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.

Acknowledgments: To Montserrat for plot bunnies and padding out that have made this story a much better read. And to Kimberly, Mary and Lyn for their incredible beta talents and suggestions.

Additional thanks go to Virginia Sky for her fantastic artwork. Thanks so much!

Author's Notes: See end of story.

Warnings: Permanent disability, loss of precious Blair-hair, the dreaded tracheostoma... This story is very intense and graphic, at times, in its depictions of Blair's suffering. Be assured Jim is there to offer comfort, and happy endings are guaranteed.

((Italics indicate signed speech and, occasionally, thoughts.))

Summary: Blair's cancer returns -- NOT a death story!

Comments welcome and appreciated at nat1228@comcast.net.

Cancer. It had to be one of the most frightening words in the English language, Blair mused, fighting hard to concentrate on what the doctor was telling him. His cancer had returned, and it was more aggressive than ever. Surgery. Radiation. Chemotherapy. Nausea. Fatigue. Hair loss... The words whirled through his head as he tried to take it all in. Just yesterday, everything had been normal. He was going back to work at the PD for the summer, to help Jim with his senses on the job. Only, he had a doctor's appointment first--to clean his voice prosthesis and do a routine exam of his throat. Routine... everything had been normal--yesterday....

~oO0Oo~

Blair stirred the eggs on his plate, his appetite having abandoned him.

"What's the matter, Chief, not hungry?" Jim looked up from his own breakfast to study his lover. When he didn't get an immediate response, he continued. "It's the doctor's appointment today, isn't it?"

"Is it that obvious?" Blair asked, knowing his partner could read him like a book. "Don't answer that. Yeah. It's bad enough I have to have the prosthesis out to be cleaned, but Doc Stuart is going to stick that scope down my throat again, too."

"Need company?" Jim asked softly, knowing how upsetting his partner found the invasive procedures. "I could ask Simon for a little time off."

Blair chuckled, but the gesture was without any real humor. "I'm a big boy now," he said. "I don't need anyone there to hold my hand."

"I don't mind holding your hand," Jim said, a sparkle in his eye. "But I could be there simply for moral support, if you need it, too."

"Nah, that's okay," Blair said, shaking his head. "I need to do this on my own."

"All right," Jim sighed, understanding Blair's need to assert his independence and self-reliance since cancer took his voice nearly eighteen months earlier. "Will you be coming down to the station this afternoon?"

"I promised Simon I'd come by and update my Personnel records," Blair answered, a genuine smile lighting up his face. "It's going to be great working with you this summer. Maybe we can get those Sentinel senses back on-line."

"I'd like nothing better," Jim said, reaching across the table to cover Blair's hand with his own. "I've missed you."

Blair's head dipped slightly and he flushed. Checking the clock, he pushed away from the table, freeing his hand from the gentle grip. "I'd better get going if I don't want to be late."

"Meet you for lunch?" Jim asked as he watched his partner head for the door.

"I'll give you a call," Blair promised. "I've got some errands to run. See you at the station, for sure."

"Love you." Jim stared at the door for a few moments after it had closed behind Blair, then got up and took the dishes to the sink to rinse.

~oO0Oo~

"It's good to see you again, Blair," Dr. Stuart greeted his patient. "Have you had any problems since the last time I saw you?"

Blair climbed up on the exam table and smiled. "Nope. Everything's been great."

"That's good to hear." The doctor pulled over a tray with his instruments. "How are you getting along with your new voice?"

"It took some time to get used to how it sounds," Blair admitted, still not liking the artificial twang in spite of being able to speak fluently again. "But it's great being able to make myself understood."

"Those devices have been nothing short of a miracle to many of my patients," Stuart confided. He turned toward the instrument tray. "Time to get this over with, don't you think?" At Blair's nod, he picked up a small aerosol bottle. "First, I'll remove the prosthesis, then we'll do the exam with the laryngoscope. Open wide." When Blair complied, he sprayed the lidocaine into the young man's throat. "We'll just give that a bit of time to work. How does it feel?"

"Getting numb already," Blair said, finding it harder to speak.

"Good. Then we'll get this out of the way as quickly as possible." Dr. Stuart picked up the flexible forceps he used to insert and remove the voice appliance and moved in close to his patient.

Blair opened wide, knowing the procedure wouldn't hurt, but not liking it just the same. He grabbed at the edge of the exam table with a white-knuckled grip, fighting to hold still.

"There we go," Dr. Stuart proclaimed a minute later, holding up the small plastic cylinder. Blair grimaced at the sight of the small device that had come from his throat. "I'll just have Penny take it to be cleaned," he continued, handing the prosthesis to his nurse, then turning back to his patient. "Now for your favorite part."

Blair frowned as the doctor pulled a monitor closer to the table and turned it on, then picked up the laryngoscope. He fought not to squirm as the device was snaked down his throat and moved around in the tight confines, using a microminiaturized camera to show the doctor images of what remained of his larynx.

"I'm afraid I don't like the looks of this," Dr. Stuart said, clucking his tongue. Smoothly, he pulled the scope from Blair's throat, then turned the monitor so that Blair could see the image frozen there. "See--here, and here..." he said, pointing to small blotches of discoloration.

Is it cancer? Blair asked. His hands were trembling, making signing difficult.

"It's far too soon to tell," the doctor hedged. "Bacterial growth on the implants is quite common. That could be all that it is." He turned to look Blair directly in the eyes. "If so, I could give you some antibiotics, and that would take care of it."

What if it's cancer? Blair persisted, anxiety at the thought making his stomach queasy.

"If it's cancer," the doctor said, choosing his words carefully, "we would have to treat it aggressively. Return cancer can be very tenacious. A combination of radiation and chemotherapy would be our best course of action."

Chemotherapy? Blair blanched at the thought. Would I lose my hair?

The doctor sighed, but continued on. "Not all the drugs used for chemo cause hair loss," he said. "But several do. Blair, I'd rather not dwell on that possibility yet. Without further tests, I can't give you a conclusive diagnosis." He reached out to pat Blair's knee. "What I'd like to do is to have you check into the hospital for the tests. Once we know what we're dealing with, we can proceed with a proper line of treatment."

When would I have to check in?

"Today would be best," the doctor replied. "I'd like to know what we're looking at. If it is cancer, the sooner we start the treatment, the better."

No! Blair shook his head, his face fearful. No, he continued more calmly. I promised Captain Banks I'd be back in to the PD this afternoon to update my Personnel records. I'm picking up my badge and gun for the summer. His body language pleaded with the doctor to understand.

"I'm sorry, Blair, but it's extremely important that we get this taken care of before we make any more decisions." The doctor's face held kindly concern, but he was adamant about the tests.

Blair's shoulders slumped and he gripped the edge of the table again, rocking back and forth for a few minutes, thinking. All right, he finally decided, if it's really that important. I'll talk to Jim and tell him what's going on.

"The sooner you get checked in and have the tests, the better," Dr. Stuart agreed. He turned as his nurse knocked on the examination room door. "Come on in, Penny. Thanks." He took the cleaned prosthesis and returned his attention to Blair. "So, are you ready to get your voice back?"

Blair nodded, signing a brief yes before gripping the table and opening his mouth. The doctor sprayed a bit more lidocaine, then reinserted the valve.

"There. How's that?" Dr. Stuart asked, laying his instruments back on the tray and observing his patient.

Blair swallowed, taking a few seconds to readjust to the feelings of having the device back in his throat. "Good. Thank you, Dr. Stuart."

"You're welcome, son." The doctor patted Blair on the back as he slid from the exam table. "I'll see you this afternoon. Just go to the hospital and tell them I authorized your admittance. They'll let me know when you're settled."

Blair took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "All right. I'll just go home and get a few things together. See you later." He headed out the door, striding confidently to the clinic's exit. Once he was finally safely behind the wheel of the Volvo, he began to shake.

Grabbing the steering wheel, Blair held on as the trembling started in his arms and worked its way through his entire body. He leaned forward, resting his head on the steering wheel. Cancer. Oh God, please, not that. Not the cancer again, the thought raced through his mind.

He picked up the cell phone and dialed Jim's work number.

"I'm sorry, Blair," Rhonda responded. "Jim's in a conference right now. Captain Banks asked that they not be disturbed."

"Okay. Thanks." Blair hung up the phone. Gingerly, he sat back, turning the ignition and putting the car into reverse. He backed out of his parking space and drove slowly out onto the street. His driving was on automatic pilot as he navigated the familiar streets back toward 852 Prospect. Arriving at the apartment, he parked, entered the building and packed a few things into a duffel bag. By the time he arrived at the hospital, he wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there.

"Blair Sandburg," he told the receptionist. "Dr. Stuart told me to check in today for some tests."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Sandburg," the young woman said, smiling up at him. "I have you listed right here. If you'll wait just a moment, an orderly will be by to take you up to your room."

A few minutes later, an orderly came by with a wheelchair. Blair settled himself, holding his duffel bag on his lap like a life preserver. Once he was in his room, a nurse arrived in short order.

"I'd say it's good to see you again, Blair," Melissa greeted him, "but under the circumstances, I can imagine you're not too happy."

"I've been better," Blair confessed with a sigh. So far, the only good thing about the experience was having a nurse he was familiar with. If he had to lose his voice again, at least Melissa could interpret sign.

Melissa took his bag and set it on the counter, then handed him a thin cotton gown. "Take everything off and put this on," she instructed. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"I brought my own pajamas," Blair told her, pointing to the duffel bag.

"Not right away, Sweetie," Melissa said, feeling sorrow at having to turn down the nervous request. "After the tests, if you have to stay. Okay?"

"All right," Blair reluctantly agreed. "May I make a phone call? I couldn't get through to Jim earlier. I promised to be at work this afternoon, and they're going to wonder where I am."

"Once you're settled," she told him. "Get into your gown, and we'll take care of things, then you can call." She walked through the door, closing it softly behind her.

Blair looked with distaste at the hospital gown. Slowly, he began to take off his clothing, folding it neatly and laying it on the counter next to his duffel bag. He pulled on the gown, fastening all the ties in the back and then climbed onto the bed to wait.

Ten minutes later, Melissa returned. "Oh, good. I see you're ready."

"What do you have to do?" Blair asked nervously as the nurse approached the left side of his bed.

"Just a few necessary things," Melissa said, remaining purposefully vague. She got out an IV needle and placed it in the back of Blair's hand, taping it down. "This is for hydration," she explained, "and for any medications the doctor may want to give you." She then lifted the hem of Blair's gown, exposing him to the cool air of the hospital room.

"What are you doing?" Blair tried to pull back, brushing the gown down to cover himself.

"Blair, Sweetie," Melissa crooned. "I have to put in a catheter."

"Why?" Blair's voice was tight with the strain.

As she talked, the nurse prepared the catheter, lubing it generously to make the insertion more comfortable. Pushing the gown up again, she lifted Blair's penis, threading the thin tubing into his urethra. "The doctor is going to be giving you a general anesthetic for the biopsy procedure," she explained. "You're not going to be able to get out of bed for a while, so this is for your comfort."

"Comfort like hell!" Blair exploded, squirming through the painful insertion. "Ow..."

Melissa sighed, pulling the gown back down and tucking the covers around her patient. "I'm sorry, Blair. I know you don't want to be here," Melissa commiserated. Then smiling, she handed him the phone. "You can make your call now. Dr. Stuart will be up to see you within the hour."

"Okay. Thanks." Blair's response was dull and lifeless. It took all his willpower to keep his hands away from his penis. The catheter felt invasive and uncomfortable, a constant irritation.

Finally, he picked up the receiver and dialed Jim's desk phone.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim."

"Blair! Where the hell are you? Simon was expecting you an hour ago." Jim's voice had a nervous edge to it.

"Dr. Stuart found something suspicious during my exam," Blair explained, his voice becoming more tremulous as he spoke. "He wanted me to check into the hospital for tests."

"Where are you?" Jim asked, officially worried. "I'll come and get you."

"I'm already at the hospital--Room 312. Jim," Blair hurried on before he could lose what courage he'd mustered, "there's no reason for you to come now. The tests will take the better part of the afternoon. Why don't you come down after work?"

"I want to be there with you," Jim's voice was filled with concern.

"I appreciate that," Blair said. "But they're going to do a surgical biopsy. I'll be asleep for the procedure and won't even know you're there. Later this afternoon would be better. Really." His voice didn't hold the confidence he was trying to project to his partner.

"You're sure? Blair, I could be there in five minutes," Jim told him.

"It's probably just a bacterial infection," Blair continued, trying his best to put on a brave face. "No reason for you to leave work."

"Give me fifteen minutes," Jim said, making up his mind. "I have to let Simon know what's going on."

"Jim...?" Blair tried again, but the line had gone dead. Putting the phone back on the nightstand, he waited.

Jim arrived a half hour later, skating through the door in his hurry to be with Blair. His partner lay with his head slightly elevated and his eyes closed. Jim approached the bed quietly, not wanting to disturb the resting man.

As he approached the bedside, a questing hand reached out for him. "Jim?"

"Hey, Sweetheart. I thought you were asleep." Jim took the hand and squeezed. Blair opened his eyes and smiled at his lover.

"They gave me some sedatives to relax me," Blair explained, his speech slow and soft. "They're coming to take me to surgery soon."

"Do they think the cancer is back?" Jim asked, as much afraid for himself as he was for Blair. After all they'd been through together; he couldn't bear to think of losing his lover now.

Blair shook his head. "They won't say. Dr. Stuart keeps saying it could be as simple as a bacterial infection."

"Then why a biopsy?" Jim asked, certain the doctors knew more than they were telling.

"They just want to be on the safe side," Blair explained. "If it's cancer, Dr. Stuart wants to start the treatment right away." An orderly who came to push the bed down the hall to the surgery suite interrupted them. "Bye, Jim." Blair waved as he was taken away.

"I'll be waiting here when you wake up," Jim promised.

Forty minutes later, Dr. Stuart walked out to the waiting area in search of Jim. The detective was just coming back from the bank of phones, where he'd made a call to Simon to apprise him of the situation.

"Hey, Doc!" Jim greeted the oncologist. "What's the word on Blair? Is he all right?"

"Blair came through just fine," Dr. Stuart said, smiling. "He's in Recovery and should be waking up soon."

"Is the cancer back?" Jim struggled to remain civil, restraining the urge to shake the answer out of the doctor.

"I've sent the biopsy sample to our downtown lab with an expedite flag," the doctor responded calmly. "We should have our answer in the morning."

Jim studied the doctor for any signs he was holding something back. Not detecting anything but pure candor, he relaxed slightly. "Can I take him home when he wakes up?"

"I've already discussed this with Blair," Dr. Stuart explained. "I'd like to keep him here overnight. That way, if the sample comes back positive, we can get started on the treatment right away."

"And if it's not cancer?" Jim asked, his voice tight. "What then?"

"I'd still like to keep him an extra day, to get him started on some high-powered antibiotics," the doctor answered. "Oh, and I should warn you; I had to take out the prosthesis to take the biopsy and I didn't put it back. If there's an infection, it should stay out until that is cleared up. If it's cancer... well, Blair won't want it if he's feeling nauseated."

"Does he know?"

"Yes, I explained the procedure to him. He won't be surprised," Stuart assured the detective. Then motioning toward the doors to Recovery, he added, "You can go in. I know you want to be there when Blair wakes up."

"Thanks, Doc." Jim nodded his appreciation and then hurried toward the double doors.

Jim settled himself in a chair next to Blair's bed, lifting a limp hand to hold while he waited for his lover to awaken. Nurses came and went, checking briefly on Blair's condition and offering a smile of support to his hovering partner. Finally, Jim felt a slight tug on his hand and looked up to see drug-clouded blue eyes watching him.

"How do you feel?" Jim asked, squeezing the hand he held.

Blair opened his mouth to answer, his free hand flying to his throat in alarm when nothing came out. Panic flitted across his features and he began to struggle against Jim's hold.

Immediately, Jim let go of the hand, freeing it so Blair could speak. But the young man didn't sign, a look of horror growing in his eyes.

"Blair? Blair!" Jim called softly, standing to rest his hands on the heaving shoulders. "It's all right. You're in the hospital, remember? Dr. Stuart had to take the voice prosthesis. You have to sign." Jim released Blair to sign as he spoke, smiling to soften the news.

Is it cancer? The graceful hands trembled slightly as they signed, the fear still reflected in the deep pools of Blair's eyes.

"The doctor won't know anything until morning," Jim reminded him. "You're going to stay here overnight. I'll stay with you," he added, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Blair's arm.

Blair took a deep breath and then released it. Jim, I'm scared. What am I going to do if the cancer is back?

Jim continued his massage as he answered. "First of all, it's too soon to be thinking of that; and second, if it does turn out to be bad news, we'll deal with it."

"How are you feeling, Mr. Sandburg?" one of the Recovery room nurses came to stand by the side of the bed.

I'm fine, Blair signed, not expecting to be understood.

The nurse looked from Blair to Jim.

"He's fine," Jim told her, his voice flat with suppressed anger. He knew it wasn't fair to blame the nurse for not understanding ASL, but he was getting tired of having to interpret. He'd do anything for Blair, and gladly, but he felt it only fair that Blair should be able to communicate for himself.

"Your vitals are strong," the nurse told her patient. "How would you like to go back up to your room?"

Blair nodded, frustrated yet again by his inability to communicate effortlessly. Having had his voice for the past six months magnified the frustration. His mind wandered briefly back to their ill-fated winter vacation, where an accident had nearly taken both their lives because he couldn't talk. He'd had the prosthesis ever since, and had gotten used to making himself easily understood.

"Okay, then. We'll have you comfortably back in your room in no time." The nurse smiled down at Blair, lightly stroking her hand across the top of his head.

An orderly came to wheel Blair back to his room. Jim followed, walking beside the bed and holding Blair's hand.

"Could I get a cot or a lounger in here?" Jim asked before the orderly could leave. "I'm spending the night with Blair."

"I'll see what I can do, sir." The orderly walked out, leaving the two men alone.

Jim stood next to the bed, stroking a hand over Blair's forehead, brushing back the loose strands of hair. He smiled at the younger man, doing his best to show support and encouragement. "How are you feeling?"

Throat hurts, Blair claimed. Otherwise, I'm okay. One hand went to his throat, fingering the scar.

Jim's fingers gently peeled the hand away from Blair's throat and cupped it in his own. "You know that no matter what happens, we'll be okay, right?"

Pulling his hand free, Blair answered. I know you'll be there for me, no matter what. His hands fluttered gracefully above his chest as he communicated his concerns. Having you here makes all this easier, but it's still a lot to take in. I can't help being worried; thinking the worst. His hands dropped to his chest, but when Jim started to speak, Blair interrupted. It's like I have to work through the possibility before Dr. Stuart tells me his diagnosis. If it's cancer, I need to be ready. I don't want to freak out and embarrass you.

"Aw, Blair..." Jim squeezed his partner's shoulder, not wanting to still the talking hands. "You could never embarrass me. I hate to see you worrying for what may be nothing. You'll give yourself an ulcer."

I can't help it, Blair confessed. It's the way I am. I worry.

A knock on the door drew the attention of both men. Simon stuck his head in. "Bad time?"

"No, Simon! Come on in," Jim offered.

The captain came through the door and walked over to the bed to stand opposite Jim. "Jim told me you were back in the hospital."

Just some tests, Blair obfuscated. I'll be out by tomorrow morning. Jim interpreted for Simon who had learned a little sign over the past year, but not enough to understand the rapidly dancing hands of his junior detective.

"Well, get your lazy butt out of that bed ASAP and get it back down to the station," Simon said in his gruff captain's voice. "Don't you know your partner is waiting on you to get your papers updated?"

I know, Simon, Blair said, grinning for the first time since the biopsy. I'm anxious to come back, too. Believe me.

"They sent the samples to a local lab," Jim explained. "Dr. Stuart expects to have the results back by tomorrow morning."

"Does he say what he thinks it is?" the captain wondered. Are you okay? he signed slowly.

I'm doing all right, but the doctor's been less than forthcoming, Blair said, frowning. He'll only say it's too early to tell, and to wait for the results.

"But...?" Simon looked from Blair to Jim.

"Blair's preparing himself for the worst," Jim told him.

"Everyone down at Major Crime said to tell you to... hurry up and get well," Simon told Blair, signing the simple phrase as a show of respect and encouragement. "They're anxious to have you back. So am I," he added, patting one thin shoulder. "I'll tell everyone to keep you in their thoughts and prayers, kid. It's going to be all right."

Whatever happens, Simon, it'll be all right, Blair said, putting on a brave face for the captain.

"I'd better get back." Simon gave Blair another pat, and then turned toward the door.

"Good-bye, Simon. Thanks for coming by." Jim watched the captain go, knowing how uncomfortable the man felt when he was helpless to make things better. Jim felt the same--helpless, and totally at a loss as to how to make it right for the man he loved.

You can't, Blair said as though reading Jim's mind. You can't make it better, so don't try. Just be you. That's what I need right now.

"And just how do you know what I'm thinking?" Jim asked, a ghost of a smile curling his lips.

I can read you like a book, Jim. You should know that by now. Blair reached up to grasp Jim's hand and pull it against his chest.

The strong, steady beat of Blair's heart pounded through the Sentinel's being. The rhythm was slow, relaxed, and it calmed the mind and spirit of the troubled man.

It may be nothing, Blair reminded him. And it may be something. We'll just have to leave it to whatever Power controls our destinies and hope for the best.

"Blair?" Melissa poked her head into the room and smiled when she saw the two men in the middle of a lively conversation.

Come on in, Melissa, Blair said, beckoning to the nurse.

"I just thought I'd see how you were doing, and if you're ready to change into the pajamas you brought with you?" Melissa smiled at her patient, walking over to where the duffel bag had been left on the counter.

Really? May I? Blair perked up at the offer, tired of the thin gown.

"You betcha," the nurse said, coming over to stand beside the bed. She peeled the blanket down to just below Blair's waist and lifted his gown. "We can get rid of some of this other paraphernalia, too. Take a deep breath, okay?" Melissa lifted Blair's penis to access the catheter line, then pulled it out with one smooth move.

Shit! Ow! Blair swore, before reaching down to rub his abused organ.

Jim winced in sympathy, knowing all too well the discomfort Blair was feeling. He took the younger man's hand and squeezed. Blair turned his head to give his lover a weak smile.

"You don't need the IV anymore, either," Melissa said with a grin, removing the needle from Blair's hand. "There you go; you're free. You can put on your pajamas, use the bathroom, do pretty much whatever you like. If you're hungry, you can order from the cafeteria until 10 p.m."

Thanks. Sorry to be such a pain, Blair told her.

"You're no pain, Honey. No bother, either. I want you to get a good night's sleep and we'll have those results in the morning," Melissa said. "If you need anything to help you sleep, just let one of us know, okay?"

Blair nodded and Melissa took her leave. In her place came an orderly with a lounge chair for Jim. "Here you go, sir," he said, pushing the furniture over next to the bed.

"Thank you; I appreciate it," Jim said, nodding at the man.

Once the orderly was gone, Blair sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Jim rushed around to take his elbow. "Need some help there, Chief?"

Not really, but I'll let you dress me, if you want. Blair gave his lover a wicked grin.

"My, my... Aren't we the chipper one now?" Jim teased, helping Blair off the bed. He walked over to the duffel bag, digging out the pajamas.

Jim held the pajama bottoms, while Blair kept his balance with a hand on Jim's shoulder as he stepped into them. Pulling the bottoms up, Jim let the elastic snap softly at Blair's waist before untying the string ties of the flimsy gown, letting it pool at Blair's feet. He held out the top and Blair slipped his arms through the sleeves. Holding the edges of the garment, Jim brushed his thumbs over nipples taut from the cool air. Blair arched into the touch briefly before pulling away.

Oh God, Jim... Blair released a silent breath. I love you so much... but not here, not now. He slowly buttoned the pajamas and climbed onto the bed, sitting on the edge. I know... I know this might be our last chance for a while, but I can't. I just can't...

"I don't expect you to do anything, Sweetheart," Jim said, coming to sit next to his lover. "You're just so beautiful to me that I couldn't resist." He closed the short distance between them and covered Blair's lips with a gentle kiss.

Blair wrapped himself around Jim, deepening the kiss and holding tight to his bulwark of strength. When he finally let go, he was trembling slightly. Would you sleep with me tonight? he asked. If I were to lie on my side, there'd be enough room for you to lie beside me. He studied the face of his lover, trying to read Jim's reaction. I'd sleep better, he added as additional ammunition for his suggestion.

Jim sighed and reached up to cradle Blair's cheek in his palm. "We're in the hospital, Hon. They're not going to allow something like that. You know better."

The worst that can happen is they'd ask you to sleep in the lounger, Blair argued. I'd sleep better... he repeated, putting on his most disarming face.

"All right, but don't you think we ought to get something to eat first?" Jim asked, giving in to the heartfelt request. "You haven't had anything since breakfast."

Blair nodded and picked up the menu.

~oO0Oo~

The two men lay spooned together in the small hospital bed. Blair was positioned in front, his back to Jim's chest. Jim had one arm draped around Blair's waist, while the other pillowed the younger man's head that was tucked beneath his chin. Exhausted by the stress of the day, Blair was already asleep, the gentle rhythm of his breathing and the slow beat of his heart lulling Jim, as well.

Despite the soothing sounds, Jim was having a hard time relaxing. He hadn't wanted to say anything to Blair, but from the doctor's reactions while talking to them, he was certain the man suspected more than they were being told. He tightened his grip around the slender waist and buried his face in the sweet scent of Blair's hair.

Around midnight, a nurse entered the room to check on her patient. Seeing the two men spooned together, she approached the bed. A light hand on her shoulder stopped her progress. Turning, she saw the head nurse. The woman was shaking her head gently. "Leave them be," she instructed.

"But..." the nurse protested in hushed tones. Her supervisor put a hand on her shoulder, turning her toward the door.

"I have instructions to leave them be," she said, once they were out of the room and the door had closed behind them. "This may be their last night of normalcy for a long time..."

The bright morning sun streamed in through the window, waking Jim. During the night, Blair had turned in his arms and was now cuddled against him chest to chest. It was a short reach to kiss the forehead nestled beneath his chin.

Blair stirred and opened his eyes, blinking away a hazy stupor. He looked up into Jim's eyes and smiled.

"Good morning, Sweetheart," Jim crooned softly. "Sleep well?"

Blair nodded, too comfortable to disentangle his arms so that he could speak.

Jim sat up, helping Blair up beside him. "It probably wouldn't do to have your doctor come in and find us in bed together." The comment brought a silent chuckle from Blair, who wiped the sleep from his eyes as he snuggled into Jim's one-arm embrace. Tipping his face up, he claimed his morning kiss.

Dr. Stuart, Melissa, and another nurse the men didn't recognize interrupted the warm moment a short time later.

"We have the results of the biopsy," Stuart said without preamble. The two men sat up, bracing themselves. Jim kept his arm around Blair's waist. The doctor eyed them with sympathy before proceeding. "Unfortunately, it's bad news."

Blair's eyes grew round with fear. He had half expected this announcement, but now that the time was upon him, he found his self-preparation had been in vain. His heart pounded in his chest and he broke out in a cold sweat. He felt Jim's arm wrap more tightly around him, the strong muscles bolstering him.

"The cancer is a particularly aggressive form, and we are going to have to treat it accordingly," Dr. Stuart continued, his face grim. "My recommendation would be immediate surgery to remove the rest of your larynx, followed by radiation and chemotherapy treatments."

Surgery? "Surgery?" Blair and Jim both spoke at once, incredulous. "Is surgery really necessary?" Jim continued. "Can't we start with just the radiation treatments like last time?" Blair vigorously nodded his agreement.

"That wouldn't be advisable," Dr. Stuart informed them. "At this point, there's some indication that the cancer may have spread beyond the larynx to the lymph nodes. It has manifested and grown in the short time between Blair's last check-up and the one before. That indicates to me a fast-spreading disease." His face softened. It was never easy to give bad news, and this time was no different. "While radiation and chemotherapy might arrest the spread, I don't want to take that chance," he continued gently. "It's best to remove the cancerous tissue, then treat with radiation and chemotherapy to kill off any remaining stray cancer cells."

Blair's hand fluttered to his throat, tracing the scar tissue. Would... would surgery mean...? He couldn't continue the thought, his hand straying back to his neck.

"It would mean a tracheostoma, yes," Dr. Stuart confirmed softly. "Once the larynx is completely removed, the trachea and esophagus must be separated to prevent you choking on food and drink," he explained. "The trachea would be routed to a hole in your throat, through which you would breathe."

"Wait. Wait a minute," Jim said, halting the doctor's speech. "A hole in his throat? No. You can't do that. There has to be another way." The body in his arms was trembling violently now.

"I'm afraid there's no alternative to the stoma," Dr. Stuart said sympathetically. "But once the surgery has healed sufficiently, it will be a simple matter to reinsert the voice prosthesis."

Blair sat in the protective circle of Jim's arms, his hands at lap level repeatedly signing no, no, no as he shook his head. His body trembled with the beginning of another anxiety attack as he thought about the nightmare that was quickly becoming his waking reality.

Jim found himself rocking gently, as though to soothe a child, and petting the long hair as he pulled Blair's head against his shoulder. "Can we have some time to think about this?" he asked the doctor. "It's an awful lot to take in all at once." Then, turning his attention back to Blair, he whispered, "Everything's going to be all right, Sweetheart. We'll get through this together. We can get through anything, so long as we're together."

Blair continued to shake his head in denial. No, no, no, no, no... A hole in his throat, he thought; a permanent hole that would make him the object of pity, or worse, someone to be reviled. He felt the fear bubbling up in his stomach, a physical presence making him ill. Only Jim's arms around him kept him somewhat calm.

"I can't begin to overstress the importance of moving quickly on this," Dr. Stuart said. "I've booked the operating room and staff time for this afternoon. Of course," he paused slightly, lowering his voice, "the decision is still up to you. I know this is all moving very fast, but I'm loath to put it off any longer."

"Blair?" Jim tilted his lover's face up to meet his. "You told me once before that you wanted to live. That living was more important to you than your voice. Do you remember that?" Blair nodded as tears slid silently down his cheeks. "Then live for me now, Hon. Your life is more important than anything else." He stroked a damp cheek, letting his fingers trail down to the scar on Blair's neck. "It's more important to me than whether or not you have a hole here." He bent to kiss the spot his fingers had been caressing.

Blair looked up at Jim, a small, brave smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, then turned to the doctor. What happens after the surgery? he asked, his hands still trembling ever so slightly.

"Once the surgery site has had a few days to heal, I would want to start you on the radiation and chemotherapy while you're still in the hospital," Dr. Stuart explained. "After that, I'd send you home with a prescription for the chemotherapy pills and expect you back on a Monday through Friday schedule for six weeks for the radiation."

Both? At the same time? Blair looked from the doctor to Jim, pleadingly.

"That's our best bet for a cure." Dr. Stuart's voice held sympathy and compassion for the young man. "Kaitlin here," he motioned the unfamiliar nurse forward, "can give you some information on dealing with the side-effects. She's a naturopath. I think you'll approve of her suggestions," he added with a smile.

"And Blair is going to have to deal with what side effects, exactly?" Jim asked, his tone belligerent. Blair had once called Jim his "Blessed Protector," and by God, he was going to protect. But first, he had to know what he was going up against.

Dr. Stuart took a deep breath, directing his answer toward his patient. "Well, nausea and vomiting are common, fatigue, infection, lapses in memory," he enumerated. "With the drug combination I have in mind for your therapy, hair loss will also be a factor. Kaitlin will discuss all that with you," he said.

I want to live, Jim. Blair's signs were whispered--small and close to his chest. But I'm scared. God, this is too much. I wish... I wish... The hands fell silent and Blair turned to bury his face in Jim's shirt, his fists clutching at the fabric.

Jim wrapped his arms around his partner, massaging the shaking shoulders. "All right." He looked up at the doctor. "We'll do whatever has to be done."

"In that case, I'll leave you in Kaitlin's capable hands," Dr. Stuart said, flipping the pages on his clipboard until all was in order once more. "The surgery is scheduled for one o'clock. No food or drink."

Jim nodded, watching as the doctor left, then turning his attention back to the two nurses. "What is it you want to say?" he growled as he rubbed soothing circles between Blair's shoulder blades.

Melissa approached, resting a hand on Blair's shoulder. "Blair, Sweetie? Kaitlin has some important information for you. Dr. Stuart thought it best you hear it now, because you're not going to be feeling up to much for a while after the surgery."

Blair looked up, wiping at his eyes with the back of one hand and then rubbing at his dripping nose with his sleeve. Melissa quickly grabbed a tissue and handed it to the young man who blew his nose before turning his attentions on the newcomer. Sorry. I tend toward panic attacks when I'm feeling overwhelmed.

Melissa interpreted Blair's signing for Kaitlin, freeing Jim to offer support and comfort to his partner. "And it takes a lot to overwhelm this one," she grinned, adding her own assessment. "He was a cop before he lost his voice a year and a half ago. Then he started teaching at Mount Clarice and working for the police department part time. He has a Masters degree in Anthropology and was ABD on his doctorate before he left the university to work with Jim. He's a tough cookie."

"I guess so," Kaitlin agreed. "Someone that strong should weather this without too much difficulty."

Dr. Stuart said you were a naturopath, Blair said, watching the nurse. Do you have some herbal remedies for some of the symptoms?

"As a matter of fact, I do," Kaitlin responded after listening to Melissa interpret. "Do you drink tea, by chance?" she asked. At Blair's nod, Kaitlin continued. "Caraway seed tea is good for helping with the nausea. Fennel tea can prevent nausea if you drink it right away. It's important that before the chemo treatments you don't take in too much food or drink, and afterward, keep the portions small."

"Won't he just throw everything up?" Jim wondered.

Kaitlin shook her head. "Blair will be taking his chemo treatment in pill form. It takes a few minutes to dissolve and get into the blood stream. If he drinks a bit of the fennel tea before he gets nauseated, it could help." She patted Blair's knee. "It is a lot to take in, isn't it?"

Blair nodded. I appreciate the suggestions, though. Maybe you should make a shopping list for Jim. He grinned when he saw the slightly sour look on Jim's face. His partner did not enjoy shopping for all of Blair's herbs and natural remedies.

"I have a list right here," Kaitlin said, indicating the papers in her hand. "You might consider acupuncture for pain control--it's quite effective. Licorice tea or a heaping teaspoon of arrowroot or kudzu dissolved in six ounces of water is also helpful."

"What the hell is kudzu?" Jim growled.

It's an East Asian vine--grows like a weed in the southern United States, he explained before turning his attention back to Kaitlin. I assume you use the powdered root?

"That you do," Kaitlin confirmed. "You might also want to consider whether or not to use marijuana to control the nausea. It's quite effective."

"Selling and possessing marijuana is illegal," Jim interjected sharply.

"Medical marijuana use is permitted in Washington," Kaitlin told him. "Blair could get a statement from his doctor that he would need to carry with him in case he was arrested for possession."

"And how is he supposed to obtain it?" Jim continued to grill the nurse.

Jim... Jim! Blair tugged on Jim's shirt for attention. When it was finally granted, he continued. Take it down a notch. Kaitlin's only trying to help.

"I don't like the idea of you using marijuana," Jim said. "I'm a cop. You're a cop. It's just not right."

But it works, Jim. I've talked to friends with HIV that use it, and they swear by it.

"To answer your question, Mr. Ellison, Blair could grow his own. He's legally allowed a six-month supply," Kaitlin answered.

"I don't want Blair using marijuana," Jim insisted, pinning the nurse with an icy stare. "No, Blair," he stated flatly when his partner began rubbing his arm and looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

All I ask, Blair began, is that you don't close the door to the possibility. Please, Jim. It's an option, nothing more.

"We'll talk about this later," Jim growled in Blair's ear.

Blair nodded, knowing that the concession was all he would get from Jim for now. He turned back to the nurse, changing the subject. Anything else helpful?

"There are any number of things you can do to help boost your immune system during treatment," the nurse said. "Soy helps increase your blood count, which should help with the fatigue." She crossed the short distance to where the two men sat on the bed, and handed Jim the list of items and their uses. "There are also pharmaceuticals for nausea relief and the anemia associated with chemotherapy," she said. "Maybe those would be more in line with what you want."

Just what I need, Blair lamented. A pharmacy in my own medicine cabinet.

"Unfortunately, that's what it takes," Kaitlin agreed. "Even if you choose to use the herbal remedies, you may find there are days that nothing works as well as that little pill in the cupboard. Do you have any other questions?"

You said I'd lose my hair... Blair's signs were nervous and flighty.

"That starts usually about the second or third week of treatment," the nurse told him, eyeing the beautiful locks of deep brown curls, highlighted in red where the morning sun touched them. "It's different for everyone, so I can't tell you much more than that. Some people lose all their hair right away, for others it only thins." She reached out to finger a strand. "You have beautiful hair," she commented. "If you're considering a wig, I'd suggest going to a wig maker before it starts to fall out. That way they can match color and texture for you. What a shame..." She let the lock slide through her fingers. "Information on wigs is on page two," she said, pointing to the papers Jim held. She took a few steps back, turning toward the door. "I'm going to leave you now and let you digest everything we've talked about. If you have any questions, feel free to call. My number is on the first page."

After Kaitlin had left, Melissa stepped forward again. "You'd better try and get some rest, Blair," she said. "It's already 11:30 and we'll have to start prepping you for surgery in about an hour."

"I'd better go let Simon know what's going on," Jim said, sliding off the bed to stand in front of Blair. "Why don't you lie back down and try closing your eyes for a bit?"

I'm going to be closing my eyes for quite a while, Blair complained. I think I'd rather try and enjoy my last hour.

"You sound like you're going to your funeral instead of into surgery," Jim countered. "It's going to be all right."

I'm going to have a hole in my throat, Jim! Blair signed the words with large, expressive movements. And it's never going away. This isn't like last time, with the temporary trach tube. I'm going to have a hole in my throat, forever! He stopped to take a couple deep breaths, calming himself. I don't want people to look on me with pity, he said, frowning. And I don't want them turning away in disgust, either.

Jim rested his hands on Blair's shoulders, steadying the shaking. "It's not going to make a difference to me," he said softly. "You should know that by now. I'll hurt when you hurt, but I could never pity you." He stroked a hand down Blair's cheek, letting his fingers trail to Blair's throat. "And nothing about you could ever make me turn away in disgust."

It's not you I'm worried about, Blair said. What are the guys down at the PD going to say? What about the kids at Mount Clarice? It's gross, man. I'm going to scare the living shit out of those kids.

Jim leaned forward to place a kiss on the tip of Blair's nose. "No you're not, Honey. The people who know you and love you aren't going to care."

People are going to look at me funny.

"So what if they do?" Jim said, letting his anger at the situation rise slightly. "That's their problem, not yours. You shouldn't have to put up with that crap. Just ignore them."

Easier said than done, Blair released a breath, like a silent sigh. Hadn't you better go call Simon, so that you can be back here when they take me to surgery?

"I'll be right back," Jim promised, giving Blair a parting kiss. When he returned, he found Blair standing at the window, enjoying the view of the parking lot. "Something interesting out there?"

People, came the distracted answer. People going about their lives--coming and going like nothing's changed.

"Nothing has changed for them," Jim commented. "It's our lives that have just been turned upside down again." He approached his lover, wrapping his arms around Blair's waist from behind. "Simon is coming soon. He's going to sit with me while we wait for you to get out of surgery."

That's nice. I don't like the idea of you being alone. Blair turned in Jim's arms, facing him. Tipping his head back slightly, he parted his lips inviting Jim to kiss him.

One of Jim's hands slipped up the back of Blair's pajamas to caress bare skin, while the other cradled his lover's head. Tangling his fingers in the silky curls, Jim claimed the offered mouth, feeling himself growing hard as their bodies pressed together.

Blair squirmed in the firm embrace, matching Jim's hardness with his own. He pressed his hips into Jim, rubbing their erections together through the fabric that separated them.

Jim groaned, but didn't fight Blair's persistent advances. He concentrated on diminishing the sensitivity in his groin so that he wouldn't come in his pants. He held Blair tightly, as though in letting him go, he would lose him--forever.

Blair's humping became more frantic. He tipped his head back, his mouth open in a silent cry of completion. His come soaked his pajamas, leaking lightly onto Jim's clothing before his partner could pull back.

"Oh, Blair... Baby. I love you so much." Jim helped his sated lover back over to the bed. He kissed the flushed face before beginning to unbutton the pajama top. "We'd better get you cleaned up before they come to get you ready for surgery," he said matter-of-factly.

Was it good for you, too? Blair slipped out of his wet clothes with Jim's help, wiping himself off with the wadded up top.

"Very good," Jim said truthfully. "It's always good with you, Sweetheart." He grabbed a clean gown and covered his lover. "Now, why don't you crawl into bed and I'll get a washcloth to give you a quick sponge bath."

That sounds nice, Blair said, waggling his eyebrows.

Jim came back in short order and bathed away the evidence of their encounter. Blair lay with his eyes closed, a small grin curving his lips. When he was finished, Jim bent down to lay another kiss upon the inviting mouth.

Blair let out a large exhale when they parted. Thank you for helping me forget, he said, his face turning serious once more. There's not going to be much loving from now on. At least, not in the immediate future.

"There's going to be a lot of loving, Blair," Jim assured him. "Trust me on that count."

Hold me?

Jim gathered the smaller man in his arms. When the anesthesiologist finally came to start preparing Blair for surgery, he found the men entwined in a tight embrace.

~oO0Oo~

Jim sighed and looked at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes. "They've been in there three hours already, Simon," he complained.

"They're just being thorough," Jim's captain assured him. "He's in good hands."

"I know that, but I want this to be over."

"I understand, Jim," Simon said. "I want it to be done with, too." He pulled a cigar from his pocket, fingering the fine roll of tobacco. "Is there anyplace around here they allow smoking?" he asked, looking around.

Jim pointed to an outdoor garden nearby. "I think they allow it in the atrium."

"Do you mind?"

"No, Simon. Go ahead," Jim said. "Having you beside me isn't going to get the surgery over with any sooner."

As the captain stood to walk outside, Dr. Stuart came striding down the hallway. "The surgery went very well," he said as he approached Jim. "There was no sign of the cancer spreading. I think we got it all."

"I thought you said it had invaded the lymph nodes," Jim said, asking for clarification.

"It was a possibility," the doctor admitted. "But once we got in there, it looked clean."

"Does that mean Blair won't have to go through the radiation and chemotherapy?" Jim asked hopefully.

Simon had stopped in his tracks, and now turned around to come back and stand with Jim, listening expectantly.

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Stuart informed them. "In order to be certain the cancer hasn't spread, we still have to consider the post-op treatment."

"But he's all right?" Simon asked.

"He's resting comfortably," the doctor said. "He'll be in ICU for two to three days, like last time. There's a tracheotomy tube in his throat right now. That will help hold the stoma open and keep his airway from collapsing until he can heal a bit."

"Can I go see him now?" Jim asked, fidgeting nervously.

"Of course you can," Dr. Stuart said gently. "He's on heavy pain medication, so he probably won't be very coherent, but he'll know you're there."

Simon addressed the doctor. "Can I go, too?"

"I don't see why not," Stuart said, nodding. "But you shouldn't stay long. Blair is going to need a lot of rest. Jim has a special dispensation in the ICU. As odd as it seems, Blair does better when he's around."

"Doesn't seem odd to me at all," Simon said with a grunt. "You should see those two working together."

"I can imagine," the doctor said, chuckling.

Jim was already on his way down the hall when Simon and Dr. Stuart finished their conversation. A quick jog brought the captain even with his detective. They walked through the ICU's double doors together.

"Blair Sandburg?" Jim asked the nurse at the desk.

"Number 125," she said, pointing to a door two rooms down the hall.

Jim nodded and took off with long strides. "Thanks."

Simon was close on his heels.

At the door to 125, Jim paused. Taking a deep breath, he reached out his senses to run a Sentinel check on his lover. Heartbeat slow and steady, respirations shallow and breathy with a strange whistling undertone caused by the trach tube. Blair's scent was that of antiseptics and medicines. The first sight of his lover was breathtaking--but not in a pleasant sense.

Needles and tubing sprouted from Blair's arms, while the trach tube jutted ominously from his throat. The young man was pale and looked thinner than Jim remembered. Approaching the side of the bed, Jim looked for a place to touch Blair that wouldn't get in the way of the myriad monitors hooked to his body.

At his touch, blue eyes opened to look at him; one hand raised slightly off the blankets in the ASL sign for "I love you."

"Love you, too," Jim crooned. "You did great in there," he continued. "Doc Stuart says he thinks they got it all." Blair tried to nod, but settled for a weak smile. "Bad news is, he still insists on the radiation and chemo."

Blair slipped his fingers through Jim's and squeezed lightly. That, and the fact that Blair's heart rate remained steady, told Jim that his young lover understood and accepted that fact.

"You're in ICU now," Jim continued to explain. "You'll have to be here a couple of days."

Blair's hand inched toward his throat, hesitantly touching the tracheotomy tube. His lips curled downward in a frown and tears sprang to his eyes. Gently, Jim pushed the hand back, then brushed at the tears with his thumbs.

"Don't cry. It's all right," Jim soothed. "The tube is just temporary, like the last time."

Blair shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the flow of tears.

"It's the stoma, isn't it?" Jim asked, not needing an answer. "It isn't going to matter," he repeated. "If it bothers you, we'll find ways to disguise it."

Blair turned his face away from Jim as the tears continued to flow, unchecked, down his cheeks.

Jim stroked the matted hair, content to let Blair cry out his fear and disappointment, but not content to let him do it alone. After no more than five minutes, Blair's breathing evened out and he was asleep once more.

Simon approached the bed at last. "He's not very happy, is he?"

"Oh, Simon..." Jim sighed, turning to his captain, but keeping up the gentle stroking. "He was always so afraid of this. I think he's more frightened of going through life with that damn hole in his throat than he is of the cancer."

"Can you blame him?" Simon took a close look at the figure lying in the bed. "God, he looks so young. He's got his whole life ahead of him, and now he sees himself not only as disabled, but disfigured as well."

"He'll never be anything short of beautiful in my eyes," Jim whispered.

"It's not your eyes he's worried about," Simon reminded him. "And what happens when he starts to lose his hair?"

Jim's voice was so low, Simon almost didn't catch the words. "I don't even want to think about that." Turning his attention back to Blair, Jim sank down into the chair next to the bed. He was here for the long haul, but he was suddenly exhausted.

Simon laid one large hand on the stooped shoulder. "If you need to talk to anyone about this, you know how to reach me, day or night," the captain said softly. "Jim, I know you're hurting. Don't keep it all bottled up or you'll burst." Simon turned toward the door. "I'm gonna get out of here. Call me in the morning, and let me know how the day went for you both."

"Okay, Simon. Thanks for being here." Jim looked up at his captain and managed a meager smile.

~oO0Oo~

After two days in the ICU, Blair was doing so well that he was transferred to a regular room. Freed from everything except a single IV line and the tracheotomy tube, the young man looked surprisingly well.

Jim woke from a light doze to find two blue eyes watching him. As soon as Blair saw that Jim was awake, he broke into a smile. I thought you were never going to wake up. The signs were accompanied by a slightly exasperated facial expression. I've been awake a half hour already!

"Yeah, but you slept all night," Jim countered. "I was awake keeping watch over you."

Blair grinned, knowing full well that the Sentinel could monitor his vitals even while sleeping. I believe the part about keeping watch, he teased. But my money is on you sleeping. You may have gotten to sleep late, but you slept.

"I can't lie to you, can I?" Jim chuckled. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Hungry. Blair reached for the menu that was lying on the nightstand. Are they ever going to let me eat something around here?

"Well, well... How's my star patient doing this morning?" Dr. Stuart greeted Blair.

"He's hungry," Jim informed the physician. "Can we feed him something before he climbs out of bed and goes looking for himself?"

Dr. Stuart chuckled. "That's a good sign, actually." He nodded toward Blair. "We'll have to keep it simple. How about some oatmeal and apple juice?"

Ambrosia of the gods, Blair said with a smile.

"That means yes," Jim clarified for the amused doctor.

"I'll have the nurse call in an order for you," Stuart said. "Now, how's that throat feeling this morning?"

Still pretty sore, Blair complained, his hand automatically moving to touch the trach tube. When do I get this out?

"I'd like to leave it in another couple of days, at least," the doctor told him. "It's important that you're well healed before it comes out." He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck and began giving Blair his morning exam. "Everything sounds good." He pressed his fingertips under Blair's jaw, feeling his way down the sides of his neck. "Your glands all feel right. No swelling. How about opening wide for me?" Blair obliged and Dr. Stuart examined his throat. "Well, what I can see without the laryngoscope looks good," he said. "I'd say that given another day to recover from the surgery, and you'll be ready to start your radiation and chemo treatments."

So soon? Blair's face fell. I was hoping maybe we could wait a little longer?

"Not really a good idea," the doctor said. "The sooner we get started, the more likely we are to arrest any possible spread of the cancer. I'd like to have you here for the first treatment or two, anyway, to see how you react."

"Is there some reason to worry?" Jim asked, giving the doctor a sharp glance.

"No, nothing to worry about," Dr. Stuart explained. "But I'd like to have Blair here in order to monitor his reactions so that I can adjust any anti-nausea medications to his needs.

Can I just use the teas Kaitlin told me about? Blair asked. I really prefer not to pollute my body with more toxins than is absolutely necessary.

"How you treat the nausea is up to you, Blair," Dr. Stuart said. "But I can assure you that once the chemo starts, there will be days when nothing short of the prescription is going to help."

M-a-r-i-j-u-a-n-a, Blair fingerspelled behind the doctor's back.

Not while I'm on your case, Jim whipped back quickly, much to Blair's amusement.

"Let's see how that oatmeal goes down," the doctor said. "If you do well today, we'll start the treatments tomorrow. Think of it this way," he grinned, "the sooner we start, the sooner you get to go home."

Could we start today? Blair said, teasing the doctor.

"No!" The resounding chorus sounded from two throats. Jim and Dr. Stuart looked at each other and chuckled.

"You really have to watch him, Doc," Jim warned. "He'll get away with murder someday."

Dr. Stuart smiled. "No, Blair. I think it's a good idea that you rest today, try to eat something and just take it easy. Tomorrow is soon enough for starting treatment. Now, do you have any other concerns?''

Blair's hand strayed back to the tracheotomy tube. Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating, he admitted. I know I'm getting enough oxygen, but sometimes I get scared, and then I can't breathe.

"That's a natural reaction, at first," the doctor explained. "With your trachea rerouted to the stoma, you can no longer breathe through your nose or mouth. Unfortunately, you haven't had time to retune your reflexes. In times of panic, you try for deep breaths through the normal channels and aren't getting the reaction you expect. That, of course, feeds the fear, making the situation worse." He reached out to pat Blair's shoulder gently. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. I think maybe I'll add some low-flow oxygen to the trach tube. That should help your body recognize that you're breathing sufficiently." He reached behind the bed, turning on the oxygen flow and taking a nasal cannula down from where it hung on the wall. He slipped the tubing over Blair's head, putting the nostril prongs into the trach tube.

Blair took a deep breath, relaxing visibly.

"Better?" Dr. Stuart asked, smiling.

Blair nodded. Thanks.

"No problem. Like I said, spend today resting and getting a little something to eat. The circus starts tomorrow." Dr. Stuart turned to leave. "I'll be by later to see how you're doing."

Within a half an hour, a nurse delivered a bowl of oatmeal and cup of apple juice to the room. Blair carefully unwrapped the packages, eagerly digging in once they were open. A look of bliss spread across his face as he let the food linger in his mouth, only to turn to a grimace of pain as he swallowed.

"Easy there, Chief," Jim spoke softly. "Take it slow."

My throat is really sore, Blair complained. It hurts to swallow.

"Try the juice," Jim suggested, handing Blair the cup.

The apple juice went down a bit easier, but it was still obvious to Jim that his partner was having a hard time. Blair slowly made his way through his breakfast, finishing the final bites without protest only because Jim had begun hand feeding him, letting him suck the gummy cereal from Jim's fingers.

"Good boy," Jim said, smiling as he pushed the table aside. "Maybe it's time for another nap?"

Don't patronize me. I'm your life partner, not your child, Blair scolded, returning the smile. Then with a yawn, I think maybe a nap sounds like a good idea.

The rest of the day went quietly. Jim had requested no visitors so that Blair could rest. A lunch of chicken noodle soup and a dinner of macaroni and cheese were greeted with mixed emotions, until Jim offered to feed them to his reluctant partner.

Jim, I'm nervous, Blair admitted that evening after the doctor had made his final visit for the day. I don't know if I'm ready to start the chemo treatments yet.

"Doc Stuart thinks that's what's best," Jim reminded him. "I'll be right here with you. You'll do fine."

I'm still hurting and tired from the surgery, Blair complained. I don't want to deal with the nausea and vomiting, too.

Jim stood up to lean over the bed, stroking the silky hair soothingly. "Like Melissa said, you're a tough cookie. And like I said, I'll be here with you. You don't have to do this alone." He bent to place a kiss on the soft lips.

I don't know what I'd do without you, Blair said, smiling weakly.

Jim returned the smile, shaking his head. "You don't even have to consider that possibility," he said. "I'll be here beside you whether you want me or not."

Blair reached up to squeeze Jim's hand and bring it to his lips for a quick kiss. I don't know how you put up with all the shit I put you through, but I'm so glad that you do. He pressed the hand sign for "I love you" against Jim's chest, over his heart. Good-night, Love.

"Sweet dreams," Jim said, bending down to kiss Blair again. "I love you, too." He settled in the lounge chair next to Blair's bed and watched over the younger man until Blair fell asleep. Then, with some reluctance, he made himself comfortable and closed his eyes.

The next morning came unnaturally early. Melissa arrived at six o'clock to get Blair ready for the radiation treatment.

"Rise and shine, Sweetie." Melissa's chipper voice woke the slumbering young man. "We have to take you down to Radiology and get you ready for your therapy. There's some preliminary stuff we have to get through first," she reminded him.

Blair blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked over at Jim who was grumbling something about hospitals waking people up to give them sleeping pills. He reached out to put a hand on Jim's arm, shaking him slightly. Jim came fully awake and turned ice-blue eyes on his lover, immediately registering the nervous tension in the beautiful face.

"Blair? What's up?" He looked from the young man to the nurse standing by the bedside.

"Good morning, Jim," Melissa greeted the detective. "I've come to take Blair down to Radiology. We have some prep work before the first session."

"How long is that going to take?" Jim growled, noting Blair's racing heartbeat.

"About an hour." Melissa smoothed the blankets that covered her patient, giving Blair a pat on the cheek when she finished. "The treatment itself takes no more than ten minutes. Don't worry, everything's going to be fine."

Can Jim come with me? Blair's face pleaded with the nurse. He knows better than to get in the way. The last statement was made with a stern look in Jim's direction. The older man put on an innocent look and shrugged his shoulders.

"I won't be any trouble," Jim added. "I promised Blair I'd stay with him."

"Weeellll... I suppose," Melissa reluctantly agreed. "You'll have to do as you're told and stay out of the way."

"I can do that," Jim assured her.

An orderly brought in a wheelchair, and Blair climbed down from his bed to settle into it. Jim walked beside them, clasping Blair's hand lightly. When they arrived at Radiology, Jim was ushered off to the side, leaving Blair in the capable hands of the technicians.

"All right, Blair," the radiation oncologist greeted her patient, "we're going to start with a CAT scan to pinpoint the area of treatment and take some measurements. Then I'm going to mark your neck with this pen." She held out the blue felt-tip marker for Blair to see. "After that, we'll get you positioned and do the treatment."

I've been through this before, Blair told her, uncertain if he would be understood.

The doctor looked briefly over her shoulder at Jim, who interpreted. "He's been through the procedure before."

"All right. Good," the doctor replied. "Then we'll get started. My name is Janet, by the way." She held out her hand for Blair to shake. He gripped her palm firmly, giving her a confident smile as they shook hands.

The rest of the time passed in a whirlwind of activity, and Blair found himself back in his room almost before he knew it.

"How are you feeling?" Jim asked, standing over the reclining figure and stroking a hand down one arm.

I'm fine, Jim, Blair assured him. Radiation doesn't make me nauseated and the 'sunburn' is barely noticeable with just one treatment.

"You look tired."

I'm doing all right, Blair smiled up at his protective mate. Save the sympathy for after the chemo treatment. His smile faded as he looked up to the clock on the wall. Maybe I ought to take a nap, after all, he decided. I don't feel much like eating, and I'm going to need all my strength for this afternoon.

"Then close your eyes," Jim suggested. "I'll be right here beside you."

Blair's chest rose and fell in a silent sigh. His hands fluttered close to his chest and he let his eyes slide closed. God, why me?

Blair awoke three hours later to the sound of Jim and Dr. Stuart talking softly beside his bed. Is it time? His hands shook slightly at the thought.

"Not quite yet," Dr. Stuart said with a smile. "I've got some good news for you, first."

Good news? What good news? Blair's eyes looked hopeful. Perhaps he wasn't going to have to undergo the chemotherapy today after all.

"I'm going to take out the tracheotomy tube," the doctor answered. "I'm sure you'll be happy to have that gone. I know it's not very comfortable."

All right, Blair agreed a bit nervously. Is it going to hurt?

"This shouldn't bother you at all," Stuart said. "At most, you'll feel a little pull. Ready?" At Blair's nod, he peeled away the medical tape holding the device in place, and then pulled it out.

Blair took in a deep breath, adjusting to the feel of his new stoma.

"How does it feel?" the doctor asked, standing back and watching the subtle nuances of Blair's expressions.

Blair's hand crept up to his throat and he fingered the small hole left behind. May I see it? he asked, still hesitant.

"Of course!" Dr. Stuart stepped over to the cupboards in the room and pulled out a small mirror, handing it to his patient.

Blair took the mirror and held it so that he could see the stoma. The surgery site was still swollen, but a circle of flesh the size of a quarter was missing from where his Adam's apple should have been. Dark and red, it led into his trachea, looking like the vicious result of some unnamed torture. His fingers ghosted around the edges as his eyes misted over. He laid the mirror in his lap and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall.

Jim was quickly up, taking the mirror and putting it out of Blair's reach. He picked up both hands, lightly kissing the backs. "Blair, Sweetheart... It's okay. You look fine. Better than fine," he corrected himself. "You look a hell of a lot better than you did with that plastic contraption sticking out of your neck."

Pulling his hands free, Blair wiped at his eyes. It's ugly! My God, Jim... I didn't know it was going to look that bad!

"Blair," Dr. Stuart interrupted. "Remember that the surgery is still fresh. Just as a scar fades with time, the discoloration around the stoma will fade as well. It won't always be as noticeable as it is right now."

Can we cover it up? Blair's hands flew in desperation. I don't want anyone to have to see it, especially Jim.

"Blair!" Jim turned a stern voice on his lover. "What did I tell you? It doesn't matter."

But I don't want anyone else to see it, either, Blair complained. I'm not ready yet.

"As a matter of fact, you'll probably want to keep it covered most of the time," Dr. Stuart informed him. "Unlike your nose, which has hairs to filter the air you breathe, the stoma has no such protection. You can use patches, or cover the area with an ascot or high collar." He reached in his pocket for a packet of gauze. "You'll need a plastic shield to wear when you shower," he continued, "as you'll want to be careful so that you don't accidentally inhale the water. As for now..." he tore into the small package, "we can cover it with a thin layer of gauze. How does that sound?"

Blair nodded in agreement, and the doctor quickly taped two layers of gauze over the opening. "How's that? Can you breathe all right?"

Inhaling deeply, Blair nodded at the doctor. Thank you.

"You're welcome, Blair." Dr. Stuart perched himself on the foot of the bed and rested his hands in his lap, watching his patient for a few moments. "I'm sure you're wanting to know when we're starting the chemotherapy," he said finally. At Blair's nod, he continued. "I'm thinking around 2:00 this afternoon. It's 11:30 now," he said, glancing at the clock. "I'd like for you to have a light lunch. Keep it simple; not too much fat."

"Not too much flavor," Jim mumbled, earning a grin from his worried lover.

Dr. Stuart glanced at Jim and smiled, then turned back to his patient. "You have to eat to keep up your strength. I know you're not going to feel much like it once the chemo starts, but you're going to have to force yourself." He looked down at the chart in his lap, scribbling some notes to himself. "After the first dose, we're going to wait and see how severe your reaction is. After that, I'll prescribe the anti-nausea medication," he said, making more notes to himself. "I'm hoping that by scheduling the treatment in the middle of the day, you'll feel up to eating something again this evening."

"What if he doesn't?" Jim asked, rubbing one trembling shoulder.

"You really should eat something, whether you feel like it or not," the doctor addressed Blair. "Dry toast and apple juice would be sufficient for now," he said. "Of course, if you feel up to more, that would be a bonus. I'll bet you didn't get any breakfast this morning because of your radiation treatment?" Blair nodded, his stomach taking that moment to rumble noisily. The doctor chuckled. "May I suggest the turkey sandwich, no mayo? It's actually edible."

Blair smiled, well aware of the quality of most hospital food. Sure. That sounds good.

"All right then," Stuart said, standing. "Jim, why don't you phone in Blair's lunch order? Then, Blair, if you can manage, I'd suggest another nap before the treatment."

Thank you, Dr. Stuart.

"You're welcome, son. Take it easy over the next few hours, and try not to think about it too much." The doctor turned to leave.

Once they were alone, Blair turned to Jim. Like that's possible. He sighed, the stoma vibrating slightly to give off a soft buzz. He grimaced at the strange sound, covering the pad of gauze with his fingers for a few moments.

Jim reached over to peel Blair's fingers away from his throat. "You don't have to do that," he whispered. "You never have to be embarrassed around me."

I can't help it, Blair said, letting another small sigh escape. Losing my voice was bad enough, but now this.

"You'll get used to this, too," Jim assured him. "It's just going to take a little time."

I wish this was all I had to deal with, Blair said with a slight grimace of pain. But there's nausea, vomiting, fatigue, infections... not to mention losing my hair...! He let his hands fall silent.

"Your hair is beautiful," Jim said, stroking the curling locks affectionately. "And you know how much I love it. But... you are not your hair. Having it or not having it isn't going to change who you are. You're a beautiful person, Hon--inside and out. That's not going to change because of the chemo."

I don't want it, Jim! Blair declared, his eyes brimming with tears. I don't want to be sick, I don't want to have cancer, I don't want to take chemo. Please, Jim; let's just go home.

"Oh, Baby..." Jim sighed, brushing away the tears with his thumbs. "If I could trade places with you, you know that I would. If I could take away the illness and the pain, I'd do it in an instant. But Blair, you can't deny this. You have to treat it in order to live--and I want you to live. Please, Blair... fight for me."

Blair buried his face in Jim's shirt, letting the strong arms wrap around him, keeping him safe. His shoulders shook as he let the tears fall, cleansing his soul.

~oO0Oo~

Two o'clock rolled around all too quickly. When Dr. Stuart arrived, he found Jim lying on the bed beside Blair, holding the frightened man in the circle of his arms.

"Blair...?" Jim stroked the chestnut curls, pulling away from his clinging lover. "Dr. Stuart's here. It's time, Sweetheart."

Blair's chest rose and fell with a large sigh of surrender. He withdrew from the safety of Jim's embrace and sat up, dangling his legs over the edge of the bed. I'm ready.

"Did you have something to eat at lunch?" the doctor asked, setting a small prescription bottle on the rollaway table.

Yes, Blair said, nodding. I had the turkey sandwich, like you suggested.

"How was it?" Stuart continued the small talk, taking his patient's mind off the coming ordeal.

Blair smiled. Good. It was good.

"Told you so." Dr. Stuart returned the grin.

Am I going to be able to keep it down? Blair asked, steering the conversation back on track. At the nervous question, Jim wrapped an arm around Blair's waist, steadying him.

The doctor studied his patient briefly, and then answered honestly. "Probably not," he confessed. "But you ate two hours ago, so at least some of it got into your system." He picked up the prescription bottle and a glass of water. Opening the bottle, he shook one of the pills into his palm, holding it out to Blair. "I know it's big," he commiserated, "but you only have to take one."

Reluctantly, Blair took the capsule, looking it over before putting it in his mouth and washing it down with the entire glass of water. He waited a few moments, assessing how he felt. That wasn't so bad, he said with a small smile.

"I'm afraid the side effects won't come into play for at least twenty minutes to a half an hour," the doctor explained. "There are bowls here for vomiting, in case you can't make it to the bathroom fast enough." His face softened as Blair blanched at the news. "Jim," he said, turning to Blair's partner. "I'd like to have you buzz the nurse when the nausea starts. They're all on alert and you should get a fast response. We need to monitor Blair's sensitivity, so that we can give him the appropriate medications to relieve the symptoms."

Jim nodded, pulling Blair closer against him. "I'll do that," he agreed. "Is there something you can leave here to help? Some anti-nausea pills, or one of those herbal teas?"

"I'm sorry," Stuart said, looking truly contrite. "But a medical professional needs to be here to prescribe the proper dosage. As for the teas, I'm afraid the hospital doesn't carry them."

Blair leaned against Jim, letting the larger man support his weight. I think I want to lie down, he said, his hands quivering.

Jim lowered Blair back onto his pillows, pulling the blankets up around the shivering body. Dr. Stuart watched, nodding grimly.

"It's going to be a little rough." Stuart kept his voice low, pitched for Jim's ears only. "Be sure to buzz the nurse just as soon as he complains, before he starts to vomit, if possible."

"I will," Jim said, stroking a trembling shoulder and watching Blair closely. The young man had closed his eyes, turning his senses inward. He was no longer aware of what was going on around him as he concentrated on the slowly growing sensation of illness.

Jim watched the doctor leave and then turned his own unique senses on his partner, monitoring his heart rate and breathing as the chemical toxin made its way through Blair's body. The shaking increased, accompanied by something that sounded remarkably like a moan issuing from Blair's throat. Through the thin layer of gauze, Jim could see the edges of the stoma vibrate as air was forcefully expelled through the small opening, making the haunting sound.

The clock ticked the seconds and minutes away with an irritating regularity. Fifteen minutes after Blair took the pill, Jim noticed a slight drop in his temperature, followed by a spike. The body beneath his hands began to tremble violently.

Blair fought to sit up, to struggle his way out of bed, but he tangled himself in the bedding, adding to his growing panic.

With one hand, Jim grabbed one of the bowls left for Blair's use, while the other hit the call button. Wrapping an arm around the heaving shoulders, he held on as Blair began to retch, his body heaving with the effort to expel the contents of his stomach. As the foul-smelling vomit filled the bowl, Jim gently held the long hair out of the way.

Melissa came running when the call button sounded, arriving just in time to see Blair heaving into the bowl Jim held for him. She hurried to Blair's side, helping Jim support him until the spasm of vomiting was over. Pulling a handful of tissues from a box beside the bed, the nurse gently wiped Blair's face, then handed him a glass of water. "Small sips," she instructed. "Just enough to wash out your mouth."

When Blair was finally done, he leaned heavily against his partner, resting his head on Jim's shoulder. Oh, God! My stomach hurts... His hands signals were as clear as any moan of pain. Make it stop, please.

"Blair, Sweetie," the nurse crooned. "I know it sounds cruel, but we need to assess how badly the dosage affects you. Let's wait a bit and see how it goes. If you're still feeling nauseated in another fifteen minutes, we'll get you something to take the edge off, okay?"

Blair nodded miserably, his body language screaming for blessed relief. Jim petted the long hair, leaning down to place a kiss on the fevered forehead.

"Hang in there, Sweetheart," he whispered. "You can do this. Instead of thinking about how sick this is making you, picture the drugs attacking the cancer cells and killing them, making you better."

"Good," Melissa agreed, smiling at Jim. Then, turning to Blair, she added, "Positive visualization is a valid way of helping your treatment. Patients that can keep a positive outlook, who know they are going to beat the cancer, have a statistically higher survival rate."

Blair nodded, his head still resting on Jim's shoulder. Then his eyes widened, and he began to struggle again, this time getting down from the bed and running into the bathroom. Jim and Melissa followed on his heels, flanking him to either side as he knelt over the toilet bowl and began vomiting again. A small amount of bile dribbled from his lips, but his stomach was empty. He continued to have dry heaves for another five minutes before collapsing in exhaustion on the cool tiles of the floor. Melissa wetted a washcloth to clean his face, and then helped Jim to lift him to his feet and guide him back to bed.

Blair was still pale and shaken, his eyes wide with fear. They had no more than gotten him settled, when he grabbed a clean bowl and held it under his chin. More dry heaves shook his body, until he fell back against his pillows sucking in large draughts of air, trying to catch his breath. Please, please make it stop, he pleaded.

Jim grabbed Melissa's arm a bit more roughly than he had intended, but his anger was bubbling up at what he considered to be the most inhumane treatment he'd ever seen in a hospital. "Make it stop. Now!" he commanded. "Blair doesn't have anything left to throw up. He's just exhausting himself."

Melissa nodded. "It does seem that he's exceptionally sensitive to the chemicals. I'll talk to Dr. Stuart about changing the prescription or the dose. In the meantime, I'll go get him a shot to help with the nausea." She got up and quickly left, returning a few minutes later with a syringe. Using an antiseptic pad to clean an area on Blair's arm, she shoved the needle home, emptying the contents of the syringe into the muscle. Rubbing the area with her thumb, she smiled down on the tired face. "That should help," she told Blair.

Thank you, Blair signed, before letting his hands drop onto his chest. Tiny movements communicated to Jim, I think I want to try and sleep now.

"That's a good idea, Hon," Jim said, brushing damp tendrils of hair off the still-perspiring forehead before leaning down to place a kiss against the slightly parted lips.

"Don't hesitate to buzz for a nurse," Melissa told Jim, "if Blair needs anything else. Chemo is rough, but we do try very hard to minimize the discomfort."

"How long is he going to be like this?" Jim asked.

"For today's treatment?" Melissa asked, thinking over the question. "Chances are, he'll feel the nausea off and on throughout the afternoon and into the evening. It's important to try and get him to eat something, but you don't have to worry about that for a few hours yet." She paused to look at the peacefully sleeping man. "Let him sleep as long as he needs, then see if you can get him to eat some dry toast. A few small sips of water or a non-acidic juice would be good, too. He doesn't have to eat too much," she assured Blair's partner. "But he does need to eat."

"I'll see what I can do," Jim promised.

"It might be a good idea if you try to get some rest, too," Melissa reminded him. "Blair's going to need a lot support, both physically and emotionally as he goes through this. You need to be in your top form."

Jim nodded his agreement, settling into the lounge chair as Melissa made her way back out into the hall. Tuning in to the steady rhythm of Blair's heart, Jim allowed himself to be lulled to sleep.

~oO0Oo~

"You need to eat," Jim insisted, picking up the piece of toast and holding it near Blair's mouth.

I'll just throw it up again, Blair insisted, frowning. My stomach is still queasy. I don't want to eat anything yet.

"Melissa said you need to eat," Jim continued patiently. "The nausea could last most of the rest of the evening, but you have to try."

It can wait, Jim, Blair said, pushing Jim's hand away.

"Just one bite?" Jim continued in a wheedling tone, waggling the piece of toast in the air. "You can manage just one bite."

Oh, all right--if only to shut you up. Blair snatched the toast from Jim's fingers and bit into it. He chewed thoroughly, delaying having to swallow. Finally the bite went down with a bit of effort. There. Satisfied?

"Not entirely, but it'll have to do," Jim answered. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Blair glared at his lover, not sure how to answer without sounding bitchy. As the staring match continued, Blair's expression changed to one of discomfort. Quickly, he threw back the covers and sprinted toward the bathroom. Jim followed closely behind, arriving in time to gather Blair's hair away from his face as he threw up the toast and the rest of the meager contents of his stomach.

Blair slumped back on the tiled floor into the arms of his lover. Does that answer your question? he asked. His body was limp, and there was no sign of anger on his face or in his posture. He was simply tired--worn out from the day's activities. Could you help me back to bed, please? he asked after a few minutes of resting in the comfort of Jim's embrace.

"You sure you're through?" Jim asked. "I wouldn't want you to have to make another run right away."

Blair nodded and pushed against the tiles to help himself up. Jim stood in one fluid motion and pulled Blair the rest of the way to his feet. Wrapping an arm around Blair's waist, Jim walked him back to the bed and helped him climb in and get comfortable.

Blair closed his eyes with a sigh, and was almost immediately asleep. Jim watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, as he monitored the sleeping man with his senses. Everything seemed to be in order, now that Blair was resting. The unfinished toast and juice sat on the table to taunt him, reminding Jim of just how sick his lover really was.

Dr. Stuart stopped in later in the evening to check on his patient. "How's he doing?" he asked Jim, seeing that Blair was still sleeping.

"It's been a rough afternoon," Jim said with a sigh. "He threw up his lunch shortly after taking the chemo pill, and he hasn't been able to keep anything down since." He pinned the doctor with a look. "How long is this going to go on?"

"Could you wake Blair for me?" Dr. Stuart asked. "I think it would be a good idea if he heard this, too."

Jim reached over to gently shake a shoulder. "Hey, Blair. Doc Stuart's here and he wants to talk to us about your treatment."

Blair's eyes fluttered open and he managed a weak grin for the physician. Hi, Dr. Stuart.

"Hello yourself," the doctor returned with a grin. "I hear you've been having a rough afternoon?"

It's not too bad, when people aren't trying to push food on me, Blair replied, shooting a meaningful glance at Jim. I haven't been able to keep anything down since I started the chemo.

"Have you tried plain water?" Stuart asked. "If nothing else, you should be trying to drink. If you don't, you'll become dehydrated. I don't want to keep you here longer than necessary, but if I have to put you on an IV to keep your fluids up, you could be here a few more days."

And if I can drink the water... eat a little... when can I go home? Blair was suddenly anxious to take his misery back to the loft where he could at least feel more comfortable.

"I'd like you here for another treatment or two," the doctor answered. "Jim asked how long this was going to go on, which is why I had him wake you." He drew a deep breath, looking from Blair to Jim, and back again. "The nausea from each day's dose could last up to twelve hours," he said. "It differs with every individual. As for the pill regimen, you'll take one pill a day for five days, preferably at about the same time every day. After that, you get a three-week rest period."

"Why so long?" Jim asked. "Shouldn't he be getting treatment until the cancer is gone?"

"The drugs Blair is getting are so powerful that they wreak havoc on his entire system," Dr. Stuart explained. "He needs time after each round of therapy to recover some of his strength. During the time off, symptoms may persist, but they should lessen in severity as time goes on." He turned a smile on Blair. "By the time the three weeks is up, you should be feeling almost normal again."

But I still have to come in everyday for the radiation treatment, too? Blair clarified.

"Yes, Monday through Friday for six weeks. The radiation treatment may leave you fatigued; and of course, the chemo will add to that," Stuart said gently. "You can work if you feel up to it, but do schedule rest periods and naps during the day. You're going to need them." The doctor clamped his large hand on Blair's shoulder, patting him briefly before pulling back. "As each round of chemo is completed, you're going to find it harder and harder to get back to normal before the next go around, and you may start noticing a thinning of your hair as early as the second round, in four weeks." Blair reached up to finger the ends of his long curls, frowning slightly. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you cut the hair, it won't fall out as quickly. The weight at the length you wear it, will pull it out faster."

Blair looked up at Jim. "It's your hair," Jim said with a shrug.

I want to keep it long, Blair said, much to Jim's relief. I want to stay me as long as possible, even if it means... Oh, God... Even if it means I go bald sooner.

Dr. Stuart nodded. "That's a valid reason in my book," he agreed. "Now, do you have any other questions?" He looked to the two men who were looking at each other and shaking their heads. "I'm sure something else will occur to you, eventually. This is a long drawn-out procedure and new things keep cropping up. I'll be by in the morning to check on your progress." He paused at the door, holding the frame as he looked back on his patient. "For now, I'd highly suggest you get some more sleep."

The door closed behind the doctor, leaving Jim and Blair alone once more. "Want to try the toast again?" Jim asked without much hope. Blair shook his head. "How about some water, then?" He poured a fresh glass and handed it to his partner.

Blair took the offering and sipped, not taking much before setting the glass back on the table. I still don't feel so good, he complained. Do you suppose you could hold me until I get to sleep?

"Not a problem," Jim answered, grinning. He toed off his shoes, and then climbed onto the bed behind Blair, pulling Blair's body against his. He nuzzled into the hair at Blair's neck, finding an ear to nibble on, then kissing a tiny trail down to Blair's shoulder.

Blair grasped the hand that draped over his body, squeezing it to let Jim know how much he appreciated the attention.

"Love you, too, Sweetheart," Jim murmured in Blair's ear, giving him one final kiss before closing his eyes.

~oO0Oo~

The afternoon of Blair's third day of chemo found him draped over the toilet, his stomach rebelling even though it was empty. He held onto the bowl, leaning heavily on the porcelain. Jim had found the ponytail ties Blair had stashed in his duffel and had helped him to tie his hair back before taking the day's dose of medication. It was the only piece of comfort he had at the moment.

Simon had come by during the morning's radiation treatment to beg a few hours of Jim's time. The detective had been reluctant to leave, claiming Blair needed him more than Simon did. But Blair had waved him off, putting on a brave face. This was going to be his life for the foreseeable future, and Jim was going to have to get used to leaving him on his own. He was going to have to get used to being left. It wasn't easy. In his mind, he felt the warm arms wrap around him, supporting him. He heard the soft words of encouragement crooned into his ear.

"Blair? How are you doing?" Melissa walked into the room, finding Blair leaning over the bowl. "Another rough day?" Blair nodded. "Where's Jim?"

Blair sat back on the tiles, letting go of the toilet long enough to talk. Simon needed him downtown on a big murder case, he told her. I told him he could go, but I sure wish that he was here.

"I'll stay with you, if you like," the nurse offered. "Have you had your anti-nausea medication today?" When Blair shook his head, Melissa grunted. "I'm going to have to have a talk with someone. You were supposed to get a dose just before you took the chemo."

Nobody came, Blair explained. It got to be 2:00, and I knew I needed my dose.

"Did you call for a nurse?" Melissa asked.

Yes, but after waiting fifteen minutes, I decided I'd better take the pill so I wouldn't throw off the schedule.

Melissa sighed. "I'm really sorry, Blair. That shouldn't have happened. I'll get you something now. Do you feel like you can go back to bed yet?" Blair shook his head, grabbing at the bowl once more. "All right," Melissa said. "You stay put--right here. I don't want you trying to get back to bed on your own. I'll be right back."

Within a few minutes the nurse had returned, injecting the anti-nausea medication into Blair's arm. "Let's get you back to bed now. You can use an emesis bowl if you think you still have something to throw up," she said, handing Blair the kidney-shaped bowl. "Why don't you close your eyes and try to get some sleep. I heard rumors that Dr. Stuart was going to release you after this evening's rounds. The better you're feeling, the more likely it is that you'll get to go home."

Blair gave the nurse a smile, his first in two days. Thanks, Melissa. That's great news.

"Thought you'd like it," Melissa agreed. "Get some rest now. Nibble on those crackers if you think you can hold anything down."

Blair nodded in agreement, even though he had no intention of touching the crackers. He dutifully sipped at his glass of water, and then closed his eyes, praying for enough relief from the cramping in his stomach so that he could go to sleep.

~oO0Oo~

Blair stuffed his pajamas back into his duffel bag and zipped it closed. Gripping the handles, he leaned heavily against Jim as Dr. Stuart gave his final instructions. "Here are the pills to finish out this round of chemo," the doctor said, handing over a prescription bottle with two pills still inside. "You'll get the next five in three weeks. And here is your anti-nausea medication, to be taken as needed. I'd give Kaitlin's teas a try, if I were you, but if you find they're not strong enough to help, there are always the pills." He handed Blair the second bottle as well, giving the young man a sturdy pat on the upper arm. "The nausea may persist for a few days after the chemo ends," he warned. "Eat small meals, and follow the dietician's recommendation sheet and you shouldn't have too much of a problem. The important thing is that you do eat. You need to keep up your strength."

"I'll see to it he eats, Doc," Jim said, ruffling his hand through Blair's mop of curls.

An orderly arrived with a wheelchair, and Blair settled himself for the ride down to the pick-up area. Jim jogged ahead to where he had left the truck parked in a patient loading zone, and opened the passenger side door.

Blair stepped up and slid into his seat, startled when Jim reached across him to grab the seatbelt and fasten it. Jiiim... The sign for Jim's name was drawn out as Blair pouted. I'm not a little kid, and I'm not so sick I can't fasten my own seatbelt.

"Humor me," Jim chuckled, slipping behind the wheel and starting the engine. "I like taking care of you."

And I like having you take care of me, Blair agreed. But I'm going to have to do things for myself. I'm not an invalid.

"You're right, and I'm sorry," Jim apologized. He pulled out into traffic and took the shortcut to home.

After a week in the hospital, the loft looked like a palace to the weary anthropologist. Dropping the duffel by the front door, he walked over to the couch and collapsed on the cushions. Jim came to settle next to him, draping an arm around the slumping shoulders.

"You look beat," Jim commented.

It's been a long day. I'm really tired, Blair confessed. I'm sorry. I was hoping to make homecoming a little more interesting for you, but all I can think about is bed and sleep.

Jim got up to pull the blinds over the patio windows, and then headed for the stairs. "I'll get the bed turned down and ready. Need help getting up here?" He turned so that he could see Blair's answer to his question. It had only been a week, but Jim acutely missed the convenience of Blair's voice prosthesis, not to mention the lively chatter that had filled the loft. Their home was once again eerily quiet.

No... I think I can make it on my own, Blair said, pushing himself up off the cushions. It was still early, only eight o'clock, but he felt like he'd just pulled an all-nighter. His feet felt like lead weights as he dragged himself across the short space between the couch and the stairs. Four steps into the climb, he felt a strong arm wrap around his waist, supporting him and helping him up the last of the flight to their bedroom.

Jim guided Blair over to the bed and lowered him onto the mattress. Kneeling, he slipped off Blair's shoes and socks, then faced off with his lover, his hands resting on Blair's knees. "Pajamas, boxers or nothing?"

Nothing, Blair answered, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. I may not feel up to doing more than sleep, but I want to feel you beside me. It's so good to be home again. I want to keep as much normal as we can.

"In the buff it is, then." Jim began peeling off the layers of Blair's clothing until the young man sat naked before him. He sat back on his heels for a moment, studying his lover who watched him with curiosity. "God, you're beautiful," he sighed. He reached out to stroke a hand down Blair's arm to his thigh, tracing the length of the leg until he reached the knee. "I rarely take the time to just look," he said. "We're always so busy doing other things--making love, showering, dressing--that I never get to just... look."

Blair began to tremble beneath the intense scrutiny of his lover. His hand went to cover the gauze patch on his throat. Jim reached up to peel the fingers back. "May I take off the bandage?" he asked. "I want to see you. All of you."

I... Blair's hands fluttered, then stopped briefly. It's still so ugly, he argued. I hate it! His face flushed with embarrassment at the thought of baring the hole in his throat.

"Nothing about you is ugly, Blair," Jim whispered. "You're the most beautiful person I know. Beauty isn't all on the outside, you know," he reminded his lover. "And even if it were, one little hole isn't going to spoil the view for me."

Blair nodded reluctantly, nervous tears welling in his eyes. He lifted his chin to give Jim easier access to the gauze and tape. Carefully, so as not to hurt the tender skin beneath, Jim peeled the cover away from the stoma. He studied it for a brief moment, until Blair began to squirm again, and then leaned in to press a kiss against it, feeling the soft movement of air as Blair exhaled.

Holding his breath, Blair trembled with embarrassment and love as the kisses trailed up the underside of his jaw to finally land on his mouth. Jim's weight pressed both men back onto the mattress. Shifting so that he wouldn't crush Blair, Jim allowed the kiss to deepen as he let his hand explore the muscular body beneath him.

Blair humped up to meet Jim's hand, need overcoming exhaustion for the moment. He rubbed his groin against the questing fingers, spreading his legs slightly as he felt Jim's hand engulf his penis. Nimble fingers massaged the reluctant organ to no avail. Tears sprang to Blair's eyes, and trailed down his cheeks.

"What's the matter, Baby?" Jim abandoned the lax cock to stroke the tears from Blair's face.

That's one of the side effects. The one they don't want to tell you about, Blair explained. I might be able to get it up toward the end of the three-week break, but as long as the drugs are in my system...

Jim rolled over on his side and sat up. He lifted Blair's legs and swung them up onto the bed, covering the naked body with the blankets. "We weren't supposed to be doing that, anyway," he said. "You need your rest. I'm sorry."

You don't have to be sorry, Blair replied. For a minute there, things felt normal, things felt very good. He smiled up at his worried partner. Are you going to keep me company, or do I have to sleep alone?

"Just a few more things," Jim said. He hustled around the bed, bringing a large plastic bowl with him. "This is for if you feel the need. I don't want you having to rush downstairs in the middle of the night." He held up a small, curved bottle for Blair to see before setting it on the nightstand next to the bowl. "A urinal, so you don't have to navigate the steps in the dark." He began to strip, throwing his clothes onto a chair and slipping into bed next to his lover.

You think of everything, Blair said with a smile. He closed the distance between them and placed a chaste kiss on Jim's lips. Hold me?

Jim gathered the warm body to him, wrapping his arms around the sweet flesh; content to have the man he loved back in his arms.

The next morning, Jim awoke to the sound of the shower running downstairs. He opened his eyes to see that he was, indeed, alone in the large bed. Looking through the railing at the bathroom door, he watched the steam billowing out. Throwing the blankets aside, he hurried downstairs to take Blair up on his tacit invitation. He stepped into the hot shower, wrapping his arms around Blair's waist.

Blair tipped his head back, resting it against Jim's shoulder. You came. He grinned, offering his mouth up for a kiss.

After complying, Jim asked, "Why are you up so early?"

Radiation therapy, he reminded Jim. After that, I thought I might come down to the station and get that paperwork started before I have to take my chemo this afternoon.

"You sure you're feeling up to that?" Jim asked. "It's an awful lot for your first full day at home."

I'm feeling a little tired and crummy, Blair admitted. But I'm feeling a hell of a lot better than I will after I take that damn pill this afternoon. Besides, Dr. Stuart said to keep busy. He said I could do my normal activities, so long as I felt up to it.

"I know. I just don't want you to overdo it." Jim picked up the shampoo and began to lather Blair's hair.

That's nice, Blair signed, his eyes closing as he enjoyed the gentle massage. Don't worry, I'll take it easy, he added.

When they had finished showering, they went upstairs to dress. After pulling on some lightweight cotton slacks, Blair rummaged through the closet, finally pulling out a long-sleeved turtleneck T-shirt.

"A bit warm for that, don't you think?" Jim asked, slipping into his own short-sleeved cotton shirt.

I... I don't want anyone at the station to... see, Blair explained a bit hesitantly, pulling at the high collar.

"Aw, Sweetheart... Nobody's going to mind. You don't have to be embarrassed." Jim walked over to wrap his arms around Blair's waist, nuzzling into the damp curls behind his ear.

But I am embarrassed, Jim. It really bothers me. Blair pulled away, turning to look at his partner. I need more time to get used to it myself, he explained.

"Whatever makes you comfortable," Jim conceded. Wrapping an arm around Blair's waist, he directed them toward the stairs. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Blair shrugged. Maybe just a cup of coffee and half a bagel. They crossed the distance to the kitchen, Blair walking over to the breadbox and pulling out a multigrain bagel. Picking up a serrated knife, he made quick work of slicing it in half, depositing the extra piece back in the plastic bag, which he then tossed back into the breadbox.

"Aren't you supposed to avoid caffeine while you're on chemo?" Jim asked.

Cut me a break, man, Blair complained, sitting down opposite Jim at the table. It's one lousy cup of coffee.

"Okay. Okay." Jim grinned, happy to hear Blair arguing again. "Need someone to drive you to radiation therapy and pick you up?" he asked.

Nope. Got it covered, Blair said. I feel okay this morning... not great, mind you, but okay. I can drive myself.

"What about after?"

Afterwards, I'll drive down to the station and meet you, Blair explained as though it should have been perfectly clear, even to Jim.

Jim sighed. "All right, but if you need anything, call. Be sure to take your cell phone with you."

Yes, Mom, Blair answered with a grin, getting up quickly and dancing out of the way before Jim could nail him for his smartass remark. See you around 10:00/10:30?

"Sounds good to me," Jim said, surprised and pleased that Blair was feeling well enough this morning to joke. He listened as Blair made his way down the hall, out the door, and into the Volvo. He followed the unique sound of the old car as it drove away, headed for the hospital. Once he could no longer hear the puttering of the engine, he got up and finished getting ready for work.

Blair breezed into Major Crime at 10:12, startling his former co-workers.

"Blair, my man! What are you doing here? Jim said you were in the middle of chemotherapy." Henri Brown rounded his desk and came out to greet his young friend.

And radiation therapy--just came from there, Blair added. Being on chemo doesn't mean I can't get out. Besides, I don't get my dose until later this afternoon. After that, I'll be confined to the bathroom for the rest of the evening.

"That bad, huh?" the detective asked, frowning.

Blair nodded. At least that bad. I thought I'd come in and get some stuff done before I spend the rest of the day puking my guts.

Joel Taggert walked over, joining the two men. Henri turned to the newcomer, filling him in. "Blair's here to get some stuff done," he told Taggert.

"What is it you have to do?" Joel asked, thumping Blair on the back. "It's good to see you, by the way. Jim tells us you're doing pretty good, considering."

Considering, Blair agreed. Well, I promised Simon a week ago that I'd come in and get the paperwork started so that I could come back to work this summer.

Brown slipped into the role of interpreter as Blair signed his response.

"Here?" Joel looked surprised. "You're picking up your badge for the summer?"

Is there something wrong with that? Blair was more puzzled than angry. He looked between the two detectives questioningly.

"No, nothing wrong," Joel continued. "We're glad to have you back. It's just that with the chemo, we didn't think you'd feel up to it."

I don't know how much I will feel up to, Blair admitted. But I want to be ready for when I have good days--like today--or if Jim needs me.

"That man always needs you." Megan walked up, joining the conversation. "He's been a regular bear since Simon called him back to work on the McMannon case. All he can talk about is how he needs to be with you, that you need him."

I do, Blair said with a slight sigh. I miss him most when I'm kneeling over the porcelain god. He keeps me from falling in.

His last comment brought a round of chuckles. Then Megan reached up to finger his collar. "Bit warm for a turtleneck, don't you think?" she asked, echoing Jim's earlier comment. She tugged at the high collar.

Don't! Blair backed off, out of Megan's reach.

"What's the matter, love? I was just making an observation," Megan said, looking hurt.

Just don't, please, Blair repeated, bumping into Joel in his haste to put distance between himself and the Aussie Inspector.

Jim came out of Simon's office and swept Blair up with an arm around his waist, guiding him out of the circle of their friends. "Just ease off, Megan," Jim warned gently. "I'll explain it to you later. Come on, Chief. Simon wants you down in Personnel, pronto. He says he wants you on the street with me this morning, if you feel up to it."

Really? What's up? Jim's cryptic comments had effectively taken Blair's mind off Megan's near exposure of his stoma.

"Simon wants me on a crime scene," Jim explained, steering Blair through the doors of Personnel. "He thinks I might be able to find some evidence Forensics may have missed. He also thinks it's pretty necessary that you be there."

As long as you have me home by 2:00, Blair admonished.

"Yes, Cinderella. Home by 2:00," Jim agreed with a grin.

Blair sat down at the table to fill out forms and update his personal information under Vera's watchful eye. He looked up long enough to wave to Jim as the detective headed back to Major Crime and the pile of his own paperwork that waited for him.

An hour later they were in the truck, headed for the crime scene.

Does this have anything to do with the McMannon case? Blair asked, watching the streets fly by as Jim maneuvered through the late morning traffic.

Jim glanced sideways, keeping one eye on the road as he watched Blair sign. "Yeah. We've hit a snag and Simon's hoping that I can find something that might get us going again," he said. "Ah... here we are." He wrenched the steering wheel to the right, turning into a small parking lot in front of the apartment complex where Peter McMannon had lived and died.

Inside the immaculate apartment, Jim set to work, opening his senses all out, looking for evidence.

Start with smell, Blair suggested. Close your eyes and scan for anything out of the ordinary.

Jim did as instructed, feeling the centering calm of having Blair at his side, one hand resting lightly on his arm. Minute odors came to him, semen and blood, leading him to the bedroom. The bedding had been changed, but a trace of semen still spattered the bedpost, while a tiny droplet of blood hid on the hardwood floor.

"Here," Jim said, pointing out the areas to the team who had awaited his arrival. He turned in time to see Blair sway drunkenly. He was on his feet in seconds, bolstering his sagging partner. "You okay, Darwin?" he asked, concerned for his partner.

"What's with him?" one of the Forensic team members asked, tipping his head toward Blair.

Serena answered him in hushed tones. "Blair's undergoing radiation and chemotherapy for cancer. Mind your business, we have work to do."

With one last glance at Jim and Blair, the crime scene investigator returned to his job.

I'm fine, Jim, just a little woozy. It'll pass. Blair leaned heavily against his partner, glad for the support.

"I'm getting you out of here," Jim said, clamping his hands on Blair's shoulders and steering him out of the room. Once they got outside the apartment, he wrapped an arm around Blair's waist. "You're doing too much, Blair," he warned. "You're still taking the chemo. You need to take it easy."

I... I thought I could handle it, Blair's hands stuttered slightly as he signed. I guess I'm not quite ready for real life yet.

"I'm taking you home. We can call Simon and let him know what happened." Jim opened the door to the truck and helped Blair up onto the seat. The suddenly exhausted man leaned heavily against the door as Jim climbed in the driver's side.

Once they were home, Blair collapsed on the couch. Jim came over to sit beside him, rubbing soothing circles across his back. "It's all right, Baby." Jim spoke softly, keeping up the comforting massage. "I know you just want your life to get back to normal, but you only got out of the hospital yesterday evening. I think maybe you're trying to push things a little too fast." He pulled Blair against his chest, resting his chin on the soft curls. "Why don't you wait until you're done with this round of chemo and see how you feel?"

It doesn't look like I have much choice, Blair replied, snuggling into a more comfortable position. Are you going to call Simon and let him know what's going on?

"Yeah, I supposed I'd better," Jim sighed, picking up the cordless phone from the end table.

Ask him if you can have the afternoon off.

Jim dialed and waited. "Yeah, Simon. Jim. Simon, Blair had an incident at the crime scene and I had to bring him home... No, nothing serious, just a dizzy spell... Yeah, no, yeah... He's okay, but Simon? It's nearly time for the chemo and I'd like the afternoon off. Blair's still pretty new at this, and he's going to need me here... Okay. Thanks, Simon, I will. Bye."

What was that all about? Blair asked, tipping his head up to look at Jim.

Jim took advantage of the position to press a soft kiss against the upturned lips before answering. "Simon was just worried about you, that's all."

Simon's worried about me?

"Of course he is. You're still one of his men, after all, even if you are still officially on inactive duty status," Jim said, smiling. "He told me to take good care of you this afternoon."

Did not, Blair said, disbelieving.

"Did so," Jim countered. "Believe it or not, Simon really does care what happens to you. Everyone at Major Crime does."

Not everyone, Jim. Be realistic. I'm still the hippie newcomer to a lot of them, Blair reminded him. And the fact that I'm your lover doesn't endear me to some of the guys, either.

"Hey, they had their chance," Jim said with a chuckle, "but they didn't take it. You knew a good thing when you saw it, and now I'm spoken for."

Blair pulled out of Jim's embrace and scowled around the grin that he was trying to suppress. You're so full of it. You know that, don't you?

"Let's not get into what I'm full of right now," Jim said with a chuckle. "How about a little lunch?"

Oh, Jim, man, I don't think I could. I've got the chemo in an hour... Blair frowned and shook his head, protesting when Jim stood and reached down to help him to his feet.

"You're going to eat something, even if it's dry toast and water," Jim insisted. "The doctor said you had to keep eating to keep up your strength." He grasped Blair's hand, pulling him up, then wrapped an arm around the younger man's waist and led him to the kitchen. "Now, how many slices of toast do you want?"

Ninety minutes later, Blair sank down on the bathroom floor, the vomiting done for the moment. I told you I didn't want anything to eat, he complained. It just comes right back up.

"You'd be here whether or not you ate anything," Jim said logically. "Some nutrition got into your system. That's what's important."

What's important is... Blair's hands froze and he scrambled back to his knees, leaning over the toilet bowl and heaving until a little more stomach acid made its way into his mouth. He spit it out and sank back onto the tiles. Got any of that fennel tea made? he asked, his face reflecting his misery.

"The water's boiling," Jim answered. "Want me to bring you a cup?"

Blair nodded, and Jim stood up to go into the kitchen. He returned shortly with the hot tea. He squatted down next to his partner and handed him the mug. "I hope I made it strong enough."

With his hands occupied, Blair couldn't speak, so he smiled his appreciation and took a tentative small sip of the hot liquid. He nodded, still grinning, and took another sip. As he waited to see how his stomach would react, he puckered up to blow on the tea to cool it. Nothing happened. His free hand flew to his throat as his eyes widened in surprise. The reality of life with a stoma struck hard at his fragile ego. His eyes filled with tears of shame, while his grip on the mug of tea faltered in a hand gone numb with shock.

Jim took the mug and set it down, then gathered Blair into his arms. The younger man flailed against Jim's chest with his fists, dampening Jim's shirt with his tears. When he finally wound down, Blair pushed himself away. I'm such a freak! Nothing's ever going to be normal again!

Jim gathered the distraught man back into his arms, petting the long hair with soothing strokes. "You are not a freak," he assured Blair. "And things will settle into a routine, become normal, given enough time. You just need to be patient."

Blair disengaged himself once again from the warmth of Jim's embrace. I don't want to be patient. I want things back the way they were before I was diagnosed with cancer. Tears slid down his cheeks in double tracks to drip from his chin onto the floor with a resounding splash in the silence of the room.

"I'd give anything to have those days back, too," Jim confessed, breaking the silence. "But we can't go back, Blair; only forward. I'll be here beside you, no matter what."

No matter what started with a vengeance sixteen days later. Blair was still getting the daily radiation treatments, but his first round of chemo had ended two weeks ago. Jim had showered first, and was in the kitchen fixing breakfast when Blair came storming out of the bathroom. Jim's back was turned when he started to speak. "Hey, Darwin, what'dya want for breakfa...?" His words trailed off as he turned to see his dripping wet, naked partner standing in front of the refrigerator holding out his left hand. "Chief? What's going on here?" He carefully approached the obviously upset man, keeping his eyes locked with Blair's and ignoring the obvious--a fistful of curly brown hair.

Blair shook his fist at Jim, waving the hair in front of his face before shoving it forcefully into Jim's hand. I was washing my hair, he began, shaking almost too much to communicate, and it started falling out in clumps!

As Blair signed, Jim steered him back to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and wrapping him in the terrycloth warmth. He glanced at the tub and saw more hair accumulated over the drain. He gathered the shaking man into his arms, cradling Blair's head against his chest. "Oh, God, Blair! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." Jim's own tears fell silently as he continued to hold his lover close. "Babe..." he began softly. "We knew this was going to happen. Now we just have to decide what to do about it." He took another towel, and began blotting and squeezing the excess water from Blair's hair. The towel came away with even more strands of the precious silk, making Jim fear the results of the combing he knew had to be done.

Wrapping Blair in his oversized white terry robe, Jim steered the young man out to the couch. With a stylist's pick, he carefully began untangling the curls, cleaning out the accumulating hair every few strokes. Blair sat in sullen silence, enduring the grooming his lover was giving him. When it was finally over, he reached up to feel the strands that lay on his shoulder.

Is there anything left? Even in sign, the tone was petulant.

Jim had to grin a little, despite himself. "Blair, Honey, you started with more hair than most men ever see. There's plenty left."

Not for long. Blair turned his back on Jim, pulling his legs up under him and curling up on the couch.

"I think it's time we went to the wig maker that Kaitlin suggested," Jim announced. "Get yourself dressed; we can go this morning."

I don't want a wig, Blair insisted. If... if I have to go bald... I want to do it with a little dignity.

"There's nothing wrong with wearing a wig," Jim insisted. "Cancer patients do it all the time. We'll have one made so close to your natural color and texture, nobody will ever notice."

What's the matter, Jim? Blair's eyes flashed with accusation. Can't you stand the thought of me without hair? That's it, isn't it? You don't want to see me bald! You're not sure you can still love me without my hair.

"God, Blair! That's a crock of shit and you know it!" Jim exploded. He was immediately sorry for his outburst, seeing the look of fear and hurt in Blair's eyes. "Oh, Baby... Sweetheart..." he crooned the sugary endearments. "Your hair doesn't matter to me. Sure, I love it, but it's not the reason I fell in love with you, and losing it won't make me love you less."

But you want me to get a wig, Blair said, trying to make sense of the suggestion.

"Not because I can't stand to look at you bald," Jim said, gathering Blair into his arms again. "I just thought it might make life a little easier for you, that's all." He started to stroke the long hair, but stopped when his efforts pulled out more of the spiral strands. "You're so embarrassed by the stoma... I thought a wig might alleviate any embarrassment over losing your hair."

It's not the same thing, Blair insisted, pulling back a bit so he could sign.

"How?" Jim wondered. "How is it different?"

My hair will grow back, Blair explained. It's temporary. The stoma... that's forever.

"But a wig would help you look normal--more natural," he quickly corrected himself.

Blair shook his head. But I'm not normal, and bald is natural.

Jim sighed. "Can we go, anyway?" When Blair gave him a quizzical look, he continued. "You might change your mind later," he explained. "And if your hair is already gone, it'll be that much harder to get a wig to match."

Okay, Blair conceded. On one condition.

"Name it," Jim said quickly.

We give the woman a sample of my hair, and whatever else she needs, but we tell her not to make the wig yet, Blair insisted. If I decide later that I want it, she'll have everything she needs.

"You don't have to worry about the cost," Jim said. "I'll cover it. Besides, I heard that some insurance companies cover part of the cost for cancer patients. If we let her make it in advance, you wouldn't have to wait."

And we'd waste your money, or that of the insurance company, if I never want it, Blair argued. If I change my mind, I can wait until it's done.

"Are you sure?" Jim asked, his tone wheedling. "Wouldn't it be nice to know it's there, if you want it?"

No, Jim. We go and give the lady what she needs, nothing more, or I won't go. Blair crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his insistent partner.

Jim conceded with a heavy sigh. "All right. Okay. Have it your way. Just go get dressed so that we can get this show on the road."

Don't you have to go in to work today? Blair asked, before heading for the stairs.

"I'll go in late," Jim said with a shrug. "Simon'll understand."

Mrs. Whitcomb clucked and fussed as she looked Blair over from every angle. "Would you mind if I took some Polaroids for reference?" she asked.

No. Go ahead, that's fine, Blair agreed, with Jim interpreting for him.

The grandmotherly old woman took out her camera and proceeded to take several shots from different angles. When she was satisfied, she set the camera on the table. "Now I'll just need a lock of hair," she said, approaching with a pair of scissors.

Blair stood still as she selected some hair from the back of his head and snipped off the sample. "There we go. It takes a few weeks to make the wig," she told her customers. "But you shouldn't really need it until then, anyway." She reached up to finger Blair's hair again. "You have such lovely hair," she said. "I'll do my very best to match this for you."

Tell her, Jim, Blair said, nudging his partner in the ribs with his elbow.

Jim glanced at Blair with an almost pleading look, but got only a stern glare in return. "Blair doesn't want you to make the wig yet," he told Mrs. Whitcomb. "He hasn't decided whether or not he really wants it. I insisted we come in before his hair was all gone, so that you'd have a good reference if he changes his mind."

Mrs. Whitcomb nodded. "All right. Yes, it's good you came in early. Just remember, if you should change your mind," she said, directing her comments to Blair, "that it can take a month to six weeks to finish a wig."

I understand. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Whitcomb, Blair said, finding a smile for the sweet older woman.

"Thank you," Jim added on his own behalf. "We'll be in touch."

"Good-bye." Mrs. Whitcomb waved to the couple as they walked out of her home and back to the truck that waited at the curb.

~oO0Oo~

Blair's second round of chemo was decidedly worse than the first time around. He knelt over the toilet throwing up what little Jim had convinced him to eat, then collapsed back, too tired to get up off the floor.

"C'mon, Sweetheart, up you go." Jim slipped his hands under Blair's arms and lifted, holding on to steady the young man until he could stand on his own.

I'm tired, Jim. Could you help me up to bed? Blair asked, leaning heavily against his support.

Jim nodded, looking at Blair critically. Over the past month, his partner had lost a considerable amount of weight. He considered whether or not he could carry Blair upstairs, saving the exhausted man the trouble of climbing the stairs. Finally, he simply wrapped an arm around the slender waist and headed out of the bathroom. "No problem, Sport. We'll get you settled, and I'll bring you the anti-nausea pills."

Could you make some tea? Maybe the licorice this time? Blair asked, hopefully. Although coffee was his beverage of choice, he had always enjoyed the occasional cup of tea. Kaitlin's suggestions of teas to ease the nausea had helped greatly. However, there were days, like this one, where the pills were necessary to keep him from turning himself inside out with the vomiting.

Jim paused at the bed, turning down the covers, while still keeping a grip on the wobbly man beside him. He lowered Blair carefully to the mattress, pulling the blankets up to his chest.

Blair reached up to take off the baseball cap he had taken to wearing recently. Since his hair had begun to fall out, the loss had progressed rapidly. He had finally decided to cut it short and had hidden it under one of Jim's Cascade Jags hats.

Jim ruffled his hand through what was left of Blair's hair and smiled. "I'll be right back with the pills and the tea," he promised, backing toward the stairs.

Blair retreated from the intimate touch. Don't touch the hair, man, he warned, trying to look angry when what he felt was fear.

Jim stopped, coming back to the bed and sitting on the edge of the mattress. "What's wrong, Blair?" he asked, knowing there was more to the story than just the bravado the young man tried to show.

Nothing, Blair replied, shaking his head.

Jim reached up to stroke his hand over the short, wavy locks of hair that still remained in unsightly patches on Blair's head. "Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?"

Blair frowned, enduring Jim's touch. It wouldn't be right of you to lie, Jim, he pointed out. I'm anything but beautiful right now. Have you looked at me lately? I'm skin and bones, and look like a poodle with a bad haircut.

"You're too hard on yourself," Jim insisted. "Your eyes are still a gorgeous blue, your lips haven't lost their beautiful color, your hands are as graceful as ever," he said, counting off Blair's attributes. "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about."

Good, God, Jim! Are you listening to yourself? Blair was flabbergasted. I've got a hole in my throat, what's left of my hair is a scraggly mess, I've lost weight... He let his hands drop into his lap, bowing his head.

Jim began rubbing the thin shoulders, massaging away the tension that had built there. "None of that matters to me," he said, leaning in to kiss Blair's temple. "Love is blind, remember?"

That brought a small smile to the hurting face. Blair wiped at a tear that was trying to fall, before turning back to Jim. Lucky for me.

"So... Are you going to let me get those pills and the tea for you?" Jim asked, petting the short hair again, this time without Blair pulling away.

Yes... sure. That would be nice. Thanks, Jim. Blair sank down into the pillows and watched as Jim started down the stairs. Closing his eyes, he tried to rest. Sleep had been elusive lately. The constant nausea wore on him, keeping him awake at night or waking him abruptly just as he fell asleep. Food was something he avoided, unless Jim was around to pressure him into eating. He'd lost twenty-five precious pounds--weight he couldn't afford to lose--since the chemo treatments had started.

Jim returned in ten minutes with the pills and a fresh pot of licorice tea. He set the items on the nightstand, and then helped Blair to sit up, fluffing the pillows behind his head. He poured a cup of tea, handing the cup and pills to his partner.

Blair swallowed the anti-nausea medication, washing it down with a sip of tea. This is great, thanks. I feel better, he said with a smile. He took a couple more sips of the tea, then set the cup on the table on his side of the bed. He patted the mattress invitingly. Lie down with me?

Jim stretched out beside Blair and pulled him close. With the proximity of his lover, Blair's ragged breathing evened out and he drifted off to sleep.

Jim held the precious body close, amazed at the intimacy and satisfaction he felt just holding Blair. Sex had rapidly become a thing of the past, since the chemo had started. The best Blair could manage was about half-mast; even then it didn't last long. And that was on the good days. Oral sex was out. Anything that went down Blair's throat triggered his gag reflex, resulting in another bout of vomiting. Anal penetration was out, too. For one, Blair couldn't get hard enough to do Jim, and for another, Jim couldn't find it in himself to pound into the increasingly fragile body, even if Blair felt well enough to want it. He found his satisfaction in stolen touches that melted the thin frame, causing Blair to sigh in his strange, new way. Or in back and shoulder rubs, to ease the tension that doing battle with cancer created in his partner. Just gathering Blair into his arms was enough to content the Sentinel, who listened to the steady, slow rhythm of Blair's heart and the soft susurrations of his breath until the quiet sounds lulled him to sleep, as well.

Jim awoke an hour later to a painfully throbbing erection. He listened closely to the precious body next to him, determining that Blair was still asleep. As carefully as possible, he eased out of the bed and headed downstairs to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he quickly unzipped his pants, pulling his rock-hard penis from its prison. He moaned as his fingers wrapped around the organ, squeezing and pulling in a steady rhythm. He closed his eyes, letting his head tip back and his mouth fall open. In his mind it was Blair's hand touching him... Blair's fist making him come. His breathing came in short little pants as his pending orgasm gathered strength. He didn't even notice the quiet click as the bathroom door opened. A strangled cry escaped his throat as his pulsing organ shot semen into the air to splatter on the tile floor. With a sigh of relief, he opened his eyes.

Blair was standing there watching, his eyes melancholy.

"Oh God, Chief! What are you doing here?" Jim quickly tucked himself back inside his pants and zipped them up.

I had to take a leak, Blair said, the sadness never leaving the blue eyes. Jim... Oh man, I'm so sorry. I know how hard this has to be on you... I want to be there for you. I do...

Jim stilled the busy hands, then rested his own on Blair's shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. "It's all right. It's all right," he crooned softly. "It's not your fault, Hon. I know you love me. I know how much you want to please me..."

I could have helped with that, Blair said, pulling out of the embrace so that he could sign. He let one hand rest lightly against Jim's groin. I can't get mine up, or do oral sex without gagging, but I can do a hand-job now and then. Please, Jim... just ask.

"Oh, Baby... You're usually so tired, or nauseated... I can take care of myself," Jim insisted softly.

I hate this! Blair raged, angry at the hand fate had dealt him. I hate not being able to love you.

"But you do," Jim reminded him. "You love me every day, and I love you. The sex will come again, someday. Until then, I'm all right with the way things are... okay? You have to know that I'm all right with the way things are."

Blair sighed softly. I'm going to make it up to you, he said. I don't know how, and I don't know when... but I swear I'll make it right. He stood up on the tip of his toes to press a kiss against Jim's waiting lips.

Jim gathered Blair into his arms, returning the kiss with gentle passion, sealing the promise.

~oO0Oo~

It had been a long day at the station, and Jim was looking forward to spending time with Blair. His partner had just finished the third round of his chemo the day before and had still been feeling quite ill when Jim had left that morning. Opening the door to their apartment, Jim's nostrils were assaulted with a familiar, sweet odor. He scanned the room, seeing no sign of the younger man. "Blair?" he called, reaching out with his hearing to locate the familiar heartbeat.

Hey, Jim! Blair opened the French doors to his old bedroom and walked out to greet his partner, a smile of welcome on his face.

"You're looking good," Jim replied, inhaling more deeply the scent that followed Blair out into the room.

Feeling great, for a change, Blair said, advancing to give Jim a hug and kiss.

"Whoa. Hold up there a minute, buddy," Jim said, pushing back to hold his lover at arm's length. "What have you got in there?" A flick of his head indicated the small bedroom, giving Blair a chance to explain.

Blair hesitated. It's nothing, really.

"It doesn't smell like 'nothing' to me," Jim said, scowling. "Have you been smoking marijuana?"

Jim... Jim, calm down, Blair backed up toward his room, arms out to hold off the advancing man. A friend of mine came by to visit and gave me a couple joints. That's all. Honest.

"A friend, huh?" Jim said, still making his slow progress across the loft. "What kind of friend?"

Chill, Jim! It was a gift. I didn't buy the stuff, Blair said. Reggie has AIDS and has a medical dispensation to use marijuana. He thought it might help my nausea. Jim, he rushed on, I feel great! I was lousy this morning, but after just a few puffs on the joint Reggie gave me, I felt fine. This is the best I've felt since all this crap started.

Jim had reached the doors to the bedroom, and peered over Blair's shoulder to see the curling smoke from a small marijuana joint burning in an incense dish. "I thought we were going to talk about this before you did anything." The accusation covered the hurt he felt about not being consulted.

I didn't plan this, Blair responded. It just happened. I was hoping you'd be happy for me.

"You want me to be happy that you're breaking the law? You don't even have the papers that allow you to possess marijuana," he pointed out.

I could get them, Blair insisted. Dr. Stuart said he'd write them up for me. Jim, the stuff really works, man. I haven't been sick all day. He studied Jim's disapproving face, then delivered the punch line. Reggie and I shared a pizza for lunch.

Jim backed off, stunned. "You ate pizza?"

Yeah, it was great! Italian sausage with peppers and mushrooms, Blair bragged. And it stayed down.

"I still don't like it," Jim said slowly, shaking his head. "But I can't deny that you look much better this afternoon."

That's because I didn't spend the whole day in the bathroom puking, Blair pointed out. And I got some real food into my system. Jim, I'm not smoking to get high, he sighed, walking back into the room to tamp out the joint, and then turning back to his partner. I'm smoking for relief from the symptoms of the chemotherapy. It works.

Jim guided Blair over to the futon and sat down, pulling his lover down beside him. He studied the earnest face, noting the gauntness of the features contrasted by the bright African print scarf that covered a head that had gone completely bald over the course of the past month. "You know I'm uncomfortable with this," he began, sighing. "I'm a cop, and marijuana is still illegal. If I allow this and look the other way, you've got to promise me something."

What? Jim, I'll do anything to keep feeling this good.

"Promise me you'll only smoke it here at home," Jim said. "I don't want you out on the street with that stuff."

I promise, Jim. Blair leaned over to capture Jim's lips in a grateful kiss. And I'll only use it during treatments, or immediately after, to control the nausea. I promise. I promise.

"And I don't want to smell the stuff," Jim continued when Blair released him. "It makes my nose itch."

I'll keep it in my room or out on the patio, Blair vowed, all smiles at the guarded concession of his lover.

Jim grasped the flying hands, stilling them. "Seeing you this happy again is worth it," he admitted, pulling Blair into a hug and showering him with kisses.

They quickly found themselves naked and entangled in the blankets on the futon. Frantic groping, long denied by Blair's illness, quickly resulted in Jim's completion and a chorus of sighs from both men. Jim stroked his hand down Blair's side, coming to rest on the flaccid penis. A moan issued softly from Blair's throat, before he guided the hand higher to caress his aching nipples. Their mouths joined and their tongues did battle, until Blair collapsed against the pile of pillows, exhausted.

That was beautiful, Jim. Thank you. Blair smiled languidly up at his lover.

"You never have to thank me for loving you, Sweetheart," Jim declared, bending over the reclining form to place one last kiss on the full lips.

I'm tired.

Jim sat up and pulled a colorful South American blanket down to cover his lover's rapidly cooling body. "I'm not surprised. You may be feeling better, but you're a long way from having your strength back."

Blair nodded, his eyes closed. Jim soon noted the change in his breathing and heart rate. Blair was asleep. Carefully, he got up and went into the bathroom to shower. When he was dressed, he returned with a warm cloth to gently wash their lovemaking from Blair's body. He took care not to disturb the sleeping man. As he wiped, he noted how he could count every rib on the slender frame. Blair's hipbones jutted beneath the paper-thin, delicate skin. He sighed. They still had a long way to go.

~oO0Oo~

Dr. Stuart walked into the exam room, a smile on his face. He flipped through the papers in Blair's file, then looked up at the two men who were watching him intently. "I have good news and bad news," he announced. "Which do you want to hear first?"

"The good news." Good news. Jim and Blair answered in unison.

"Well, the good news is: Blair, your cancer is in clinical remission." He grinned at the stunned looks on the two faces.

Does that mean I'm cured? Blair asked, his heart racing with sudden hope.

"Not cured," the doctor informed him, "but currently symptom-free. A clinical remission simply means that your blood tests have come back normal. We'd have to do a complete set of tests, like we did when you were first diagnosed, to say you are in complete remission."

"So is this the end of the chemo?" Jim asked, hoping beyond hope that Blair's torture was coming to an end.

Dr. Stuart shook his head, his smile dissolving. "That's the bad news," he said. "Being in remission is not the same thing as being cured. At this point in the treatment, I generally like to keep my patients on another two rounds of chemo, to make sure that all the cancer cells are actually killed."

Blair's shoulders slumped. So it isn't over?

"I'm very sorry," Stuart said, genuinely sympathetic. "I know you want this to be over with so that you can get on with your life, but at the same time, I want to make sure you remain symptom-free for as long as possible."

"So the chemo continues on schedule?" Jim asked, wrapping a supporting arm around Blair's waist.

"I'm afraid so," Stuart confirmed. He laid the file folder on his desk and turned back to his patient. "Do you have any other questions?"

Well... Blair began, shooting a nervous glance at Jim. His partner smiled and nodded. They had an agreement. When you told me I was in remission, I didn't think I'd have to bring this up, but... He paused again, double-checking with Jim.

"What is it, Blair?" Dr. Stuart asked, his voice warm and supportive. He perched casually on the edge of his desk and waited for Blair's reply.

I was wondering if you'd write me the prescription for medical marijuana use, Blair said. He took a deep breath, reflexively, before continuing in sign. I tried a joint during my last chemo session, and it really made a difference. I felt good and was able to actually eat and keep the food down.

Dr. Stuart chuckled lightly at the rapid hand movements. He knew that if Blair currently had his voice, he'd be talking a mile a minute to quell his nervousness. "No need to convince me, son," he said with a smile. "I was one of the doctors pushing for backing of the law before it was passed. I've seen what good it can do for my patients." He reached for a prescription pad and began to jot a note. "Now you know this isn't truly a prescription," he clarified. "It's more like a 'get out of jail free' card. It's still illegal to buy the marijuana on the street. You can, however," he said, glancing between Blair and Jim, finally focusing on the detective, "grow your own. You're allowed a six-month supply, legally."

The patio would be great! Blair said, turning to Jim in his excitement. Then, in the winter, we could bring it in and set it by the doors where it'd get a lot of light.

Jim sighed. "Blair and I have an agreement about the stuff," he told the doctor. "But, frankly, I'm still not too keen on it."

"It makes a tremendous difference to some patients," the doctor argued.

You can't deny it helped, Blair said, jumping into the argument. I ate a half a pizza!

"Yeah, yeah...," Jim agreed, with a wave of his hand. "It helps. I know it does, and I don't want Blair to suffer. I'm just not entirely comfortable with the idea."

"You'll get used to it over time," the doctor assured him. "When you see Blair putting on weight, you'll know it was all worth it." He smiled at the couple. "I guess that's it, then, unless you have anymore questions?"

No. Thank you, Dr. Stuart, Blair said, reaching out a hand. The doctor took the proffered hand and shook. You've given me some hope when I'd just about used up what I had left.

"Blair..." The doctor stopped the couple's progress toward the door. "I just want you to know that even though the cancer is in remission, there's always a possibility of complications from the chemotherapy itself. This isn't over by a long shot."

I understand, Blair acknowledged. I'll be careful. At least now there's a light at the end of the tunnel.

"Thanks, Doc," Jim chimed in, adding his own two cents before steering Blair out of the office.

~oO0Oo~

The rest of the summer passed quickly, as the continued rounds of chemotherapy wore away at Blair's body and health. As the brisk winds of late September brought the rain back to Cascade, Blair found himself coming down with more and more colds and infections.

Jim rolled over in bed to face Blair. He could feel the heat radiating from the frail body without touching him. He laid a hand on Blair's brow, estimating his partner's temperature at around 102 degrees Fahrenheit.

Blair stirred at the touch, blinking open heavy eyelids. It took a few seconds to focus, but when he saw Jim bending over him, he attempted a smile.

"You're burning up," Jim said without preamble. "I'm going to call Dr. Stuart."

It's just a cold and a bit of an earache, Blair managed, despite the fatigue that still tugged at every part of his body, including his arms and hands. I don't need to see the doctor.

"Blair Jacob Sandburg, while you're undergoing chemotherapy is no time to shrug off a cold," Jim scolded. "You remember what Dr. Stuart said--that even a cold could be serious, and you should be taking antibiotics."

Antibiotics won't help a cold, Blair argued. Colds are caused by viruses.

"But secondary infections can be bacterial," Jim shot back. "And you're more susceptible right now."

I'm so tired, Blair said, sighing softly. Can't I please stay in bed?

"Why don't you let me call Dr. Stuart and see what he has to say?" Jim suggested. "Chances are, he couldn't fit you in until later in the morning, or this afternoon, anyway." Blair nodded his agreement, closing his eyes again. "I'll go call and then be right back," Jim said getting up.

Blair reached out to snag Jim's arm before he could get away. What?

"I said I'd go call, then I'll come right back." Jim spoke distinctly and a bit louder. Blair nodded, closing his eyes again.

Jim went downstairs to make the phone call, and then wandered into the kitchen to fix a light breakfast. Blair's heartbeat and respirations told the Sentinel that his partner had managed to fall back to sleep. Considering how tired Blair had been lately, Jim figured he could wait a while longer to tell the young man about his appointment. He rummaged in the refrigerator bringing out the carton of eggs, a container of chopped vegetables and some cheese. He was hungry for an omelet. Maybe he could tempt Blair with one, as well. His partner was in the middle of his third chemo-free week and could tolerate a bit more food than when the chemicals were wreaking havoc on his body.

The smells of cooking filled the kitchen, wafting their way up to the open bedroom above. Jim could hear the increase in heart rate and breathing, signaling that Blair was now awake. Making his way back up the stairs, he found two round blue eyes watching him out of the sunken, pale face. The skeleton of a man who greeted him looked almost nothing like the lively, vibrant Blair he had fallen in love with.

He scooped Blair out of bed, carrying him downstairs and settling him in the wheelchair that had recently become his preferred mode of getting around. "How does a veggie and cheese omelet sound?" he asked.

Blair twisted around to look at Jim. Omelet?

"Yeah, veggie and cheese," Jim repeated, watching Blair closely.

The younger man reached up to rub hard at his aching right ear, then signed, Sounds good. You make monster omelets.

"I'll take that as the compliment I think it was meant to be," Jim said with a chuckle. He rolled the chair up to the table, then went into the kitchen to bring out the omelets, toast and orange juice.

Taking a bite of the omelet, Blair looked up appreciatively. This is really good.

"Glad to hear it. You need to eat more--get a little meat on those bones again," Jim told him.

Blair bent over his plate, eating with slow, deliberate motions. He managed almost a third of the omelet and half a slice of toast before pushing the food away.

"You did great, Sweetheart," Jim praised the effort. In truth, it was the most Blair had eaten in nearly a month. It was such a shame, he mused, that just as Blair got his appetite back, the chemo was scheduled to start again. "I got a hold of Dr. Stuart," he said, watching Blair to gauge his reaction.

When do I have to go in?

"He said he could fit you in this afternoon. Think you can make it?"

Blair took a deep breath, letting the sigh rattle through the stoma. I don't suppose I have much of a choice, he said. Maybe if I get a little more rest.

"Do you want me to take you back up to bed?" Jim asked, pushing his chair back to stand. He came around the table and began guiding the wheelchair toward the stairs.

I can just sack out on the couch, Blair suggested. Maybe I'll watch a little TV.

"Simon wanted me to come in today," Jim told his partner. "I'll tell him about your appointment and see if he'll let me have the afternoon off."

You're spending way too much time with me, Jim. We have bills to pay, and I'm too sick to go back to work right now, Blair pointed out.

Jim parked the chair next to the couch, and helped Blair climb out and settle on the cushions. He handed Blair the remote for the TV, fluffing the pillows that lay at one end. "We're doing okay," he said. "Besides, I'll go in this morning. I can always make it up with an all-night stake-out sometime," he added.

Don't you ever get tired of it? Blair asked, making himself comfortable. He stretched out, pulling the afghan off the back of the couch and covering up. He rested his head on the silk-covered pillow Jim had bought especially for him. Dr. Stuart had mentioned that Blair's scalp might be sensitive when his hair started to fall out, and Jim wanted nothing but the best for his partner.

"Yeah, who doesn't?" Jim said with a sigh. "I'd much rather be home here with you."

No, no..., Blair shook his head. I wasn't asking about getting tired of work. Don't you ever get tired of taking care of me? I mean, I'm pretty high maintenance right now.

"You've got to be kidding," Jim said in a soft, disbelieving voice. "I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing... Well, other than taking you camping or backpacking in the wilderness. Fishing would be nice," he mused, grinning.

Cut that out! Blair laughed, slapping Jim's shoulder. You're playing with me!

"No, but it's not because I don't want to," Jim said, turning a leering grin on his lover. "Maybe when you're feeling better."

Go to work! Blair ordered. I'll be fine.

Jim bent down to press his lips against dry, cracked ones. The kiss was gentle and sweet, imparting all his love to the younger man. "You get some rest. I'll be home at noon for lunch, then we'll go to your doctor's appointment."

~oO0Oo~

"What is it, Doc?" Jim asked as Dr. Stuart finished his examination of Blair.

"Well, I won't know for absolute certain until the blood tests come back," the doctor began, "but I suspect what we're dealing with here is neutropenia. That's a condition caused by the chemotherapy--a drastic reduction in the white blood cell count," he explained. Settling into a chair, he turned to his patient. "Chemotherapy targets rapidly reproducing cells, which is why it's so effective in killing cancer. However, your bone marrow also produces cells at an enormous rate, which is why the chemo decreases both your red and white blood cell counts. Same is true of your hair." He wrote a few notes in Blair's file, then returned his attention to the young man. "Fortunately, your marrow and hair follicles will recover once the chemo ends. Unfortunately," he continued, "the condition leaves you open to infection; particularly in the mouth, throat and lungs--and in your case, your ears."

So this is something I have to live with? Blair asked, his shoulders slumping at the thought.

"Oh no. There's a drug we can give you--granulocyte-colony stimulating factor, or G-CSF," Dr. Stuart said. "It's just a big name for a treatment that can possibly increase your neutrophil count."

"His what?" Jim said. Despite his medical training in the Army, the doctor had lost him on this explanation.

"Neutrophils are the particular white blood cell type that Blair is in desperate need of to fight off his infections," Stuart explained. "I'd also like to start you on some antibiotics," he said, addressing Blair. "If we can't get that ear infection under control, you could lose your hearing."

Blair's eyes grew round, and his breathing and heart rate picked up tempo. Jim noticed the insipient panic attack and came to stand next to where Blair sat on the exam table. He wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders, pulling him in close.

I... I... Oh, God! I can't lose my hearing! Blair's signs were shouted in large, effusive gestures. I've already lost my voice! I can't! I can't!

Jim pulled the smaller man close to his body, cradling Blair's head against his chest. "You're not going to lose your hearing. Got that? I'm not going to let it happen."

"Neither am I," Dr. Stuart chimed in. "We'll get you started on the antibiotics right here in the office, then I'll send you home with a prescription that I want you to take three times a day for ten days. Finish the entire prescription, even if you're feeling better," he admonished. Blair nodded. "You may notice some decrease in your hearing at certain tonal ranges," Stuart continued, readying a syringe with the potent first dose of the medicine. "But the loss should be temporary. Jim," he turned to Blair's partner, "I want you to be sure that you have Blair's attention when you speak. Make sure he's watching you. That will increase his understanding of what you're saying."

I can't read lips, Blair said, still on the razor-edge of panic.

"You don't have to," the doctor assured him. "You'd be surprised how much better you'll understand things if you can see the speaker."

All right, Blair agreed. I'll try. He flinched slightly as the doctor drove the needle home in his arm, injecting the antibiotic.

"I'd like you to go home and get some rest," Dr. Stuart instructed. "Your next round of chemo starts on Thursday?"

Blair nodded.

Still holding onto his partner, willing the racing heart to slow down, Jim turned to the doctor. "How much longer is the chemotherapy going to have to go on? Blair's been at this four months now."

"There's been a steady improvement in his condition," the doctor answered, "but he's still a way from full remission. I'll have a better idea when we're done with the next round."

May I go home now? Blair asked, slumping against the solid support of Jim's chest.

"Sure," Dr. Stuart replied. "Go ahead and get dressed, then stop out at the desk; your prescriptions will be waiting."

Thank you. Blair took the clothes that Jim handed to him, and slipped off the table.

"Need some help?" Jim held up Blair's jeans, letting the younger man lean against him as he stepped into the clothing.

I can manage, now. Thanks, Blair said, slipping into his shirt and starting to button it. His fingers felt clumsy and slow. The buttoning process was rapidly become an exercise in extreme frustration. It was with relief that he allowed Jim to take over the job. Great, he said, sighing. Now I can't even dress myself.

"Good days and bad days, Chief," Jim said, tucking the shirt into the waistband of Blair's jeans.

Blair tapped Jim's shoulder, making him look up to meet the questioning eyes. What did you say?

"Aw, shit. Sorry, Blair." Jim looked contrite. Then, making sure he was looking at his partner, he repeated, "You have your good days and your bad days. This is one of the bad ones. Don't sweat it."

You're a saint to put up with everything, Blair said before sitting down to put on his shoes. As he bent over to tie the laces, pain stabbed at his head through his eardrums. Clutching at his ears, he finally gave up on the shoes, sitting up to relieve the pressure.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked as he kneeled to tie Blair's laces for him.

My ears really hurt, the young man complained. It feels like someone's stabbing an ice pick in my head.

Jim reached up from where he knelt on one knee in front of Blair and stroked the haggard face. "We're getting you something for that," he assured his lover. "You'll feel better soon. Meanwhile, let me finish with your shoes."

Blair tapped his shoulder. Just leave them. I'm not walking out of here, anyway.

"I don't mind," Jim protested, reaching for the laces once more.

Please, Jim... Just leave them.

Jim sighed and picked up Blair's coat, draping it over his shoulders. Blair shrugged his way into it, pulling the front closed. Jim turned the wheelchair around and headed out to the lobby, stopping at the reception desk to pick up Blair's prescriptions.

~oO0Oo~

A scant three days later, Blair's fifth round of chemo began.

Jim came home from work on the afternoon of the second day, tossing his keys into the basket by the door and looking around. "Blair?" he called out into the empty room. When he didn't get a response, he reached out with his hearing, homing in on the erratic beating of Blair's heart. The sound led him to the bathroom, where he found his partner draped over the toilet seat, his head resting on his arms.

He quickly knelt next to Blair, shaking his shoulders lightly. "Blair? Blair, are you all right?" his voice was soft, but strained. When he got no response, he lifted Blair and turned him, cradling the frail body in his arms. Blair's breath came in slow, shallow gasps, echoing strangely through the small hole in his throat. His heartbeat was an irregular, rapid patter, and his temperature was high.

Lifting him from the floor, Jim carried his very ill partner up to their bedroom. He quickly stripped the younger man down to his underwear, leaving in place the colorful scarf that covered his head. Pulling up the blankets, he covered the shivering body before sitting beside Blair and resting his palm against a flushed cheek.

"Come on, buddy. Wake up," he said, lightly patting the cheek. He dampened a handkerchief with water from a glass on the nightstand and wiped the feverish face, finally placing the cool cloth on Blair's forehead.

Blue eyes slowly opened and Blair looked around, confused and disoriented. Where am I?

"I brought you up to our room," Jim answered softly. "I found you passed out in the bathroom when I came home from work."

Blair shook his head, the motion sending bolts of pain through his skull from his infected ears. Reaching out, he grabbed Jim's arms with a vise-like grip.

"Blair?"

The voicing of his name sent Blair into an overload of panic. He began thrashing his arms and legs, tangling the blankets and kicking Jim, who tried his best to hold the whirlwind still. Blair's hands flew in a confusion of signs, not making any sense to Jim. Eventually, he made out the signs for "hear," then "scared" or "afraid."

Jim pinned the flailing hands that were not speaking coherently. "Shhh... shhh... Babe. Quiet down, it's all right. Can you hear me?"

Blair eyes had been fixed on his lips, and when Jim quit speaking, Blair began fighting again. He shook his head from side to side and struggled to free his hands. The strange behavior, coupled with the fever, had Jim frightened. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Dr. Stuart's office.

"Get him down to the hospital emergency room immediately," the nurse instructed. "Dr. Stuart will meet you there."

Jim bundled Blair up in several layers of blankets and carried him out to the truck, not wanting to bother wasting time with the wheelchair. The judicious use of lights and siren got them to the hospital in a very short time.

Within an hour, Blair had been admitted, tests had been ordered, and Dr. Stuart had seen his patient. Jim stood next to the bed, stroking Blair's arm with a soothing rhythm. The young man was resting comfortably, his breathing and heart rate nearly back to normal.

"So what's the deal here, Doc?" Jim asked, his face creased with a frown of worry.

Dr. Stuart glanced quickly at Blair's chart, then checked the IV drip, making sure the medications were flowing smoothly. "I'm afraid Blair has suffered a sudden and drastic drop in his white cell count. The infection we've been trying to treat has worsened, causing a temporary hearing loss, which I think is the basis for Blair's anxiety attack."

"God, what next?" Jim wondered, raising his eyes to the ceiling before settling them back on the sunken, pale features of his lover. "You know, Blair would probably say he was either paying for the sins of a past life, or building good karma for the next one with his suffering. Personally, I don't see how anything he could have done would earn him this kind of hell."

Dr. Stuart rested a calming hand on Jim's shoulder and spoke quietly to the grieving man. "I know it looks bad right now," he said. "But Blair is going to pull through this. I've got him on a combination of drugs to fight the infection and build up his overall blood count, especially the white cells. It's going to take a little time, but he'll be fine."

"Are you going to stop this round of chemo until he improves?" Jim asked, turning his head to observe the doctor.

Stuart shook his head. "That wouldn't be a wise idea, either. We can't stop treating the cancer just because we've run into a few complications."

"A few complications?" Jim's voice rose in pitch and volume. "You call this a few complications? If I hadn't come home when I did, Blair could have been dead!"

"Mr. Ellison, please--calm down," the doctor said softly but firmly. "I never said they weren't serious complications. We're treating them accordingly. The feeding tube is giving him needed nutrition and the IVs are infusing a constant supply of antibiotics and G-CSF." Stuart turned to the bank of monitors that were tracking Blair's heart rate, respirations and blood pressure. "We're keeping a close eye on all his vital signs." He reached out once more to squeeze Jim's shoulder. "Cancer and chemotherapy are very difficult, for the family as well as for the patient," he explained. "This is just one of those bumps in the road. I can tell you from experience that a fighter like Blair will make it through this. You just have to give us all a little time."

Jim slumped, the fight having gone out of him for the time being. "I-I'm sorry," he said at last. "It's just that this isn't my Blair." Memories flitted through his mind of camping trips and gunfights; of quiet evenings on the couch and traipsing through the jungle together; of hot sex and soft caresses. He gestured toward the man in the bed. "My Blair is vibrant and alive, with bright eyes, a big mouth and hair--lots of long, beautiful hair. My Blair has taken on psychos and terrorists, and beaten them at their own game. But this... This is just a shell--a pale, hollow shell he's left behind." He sighed, deflated, feeling like a traitor for voicing his thoughts.

"Jim..." Dr. Stuart guided the distraught man to a chair and gently pushed him down, then squatted in front of him. "Don't give up on him. Blair needs you now more than ever. He needs to know that you're here for him, that you're his strength when he's feeling weak. He needs to know that above all else, you still love him."

"That's just it," Jim whispered. "I do still love him--with every fiber of my being. I'm... I'm afraid to l-lose him." The last few words stuck in his throat, and Jim choked on them.

"I'm not going to make false promises," Stuart said, resting a hand on Jim's knee. "There's always a chance Blair will lose his fight against the cancer. But I can tell you this--in my experience, most patients survive a crisis like this. You got Blair here early, while we could still catch the infection." He stood and stretched, looking down at Jim. "He has every chance of a full recovery."

"Thanks, Doc." Jim looked up at the physician, trying to find a smile for the kindly man.

"I'll be back in a few hours to check on Blair again. If you need anything, buzz the nurses' station. They'll know how to contact me." Dr. Stuart walked out of the room, leaving Jim alone with his sleeping partner.

~oO0Oo~

Simon walked into the darkened room, making his way over to where Jim sat next to the bed.

Jim's head was resting on his arm, which was draped over the stainless steel bed railing. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sleeping.

"I guess I picked a bad time," Simon murmured softly in his deep, rumbling voice.

Jim's head shot up. "Simon!" His voice was pitched low, despite the fact his sleeping partner couldn't hear. "Hey, I'm glad you came."

"How's the kid?" Simon stood over the bed, looking at the pale imitation of the Blair Sandburg he knew and drawing in a shuddering breath. He rarely admitted as much to the young detective, but ever since shortly after their first meeting, so long ago, Simon had viewed Blair almost as a second son. Oddly enough, he had been secretly pleased when Jim had taken him into his confidence and told the captain about the new level of their partnership status. Jim deserved the happiness Blair brought to him, and Blair needed the stability of Jim's more mature attitude. But now, Jim was threatened with a loss from which he wasn't sure his friend could recover.

"He's hanging in there," Jim said with a sigh. "It was a bit touch-and-go when I first brought him in. His temperature was 105 degrees and he was unconscious. They've got him on antibiotics now, and some blood bolstering drug that's supposed to help his immune system."

"He looks like shit," Simon said very softly. "Is this why he never comes by the station to visit?"

"He hardly goes out at all anymore," Jim answered, equally soft. "He refuses the wig I offered to have made for him, but I can tell he's sensitive about the hair loss, although I think the stoma bothers him more. He'll go out shopping, or for a walk in the park--anywhere where he can be an anonymous face in the crowd--but he's pulled away from his friends."

"Is that healthy?" Simon wondered. "Megan asks about him almost every day."

"Yeah," Jim sighed. "And Joel, Brown and Rafe, too. They really care what's happening, but Blair just hasn't felt up to coming to the station for a visit."

"Do you think he'd mind if they came here to see him?" Simon asked.

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, Simon. Right now, the ear infection has made it very difficult for Blair to hear and understand anyone. He's scared to death the hearing loss will be permanent."

"I can understand that," Simon said, nodding his head. "Poor kid has a hard enough time communicating now as it is. He practically needs an interpreter with him at all times, unless he's teaching at the school. If he lost his hearing, too..."

"He'd cope. Eventually," Jim answered slowly. "He'd still have a job at Mount Clarice."

"But he wants to come back and work with you," Simon pointed out. "And how are you holding up?"

"Been better," Jim admitted with a sigh. "I thought everything was going to be all right when the doctor said Blair was in remission, but these damn chemo treatments had to continue and that's what's been making him so ill--not the cancer." He glanced at the pale figure in the bed. "I'm getting tired, Simon," he admitted. "I'll never give up on him... I'd do anything for him... but I'm just so tired."

Simon rested a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. "He's a fighter, Jim--a little unconventional, perhaps, but a fighter just the same. I haven't seen many men who have as much inner strength as Sandburg. He'll make it through, and you will, too."

Jim nodded, his attention distracted by a slight tug on his shirt. He turned to the bed to see a pair of sleepy blue eyes watching him. "Good morning, Sweetheart," he greeted Blair, even though it was nearly eight o'clock in the evening.

Simon's here.

Blair's signs were still a bit weak and loose, but Jim smiled at the fact that he was communicating at all. "What did you expect?" he asked, speaking slowly and distinctly, accompanying his words with graceful gestures; signing to assure Blair's comprehension. "He's worried about you. So are a lot of other people."

You?

"What do you think?" Jim smiled and reached out to stroke Blair's cheek. "Of course I worried about you. You gave me quite a scare."

I'm sorry.

"Oh, Baby, you don't have to be sorry; just get well." Jim leaned down to press a kiss against the open lips and was pleasantly surprised to feel the gesture returned.

Simon cleared his throat with a deep rumble and Jim pulled back, smiling. "Oh, don't let me interrupt," he said with a grin.

"You already have, sir," Jim said, his voice much more lighthearted now that Blair was awake.

"You look like shit, Sandburg," the captain said with a grin, echoing his words to Jim of a few minutes earlier. "You'd better hurry up and get well." He spoke quickly and softly, leaving Jim to sign his words to Blair.

Blair nodded, gratefully acknowledging Jim's interpretation efforts. I'll do my best, Simon. Right now, I feel like shit.

The captain chuckled, nodding. "He's going to be just fine," he drawled to Jim. "Hasn't lost his sense of humor, at least."

"Thank God," Jim said fervently. "Hey, Sweetheart," he said, turning back to Blair. "Don't you think you ought to be resting?" At Blair's nod, Jim stroked over his scarf-covered head and bent to give him another kiss. "Sweet dreams." He watched as Blair closed his eyes again, this time with a small grin curving the corners of his lips.

"I'd better get going, too," Simon said. "I just wanted to check up on the two of you. I'll try to keep the visitors down, too. Looks to me like Sandburg needs a few more days of uninterrupted rest."

"That might be just as well," Jim agreed. "Tell them his immune system is compromised right now, and he can't risk getting another infection."

Simon nodded. "Will do. You take care, too, Jim. Blair's going to need you strong when he's feeling a little better."

"Thanks, Simon. I'll try." When the captain had gone, Jim settled back in the chair next to Blair's bed. He lowered the safety rail, and laid his head on the mattress, stretching an arm out to wrap around the slender waist. The quiet beeping of the monitors and the beating of Blair's heart soon carried him off to sleep.

~oO0Oo~

"Hi, Jim," Melissa greeted the detective the next afternoon. "How's Blair doing?"

"Still sleeping," Jim replied, blinking the sleep of a nap from his own eyes. "What time is it?"

"Nearly two o'clock--time for Blair's treatment." The nurse looked sympathetic, but at the same time, she had an important job to do.

"I don't suppose I should even bother asking if it's necessary," Jim said with a sigh. "Dr. Stuart already explained that the chemo has to continue. I just hate seeing Blair so sick. Is he allowed his marijuana in the hospital? It really does seem to help."

"No," Melissa said, setting up the IV infusion. "Unfortunately, we can't allow that here, but we can add anti-nausea medications to his IV. That should help."

Jim reached over to stroke a hand across Blair's forehead and down his cheek. He missed the bright color those cheeks used to hold, the sparkle in Blair's eyes, and the strands of silken curls that used to bounce around his shoulders. He hated the illness brought on by the chemo. In the wake of Blair's remission, the couple had had renewed hope that Blair would soon be free of the suffering; then this infection came along to rock the very foundation of their world. He watched silently as the nurse began the flow of chemicals into Blair's vein. The doctor had ordered the infusion, as he feared Blair was too ill to swallow the large pills he'd been taking at home.

"The pills and teas didn't really work at home," he finally said, sighing. "I didn't approve of the marijuana when Blair first brought it home, but it made such a difference."

Melissa nodded. "It does work miracles for some patients," she agreed. "But it's still a controlled substance. I'm sorry, I wish there was more we could do."

"Yeah," Jim agreed, nodding. "Me, too."

"Call if you need anything," the nurse said. "The infusion should take about forty minutes. If he feels ill, ring the call button." With a smile and a nod, she left.

Jim turned back to his sleeping lover, smoothing the blankets that lay over his still-too-thin frame and straightening the batik scarf on his head. Blair's breathing was beginning to sound ragged as the chemicals made their way through his body. In the hope of making his breathing easier, Jim peeled away the patch that covered Blair's stoma, revealing the gaping hole in the precious throat. He had seen the mutilation only a meager handful of times before, and try as he might, he couldn't keep from flinching at the sight. Yet, the stoma allowed his lover to breathe, kept him alive, and for that he was grateful. He concentrated on monitoring Blair closely, forcing his attention away from the stoma. His senses were alert to the minute changes in the young man's physical well being.

About twenty-five minutes into the treatment, Blair suddenly began to flail his arms and legs, showing much more strength than Jim expected. Blue eyes flew open as the young man sat up, grasping at his throat. Jim heard the telltale gagging a moment too late. As he reached for the call button, Blair threw up violently. The feeding tube that was threaded through his nose was expelled from his stomach, the end hanging from his mouth, dripping the noxious feeding solution onto the blankets.

Blair gagged on the tube, trying to spit it out in his panic. When that didn't work, he began to claw at it with desperate fingers.

"Blair! Sweetheart, let me." Jim batted the hands away and grabbed the tube to pull it out; as he did, Blair became more desperate. Choking and fighting, he tried to push Jim away--fear and desperation giving him unusual strength. "Blair, you have to let me help!" Jim insisted, managing to fend off the groping hands long enough to finish pulling the tubing out. He flung it toward the foot of the bed, wrapping an arm around Blair to support him while groping behind him with one hand in search of the emesis bowl that always sat nearby. He thrust it under Blair's chin, attempting to collect some of the liquid still dripping from his lips. "It's going to be all right, Baby. The tube is gone; you're all right," he soothed.

Blair continued to flail, panic keeping him from making coherent signs. He tried desperately to suck air through his nose and mouth, as his choking continued to worsen. Fingers clutching at Jim's shirt, his eyes begged for relief.

"Blair! My God, what's wrong?" Jim cried. "What's wrong?" He watched in helpless horror as Blair's lips began to take on the blue tinge of oxygen deprivation.

Melissa and two orderlies rushed into the room. The nurse quickly grabbed a suction bulb that rested on the nightstand and used it to clear the spattered feeding solution from Blair's stoma. "It's going to be all right, Blair. Calm down, Sweetie," the nurse crooned softly as she worked.

When the young man was breathing easier, she checked the IVs while the orderlies began stripping the soiled blankets and sheets from the bed. Once the bedding was changed and Blair was quiet once more, Melissa fetched a clean gown and politely turned her back while Jim put it on the exhausted young man.

"Thank you," Jim said softly to the nurse. "I didn't know what to do."

"It's understandable," Melissa said over her shoulder. "There's a lot to learn in the early stages. Blair should keep a suction bulb handy, though; particularly in the bathroom."

Blair was shaking now that the ordeal was over. Jim gathered his lover into his arms and held on tightly, rubbing his back with soothing circles and murmuring softly, even though Blair couldn't hear him. The young man finally quieted, and Jim settled him back on his pillows. Feel better now? he signed so that Blair could understand.

Blair nodded, barely raising his hands from his chest to make the signs. Is it over?

Jim looked up at Melissa. "Not quite, Hon," she said, speaking slowly and allowing Blair to watch her lips. "You still have another ten minutes of chemo, and we have to put the feeding tube back." She watched her patient carefully for signs of comprehension. "Do you understand?"

Blair nodded meekly. Do you have to put the feeding tube back?

"'Fraid so," Melissa said. "You need more nutrition than you can get by the amounts you're eating. It's just a temporary fix. As soon as you're stronger, it's out of here. We'll wait until the treatment is over before we put it back, okay?"

Blair nodded, looking miserable. Melissa patted his hand and left. A lab technician came by a few minutes later to remove the chemo infusion. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Tired, Blair signed, with Jim interpreting.

"Any nausea?"

The young man nodded, still pale and trembling from the bout of vomiting he had recently suffered.

"All right then," the technician said. "I'll let the nurse know to give you some time to get comfortable."

"Thank you," Jim said, speaking for Blair who had closed his eyes in exhaustion.

It was nearly five o'clock when Melissa returned with two orderlies in tow. She glanced briefly at the man sleeping in the bed, then looked up at Jim. "How's he doing?"

"Been sleeping since the end of the chemo," Jim spoke quietly. "Why are they here?" he asked, tipping his head in the direction of the two men.

"Just in case Blair gives us any trouble--not that I expect he will," the nurse said. "It's time to put the feeding tube back, if the nausea has settled." Her voice was sympathetic.

Jim sighed. "Do we have to wake him? He's had a rough day."

Melissa rested a comforting hand on Jim's shoulder. "I know you want what's best for him," she said. "But what he really needs now is good nutrition to keep up his strength. It's difficult to achieve the right balance when nothing stays down." She picked up a package of sterile tubing and tore it open. "At least while he's here in the hospital, we can see to it that he gets what he needs."

Jim nodded and leaned over the bed, gently shaking a thin shoulder. "Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty," he teased, even though the young man couldn't hear. Blue eyes blinked open and focused on him. Melissa's here to put the feeding tube back, he said in a combination of words and ASL. Blair looked close to tears, but nodded, putting on a brave face despite his fear. The first time the tube had been inserted he had been unconscious. He wished the same were true now.

Melissa approached the head of the bed. "The insertion is uncomfortable," she warned. "Jim, you might want to hold Blair's hand for a little support."

Jim grasped both of Blair's hands, squeezing tightly. Blair returned the grip weakly, fear sparkling in his eyes.

"Okay, here we go." Melissa threaded the tube through Blair's left nostril, feeding more and more of the tubing into his nasal passages and down his throat. Blair began to struggle against the invasive tube, gagging and choking as it slid deeper. "Just a bit more," Melissa crooned. "You're doing great, Blair. Just hang in there a little longer." The orderlies crept closer, but stayed behind the nurse, watching the situation carefully.

The "discomfort" Melissa had predicted didn't hold a candle to the reality. Blair could feel every millimeter of the tube as it snaked its way painfully up his nose, then down into his throat. He couldn't control the gag response that threatened to expel the tube again, as it relentlessly pushed its way deeper. He attempted to lie still, but couldn't help fighting against the hands that held him.

Jim struggled to hold Blair still, as his partner fought with amazing strength for one so weakened by the chemotherapy. When the tube was finally fully inserted, a sigh escaped Blair's throat as Jim released his hands. Oh God, oh God, ohgodohgodohgod, his hands danced in repetition. It hurts. Please, please take it back out. Please... I can't swallow. I-I feel like I'm going to throw it up again! God, it hurts!

Melissa patted his shoulder, helping Jim to hold him down. "Just relax and give it a few minutes," she said. "You'll get used to it."

Jim, make her take it out! Blair's eyes blazed with desperation. His fingers wrapped around the tube where it entered his nose and he started to pull it out himself.

"Blair... no!" Melissa moved the hand, fighting against the desperate strength.

The two orderlies stepped forward. Each one grabbed an arm, strapping on restraints. Blair's panic ran out of control as he thrashed about, tangling himself in the sheets.

Jim grabbed one of the orderlies and pulled the man away from his lover. "Leave him alone!" he growled. He began to unfasten the restraint closest to him.

"Jim, don't!" Melissa warned. "The feeding tube needs to stay in. Letting Blair have his way now would be more cruel in the long run than restraining him."

"You don't understand!" Jim snapped. "You can't strap him down. When you do that, you cut off his only means of communication!"

"When he calms down," Melissa said reasonably. "When he calms down, we'll take off the restraints."

"He isn't going to calm down as long as you have him strapped to the bed," Jim insisted. "I know this man! He panics when his hands are bound in any fashion. I tried holding him still once," he explained. "It was during an argument and things were getting out of control. I grabbed his arms to calm him down and it just made matters worse."

Blair continued to thrash and fight against the restraints. Jim's attention turned back to his lover as he tried to calm the young man. Blair... listen to me... he signed. Blair, Sweetheart, you have to calm down. As he waited for Blair's attention, he cupped a cheek in his hand and rubbed at the tears with his thumb. The thrashing quieted, and Blair's fingers moved. Unable to make full signs, he resorted to finger spelling in desperation.

I   c-a-n   f-e-e-l   i-t...   I-t   c-h-o-k-e-s...   C-a-n-'t   s-w-a-l-l-o-w...

Jim's eyes began to tear up at the sight of his lover, desperate and restrained, trying to communicate his pain and fear. He glowered at the orderlies, and then turned his attention to the nurse. "Dear God, let him loose," Jim pleaded. "This is torture. Hasn't he been through enough?"

"The feeding tube has to stay in," Melissa insisted, speaking so that Blair could see her lips.

Desperation made the young man nod in agreement.

Melissa turned to the orderlies. "Release him."

Blair lay very still once the straps were gone. The nurse watched him closely and found a penetrating gaze studying her in return. "You have to leave the feeding tube alone, Sweetie," she repeated. For good measure, Jim moved to stand behind and to the side of the nurse, signing her words for the temporarily deaf man. "Can you do that for me?"

Blair nodded, a look of defeat in his sad, blue eyes.

Melissa stroked a hand down his cheek, cupping Blair's jaw and running a thumb over the prominent cheekbone. "I hate that we have to do these things to you," she said. "I'm sure you feel they're nothing short of torture." A tear escaped Blair's eye to pool around her thumb. Melissa brushed it away with a few gentle strokes. "You need this right now. We're all here for you--Jim won't leave your side, I'm your on-call nurse. The entire staff is devoted to your getting better. You understand that, don't you?" Blair nodded mutely, blinking away another tear that threatened to fall. "Okay, then. I'm going to leave you here with Jim. He's going to call me if you start to feel sick again, all right?"

"Is this going to happen again?" Jim asked, concerned for Blair's comfort as well as his welfare.

"The nausea can go for hours after the chemo ends, as you well know," Melissa said. "But we're also giving him major amounts of the anti-nausea medication. If he begins to gag again, get a bowl immediately, and make sure to hold onto the tube so that he doesn't expel it. That's the most painful part, coughing that thing out your nose." She looked at Blair who had settled back and closed his eyes, exhausted from the ordeal.

Jim nodded. "Yeah, okay. It looks like maybe the worst is over for now."

Melissa smiled. "I added a mild sedative to his IV. That should help." She patted Blair's hand, which rested quietly on the blanket over his chest.

Jim watched the nurse leave, and then turned his attention back to monitoring his sleeping partner. Blair had tasted another tiny bite of hell, and he was determined that it wouldn't happen again.

~oO0Oo~

Blair awoke later that evening, looking despondent. The feeding tube was secure, and despite his discomfort, he left it alone. He couldn't taste the solution that was pumped directly into his stomach, but the sensations during feeding were disturbing, making him slightly queasy.

"You're awake!" Jim greeted his partner as he walked back into the room with a hot dog and coffee from the vendor's cart just outside the hospital.

Blair didn't answer, turning his head so that he wasn't looking at Jim. His partner set his food on the rollaway table and walked around the bed so that he was facing his lover. Blair's head drooped and he cast down his eyes, unwilling to meet Jim's worried gaze.

Jim tipped up the reluctant chin, and then spoke. What's the matter, Love? You look like your best friend just died.

I'm tired, Jim, Blair signed slowly. I'm not sure I want to keep fighting. I thought everything was going to be okay when Dr. Stuart said I was in remission, but I'm still sick and it's getting worse. I'm just so tired, he repeated. This infection... Losing my hearing... God, do you know how horrible that is? How isolated I feel?

Don't you dare give up on me now, Jim said, signing as he spoke. The hearing loss is temporary. You'll be fine soon.

Soon isn't now, Blair said, shaking his head. I want this to be over. The goddamn treatment is worse than the disease, he continued. I'd like to live out the time I have left in comfort.

Jim perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke a hand down Blair's sallow cheek. We're so close, Sweetheart, he said, remembering to also sign his words. You can't give up on me now.

It's my life, Jim, Blair said, keeping his hands close to his chest, indicating a quiet voice.

But it's not just your life, anymore, Jim argued. We're together, partners... What you do with your life affects me, too.

A tear rolled down Blair's cheek and he reached up to wipe it away. I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Jim. I'm just too tired to fight anymore. Now I've lost my hearing...

That's temporary, Jim jumped in to interrupt. Once we get this infection cleared up, you'll have your hearing back.

But what is it going to be next time? Blair asked.

There isn't going to be a next time, Jim insisted. You're going to get better. You'll beat this thing, but you can't give up!

Blair sighed, the sound issuing eerily from his stoma. I wish it wasn't so hard...

Jim leaned down to press a soft kiss against the full lips. Anything worthwhile takes some work, he reminded his lover. And you and our relationship are certainly worthwhile, don't you think?

You're the only reason I've bothered to keep going, Blair confessed.

The admission made Jim smile. All right, then. You're not going to give up on me now, are you?

I'm tired, Jim. Too tired to keep this up. Blair let his eyes drift shut. Seeing the look of hurt that crossed Jim's face at his words was too much to bear.

Not willing to give up, Jim patted Blair's face until the younger man finally opened his eyes once more. I've got strength enough for both of us. Lean on me, he told his lover.

Blair took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding his acceptance of the offer as he squeezed Jim's hand.

~oO0Oo~

Three days later, the last of the chemo treatments for the current round had been administered, along with a heavier dose of anti-nausea medication than Blair had been taking at home. A bowl rested within easy arm's reach, if he felt the need to vomit.

Dr. Stuart stood at Blair's bedside, smiling. "I'm happy to say that you're doing much better. Your white cell count is back to the low end of normal, and your infection is clearing up. How would you like to be rid of that feeding tube?"

Blair nodded, and Jim moved in closer, a hovering, protective presence.

"I'll have to warn you that it's an uncomfortable procedure," Dr. Stuart said.

"Can you give him anything to make it easier?" Jim asked, glancing with concern at his pale lover. "He had such a bad time with it a few days ago. I don't want him going through that again."

"Unfortunately, no," the doctor said, shaking his head. "But I can assure you both it won't be as bad as vomiting it up. What I'll need to have you do is take a deep breath and hold it," Stuart explained. Blair's hand groped for Jim's, grabbing hold and squeezing tightly. "Have your bowl handy, because you're likely to want to vomit when we're through."

Great. Blair suddenly didn't look so happy about the prospect. He grabbed the bowl and balanced it on his stomach, then took hold of Jim's hand and inhaled deeply.

Dr. Stuart took a hold of the thin tubing that threaded through Blair's nose and down his throat to his stomach, and began pulling. If it was possible to lose any more color, Blair did--blanching visibly as the tubing made its way back up his esophagus. As the end of the tube approached the back of his throat, he began gagging. Dr. Stuart finished quickly, allowing Blair to bend over the bowl and heave up the contents of his stomach.

"You may be a little sore for a while," Stuart warned Blair. "But it shouldn't last too long. I'd like to see you eat a meal today."

I don't know if I feel like eating anything, Blair admitted. He looked from the doctor to Jim, pleading for understanding.

"I know you just had your last chemo dose for this round," the doctor said, "but you still need to eat."

I'll try, Blair promised, not sure if he'd be able to make good on his word.

After the doctor had left, Jim turned to his lover and smiled. "I was waiting until you felt a bit better," he began. "I have something for you."

Blair's face lit up like a child's. What is it? Do you have it here with you, or do I have to wait until I go home?

"I have it here with me," Jim hedged, "but you have to promise not to get mad."

Get mad? Blair's face held a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Why should I get mad over a gift?

"Promise?" Jim asked, rummaging near his feet for the paper sack he'd brought along.

Promise, Blair agreed, a bit reluctantly. He took the sack that Jim handed him and paused briefly before opening it, looking over at his partner. Am I going to like it? he asked, still suspicious. It's not going to jump out and bite me, is it?

"Sure hope not," Jim said. "On the other hand, while it shouldn't bite, I can't say for certain if you'll like it."

His curiosity thoroughly piqued, Blair opened the bag. He peered into it, trying to discern the dark mass at the bottom. Finally, with some trepidation, he reached in and grabbed the item, pulling it out. Oh, Jim. You didn't... Blair said, dropping the wig into his lap.

"You don't like it." Jim's voice was flat with disappointment.

Blair glanced from the wig to his lover, his eyes brimming with tears. No, I don't, he confirmed. Until he had the wig in his hand, Blair hadn't realized just how much he missed his hair, and how self-conscious he'd been about its loss. I love it! Oh, Jim... That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. He pulled off the scarf and settled the wig on his head. How does it look?

Jim reached over to straighten it a bit, then smiled. "It looks terrific. You look terrific." He picked up a hand mirror from the counter and handed it to Blair.

It's perfect, he said, after a few moments of admiring his new look. It looks just like my hair did before I started the chemo.

"That was the idea," Jim said, smiling.

But I told you not to have it made. Blair caught Jim's eye, scowling around his smile. And you agreed that you wouldn't.

"I lied," Jim said, smiling as he shrugged his shoulders. "It was my money to waste."

I'm glad you did. Oh, Jim, Blair sighed. I thought I was okay with the whole hair loss thing, but now I realize that I was just sublimating my feelings beneath my loathing for the stoma. He stroked the curls again, bringing one lock of dark auburn hair in front of his face to study it before letting it drop to his shoulder. Now that I take the time to acknowledge it, I know that I laid more of my self-esteem by my looks than I thought I did. He paused, fingering the hair again. Does that make me vain?

"It makes you human, Blair," Jim assured him, running a caressing hand over the restored curls.

And it doesn't itch, Blair said, marveling. I expected a wig to be uncomfortable. He fingered it again, unable to leave it alone. It feels natural, too.

"It's made from real hair," Jim confirmed. "Mrs. Whitcomb works a lot with cancer patients and she knows how sensitive your scalp is. The cap is made of a special silicon plastic that mimics real skin in texture."

Blair picked up the mirror again, not believing the transformation the wig had made to his appearance. Oh, Jim... I love you! He put down the mirror and flung his arms around Jim's neck, hugging him tightly.

Tears dampened Jim's shirt, but the older man didn't mind. "I love you, too, Sweetheart," he said, returning the hug.

Dr. Stuart returned that evening as Blair was finishing a bowl of tomato soup and crackers. He smiled broadly at the young man. "You're looking very good," he complimented. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that was your real hair."

Isn't it great? Blair said, running his fingers through the strands. I told Jim I didn't want a wig, and he went ahead and ordered it anyway. Sometimes he knows better than I do what I need.

"Yes, indeed," the doctor agreed. "That's the way it goes sometimes. I'm pleased to see you eating, too," he added.

I felt so good after Jim gave me the wig, I figured I could do just about anything.

"How do you feel about going home?" Stuart asked.

You're going to release me? Blair was astounded. I wish Jim were here right now to hear this. When?

"I'm thinking about late tomorrow morning. I need to get some final tests back, but if the results are as good as I suspect they will be, you'll be free to go home." The doctor moved around to the side of the bed. "Mind if I take a look in your ears?" Blair shook his head, putting another cracker in his mouth. Dr. Stuart pulled an otoscope out of his lab coat pocket and peered in Blair's left ear, then walked around the bed to do the same in his right. "The infection is clearing out nicely. How well can you hear?"

Almost back to normal, Blair signed, relief showing clearly in his face. I was really scared I might lose my hearing permanently.

"But you didn't," Jim said, striding into the room and over to the bed. He tugged playfully at a lock of hair, then leaned down to claim a kiss.

Dr. Stuart says if the tests come back good in the morning, he's going to let me go home! Blair eagerly told his partner the news.

Jim set the cup of cafeteria coffee he held on the rollaway table and leaned in to gather Blair into his arms. "That's the best news I've heard all day!" he said, nuzzling into the hair around Blair's right ear. "Thanks, Doc, for taking such good care of Blair."

"I told you he was going to get better," the doctor said, smiling. "Just remember, you need to take it easy," he reminded his patient. "Stay home for a few days, and get plenty of rest. Remember to eat and take your medications. And I'm going to want to monitor you closely for a while, so I'll expect to see you weekly."

I can do that, Blair agreed. Thanks, Dr. Stuart.

"You're welcome; both of you." He turned at the door, addressing Blair one last time. "Get a good night's sleep and there will be an excellent chance I'll be signing those release papers in the morning."

Good-bye. Blair lifted a hand to wave in what Jim secretly considered his adorable little boy style--raising and lowering his fingers over the palm of his hand.

When they were alone again, Blair collapsed back against the pillows. Jim pulled the blankets up, tucking them beneath his partner's arms. "It's been an eventful day," he commented lightly.

Blair reached up to pull Jim's face down to his, touching his lips gently. Thanks for everything, he signed, heaving an exhausted little sigh. I love you.

"Love you, too. More than anything," Jim agreed.

~oO0Oo~

Remission. If 'cancer' was one of the more frightening words in the English language, then 'remission' had to be among the most welcome, Blair mused, as he waited for his doctor's return. He'd been through surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. He'd lost his voice, again, and lost his hair. He'd gained an unsightly hole in his throat, but had learned much about how to successfully disguise it. He had vomited, smoked marijuana, lost weight and been host to a number of infections, including an ear infection that might have cost him his precious hearing. But now that all seemed to be coming to an end. Remission. Hope. The return to a normal life.

"Well, Blair," Dr. Stuart said, coming back into the exam room with a clipboard and file folder in his hands. "All the tests came back the way we'd hoped. There is no sign of the cancer."

Does that mean I'm finally cured? Blair asked hopefully.

"No. We can't say 'cured' yet, maybe never," the doctor said with a solemn sigh. "But the chances of you being cancer-free continues to increase with time. The five-year survival rate is quite high for this type of cancer." He turned a wide smile on his patient. "Chances are, you'll live to a ripe old age."

I don't ever want to have to go through that again, Blair said, lightly gripping the edge of the exam table and swinging his legs. It was hell.

"And I pray you never have to," Dr. Stuart agreed. "I'm going to want to keep a close eye on you for a while. Exams monthly for the next year, dropping to quarterly and semi-annually if all goes well."

I can handle that, Blair said, grinning. Do I get my voice back now?

Dr. Stuart chuckled. "I was wondering if you were going to ask. I have everything right here," he said, pulling over a tray with the prosthesis and tools for its insertion. "Ready?"

Blair nodded, gripping the edge of the table more tightly. He looked forward to having his voice again, but the procedure for obtaining it was still unpleasant. He opened his mouth so the doctor could numb his throat with the lidocaine spray and then waited.

"The procedure is just a little different, now that you're a complete laryngetomee," Stuart explained. "The device will now become a bridge between your trachea and esophagus. The one-way valve will allow air to pass through for speaking purposes, but will block any food or drink from entering your trachea," he continued. "This is a hands-free model, which I'm sure you'll appreciate."

Hands-free? Blair managed to sign while the doctor worked in his throat.

"Yes," Stuart confirmed. "Some of the indwelling devices require you to physically block the stoma to force the air up through the valve, but this one doesn't. It leaves you free to speak normally and have the use of both your hands. You shouldn't notice a change from what you're used to." He finished up the procedure, and then backed off a few steps. "All done."

"T-thank y-you," Blair stuttered, finding that using the device again after all these months was going to take a little getting used to again. He adjusted the bright red ascot at his neck to cover the stoma. "J-jim is going to be so s-sur-prised."

"He didn't know you were getting your voice back today?" the doctor asked.

Blair shook his head. "He k-knew I was coming in for a c-check-up, but I d-didn't tell him about t-the rest. I wanted to s-surprise him."

"I'm surprised he didn't insist on coming along," Stuart said with a chuckle. "That man has barely left your side through all of this."

"Don't I k-know it," Blair said, smiling. "He's been my rock, really. But S-simon insisted he put in some hours, and I t-told him it was just routine."

"And he bought it?" The doctor grinned. "I didn't think he considered anything about this ordeal to be routine."

"If he'd really had a c-choice in the matter," Blair said, "I think he would have come. But you don't know Simon v-very well. When he makes a decision, it's hard to w-wiggle out."

"So what are your plans for the day?" The doctor slipped the file folder back onto his desk and casually perched on one corner.

"I thought I'd go down to the station," Blair told him, resuming the excited swinging of his legs. "I haven't been there to visit in months. I f-figure I can pick Jim up for lunch."

Stuart grinned, noting that the more Blair talked the more fluent he became. Using the voice device was a lot like riding a bicycle, he mused. "Just remember that you've only been off the chemo a few weeks," he reminded his patient. "It's going to take a while to build up your stamina again. Just because you're feeling well and have good news for everyone, doesn't mean you're ready to be out painting the town." He stopped to pin Blair with a stern look. "Remember to take it easy until you build up your strength."

"I'll be careful," Blair promised, slipping down from the exam table. "It sure feels good to be back on my feet again."

Dr. Stuart studied the gaunt form before him. "If you and Jim decide on any prolonged activity, I'd suggest you keep the wheelchair handy for a while," he suggested. "You're not quite up to running a marathon yet."

Blair chuckled. "I never was quite ready for that. I'll be careful," he repeated. "Honest."

"All right, then," Stuart conceded. "Stop by the desk and make your appointment for next month on your way out." With that, he slipped through the door. "Good-bye for now, Blair."

"'Bye, Dr. Stuart." Blair gathered his things, stopping at the front desk as requested before driving down to the station. He parked in the underground garage and took the elevator upstairs. Stepping off, he made his way quickly through the doors to Major Crime.

Hearing the familiar heartbeat as Blair stepped off the elevator, Jim stood up to greet his partner. "Chief! Are you all right?" His hands busily patted Blair's shoulders and arms, checking by touch to see that he was still in one piece. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"

"Whoa, slow down, man!" Blair said, smiling and holding up his hands to ward off any more well-intentioned exploration. "Who said anything was wrong?"

"You're talking! You got your voice back!" Jim's own voice was rising in volume, drawing curious glances from around the bullpen.

"Even better than that," Blair continued, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "I'm in remission. Full remission, Jim!"

At that statement, Jim dropped back into his chair, his jaw nearly hitting his knees. "Remission?" His voice was almost a whisper.

"No more chemo, no more vomiting, no more fatigue..." Blair leaned down to look Jim in the eyes, resting his palms on his partner's knees. "It's over." Then, totally disregarding the gathering crowd, he bent lower to press his lips against Jim's in a quick kiss.

"My God, after all this time..." Jim sighed. Then looking up, he addressed the officers and detectives who had surrounded his desk. "Did you hear that?" he said, his voice rising so that he could be heard across the room. "Blair's in remission!"

The room erupted in applause and shouts. Joel, who was the closest, thumped Blair on the back, nearly knocking him into Jim's lap. "That's great news, Blair! You're looking good--love the wig," he added after a brief pause. "You can't even tell you've been sick. So, how come we haven't seen you down here more often?"

"It's been a rough half-year," Blair admitted. "I didn't feel up to going out. Actually," he said, turning to Jim, "I came to see if you wanted to go to lunch?"

"Sounds good," Jim agreed. "How about Ming Tao's? I'm buying." He looked around at the rapidly dispersing crowd. "Want to come with us, Joel? Maybe we could find Simon..."

"You called?" Simon said, walking up behind the distracted Sentinel and startling him. "What's going on here? Blair! Good to see you! How was the latest check-up?"

"Great. Better than great, Simon," Blair said, eliciting a wide-eyed grin from the captain.

"You got your voice back!"

"I got my life back," Blair corrected. "Full remission. A clean bill of health."

"Well, I'll be..." Simon muttered, shaking his head.

"We were headed out to lunch at Ming Tao's. My treat," Jim chimed in. "Want to come with us?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" the captain agreed, heading to his office to grab his coat, and then following the three men out into the hall.

~oO0Oo~

That night, Blair fell onto their bed, barely able to move. He watched as Jim circled the room, preparing for bed. He admired the well-muscled body that was slowly revealed as his lover undressed for the night.

Walking over to where Blair lay, Jim looked down on him and smiled. "Are you planning on staying there the rest of the night, or are you going to get undressed and let me join you?"

"I'm too tired to move, man," Blair mumbled, his eyes closed as he lay sprawled across the bed.

Jim grinned and shook his head. "Then I guess I'll have to do it for you." Carefully, he began to disrobe his lover, meeting no resistance as he stripped Blair down to his boxers. "The shorts, too, or do you want to wear them?"

"Whatever," came the quiet answer. Blair lifted one hand to waggle it loosely in the air.

Jim yanked off the last remaining piece of clothing, then took some time to admire the view. Still far too thin, with skin retaining the vestiges of a gray tint from the chemo, Blair still looked invitingly sexy to his lover's eyes. He maneuvered Blair onto the bed and covered him with the blankets before crawling in beside him.

Blair reached up to pull the wig from his head and drop it on the nightstand. Despite only a few weeks since the last chemo treatment, a very short shadow of re-growth had begun. Jim stroked his hand over the velvety softness, pressing a kiss onto Blair's temple. He peppered a line of kisses across Blair's jaw and down to his throat, pausing over the small flesh-colored sponge that filtered the air Blair breathed. "May I?" he asked, brushing his fingers across the patch.

Blair flinched slightly at the touch, opening his eyes. His own hand slipped from under the blankets to cover his neck. "I-I'd really rather you didn't," he croaked, his voice tight with self-conscious fear.

"Aw, Sweetheart," Jim sighed. "I just want to see you. All of you." He covered Blair's hand lightly with his own, lifting and dropping each of Blair's fingers that covered the patch in a rhythmic tapping.

"It's so ugly that I can't even stand to look at it." Blair's voice was soft and choked by unshed tears. "I-I j-just don't w-want you to look at me with p-pity, or w-worse yet, with l-l-loathing." He coughed to clear his throat of the tears.

Jim captured Blair's face between his hands, wiping at the tearstains with his thumbs. "Oh, Baby... I could never hate how you look, and it's not like I've never seen it before," he reminded softly. "I know better than to ever try to pity you. You'd have my balls if I did.

That brought a smile to the weary face. "You bet I would," Blair agreed softly. "But I... I... Jim, please, not tonight."

"All right." Jim nodded reluctantly.

Blair reached up to stroke a hand down Jim's cheek. He paused, cupping the strong jaw in his palm and turned beseeching eyes on his lover. "I know this sounds so cliché, but I'm awfully tired," he whispered, eyes drooping shut as he spoke.

Jim gathered the exhausted man into his arms, pulling him close to his own body, spooning behind him. He kissed the nape of Blair's neck, feeling the prickly-softness of the newly grown hair. "It's all right," he assured his lover. "This is enough." He soon followed Blair into sleep.

~oO0Oo~

Blair's perspiration-soaked body glistened in the soft light of the candles as Jim pounded into him. On his hands and knees, Blair moaned and cried out as his lover repeatedly stroked his prostate, sending bolts of pleasure straight to his hard and aching cock. "Jim... Oh God, Jim, touch me!" he begged as the head of his cock brushed the sheets below.

Strong fingers wrapped around the aching shaft, pumping in time with the thrusts into Blair's center. "Jim! Oh, Jim! Jim! Jim! JIIMMM!" Blair's voice echoed throughout the loft as he came in hard, fast spurts, soaking the sheets beneath him...

Blair's eyes flew open and he gasped. Jim had come running up the stairs when he heard Blair scream his name and was now standing over the bed.

"Blair! What the hell happened? Are you all right?" Jim took in the sweaty body, shivering beneath the light cover of the sheet.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so," Blair said, a smile growing across his face until it stretched from ear to ear. He pulled back the sheet for Jim to see.

The scent of semen rocked the Sentinel as he gazed on Blair's spent penis, still damp with come. The sheets were soaked with ejaculate.

"I think everything's going to be all right," Blair said, laughter beginning to bubble in his throat.

~oO0Oo~

Winter passed quickly as Blair regained his strength, and by early spring he had regained his weight and health, and a head of wildly curling hair.

"Geez, Jim! I can't do a thing with it!" Blair complained as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his hair still wet from his shower. Jim came up behind him and slipped his arms around the towel-clad waist. "You don't have to do a thing with it," he said, nuzzling into strands that covered the nape of Blair's neck and curled over the tops of his ears. "I love it just the way it is."

Blair twisted around so that he could capture the questing lips with his own in gentle morning kiss. "But I'm supposed to go in and pick up my badge and gun today," he insisted, "and I look like I've stuck my finger in an electrical outlet."

Jim ran his fingers through the mass of dark hair, combing the curls into some kind of order. "There. Looks great." He looked past Blair to the reflection in the mirror. "Don't you think?"

"I think Simon's going to wonder where I get my hair cut," Blair murmured.

"Don't you say 'cut' around me, young man," Jim scolded, tightening his hold on Blair's waist. "I want it back down to your shoulders, where it belongs."

"Don't you think this length is more suitable to police work?" Blair asked, fingering a stray lock that had fallen back onto his forehead.

"You're only riding with me part time," Jim reminded him. "You still have your class at Mount Clarice to teach. Long. I want it long."

Blair turned in Jim's arms to face his lover, putting both palms on Jim's chest and gently pushing him away while he chuckled. "Yeah, sure, whatever you want. Now, do you mind? I need to get dressed. Are you fixing breakfast this morning?"

Jim watched as Blair walked out of the bathroom, heading for the stairs to their bedroom. "Got it covered," he called after the retreating man. Moments later, he followed.

Blair reached the top of the stairs and shed the towel, crossing the room in the nude to find himself some clean underwear and a set of clothes for the day. A soft sound behind him alerted him to Jim's presence. "I thought you were fixing breakfast."

"Know what today is?" Jim asked, wrapping his arms around Blair's waist once more, this time letting his hand tease the exposed cock.

Blair sucked in a deep breath and held it as desire shot through him at the touch. He mutely shook his head, his mind occupied by the delicious sensations in his groin as his lover stroked him to fullness.

"Today is the anniversary of the fourth month since your 'official' remission." While his right hand continued to massage the hardening organ, his left brushed across nipples tight with their owner's arousal. It had been a long time since Blair had felt much like having sex, and even longer since he was able to sustain an erection. Jim had survived by giving himself hand-jobs in the shower, or allowing Blair to do it on the nights he felt well enough. The chemo had wreaked havoc on their love life, making it almost non-existent. The lingering effects of the treatment had slowed their progress toward a normal sex life... until now.

Blair's head tipped back to rest on Jim's shoulder, exposing his neck; his lips were parted and a moan escaped his throat. Jim nibbled around the patch over Blair's stoma, pressing little kisses into the skin.

"Oh, God... Jim!" Blair cried wriggling in his lover's embrace. "Do it, please!" His breathing came in ragged little gasps.

Jim watched the patch move in and out of the stoma with each labored breath; his desire to see his lover completely growing with each fluttering movement. He guided Blair back over to the bed and laid them on the mattress. Once again burrowing his face in the hair behind Blair's ear, he whispered, "I want to see all of you, Sweetheart. I need to see you."

Drowning in the throes of arousal, nearing his climax, Blair gave a curt nod, moaning and gasping as Jim's fingernail teased the slit at the crown of his cock. He was barely aware of the gentle pull of the adhesive separating from his skin as Jim removed the patch, exposing his one vulnerability.

Jim gazed at the stoma--round and darkly red, leading into the recesses of Blair's throat like some mysterious cavern. It stood out like a crater gouged into the smooth, pale flesh, marring the beauty that surrounded it. The world came to a stop while he stared, drinking in the sight. Beneath him, his lover quivered, growing self-conscious at the scrutiny. Jim's hands had stilled, leaving Blair balanced on the brink of completion and now sliding back down from the pinnacle. The cock beneath his hands began to lose some of the steel-hardness it had contained only moments before. Jim resumed his stroking as he bent to shower kisses around the small opening. The warmth and moisture of Blair's breath caressed him as his tongue shallowly probed it, and then ran around the edge in a single, circular sweep.

"Oh God; oh oh ohohohoh!" Blair cried, thrusting his hips into Jim's pistoning fist as he squirmed with unadulterated delight at the teasing of his stoma. "Jim!" His breath came in ragged pants as his climax overtook him, spraying his come over Jim's hand and up his chest. A few droplets spattered on his neck.

A strangled sound issued from Blair's throat as he suddenly rolled onto his side, attempting to cough. His breathing sounded ragged as he struggled to reach the nightstand. Jim beat him to it, grabbing the small suction bulb and rolling Blair onto his back.

The young man struggled to speak, his hands scrabbling wildly at his throat, hampering Jim's attempts to help. "Blair, Sweetheart," Jim spoke soothingly, even though his own heart hammered with fear inside his chest. "Let me help. I can help you." He batted his lover's hands away and with swift movements began suctioning out the stoma.

As his breathing was restored, Blair relaxed, his respirations settling into a normal rhythm.

"I'm sorry, Baby," Jim said, peppering Blair's face with kisses. "We'll be more careful next time."

"It's okay. I-I'm fine." Blair's eyes were filled with unshed tears; whether from the choking incident or from emotions, Jim couldn't tell. "I-I d-didn't think it w-would be so g-good," Blair stuttered through the tears. "You make me feel so good. You make me feel beautiful and loved." His hand brushed against the rock-hard erection of his lover, causing the cock to twitch with anticipation. His fingers circled the organ, squeezing lightly until the purple head leaked pre-come. Blair sat up and swirled his tongue around the crown, lapping up the salty offering. "It's my turn to return the favor."

"Not like that." Jim clasped the flushed face between his palms, lifting Blair to meet his eyes. "I want to be in you."

Blair's eyes closed and opened again in one languid blink of approval before he rolled onto his side and pulled up his knees, exposing his center to his lover. Slowly, and with great care, Jim prepared the nearly virgin entrance. While they had exchanged mutual groping, hand-jobs and blowjobs when Blair was feeling well enough, it had been nearly nine full months since their last real lovemaking. The entrance was tight, but Jim could feel the effort Blair put into relaxing and allowing him in. Finally, his cock teased the opening, slipping past the tight sphincter muscle to slide inside in one, long stroke. A groan rumbled in Blair's chest as the two lay spooned and joined together. Eventually, the young man thrust his hips back, urging his lover to action.

Jim struggled to keep his thrusts slow and even, angling to rub against Blair's prostate at every opportunity. A strangled cry let him know his efforts were appreciated. Reaching over Blair's hips, he wrapped his fingers around the rapidly refilling cock and began stroking it back to fullness.

"Oh, Jim! Oh, man! Oh, God!" Blair groaned, writhing with sensations assaulting him from inside and out. He pushed back, grinding his buttocks against Jim's groin, going for maximum penetration as he felt his own orgasm begin to wash over him for the second time that morning.

Feeling the pulsating rhythms in the cock he held, Jim pressed the organ into Blair's stomach, covering the crown with his hand. Semen pooled beneath his palm as his lover's climax washed over him. His own organ was squeezed mercilessly by the contractions of the velvet tunnel that surrounded him, milking his own completion soon after.

Both men collapsed in a sweaty heap, still spooned closely together, Jim's softening cock still buried in Blair's warmth. A voice muffled by pillows came from beneath him. "Think maybe we should call in and let Simon know we're going to be late?"

A good page to see a stoma, and read one man's story of learning to live with it:
"Mark the Lary" -- http://www.markthelary.com/mark_the_lary_personal_page.htm

Author's Notes: ASL is a language unto itself, with its own grammar and usage rules. The interpretation of ASL in this story should be considered English constructions, and not literal translations.

This story takes place the summer following Jim and Blair's accident, and Blair getting his artificial voice.

Notes on my understanding of ASL: Signing is generally done in moderate gestures, about mid-chest, with the arms held out slightly away from the body. A person can "whisper" in sign by making small, compact gestures held very close to the chest. Shouting or effusive speech can be indicated by large, open signs. There's more to signing than just the gestures themselves. A lot is body language and facial expression.

Additional Note: Yes, I know that "Jacob" as a middle name for Blair is fanon, not canon, but I happen to like it. It goes well with the rest of his name and is compatible with his Jewish heritage. YMMV.

RETURN to my fiction page.