Disclaimers: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount, and The SciFi Channel
Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown, copyright 1947 by Harper & Row, Publishers, Incorporated.
Carole
"Jim?"
Disinterestedly watching a local news report, Jim looked up from the flickering television screen at the sound of Blair's tremulous voice. Jumping to his feet, he rapidly crossed the loft and entered the small bedroom, Sentinel vision guiding him through the near darkness to the small futon bed. "Hey, Chief. I thought you were sleeping."
One hand vainly trying to locate the covers he'd kicked off during his uneasy rest, Blair drowsily mumbled, "Cold."
His eyes warm with affection, Jim straightened the disheveled blankets before reaching for the extra blanket at the foot of the bed. Unfolding it, he placed it over the younger man, tucking it in around his shoulders carefully. "There you go."
"Thanks."
"No problem, buddy. Feeling any better?" Without waiting for an answer, Jim felt Blair's forehead with the back of his hand, then frowned. "Your temp is still a bit high. Ready for some more Tylenol?"
Nodding his head almost imperceptibly, Blair admitted, "Yeah."
"I'm going to turn the light on," Jim warned, reaching for the lamp.
One hand shading his eyes, Blair watched as Jim quickly retrieved a cup of water and two tablets from the bedside table. He slowly lifted his head when Jim held out the medication.
"Here's the Tylenol."
His hand shaking, Blair accepted the proffered tablets. He dropped them into his mouth and took a sip from the cup Jim held to his lips.
"Want me to read to you for a while?" Jim asked, rubbing Blair's blanket-clad arm gently. "Until you fall asleep?"
Blair turned over on his side, facing Jim, tucking his hands under his head wearily. "Uh, huh."
"We finished your Smithsonian last night. What would you like me to read this time?"
When there was no response, Jim glanced down at his sick friend. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and steady, and for a moment he thought Blair had fallen asleep. Then Blair stirred, opening his eyes and rallying enough energy to say, "G'night Moon."
Confused, Jim repeated Blair's words. "Goodnight Moon?"
With a sigh, Blair blinked his eyes sleepily. "Yeah."
At a loss, Jim visually scanned Blair's overflowing bookcase, assuming the book was some sort of anthropological study dealing with moon worship or primitive full moon beliefs. "Hey, buddy, I don't see that book on your shelf. A new National Geographic came in the mail this afternoon, do you want me to read that?"
"G'night Moon," Blair insisted softly.
Thinking that he had somehow missed the book on his first search, Jim started toward the bookcase, intending to search it book by book if necessary, until he found it.
"'Bout a bunny."
Jim stopped in his tracks at the quiet words. "About a bunny?"
Blair nodded faintly. "Mom read it when I was sick."
"Naomi read it to you when you were little?"
"Then she kissed me and said g'night just like the bunny," Blair added in a dreamy tone, smiling at the happy memory.
Briefly wondering if the local bookstore made deliveries, Jim shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, buddy. I don't have that book."
His eyes at half-mast, Blair gestured toward the bookcase with an unsteady hand. "Box."
On the bottom shelf of the bookcase, positioned as a bookend to hold up several hardback textbooks, was a cardboard box. Jim quickly brought the box close to the bed, setting it on the floor and lifting the lid. Filled almost to the top with old photographs, school papers written in a childish scrawl, and crayon-drawn artwork, its contents resembled the haphazard clutter on Blair's desk. Carefully digging through the box, Jim found a book near the bottom, its pages tattered and torn.
Mentally making a note to ask Blair about this treasure trove of childhood memories when he was back to his healthy, exuberant self, Jim gingerly removed the book before closing the box.
Book in hand, Jim sat on the edge of the small bed. Examining the well worn and obviously well loved children's book, he opened it to the first page. Inscribed inside the front cover were Blair's name and the year 1969, written in a graceful, flowery script.
"Read it?" Blair asked through a wide yawn.
"Yeah, Chief. I'll read it." Patting Blair's shoulder in reassurance, Jim turned to the next page and began to read.
"In the great green room
There was a telephone
And a red balloon
And a picture of-
The cow jumping over the moon"
As the sound of Jim's familiar, soothing voice began to wash over him, Blair's face softened, the lines of pain fading away.
"And there were three bears sitting on chairs
And two little kittens
And a pair of mittens"
Jim smiled as a sleepy voice unexpectedly repeated, "Mittens."
"And a little toyhouse
And a young mouse
And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush
And a quiet old lady who was whispering 'hush'"
"Hush," Blair said faintly.
Shaking his head in fond amusement, Jim continued.
"Goodnight room
Goodnight moon
Goodnight cow jumping over the moon
Goodnight light
And the red balloon
Goodnight bears
Goodnight chairs"
Blair rubbed at his eyes, whispering, "Chairs."
"Goodnight kittens
And goodnight mittens
Goodnight clocks
And goodnight socks
Goodnight little house
And goodnight mouse
Goodnight comb
And goodnight brush"
"Brush," Blair echoed almost inaudibly, his eyes closing.
"Goodnight nobody
Goodnight mush
And goodnight to the old lady whispering 'hush'
Goodnight stars
Goodnight air
Goodnight noises everywhere"
Jim closed the book. Beside him, curled up like a small child, Blair mumbled softly.
"Chief?"
Blair moved his head slightly, but his eyes remained closed, his face peaceful.
A tender smile crossed Jim's face. He hesitated for a moment, then gently brushed back a few wayward curls and dropped a light kiss on Blair's brow. "Goodnight Chief," he whispered, turning out the light. "Sleep well."
Murmuring incoherently, Blair gave a contented sigh as he snuggled down into his pillows. Within seconds he was asleep.
~end~
October 2001