled so low that not even Jim could understand him. "What was that?"

"I said I can't afford it, okay?" he snapped, angrily, causing Jim to jerk back in suprise. "My health insurance was through the University, and since I don't work there anymore, I don't get insurance. I can't afford to go to the doctor. I can't pay for the visit, and I can't pay for the meds, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Does that satisfy you?"

The only sound in the room was Blair's wheezing as he fought to control his breathing once again.

Jim sat in stunned silence as he realized what his partner had just said. He hadn't even considered that his friend didn't have some money stored away for a rainy day. But then again, when did he have money to begin with? He lived paycheck to paycheck, and most of that went to rent and food. Then there were books every semester, and that rattle trap car of his. He would have little, if anything saved at the end of the month. And now, with no job, and no insurance...

"Sorry, man," Jim was shaken from his reverie by the sound of his guide's voice. "I didn't mean to blow up at you."

"It's okay, I wasn't thinking, either," he replied. "I thought COBRA had it so that insurance had to carry over for a certain amount of time if you got it through work?"

"Not the kind I had, man," Blair sighed. "I went by a month by month plan. No payee, no playee. When Ranier gave me the boot, that was the first to go."

"And the tea," Jim murmured, remembering the empty cabinet. "Damnit, why didn't you say something? We could have worked something out."

"You were so caught up with feeling guilty over the whole press conference thing, and I didn't want you to think that I couldn't handle it. I was hoping to make it until the PD insurance started up, but no such luck, huh?" He coughed again, and reached blindly for a tissue.

Jim handed him one as he continued. "You know, I could..." He never had a chance to finish as Blair, still in the midst of a coughing fit managed to spit out, "No, ~hack~ ~cough~ no way. ~cough, cough~ I can take, ~hack~ take care of this on my ~wheeze~ own. Let me, ~wheeze~ let me deal with this my ~cough~ way." He coughed a couple more times as Jim pounded him on his back.

"No dice, Sandburg" he growled. "You are going to see a doctor, tonight. And that is final. Now put some clothes on, we're going." Blair looked like he was going to continue arguing, but another gut wrenching round of coughing doubled him up. When he was finished he weakly reached for the sweats that Jim was holding out to him.

"Fine, man. But I am going to pay you back. Every cent. I swear."

"You already have," Jim murmured as he stepped out to find Blair's shoes. "You've paid too much, already."

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