Rating: G

Blair fidgeted in the bed.

"What is up with you? Got ants in your pants or something?" Jim asked.

"Ha ha! No, it's this blasted hospital gown. It keeps riding up. I don't know how some women wear nightgowns to bed."

"They don't usually have a slit in the back either."

Blair grinned. "No, that's true. I remember one girlfriend who insisted on borrowing one of my sweat tops to sleep in, said it was comfortable."

"You were in a relationship long enough for her to borrow your top? You do surprise me!" Jim was grinning.

Blair pulled a face and stuck out his tongue. "Bite me!" He grimaced. "I found it a bit creepy, to be honest. I mean, to sleep in something I wear everyday... just creeped me out somehow."

Jim pointedly looked at the sweatshirt lying abandoned on a chair. Blair followed his eyes and back pedaled.

"Oh, man! I mean, I know I borrow your stuff, but we're friends, right? You've never had a problem with that, have you?"

Jim shook his head. He smiled, gently. "No, I'd have said if I had. Beside, it's like, I don't know, like you are being kept warm or safe or something in something of mine when I can't keep you...." He stopped as he realized he was babbling.

"In a purely platonic, straight, friendly way," Blair finished, grinning.

"Exactly," Jim agreed.

"Only I have a big confession to make." Blair started to play with the threads of the blanket on the hospital bed. "Less straight, more inclined towards gay, in my case."

"Really? Well, that's good."

"I meant to say something before, but I didn't want to upset you." He looked up at Jim as his friend's words registered. "What?"

"I was about to say, that's good, because I'm more inclined towards gay myself." Jim was grinning.

"You're shitting me!"

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Really, honest and truly. Have been all my life."

"Carolyn?"

"She thought she could change me." Jim shrugged.

"Oh we are so going to have a conversation about our 'straightness' when I get out of here."

Jim grinned widely. "A long conversation?"

Blair nodded enthusiastically. "A long, meaningful, conversation. In fact I'd go so far as to call it an intimate intercourse -- if that's what you want," Blair added, hope in his voice.

"Sounds like a plan." Jim nodded.

"Well, Mr. Sandburg," the doctor entered Blair's room. "I find no trace of any concussion. You are free to leave. I presume Detective Ellison will be giving you a ride home? And you both know the drill; any signs of unusual sleepiness, or sickness, get straight back in touch. Just keep quiet for around twenty-four hours, if that's at all possible for you!" He smiled at Blair.

Jim was already gathering Blair's stuff. "I'll make sure to keep a good eye on him, Doc. I can't promise he'll be quiet, but I won't leave his side until he's okay."