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.

Author's Notes: This story was written in October 2002, after my summer bout with walking pneumonia. It was just recently found on my hard drive and dusted off for posting. It was originally betaed by Elaine, Kimberly, and Montserrat, but has since been slightly revised. I take responsibility for any remaining errors.

Rating: PG

Summary: Jim cares for Blair as he recovers from a case of pneumonia.

Comments welcome and appreciated!

Jim helped Blair through the door and over to the couch. He grabbed a couple pillows, throwing them down at one end, and then eased his burden onto the cushions. Blair's cough shook his whole body. When the spasm ended, he tipped over onto the pillows with a groan.

"I'm going to get you a glass of water, so that we can get you started on these meds," proclaimed Jim. Blair nodded weakly, totally sans the energy to argue. Jim returned with the liquid and the pills. "Here you go." He put an arm under Blair's shoulders, lifting him enough so that he could drink. "That should make you feel better. Want some of the cough medicine?" Blair shook his head and rolled to face the back cushions. Jim patted his shoulder and left the young man to his rest.

~oO0Oo~

That afternoon, Simon settled himself in the chair opposite the loveseat where his detective was seated, and glanced over to the couch occupied by the ailing anthropologist.

"How's he doing?" the Captain asked. "He doesn't look so hot."

Jim shook his head. "Good news and bad news," he sighed. "The doctor called it 'mycoplasmal pneumonia' - walking pneumonia. It's not that serious, just god-awful miserable. Sandburg's got a cough that could take out Cleveland on a good day. It's worse when he tries to lie down and sleep, so he hasn't been getting much rest."

"He seems to be sleeping well, now," Simon commented.

"That's because he's doped up on narcotic cough syrup," Jim said with a shake of his head. "The doctor has him on an antibiotic, azithromycin, that's supposed to be effective against the worst of his symptoms. The bad news is, it's still going to take up to six weeks for him to get over this."

"It's a shame it had to happen now." Simon looked over at the man in question. "Why couldn't he get sick in the winter like everyone else?"

"Doc said this form of pneumonia was most common in May and June." Jim got up and crossed the short space to the other couch. He laid a palm against the sweaty brow of his roommate. "And Sandburg's timing is as impeccable as always. It looks like we'll miss the Fourth of July softball tournament this year." He sat on the edge of the couch and gently shook Blair's shoulder. "Hey, Chief; you're burning up here, buddy. I'm going to go get you some aspirin to bring down that fever." At Blair's faint nod, Jim rose.

"The hardest part is trying to keep his fever down," Jim told his captain as he crossed the room toward the kitchen. "He's 104 if he's a degree."

"Have you tried a cool bath?" Simon suggested. "When Daryl runs a fever, I fill the tub with lukewarm water and let him soak. It stabilizes his temperature, and it feels good."

"I like the sound of that," Jim admitted, wrestling with his patient, trying to get Blair to swallow the two small pills. "I should probably make a quick trip out to see if I could find one of those inflatable bathtub liners, though. That cold porcelain gets pretty hard after a while. Neither of us uses the tub much. We both prefer showers."

Simon got up and walked over to the couch where Blair lay in a tangle of blankets, moaning softly through the pain of the headache currently assaulting him. "I can stay with him until you get back," he said, settling on the edge of a cushion. "Anything I need to do for him?"

"Thanks, Simon." Jim rose, grateful for the opportunity to escape briefly from his responsibilities. "I just gave him the aspirin for his fever and headache. If he asks for the cough syrup, he can have some again - just a half teaspoon. If he wants coffee, I have some iced in the fridge. That'll go down better than something hot. Otherwise, he's had his medications for the day. He shouldn't be much trouble."

"Then don't worry about us," Simon said, shooing the hovering man from the couch. "You go get that tub liner. I think Blair will appreciate the cool soak."

Once Jim had gone, Simon turned to Blair, brushing sweat-damp tendrils of hair away from his flushed cheeks.

"Jim?" The voice that greeted Simon shook with exhaustion.

"No, kid, it's me, Simon. Jim had to go run a little errand. He should be back in an hour." He rested a large hand on the flannel-covered shoulder. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Jim," Blair muttered, moisture forming under his dark lashes. He blinked, allowing a streak of tears to wet his cheek. "Why did he leave? Did I do something wrong?"

Simon wiped away the single tear with his thumb. "You didn't do anything wrong, kid. He's gone to get something to make you more comfortable. He won't be away long."

"I need him," Blair murmured, turning his face back into the couch cushions. "He's my blessed protector."

"I know, son," Simon agreed softly. "He's coming right back."

Blair looked up at the captain. "Jim takes care of me. I love him li..." A coughing fit wracked his weakened body, interrupting what he was trying to say. Simon grabbed a fistful of tissues from a box on the coffee table and handed them to Blair to wipe the mucus and sputum that had sprayed his hands and face during the paroxysm. "Thanks." He finished cleaning himself up and tossed the tissues on the floor. "Jim, he's like, you know, the father I never had."

"Uh huh," Simon replied, smiling at Blair's confession. "You close those eyes and get some rest. Jim'll be back soon, and he'll have a treat I think you'll really appreciate." Blair nodded his agreement and snuggled deeper into his nest on the couch.

When Jim finally arrived back home, Simon was sitting in the chair once again, reading the sports section of the daily newspaper. Blair was resting comfortably; only the tattletale rattling of mucus in his chest giving any indication to the Sentinel of his partner's current distress.

"Get what you were looking for?" Simon asked, glancing up from the baseball stats.

"Yup." Jim held up his prize. "I'll go run the bath water and get things ready, then you can take off. Thanks for staying with him while I went out."

"I couldn't very well leave the kid to fend for himself. He's weak as a kitten right now," Simon commented.

The sound of running water filled the apartment. Soon Jim emerged from the bathroom, ready to see if Simon's suggestion would actually bring down Blair's raging fever.

Simon rose to leave, crossing the room to stand next to his detective. Reaching out, he laid a hand on Jim's forearm. "Give me a call. Let me know how it goes," he said, before heading to the door and leaving the two men alone.

Jim knelt beside the couch, peeling off the lightweight blanket that covered Sandburg. He rolled Blair onto his back and began patting his cheeks. "Come on, Chief. Time to wake up." As Blair opened his eyes, Jim began pulling on his arms to help him to sit.

"Whazzup?" Blair mumbled.

"Besides you?" Jim quipped softly. He kept pulling, until he eventually had the wobbly Sandburg on his feet. "I've got a nice cool bath ready for you," he explained. "Simon suggested it might be a way to get your fever down a little faster." Wrapping an arm around Blair's waist and pulling him against his own body for support, Jim half walked, half dragged the younger man into the bathroom.

He sat Blair on the closed lid of the toilet seat and began to disrobe him. His patient didn't protest even when Jim stood him up to divest him of his boxers and lower him into the cool water.

"Nice." The weak comment was accompanied by another coughing spasm.

Jim made sure that Blair was settled comfortably, his head resting on the inflated pillow at one end of the tub. He began splashing handfuls of water up the exposed chest, wiping down Blair's face with a cool cloth and drizzling water over the top of his head, to dribble down through the tangles of his hair.

He continued the gentle splashing, stroking a hand down through the wet tangles of hair, and resting his palm against a flushed cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Better," Blair answered. "Thank you." The few words brought on another fit of coughing. Jim gathered Blair into his arms, heedless of the water dampening his shirt, and held the shaking shoulders until the spasm eased.

"Are you about ready to get out and dry off?" Jim asked when the coughing had ceased. Blair nodded and pushed to stand with a renewed burst of energy. Jim was up quickly, helping the younger man out of the tub, and wrapping him in warm terrycloth to dry off.

"Would you like to settle back on the couch, or would you rather sleep in your own room?" Jim asked, guiding the towel-wrapped man from the bathroom.

"Couch," Blair responded. "I like knowing you're close by."

"Couch it is, then," Jim agreed. He continued into the small bedroom under the stairs. "Just let me get you some pajamas to sleep in."

Blair pulled back slightly, bringing Jim with him. "No. Please." Blue eyes pleaded with Jim to forget that idea. "It's so miserable being in those sweaty things. I'd rather just wear boxers."

"I can go with that," Jim agreed, guiding Blair into the bedroom and seating him on the bed while he dug through the drawers looking for clean underwear. Finally, he looked up, defeated. "I can't find any clean boxers," he complained.

"Over there." Blair pointed to a pile of clothing on a chair in a corner of the tiny room. "That's the clean stuff. Haven't felt like putting it away." More coughing followed the admission.

Jim shook his head and walked over to the chair, digging until he found a pair of boxers. He brought them over to Blair, then turned back toward the doors to his room. "You get those on. I'm getting you a sheet to put down on the couch." He went to the linen closet and fetched the sheet, heading out to the living room to tuck it around the cushions.

Blair followed, smiling at the doting Sentinel. "You just don't want my bare skin touching your precious cushions," he joked.

Jim helped Blair down onto the couch and covered him with the light blanket. "The upholstery would be scratchy against your skin," he countered. "I didn't want any complaints later on." He leaned down to adjust the blanket and stroke his hand through the damp curls. "Now rest."

~oO0Oo~

"Hungry?" Jim offered a tray with soup and crackers and a tall glass of cool water to his patient.

Blair sat up and grinned. "Smells good," he agreed, crumbling some crackers into the soup, and then taking an enormous spoonful. "Mmmm. Thanks, man."

Jim picked up the remote and turned on the TV. "I heard there was some documentary thing on the Discovery Channel this evening about the history and making of fireworks." He found the program and settled in to watch, devouring his own meal in a matter of minutes. "Think you might feel up to sitting out on the balcony tomorrow night to watch the fireworks over the bay?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, I think I might have enough energy for that," he agreed. "I feel really bad about making you miss all the festivities out at the park. I know how much you enjoy the softball tournament."

"Yeah, we had a big bet going with the fire department this year. Joel can hold his own, though. They'll do okay without us." Jim moved over to the couch, removing Blair's dinner tray and seating himself at one end. He pulled Blair down, cradling his head in his lap, and took the remote.

Blair looked up at his roommate. "Um, Jim? Why are you on my couch?"

"It's my couch, too," Jim reminded him. "Besides, I can see the TV better from here." With that, he turned his attention back to the program.

The anthropologist gave a mental shrug and snuggled down to watch the show. Within fifteen minutes, his eyes had drooped shut and he began making snuffling noises through the congestion in his chest and sinuses.

Jim sighed and turned off the TV. Resigned to being a pillow for the night, he tipped his head back on the cushions and closed his eyes, wrapping one arm protectively around Blair's shoulders, while the other hand rested in the mop of curls, keeping the hair out of Blair's face. The only sound that disturbed them that night was an occasional cough. Jim soothed the younger man back to sleep with a few quiet words and the gentle stroking of fingers through his hair.

Fourth of July:

"You go, Jim," Blair insisted. A coughing fit took him out of the fight momentarily, but he got right back in the ring. "Just because I can't be there is no reason for you to miss out on the annual softball game."

"You're barely able to get around on your own, Chief," Jim pointed out. "You need to eat, and you need your rest."

Blair cleared his throat and began again, his voice rough and halting. "Fix me a sandwich. Put it in the fridge. I can manage that. I don't need a babysitter." Another bout of coughing followed the short speech.

"Look at you," Jim argued. "You can't even put four sentences together without coughing your lungs inside out. I'm staying. Someone has to make sure you take your medicines on time." Jim got up from the breakfast table and began cleaning up. In a softer voice, he continued, "I thought maybe I'd fire up the barbecue on the patio. I'll make some of Sally's famous potato salad and we can roast some hot dogs. How does that sound?"

"I think you should go." Blair's hoarse voice was barely above a whisper.

"I think I should stay," Jim countered. "No negotiations. No more arguments. Besides, the game wouldn't be the same without you there."

Blair looked up from examining some crumbs on the tabletop. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jim confirmed, walking back over to the table to help Blair up and over to the couch.

"Now, you get some rest."

Later that evening:

Blair sprawled on the chaise lounge Jim had recently purchased for the patio and patted his stomach. "That was great, Jim. Thanks."

"You ate two-thirds of a hot dog and barely a spoonful of potato salad," Jim complained. "You call that eating?"

"Hey, man.... The mouth is willing, but the tummy is full. What can I say?"

"You sure you had enough? Maybe I could make you a tossed salad or something?" Jim persisted.

Blair smiled and shook his head. "No thanks, Jim. Really. I'm stuffed. I may need to eat again in two or three hours, but right now, I couldn't take another bite."

"It's cooling off," Jim noted. "Maybe I should get you a blanket." He rose and went back into the apartment. When he came out again, Blair was asleep. "Good going there, Chief. You get some rest," he whispered as he draped the blanket over the sleeping figure. He settled himself into one of the patio chairs and stared out at the bay, watching the sun set.

The sound of fireworks exploding brought the dozing Sentinel to full alertness. Bright colors lit the sky, nearly blinding him. The sound of soft coughing from nearby brought his head around to where Blair was sleeping in the lounge. "Chief...? C'mon, buddy, wake up. Fireworks."

Blair's eyes blinked open and he coughed once more to clear his throat and lungs. "How long?"

"They just started." Jim walked over and sat on the edge of the lounge, resting one hand on Blair's thigh. "Looks like it's going to be a spectacular display tonight."

Blair scooted over, making as much room as possible, and patted the lounge. "Why don't you lie down? I've got a great view, and I don't have to strain my neck to see."

"Are you kidding?" Jim joked. "And risk getting coughed on? You think I'm anxious to come down with myco-whatchamacallit pneumonia?"

"Mycoplasmal," Blair corrected patiently. "And besides, my man, if you're not exposed by now, a few minutes more isn't going to make a difference."

Jim shrugged, unable to argue the logic of the statement. "Scoot over, Darwin." He jockeyed for position on the chaise, finally squirming his way half under his partner, letting Blair use him as a giant body pillow. Wrapping one arm around Blair's waist to steady them, he settled in to watch the show. About halfway through the forty-five minute display, Jim noticed the quiet rumbling of Blair snoring.

Carefully wiggling his way out from under his partner, Jim stooped to pick Blair up and take him inside. The movement disturbed Blair's sleep and he began coughing. Flinging his arms around Jim's neck, he buried his face in the strong shoulder and rode out the fit.

Jim hugged his charge closer as he walked to the small room under the stairs. He laid his burden on the bed and then got out the antibiotic and cough syrup. "Time for your meds, Chief." He handed Blair a glass of water and the pill. Blair swallowed obediently, gratefully taking the dose of cough medicine as well. Jim pulled up the blankets, and stroked his hand through the unruly mane of curls, pushing the hair back from Blair's face. "Sleep well," he whispered.

Backing out of the room and closing the door, he stood for several minutes at the windows, watching Blair sleep. Finally satisfied that his friend was resting comfortably, Jim made his own way up to bed.

~oO0Oo~

The next morning, Blair shuffled from his room to the dining table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, allowing Jim to serve him breakfast without argument.

"You look better this morning," Jim commented. The dark circles were gone from under Blair's eyes, and judging from the way he was shoveling in the pancakes and eggs, his appetite had returned.

"I think the fever broke last night," said Blair between bites. "I was soaked in sweat - had to change my sheets... but after that, I slept like a baby."

Jim grinned, relieved to hear that Blair was beginning to get better. "Just remember, you're still in for a long recovery. You need to take it easy for a while yet."

Covering his mouth as another coughing fit hit him, Blair nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'll be careful." He finished off a few more bites of breakfast before he continued. "I thought I'd drop by the doctor's office and see if I can get a refill on the cough medicine."

"You need to take it easy on that stuff, too," Jim reminded him. "Codeine is very addictive."

Blair waved away the cautionary comment. "Believe me, I know. I don't intend to get hooked on the stuff just because of this cough, but I really need it to sleep at night. During the day, I let the cough work, bringing the phlegm up from my lungs. But at night... well, if I don't get a dose at night, I don't sleep."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, the cough seems to be getting better, but you could still take out a small suburb of Cleveland."

Blair wadded up his napkin threw it at Jim's smirking face.

~oO0Oo~

It took the full six weeks for Blair to recover fully from his bout with the pneumonia. It was mid-August when he finally got back to full throttle with all his activities, including accompanying Jim into the station each day.

The two men rested on the couch, watching TV after dinner. Jim reached over to ruffle Blair's hair.

"Hey, cut it out!" Blair said, batting away the hand and smiling.

"Did I ever tell you how much you had me worried last month when you were so sick?" Jim asked, turning down the volume on the news so that they could talk.

"No, but I knew you were," Blair answered softly. "It meant a lot the way you took care of me."

"You'd do the same, if our positions had been reversed," said Jim. "I'm just glad you're okay. It's good to have you back at the station full-time."

"At least until the fall semester starts," Blair reminded his partner. "And it's good to be back!" The lingering cough caught up with the anthropologist and he turned his head until the fit passed. "Sorry. The doctor said it would be a while before I'm completely free of the cough."

"Don't worry about it. Your blessed protector is here to take care of you," Jim said with a chuckle before his face took on a mock-serious countenance. "And what's this about you considering me like the father you never had? I'm not that much older than you!"

"Oh, God...." Blair dropped his head into his hands. "Simon told you?" He looked up, his face and hands pleading with Jim to understand. "I was sick, man. I had a fever, if you remember. You can't hold me responsible for what I said."

"Oh, I can't?" Jim leaned forward menacingly, prepared to tackle and tickle his embarrassed partner.

"Hey, Jim! Not fair!" Blair leaped up over the back of the couch, heading for the safety of his bedroom. "I plead the Fifth! I was delirious...!"

Blair's voice faded behind closed doors as Jim sat on the couch and laughed.