A NOW DISTANT TERM

Audrey Lynne

There was something wrong with the Guide.

Jim Ellison's Sentinel radar was on full alert, and had been for several days. Over the previous couple of weeks, Blair Sandburg had been acting positively strange, even for Blair. It had gotten much worse in the past few days, though. He was sure Blair was sick, but couldn't pinpoint the problem. The symptoms were all over the map, and none of them were so bad that Blair couldn't function as usual. Blair had shrugged it off as a mild bug he must have picked up somewhere. Jim was sure there was something else going on, but he didn't have the first clue what. He didn't understand why his Guide's heart rate shot up dramatically every time going to the doctor was mentioned, but it worried him, especially given that Blair was borderline tachycardic to start. The mood swings were something else, too. One minute, Blair would be his cheerful self, the next he'd bite Jim's head off for no reason at all.

Not only had Blair's behavioral habits changed, so had his eating habits. He was no longer nearly as picky about what he ate, as long as he ate something. Jim had seriously begun to worry when Blair didn't so much as protest at the suggestion of WonderBurger for lunch. Not even a token protest, just a, "Sure, let's go; I'm starving to death here." They'd actually eaten breakfast that morning; Blair shouldn't have been nearly hungry enough that he'd eat WonderBurger without a fuss. And despite the fact that his appetite remained healthy, Blair was steadily losing weight.

Yes, there was definitely something going on, and Jim was determined to find out what it was.

He poked his head into Blair's room as he passed by. "Chief? You feel all right?"

"Dammit, Jim, stop mother-henning me!" Blair snapped. "I'm fine!"

Jim held up his hands in mock-defense. "Sorry. I'm just worried, all right? You haven't been yourself lately."

Blair shook his head. "Sorry, Jim. I've just got a killer headache right now."

"Want some Tylenol?" Jim offered.

"No," Blair replied miserably, putting a hand to his forehead. "I just took some about a half hour ago. Hasn't helped."

Jim frowned sympathetically. If Blair had taken pain medication entirely on his own, he must have been feeling bad. "I'll be right back." He walked into the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth from the towel rack. He turned on the faucet and ran the cloth under cold water. After wringing out the cloth, Jim brought it in to Blair. "Here, maybe this will help."

"Thanks, man." Blair closed his eyes as he felt the cool washcloth on his forehead. "You know... you should've been a nurse..."

Jim chuckled. "Me? In a little white dress? No thanks." He knew full well that nurses didn't dress like that anymore, but he hoped that maybe the teasing would help Blair feel a little better.

"Cape and all," Blair muttered sleepily. "Florence Ellison..." He reached out to pull the blanket on the bed over his shoulders, and even that seemed to exhaust him. "God, I feel so weak..."

Jim assessed his partner with a critical eye. Blair had been flushed all week, but it looked worse now. He wasn't running a fever, though, and his skin was dry. The vague fruity smell of one of Blair's shampoos assailed Jim's senses, and he had to dial smell down. "You just wash your hair?"

"Before you got home," Blair slurred, and as he moved his head, Jim was assaulted with the fruity smell again. "Smell bothering you?"

"Not really," Jim told him. "It just surprised me." Blair was apparently using a different brand, because Jim didn't recognize the scent at all. But they could talk about that later. It was obvious that -- despite his earlier protests -- Blair really was sick. "Are you nauseous at all?"

Blair snuggled deeper into the pillows on the bed. "Just a little. It's not bad... been worse..."

"I want you to see a doctor tomorrow," Jim insisted. "You're sick, and there's no denying it now."

"I'll ride this out... insurance deductible... outrageous," Blair murmured. "All he'll do is gimme some antibiotics..."

Jim shook his head. "If the money's a problem, I'll pay it. No arguments. You're going to get checked out."

Blair was about to protest again when he moaned softly, and clutched at his stomach. "Oh, man... kill me now. Please, get it over with."

Jim could feel the tight muscles beneath his sensitive fingers. "Cramps?"

"Yeah," Blair gasped, fighting the pain. "Pretty bad."

Jim didn't know what he could do but keep a hand on Blair's arm reassuringly. "Hang in there; it'll pass." He eased Blair gently back to the bed when the anthropologist tried to sit up. "Just relax..."

"Jim, I gotta go to the bathroom," Blair complained. He nodded thanks as Jim let him up.

"Need some help?"

Blair shot Jim a look. "No, thanks... I think I can probably do this all by myself; I'm a big kid now." He swayed dizzily for just a second after he stood, then took a few steps toward the French doors. He hadn't made it more than a few more steps when he suddenly doubled over. "Damn..."

The agony in Blair's tone pulled at Jim's heartstrings. He was at Blair's side almost instantly, supporting him to the floor. "More cramps?"

"Uh-huh." Blair's fingers clawed at Jim's shirt desperately, as he buried his face in Jim's chest. If they hadn't been alone, he'd have probably been embarrassed, but with the level of pain he was in, he didn't care. "Jim, it hurts."

Jim was alarmed; he'd never seen Blair like this before. "I'm gonna call an ambulance."

"No!" Blair demanded, raising his head to look Jim in the eye. "Please don't. I'll see the doctor tomorrow... if it makes you happy..."

"I'll feel a lot better knowing you've been seen," Jim replied.

"'Kay," Blair said softly. "I'll go."

The pain appeared to have subsided for the moment; Jim noticed that Blair had relaxed somewhat. He wasn't clinging to Jim for dear life anymore. "You want me to help you back to bed?"

Blair shook his head. "Bathroom first. Then bed."

Jim marveled at how light Blair really had become as he helped his friend up. Blair had to have lost at least ten pounds, probably closer to fifteen. And he didn't have that much to spare in the first place. "All right, that sounds like a deal. If you feel up to eating, I'll make some chicken soup."

"Jewish penicillin," Blair murmured approvingly.

Jim shook his head. "How you manage to keep your sense of humor with as rotten as you must feel..."

"It's a gift." Blair tried to smile, but it didn't touch his eyes. Once he was safely tucked back into bed, he snuggled down under the blankets as if it were his own little cocoon. Jim frowned as he noted Blair's sunken eyes -- and though his skin was still flushed, it lacked much of its normal tone. "Have you been drinking enough water?"

"Lots," Blair replied. "Why?"

"You look dehydrated."

"Probably just sick," Blair assured Jim. "Now I'm gonna sleep. Don't wake me till June."

Jim couldn't resist. "Chief, it's only September."

"I know."

Jim patted Blair's shoulder affectionately. "All right... you just get some rest. I'll call Simon and tell him I won't be in until tomorrow afternoon; your appointment's at 10." He had taken the liberty of making an appointment for Blair already, hoping he could talk the anthropologist into going voluntarily. Fortunately, he'd succeeded; the idea of tying Blair up and dragging him to the hospital didn't appeal to Jim.

"You do that. Night, Jim."

"Goodnight." Jim smiled, and headed for the door.

"Jim?"

The Sentinel stopped when he heard his name called. "Yeah?"

"Thanks, man."

"Anytime," Jim promised, shutting the door to the bedroom behind him as he stepped out.

Though Blair was sleeping like the dead, Jim found himself battling insomnia that night. He'd seen Blair through various illnesses before, but never one like this. Even the usually comforting sound of his Guide's heartbeat was worrisome; it was faster than it should have been, even as he slept. The deep, sighing respirations made it seem as though oxygen was a precious commodity for Blair, and a rare one at that. At least he'd be seeing a doctor in the morning. Still, the questions running through Jim's mind kept him wide awake. What's wrong with him?!

The next afternoon found Jim at his desk, working but unable to concentrate. Blair was still at with the doctor. Dr. Mari had wanted to run some additional tests, tests that would take a few hours. Jim would have stayed, but Simon needed him at the station, and Blair had eventually managed to convince Jim that he would be fine by himself. Blair said he would call when he was ready. He didn't seem to be feeling much better, but at least he was semi-functional.

When the phone rang, Jim snatched it up. "Ellison."

Blair chuckled nervously on the other end of the line, that chuckle meaning that he had news that Jim was not going to want to hear. "Um, Jim? Hi, it's me."

"Blair? You ready?"

"Not exactly. You've got to promise not to freak out when I tell you this, okay?"

"I promise," Jim vowed, knowing that he might have to break that promise as soon as he hung up. Nightmare visions of news like cancer or other terminal diseases were dancing through his head. Oh, God, Blair, what's wrong?

Simon Banks was watching from his office when the phone call came in. He watched Jim's expression go from impatient to relieved to terrified in the span of only a few moments, softening at last into deeply-felt concern. I hope the kid's okay. He knew the reason for his best detective's distraction today was worry over the health of one Blair Sandburg.

When the phone conversation ended, Simon strode over to Ellison's desk. "Jim?"

"Oh, hi, Simon." Jim barely looked up.

Simon took a seat in the nearest empty chair. "How's Sandburg?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, Simon. He didn't volunteer that much information. I intend to get what I can out of him when I see him. He probably wouldn't mind seeing you either, if you had the time and you wanted to."

Simon took it for what it was; a not-so-subtle hint that Jim thought his partner needed the support of friends. "Sure... but I thought you were going to bring him by here for a few minutes on your way home, so he could get those papers he left here yesterday."

"I'll find them and bring them to him." Jim sighed heavily, running a hand over his hair. "The game plan's changed a little, Simon."

"What's wrong?" Simon asked, genuinely concerned about Blair.

Jim looked up at Simon, his blue eyes reflecting the inner turmoil. "They got the results of some of his first tests back, and I guess they weren't thrilled with whatever it said. They've admitted him to the hospital."

"Hospital?!" Simon echoed. "I know he's been feeling lousy lately, but I didn't think it was that serious."

"Neither did I," Jim admitted. "I thought maybe it was just some virus." He sighed. "I'm hoping that they just admitted him on account of the dehydration, so they can get some fluids into him. He wouldn't really talk about it."

That was classic Sandburg technique; avoid telling Jim everything so that Jim wouldn't worry. Blair wasn't the only trained observer in the division.

Simon nodded. He knew full well that Jim wasn't going to be able to concentrate while he was worried about Blair. "Go see him."

"What?" Jim looked up, surprise written on his face.

"Go see him," Simon repeated. "You're going to be distracted as long as you're worried about that kid... and, besides, once word gets out that he's sick, everyone's going to want updates." Over the years, the young observer had become a sort of mascot to the Major Crimes detectives.

Jim smiled. "Thanks, Simon."

"Yeah, well, if I need you, I'll call. It's better than having to deal with you all day in your 'Protector' mode or whatever the hell Sandburg calls it." Appearances were appearances, after all.

Jim couldn't hide a smile as he stepped into Blair's hospital room. Blair was asleep, an IV dripping fluids into his arm. Various monitoring equipment was around the room, keeping a watchful eye on his condition.

Blair always looked so innocent when he was asleep, with his hair fanning around him on the pillow, framing his face. Jim was relieved to see that Blair had regained some of the restlessness that the Sentinel had come to expect when Blair was sleeping. Even in sleep, Blair still had energy to spare. The night before, he'd been so still, so quiet...

Jim settled into the chair nearest the bed, and glanced to the monitors. Blair's heart rate was nearly normal again, and his breathing seemed a little easier. Sentinel senses confirmed the readouts. Nodding in satisfaction, the detective reached out to brush a loose curl away from Blair's face -- then sat back, content to watch his Guide sleep.

A nurse came into the room -- Jim recognized her, but not from previous hospital visits. He tried to put a name with the face... wasn't she the nurse that Blair had been going out with a month before? Jackie, Janet... something close... "Hello."

"Hi." She smiled cheerily, and stepped over to the bed, busying herself with checking the IV pump as she spoke. "You're Jim, right?"

"In the flesh." Jim smiled, still trying to recall her name. Janna? Jaycie?

Whatever-her-name-was nodded to Blair. "I'm Kara. He told me to expect you; you matched the description. You two are pretty close, huh?"

Kara?! Jim nodded at her question, still trying to wonder how he'd been so far off. "Yeah, we are. He's a great guy." After a pause, he decided to risk it. "Do you have a sister, by any chance? You look like someone I met once..."

Kara nodded. "It was probably my twin sister. Her name's Janey; she works in the ER."

Bingo. Jim laughed softly; only Blair could date a woman and then end up with her twin sister as his nurse. "Well, it's at least comforting to know that I'm not losing my mind." He sat up as he heard the first sounds of Blair stirring. "Hey, Chief. How're you feeling?"

"Little better," Blair sighed. "Geez, Jim, I'm sorry about all this..."

Jim shook his head firmly. "Don't be. Things happen. You just concentrate on getting better, all right?" He glanced to be sure that Kara had left the room. "After all, I'm going to need my Guide back in top form soon enough."

"I'll be fine," Blair assured him. "They figured it out." He glanced to the IV bag above his head. "Probably pumping more stuff into me than I want to know about."

Jim read the label on the bag. Sodium Chloride, 0.9%. "It's just normal saline. They need to get some fluids back into you. I knew you were dehydrated. What did the tests say?"

"Chemical imbalance," Blair replied. "My blood pH was way off... it's supposed to be like 7.35, I think they said... it was 6-something... high end of 6, but... it's a little better now with the stuff they're giving me."

"Damn," Jim swore, shaking his head. The body depended on the regulation of that pH for survival. An acid-base imbalance could easily be fatal. "If I'd known that, I'd have gotten you here a hell of a lot sooner."

Blair chuckled derisively. "Hell, Jim -- if I'd known, I'D have gotten myself here a lot sooner. I know that crap can be dangerous. The body's homeostasis is just not something to mess with."

"You've got that right." Jim bit his lip hard, thinking of how close he might have come -- again -- to losing Blair. If this had gone untreated, if they'd still considered it some wacky virus... Blair could easily have slipped into a coma and died. However, these imbalances did not normally just happen. "They say what caused it?"

"Some hormonal thing," Blair explained. "Didn't have enough of it. They gave me some; it should fix the problem."

Jim nodded, then flashed Blair a grin. "Figures it would be a hormonal problem. Everything's hormones with you."

Blair appeared to appreciate the attempt at humor. "Yeah, well, think of what it feels like to wake up and have someone who looks exactly like one of your ex-girlfriends standing over you."

Jim sniffed the air, frowning slightly. Ever since he'd come in, there had been something missing. Some smell that he expected wasn't there. Antiseptic hospital smell? Check. Blair's natural scent? Check. Faint floral perfume of the nurse? Check. Odd fruit salad shampoo of Blair's? MIA. Expecting that Blair would be used to odd things from his Sentinel occasionally, and feeling justified by knowing that Blair did weird crap to HIM all the time, Jim leaned forward and sniffed Blair's hair. Antibacterial hospital soap nearly overwhelmed him, but Jim caught himself before he zoned. Suddenly, he could have slapped himself. For all of his past medic training, he had never once put two and two together... that weird fruity smell... Blair's pH balance leaning toward the acidic... "It was your breath I smelled!"

Blair looked completely confused. "Sorry. Let me know next time; I'll get mints."

"No, no..." Jim shook his head. "You said your balance was six-something, right?"

"Yeah?"

Jim continued. "Your blood was turning acidic."

"I took chemistry in high school, Jim. I know acid from basic." Blair obviously didn't get it.

It all made total sense to Jim now, and he kicked himself for not catching it sooner, or he'd have had Blair hospitalized sooner. "When the blood starts to build up acid, a person's breath usually takes on a sweet, fruity kind of smell. I thought it was your shampoo."

The proverbial light bulb came on over Blair's head -- and then it did literally, when the flickering florescent light in the ceiling overhead brightened. "Oh, I see." He looked as if he were following Jim's logic. "Hey, now, man -- no guilt trips allowed. You convinced me to come here to get looked at; you've done your Blessed Protector/Mother-Hen Sentinel bit. Besides, if you made me go last night, I'd have just gotten help a couple hours earlier."

"And you'd be that much closer to feeling better."

"I do feel better," Blair insisted. "I feel a hell of a lot better than I felt yesterday -- or the day before, or for awhile now. I'll just have to watch for signs after this, and come back to the hospital if my blood goes screwy again. I'll be out of here in a couple days, they said." He motioned with one arm at his body. "Look, I even have minimal tubes and wires, never mind that they've decided my arm is now a pincushion." After a moment, he tapped the IV pole. "But you'll have to excuse my friend here. We're rather attached."

Jim would have groaned at the bad pun, but it made him feel better to know that Blair was feeling a little better. One thing was for certain, though; he was going to be keeping a hawk-like eye on the grad student's health for quite some time. He still got the impression that Blair wasn't telling him everything -- but he wasn't lying, either, so Jim didn't push it. He was satisfied for the moment with what he'd found out. When Blair was ready to volunteer additional information, he would.

Two days later, Blair was due to be released from the hospital. He sat in the hospital-policy wheelchair, fidgeting as he and Jim waited for Dr. Mari to come by with the discharge papers. "I wish she'd hurry up and get here. I really want to go home."

"Patience, Chief," Jim teased. He was glad to see that Blair was feeling much better; the kid was almost back to his old self. Kid. He's almost thirty, and I still catch myself thinking of him as a kid. "We'll be home soon enough. And just because you're getting out of the hospital doesn't mean you don't still need to rest."

"Aw, Jim." Blair frowned. "I've spent two days here resting. I finally feel pretty good, for the first time in awhile. I want to actually enjoy my life."

And I don't want you risking your life, Jim thought. He knew it was silly; the doctor wouldn't have been releasing Blair if she felt he weren't well out of danger, but Jim couldn't help but worry. He couldn't cover Blair in foam rubber and lock him in the loft, so Jim settled for worrying. "Yeah, I guess you've got a point. Just take it easy, okay? No marathons right away."

Blair scoffed. "Right away? Try 'anyway'. That's just not really my thing."

Jim smiled affectionately, and tousled his partner's hair.

Dr. Mari walked into the room a few moments later. "Hello, Blair... Detective Ellison. Bet you can't get out of this place fast enough."

"You got THAT right!" Blair agreed. "No offense or anything, Doc, but I really hate hospitals."

"None taken," she assured them. "I prefer being on this side of the stethoscope, myself." She handed them a sheath of papers; it wasn't anything they hadn't seen before on previous occasions like this. "Just sign these and we'll be a not-too-distant memory."

Blair nodded. "Gladly."

"You just make sure to take care of yourself now," Mari reminded him. "I don't want to see you back here again unless it's just a friendly visit."

"The feeling's mutual; I assure you." Blair flashed her that little-boy grin of his, then signed the last of the forms. "Thanks, Doc."

Jim stopped following the pleasantries as he turned to gather Blair's things up. The sooner they left, the sooner he would have Blair back in the loft where he belonged. Blair's feelings about Jim's 'mother-henning' be damned -- Jim was going to be keeping a close eye on his friend. At the first sign of any relapse, Blair would be back at the hospital before he knew what hit him. Jim wasn't taking any chances when it came to Blair's well-being. There were some things that were simply far too precious to lose.

The ride home was an uneventful one. Jim stepped out of the elevator as it reached their floor, glancing behind him instinctively to ensure Blair followed. He unlocked the door, and motioned toward the living room couch. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Because I've been pretty much lying down for two days," Blair replied, crossing the room to lean against the kitchen island. "I'll be fine. If I get tired, I'll sit down."

Jim decided to pick his battles, and let this one go. He started up a pot of coffee, resisting the urge to mutter under his breath about 'damn stubborn Guides...' "Want some coffee?" He knew Blair usually preferred tea, but they were out and Jim hadn't had the chance to run to the store yet.

Blair nodded. "Love some. The hospital's coffee is really lousy. Do you think if we tried to get a Starbucks branch in the hospital, they'd listen? They're already everywhere else. They'd probably put one on the moon if they could find a way."

Jim pulled the milk out of the refrigerator, giving it an experimental sniff to see if it was still good. He'd been wary of such things ever since accidentally drinking the bad milk during one of Blair's tests. Deciding it passed his test, Jim set the milk down on the counter and reached into a cabinet for the sugar. "I'm not even going to ask why you think these things through to such an extent." The coffee had just finished brewing, and Jim poured some into the two waiting mugs.

"You want the standard treatment?" Jim asked, referring to the coffee.

Blair shook his head. "Um, no... leave the sugar out."

Jim raised an eyebrow. Blair had once given a twenty-minute long spiel on how the combination of caffeine and sugar in a cup of morning coffee was some kind of heaven-sent cure for just about anything. "Since when do you not put sugar in your coffee?"

"Adds calories," Blair quipped, grinning widely.

"You just LOST thirteen pounds!" Jim insisted, exasperated -- until he realized that Blair was only baiting him. "C'mon. Why?"

Blair shrugged. "Just felt like changing things up a bit. Relax."

Jim gave in. If there really were some underlying reason, he wasn't going to coax it out of Blair at this point. Later, though... they would talk. "Okay." He handed Blair the mug. "Here -- sugar-free and all."

"Thanks," Blair said, pausing before he continued to take a sip. "It's not that big a deal, Jim. Everyone needs a change in routine sometimes. Every day, I wonder if--"

Jim held up a hand, cutting him off. "Wait. Don't explain." He turned a devil-may-care look to his partner, taking away the potential bite of the words. "See, I might start to understand you, and that would frighten me."

Blair laughed. "Yeah, man, sure. I'll get you for that someday. Just you wait. Right when you least expect it -- that's when I'll strike."

"Sure, Chief." Jim's cell phone rang, taking the detective's attention away from Blair for the moment. He flipped it open, hitting the button to receive the call as he did so. "Ellison."

"Jim, it's Simon."

"Simon," Jim echoed. "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, per say. I've just had several detectives in my office, wanting to know about Sandburg. He was supposed to go home today, right?"

Jim smiled. It was always rather touching to see how much the Major Crimes gang cared about their resident anthropologist. "Yeah, he's home. He seems to be doing okay." Catching the words Blair was mouthing to him, Jim added, "He says he's fine."

Simon snorted. "Sounds like him, all right. I'm glad to hear he's feeling better. Tell him I want his butt in this station as soon as he's up to it. At the very least, I'll be able to get a decent report out of you again..."

Jim frowned. "Simon, are you saying that I can't write a report without Sandburg's help?"

"Jim," Simon explained patiently, "I'm SAYING that 'Crime was committed, saw suspect, chase ensued, small scuffle, we won, no injuries, arrested suspect' does not count as a full report."

It made perfect sense to Jim, but no one had asked his opinion. He liked his reports short and to the point... but he had to admit that, though wordy, Blair Sandburg's reports WERE typically more polished. It probably came with the 'grad student' territory, knowing how to explain a simple procedure with as many words as possible and still make it sound good. "All right, I'll let him have a look at them." He tried to ignore Blair's snickering behind him, knowing that Blair must have guessed the gist, at least, of the conversation. He and Simon finished their conversation and hung up, and Jim turned to say something to Blair -- who had disappeared. "Blair?"

There was a scuffling noise from Blair's room, one that would barely have registered with Jim without his enhanced senses. It was as though Blair were struggling to finish something before he answered. "Yeah, Jim, I'm here." He came out of the bedroom, rubbing his left upper arm idly with his right hand. "You're not going to freak out every time I leave your sight now, are you?"

"I hadn't planned on it."

"Good." Blair reached for the mug he'd left lying on the counter, and sipped at the coffee. "Too much more of that, and you'd give me a new chapter for my thesis... Blessed Protectors on Speed."

"Yup. Here we are. Totally busy NOT saving the world."

Jim chuckled at Blair's running commentary about the day they'd been having. He had wanted Blair to stay home and rest rather than accompany him to the station, but Blair had insisted upon coming. Why was it that Jim's choices often dwindled down to either letting Sandburg do what he wanted or letting Sandburg drive him crazy? Even Steven hadn't had this much power over him when they'd gotten along. "Well, they can't all be exciting days. It's been a slow week." He shrugged. "Besides, gives us a chance to get caught up on paperwork before there's more of it to be done."

Blair nodded. "Yeah, there's a point."

The phone rang a moment later, and Jim picked it up. "Ellison."

"Hello, this is the police, right? I just got transferred downstairs, and I've been on hold for awhile."

Jim nodded, though he knew the woman on the other end of the line wouldn't see it. "Yes, ma'am. This is Major Crimes."

"Oh, good. This is a major crime, huh? It should be. But how do you guys separate it? What's major and what's not? I mean, is robbery just not good enough? Why doesn't Homicide become part of your department? It's pretty major."

Oh, great. Another of Cascade's nuttiest. He seemed to get one of them directed to his desk at least once a month. "I don't know, ma'am. I don't make those decisions. Did you want to report a crime?"

"Of course. Why do you think I called?" she asked. "My name's Annie Taylor, and I think I've been violated."

"Violated?" Jim had only heard one real definition for the term in this context, and this lady didn't sound like a rape victim.

"Yes. The CIA is putting lasers through my windows. They're monitoring me. I don't know what's next. What if they start controlling my mind? This just can't be allowed to continue. I want them stopped. I called the CIA first, but they didn't listen. Of course they wouldn't. Maybe you nice policemen can do something."

Jim got the distinct impression from the tone of her voice during the 'nice policemen' comment that in addition to being crazy, this woman was also a badge bunny. A double whammy. Great. "Ms. Taylor..." He was sorely tempted to redirect her call to someone else in another division, possibly one of his old rivals from Narcotics. But even he had his limits. "We don't have any jurisdiction over what the federal government does. I do think you can probably stop the lasers, though." By seeking professional help!

"I am NOT wearing one of those ridiculous tin foil hats. Do you think I'm nuts? And the blinds don't stop them."

Tin foil. Jim grinned. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But what choice was left? If he ever intended to get out of there, he had to do something. "I don't think the hat will be necessary, Ms. Taylor. If you put tin foil in your windows, that should stop the lasers."

"Oh. Oh, wonderful. Thank you! I don't know why I didn't think of that! Thank you!" There was a click as she hung up.

"Dare I ask what that was about?" Blair asked, looking amused.

"She thought the CIA was monitoring her with lasers."

Blair burst out laughing. "So you told her to put FOIL in her windows? Oh, that's rich."

Jim shrugged. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"There's something inherently wrong with that... but I guess you don't have a choice sometimes." Blair glanced at the clock. "Is that thing still broken or is it really noon?"

Jim checked his watch. "It's noon, all right. Want to take a break and get some lunch?"

"Sure," Blair agreed. "I need to get something to eat anyway."

"WonderBurger?" Jim suggested, teasing.

"Oh, gag me."

Jim smiled; Blair was back to his typical self -- and none too soon. "All right, what about that Thai place over on Nutley?" He saved the document file he was working on, and closed the program.

"That'll work." Blair grabbed his backpack. "There's just something I've got to take care of first. I'll be back."

Jim raised a curious eyebrow. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, yeah. It'll just take me a minute." Blair was heading for the door before Jim could ask for any further explanation.

When they returned to the station after lunch, there was actually a case waiting for them. Fortunately (or unfortunately, for a group of bored detectives), it was pretty open-and-shut. A new drug had cropped up, similar to Golden in its hallucinogenic properties but much tamer. The makers of PartyTyme, as they called it, were not quite as intelligent as the makers of other drugs had been. They'd left calling cards all over the place, leading the Narcotics team right to their lair. The only reason Major Crimes had been called in on it was that many of the chemicals used were highly, highly illegal. It would be a simple (as simple as such things got) matter of a stakeout, arrest the guys, and that would be it.

Rafe dropped his head into his hands. "That's IT?"

Blair laughed. "You know, in this line of work, a slow day is really a good thing."

"For the citizens, maybe," Brown lamented. "You obviously haven't heard the police department motto."

Blair raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue.

Rafe chuckled. "We don't wish death and destruction on anyone, but we'd like it to happen on our shift."

As twisted as that may have sounded to the average layperson, Blair was immediately able to see the truth in that statement. "I see. You figure if it's going to happen, it might as well happen when you're working."

"Precisely!"

It made sense, in a way. Blair had met many paramedics who thought along those lines as well.

Megan was shaking her head. "You're all insane."

"And you chose to stay with us," Blair pointed out, unable to resist.

The Aussie woman shrugged. "Well, you're friendly enough nuts." She shared a smile with Simon. "But don't worry, boys, your secret's safe with me."

Blair headed back over to Jim's desk, unconsciously rubbing at his arm. It was still tender from being poked several times with needles, but Dr. Mari had assured him that the soreness would fade with time.

"What's wrong with your arm?" Jim asked.

Here we go again. "I'm fine, Mom." Blair sat on the corner of the desk, ignoring Jim's expression of protest at the action. "It's just a little sore. You know how the doctors love finding things to stick in your arm."

"Yeah, but the deltoid?" Jim asked, frowning. "It's not the top choice for IM injections. And most of the stuff they could have given you would probably be available in IV form... they already had one in, so why not do that?"

Thank you, Captain Medic. Blair should have known that Jim would think of these things. "Yeah, well, it was just a little bit every so often... and it was subcutaneous, they said."

"I just think it'd have been better to stick you as few times as possible."

Too late for that now, Blair thought, with a dark sort of amusement. "Hey, I'm with that; you know how I feel about needles. But sometimes it's a necessary evil, you know?" Three times a day... every day... for the rest of my life. Now there's a vaguely depressing thought. Guess there's a reason they say to change sites!

"Guess you're right, Chief," Jim admitted.

"Wow." Blair feigned total shock. "Can I get that in writing?" Good. Problem dodged, at least for the moment. He knew he couldn't hide the truth of his condition from Jim forever, but he hoped to be able to do it at least until after this particularly overprotective streak of Jim's had passed and the Sentinel would be more reasonable.

Jim was getting progressively more concerned about what might be going on with Blair as time went on. He couldn't call Blair on any of it because Blair technically wasn't lying (Sentinel senses had their advantages), but Blair was an expert at dodging subjects he didn't wish to discuss. It was obvious to Jim that this was what Blair was doing, and Jim fully intended to get to the bottom of it.

Blair had just gotten up, and -- judging by the sound of things -- was rummaging around for something in the refrigerator. It was pretty well hidden, apparently... either that, or Blair had forgot where he put whatever he was looking for. Though he wasn't really focusing on Blair's rambling diatribe, Jim was able to catch a few words here and there. Or perhaps it was just a few words here and there; Blair often had no clue that his thoughts had become conversations with himself.

"Damn overprotective Sentinels... wouldn't have to hide it... can't for long... he'll know soon... amazing I did this long... least he hasn't looked here..."

Jim was not going to confuse himself wondering why whatever Blair was hiding from him would have anything to do with the refrigerator. Unless... Unless it were some kind of medication... how serious were Blair's recent health problems? What wasn't he revealing?

Blair must have found whatever he'd been looking for, because the rant stopped, the refrigerator door shut, and there were footsteps -- heading in the direction of Blair's room. The door to the bedroom opened and shut, and then things got relatively quiet again.

Jim was sorely tempted to go downstairs right then and investigate, but direct confrontation would probably have done little good at that point. Besides, he wasn't sure exactly what it was he was supposed to be confronting. He'd have to go about things in a less obvious way. Jim stood up and got out of bed, throwing his robe on as he headed downstairs. He might not be directly looking into the matter, but he could at least be around and look for clues.

"Hey, Blair?" Jim called.

Blair opened the French doors of the bedroom just enough to poke his head out. "Yeah?"

"How's your schedule today?"

Blair stepped out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. "Well, I've got classes this morning 'til 11... I've got to be in my office 'til noon... but after that I'm free. Did you want me to come up to the station?"

"Did you have anything else planned?" Jim asked. He had the unfortunate habit sometimes of assuming that Blair wouldn't have other things planned, and he was trying to watch that. And perhaps anything else Blair might be doing would give Jim a clue he might otherwise have missed.

Blair shook his head. "No, not today."

"Then why don't we meet for lunch, and you can come back to the station with me afterwards?" Jim suggested. And I can keep a closer eye on you.

"Sure," Blair agreed. "That sounds good." He headed into the kitchen, searching through the cabinets for something to eat for breakfast. "Jim, we really need to get to the store, man. We're running low on supplies here."

"I'll stop there on my way home," Jim promised.

They made casual conversation, as usual, until Blair had to leave -- he had a 7:30 AM class that he was covering for someone he said he owed a few favors. Jim idly wondered what college students were actually willing to take a class that early in the morning... but then, he figured, most of them probably weren't as willing as they were faced with the fact that the class was only available at that time. Just Blair's luck to owe favors to a TA who actually enjoyed getting up at ungodly hours.

Jim was just getting ready to head out for the station when something -- that same something that had been bugging him since Blair's release from the hospital -- asserted itself. Though the needle must have been tiny, probably a 28 or 30 gauge, Jim's Sentinel sight had been able to notice the needle marks on Blair's arm. Jim had been attributing it to the recent hospital stay, and hadn't been overly concerned... but this morning, he'd seen a couple of the same-sized marks on Blair's other arm. His mind offered the obvious conclusion -- that there were some kind of drugs involved.

When he'd first met Blair, that would have been an explanation Jim would have readily accepted, sad as it seemed to say now. However, Jim knew Blair now, and that just didn't seem like him. It might have explained the chemical imbalances, though... many drugs, especially injectable ones, were famous for doing similar things. Was this why Blair was so actively dodging the subject?

Blair wasn't stupid, though. He lived with a cop -- a Sentinel cop at that -- and one who'd once worked for Narcotics. He couldn't possibly be that stupid! Then... perhaps he was employing the principle of 'hiding in the obvious'. It seemed so damn stupid that no one would believe it... so perhaps Blair was banking on the assumption that no one would believe it?

Jim sighed, trying to retain some logical thought process, but his basic instincts to protect Blair were rising to the surface. There were times he hated that aspect of being a Sentinel, when some of his higher brain functions went on standby to allow the primal guardian to take over. But if that was what it took to save his friend from a path of certain destruction, he'd deal with it. The very next chance he got, they were going to talk. Or at least he would talk and Blair would listen.

Jim got his chance sooner than he thought he would. In his hurry to make the class on time, Blair had left his beloved backpack behind, lying right next to the door. Jim smiled affectionately, imagining that Blair would recognize his mistake before too long.

As if on cue, the phone rang. Jim picked it up, knowing it was probably Blair. "Ellison."

"Jim! Thank God you didn't leave yet. Man, I've got a problem. I need my backpack. I mean, REALLY need it."

Jim decided he'd tease him just a bit first. "Let's see... how much is it worth to you?"

"JIM! My notes for my next lecture -- which starts in an hour -- are in there! And my laptop is, too, and my -- well, other important stuff."

Jim nodded. "Well, Rainier's on my way to the station... or not a far detour, anyway. I'll drop it off. You gonna be in your office?"

"Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you, and thank you. I'll probably be here. If not, leave it with the division secretary, Elizabeth. She'll know what to do with it."

"Sure, Chief." Jim didn't let on yet that he suspected anything. He knew he had to wait for the right moment, when Blair would have no way of denying anything, or obfuscating his way out of it.

Jim wondered what the 'other important stuff' was in Blair's backpack, but he recalled the disaster that had ensued the last time he had invaded Blair's privacy, with that chapter of the dissertation. Maybe that was part of the 'other important stuff'. He picked the satchel up on his way out the door, deciding he'd best return it to its owner before the temptation to peek proved too much.

Jim was just outside of Blair's office when he heard voices -- Blair's, and a woman's.

"Blair, you're kidding me, right? You put it in your ARM?"

"Um... yeah. Is there something wrong with that?"

Jim listened a little more intently, hoping to glean some clues about what was going on with Blair from the conversation.

The woman laughed. "Well, it still works, but it's a lot more sensitive. Hurts like hell."

"Yeah, no kidding. I wondered how you did this for years. I figured it'd desensitize or something in time."

"Trust me. No. I don't care if the needle IS only a half inch long, I'm not going to stick it in my arm willingly. Upper thigh isn't as accessible, but it's a lot fleshier. Stomach works well."

"I hadn't thought of that. But, then, I'm still a neophyte at this sort of thing. Still amazes me that I've found myself here."

"I know how you feel; I felt the same way when it first happened to me. If it makes you feel better, you DO get used to it. Before you know it, this'll all be as routine as brushing your teeth in the morning."

Jim raised an eyebrow at that. It had better never get THAT easy. And who did this woman think she was, encouraging Blair to use drugs like this? Comparing tips, even! Once he confronted Blair, she would be next on his list.

"You have a class soon, don't you, Ellen?"

"Yeah, I do... hope your friend shows up soon."

"Me too. Thanks... you've really helped."

"Anytime. Stop by my office sometime; we'll chat some more." The door of the office opened, and a woman walked out, smiling at Jim as she turned to head down the hall. Jim casually stepped into the now-open office. "You owe me for this one, Darwin."

Blair grinned widely. "I know... thanks again, man... I REALLY needed some of the stuff in here."

Jim's curiosity was further piqued. "Oh?" He wondered what, exactly, in there was so important.

Blair shrugged. "Yeah, lecture stuff, you know."

No, I don't... and you're not getting away with it that easily. Jim crossed his arms over his chest, barely conscious of the motion. Throttling the Guide was damn tempting, but it was not an option. "Chief, talk to me. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Blair said smoothly.

That time, Jim did hear Blair's heart rate jump. "You should know by now you can't lie to me."

"It's nothing you need to worry about right now," Blair insisted. His body language seemed to say, 'I'll tell you when I damn well feel like it.' He snatched his backpack from the chair Jim had dropped it onto, but as he did, a syringe tumbled out from one of the open pockets. It was a small one, to be sure, but it was all Jim needed to see.

"Dammit, Blair!" Jim snapped. "What's this? Nothing, huh?!" And it made sense now, all the time lately Blair had willingly taken out the trash... was it less helpfulness and more a desire to hide the evidence? "I'm NOT going to sit back and let you do this to yourself."

Blair came back with, "You don't have a choice! I don't have a choice!"

"Yes, you do..." Jim assured him. "You can get help with this. I know you've been under a lot of stress lately, with everything, but this isn't the way, Blair." Always seems to be the brilliant ones who end up doing this to themselves.

Blair's jaw dropped slightly; he must have realized what Jim was getting at. "God! I thought you trusted me!"

"I did," Jim replied quickly. "I do..."

"And you think I'm on drugs?! You don't ask me; you just leap to conclusions. Geez, Jim, I thought we were past all that." Blair rolled his eyes. "I guess I was wrong."

Those words hurt more than Jim would ever let on. "Chief... the needle marks..."

"Did you EVER stop to think that there MIGHT be another reason?!" Blair demanded. "I mean, I know I haven't been totally forthcoming here, but I had my reasons. So you just assume I'm feeding some habit?!"

"It happens to the best of people sometimes," Jim said. "I just want to help you."

"Then stay out of my business!" Blair argued. "This is NOT what you think! Not even close!"

"Then what is it?" Jim challenged.

"This is NOT how I meant to tell you," Blair hissed, "but since you insist... I'm diabetic, okay?"

Jim just stared. "You're WHAT?!"

"Don't look at me like that Jim; I'm not contagious."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I KNOW that, Blair. Why the hell didn't you tell me this?!"

"Because I knew you'd react like THIS!" Blair threw up his hands.

"You know, I always figured you'd tell me if it was important." Jim glared at his partner. "Well, I'd say that this is PRETTY DAMN important! This is your life we're talking about here if you don't control this, and how the hell am I supposed to know if you don't tell me?!"

"Listen to yourself, Jim!" Blair told him hotly. "It's MY LIFE. I AM controlling this, thank you very much... and I didn't need you babysitting me to do it! Contrary to whatever you seem to think, I AM an adult and I AM capable of taking care of myself! I did it for YEARS before you came along, and I managed to survive!"

Jim couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Is THAT what all this is about? You feel a need to prove just how independent you still are?!"

"Maybe sometimes I do!" Blair pointed out. "It's always you checking up on me, like I'm some wayward kid that you have to look after. You are NOT my damn babysitter, Ellison!"

"Babysitter?!" Jim echoed. "Maybe sometimes you NEED someone to look after you! Would you have even gone to the hospital in the first place if I hadn't convinced you?"

"Oh, look who's talking! How many times have I had to drag YOUR ass into the ER? 'Oh, no, I'm just sitting here at a 45-degree angle, but, really, I'm fine.'" Blair's anger was burning in his eyes, obvious to anyone who looked. "Did you ever stop to think about how this affects ME, though?"

"Oh, so now this is about you?"

"I'm pretty sure that's what this fight is about!" Blair maintained. "I didn't tell you; I need to be watched... or is it about you, because YOU need to watch me and YOU weren't told?"

Jim had passed the stage of exasperation long before and moved well into irritated. "You make me sound like some evil stepfather!"

"Jim! It's my life -- my health! It's my diabetes to control!"

"That's all I was worried about, was your health!" Jim tried to point out.

"Have I gone into a diabetic coma?" Blair asked. "Do you see me collapsing from hypoglycemia? Jim, I AM controlling it! I DO care about my health! I KNOW what can happen if I let this go unchecked! Frankly, it scares the hell out of me! I'm already nearsighted; I don't need to go blind! I've had to rearrange my time around shot schedules and making sure I get a chance to eat something. Oh, yeah, and checking blood sugars, can't forget that!" Blair's fury seemed to ebb away, leaving an exhausted sort of sadness behind. "I wanted to wait until you had gotten off your latest hyper-protective streak to tell you... I figured if I waited until then, you wouldn't freak out about it as much. I thought when I did tell you, that maybe you'd understand... I don't need or want sympathy, but a little support would be nice. I guess I assumed that perhaps after knowing each other as long and as well as we have, we could handle these things better." Blair sighed heavily, standing up. He grabbed his backpack, and headed for the door, but he paused in the doorway to look back at Jim for a long moment. "My mistake. I guess we really don't understand each other at all."

His introductory anthropology class had just gotten around to some of the shamanic rituals of South American tribes; it was one of the lectures Blair typically really enjoyed teaching. It had fascinated him, even before he had been passed the way of the shaman himself. However, he was finding it hard to concentrate. They'd just gotten to Peru -- a favorite for somewhat obvious reasons to anyone who knew his secrets -- when his vision began to blur. Great, seeing double now... that can't be good.

Blair had at first attributed his lack of concentration to the argument he'd had with Jim, but now he was beginning to suspect that it might be something else. He thought back over the morning to see if there were anything in the necessary routine he'd missed, and couldn't recall anything in particular. Then, with his current state of mind, that wasn't saying much. Oh, well, I'm only human... A glance to the clock at the back of the lecture hall told him there were twenty minutes left in the class. Surely he could make it that long. "Many of the native tribes to Peru are descendants of the Incas... and, as such, have many Incan rituals incorporated into their own."

"Is that story about the hamster ritual really true?" one of the students asked.

Despite the fact that he felt like hell, Blair had to grin. The 'hamster ritual' was another of his personal favorites, if only for the fact that he got so much harassment value for Jim out of it. "Yes, it's true. Some of the Peruvian tribes consider it a cure for the evil eye." Judging by the expressions of a few students (for as well as he could see them), they hadn't heard the story, and they actually cared to. Blair elaborated. "A hamster is often used as part of a ritual to cure someone who's been afflicted with the 'evil eye'. The tribe's shaman gets a hamster -- a live one -- and rubs it over the body of the victim. There's some ritual chanting, and a lot of ceremony... and then the hamster is sacrificed, but the belief is that the fuzzy one's body has absorbed the 'evil' and the person has been cured. I know it sounds really odd, but they swear by it." He was lucky he could tell that one without thinking now... thinking was not high on his brain's list of priorities. At least, not thinking logically. He did idly wonder if Incacha had ever done the hamster bit.

Blair looked to his watch, and was dismayed to discover that only two minutes had passed since last he'd checked. A wave of dizziness passed over him, and he knew he wasn't going to make it until the end of this class. There wasn't much more to cover anyhow; he could sneak it into his next lecture. "Well... we're at a good point to quit... I'll donate some time to your lives, and let you go. See you Friday." He sank into an empty chair as the students began vacating the room, and let his head fall into his hands.

"Mr. Sandburg?" one girl asked. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." He looked up and nodded. "Just tired... thanks."

"All right... if you're sure." Still looking wary, she followed her friends out the door.

Ellen was standing in the other doorway to the room, and she came in to join him. "Oh... yeah, forgot to warn you about that one. It still catches me by surprise sometimes too."

Blair rubbed his eyes, and looked up. "What?"

"If you get really worked up, it can throw your blood sugar all out of whack sometimes," Ellen explained, coming in. "Usually hits you a bit later, though, which is the fun part." She put a can of Pepsi into his hands. "Here, drink that."

Blair's hands were shaking as he went to open the can, but he finally managed it. "Thanks." He took a few cautious sips, hoping it would at least make the world stop spinning."

"Sure." Ellen smiled. "I took a wild guess... you lasted longer than I figured you would."

"You've been waiting outside? What happened to your class?"

"Admin canceled it for today so the students could go to some seminar one of the bigger guys in the field is giving in the auditorium. I personally think he's full of crap, so I didn't bother..." She chuckled.

Blair raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"

"What, about that fight?" Ellen asked. "Come on, Blair -- my office is right across the hall from yours. I'd have had to have been deaf. And how did I know you were probably gonna crash after? Been there; done that. Fun trying to teach class when your vision's suddenly duplicated itself, eh?" She grinned. "Of course, I teach philosophy... it's routine enough that the class is what got me worked up in the first place. I love a good debate."

Blair smiled back at her. "Well, thanks again." He felt a bit better; the sugar was starting to have an effect. "Collapsing wasn't something I particularly wanted to try. Especially now -- it'd only prove Jim's point."

"I wasn't really listening, so I can't say much," Ellen replied. "But I've been handling this for years, and my family still checks up on me all the time. It drives me crazy, of course... but I try to remind myself that it's only because they care. I don't mean to say that I don't still snap at them when they do it, but the arguments aren't quite as spectacular as they once were. You've both gotten the big blowup out of your system early on; things should get easier. He'll probably still mother you, but it's better than some alternatives, huh?"

"Yeah," Blair admitted.

"I don't expect you two to have a big mushy movie-like make-up scene or anything," Ellen advised, "but at least try talking to him tonight. You're always a lot easier to deal with when you two aren't fighting."

Blair laughed softly. "You're the philosopher. Why do two such different people find themselves so..."

"Bonded?" she suggested. "Opposites attract? Hell, I don't know. It might have something to do with the fact that you both find that the other's strengths make up for your own flaws... maybe it's just chance. But, whatever it is, it's a damn good friendship you two have. Don't throw it away."

Simon looked across his desk to his top detective. Had Jim Ellison been displaying behavior like this in the 'pre-Sandburg' days, it would have been taken as par for the course. However, brooding was not something Jim typically did anymore, and Simon wanted to get to the bottom of it. "Come on, Jim, out with it. What's been eating at you all morning?"

"It's nothing, sir," Jim insisted, sighing.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Simon said simply. "You're scaring people away -- without meaning to. Something happened between last night and this morning when you came in to put you in a mood."

Jim shook his head. "It was just an argument."

"With Sandburg?"

"How'd you know?" Jim asked, surprise on his face.

Simon ticked the points off on his fingers as he listed them. "First of all, I know very few other people capable of affecting you that way. Second of all, he'd have dragged whatever it was out of you by now if it hadn't involved him. Third of all, it's been too long since the last one. You're overdue."

"It was really stupid," Jim admitted after a minute. "On my part. He told me something I didn't really want to hear, and I overreacted." He sighed. "I got pissed that he hadn't told me sooner... he got pissed because I was yelling at him, said something about my not needing to baby-sit him... I wouldn't listen to him..."

"For two such intelligent people, you both do have a terrible time communicating with each other," Simon observed.

Jim bit his lip, nodding. "Yeah, tell me about it. Anyhow... he said something I've been thinking about... that maybe we didn't really understand each other at all. We've been through so much together; it's hard to think that--"

"Jim." Simon held up a hand. "He was angry. You both were. I'm sure you said a lot of things you didn't mean, too. So discuss the situation with him when you can do it rationally. You're too good of friends to let something come between you."

Jim's expression took on a sad look. "The last time that happened, he nearly died... hell, he did die. I can't let that happen again."

"You'd better not." Simon smiled as Jim headed for the door of the office, looking at least somewhat better. "Just talk to the kid. Don't let this tear you two apart."

Jim spotted Blair's Volvo in its customary spot as he pulled up to 852 Prospect that evening. Good, Blair was home. Now maybe they could talk about what had happened that morning.

As he walked to the elevator, Jim sighed. He only hoped Blair would be in a better mood and willing to talk.

Jim smiled as he stepped off the elevator when it arrived on the third floor; the scents of whatever Blair was cooking reached his sensitive nose. Lasagna, Jim decided after another sniff. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. "Hi."

Jim watched carefully for a reaction. If Blair was still angry, he'd just nod civilly and go back to what he was doing.

To Jim's relief, Blair turned, offering a wary half-smile. "Hey."

It was subtle, but nonetheless a sign that Blair was amenable to discussing things. "Chief, we need to talk."

Blair nodded. "Yeah, we do." He sighed. "Jim... I'm sorry I tried to hide stuff from you... I mean, it's never gotten me anywhere in the past; that whole mess with Alex should have been proof. But... I don't know; I felt like I was losing control. My own body turns on me all of a sudden, and it's kinda scary. I just wanted something I could feel like I had control over."

Jim took a step closer. "You were handling it fine. I'm sorry I jumped all over you like that. I just... I guess I got scared, too." He sat down on the couch; Blair sat opposite him. "I mean, it's controllable, but diabetes is serious stuff. I know you know that... but somehow, I suppose I wanted to protect you from it."

"That's what you do," Blair replied, laughing softly. "When I said all that Blessed Protector stuff after Lash, I was joking... but you know, I think there's probably some Sentinel drive involved here..."

"To overprotect the Guide?" Jim suggested, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"Yeah." Blair shrugged. "I mean, in tribal cultures, the village may have depended on the Sentinel for survival, but the Sentinel depended on the Guide, you know? I mean, there could have been some wild animal about ten feet away, but if he was doing his bit and he was all focused on something ten yards away..."

There was a definite logic to that; Jim had to admit it. "But this is modern day -- I don't think I'm in danger of being taken out by a hungry jungle dweller." He sighed. "I guess I do sort of think of you as a kid sometimes. Like a kid brother of sorts."

Blair nodded. "I think of you like my brother, too, Jim... but you've got to let me grow up. I do appreciate all the times you HAVE saved my ass; don't get me wrong."

"I'll try not to smother you so much," Jim promised.

"Hey, man, that's all I ask." The corners of Blair's mouth quirked upward in a tiny grin.

Jim returned the smile. "Are we okay now?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, we're cool."

"Good." Jim stood up, patted Blair's shoulder, then headed into the kitchen. "Now, we deal with more pressing matters -- what, exactly, did you put in that lasagna?"

Jim awoke the next morning to the Bee Gees singing 'Run to Me' on his clock radio. The song was just ending, and the DJ came back on.

"Well, great song, but on a day like this I think it should be 'Wade to Me'! Good morning, Cascade -- another rainy day in the city. Currently, it's 68 degrees..."

Jim reached out and turned the radio off, then threw on his robe and headed downstairs. Blair was just waking up as well, and cursing about something from behind the bathroom door. "Dammit. That's gonna leave a bruise. I hate doing this when I'm not totally awake..."

"You okay, Chief?" Jim called.

"Yeah!" Blair called back. "Just got a little more blood than I -- ow -- needed for this test... I REALLY hate when that happens!"

Jim nodded, confident that Blair had the situation under control. That wasn't to say that he didn't WANT to help, but he HAD promised to try not to be so overbearing. Besides, upon sniffing the air, Jim only smelled a faint amount of blood -- he had to dial his sense of smell up to catch it. He'd smelled the blood before, in even smaller amounts, but he'd figured Blair must have cut himself shaving or something. It wasn't at any level he hadn't been accustomed to previously. Jim tossed a Santana CD into the player, then sat down on the couch.

Blair came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, looking no worse for the wear. He waved at Jim, then joined his partner on the couch. In the background, Santana elaborated about his 'Black Magic Woman'. "Hey."

Jim smiled. "You still have stuff to take care of, or can I take a shower now?"

Blair shrugged, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. "Well, technically, I'm set for the morning after I round up something to eat, but I'm sure I could invent something else if I had to..."

"Cute... real cute." Jim lightly smacked his partner on the back of the head as he stood up. He chuckled softly to himself as he heard Blair's muttering -- meant to be overheard -- about the correlation of BS and male bonding patterns, and how that could be a whole dissertation in and of itself.

Two days later, Jim and Blair were discussing the day's plans over breakfast. The slow streak at the station hadn't abated yet, so Jim figured he'd probably be doing paperwork and taking care of interrogations that happened to come in. There were a few 'major' crimes in the city, but they were on the 'lite' side. Unbelievably, Jim was almost caught up on his paperwork. Another slow day, and he actually might BE caught up.

"So what're your plans, Chief?" Jim asked, taking a bite of the eggs.

Blair shrugged. "I don't foresee any major disasters, but around a college campus, you never know." He grinned. "I've got a couple of classes to teach, one to go to... I'll be finished by one, probably. You need me up at the station?"

"Sure, come on. They're starting to wonder where you've disappeared to." Jim chuckled. "Besides, I might get all my paperwork done. I want a witness."

"All right," Blair agreed. "Then I'll see you around 1:30."

"You do intend to get something to eat before then, right?" Jim asked, though it was good-naturedly.

Blair gave him a look. "Yes, Mother." He allowed a small smile. "Yeah, I'll probably get something around noon. Believe me, I feel like shit if I don't eat. I'd prefer to avoid that if at all possible."

Jim stood up ruffling Blair's curls playfully. "Me too. When I was a medic, we had a girl once whose sugar had totally bottomed out. She was 5'4", maybe 110 pounds... and it took 5 of us to hold her down. I'd hate to think what it might take for you."

It was noon-ish, and Blair sighed as he looked at the notice on the door to his Advanced Cultural Studies class. Moved for today... all the way across campus. He'd actually started to get some proficiency at the insulin injections, but it still took five minutes out of the time he normally had between this class and the previous one. He'd hoped to have time to grab something quick from the cafeteria, which was right downstairs, but if he had to run across campus, he wasn't going to have time. Oh, well -- guess it won't kill me to eat right before I meet Jim... I might get a little dizzy, but eating will fix that.

Blair was sweating when he left the cultural class, not heavily but enough where he noticed it. At first, he attributed it to the climate control (or lack thereof) in the lecture hall, but then he started to put two and two together. He wasn't getting the blurry vision or dizziness yet, but sweating was another of the signs of hypoglycemia. He knew it had been stupid to postpone eating; he should have probably just been a few minutes late to the class. But Dr. Cornell was a stickler for punctuality, medical condition or no. It paid better for him just to play the game. He'd get something to eat on the way to the station. Fortunately, it wasn't far, and there were several fast food places on the way (he was desperate enough).

Ellen was just coming out of her office as he was coming into his. She noticed his altered condition immediately. "Blair! You look like hell. What's wrong?"

Blair shrugged; he wasn't admitting to her that he hadn't eaten yet. He knew she was keeping as close an eye on him as Jim was; Ellen was just much more subtle about it. "Oh, I'm fine. Just had a class over in McDiarmid Hall." The building was famous for its air conditioning and heating problems.

Ellen winced in sympathy. "Ouch. Dr. Stewart said the heating's on the fritz over there today, especially on the second floor. It won't turn off. Where was your class?"

"The second floor," Blair sighed. It was the truth; the class had been miserably hot, made no better by the fact that his body was starved for sugar. He sighed again, knowing he'd have to make a quick exit if at all possible, so he could get to the station while he was still capable of driving. "I'll see you around; I promised Jim I'd meet him at the station."

Ellen assessed him with a critical eye. "You really don't look too hot." She rolled her eyes. "Sorry -- bad choice of words. Why don't you let me give you a ride? I'm heading that way anyway; I need to go to Safeway."

Blair considered the idea. It would make her feel better for knowing he got there safely, and he wouldn't have to worry about driving. He could grab something from one of the vending machines before he got up to Major Crime (he really regretted not throwing that Snickers bar in his backpack this morning, just in case), and be fine. "Thanks. That sounds like a good idea."

"Have you eaten?" Ellen asked, probably trying to rule out anything that should have been flaming obvious.

Blair nodded, locking his office. "Yeah, I ate earlier." It wasn't a lie. He HAD eaten... at breakfast.

"Oh." Ellen frowned a little. "Well, take care of yourself... get some rest later. I'm only doing this because I know how mother-hennish Jim can get over you. There's been a flu bug going around; maybe you picked it up."

Blair followed her out. "Oh, like you're no mother hen yourself."

Ellen held up her hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged. I've just learned the art of being unobtrusive whenever possible. Send your partner to me sometime; I'll give him lessons."

Blair chuckled. "Ellen, you have NO idea how tempting that is."

Henri Brown was just passing through the lobby with his partner on their way back from lunch when he noticed Blair Sandburg standing in the same lobby, looking at a map of the building in confusion. While the map certainly WAS confusing, Blair knew his way around the station too well to need the map. Henri looked over at his partner. "Go on ahead; I'll see what's up with him."

Brian Rafe nodded. "Okay." He cast a curious glance of his own in the young observer's direction, then turned toward the elevators.

Henri approached Blair casually. "What's going on?"

Blair turned a perplexed expression to the detective. "Hi."

"You okay?" Henri asked, noting the not-quite-there look in Blair's eyes.

"Yeah." Blair nodded. "I gotta get to Jim. Gotta reprogram the phone. And those lecture notes. Very important."

None of this made much sense to Brown, but there were many times that he couldn't make sense of what Sandburg had just said. He wasn't sure if Blair was just rambling, or if this was the indication of a deeper problem. That was probably best left for Ellison to decide. "Well, come on. Why don't we go upstairs?"

Blair nodded. "Okay." He began to follow Henri much like a puppy would.

"You feeling all right?" Henri asked.

"Oh, fine." Blair shrugged. "They haven't fixed the heat yet."

"Why would you need heat?" Henri asked. The kid WAS perpetually cold, but it was also 70 degrees out. Odd for an October day in Cascade, but not unheard of.

"Don't need it," Blair replied. "It was still on, though. Won't turn off over there. You fixed it here, right?"

"I wasn't aware it was broken."

"Oh. Good." The elevator opened, and Henri more or less pulled Blair inside of it. He hit the button for the eighth floor. Blair leaned against the back wall, uncharacteristically silent as the elevator made its ascent, but he still followed Henri out when they reached their floor.

Rafe smiled as the two came into the bullpen. "So you've brought our lost lamb back, eh, H?"

Jim laughed as he looked up, then motioned for his partner to join him. "I was starting to wonder about you, Chief."

Dutifully, Blair followed and sat on the corner of Jim's desk. Brown watched for another moment, and then turned back toward his own desk. If Jim thought things were okay with Blair, then things were likely okay with Blair. He hadn't seen anyone mother their partner like that since... well, not since the time that his own mother had decided Rafe was just 'the sweetest thing' and smothered him for the evening. Rafe had exacted revenge the next week by being a little overly doting and concerned. Henri smiled at the memory, and went back to work. Maybe Blair was just having an off day. After all, everyone was entitled to them occasionally.

Jim heard Blair muttering to himself, and repeatedly tapping at a firm surface. Wondering what was going on, Jim looked up... and found Blair holding his glasses in his hand, punching at the lenses with his index finger. After a moment, he apparently got frustrated and began to hit them a little harder. "What ARE you doing?"

"Told ya, Jim," Blair answered. "Gotta reprogram the phone. Cell phone. I need to put new numbers in."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "I hate to break it to you, but those are your glasses." He gently took them from Blair's hands and laid them on the desk, trying to figure out what could possibly be causing Blair to act like this. Suddenly, it hit him -- he didn't know why he hadn't picked up on it sooner. "Blair, did you eat yet?"

The mystification in Blair's eyes was enough of an answer.

"Great. I know, I know, you probably just got busy..." Jim sighed, looking through his desk to see if he had anything that would suffice until he could get the kid some real food. "I know it happens to everyone once in awhile..." He wasn't sure if he was talking to Blair or himself, or which one needed to be convinced more. Finding nothing of use, unless Blair wanted to eat an eraser, Jim sighed and checked his pockets for change. There was a vending machine down the hall. He wanted to try to get some sugar into Blair while he was still complacent... the combativeness common to hypoglycemic diabetics wasn't far behind, and once that hit, there would be no reasoning with Blair. "I'll be right back, Chief. You stay here."

"No." Blair looked back at Jim, his chin tilted at a defiant angle. "You're not going to get away with that." The confusion in his eyes was steadily being replaced with paranoia.

Jim cursed under his breath. "Blair..."

"No!" Blair jumped up from the desk, backing away from Jim. "No, you stay away from me!"

Jim looked over his shoulder to Rhonda, who was watching with wide-eyed concern. "Call an ambulance." They likely wouldn't be able to calm Blair until he collapsed, and at that point he was going to need an IV. He could try, though. "Blair, listen to me. It's me. It's Jim." He fought of the sense of deja vu, recalling the last time he'd had to reason with Blair in such a state. He didn't know whether he preferred the defiance in Blair's voice now, or the terror that had been there when he'd been dosed with Golden. Some idle part of Jim's mind wondered how many of the witnesses might attribute this to some Golden flashback.

"I don't think so," Blair hissed, then spun around, knocking several papers to the floor in the process. Rafe was standing right behind him; in a move no one expected, Blair pulled the detective's gun from its hip holster, and trained it on Jim. "I told you, man -- don't mess with me."

Jim heard the soft, "Oh, no -- not again..." from someone. He could definitely relate, but he at least knew Blair wouldn't shoot him. The weapon's safety was still on. Now, if Blair took THAT off, Jim would get a little more worried. His primary concern right now was to see that Blair did as little harm to himself as possible.

Blair tried to pull the trigger, but met resistance. Disgusted, he threw the revolver away, and swept most of the items (save the computer, fortunately) off of Jim's desk with one arm. Jim reached out to try to subdue him, but was shoved away forcefully. Jim's mind flashed back to the young woman he'd mentioned before to Blair -- it had taken him and the help of four other men to restrain her. Blair had about 5 inches and 50 pounds on her.

"Jim?" Simon asked, having come out of his office when the commotion started. "What's wrong with him?"

"I'll explain in a few minutes, Simon," Jim answered, having to raise his voice to be heard over Blair's incoherent ramblings. "Right now, we need to keep him from hurting himself -- or anyone else."

"How? Hold him down?" Simon questioned.

Jim nodded. "Exactly." He knew diabetics often found the strength of the insane when they were in a state like this, and he had no clue why this was. It probably had some relation to the adrenaline. He'd gotten a taste of it when Blair had shoved him away, and he knew this wouldn't be easy.

The current object of Blair's wrath was the top drawer of Jim's desk. He was tearing it apart, tossing the contents anywhere, and watching out for anyone who tried to come near him. "You won't take me!"

"Sandburg," Simon tried, "listen to us. You're not thinking clearly."

"Oh, my thinking is JUST FINE, thank you!" Blair argued. "It's YOU who don't realize it! They've brainwashed all of you! They won't have me again! You work for THEM!"

"Who?" Jim asked, praying Blair wouldn't say 'The Golden Fire People'. His brain still made the association sometimes when he was out of it for different reasons.

"THEM!" Blair shouted, gesturing wildly with his arms. "The Syndicate!"

Jim wasn't sure anymore that he wouldn't have preferred the Fire People. At least he knew how to deal with them. "What Syndicate, Blair?" he asked, edging closer.

"SEE?! They've brainwashed you, all of you! You don't remember them!"

Behind his back, Jim signaled to Simon, who glanced to a couple of the other detectives surrounding them. They nodded in reply. The unspoken messages were clear -- they'd have to make a move for Blair, when Jim indicated it. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Blair wasn't going to hold out much longer before he collapsed.

Jim had managed to get right up next to the desk, which Blair was using the drawers of to construct a fortress around himself. If the situation weren't so serious, it would have been quite funny.

"If there's EVER an apocalypse, find a Mormon!" Blair yelled at them. "They've got EVERYTHING stockpiled! Well, not all of them, but a lot of the Utah ones do! And I know some! So I've got a corner on the market, eh? I can survive when the Syndicate tries to unleash the plague on us all!"

Jim wasn't quite sure how to respond, or even that there was any WAY to. "Blair... the Syndicate's not going to kill us..." We won't discuss why you're not trying to convince him that there IS no Syndicate. He's been watching too much X-Files again; I swear.

"YES, THEY WILL!" Blair was so busy trying to get his protective wall of Jim's desk drawers built up in front of him that he didn't notice Jim sidling up behind.

Jim turned to the others, and nodded, then grabbed Blair's waist from behind. Blair struggled, and Jim nearly lost his grip several times, but he at least managed to get Blair down. Simon joined him, holding Blair's shoulders by laying across his chest, while the others worried about his legs. Jim was trying his best to keep Blair's arms still, because Blair was flailing them everywhere, trying to fight his perceived attackers off.

"I'll KILL you! I'll kill ALL OF YOU!"

Simon glanced up, chocolate eyes meeting Jim's ice blue ones. "Is this some Golden flashback?!"

Jim shook his head, wincing as Blair hit him across the cheek. He was having a hard time keeping hold of Blair, especially since he didn't want Blair to dislocate anything with his struggling. "No... he's diabetic, Simon."

Simon's eyes widened. "And you're only telling me this NOW?"

"We were -- ow -- waiting for the -- oof -- right time," Jim replied.

"Like NOW?"

"No... of course not! Away from -- argh -- work or something... this wasn't how we'd -- ow -- planned it." Carrying on any semblance of a conversation was difficult when you were constantly getting either elbowed or hit. "How was I to know he'd skipped lunch?!"

Simon sighed, rolling his eyes in a 'what can be done now?' sort of expression. "Well, I'd say it's damn obvious now that there's a -- oof -- problem... damn, this kid's strong..."

"Symptomatic, sir," Jim replied. "Ouch! Oops... sorry, Simon. He didn't mean to do that, really."

Finally, Blair went limp, losing consciousness -- just as the paramedics arrived. They had witnessed the very end of the altercation, however, so they had some frame of reference to what Blair's state of mind had been prior to passing out. Jim hovered nearby as they established an IV line in the back of Blair's hand, giving them the quick-and-dirty version of Blair's medical history.

"What's the AccuCheck?" one of the paramedics asked the other.

A small glucometer that the other medic held beeped, and she glanced to it. "Forty-two."

"Shit," Jim muttered. Anything between 80 and 120 was considered normal, at least from what he remembered. Below 60 was considered to be life-threatening unless treated. He'd known people who'd survived as low as 27, but it still worried him. This wasn't just some patient; it was his Guide, his partner, his roommate, his best friend.

The paramedic in charge shook his head at the number, and opened up a bag. "We'll get the dexi on board before we move him, then." He withdrew a 30cc pre-loaded syringe. Jim recognized it almost immediately. 50% dextrose. It was quite effective, though Blair's arm would likely be numb for a day or two afterward. Still, it beat the alternative by far.

Jim felt Simon's hand on his shoulder as he watched the paramedics take care of Blair.

"The kid's gonna be all right, Jim. They'll take care of him."

"I know," Jim said. "He's just been through so much lately..."

"He's tough." Simon nodded, looking thoughtful. "Hell, he bounced back from dying, didn't he? He won't let this get him down."

Blair had begun to come around in the ambulance, mainly due to the sugar the IV was feeding into his system. He was still a bit confused, but nowhere near as badly as he had been. "Jim?"

Jim reached out to rest his hand on Blair's arm. "I'm right here."

"Jim, I'm cold."

Jim nodded; he'd heard that wasn't uncommon with an insulin reaction. He pulled the blanket on the cot a little higher on Blair's shoulders. "I know. Just relax." He was glad to see Blair conscious again so soon, even if he wasn't completely coherent. It was a good sign. "You're gonna be all right."

"What happened?" Blair asked, looking at the IV in the back of his left hand.

"You passed out," Jim replied. The details could wait for a later time.

Blair winced. "In front of everyone?"

"Don't worry about it," Jim reassured him. "They don't think any less of you for it. Your blood sugar took a nosedive."

"Damn." Blair shook his head slowly. "I was gonna eat, really... but things kept coming up..."

Jim smiled at his partner with a calm he didn't exactly feel at the moment. "Just don't scare me like that again, okay? They got some sugar in you; you're going to be all right."

Blair flexed his fingers on the hand with the IV experimentally. "Guess that's why my arm's kind of numb."

"It'll pass. You just relax; we're almost at the hospital." Jim looked up at the paramedic in the back of the ambulance with them for confirmation; she nodded. "We'll make sure to get some real food into you, and then see what happens."

"I don't want to stay there," Blair insisted.

"Blair..."

"No... I know I screwed up. It was a stupid mistake, but I'll be fine. You even said so," Blair continued. "I just want to go home."

Jim sighed. "Don't worry about it right now. We'll leave that up to your doctor to decide. I wouldn't mind having you home either, but first I want to be absolutely sure that there aren't going to be any lasting effects."

After a few hours, the doctor finally allowed Blair to go home, much to Blair's relief. As they got into the truck to go home, Blair finally voiced the question that had been bugging him since he'd regained a little more coherence, and memory of the prior events. "Jim, I'm still pretty fuzzy on what actually happened... but I know I wasn't thinking real clearly before all that. What did I do?"

Jim's expression showed the same hesitance he had when Blair had asked almost the same question after the Golden overdose. Blair didn't like the implication. "Jim... please, Jim, tell me I didn't start shooting things up or anything."

Jim shook his head. "No, you didn't shoot anything. No one got hurt, either, so don't worry about that. I'm more amazed you didn't hurt yourself."

"What did I do, Jim?" Much like before, Blair wasn't at all sure he wanted the answer, but he had to know. He remembered only bits and pieces of it at the moment, and he wanted the whole picture. "I know there was a gun."

"You grabbed a gun, but you didn't use it," Jim replied. "You threw it aside."

"And?" Blair prompted.

"You barricaded yourself behind my desk," Jim answered casually, almost as if it were the sort of thing that happened every day. Blair knew it was for his benefit.

Blair raised an eyebrow. "With what?"

"The desk drawers."

"Oh, man," Blair sighed, in embarrassment. "That's... oh, man. I don't believe this... they probably think I'm on something..."

"No one that matters does," Jim maintained. Blair noticed the qualifier immediately. No one 'that matters'. There were bound to be drug rumors circulating other departments for awhile, as there had been when Blair had freaked out in the garage on Golden. Blair felt a certain sense of satisfaction in knowing that Jim would stop those rumors as soon as he heard them -- which, for Jim, was long before anyone else would.

They were approaching Prospect Avenue, but Blair was not going to let Jim leave this conversation in the truck. "So they all know now, right? About..."

Jim nodded. "Yes, they know. They're fine with it -- just worried about whether you were going to be okay. It wasn't how we'd planned to tell them, but when does anything happen like we planned?"

"That's the truth." Blair ran a hand through his hair. He unbuckled the seatbelt and reached for the door when Jim stopped the truck. "We're still going to talk, you know. This doesn't stop because we're home."

Once inside, Blair settled onto the couch, pulling the Navajo blanket resting on the arm around him. The temperature outside had dropped several degrees in the past few hours. He noticed Jim watching him. "What?"

"You're still cold?" Jim asked, a hint of worry creeping into his tone.

Blair resisted the urge to laugh. "Yeah, but no more than usual, man -- don't sweat it. If you're going to freak out every time I get cold, it's going to be a long winter."

Jim actually smiled, and sat down beside Blair. "Chief... I've been thinking."

"I'll inform CNN," Blair teased, grinning.

"Very funny. I'm serious."

Blair couldn't resist. "Nice to meet you, Serious."

Jim rolled his eyes. "If I didn't know you got such a kick out of finding ways to drive me crazy, I'd have you back at the hospital for re-evaluation. You're the one who wanted to talk in the first place. Work with me, here."

"Sorry," Blair said, snickering softly. "Go on. I'm listening."

"Have you considered wearing a chain or something?"

Blair cocked his head to the side slightly, frowning. "What do you mean? I wear them all the time."

"No," Jim clarified, "I mean a medical one. What if something happened and you were alone, or with people who didn't know what was wrong with you? A wallet card might work, too, but the wallet isn't going to be the first place they'd look. I mean, it's the logical thing to do."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." Blair waited for Jim's reaction before continuing. "Yes, I've actually considered it. It's a good idea. You know, they've got some that look just like regular jewelry." A nurse friend of his had once told him that she believed medical identification tags should be issued to everyone at birth. He'd found it amusing at the time, but he could follow her pattern of thought now. How could a medical professional know one unconscious person's problem from the next at first glance? "But I've been thinking, too."

Jim looked somewhat suspicious. "About what?"

Blair shifted his position, getting comfortable. "You. I mean, you've got your own set of dangers, buddy. What if you zoned out and I wasn't around? They'd think you'd gone around the bend." He was careful not to smile, trying to let Jim think he was serious.

Jim was obvious trying to decide whether he thought Blair WAS serious or not. "I see."

"I know you're not the jewelry type, Vice days notwithstanding. A card in your wallet might work."

"Oh?" Jim asked. "And what would you propose to put on this card? I don't think announcing the Sentinel thing to the world is a great plan."

"Oh, hardly," Blair agreed. "I've got it all covered, man. I've thought this thing out -- you know, covert ops stuff, give them as little information as possible."

"Sandburg..." Jim warned.

Blair laughed. "Okay, okay. I still think it's a good idea. I mean, it doesn't have to be fancy, just to the point. Something like 'If found catatonic, please return to Blair Sandburg'."

Jim shook his head. "There are days I don't know about you."

Blair pulled the blanket around himself a little tighter, snuggling into it. "Then I've obviously done my job well." He waited for the glare he knew would be forthcoming. "I'm just trying to keep you on your toes, Jim; that's all."

Jim ruffled Blair's hair on his way out of the room. "I'm sure."

Simon smiled as Jim came in to his office. "Hi, Jim. How's the kid doing?"

Jim returned the smile. "Pretty well, actually. As soon as they got some sugar into him, he perked back up. The doctor even said it was okay for him to go back to his normal routine today."

"That's a good sign," Simon said, nodding. "Is he coming here today?"

"I don't know," Jim answered. "I managed to convince him that no one blames him for what happened, but he does have a pretty full schedule today, so it just depends."

Simon chuckled to himself, knowing Jim would probably put in at least one call to Rainier to check up on the grad student. Actually, Blair would be lucky if it were JUST one call. "Well, I'm glad he's all right." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised he managed to keep everything so low-key for this long."

"He didn't tell me until just the other day, either," Jim admitted, "and that was only because I found out by chance. I guess it helped him to think that he still had some control left over something in his life."

"Can't say I blame him there," Simon replied. "It's got to be a big change for him."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "Sandburg's not exactly a 'routine' kind of person, and that's exactly what being diabetic is going to demand from him. He's handling the schedule pretty well, though; I've got to hand him that."

Simon motioned for Jim to sit down. "It's not just HIS life that's changing; you do realize that?"

Jim nodded. "Of course I do. It's both of us... well, everyone that's close to him, really, but--"

"But you live with him," Simon supplied.

"Exactly." Jim ran a hand over his short hair. "I think that's why I freaked out when he first told me. I... at the time, I thought I just wanted to protect him. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what I thought. Now that I think about it, though, I think I was afraid of the changes that it was going to bring."

Simon turned to pour himself another cup of coffee. "You never were very fond of change."

Jim chuckled. "That's for sure. That kid's done nothing BUT bring changes into my life." His tone held no malice; it held more tolerant affection than anything. "The first time we met -- really met, not that Dr. McKay crap he pulled at the hospital..."

"What?" Simon couldn't help but laugh.

"I'll explain later. Suffice it to say, his powers of obfuscation are not something he picked up from hanging around us."

Simon tried to keep a straight face. "Good. I'd hate to think we've been a bad influence on him."

"Admit it," Jim challenged. "You've got a soft spot for him."

"I wouldn't go THAT far..." Appearances were appearances. "But, yeah, he does tend to grow on a person." Simon took a long sip from the coffee mug in his hand. "So what happened when you two met? I mean, I'm assuming this was before you two concocted that wild 'mother's cousin's kid' line..."

"Oh, that. Yes, definitely before." Jim looked reminiscent for a moment. "I knew from the minute he started talking about heightened senses and tribal villages that somehow, things were never going to be the same. I wanted some kind of savior, someone who didn't think I was cracking up, and there he was. But he was this long-haired, hyperactive, talkative student... everything about him screamed 'weird'. Weird was not what I wanted. I just wanted to go back to normal, and there he was telling me that I wasn't going to... that I was some genetic throwback..."

Simon thought back to the Jim Ellison he'd known back in those days, and wondered how Blair had ever escaped the encounter with his life. "Oh, heavens. What did you do?"

"I threw him against the wall," Jim confessed. "Called him a... oh, what was it... 'neo-hippie, witch doctor punk'... and he was freaking out, but only a little. He just kind of smiled, and said that he was the only one who could help me... something like that. Something about how I needed someone who could understand my 'condition'. I got fed up and left."

Simon frowned. "So you left? Then how did you and Sandburg ever...?"

"I zoned out on something in the middle of the street," Jim recalled. "The next thing I knew, something's knocking me to the ground, and this huge truck is going right over me. As soon as it was gone, I started looking around, and there was Blair... jumping around, brushing himself off, and going on about how much fun the whole ordeal WASN'T."

"He knocked you out of the truck's way?" Simon asked, incredulous.

Now it was Jim's turn to frown. "I never told you about this before?"

"No, actually, you haven't. Go on."

"He didn't knock me out of the way," Jim explained. "He threw both of us under it. He hadn't had the chance to warn me about zone-outs yet, and that's why he followed me out... I dragged him away with me so I could get an explanation without having to explain anything to anyone ELSE. After that... well, he just kind of worked his way in to things. He said every Sentinel needed someone to watch their back. I figured I would keep him around until I could find a cop to do it. I never counted on him slipping under my radar."

"What changed your mind about ditching him?" Simon wondered.

Jim thought for a moment. "I don't know, really. It was just after we were cleaning up once we caught Veronica Sarris, on the bridge... I realized he'd flung himself into the middle of everything, just to help me. I mean, if the kid was willing to throw himself in front of a truck for a virtual stranger..."

"You supposed there must have been something to him after all," Simon finished. He shook his head, remembering his first impression of Blair Sandburg. All he had seen was a hyperactive flower child, the kind that usually tried to get their kicks through vicarious living. The captain had seen the type before; one bad case and they were gone. He'd thought David Lash would be that case. But Blair had stayed, and even when the trouble kept coming rather than abating, he had refused to leave. "It took me a while to see it, but I'm glad I did."

"I think he'd make a good cop," Jim mused.

Simon snorted. "Right."

Jim looked surprised. "You don't?"

"Oh, no," Simon clarified, "I think he would make a damn good cop. But we'd have to convince him to carry a piece AND cut his hair. What are the odds on that?"

A small smirk crept across Jim's features. "Good point. I think we'd get better luck with a lottery ticket."

Simon shrugged. "So we'll file it away under 'Emergency Scenario Plans'. I mean, everyone needs a Plan B, right?"

Though we're probably really well into Plan Y by now... with everything that's happened!

Jim nodded in agreement. "Future consideration. But if you don't mind my saying so, Simon -- we're way past Plan B... try Plan X."

Simon just shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee, and hoped that the 'Sentinel thing' didn't also include psychic abilities. That was an additional weirdness the captain simply didn't need in his life.

Upon his return to the station, Blair had quickly made it known to the detectives in the bullpen that he was neither a china doll nor an invalid simply because he was now diabetic. He didn't want to be fussed over, he didn't want sympathy, and he didn't want to be watched every second. He knew that most of these things would probably happen at one time or another anyway, but he didn't feel like dealing with them on an everyday basis. Even Jim had made a concentrated effort to keep his concern a bit distanced. Just enough so that Blair was monitored without going insane.

In the following week, things began to settle down and return to what passed for normal. The case load was still light, but no longer boringly so. Jim was in Simon's office when Megan poked her head in. "Captain? Can I talk to you?"

Simon nodded. "Come on in."

Jim turned to leave, but Megan's voice stopped him. "No, Jim, you can stick around. It's just about my case." She had to go undercover at a local boarding school -- an all-female one. They didn't even have male teachers or administrators. Being the only female detective in the Major Crime division gave her a slight disadvantage when it came to finding a partner for the operation. "I found someone to go with me."

"Oh, good." Simon nodded. "What division is she from?"

Megan took a breath. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. None of them, technically."

"You brought a civilian in?"

"A well-experienced one," Megan countered, "who was willing to help once I asked. You let Sandy do this sort of thing all the time, after all. The waiver's been signed; it's all legal now."

"Yeah, but Sandburg's a different situation," Simon argued. "We all know him. And..."

"I need him," Jim supplied.

"To help you with your 'Sentinel' thing?" Megan asked. "Well, yes. But this is just one mission; I doubt we'll be pulling this off like we are again. It took me a bit of pleading this time."

"One whose part?" Simon wondered. "To your friend or the department?"

Megan turned, and waved for someone to come in. "You'll see in just a moment. Meet my 'partner' for tonight -- Shirley."

Shirley walked in unsteadily, then readjusted the hat which was pulled down low on her face. She tugged at her dress, then hissed softly and stepped out of her shoes to shake something out of one of them. All in all, she seemed more annoyed at her clothes than worried about the upcoming undercover case. After readjusting her bra, she nodded to the captain and Jim, but said nothing.

Jim assessed her. She was a bit tall, and... well-built would be the nice term. A few inches taller and she'd have been an Amazon woman. She had lovely hair, though -- dark curls, loosely braided back at the moment, leaving only a few rogue strands to frame her face. Jim reached out a hand to her. "Nice to meet you, Ms.... SANDBURG?!" He'd noticed 'Shirley's' face as he'd leaned in... and though heavily made up, it was definitely Blair Sandburg."

"Well, it was short notice; Megan needed someone. I don't do drag as a routine, if that's what concerns you." Blair looked to Megan. "You know you SO owe me for this."

Simon blinked, and looked again. "Damn. This is..."

"What we have to do," Blair insisted in an even tone that told them he'd already made up his mind. "I've done assignments with other people before; I can handle this. We get in and get out before I have a chance to reconsider the idea."

"Why Shirley?" Jim asked.

"Well, 'Blair' might be a little obvious for anyone who'd been watching us," Blair replied. "Sandy seemed almost too... expected... so I looked up my name on a baby names website and found a female name with an almost identical meaning. Besides, we're going as teachers -- Shirley sounded more parochial-teacherish." The observer shot Jim a look, and the detective had to try not to laugh at how damn cute Blair looked with purple eye shadow and rose-red lipstick on. "I'll take care of myself, Jim; it's only for a couple hours."

Jim wasn't overly thrilled with the prospect, but it was obvious to him that arguing would get him nowhere. Blair would do this anyway, because Megan needed the help and that's just the kind of person Blair was. "Just make sure you take your cell phone and keep it charged."

"Yes, Mom."

"Why Blair?" Jim asked.

Megan shrugged. "Rafe might pull it off, but he's too tall. You or any of the other detectives would just NOT make a good woman. I'm not saying Sandy makes the best one ever, but he does a lot better at it than my other options." The Aussie woman laughed. "As long as he doesn't say much; we'll have it covered."

"Well, bang goes that theory," Jim teased, smacking Blair's shoulder playfully.

"Aw, c'mon, Jim," Blair replied. "It's just a couple hours; I can handle that."

Simon leveled a gaze at both Megan and Blair. "Be careful."

"We will." Blair chuckled. "And if we get into trouble, you'll save our asses. You always do."

Neither Jim nor Simon could argue with the statement.

"Besides," Megan added, "I'll have to deal with Ellison if anything happens to his partner, and I don't fancy that. C'mon... Shirley. We'd better get ready; there are a few things to take care of first. Like finding you a last name, for one."

"Yeah." Blair laughed. "Shirley Sandburg... sounds like the introduction to something Jim would yell when he's bitching at me..."

"Everyone's a comedian," Jim countered, with a tolerant sort of affection. He watched the two of them go, then turned back to Simon. "You know, just ONE day... I'd like to know what normal is."

Simon chuckled. "Welcome to Major Crimes -- where the abnormal is normal and the unexpected is expected. Sandburg in drag, geez."

Jim tried to keep a straight face. "I consider it future blackmail material, sir."

"I like the way you think, Detective."

Jim was still gazing out the door at the sight of Megan and Blair leaving the bullpen when Simon spoke again. "You gotta let em grow up and branch out someday, Ellison."

"I'm not his father," Jim said, turning back around.

"No, more like overprotective big brother. Still... he's an adult. We already know we can't control him."

"Funny, that," Jim mused. "I haven't been able to control him since the day he came into my life... but he's given me all the control I ever needed over my senses."

"He's a special case, all right," Simon allowed. "Of course, tell him that and I'll have to kill you."

"Your secret's safe with me, Simon." Jim sighed. "You know... I was doing some research the other night. I found this page from a really old medical book, like the 1800's. They were talking about diabetics, how they died 'at no distant term'. It was pretty depressing."

"Well, the kid picked the right era to get it if he had to," Simon pointed out. "They're doing amazing things nowadays."

"They are at that," Jim agreed. "He's going to be okay. Guess that 'term' is getting more distant now, huh?"

Simon nodded. "I think so. Just keep from breathing down his neck, and you two will both be okay."

Jim grinned. "I'll try."

"Good. Things are a positive mess around here when you two fight. Now get back to work; we've got a city to take care of."

Jim's grin widened just a little more. "Yes, we definitely do." His city. His 'tribe'. His Guide was going to be all right, and he could relax a bit, breathe again, and go on doing what a Sentinel was supposed to do.

Whatever the hell that was. He never knew from day to day.

That's what Blair's for, he reminded himself, crossing to his desk. Jim took a seat, and glanced at the bobby pins lying on the desktop, probably left over from braiding Blair's hair. He shook his head, and picked up a stack of papers that awaited his signature. Despite the weirdness, worry, and frustration, he wouldn't have traded his Guide for the world.

The End

Notes: Many thanks to everyone on Sentinel Angst, who provided such great ideas and encouragement! Mary Ellen -- thanks so much for all the help with first-hand experience! Thanks to Linda for going over this for me... the comments helped, too! Thanks to wolfpup too, for the webspace! This was challenging, but fun to write... I may continue it at a later date with more stories. :-) Can never tell what the muse wants you to do. The medical journal Jim mentions is real; that was actually how I first arrived at the title. To think this all started with a bored nursing student (myself) learning how to give (other people) insulin injections...

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