Delirious - Natalie L

July 3:

Jim helped Blair through the door and over to the couch. He grabbed a couple of pillows, throwing them down at one end, 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 we can get you started on these meds," Jim proclaimed. 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?"

"Yes, please." More coughs shook the exhausted body as he waited for the blessed relief. He wrapped his arms around his mid-section, tears welling in his eyes. "I didn't think just coughing could hurt so much," he whispered. "Please, please, make it stop."

Jim brought the dose and settled himself on the couch next to the ailing young man. "This should help," he said, handing Blair the spoon. "If you need more, just let me know, okay?" Blair nodded and quickly swallowed the medicine. Jim pulled the afghan down from the back cushions and tucked it in around the trembling body. "Now close your eyes and try to get some sleep." He patted Blair's shoulder and left the young man to his rest.

~oO0Oo~

That afternoon, Megan settled herself in the chair opposite the loveseat where Jim sat and glanced over to the couch occupied by the ailing anthropologist.

"How's he doing?" the Aussie Inspector asked. "He doesn't look at all well."

Jim shook his head. "Good news and bad news," he sighed. "The doctor called it 'myco-something-or-other 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," Megan commented.

"That's because he's doped up on narcotic cough syrup," Jim said with a shake of his head. "Doc's got 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." Megan 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: his symptoms started on June 30th. 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," he told Megan as he returned from the bathroom with the medicine. "He's 104 if he's a degree."

"Have you tried a cool bath?" she suggested. "It should help stabilize his temperature and make him more comfortable."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Jim wondered, wrestling with his reluctant patient, trying to get him to swallow the two small pills. "I should probably make a quick trip out to see if I can 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 seem to prefer showers."

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

"Thanks, Megan." 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 wants the cough syrup, he can have some again -- just a half teaspoon. If he asks for 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," Megan said, shooing the hovering detective from the couch. "You go get that tub liner. I think Blair will appreciate the cool soak."

Once Jim had finally left, Megan turned to the patient, brushing sweat-dampened tendrils of hair away from his flushed cheeks.

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

"No, Sandy. It's me, Megan. Jim had to go run a little errand. He should be back in an hour." She rested a 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? I'll be good. I don't know what I did wrong."

Megan wiped away the single tear with her thumb. "You didn't do anything wrong, Sandy. Jim's your friend. He's gone to get something to make you more comfortable. He won't be gone long."

"More than friends," Blair murmured, turning his face back into the couch cushions.

"That you are," Megan agreed softly. "Partners, friends, roommates.... It's rare to see such a close relationship develop. You've been good for Jim."

"He's been good for me," Blair countered, just as a coughing fit shook his weakened body. "I love him." Slightly flustered by the young man's statement, Megan 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."

"No problem," Megan mumbled. "And I'm sure Jim loves you, too. You're his best friend," she rationalized. "You close those eyes and get some rest. Jim'll be back soon with a treat I think you'll really appreciate." Blair nodded his assent and snuggled deeper into his nest on the couch.

When Jim finally arrived back home, Megan was sitting in the chair once again, reading 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.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Megan asked, looking up from the stock market page.

"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."

"You couldn't very well leave Sandy to fend for himself. He's weak as a kitten right now," Megan commented.

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

Megan rose to leave, crossing the room to stand next to her friend. Reaching out, she laid a hand on Jim's forearm. "Blair told me some things while you were gone," she informed him. "Some of what he said was pretty strange."

"Like what?"

"Oh, like he thought he'd done something wrong that made you leave. That he'd be good, and that he loved you," Megan recited.

"Shit." Jim bent down, stroking Blair's exposed arm as it lay on top of the blanket. "Why would he think crap like that?"

"People say strange things when they're feverish," Megan explained. "But there's often a grain of truth in their words. Blair's still insecure about his place in your life." She paused a moment, considering her next words. "And, Jim... he loves you. 'More than friends', he said. He's fragile right now. Tread carefully." She patted Jim's arm and walked toward the door. "Give me a call. Let me know how it goes." She pulled the door shut behind herself as she left.

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. 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. "Megan 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.

Blair moaned, and Jim stopped his ministrations to rest his palm against a flushed cheek. "You okay?" He felt the faint nod beneath his hand. Taking a washcloth, he wet it and wrung it out, then folded it and laid it across the warm forehead. He continued to splash water up the overheated body until Blair began to shiver.

"Time to get you out," Jim announced. "Feeling better?"

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

Once Blair was calm again, Jim stood, helping him 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.

"I'd like the couch, if you don't mind," Blair responded meekly. "I don't want to be a bother, but I like having you nearby."

"You're no bother," Jim said quickly. "The couch it is, then." He continued into the small bedroom under the stairs. "Just let me get you some clean underwear to sleep in."

Blair pulled back slightly, bringing Jim with him. "No. Please." Blue eyes pleaded with Jim. "It's so miserable being in those sweaty things. I'd rather be nude. I-I mean, if it doesn't bother you." Blair's cheeks flushed slightly with the confession.

"No, Darwin, it doesn't bother me," Jim answered patiently.

"It's, well... you know," Blair stuttered, waving a hand in the air for emphasis. "I-I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Jim snorted. "It's not like I've never seen you naked, Sandburg." He turned back to the linen closet in the bathroom. "I just spent the last twenty minutes bringing down your fever in a cool bath. I'm all for you trying to be comfortable. I'm going to put a sheet down for you on the couch," he added, fetching one from the closet. He headed for the sofa where he tucked the fabric around the cushions.

When he had finished, he helped Blair to get settled. Taking the towel, he replaced it with a lightweight blanket, tucking it loosely around the cooling body. He squeezed Blair's shoulder reassuringly. "Rest now."

~oO0Oo~

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

Blair sat up, making sure the blanket covered his lap. "Smells good," he agreed, crumbling some crackers into the soup, 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 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 have a big bet going with the fire department this year. Simon and the guys can hold their own, though. They'll do okay without us." Jim moved over to the couch, removing Blair's dinner tray and sitting at the head end. He pulled Blair down, cradling his head in his lap and wrapping a protective arm around the younger man's shoulders.

Blair looked up at his roommate. "You don't have to sit here with me," he murmured, snuggling into the embrace. "I'm miserable company right now." He emphasized his statement with a round of deep coughing.

"It's my couch, too," Jim reminded him. "Besides, I can see the TV better from here." He pulled the ailing man a little closer and turned his attention to the program.

They settled in to watch the documentary together, Jim remaining politely silent until the first commercial. Still stroking the soft hair beneath his hand, he strove to be casual. "Megan told me some things you said to her this afternoon."

Blair turned his head so he was looking up into Jim's face. "What kind of things?" He paused for a moment, thinking. "I don't remember much before the bath."

"You were pretty out of it, all right," Jim agreed. "The high fever made you babble, I guess."

"Oh, God...." Blair groaned. "What did I say?"

Jim flushed at the memory. "Well," he started, "she said you told her we were more than friends."

"We are," Blair agreed, somewhat puzzled by the statement. "We're partners on your job, we're roommates...."

"She said you told her that you loved me," Jim said quietly, fearful of Blair's response; fearful of the words no matter whether they confirmed or denied.

Blair sighed. "Aw, shit!" he cursed, blushing furiously. "I-I never meant for you to find out," he confessed. "I must have been delirious. I didn't know what I was saying. You're not mad, are you?"

"Does it bother you that Megan told me?" Jim asked, stroking fingers lightly across the wide forehead.

"I-I guess not. As long as you're not mad at me."

"Do I sound mad?" Jim asked, genuinely surprised the young man would think such a thing.

"No, but you're being nice to me 'cause I'm sick," Blair mumbled, punctuating his statement with another bout of coughing. "Is it time for more cough medicine yet?"

"Yeah," Jim answered, glancing at his watch. "You stay put. I'll get it." He eased himself out from under his burden and walked to the bathroom to fetch the syrup. He came back with the dosing spoon full. "Here you go. Drink up."

Blair swallowed the sweet liquid, licking his lips to catch every drop. "Good stuff," he murmured, pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Where do you think you're going, Hopalong?" Jim teased, reaching out to grab a bare shoulder.

"Tired," came the curt answer. Wrapping the blanket around his waist, Blair headed for his room. "'Night, Jim," he called just before shutting his door.

Jim sat, shaking his head and wondering if his friend -- potentially more than a friend -- had given him the slip on the personal conversation.

Fourth of July:

"You go, Jim," Blair insisted. A coughing fit took him out of the fight momentarily, but he got right back into 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," 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," his Blessed Protector argued. "You can't even put four sentences together without coughing. 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 my world-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 answered. "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 his friend 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 stomach's 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 young man. 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 the man sleeping on the lounge. "Blair? 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."

"Sounds like a deal." Jim jockeyed for position on the lounge, 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 his friend's snores.

Carefully wiggling his way out from under his burden, Jim stooped to pick Blair up and take him inside. The movement disturbed the anthropologist's restful slumber 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 futon, then got out the antibiotic and cough syrup. "Time for your meds." 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 his friend was resting comfortably, Jim made his own way up to bed.

***

The sound of coughing woke the sleeping Sentinel. He listened as Blair got out of bed, padded barefoot across his room, opened the door and went into the bathroom. Bright light stabbed upward briefly, until the door closed, leaving Jim in darkness again.

He continued to eavesdrop as Blair got out the cough syrup and spooned up a dose. There was a heavy sigh as footsteps shuffled across the floor, the light was turned out, and the young man returned to his bed. The rustle of blankets as Blair tried to get comfortable sounded loudly in the upper bedroom. Soft sighs and a few more congested coughs punctuated the stillness before silence finally settled over the apartment once more.

Jim made his way quietly down the stairs and across the room to stand in front of Blair's bedroom door. After a slight hesitation, he let himself in and sat on the futon next to his friend. "Are you okay?"

"Jim?" Blair rolled over and opened his eyes. "I'm so sorry, man. My coughing is waking you up, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well, it's a little hard to muffle the noise," Jim admitted. "I know you don't do it on purpose."

"I just took some more cough medicine. I should be okay for the rest of the night. You need to go back to bed."

"I will... in a minute." Jim shifted on the mattress until he could lie down, pulling the sick man to his chest. "First, I want to make sure that you get back to sleep all right."

"I'll be fine," Blair mumbled, not fighting the comforting hold. "You go to sleep."

"You know, I think I will," Jim whispered, closing his eyes.

July 5:

"How's Blair doing?" Simon asked. "We missed both of you at the softball game yesterday. The Firemen beat us 5 to 4. If you and Sandburg had been there, we'd have knocked their socks off."

Jim sipped at his coffee and looked up at his boss. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Blair wanted me to go, but I just couldn't leave him," Jim admitted. "He still sounds like he's coughing his lungs inside out. If I didn't need the paycheck, I wouldn't be here today."

Simon nodded. "Yeah, I understand that. I get the same way when Daryl's sick. Sandburg can take care of himself, though," he added.

"He'll be all right," Jim said without conviction. "He knows how to use the phone if he really needs something."

"You don't look so good yourself," Simon commented. "You'd better take care that you don't go getting sick, too."

"I haven't been sleeping all that well." Jim sighed and took another hit of caffeine from the rich Jamaican blend Simon had offered him. "Blair's coughing keeps me awake."

"I thought you said he had some miracle cough syrup?"

"He usually has to get up in the middle of the night for another dose." Jim shook his head. "I'm tuned in to every little sound he makes."

"Have you said anything to him?"

"He knows," Jim sighed. "I came checking on him in the middle of the night last night after a particularly bad bout."

Simon harrumphed. "Well, if you need a nap, my couch is available."

"Thanks, Simon." Jim stood and headed toward the office door. "I suppose I'd better get to work on some of that case backlog."

"If you can reduce that stack of reports by half, I might let you go home early," Simon offered.

"Thanks, sir," Jim said. He closed the office door behind him as he headed back out to his desk.

"Jim?" The sound of Megan's voice stopped the detective in his tracks. She sauntered over to him, giving him a knowing grin. "Did you, um, discuss Sandy's little confession when he woke up?"

Jim turned around to face the Inspector, then took a hold of her arm and guided her over to the relative privacy of his desk. "Yeah. Some," he admitted quietly. "He was pretty embarrassed about the whole thing."

Megan nodded. "I can imagine."

"He was worried I might be upset."

"Were you?"

Jim shook his head. "No. Not really. He doesn't seem inclined to act on it, so why should it bother me?"

"I'm glad to hear that," Megan said. "Just be sure to keep his feelings in mind. His defenses are down while he's this sick. He needs your support right now, more than anything."

"I know," Jim agreed. "Don't worry. He's got it."

~oO0Oo~

"How ya doing, Chief?" Jim called as he walked into the apartment two hours early. Sounds of heavy coughing reached his ears from the bathroom. He wandered over and stood outside the closed door. "You okay in there?"

More coughing, then a weak, "I've been better." A few minutes later, the door opened and a pale anthropologist walked out on shaky legs. "I need to sit down."

Jim wrapped an arm around the young man's waist and slung Blair's arm over his shoulder. "Let's get you to the couch where you can lie down and rest." He walked his friend over to the longer of the two sofas and settled him under a light blanket, using a throw pillow to cushion his head. "Feel better?"

Blair nodded, closing his eyes. "The doctor warned me about the coughing," he said tiredly. "But I didn't realize how much it would affect my energy level. It sucks the life right out of me."

"I'm calling the clinic," Jim announced. "I think you need to see the doctor again." Blair moaned, but didn't protest. Jim picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory.

"Dr. Hart's office. How may I help you?"

"I'm calling regarding Blair Sandburg," Jim answered. "He was in to see Dr. Hart five days ago for myco - mycopl - walking pneumonia. His cough seems much worse."

"Can you bring him in this afternoon?"

"We can be there in fifteen minutes," Jim exclaimed, hanging up the phone. "Come on, Chief, we're going to see Doc Hart.

"~oO0Oo~

Dr. Hart pressed the stethoscope against Blair's chest and listened to the congested sounds in his lungs. "Have you been coughing up blood?"

"No." Blair shook his head. "No blood, but I didn't know that coughing could hurt so much."

The doctor nodded. "Unfortunately, it's the major symptom, along with lack of energy. You're using abdominal muscles that normally don't get that kind of a workout, and they're not getting much chance to recuperate. I'm not surprised you're in some pain. If it's bothering you too much, we can increase the dosage of cough medicine from one-half teaspoon to a whole teaspoon." Dr. Hart looked sympathetic as he patted Blair's shoulder. "Don't be surprised if you continue to cough for another six weeks." Blair exhaled a soft sigh. "Have you coughed up any phlegm at all?"

Blair nodded, too exhausted to speak.

Dr. Hart turned to Jim. "See that when he lies down, his head and shoulders are elevated. Use two or three pillows. The coughing is worse when he lies flat." He turned to his patient. "I'd like to send you over to the hospital for a chest x-ray. After they've taken it, just wait in the lobby for my call. The technician will report his findings to me, and I'll let you know what I want you to do next."

"I won't have to be admitted to the hospital, will I?" Blair asked, worry creasing his brow.

"Probably not, but I want to make sure. Just wait for my call."

An hour later, the two men waited in the hospital's spacious lobby. Finally, the receptionist looked up. "Mr. Sandburg?" When Blair stood, she motioned to a phone on the wall near her desk. "Dr. Hart on Line 2."

"Thanks." Blair went over to the phone and pushed the blinking button. "Dr. Hart?"

"Blair? The results of your x-ray show considerable congestion in the lungs, but nothing serious enough for hospitalization. I've phoned in more of the antibiotic to the pharmacy. Pick that up, then go home and rest." His voice softened a fraction. "I know this is miserable, but it just takes time."

"Okay. Thanks, Dr. Hart." Blair hung up the phone and turned to Jim. "I have a new prescription to pick up, then he wants me to rest."

"Sounds like a plan," Jim agreed, coming to stand beside the young man.

~oO0Oo~

Jim kept an arm firmly around Blair's waist as they made their way back into the loft. He steered his charge over to the couch, situating him comfortably with pillows supporting him in a semi-upright position. "Now, don't you try to do anything," Jim chided. "Just rest, like the doctor ordered. Want to watch some TV?" He reached over and grabbed the remote off the table, handing it to Blair.

"Thanks," Blair answered, hugging the small device to his chest. "I think I'll sleep a bit. Maybe I'll watch something later."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll see what I can scare us up for dinner. Any preferences?"

Blair looked up and sighed. "Do you have any of that homemade chicken soup Sally sent over?"

"Sure thing," Jim agreed. "With some crackers and a glass of juice?" Blair nodded. "Okay, then. You rest, and I'll gather the fixings. We can have an early dinner when you wake up."

"Okay," came the soft answer from the couch.

~oO0Oo~

Later that evening, Jim noted that Blair had once again fallen asleep in the living room. Picking up the somnolent young man, he headed for the small bedroom beneath the stairs. The futon was a tangled mess, but he managed to settle Blair without waking him. "Good-night. Sleep well." He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Soft sounds of coughing followed him into the hall....

A week later:

Ruffled from sleep, Blair padded around the kitchen in his stocking feet, preparing the coffee and checking to see what was available for breakfast.

Jim came up behind the young man and gently took hold of an arm, pulling him away from the refrigerator. "Sit. I'll fix breakfast. You still need to rest."

"It's okay, Jim," Blair protested, allowing himself to be escorted to the dining table. "I can do things for myself."

"What you've done already has earned you a nap," the protective Sentinel scolded.

Sighing, Blair accepted the cup of coffee that Jim sat in front of him, savoring the rich flavor. He waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "You know, a little work now and then isn't going to kill me."

"I don't want you exerting yourself too soon," Jim stated firmly. He walked over to the table with a skillet containing two omelets and put one on each of their plates. Returning to the kitchen, he deposited the skillet, picking up the toast and his own mug of coffee.

"We have some unfinished business to discuss," he said without preamble, sitting across from the puzzled anthropologist. He shoveled a mouthful of the omelet, while waiting to see if his pronouncement would bring a response.

"Business?" Blair asked, biting into a slice of toast.

"Yeah. Something you brought up last week."

"Something I brought up...." Blair looked blank.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable considering that Blair had not picked up on the topic yet. The grad student continued to watch him, then shrugged. "I didn't want to pursue it then. Well, I did," he amended, "but you changed the subject and the conversation was never finished."

"Ah," Blair said, his eyes finally lighting up with the memory.

"Did you mean it, or was it just the fever talking?" Jim held his breath. It was risky business bringing this up now. His heart was at stake, but he had to know.

"I still love you, Jim," Blair said softly, lowering his lashes so that his eyes were hooded. "How could I not? Look at how you're taking care of me while I'm sick... How you take care of me every time I get hurt, or someone says something you don't like about me. You gave me a place to stay for a week, and three years later, I'm still here. I've never had anyone care for me like that, not even Naomi," he said. "I've got a stable home and a - a - family - for the first time in my life."

Jim reached across the table, covering one of Blair's hands with his own. "I may not have your way with words," he confessed, "but you wouldn't still be here if I didn't care about you." Blair stared at the man across the table -- the man who currently held his hand.

Jim rose and circled the table, pulling the young man to his feet. He placed a warm kiss in the center of his forehead, then tugged Blair into a tight embrace.

When they finally separated, Blair felt weak. A fit of coughing took over, and he leaned into the strong shoulder, which still supported him. "Sorry," he gasped, when the fit had passed.

"You need to rest," Jim stated, steering him toward the stairs.

Blair protested, struggling against the greater strength. "I just got up!"

"And did too much," Jim scolded, marching the young man up the staircase. When they reached his bedroom, he pulled back the covers and indicated the bed. "Get in."

"Jim...?" Blair stood frozen at the top of the stairs. "Um, don't get me wrong, but aren't we moving a little fast here?"

"Get your ass in bed, Sandburg!" Jim said with mock severity, pulling Blair across the short space. "It's quieter up here. You can rest better," he added more softly.

"Oh." Blair climbed onto the huge king mattress and let Jim pull the covers up to his chin. "So what did you mean -- exactly? Is something going to happen here, or not? Between us, that is," he added. Soft coughing accompanied the questions, and he reached for the box of tissues.

"That's up to you," Jim answered. "If it's what you really want." He paused, watching his friend languishing in the bed with a fistful of Kleenex. "Not a hell of a lot of anything is going to happen until you're feeling better, no matter what we decide." He paused before turning his back on the bed. "Sleep, Chief." He slowly took the stairs back down to the living room.

Blair watched him go, then closed his eyes.

Early August:

Coughing still echoed through the quiet of the loft, but it was far less severe than a mere two weeks prior. Blair stooped to examine the contents of the refrigerator. To his dismay, the pickings were becoming rather slim. Jim had been busy with a new case, and hadn't had the time to go grocery shopping. Usually he brought home take-out for dinner, but that didn't solve Blair's problem of what to have for lunch.

Somewhat reluctantly, he made his way back into his bedroom and rummaged through the mess for clean clothes. For the first time in three weeks, he got himself dressed and left the loft for something other than a doctor's appointment.

The Volvo was stubborn after not being run for all that time. It took Blair a good ten minutes to convince the engine to turn over and idle without stalling. Pulling out of the parking lot, he headed a few blocks down the road to a little market he favored when it was his turn to do the shopping.

He started in the produce area, getting fresh lettuce and veggies for the salads he craved, as well as some summer squash and a few succulent looking nectarines. Already he was starting to tire, and he knew the cupboards were nearly as bare as the refrigerator. He cruised up the canned goods aisle, tossing things into his cart. Pastas were a staple in the Ellison-Sandburg home as well, so spaghetti, macaroni and rotini found their way into the cart, too. Heading to the meat department, he tossed in some chicken breasts and hamburger. Finally, he selected a dozen donuts as a treat for his overworked nursemaid and headed for the checkout counter.

By the time he got home, he barely had the energy to pack the groceries into the elevator and get them into the apartment. He put away the perishables, then went to lie down on the couch. He closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep, his hunger forgotten.

~oO0Oo~

Later that afternoon, Jim walked into a silent loft. He scanned the room, noting the bags of groceries piled on the floor and counters. Soft snuffling sounds of congestion came from the living room. He let his eyes follow his ears, and found Blair propped up on the sofa, sound asleep under the multi-colored afghan they kept thrown over the back of the couch.

"Hey, kid," Jim said, shaking Blair gently. "Time to get up and have something to eat. I brought lasagna from Marie's. How about I heat up a little garlic bread and we have dinner?"

"Wha' time is it?" Blair slurred, blinking up at his friend.

"After 5:00. What have you been up to today?" he asked, looking at the groceries he still needed to put away.

"Shoppin'."

Jim sighed, feeling extremely guilty. "I'm so sorry. I've been busy. It didn't even occur to me that you'd need something for lunch. I should have been doing the shopping. You've got no business going out feeling the way you do."

"'S okay," Blair mumbled.

"No. It's not," Jim insisted. "You just lie back down. I'll get the groceries put away and dinner heated up. Did you have lunch after all that?" He waved a hand toward the kitchen.

Blair shook his head. "Too tired. Took a nap."

"Yeah, I can see that," Jim mumbled. "You sleep. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

An hour later, the two men sat at the dining table partaking of Marie's famous lasagna. Jim put down his fork and looked at his sick friend. "I'm really sorry, Blair. You're not well enough yet to be going out. It's my fault you had to go shopping."

"I'm feeling better," the anthropologist insisted. "I'm not coughing quite as much."

"But your energy level is still low," Jim reminded him. "You need to take it easy, Sport. I don't want you getting sick all over again."

Blair smiled at the man across the table. "Yes, Mom. I'll be good."

Jim chuckled, then schooled his features to give the younger man a stern look. "See that you do."

Mid August:

The kiss took Blair by surprise.

He was out on the balcony in the chaise lounge, soaking up the warm August sun and reading an Anthropology rag, when Jim suddenly appeared next to him, bent over and kissed him square on the mouth.

"What the hell was that?" Blair asked, more amused than upset.

Jim sat on the edge of the lounge, casually laying a hand on Blair's head and fingering the soft strands of hair. "It's been six weeks," he announced. "And you're doing much better."

"I'm still coughing and my energy isn't quite back," Blair reminded him.

"But you're not contagious anymore," Jim insisted.

A tolerant smile curved Blair's expressive mouth. "I haven't been contagious for four weeks."

"Yeah, but you were still sick."

"That I was... am," Blair corrected. "So, does this mean what I think it means?"

"I don't know," Jim replied. "It depends on what you think it means. Can't a friend give another friend a simple kiss?"

"Not when the two friends are men and the kiss was on the mouth," Blair replied with a smirk. "That was practically a proposal, man."

Jim chuckled. "Well, I'm not sure I'm quite ready for that stage yet," he admitted. "But how about a date? We could go to dinner and a movie."

"I still cough too much for movies."

"Take a big slug of that cough medicine of yours," Jim suggested.

Blair grinned. "Sure, I could do that. When did you have in mind?"

"How about this Friday night? I know this nice little Italian place that even has a small dance floor."

"You'd dance with me?" Blair asked, astonished. "In public?"

Jim smiled and stood, squeezing Blair's shoulder without answering his question. "Friday night," he promised.

Friday night:

Blair rested his head against Jim's broad shoulder and allowed his date to lead him around the dance floor. Jim held him close, keeping the movement of their feet simple and graceful. They moved together with relaxed ease until the music switched to something a bit more lively.

Jim stopped, and Blair looked up. "Our dinner's ready," Jim informed him, leading him off the floor and back over to their secluded table. He pulled out the chair and Blair sat, wondering how he had managed to become the feminine half of their partnership.

"It's because I'm shorter than you and have long hair, isn't it?" he asked.

Jim looked up from putting his napkin in his lap. "What are you talking about?"

"You leading on the dance floor, holding my chair for me..."

"I'm just being polite," Jim said, bristling slightly. "If it will make you feel any better, you can lead during the next dance."

Blair shook his head and smiled. "Nah. I kind of liked it the way it was," he admitted. "Besides, you were the one who asked me out," he said, considering the matter more carefully. "If you want to dote on me, I'll be the last one to argue about it."

"Eat your meal," Jim growled, hiding a playful smile beneath a mouthful of Veal Parmesan.

They ate in companionable silence until the small orchestra began playing another slow song. Jim rose and held out his hand. Blair accepted, allowing himself to be drawn back out onto the dance floor. Jim's arms wrapped around him, cocooning him in safety and warmth.

Blair rested his head against Jim's shoulder and let his partner lead them through the steps. His mind whirled, knowing where he was, where he'd dreamed so long of being but never dared to hope. One song ended and another began, and still Jim held him close. Blair prayed the evening would never end.

The orchestra took a break after their second dance, so Jim led the way back to their table. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm good," Blair answered with a lazy grin. "I still can't believe you'd dance with me like that in public."

Jim looked around at the nearly empty restaurant. "It wasn't much of a risk," he commented.

The waitress came by and slipped the bill onto the table. Jim snatched it up quickly before Blair could see. He took some bills from his wallet and tucked them under the white slip of paper. "We'd better get going if we don't want to miss our movie," he suggested.

~oO0Oo~

Compared to the quiet restaurant, the movie theater was a bustle of activity. "Got any room left for popcorn?" Jim asked as he stood in line at the concession stand.

"Are you kidding? After that meal?" Blair was amazed all over again at Jim's endless capacity to consume junk food, even when he wasn't hungry.

"It's a tradition," Jim argued, ordering the large bucket, a giant drink and helping himself to two straws. "You have to eat popcorn at the movies." He handed the drink off to Blair. "Here, carry this for me."

They made their way into the theater, Jim using his exceptional eyesight in the near pitch blackness to pick out two seats in the center of the room. They were barely settled when the screen lit up with previews of coming attractions.

The popcorn landed in Blair's lap, as Jim slapped his hands over his ears.

"Hey, Jim!" Blair reached out to gently pry his arms down. "Dial back the hearing. You can do it, come on." He smiled as he watched the Sentinel relax. "Took you by surprise, huh? How long has it been since you've been to a movie?"

"Too long, apparently," Jim growled, rescuing his snack.

Blair picked up some stray kernels that had landed in his lap and munched on the buttery treat as he eyed the trailers for possible future movie selections.

The lure of popcorn was strong, especially after tasting the unscheduled snack that had landed so precipitously in his lap. Blair allowed his hand to slip over to Jim's seat, snagging more greasy morsels from the cardboard bucket. The opening credits began to roll and the music swelled, accompanied by a brief coughing spell.

Jim leaned across the arm of the seat. "Need a drink to wash that down? Might help with the coughing."

Blair just shook his head. "Got a tickle in my throat. The drink won't help it for long."

"Try anyway," Jim insisted, pushing the large soda into his hands. Reluctantly, Blair sipped. A few minutes later, the coughing began again.

"Shit! I'm sorry," Blair whispered. Around him, people were leaning in to try and shush their noisy neighbor. The young man just shrugged, helpless to stop the chronic hacking that was the remnant of his illness.

The irritant in his throat slowly began to subside, and Blair settled in to enjoy the movie. His hand snaked over into Jim's lap to snag more popcorn. He munched happily; content to enjoy this time together with the man he loved.

As fate would have it, it had been a long evening, and while Blair's energy level was nearing normal, it hadn't quite achieved its pre-pneumonia state. About a half hour into the show, a final handful of popcorn stolen by the weary young man was the final straw. Blair choked on a half-popped kernel, and an uncontrollable coughing fit resulted.

"Chief?" Jim pushed Blair back into his seat, shoving the huge drink into his hand. "Hey, Kiddo! Drink up."

Blair tried to swallow the carbonated liquid, but it only caused more spasms in his aching diaphragm. He stood abruptly, frantically inching his way past the legs of his disgruntled fellow moviegoers to reach the aisle. Within minutes he had escaped to the lobby, followed shortly by his distraught date.

"Blair! Are you all right?" Jim came up behind him, all thoughts of his popcorn and movie temporarily forgotten.

Blair sank into a chair near the men's room, doubled over with his arms wrapped around his aching mid-section as he continued to cough. "Told you a movie wasn't such a good idea," he gasped when he could finally speak again. "Sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to spoil the evening for you."

"If you're feeling better, we could go back in," Jim suggested tentatively.

"I don't think so," Blair said, the remnants of the coughing fit still lingering. "It wasn't just the popcorn. I'm not quite over this thing yet, and I think the cough medicine finally wore off. I don't have any more with me," he apologized.

"Then let me take you home," Jim said, grabbing an elbow and lifting the exhausted young man from his seat.

~oO0Oo~

The couple stumbled into their apartment, tired, but feeling a strange sense of well-being despite the disaster at the theater -- like it was right, this dating thing.

"Thanks, Jim," Blair said, hovering just inside the door. "I had a really good time. Sorry about the movie."

"Don't sweat it," Jim consoled. "I had a good time, too." He leaned in to steal a kiss.

Not the least ruffled by the intimate gesture, Blair smiled up at his date. "Maybe we'll do it again soon?"

"I'd like that." Jim made an attempt to pull Blair closer, but the young man twisted away and began heading for his bedroom.

"Good-night," he called over his shoulder. "Sweet dreams."

"You, too." Jim sighed and headed for the loft bedroom, and another night alone.

Mid September:

"So, Sandburg," Jim replied casually over dinner at Cascade's premiere steak house, "how many dates do you consider fashionable before sex?"

Blair looked up from his prime rib and gave his partner a sultry smile. "Depends on who I'm dating. Sometimes it's just a quick roll in the hay after the first date. But if I'm more serious..."

Jim studied his dinner, pretending only casual interest. "Serious... yeah. If you're more serious, then how many?"

"I've gone as far as four," Blair admitted.

Jim looked up with surprise. "There have been girls you've dated four times?" Blair's dinner roll hit him dead center between the eyes. He chuckled and lobbed the bread back. "This is our fifth date," he announced softly, once the clowning around had settled back down.

"Yeah," Blair admitted. "Must be serious, huh?"

"Looks that way," Jim said, concentrating on his meal. "I know I'm serious."

"So, ya wanna tonight?" Blair mumbled as he bit into his roll.

Jim smiled at the man across the table. "Tonight's good."

~oO0Oo~

The light of a full moon shone down through the skylight, bathing the bedroom in a soft silver glow.

"Nervous?"

"A little," Blair responded, reaching out a tentative hand to brush his fingertips across dusky pink nipples on the well-muscled chest.

Jim's eyes drooped closed as he reveled in the intimate touch. "We'll go slow."

"Slow. Yeah." Blair leaned close to capture the willing lips that waited for him. As his tongue darted out, seeking entrance to Jim's mouth, his hand brushed down the muscled curve of waist and hip, dipping to trail fingers lightly over the erect and weeping cock.

Jim jerked involuntarily at the electric touch, wrapping his arms around Blair and pulling him in tight against his body, dueling with his tongue for dominance of their joined mouths. His fingers tangled deep into the long hair, wanting more.

Blair pulled back from the tight embrace, sliding down the length of Jim's body until his lips came in contact with the leaking cock-head. His tongue darted out, tasting the bitter saltiness of the pre-come, lapping around the head, feeling out every curve, every ridge and valley.

His long hair fell in an auburn cascade of curls onto Jim's abdomen. As his mouth explored the length of the rigid shaft, his hair traced delicate patterns on the sensitive skin of his Sentinel's stomach. Jim arched into the sensations, grabbing at the base of his cock in an effort to keep from coming too soon. "Gods, Blair!" he panted. "Help me."

Blair did just that. He peeled the constricting fingers away from Jim's cock and deep-throated him. It was more than the Sentinel could bear. He began a frantic fucking of the warm cavern of Blair's mouth, and the grad student let him have his way. Brown curls bounced wildly as the young man matched his lover's rhythm, sucking on the outward strokes, while opening his throat for the inward ones. With a roar worthy of the black jaguar, Jim climaxed, shooting his seed down the willing throat.

Blair swallowed as quickly as he could, choking slightly on the overload of semen, allowing some to dribble from the corner of his mouth. Jim pulled out, concern for his young lover shining in his eyes. His hands framed Blair's face as he helped him slide back up his body. He gathered the young man into his arms, licking at the come that dribbled from his lips, then capturing his mouth in another kiss.

Blair molded himself along the length of Jim's body, letting his partner feel the hardness of his own impressive erection against his thigh. He let his fingers drift between the curve of two perfect buttocks, tracing the crack until he came to the tiny, puckered hole. As his finger traced the muscle, Jim tensed, then relaxed. He probed a little harder, letting his finger breach the opening to the first knuckle.

Jim moaned, rolling out of their mutual embrace.

"Like that?" Blair asked, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

Jim's hand disappeared momentarily into his nightstand, reappearing a short while later with a tube of lubricating jelly. Taking the hint, Blair liberally coated his index finger, then went back to his explorations.

Sated and relaxed, Jim rolled onto his stomach, letting Blair do whatever he wished.

The grad student found great pleasure in the sculpted muscles. Starting at Jim's shoulders, he peppered kisses down and across the broad expanse, lingering in the pronounced curve at the small of Jim's back. His index finger, meanwhile, was fully impaled, slowly fucking the tight passage.

Jim arched into the hand against his ass, trying to make Blair go deeper. Wanting to please his new lover, he inserted a second finger, probing further into the hot channel until he found the raised gland, gently stroking it.

"Ohgodohgodohgod!" Jim cried, bucking against the fingers. He was panting heavily as Blair drew out, then re-entered with three. The sensation was almost too much, a spike of pain momentarily cooling his lust.

Sensing the change, Blair withdrew and blanketed the Sentinel with his own body. "It's okay, Jim," he whispered. "We'll go slow. Really slow." He began peppering the body with kisses once more, but Jim was having none of it. He arched his back, bucking off his living comforter.

"Fuck me!" he demanded, backing his buttocks against Blair's bobbing erection.

Taking a deep breath, Blair steadied the muscled hips and slowly guided his shaft toward the stretched opening. Gentle pressure... and he was inside. The flared head disappeared into Jim's body, followed slowly by inch after inch of hard cock. Jim moaned his approval, pressing back to take Blair completely inside. Eventually, Blair's balls slapped against the sculpted ass cheeks.

Fully engulfed, Blair leaned over Jim's back, wrapping his arms around the older man's waist and laying his head onto the strong back. He couldn't believe he was actually here. Inside Jim. Fucking the man who meant more to him than anyone else in the world. He sighed.

"Enough meditation, Gandhi," Jim growled, pushing back against the younger man.

Coming out of his dream, Blair grasped the hips beneath him and began the long pull out. Slowly. Nearly all the way. Then slamming back in, only to begin the slow withdrawal once more. Jim continued to buck beneath him, his growls becoming more primitive and animalistic as Blair dragged out their lovemaking. Finally, knowing Jim had reached his limits, Blair plunged back in, stroking hard against his prostate.

His limp organ, sated from a phenomenal blowjob, began to twitch and fill again as his ass was slowly and methodically fucked by his guide and lover. As his prostate was rhythmically stroked, Jim felt his balls tighten. His second climax of the night was wrung from him with a roar that shook the rafters.

The spasms of Jim's climax milked Blair's cock. Wanting to hold on, but unable to resist the pulsing squeeze against his straining member, he let go with a howl of his own, filling Jim with his seed.

Both men collapsed in a sweaty heap, Blair blanketing his Sentinel, still buried deep within. As their bodies cooled, Jim rolled over, allowing Blair to slide off his back. He turned to face his sated lover, placing soft kisses on both closed eyelids before tenderly taking the full lips once more.

When the kiss finally ended, Jim found himself looking into deep pools of blue. Brushing sweat-matted hair away from the glassy eyes, he found himself vaguely concerned. "You okay, Babe? How do you feel?" he asked.

A slow grin curved the corners of Blair's mouth as he drawled out a single word. "Delirious."

The End

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.

Notes: This story also appears in the My Mongoose Ezine: Many Seasons of Love 2

Acknowledgments: To betas everywhere, let their praises be sung... But especially to mine, Elaine, Kimberly, and Montserrat, who work so hard to make my stories into gems worth reading. I would also like to thank AngstPuppy for the lovely artwork she contributed to my little tale.

I'd also like to add my thanks to Lisa for the HTMLing of the story, which I have borrowed for my website. Her hard work on the My Mongoose ezines makes them the wonderful things that they are.

RETURN to my fiction page.