Title: Make It Go Away
Author: Nancy Taylor
Author Email: nat1228@comcast.net
Rating: PG
Status: Complete

Written: May-July 2000
Revised and expanded: January, 2002
Previously published by Agent With Style

Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Episode related: Warriors

Warnings: lyrics

Author's notes: Many thanks to Becky for the use of parts of her episode transcripts for "Warriors." You made my job much easier.

Thanks also to my intrepid betas: Allison and Heather-Anne, for the original version, and Heather-Anne and Kimberly for this revised and expanded version. Couldn't do it without you!

Summary: Blair's migraine headaches return, along with a more serious complication.

MAKE IT GO AWAY
by Nancy Taylor
nat1228@comcast.net

Make it go away, or make it better.
Isn't that what love is supposed to do?

=====||=====

Blair stood at the kitchen island, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce in preparation for dinner. The spaghetti was laid out nearby, ready to be placed in the boiling water, and garlic bread sat ready to pop into the warm oven.

"Hey, Jim!" Blair smiled a welcome as his friend walked in the front door.

"I could smell that from all the way down the hall," Jim commented, returning the smile. "When do we eat?"

"About half an hour. The sauce needs to simmer a little longer."

Jim grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and came to stand next to Blair while he sipped. He noticed the subtle lines of strain around Blair's eyes, something no one else would have seen.

"You don't look so hot. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just a bit of a headache."

"More than a bit." He reached across in an attempt to take the spoon from Blair's hand. "Why don't you let me take over? You go take some aspirin and lie down."

"No, I'm fine. Really." Blair clung tightly to the spoon, concentrating on his work.

"Okay. Have it your way. I'm going to go take a quick shower before dinner." Shrugging out of his shirt, Jim headed toward the bathroom.

Once Jim was out of sight, Blair leaned heavily against the counter, squeezing his eyes shut against the pounding in his temples. He hadn't had a headache of this intensity and duration since his early undergrad days.

As he tried to return to his dinner preparations, a spike of agonizing pain ripped through his skull. Grabbing fistfuls of hair, he pressed his knuckles hard against his temples, an involuntary cry escaping his strangled throat.

The sound of Blair's scream brought Jim running from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, barely in time to catch him as he sank to his knees.

"Sandburg!" He paused, continuing to support the younger man. "Blair?" Concerned, Jim tried unsuccessfully to pry Blair's fists from his hair. When the grad student didn't reply to his gentle coaxing, Jim wrapped an arm around his waist and tried lifting him to his feet. "Come on, Sandburg. Help me here. We've got to get you to bed."

Blair pulled his feet underneath his body and stood on shaky legs. Steadied by his partner's strong arms, he stumbled into his bedroom and fell onto the mattress.

Jim sat next to his friend, worry lining his face. He finally succeeded in pulling the tight fists away from Blair's temples and began a gentle massage. The younger man moaned, but his body began to relax. "There, there," Jim soothed. "It's going to be all right. Can I get you something? Aspirin? Anything?"

Blair lay unnaturally still, afraid any movement could set off the pain again, and mumbled, "No, thanks. Nothing helps." A brief pause followed before he sat up suddenly. "Oh, God!"

Before Jim could register what was happening, Blair was up and running. Adjusting the towel around his waist as he ran, he followed Blair to the bathroom, where the young man was leaning over the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl.

Crouching next to his friend, Jim gently lifted the long hair from his face, holding it clear until he was certain Blair was finished. He fetched a cool, damp cloth and carefully wiped the young man's face.

Blair took the cloth and covered his eyes. "Man, that feels good!" he sighed.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, extremely pale and smelling of vomit, Blair looked very small and vulnerable. Jim picked him up and carried him back into the bedroom, laying him on the bed.

Blair stretched out gratefully, closing his eyes. "Thanks, Jim. I'm feeling better now." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"You sure as hell don't look better," Jim argued softly. "Care to tell me what's going on here? Since when do you have migraines?"

"It's nothing. Really. Please, I just need to rest." He tried waving his friend away, but met with limited success.

"I'm going to get dressed," Jim told him. "Don't go anywhere." His last statement was met with a weak smile.

As he turned to leave, a small cry issued from behind him. Turning back, he watched as Blair stiffened. A few moments later, he began seizing. Jim was immediately back at the bed. Rolling Sandburg onto his side, he tucked a pillow beneath his head and held him lightly, letting the seizure run its course. Blair's shallow breathing, and the bluish tint of his lips, worried Jim. He fought back his panic as he waited. There was little else he could do for now. Three very long minutes later, the shaking stopped and Blair collapsed.

"Chief? Hey, Blair." Jim shook him gently. "Blair? It's okay, kid. Come on. Wake up."

Blair's eyelids fluttered open. Confused blue eyes greeted Jim's. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"You were going to go get dressed. I remember you leaving."

"And. . . ?"

"And now you're here. You're still not dressed. What happened?"

Jim sighed, rubbing his friend's shoulder. "You had a seizure."

"Shit!" Blair's face screwed up with disgust and he tried to turn away.

"Not so fast. You've got some explaining to do." Jim restrained him gently, pushing his shoulders back into the mattress.

"Can it wait?" Blair asked, exhausted. "I'm so tired. . . ." His words trailed off as his eyes drooped shut.

"Yeah, sure," Jim answered the sleeping man. Stretching out on the bed, he wrapped an arm protectively around his roommate.

~~oO0Oo~~

An hour later, Blair awoke. Needing some time alone, he attempted to slip out from beneath Jim's embrace.

"Not so fast!" Jim's arm reasserted its grip, keeping the anthropologist pinned to the bed. "You've still got some explaining to do."

"There's nothing to talk about. I had a seizure. It's no big deal." Blair made another weak attempt to escape.

Jim tightened his grip. "What'dya mean, 'it's no big deal'? It's a hell of a big deal! This isn't the first time, is it?" Fear laced the anger in Jim's voice. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Look, Jim," Blair said, trying to sound reasonable. "I haven't had a seizure in over ten years. It just didn't occur to me to tell you, all right?"

"You've got a history." Jim's voice was flat with anger and accusation.

Blair hung his head in embarrassment. "Yeah. I was diagnosed with epilepsy as a kid. Had my first seizure when I was eight."

"Why aren't you wearing a medic alert bracelet?"

"Jim! Chill, will you? I gave that thing up years ago."

"WHY?" Jim hissed between clenched teeth.

"Because. Just because." Blair sighed, already tired from the conversation he didn't want to have. He rolled over to look at his best friend who was now sitting beside him on the bed. Tipping his head up to meet Jim's eyes, he continued. "These things only happen when I'm under a lot of stress. I haven't been under enough pressure to have one for years. The last seizure was when I was sixteen. I had just started college. There was a lot of pressure on me to perform 'cause I was so young. It just happened one night in the dorm. After that, nothing. Nada. No more headaches, no more seizures. After a couple years, I ditched the bracelet." He studied the grim man beside him.

"You mean to tell me that with everything you've been through, including Lash, including Brackett, Kincaid and Quinn, not to mention Zeller and Galileo, you still haven't been under enough stress to bring one of these on? I find that a little hard to believe." He watched the young man blanch at the list of his tormentors.

"I've come to terms with dying, Jim," Blair whispered. "I'm not ready, not by a long shot, but it's inevitable."

"Then what are you so afraid of?" The older man's countenance softened as he watched tendrils of fear creep into the dusty blue eyes before him. He had to concentrate to hear the answer.

"I'm afraid of losing you."

It took Jim several minutes to process the statement. He sat, staring at Blair. Finally he found his voice. "Afraid of losing me? What do you mean? I'm not going anywhere." He sounded genuinely confused.

Blair eased his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "How about I put on some coffee while you get dressed? Having you sitting next to me wearing that towel is a little unnerving." He smiled nervously at his friend as he stood. Turning his back to the room, he exited quickly.

Jim rose more slowly, looking over his shoulder to the kitchen as he made his way to the stairs.

A short while later, he descended from his room, fully clothed, to find Blair sitting on the couch, feet tucked under him, sipping on a mug of steaming coffee. Sitting next to him, he picked up his own mug and inhaled the rich aroma. Tasting the hot liquid carefully, he eyed his companion. "So, what's the deal here?"

"You remember a couple weeks ago when you lost your senses?"

Memories flashed quickly through the detective's mind. Shooting an innocent security guard at the mall. His senses shutting down. Incacha. The Chopec. Sentinels, Guides and Shamans. It all whirled through his brain with painful clarity. A conversation with Blair in the truck . . . My God! Could that be it? "Yeah, but that's over, now. I got my senses back. You're not going anywhere. I need you."

"I didn't know that then, Jim. You were so wrapped up in the case, in Incacha's death . . . you didn't see me . . . my fear." He paused, staring out the glass balcony doors at the lights of the city.

"But you know it now, so what's the problem?" Jim studied his friend intently.

"That's just it, Jim. I don't know it." He turned back to the older man, fear sparkling in the depths of his wide, expressive eyes. "It could happen again. Who knows? Maybe next time you won't get your senses back. Or . . . or . . . I could lose you. . . ." Blair's hands spoke volumes as he gesticulated wildly, trying to express himself. "How many times have you come close to dying, Jim? I couldn't stand it, man! I couldn't!

"You've got no idea what it meant growing up as Naomi Sandburg's son. We were always moving. Sometimes I lived with Mom and her current boyfriend, sometimes I was foisted off on relatives or friends. Whenever I was someplace long enough to make a friend, I'd lose them again in the next move. We lived in countries where I couldn't speak the language. We lived all over the States and Canada." Blair stopped to sigh expressively. "This . . . this is the most stable home I've ever had. This is the longest I've ever been allowed to stay anywhere. I finally opened up and allowed myself to like you, Jim. You're my best friend. I just couldn't go through that again! I couldn't stand the thought of losing your friendship . . . my home . . . my stability. . . ."

"Calm down, Chief," Jim said, capturing both hands, holding them gently in his own. "You'll bring on another one of those damn seizures."

Blair stared at him blankly for a few moments, working to get his breathing under control. Jim watched nervously until Blair swallowed and smiled weakly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Blair, and neither are you. You have to believe that. I need you as much as you need me."

The fledgling shaman and guide gave his sentinel a long, hard look. "You do?" His voice was tremulous with emotion.

"Where would I be without you? How many times have you saved my life? My sanity? I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for you."

Blair drew in a ragged breath. "I didn't know. . . ." He tried to pull his hands free, but found he was still held fast.

"How could you not? Without you, I'd be dead or locked away in an asylum. You're as necessary to me as air to breathe. Don't you ever forget it!"

"I'm sorry, Jim. I lost it there. I'm really sorry. I just . . . I just . . . I'm scared, I guess. That's all." Blair looked up at his friend, hope lighting his eyes.

"Well, don't be. You'll be an important part of my life for as long as you want to be. I'm not going anywhere." Jim took a long pull on his beer. "Want to watch some basketball?"

Blair grinned at the change of subject. Jim was like that, making complete one-eighties in conversations when he figured they were done discussing something. He unfurled his legs, settling next to Jim on the couch, willing to let his friend get away with it just this once.

To be continued in Angel on My Shoulder...

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