Jim Ellison has been kidnapped.

That's the only thing that makes any sense. Kidnapped and replaced by a replicant. Taken over by aliens. High on drugs--okay, that's ridiculous. But I'd be willing to believe almost anything else.

He sure isn't the Jim Ellison I know. Living with the man for nearly four years now, I've seen a lot of Jim Ellisons--stoic, happy, sad, angry, confused, joking.

I know, most people think there's only the one--stoic--but that's because they don't know him like I do.

Still, even though I've gotten pretty good at reading the expressions on that face, I cannot decipher this one.

I'm standing here at the kitchen counter, watching him paw through the cabinets looking for god knows what. I knew something weird was going on as soon as I opened the door. Well, the fact that I had to open the door at all was pretty unusual. I mean, why would he knock? It's not like he had his arms full. At least, not until after I opened the door.

Oh, man. 

"Just a second!" Blair yelled, leaving his laptop on the dinner table. "I'm coming!"

He peered through the peephole. "Jim? Did you lose your keys or some--what!?"

The door swung open, and Blair found himself enveloped by his roommate's arms.

"What the hell, Jim! Why are you--oh, god, something's happened, hasn't it? Is it Naomi? Has something happened to--uhff." Jim's arms had tightened, effectively cutting off Blair's air supply and mashing his face into Jim's chest.

"No, Sandburg. Nothing's wrong. Everybody's fine. Everybody and everything. Fine and dandy."

"Exc-c-cept me," was Blair's strangled, muffled reply.

"Oh." Jim released him from the hug, but kept a firm grip on his upper arms. "Sorry, little buddy."

Little buddy?! "Little buddy?!"

Smiling benevolently, Jim pulled the smaller man toward him and--

"Shit! Have you lost your mind?" Blair yanked himself backward as Jim planted a kiss on the top of his head.

Jim looked hurt. "Can't I just show you a little affection?"

Blair's eyes were round with horror. "Affection? Jim, please, you're starting to scare me here. I'm thinking you just found out you're dying, or you just found out I'm dying!"

Jim sighed and let him go. "Nobody's dying, Chief." A smile lit up his face. "Except me...of hunger!"

He moved to the kitchen, shedding his jacket. Blair watched in amazement as his obsessively neat roommate dropped the leather jacket carelessly on one of the chairs at the table.

Okay, I'm definitely starting to consider the possibility of body-switching or accidental drug exposure or--that's it!

"I get it! I know what it is!" Blair said excitedly, coming to stand by the bar.

Jim gave up his fruitless search of the refrigerator and started rummaging through the cabinets. He glanced back at Blair. "Sorry?"

"It's a sentinel thing! You've been exposed to something that's brought on this weird reaction. Oh, man. I should've thought of that in the first place! But don't worry. Just give me a rundown of your day--anything at all out of the ordinary that might've--"

"It's not a sentinel thing--hey, I'd forgotten this was in here." Jim turned toward his roommate, a can of Spam in his hand. "You think it's still good?"

"Well, if it's not a sentinel thing then what--no, Jim." Blair grimaced at the Spam being waved in front of him. "You can't eat that. It's disgusting."

With a last regretful look at the Spam, Jim shrugged. "I'm not really in the mood for that anyway." He returned to his search of the cabinets.

Blair stood and watched his roommate paw through the cabinets for a long, silently confused minute.

"Jim--"

"Ah-HAH!" the detective exclaimed, interrupting him. This time when he turned, Jim was holding a box of Pop-Tarts. "Blueberry! And frosted! Great!"

As Jim tore open the cellophane wrapping around a pair of Pop-Tarts, Blair put his hands flat on the bar and breathed deeply. Calm. You have to remain calm if you're going to figure this out.

When he spoke, his voice was exactly that. Calm. "Jim. I really need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me exactly how you're feeling. If this is some hypersensitive response to an unusual environmental factor, then we need to determine what that factor is as quickly as possible."

Jim finished off one of the pair of Pop-Tarts. He held the second one in his teeth, freeing his hands to open the wrapping on another pair.

Blair reached out and snatched the unopened snack from his fingers. "Damn it, Jim! Will you stop mainlining sugar and listen to me?"

Jim took a bite of the pastry already in his hand. "I always listen to you, Chief. Always. Even if it doesn't look like I'm listening, I am." Closing his eyes, he said, "'If this is some hypersensitive response to an unusual environmental factor, then we need to determine what that factor is as quickly as possible.'" The eyes opened again. "Sometimes you sound like such an academic; it's cute as hell."

Jim removed the Pop-Tarts package from Blair's nerveless fingers. The younger man's expression had gone from surprise at discovering that Jim had been listening, to respect for his ability to repeat the words back, to utter disgust at the "cute as hell" comment. He said nothing though, because Jim was talking again.

"You're probably one of the smartest people I've ever met. Hell, when it comes to me and this sentinel stuff, you're the expert." He slowly tore open the package of Pop-Tarts, keeping his eyes fastened all the while on Blair's face. "But, not everything is about this sentinel stuff, you know. Sometimes it's about friendship, remember?"

Blair blinked. It took his brain a few seconds to realize that Jim was waiting for a response. "What? Well, yeah. Of course, it's about friendship. You know that, man."

Jim nodded slowly. "And not everything is about researching a dissertation or closing a case. Right?"

"Right. Yes. Yes!" Blair's mind was still scrambling to understand what had brought on Jim's odd behavior, but these were easy questions. These he could handle in his sleep.

"And no matter how long you've known a person, or how much you study them--" Jim made a face. "--you still don't know everything about them. Right?"

"Definitely. Absolutely." Blair had figured that one out just about the time Jim kissed him on the head.

"Well, there you go." Jim held a Pop-Tart out to his friend.

Without thinking, Blair took the Pop-Tart and started eating it. "There's...there's nothing wrong, is there," he said, and it was a statement, not a question.

"You got it. Nothing's wrong. Not a thing." Jim put the last of the Pop-Tart in his mouth and said around a mouthful of blueberry-flavored sugar, "I'm just feeling a little giddy today."

Blair choked on the Pop-Tart.

Jim shook his head. "Only person I know can injure himself on a toaster pastry." Taking a glass from the dish drainer on the counter, he filled it with water, and handed it to his friend. As Blair drank it, Jim came around the counter to stand beside him. "You okay? I could do the Heimlich."

"Th-thanks. I'm fine. But...did you just say you're feeling...giddy? Man, I am so confused--"

The detective took hold of Blair's arms, and the young man flinched. "Jim, if you kiss me again, I swear I'll pop you in the head with this glass."

Jim grinned. "Might be worth it at that." Then his expression turned serious, and he added, "Stop analyzing every little thing, Sandburg. Okay? There's nothing to decipher this time. I'm just...in a good mood. I drove to the university to pick you up--"

"Oh, man! I forgot! I caught a ride with--"

Jim shook his head dismissively. "The woman in the office next door told me you'd found a ride with somebody else. That's not the point. I was leaving and I went by the fountain where Alex killed you--"

"The fountain where--well, of course. Obviously. That always cheers the hell out of me."

"It should, Aquaman. It should. Because you're alive! You're alive and we're here and--" The smile faded and was replaced by a brief frown. Jim waved a hand in the air. "Oh, hell. I can't really explain it, you're the one with all the words. But suddenly I...I just felt...."

"Giddy."

"Exactly! I felt damn giddy! Or thankful or happy or relieved or whatever the hell you want to call it."

Blair laughed. "I don't know, man. Sounds to me like you got all the words you need."

Jim was grinning again. "Sandburg, let's go out for dinner. Anywhere you want. My treat!"

"Thai One On the Waterfront," Blair said quickly.

Jim looked at him for a second--he'd already expressed his views of the likelihood of a place with a name like that having anything worth eating. Then, instead of replying, the detective puckered his lips and made a sudden feint toward his friend.

With a startled yell, Blair jumped back, raising the water glass high. Jim's threatened kiss dissolved into loud laughter. He headed for the bathroom.

No alien abduction. No bizarro reaction to some innocuous thing most people take for granted. It wasn't about sentinels or solving crimes.

It was just Jim in a good mood. Jim feeling...giddy. Because "you're alive and we're here."

You know, I'm starting to feel a little giddy myself.

But if he tries to kiss me again, I'll put pepper sauce in his pad thai.

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