Disclaimers: As usual, characters not mine, no money.

Special thanks to my out of this world beta who keeps me sane. (Not an easy job to say the very least.) Zoe, you are the absolute best. God bless.

A special note for Jen: You are one of the bravest people I know. May the key to your migraines be discovered so that we can finally be rid of the damn things. Take care of yourself and God bless and keep you.

Warnings: Mega H/C for Blair

Special Notes: This was written as part of a Christmas present to my beta. Six stories, one for each of Jim's special senses. It's corny but here goes: On the first day of Christmas my true friend gave to me, a fanfic with Blair in agony.

DISTORTED VISION

Lady Sam Mallory

"Oh shit," Blair cried out as the bright flashing dots danced all around him. "Not now!" he hissed below his breath.

He reached hesitantly for the phone but knew that he didn't have a choice. He picked it up and dialed Jim at the department.

"Ellison's desk," the voice said flatly. "How may I help you?"

"Rafe?" Blair's quiet voice strained across the line.

"Oh my God, Blair. What's the matter?" Rafe gasped as he heard Blair's weakened voice.

"Where's Jim?" Blair questioned, growing more nauseous by the second.

"He's in court. Won't be done 'til about 5PM. Can I help you with something, Blair?" Rafe asked, his concern growing.

"No, I'll be fine," he lied. "Thanks." Replacing the phone in the cradle, he lurched for his trash can as his stomach rolled, and he lost the meager breakfast he'd eaten four hours before.

"God, this is stupid! Why didn't I have Rafe come and get me and take me home?" Blair asked himself angrily.

He grabbed for the water bottle on his desk and rinsed out his mouth, spitting the vile water into the trash.

The room was spinning and moving in and out of focus around him. "I just need to rest for a second. Then maybe I can make it home in the Volvo," he said uncertainly.

Pulling himself up from his office chair, he made his way to the small couch dragging the trash can behind him. Blair sighed deeply as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes to drive away the tension. He moaned, dropped onto the sofa, and fell into a fitful sleep. Several hours later, he awoke to the pounding in his head. At least I turned off the lights before I called Jim's office, he thought wearily.

Blair shivered as a chill unsettled him to his bones. I just have to make it awhile longer and this headache will go away, he reminded himself.

A knock on the door brought him out of his ravings. "Come in," he sighed. The door opened and Beth peeked into the dungeon Blair affectionately referred to as an office.

"Blair? Oh my... what happened?" she asked quietly.

"Can't move," Blair replied sickly.

"What's the matter, Blair?" Beth repeated gently.

"Migraine," Blair whispered beneath his breath.

"Do you need me to get anything for you?" she asked concerned.

"No, have some pills at home for occasional flare ups, but I haven't needed them in years. I don't know what's wrong with me," Blair stammered.

Beth crossed the room and squared to face him. "Listen, Blair. I wanted to check on you cause you missed teaching your 2PM class. Tim filled in for you, but we got worried when we didn't get a call or anything," Beth finished rapidly.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry. It hit me so fast this time I didn't have time to call anyone to take my class," Blair apologized sincerely upset.

"I'm gonna get Tim and between the two of us we should be able to get you home." Beth turned and left his side, sweeping curls off of Blair's forehead. "I'll be right back," she said smiling down at him before jaunting out the door.

"God, I feel like shit," he groaned as Tim and Beth came back through the door.

"What's going on, Blair?" Tim asked confounded.

"Migraine," Blair whispered in agony.

"Yeah, my sister gets those too," Tim finished, pulling Blair to his feet.

Blair lurched as the room swayed before his eyes, then turned green reaching for the trash can. He retched for a few minutes before they could get him out to the Volvo.

"I'll follow you guys so you don't have to come back for your car, okay Blair?" Beth asked.

"Thanks," Blair replied gratefully.

Thirty minutes later they were helping Blair into the loft after the long drive from campus resulted in two stops along the way for Blair to get sick.

"Are you sure you'll be okay? I hate to leave you here by yourself," Beth's worried tones filled the loft.

"I'll be fine. Jim should be home in the next hour. Thanks again, guys," he thanked them as he closed and locked the door.

Chilled, he pulled another sweatshirt over his already growing number of layers.

His stomach churned, but he knew that his medication could possibly help alleviate the symptoms. He rooted through the drawer of his nightstand until he came across the bottle he was looking for. Struggling to open the rarely used pills, the lid dropped to the floor and his pills spilled. He grabbed two from the floor and washed them down with cool water.

Blair heaved forward as the pills came up on his pillow, but he didn't have the energy to grab more. He had barely had the energy to turn his head to the side to avoid choking. He flopped back on his pillows and settled into a restless sleep too weak to move.

Jim opened the door as he stretched his hearing confirming that his Guide was already home. His smile at the familiar, albeit slightly raised, heart rate faded as he realized Blair was groaning in the other room.

Jim lengthened his stride and pushed through the doors gasping at the sight of his partner on the bed.

Blair was sprawled out on the bed like usual, fully dressed, his brow knitted with constant pain.

"Blair?" Jim roused quietly as he crossed the room. The crunching beneath his feet drew his attention as he looked down to see pills scattered all over the floor. He dialed down his smell as the stench of vomit reached his sensitive nose. God, Blair, what the hell happened here? he wondered as he leaned in to wake the dozing Guide.

"Chief, wake up," he commanded gently as he brushed Blair's hair out of his eyes. He gasped when he noticed that Blair had vomited on his bed. "Blair? Come on, you've gotta get up!" he commanded with a little more authority this time.

Blair stirred lightly under his touch. "Whaaat?" he asked in a slurred voice. His pale features glistened with sweat as blue eyes opened minutely to see who disturbed the walking dead. "Jim, what is it? You okay?" Blair asked quietly, concentrating to make the words understood.

Jim smiled down at him. "Well, Darwin, I think so. I'm not the one passed out in my bed, laying in my own vomit, with my medication strewn all over the floor. Think we can get you to the couch so I can put fresh sheets on your bed and get you cleaned up?" Jim asked quietly.

"Yeah, sorry, man. Migraine hit hard this time. Wasn't ready," Blair gasped out heavily.

"No problem, Chief. Did you take more of these pills after you tossed up the first batch?" Jim inquired.

Blair shook his head negatively, instantly regretting the action as pain slammed into him like a hurricane. He grabbed his head with both hands to ensure that it didn't explode into fragments as Jim helped him sit up.

Jim helped him to the couch and brought a bowl and washcloth to clean up his friend. He gingerly washed away the sweat and vomit that stuck stubbornly to his friend's face and hair. Placing the cold cloth on Blair's forehead, he got up to retrieve two pills from the floor in Blair's room.

"How long you been like this, Chief?" Jim asked, silently dreading the answer.

"I don't know. I was in my office for a couple hours before Beth found me. She and Tim helped me home about 4:00, and I went straight to bed after popping some pills," Blair replied softly.

"Why didn't you call me when you realized it was so bad?" Jim could barely contain his anger.

"I did. Rafe said you were in court all day, so I crashed in my office 'cause I wasn't safe to drive."

"Next time it's this bad you tell Rafe it's an emergency. Now take these very slowly, one at a time. Let's see if you can keep them down this time. When was the last time you ate?" Jim questioned.

Blair shrugged, "I remember a bagel this morning, but tossed that at lunch time." He cringed realizing he had just given the Detective too much information.

"God, Blair. I'll make some broth and you eat what you can. Next time this happens and you don't call me, I'll kick your ass right off the balcony, okay?" Jim promised, giving Blair the famous Ellison Evil Eye.

"Okay, okay, but I am feeling a little better you know. Don't have a cow, man! We don't have anyplace to keep it!" Blair finished, laughing as he continued to cradle his aching head.

The End