Rating: Maybe G or PG, no sex in here, folks. (But read it anyway J ).
 

28 hours without a single ray of sunshine or hope. It had been a longday. As a matter of fact, it had been almost two long days and Jim Ellison was more than pleased to come home to his lover. After a 28-hour stakeout - with no success - he was feeling exhausted, hungry and dirty. A shower would be great he thought as he threw the keys onto the table beside the front door. He sighed deeply. Those 28 hours without seeing Blair, his friend, his Guide, his love, had been pure torture. They hadn't even talked.

"Blair?" Jim shouted. The living room and Blair's room - Blair's former room - were empty and he didn't need to turn up his sensitive hearing to know that Blair was already sleeping upstairs. In their bed.

Jim smiled and climbed the stairs in no time. Those 28 hours of nothinbut watching a single house had made him more than tired but he was hungry for his friend. He wanted to feel his warm body pressed against his, velvet lips on his, and curls.... Jim sighed again. He had never thought that he would be able to zone out on a waterfall of brown curls, but after the last exhausting and boring hours he could zone out on almost anything that was Blair. Just the image of the flow of hair on his chest could have made him come right away.

 Blair was lying on the bed, his back turned towards Jim, not moving, and Jim sat down on the other side of the bed.

He touched Blair's shoulder gently.

"Hey, Chief, I'm back," he whispered softly, feeling Blair stirring at his touch.

Jim reached down Blair's back and massaged it tenderly. He frowned and then smiled when he noticed that his anthropologist was wearing Jim's new silk pyjamas which he had given to Jim as a belated Christmas present - in the middle of September. But the Sentinel didn't mind at all. As a matter of fact, he enjoyed it when Blair wore his clothes because his distinctive scent would still remain even after the clothes had been washed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, buddy, but isn't this mine?" he tugged at the fabric, a smile playing around his lips. He continued his massage of Blair's back, causing his lover to utter a soft moan.

Still smiling, satisfied by the reaction to his movement, Jim stroked up and down and turned up his sense of touch to feel Blair's skin beneath the pyjama jacket. This fingertips caught a strange sensation but before he could explore his discovery, Blair moaned again. Jim's hand stopped and his lips almost touched Blair's ear when he whispered,

"What's wrong, Babe? You don't like this anymore?" He placed a short kiss on the earlobe, this tongue playing with the little earring for a second.

Finally Blair spoke without turning or even looking at Jim. "Jim....., please leave me alone."

It wasn't the words that tore at Jim's heart, so much as the incredible weakness in Blair's voice. It startled him. He gripped his shoulders and tried to turn him over, but Blair wouldn't let him.

"No!"

Jim wasn't kind of guy who took no for an answer especially not when it came down to his lover and this time it was no different.

"Blair?" he spoke calmy. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Why didn't you call?" The questions came out like gun shots and Jim had to forced himself not to grip Blair and drag him into his arms.

Blair shook his head. "It's nothing. Just...." he broke and tried to bury himself deeper into the blanket and pillow.

"Just....?" Jim repeated, waiting impatiently. His hand started rubbing Blair's back again, a comforting gesture, but Blair flinched violently.

"Don't touch me......." the sentence had barely left his mouth when Jim took his shoulders and pulled him onto his back to look at him, expecting the worst.

Blair squinted at the bright light and tried to cover his eyes with one arm. Jim could only stare at his lover's face. Disbelieving. He had expected to see bruises or scratches, anything....but not the little red spots that covered Blair's beautiful face.

"Don't tell me that you've got chicken pox, Chief," Jim said, almost unable to suppress a big grin. He looked way too funny. But then he saw the bead of sweat on his love's forehead and the pain in his deep blue eyes as he tried to shield them against the light. Jim turned the light off.

"Better?" he asked softly.

 Blair nodded. "Sorry, Jim....," he managed to say and despite the darkness Jim could see tears in the corner of his eyes.

He patted his shoulder briefly. "Hey, I've had chicken pox as a kid." He started using a light tone, then stopped when Blair suddenly flung into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

"I'm sorry, Jim," he sobbed, and Jim embraced him gently. He stroke the long brown curls wondering what had caused this emotional outburst. He knew that a lot of childhood illness affected adults worse since their bodies weren't used to them anymore, and he could only guess at how bad it was for Blair right now. Sideeffects like fever, headaches and dizziness were not uncommon.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Blair," he soothed, still stroking his partner's head.

Blair tears wet his shirt and Jim could clearly feel the moisture but he didn't care. Blair was barely able to speak and when he did his voice was trembling.

"It was so warm....,and...and...it itched *so bad*...I couldn't ... I couldn't stand it anymore....I took your pyjama jacket...The silk was s-so cool......." The sobbing stopped after a while but Blair still held on to him. Jim suddenly remembered the strange feeling he had when rubbing Blair's back minutes ago: It must be covered with little itchy pox, driving the young man insane and Jim's massage had added to his suffering.

They sat there for a while, neither of them saying anything, and Jim kept stroking his lover's hair in a soothing rhythm. Finally Blair loosened his grip on Jim's neck and sat back on the bed. His eyes were swollen and the tears had left their tracks on his face. Jim reached out and wiped the moisture away with one finger. He looked at Blair's face and wanted to brush over the red spots but he knew he mustn't. Touching meant itching, and Jim didn't want to cause his friend any more discomfort.

"Did you go to the doctor's?" he asked eventually. It was still dark in their bedroom but Blair looked up and nodded.

"Yeah, this morning. I discoverd the first pox yesterday evening but I thought it was from something I ate," Blair started explaining and involuntarily rubbed over his left arm where *they* had just started itching again. But Jim stopped his motion by taking his right hand.

"Don't...," he warned smiling, his blue eyes showing nothing but love and concern. "It gets worse when you try to scratch."

Blair sighed and tried not to think about it. "So, I thought it was just an allergic reaction, but when I woke up they were just everywhere. Not so many as now but enough for me to seriously think about it." He grimaced. "I went to the doctor's and they looked at me like I was an alien lifeform. They even took me to a separate examination room," he added, sounding indignant.

"Did he give you anything to stop them?" Jim inquired although he already new the answer. There was nothing to do but wait. He remembered the time when he'd had chicken pox, he must have been 5 years old or something like that, and the only comfort he could remember was his mother when she came to put that powder onto the pox to ease the itching and spreading. It was like hell on earth and the way Blair looked right now it would get even worse.

Blair nooded in response. "Some salve. Smells like dead rats or somthing as gross. Have to apply it on every single pox. Doc said it could be possible that I could have a violent reaction to the chicken pox. Said I'm *too old*." He sighed deeply again and now his left hand went to his face to scratch over his cheeks.

Again, Jim's hand caught his mid-motion.

****

Jim put the dish towel away and closed the cupboard. He checked the kitchen and was satisfied that everything was again back in its place. Not that there had been much to clean up. Only his plate, two mugs and the tea pot Blair had used in the morning. Jim turned when he heard Blair's bare footsteps on the stairs.

"Hey, Chief. What are you doing out of bed?" he scolded gently.

Blair looked worse than before but Jim had expected that. Jim could see from the way Blair's hand gripped the railing that his head, or his vision, wasn't working properly any more. With a few long steps Jim took his arm and lent him downstairs.

"I need to use the bathroom," Blair answered weakly.

Jim pourred water into the tea pot for the night in case Blair was thirsty, when he suddenly heard a grumbling noise followed by a low 'damnit' in the bathroom. It sounded frustrated, and Jim carefully knocked at the door.

"Blair? Are you okay in there?"

When he received no answer, Jim worryingly opened the door, glad that Blair hadn't locked it.

"Blair?"

Blair was sitting on the edge of the bath tube, his boxers down to his ankles. It appeared that he had just wanted to relieve himself when...when what? He glanced up at Jim and he could again see tears in the young man's eyes. This whole thing was taking a toll on him mentally and emotionally as well as physically. His voice was low, and Jim was surprised to hear the angry tone when he spoke.

"They're *everywhere*, Jim," he complained and his hand went down to his cock, rubbing it roughly. Jim was at his side in a second and for the umpteenth time this night took Blair's hand into his, clutching in front of him. Blair seemed frustrated and he almost jerked away from Jim's grip but instead he bowed his head and let the tears flow down his face.

"Sorry...," he apologized again, but Jim just carefully raised his chin with one finger and made his lover look at him. Jim's gaze brushed the red spots in his face. The face that he just wanted to touch and kiss, the face of his lover, of the man he wanted to comfort with his love, with his touch, with his body. But again he knew that he couldn't do it now. Blair's blue eyes met his and he could see the silent plea in there. Jim bent forward and his lips covered Blair's mouth with a gentle kiss.

*****

The Sentinel woke at Blair's restless movements in the middle of the night. He adjusted his sensitive vision to the darkness of their bedroom and watched his lover throwing himself from one side to the other, then back, starting all over again only seconds later. Blair must have tossed the blanket away, as it laid crumpled on the floor.

Blair tried to suppress a moan when the itching on his back suddenly became unbearable. He sat and rested his head into his hands immediately. Where the hell had that headache come from, he thought. Anyway, he couldn't stay in bed - in this bed - any longer.

Jim watched silently as the anthropologist grabbed his pillow and swung his legs off the bed.

"Where are you going?" Jim asked in a low voice wincing when it sounded unnaturally loud in the still of the night.

Blair jumped a little, startled, but turned his head and spoke into the darkness.

"Oh, sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized. "I'm going to sleep downstairs, man, you'll have to work tomorrow - hell, *today* - and my restlessness won't do you any good..." He started to get up but Jim's hand caught his arm and tugged at it gently but determined. "No," he just said, tugging at Blair's arm a little bit stronger. Blair tried to protest but he was somewhat grateful that Jim wanted him to stay. When he was lying on the bed again, Jim rolled over and looked at Blair's face, discovering even more little red pox than hours before - if that were possible at all.

"You look like a piece of streusel cake," he joked and Blair smiled a little.

"I'm willing to share," Blair replied dryly. His words weren't meant to sound seductive but Jim suddenly shivered at the thought. He leaned forward and buried his nose into those incredibly soft brown curls of his partner. His right hand came up, fingers interweaving with the hair. It felt like pure silk and he let thick curls run through his fingers.

"I love your hair," he whispered into Blair's ear. "And you smell so irresistably good." His voice became dry and husky. His tongue found Blair's earlobe and he licked at it like it was ice-cream. Blair turned his head slightly and Jim's playing mouth suddenly captured his. Their lips merged instantly, remembering their need for each other. They kissed passionately and for a few magnificent moments the world seemed to stand still.

They came back to reality when Jim instantaneously felt the heat radiating from Blair's face. He gentely released Blair's mouth, not too quickly, and pressed his own cheek against Blair's. They had once joked about it that Jim would be the perfect walking thermometer but when his enhanced sense of touch messured his lover's temperture now he wasn't up to any jokes anymore.

"You're running a fever," he said, and although Blair couldn't make out a thing in the darkness of the room he could almost visualize his love's concernd face in front of him.

Blair shrugged casually. "The doctor said it could happen," he replied but now his sense of touch kicked in again and the chicken pox seemed to awake to new life. Big time. He squirmed. "Oh, no, not again..." His movements became hectic, and Jim placed a soothing hand on his forehead.

"Jim,....make them *stop*!" he moaned. Almost inaudibly he added: "...please."

Jim squirmed himself as he watched his lover's suffering. He stroke his head soothingly. "Easy, buddy. The more you move the more it itches," he said, his voice calm as ever, but his eyes showed his deep love and compassion for this man.

"I'm right back," Jim promised when he stood up and headed for the bathroom. Only a few moments later he returned with a cool wet washcloth and a small bottle. He sat on the edge of Blair's side of the bed and carefully place the washcloth onto his forehead. "Maybe this'll help a little," he suggested. He tenderly pressed on it to let the moisture cool his hot face.

"Thanks, man," Blair whispered, his cornflower blue eyes throwing grateful glances in the general direction of Jim's voice. For a second Jim was completely absorbed in looking at his beautiful face. His senstive eyes allowed him the privilege to enjoy those moments. Then he saw the chicken pox again. Without switching the lights on, he reached down and gently undressed the young man.

"Let's try and see if that salve the doctor subscribed can ease the itching," he explained his actions and opened the small bottle. Blair just nodded and closed his eyes.

It took more than half an hour for Jim to cover all the little red spots on Blair's body. Blair was right, he thought, the stuff *did* smell like dead rats, and the Sentinel had shut down his sense of smell completely as soon as the bottle had been opened. Blair had soon stopped squirming as Jim applied the salve to his itching body, and he just moaned once when Jim asked him to flip onto his stomach so that he could treat the backside of his body. "That feels good," Blair murmured once and allowed himself the luxory of enjoying the subtle touch of Jim's hands.

Finally finished, Jim sighed and put the bottle onto the nightstand beside the bed. He didn't struggle to suppress a mighty yawn and rubbed his eyes. "Feeling better?" he asked his lover, glancing at the clock with one eye. 3:15 a.m. Still enough time to sleep.

When he received no answer, he leaned forward and noticed surprisingly that Blair was already sound asleep! Jim shook his head in disbelief but smiled warmly. He retrieved the crumpled blanket and draped it over the young man's still form.

"Sweet dreams, my love," he whispered and placed a short kiss onto the mountain of dark curls.

The End