Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally written around 2005, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

Plot Blurb: Blair has a severe case of the flu; Jim's in Blessed Protector mode

Prime Imperative: Care for the Guide

by EvergreenDreamweaver

Thursday, 7:30 a.m.

It was going to be a bad day…Blair Sandburg knew it as soon as his alarm went off, the sound ricocheting through his head like a ping-pong ball crossed with a steam whistle. He reached for the offending article, flailing blindly, and mashed the 'off' switch.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow…damn!" Blair hauled himself to a sitting position and dropped his forehead into his cupped hands. His head, which had been aching mildly when he went to bed the previous night, was now throbbing mercilessly, hot spikes of pain driving into his temples and behind his eyes.

Groaning, Blair pushed off blankets and sheets, and staggered to his feet. Gotta get up…early office hours…class…help Jim at the station….He swallowed, and flinched; when had his throat gotten so raw? Rubbing his forehead fretfully, he jerked open the French doors and started across the loft, heading for the bathroom. Hope Jim's not in there still….

But Jim Ellison wasn't in the bathroom and he wasn't in the kitchen – and he wasn't upstairs in his aerie-like bedroom, and he didn't seem to be anywhere in the loft at all! Blair looked around, confused. Where was Jim? Finally he saw the piece of paper lying on the kitchen table, and picked it up, squinting myopically at the firm, dashing black script. Sandburg, had to leave early – meeting before court. See you this afternoon. J.

So…Jim was already gone. There went his chance to have someone else fix breakfast…Blair paused, grimacing. He really wasn't all that hungry anyway. Remembering his original destination, he shuffled towards the bathroom, hoping aspirin and a hot shower might make him feel slightly more like a human being.

##########

Thursday, 10:00 a.m.

Office hours had been peaceful; evidently no anthropology students were motivated to seek out professorial advice at 8 a.m. Seated in his small, stuffy office, Blair had alternately shivered and sweated, popped throat lozenges by the handfuls, and wished time would pass so that he could take another dose of aspirin. Not that the ones he'd already taken had done much of anything. He still felt lousy, and he suspected he was running a fever, although he hadn't bothered to dig out the thermometer in the bathroom medicine cabinet and check, before heading for Rainier. Every muscle in his body throbbed, and the pain was especially bad in his back and across his chest. Everything hurts….He bit back a self-pitying whimper.

Anthro 102 was only half full, Sandburg noted blearily. He knew that the flu was running rampant around the campus of Rainier University – hell, it was running rampant through the whole city of Cascade ! – but this was the largest number of absences he'd noticed in his classes. And it's finally hit the teacher, he conceded. Hang on, Sandburg, you can get through it. And your eleven o'clock. And then you can make it through more office time…and then you can make it to the station….He shivered, and tried to hold back the cough he felt tickling his throat, and continued his lecture.

##########

Thursday, 1:15 p.m.

When Sandburg finally arrived at the Major Crimes bullpen, he was relieved to find it deserted, save for Rhonda, the department secretary, who was currently on the telephone. She looked up and smiled at Blair's entrance, and he managed to summon a wan smile in response, glad not to have to try and make conversation. He waved, half-heartedly, and forced his aching knees to move him across the floor to the desk he shared with Detective Jim Ellison. Dropping into his usual chair with a long sigh of relief, Blair shrugged his backpack off, and leaned over the desk, resting his throbbing head in his hands. So tired…hurt all over…so cold….

After a few moments, however, he resolutely pulled himself upright and looked at the Inbox piled high with folders. He knew there were reports to be written – and Jim counted on him to do them! Can't let…Jim down. He trusts me with this. Shivering despite the fact that he'd left his coat on, Blair picked up the top file in the box and reached into a drawer for the proper form. Concentrating fiercely, the Guide tried to focus on the words in front of him.

As time passed, he was vaguely aware of the room's population growing, of people returning from lunch, coming in and going out, of telephones ringing and people chatting – but he kept his attention on the paperwork. The other detectives, seeing Sandburg so immersed in his work, forbore disturbing him, not wanting to break his concentration – all unknowing the young anthropologist was on the verge of physical collapse. Instead, they worked around him, striving to be quieter than usual – and Blair doggedly plowed on through the reports, the feverish buzzing in his ears blocking out the noises of the bullpen. Occasionally, he glanced at his watch, willing the time to pass. Jim…Jim will be here soon – he'll see something's wrong, he'll take me home where I can lie down and rest….

At 3:48 , Jim Ellison pushed open the door to Major Crimes and strode in, yanking impatiently at his tie as he did so. Court appearances were a necessary evil in his job, and he despised them, but today hadn't been too bad, and at least they'd gotten out before 5 p.m. He glanced around the busy bullpen, automatically cataloging and noting where everyone was and what they were doing. Simon's office door cracked open – hmmm, he expected the bellow of 'Ellison – my office!' any second, once Simon knew he was in the vicinity. Megan Connor was at her desk in the corner, talking to someone on the phone. Joel Taggart wasn't around, but Rafe and Henri Brown were in their usual places, discussing something or other with great vigor. With anyone else, it might have been termed an argument, but that was just their customary method.

Jim glanced at his own desk next, and smiled involuntarily when he spotted his partner and Guide hunched over the never-ending paperwork, one hand clutching a pen and the other buried in his dark curls. The Sentinel was just about to move towards him, his mouth already opening to say 'Hey, Chief!', when the anticipated summons came from the Captain's office.

"Ellison! My office!"

Without even breaking stride, Ellison swerved and obeyed. He didn't see Sandburg's reaction – the raised head, the hope for rescue in the fever-bright blue eyes…and the crushing disappointment as Jim didn't even seem to notice him. Didn't notice how he was feeling – and how Blair needed help. Sighing, the younger man bent his head over the report again, trying to make sense of the words which seemed to take a perverse enjoyment in crawling about on the page and running into each other.

Questions about the possible outcome of the trial Ellison had testified at quickly dispensed with, Simon Banks leaned back in his desk chair and surveyed his best detective with approval.

"Good job, Jim. All-around good job on that case, you and Sandburg..." A slight frown creased Banks' brow. "Why isn't he with you?" he inquired, looking around as if he expected Blair to be tethered to Jim's side…as he usually was.

Ellison chuckled. "You got me in here before I even had a chance to say 'hello' to him, and he was so deep in reports he never even saw me come in. And," he added, a bit defensively, "you didn't call him in here – just me!"

"When did that ever stop him?" Banks grumbled, but he smiled as he said it. "Okay, that'll do it for today. Stick around if you have things you need to finish, but if you want to call it a day, take off." He waved a dismissive hand at Ellison, and reached for a file folder.

Jim exited the office with alacrity, heading for his desk. "Hey, Chief, how's it goin'?" he asked, as he slid into his chair.

Blair barely lifted his head. "Hi, Jim," he muttered. "How was court?" He coughed softly into his fist.

"Fine – went slick." Ellison was leafing through his telephone messages. "Simon says if there isn't anything too pressing, we can take off a little early…oh hell, I knew this guy'd call back when I wasn't here….Sandburg, can you get the Abernathy file from Connor for me; there's something I need to check on, before I return this call."

Blair coughed, swallowed, and tried to focus. Jim needed him to help…help Jim, that's what he was there for. Get the file from Megan – maybe then they could go home soon. "Right – Abernathy." He pushed his chair back and forced himself to his feet, clinging to the edge of the desk, every aching muscle protesting the move.

And all hell broke loose in Blair Sandburg's body.

The pounding pain in his head increased to jackhammer proportions as he stood up, and incredibly, the walls of Major Crimes began to revolve around him as he stood there, first slowly, then faster and faster. Blair's vision narrowed to a dark tunnel with a bright pinpoint of light at the end…and then even that disappeared as the Guide's knees buckled and he fell in a crumpled heap to the floor.

"SANDBURG!" Ellison's roar shattered the quiet bustle of the bullpen as he surged from his chair and lunged around the desk. "BLAIR!"

"Sandy !"

"Holy shit, what—"

"Jim, what's—"

The kneeling Sentinel was surrounded by hovering fellow members of Major Crimes but at the moment he was too busy concentrating on the prone body of his beloved Guide to notice them. Carefully, he turned Sandburg onto his back, and absently accepted the folded-up sweater Rafe handed him, to slide beneath his partner's head. "Blair – Chief – Jesus, he's burning up!" Very gently, Ellison let his hands ghost over Sandburg's face, feeling the heat radiate off his skin; at the same time extending his senses to hear Blair's heartbeat and check his breathing – and the results were disquieting in the extreme! His heart's beating triple time, his breathing's labored, and shit, his temp's gotta be at least 103…. "Blair – c'mon Sandburg, open your eyes for me, can you do that, Chief? Open your eyes and look at me – please—"

"Christ on a crutch!" Simon was there now, crouching next to Ellison. "What HAPPENED?"

"He just…stood up and…passed out," Jim choked over the words. "His temperature's way up, Simon, and he's breathing funny…."

At that moment the subject of conversation moved his head slightly and opened his eyes. He blinked dazedly up at the circle of faces hovering over him, instinctively seeking the comfort and reassurance of his Sentinel…."J-Jim? What…what happened?"

"God, Blair!" Ellison laid the backs of his fingers against Blair's fire-hot cheek. "You scared the hell out of us! No, no, stay put!" Very gently the detective held him still, as Blair made a feeble attempt to sit up. "You passed out, Chief." A stern blue glare fixed Sandburg in place. "How long have you been sick without telling anyone?"

"Just…today." Blair croaked. "It's just…the flu. All over…campus...and Cascade too." Again he tried to sit up, but was forced to abandon the effort as another wave of dizziness swept over him.

"Better call an ambulance, or take him to the hospital, Jim," Rafe advised quietly. "He doesn't look good."

Jim nodded agreement, but at the words 'ambulance,' and 'hospital,' Blair forced himself into action…words, at least.

"No! No ambulance. No hospital." A fit of coughing cut off the protests for a few moments. "Please…just want to…go…home." A pleading look at his partner emphasized Blair's sincerity. "Please, Jim – please, I'll be okay. I promise…."

Torn, Ellison glanced at the others for an opinion. He knew Blair needed to be taken care of, but for the flu, what could a hospital do that he couldn't? They'd prescribe fluids and bed rest and analgesics, and send Blair home anyway. Or keep him, and give him fluids and analgesics and bed rest. At a horrendous cost, even with insurance. "You think he'd be okay?" he asked softly.

Captain Banks pinched the bridge of his nose, as he always did when stressed. "You don't mind taking care of him?" he temporized. He knew the answer perfectly well. Ellison was devoted to his partner, and Jim could care for him – former medic, best friend, protector, roommate, Sentinel. Who better to care for – and care about – Blair Sandburg?

"Please, Jim. I'll try not to be too much trouble…." Barely there, but clear to Sentinel hearing.

"Okay, Chief. Home. BUT—" Ellison paused, face full of mock-severity. "But if I'm going to take care of you, that means you cooperate. No arguments about natural remedies, or how you don't like to take aspirin, or any of that shit. I believe in pre-emptive strikes on flu germs. Got it? This is in front of witnesses." He waved a hand to indicate the other detectives.

Blair tried to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a whimper, and then abruptly turned into a hacking cough. "Covert Ops takes on Influenza Type B? Not sure who'll win, Big Guy…. I'll be good," he breathed. "Just…wanna…go home."

The Sentinel's eyes stung with suppressed emotion at Blair's repeated plea. "Then let's get there, Junior," he growled softly. "Think you can manage to walk to the truck?"

Blair nodded, and accepted Megan and Brown's help to sit up, then managed to scramble to his feet. He clung briefly to Brown's shoulder, then Jim was there, taking over. The Guide felt his partner's strong arm encircle him tightly, and relaxed into the half-embrace. "My…stuff – my car…."

"Got it, Chief." Ellison took the backpack from Rafe, and tossed it over one shoulder. "And your car will be fine in the lot. I'll call later," he added to Simon, who nodded.

"Just get him home and into bed," the captain advised.

##########

It wasn't an easy trip, not in the least. Blair was dizzy from the fever, and could barely focus through his excruciating headache. He ached all over, every muscle complaining about movement, every joint stating its reluctance to do the job it was programmed for. And his chest felt so thick and tight, breathing was a major struggle. Blair suspected that, were it not for Jim's arm firmly about him, he'd have collapsed in the elevator. As it was, he leaned against his partner and closed his eyes, trying to absorb the unsettling downward motion of the elevator car.

"I hate elevators," he whispered against the rough tweed of Ellison's jacket, hating the admission and too miserable to care.

"I know, Chief. You're safe. Just hang in there."

Walking to Ellison's truck was another hurdle. Once they reached it, Blair found himself being unceremoniously bundled – nay, lifted – into the cab and his seat belt buckled as if he'd been a fractious three-year-old.

"Jiiiimmmmm!" Gods, now he sounded like a fractious three-year-old! What would Jim think of the infantile way his Guide was behaving?

"Shush," Jim hushed him firmly, disregarding his wailed protest. "Lean back and rest." He slammed the passenger door and walked around to his own side. Blair sighed – and obeyed the injunction. Well, it was what he felt like doing anyhow, wasn't it?

The ride home was quiet, broken by only a few Ellison glares and grumbles about the stupidity of certain partners who were too stubborn to admit they were sick and tried to carry on regardless. Blair, recognizing full Blessed Protector/mother hen/Sentinel-to-Guide mode when he saw it – and worried-best-friend mode as well, contented himself with making meaningless sounds of agreement, disagreement, or submission as the comment demanded.

Jim parked the truck and turned to his unhappy Guide. "Sit tight, Sandburg. Don't try getting out by yourself. I don't want to end up scraping you off the sidewalk!"

Blair wanted to protest, but his attempt suddenly turned into a spasm of very nasty-sounding coughs. He groaned, and pressed his fingers against his throbbing forehead.

Jim winced, and moved a little faster. He opened the pickup passenger door and eased Blair down to the ground, wrapping a supportive arm about his Guide. "Come on, Chief, not much farther. Just hang on to me."

Blair didn't argue. He had to use all his concentration to stay upright. He thanked several deities that the building elevator had just been repaired last month. Despite his feelings about elevators in general, he was quite fond of the one in their building…when it worked. At least he wouldn't have to try to climb the stairs!

Even without having to deal with the stairs, by the time they reached the loft door, Blair was sagging against Jim's shoulder with his eyes tightly shut, his breath wheezing in his chest. Jim unlocked the door, twisted the knob, and shoved it open with his elbow. Once inside, he dropped Sandburg's backpack on the floor and steered the drooping younger man towards the couch. "Just a couple more steps, Chief…that's it, that's good. There. Easy down, now."

Blair sank onto the couch and crumpled into a heap. "Everything's spinning," he muttered into the cushions. "Around…and around…and around…and I'm s-so cold….I can't get warm. And everything hurts…." He stopped, and raised miserable eyes to his hovering partner, who was gently attempting to remove his friend's coat. "I'm sorry, Jim," he whispered. "So sorry….Sorry to be a…nuisance. You shouldn't have volunteered to take care of me. Now you're stuck with it – with having to deal with me being sick…and you'll probably get it too – and Simon will blame me, and rightfully so, because it's all my fault—" He would have continued, but another bout of painful coughs prevented it.

Jim leaned over him, rubbing his back soothingly through the coughing attack. "Easy….It's okay, Chief. Don't be silly…we're partners. Friends. I'm the one who's supposed to look after you and make sure you're okay. Blessed Protector, remember? Anyway, I'm not going to catch it – and even if I do, Simon will just have to deal with it. And he won't blame you. Shhh…easy now, easy."

When Blair finally managed to draw a deep breath and relax, Jim laid him back against the arm of the sofa. "You just stay put for a minute, and let me get things organized, okay? You've got a fever, chills, and you ache all over – right? I can't cure you, but maybe we can deal with the symptoms. How does a hot bath sound – and something soothing to drink for your throat, and another something to take down that fever a notch? And then bed."

Blair tried to smile. "Sounds – great, man," he rasped. A shiver ran through his frame.

Jim frowned in concern, then tucked the afghan from the back of the couch around his partner. "I'll be right back."

The sounds of running water filled the loft – water filling the bathtub, water filling a glass, water being run into the teakettle. Blair huddled in the afghan and let the familiar noises wash comfortingly over him, dimly aware of Ellison doing something in the kitchen…doing something in the bathroom…walking past the couch and laying a gentle hand on Blair's aching head for just an instant….

"Come on, Chief, think you can make it to the bathroom? I guarantee it'll feel good, once you get in the tub."

Jim was urging him to his feet with gentle encouragement, holding him upright, gently propelling him in the direction of the bathroom. Blair tried to focus, but the loft walls were spinning with the same demonic precision the precinct walls had revolved. "Oh man…things are spinning, Jim."

"Hold on, Junior, I've got you." The Sentinel tightened his grip. "Almost there….There, easy now, just sit down."

Blair found himself seated on the closed lid of the toilet, with Jim carefully divesting him of his clothing. The bathtub waited invitingly, filled with steaming water, and the scent of almond bath oil filled the little room. He took a quivering breath, and rubbed a hand across his face. When he realized Jim had him stripped to his boxer shorts, however, Blair was nearly overwhelmed with embarrassment.

"Man – Jim, I can take it from here." The younger man wasn't sure if it was fever or chagrin, but he could feel his cheeks burning, despite the constant tremors which were running through him. "I can – I'll be all right."

Ellison, however, was hearing none of it. "Chief, if you think I'm going to let you try to climb in there by yourself when you can barely stand up on your own, you're sicker than I'd thought. Once you're in, I'll let you have some privacy, but you're not doing that. No way." He did, however, turn his head away for a moment, allowing Blair to remove his boxers without observation; then calmly helped his flushed partner step into the tub.

"Ohhhh…" Blair let himself sink into the water and leaned back against the bath pillow at the end of the tub with a heartfelt sigh. The heat enveloped him, surrounded him, soothed and supported his aching muscles…Blair wondered dreamily if this was what heaven might be like. If it was, he decided he was ready to die now.

Jim chuckled softly. "I take it that feels good?"

"Yeah." Sandburg kept his eyes shut. His shivers were subsiding.

"Okay, but try not to fall asleep, Chief. I don't want you to drown. I'd never be able to explain it to Simon." Jim laid a hand against his partner's forehead once more. "I'll get you some aspirin, and then make sure your bed's ready."

"'kay." The answer was drowsy, but Blair was quite aware that he had to stay awake. He meekly swallowed the aspirin tablets presented to him, and closed his eyes again, as Jim left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

When the temperature of the water began to drop, Blair reluctantly decided he would need to get out – but his hair had gotten wet and tangled, and although he'd soaked, he hadn't gotten any cleaner. A shower – complete with soap – was indicated. Thank heavens the brief rest seemed to have reduced his dizziness! "Jim?" he murmured, knowing his partner would hear his slightest whisper.

"Right here, buddy." Jim's concerned face popped around the edge of the bathroom door. "You ready to get out?"

"Actually, I need to stand up and shower," Blair replied hoarsely. "I'm just not sure…"

"Hang on, I'll give you a hand." Ellison was beside the tub in two strides, flipping the lever to let the water out, and reaching for Blair's arm. "Easy, I've got you….that's it, that's why there are grab bars." After making sure his Guide was steady on his feet, Jim turned on the water and switched it from tub to shower. He angled the shower head to minimize the splash out of the tub area, as the shower curtain was still partially open. "Can you manage okay by yourself?"

"Think so—" Blair was already starting to shiver, as the cooler air hit his wet body.

"Get under that hot water," the Sentinel commanded, "and make it snappy! I'll shut the curtain, but I'll be right here, so if you need me, just say so!"

Sandburg obeyed, and managed to soap and rinse with little difficulty. Shampooing and conditioning his hair took more effort, and he was starting to tremble with weariness as well as chill by the time he completed the task. He turned off the water and stood there, dripping forlornly.

An arm and hand holding two towels slithered past the plastic curtain. "Here Chief, wrap one around you and one around your hair, and let's get you dressed and out of here."

Gratefully, Blair took the towels and obeyed his partner. When he shoved the curtain back, Jim was waiting with outstretched hands to assist him from the tub, and immediately wrapped a third towel about Blair's shoulders, rubbing softly. "Easy now, Chief. Just another minute or two, that's all, and then we'll get you all tucked up and warm…." The Sentinel dried Blair's shoulders, then quickly slid his own softest, cuddliest flannel shirt onto the younger man. "Buttons," he instructed briefly, and while Blair fumbled with the buttons, Jim proceeded to finish drying him off, and matter-of-factly helped him slide into a fresh pair of boxers, then added Blair's worn terrycloth bathrobe. "Now – do you think you could stand to be on the couch for a little while?"

"The couch?" Blair blinked. He had envisioned collapsing into bed immediately, not lounging around in the living room.

"Just for a little while," Jim encouraged. "I want you to drink something, and it would be easier for you if you're on the couch. It's fixed up to be comfortable." Gently, he steered his partner from the bathroom, and Blair spotted the sofa with a soft gasp of astonishment. Maybe he was hallucinating? Or, more likely, while Blair had been dozing in the bathtub, Jim had been almighty busy!

The couch had been transformed into an inviting nest of pillows, sheets, and blankets. The pillow at the end was covered with a towel, obviously for Sandburg's wet hair. On the coffee table stood a mug of something – something which wafted steam into the air – with a short straw protruding from the top, plus two glasses, one which appeared to hold orange juice, the other containing what might be 7-Up, or possibly ginger ale. A bottle of cough syrup stood there too, and a small blue jar with a green label, which brought back immediate memories of childhood illness remedies to Blair.

"Wow…" he murmured weakly.

"Just for a little while." Jim urged his roommate towards the couch. "You can go to bed soon if you want to." Carefully, he settled Blair into the softness and tucked a warm thermal-weave blanket over him, then topped that with the afghan. "Warm enough?" The Sentinel perched beside him, on the edge of the couch.

"Yeah." Blair let himself relax into the pillows. He felt incredibly…looked after! "Jim, you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble—" The words broke off abruptly as a bout of coughing took the Guide by surprise. When it ended, he sank back, and closed his eyes, feeling Jim's gentle hand rubbing soothing circles on his aching chest.

"Stop fighting me, buddy; you promised, remember?" Jim reached for the steaming cup. "Here – try this. Guaranteed to make you feel better."

"What is it?" Blair half-opened his eyes curiously, making no attempt to take the mug.

"Something you'll like, I promise." Ellison held out the cup enticingly. "Nothing nasty – which is, I might say, more than I'd get from you, were our situations reversed!"

"Very funny." Reluctantly, Blair snaked a hand from beneath the blankets and accepted the mug. He brought it close to his face and took the straw in his mouth, sipping gingerly. Hot…sweet-tart…."Hot lemonade? Where'd we get lemonade?" A genuine smile of pleasure lighted the Guide's features. "Mmmm!" He took another sip, then a longer swallow.

Jim grinned, pleased that Blair appreciated his efforts. "Drink it all up before it cools off. And as for where we got it, we do have a bottle of lemon juice, and there's a lemonade recipe on the back.""

Blair needed no further urging; he gulped the soothing liquid as fast as he could. When the cup was empty, he extended it to Ellison. "More?"

"A little later," his partner parried. "Do you think you could eat something?"

Sandburg shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Don't want anything to eat." He swallowed gingerly. "My throat hurts too much – and…and…"

"A little queasy?"

"Uh-huh."

"That may be from all the aspirin….Try some of this." Ellison offered the glass of 7-Up. Blair looked uncertain, but sipped a little.

Ellison reached towards the table again, and this time brought up the bottle of cough syrup. "And this."

Blair wrinkled his nose distastefully, but knew Jim wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. He let the Sentinel measure out a dose of the cherry liquid, and gulped it down, with a hasty chaser of 7-Up to kill the taste. "Uck! How much more you gonna do to me, Ellison? This is starting to turn into torture." Although Blair had been feeling slightly better – the hot bath, the aspirin, and the lemonade combining to soothe the worst of his flu symptoms – he suddenly was starting to feel worse again.

"Uh – one more thing," Ellison continued, with a slightly nervous glance at his partner. He picked up the little blue jar. "I'm going to rub this on your chest; it'll help you breathe."

"Ohhh, Jim man, that is like so gross!" Blair's protest came quickly. "It'll get all in my hair, man!"

"Tough." The Sentinel couldn't completely bite back his grin. "This comes under the heading of 'for your own good.' Come on, Chief, just relax and go with it."

Very reluctantly, Blair lowered the blankets. Jim unbuttoned the oversized flannel shirt, exposing the softly-furred chest to view. Blair shivered. "Hurry it up, man!"

Ellison unscrewed the cap and paused a moment, evidently adjusting dials. Then he dug in and extracted a thick glob of eucalyptus-camphor-scented ointment. Rubbing it on his hands briefly to warm it, he proceeded to apply it generously to his Guide's throat and upper chest. Blair squirmed a little at first, then relaxed as the soothing heat began to penetrate his aching body.

"Doing okay? Think it's helping?" Jim recapped the bottle, wiped his hands on the tails of Blair's flannel shirt – obviously forgetting that it was his shirt – and began to re-button it.

"It's not…hurting, anyway," Sandburg conceded. He took a tentative deep breath. "Yeah, I guess it helps. But jeez, Jim, how can you stand smelling me, with your senses?"

Jim chuckled wryly. "It's not so bad. I've smelled worse. Hey, you know what, I'll bet you smell like a koala bear!"

The Guide stared at him in bemusement. "Okay, now I know I'm hallucinating! Did you just say I smell like a koala bear?"

"Sure, Chief. Koala bears eat eucalyptus leaves. There's eucalyptus in this stuff. Therefore, koala bears probably smell like Vicks Vaporub™, and now so do you!" Jim's teasing grin became a full laugh.

Blair's answering laugh turned into another coughing attack, but even so he didn't stop chuckling for a long time, interspersing the hacks with mutters of 'koala bear.' At last, however, he subsided and lay back against the soft pillows. Jim drew up the blankets, snuggling them close to his partner's chin.

"Rest now, guppy," he whispered. "Just rest. I'll be here."

##########

For a time, peace reigned in the loft apartment at 852 Prospect Street , but Jim Ellison knew quite well that this evening was merely the beginning. Sandburg wasn't going to miraculously recover from the flu in a few hours, and there was really nothing the Sentinel could do to speed that recovery. All he could do was try his damndest to alleviate the discomforts Blair had to endure.

With that in mind, Jim set out to make Blair's bedroom just as cozy as he had made the living room couch. While his partner dozed, Ellison cleared off the futon, put clean flannel sheets on it – they were too big, being made for Jim's queen-sized bed, but he tucked in edges to make them fit – and added extra blankets and pillows. He was thankful that they had a surplus of pillows in the loft – Jim wasn't sure exactly why they had so many, or how they'd acquired them all – but it was most certainly a Godsend right now! He straightened up Blair's room a little, stacking books, notebooks, and papers on the already-crowded desk top, and hanging up or folding and putting away articles of clothing. Some, he sniffed and immediately consigned to the laundry hamper in the bathroom. He made space on the night table, and brought in glasses of water and 7-Up, and a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, and the cough syrup. Surveying the room, Ellison tried to think what else might be needed.

Ice. Cold packs for his forehead. The thermometer. The Sentinel snapped his fingers at the thought, and made another trip to the kitchen and bathroom medicine cabinet, attempting to be as quiet as possible so as not to waken his roommate. What else? Another finger snap. Heating pad. Another hasty trip to the linen closet. Tissues? He looked around and spotted some on the desk, and nodded, satisfied.

"Jim?" The soft, husky, slightly fretful voice caught Ellison's attention, and he hurried back to the living room.

"Hey Chief…" A gentle hand rested on the hot forehead, and sentinel senses calculated the temperature: still up over 102, if I'm any judge…and I am! "Can I get you anything?"

"A new body?" Blair scowled resentfully. "I don't like this one any more!"

"Sorry, but that's a little beyond my capabilities, Sandburg." Jim continued to stroke Blair's forehead soothingly. "I'm good, but there are limits. Head aching again?"

"Headache, backache, muscle ache, you name it, it hurts." Blair shifted restlessly in his downy nest. "There was an old Bob Newhart series on TV once, you know? In one of the shows, his wife had the flu. She said everything hurt – even her hair hurt! When he was describing it over the phone to the doctor, the doctor told him that was the kind of flu it was. Even your hair hurts. That's the kind I've got, Jim!"

"Wow, Chief, that would be an awful lot of pain," Jim commented, glancing at the long, lustrous curls spread out over the pillow. His eyes twinkled with suppressed amusement. Blair glared at him.

"Fine, make fun of me, see if I care. I thought you were into making me feel better, man. Where'd my Blessed Protector go?"

"I am trying to, Chief, I am. I'm sorry." Jim chuckled a little, then glanced at his watch. "Can't give you any more aspirin or Tylenol yet. Are you tired of the couch? Want to move into your room?"

Blair considered it for a moment, then nodded. "I think so." Slowly, he began to struggle free of the encompassing blankets, but as soon as he did so, he began to shiver again. "D-Damn it all…"

"Here." Ellison wrapped the thermal blanket about his Guide's shoulders. "Hit the bathroom, Sandburg, and I'll heat up some more lemonade."

Getting Blair settled again took some time. He was very pleased with what Jim had done to his room, but even cuddle-soft sheets, a heating pad behind his back, and an ice-cold compress on his forehead couldn't take away all the discomfort. Jim finally suggested that his Guide stretch out on his stomach for a back rub, in hopes that massage might succeed where other options had failed. If nothing else, it would use up some time, and then Sandburg could take another dose of pain relievers, more cough syrup, drink more hot lemonade…and hopefully could then drift off to sleep.

"Mmmm…"

"That feel good, Chief?"

"Mmmm…"

Ellison grinned. Blair had rapidly gone from tense and fretful to limply relaxed, under the Sentinel's skillful hands. He dialed up his hearing and monitored his partner's heartbeat and respiration. Fever-fast, but not pounding, he noted thankfully, and his breathing's not too congested. He'd double-checked his friend's temperature with the thermometer, and found that a sentinel guess was a close approximation to a clinical thermometer: Blair's temperature was 103.2. Sandburg coughed occasionally, but that wasn't worrisome in itself, only in that it was likely to keep him awake.

"Don't fall completely asleep, Junior; you've got cough syrup and aspirin to take, and hot lemonade to drink, remember?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Chief? You still awake?"

"Hmm-mm…"

"Come on, Sandburg, massage therapy's over." Jim smoothed his hand over Blair's back one last time. Reluctantly, Blair turned over and blinked sleepily up at his roommate.

"Thanks, Jim…"

"You don't have to keep thanking me," Ellison chided gently.

"Yes I do – I want you to understand." Blair stared up at his Sentinel, his ocean-blue eyes luminous. "All day – when I kept feeling worse and worse – I kept going by saying to myself, 'Once you can get to Jim, he'll make it all okay. You can keep going, because he'll help….'" Sandburg sighed tiredly. "And…you did. Do. Are."

"Tryin', Chief…doing my best." Ellison felt his cheeks flush at the younger man's heartfelt admission, and cast about for a quick change of subject. The telephone's ring was a welcome interruption. "Stay put while I answer the phone."

"Not goin' anywhere," Blair murmured, and closed his eyes.

"Ellison."

"Jim?" Simon's anxious voice reached the Sentinel's ears. "How's the kid?"

"Simon!"Ellison lightly hit himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. "Damn, I'm sorry; I meant to call earlier, and then got distracted."

"It's okay, Ellison, but how's Sandburg?" Simon repeated the question.

"Holding his own," Jim glanced towards the French doors and dropped his voice a notch. "Still feverish, still coughing, still achy, but it's under control at the moment."

"You don't think he'd try to teach tomorrow, do you?" Simon fretted. "What's his schedule, do you know? Are you gonna stay with him all day?"

"His…damn!" Jim bit off further expletives. "I never even thought about that!" A quick glance at his watch showed him that it was too late to call anyone but close friends, short of an emergency. "I wonder if he has someone I could call…? Simon, I'd better find out."

"Go on, go on. I'll assume you won't be in tomorrow, or at any rate, until afternoon. Tell Sandburg to take it easy." Banks ended the call with a decisive click.

When asked about someone who might cover his classes, Blair scrunched up his forehead in thought, then asked for the telephone and started dialing. A few moments' conversation – in his extremely scratchy-sounding voice, with a coughing spasm thrown in for good measure – resulted in a promise to teach for him, a reassurance that all scheduled meetings would be postponed, and several threats of dismemberment if he dared show his face on campus until he was well again.

"'Sa good thing you thought of that; I'd spaced it completely," Sandburg murmured, as Jim took the cordless phone back to the living room.

"I didn't, Chief, Simon did. He said to tell you to take it easy, by the way – and you're not to worry about work at the station, either." Jim was extemporizing now, but he figured Blair would never know the difference. Besides, Simon might have said it!

"Mmmm." Blair nodded sleepily, then abruptly started coughing once more.

"Aw, Chief…." Jim was beside him in a flash, bracing him with an arm across his chest, rubbing his back with his free hand, willing the attack to abate. What good was it being a Blessed Protector, he fumed silently, if you couldn't help in a situation like this? "Easy…easy, buddy – easy, Blair."

Just short of coughing until he gagged, Blair finally managed to stop, and gratefully sipped the water Jim handed him. He let Ellison lower him gently to the stacked pillows, where he lay quietly and attempted to catch his breath.

"Enough talking," the detective advised. "It's time for more of anything that might help you sleep."

Blair wasn't sure if he was being tended to by an Army Ranger medic, a Sentinel in full-blown 'care for the Guide' mode, or a Blessed Protector obsessed with his Blessed Protect-ee. Whichever it was, Jim was temporarily a whirlwind of activity, and Blair shortly found himself downing another dose of cough remedy, swallowing aspirin, sipping a fresh cup of hot lemonade, enduring another coating of Vicks™ spread on his chest, having a heating pad nestled behind his back and a cold compress laid across his aching eyes. He felt sick, groggy, exhausted…and so utterly cherished it brought tears to his eyes.

"Jim, man…you are just so damn unbelievable," he breathed. "Nobody else…would do this…for me. Can't ever – thank you enough."

Jim just smiled, his ice-blue eyes unusually soft. "Just get better," he returned, resting one hand on his partner's flushed cheek. "That's all the thanks I want. Just get well again."

"Tryin', man…."

Ellison shook his head. "Trying too hard. Stop trying so hard," he admonished. "You can't will yourself better, it takes time. All you're accomplishing is making yourself feel guilty, as well as sick. Now," he continued, shifting his palm to cover Blair's lips. "No…more…talking. Sleep. Capiche?"

Sandburg nodded meekly.

"If you need anything at all, any time at all, just yell," Jim went on. "In fact, don't yell. Just say something. I'll hear you. Don't get up and flail around trying to do things on your own – okay?"

"Can't I even go to the bathroom by myself?"

"We'll discuss it when the time comes."

"Dictator…"

"SHHH!" Jim closed the subject by snapping off the lights and exiting Blair's room. He left the French doors open, though, so that he would be certain to hear anything Blair said.

It was early for him to go to bed, but Ellison suspected he might be in for an interrupted night. He showered, brushed his teeth, made sure everything was locked and secured…and then stood in the middle of the loft and considered where he should sleep.

He could hear Blair from upstairs, no problem there. But still….Eventually, the Sentinel decided that close proximity to his sick partner overrode the comfort gained by sleeping in his own bed. The sofa was already fixed up as a bed anyhow; he might as well make use of it! Still, Jim took the liberty of retrieving his own pillow from his bed, to use. However fond he might be of Blair, he didn't relish the idea of willingly inhaling multitudes of flu germs from the pillow where his Guide had drooled and sniffled most of the evening!

##########

Friday morning, very early

To Ellison's surprise, Blair slept deeply for several hours. When the sounds of coughs, increased respiration and elevated heartbeat woke the Sentinel, it was much later than he'd anticipated. He looked groggily at the VCR clock as he extricated himself from the welter of blankets on the sofa. 4:18. Yawning, Jim made his way into Blair's room.

"Chief?" Ellison leaned over Blair's bed, lights unnecessary to enhanced vision. "Sandburg?"

Tiny moans were Blair's only response. Jim felt his forehead and cheeks, and drew in a hiss of dismay; his partner's temperature had spiked up at least a degree, perhaps more.

"Blair, wake up. Come on Chief, wake up for me."

Still caught in fever-dream, Blair whimpered wordlessly. Jim located the damp washcloth, which had fallen to one side of the pillow, and dipped it in the bowl of ice and water – which was now mostly water, but still quite chilled. Squeezing out the excess moisture, Ellison folded it and carefully positioned it on Blair's hot forehead.

"Ahhh!" The Guide's gasp of surprise and shock as the cold wetness made contact with his burning skin, made Jim startle.

"Easy, Chief."

Deep blue eyes opened, and Blair stared up at his roommate blankly. "Jim?" he whispered. Ellison realized Sandburg probably couldn't see a thing in the darkened bedroom.

"It's okay, it's me," he soothed, "just relax." He reached for the nearest glass on the nightstand. 7-Up….good enough. "Take a drink of this, okay?"

Obediently, Blair sipped a little of the liquid. "Hot…" he moaned, shoving the blankets away.

Jim carefully folded them back. "Okay, Chief; there, that's better, isn't it?"

"Yeah." The younger man still seemed confused.

"Know where you are and why you're here?" Jim queried, smiling a little.

"Loft. Night. Know I…don't feel…very good." The dismal words were followed by a couple of harsh-sounding coughs.

"It's time for some more medicine, I think."

Blair shivered. "Cold…."

Jim drew in another dismayed hiss. From hot to cold, just like that? Gently, he replaced the coverings he had so recently pulled away from Sandburg's feverish body. "That help?"

"Mmmm."

The Sentinel supervised Blair's swallowing of doses of aspirin and cough syrup, refreshed the cold cloth once more, and urged his partner to drink a large glass of water.

Blair obeyed, but still seemed hazy about what was going on, and Jim was more worried than he cared to admit. He settled himself on the edge of Blair's narrow bed, changing the cold compress every few minutes, listening to his friend's breathing and too-rapid heartbeat. Willing Blair to get better.

##########

Friday morning, somewhat later

"Jim…?"

Ellison jerked upright and nearly slid onto the floor. Evidently he'd dozed off sitting on Blair's bed, and had slumped across his partner's legs. Good God, could I bother him any more? How uncomfortable did I make him? He looked at the bedside radio clock, and was gratified to see that it was after 7 a.m. Blair had slept a long time!

"Sorry, Chief! Sorry…"

"S'okay. It's just that…I…um – I need to…uh…" Blair's eyes were lucid at the moment, but he looked decidedly tense. "You know. Bathroom?"

Grasping the essentials of Blair's need, Jim stood up and offered a steadying hand. "Take it slow."

Sandburg climbed out of bed and immediately made a grab for Jim's arm. "Whoa, man, Dizzy City , here!" He took a tentative step. "Feels like my knees are going to give out any second!"

Jim repositioned them, so as to wrap his arm about his faltering partner, and steered Blair towards the bathroom. "How're you feeling otherwise?"

"The headache's eased up, but I still ache everywhere else," the Guide admitted. "And I feel so damn weak!"

"Hang onto something the whole time you're in there!" Ellison admonished, shooing Sandburg into the bathroom. "If there's anything I don't need this morning, it's having you fall and crack your head open on the sink, or something!"

"Gee, Ellison, you say the nicest things!" Blair muttered, and shut the door rather rudely in his partner's face.

When he emerged, Blair was unsurprised to find Jim patiently waiting outside the bathroom door. Without comment, the Sentinel put his arm about Sandburg's waist and walked him towards his bedroom. "You slept pretty well," he observed as he eased Blair onto his bed. "There, lie back…." He put an assessing hand on Blair's face, first his cheek, then his forehead. "Your temperature's still up, Chief."

Sandburg grimaced wryly. "I guess it would have been asking too much to hope it went back to normal overnight, huh?" He tilted his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Man, there's something to be said for this, though…I'm so dizzy I'm getting a real head rush….Kinda cool, in a bizarre way…."

Jim frowned. "Your fever's not that high, Sandburg. You shouldn't be all that dizzy, and you shouldn't have felt so weak when you got up. You're not fooling me; you could barely stay on your feet." An idea abruptly hit the Sentinel. "Chief, when was the last time you had anything to eat?"

Blair opened one eye and regarded his partner warily. "Huh?"

"When. Did. You. Last. Eat?" Ellison enunciated carefully. "As in, put food in your mouth, chewed it, swallowed it, digested it."

The other eye opened. "You're picking on me when I'm sick."

"Sandburg, I am not picking on you. Now answer the question."

Both eyes shut. "Uh…dinnernightbeforelast," he muttered, close to Sentinel-soft.

Ellison's scowl didn't lighten. "Dinner night before last was when we were on stakeout, Darwin. You had a sandwich…HALF a sandwich! Half a sandwich that you dropped in the mud when you got out of the truck. You only ate a couple bites of it!"

Sandburg shifted uncomfortably, and looked down at the blankets. "Lunch, day before yesterday?" he offered.

Ellison eyed him sternly. "What?"

"Ah…a container of yogurt and a candy bar." Blair closed his eyes again.

Jim waited. "That's IT?" he finally demanded.

"Uh…."

"Sandburg, are you telling me that you haven't eaten anything solid for over 48 hours?" Jim roared. "Jesus, no wonder you're shaky and dizzy! Why didn't you eat anything yesterday?"

Blair's eyes snapped open, their blue depths hot and furious. "Well excuse me, Jim, but I haven't exactly felt like eating anything, you know? It's kind of hard to work up an appetite when your throat feels like it's coated with ground glass, and your stomach's doing flips, and oh, by the way, you might think about the fact that if I DO eat something, it's probably going to come right back up again, because when I start coughing I tend to trigger a gag reflex, and you know something else, man, I am SO not into the idea of barfing all over you because that would be just ONE MORE THING I do wrong that you'd have to clean up after—" The limit was reached, and Blair started coughing so hard that his whole body shook. He curled into himself, cupping his hands over his mouth, but was unable to stop the wracking spasms, and shortly, was nearly choking from lack of oxygen.

"Sandburg!" Jim had been highly irritated – and then stunned – by his roommate's angry outburst, but when the coughing attack started, compassion replaced the irritation. He gathered his Guide loosely against himself, supporting Blair's shuddering frame with one arm and rubbing his back gently with his other hand. "Easy, Chief…try and catch a breath… Here, take a little sip of water. Easy now…."

When the episode finally ended, Jim eased Blair down once more and drew the blankets up over his partner. "Just lie still, Blair."

"Told…you. God, my head hurts," Sandburg whispered, almost inaudibly.

"I'm sure it does, Chief," the Sentinel murmured, stroking the hot forehead with great gentleness. "That was a rough one."

"S-sorry…."

"It's all right, just take it easy."

"I really don't w-want to barf on you, man…easier to not eat anything."

"We'll figure something out," the Sentinel soothed. "But Blair, you really need to eat something pretty soon, hear me?"

Blair just shook his head wearily. "Jim…I think I'd like to…just sleep again for awhile, okay?"

Troubled, Ellison didn't answer right away, just kept smoothing Blair's forehead, gently tucking back stray wisps of hair. Finally, he emitted a resigned sigh. "Okay, Chief. You try to catch another nap. Here—" Jim picked up the bottle of Tylenol and the water glass. "Can your stomach handle this?"

"Yeah…." Blair shook out two capsules and swallowed them with a gulp of water. He lay back against the pillows once more, and closed his eyes. "Feels nice…" he murmured, as Jim continued to stroke his forehead soothingly.

"Good."

"You're…not mad at me?"

"No, Chief, not mad at you. Just…mad because you don't take very good care of yourself, that's all." Jim tugged a blanket higher, tucking it about his Guide with care. "You, being my Guide, try to take care of me, but I don't think you bother taking care of YOU." He smiled a little. "That's my job, remember? Taking care of the Guide?"

"Sorry, man…."

"It's all right, Chief. Don't talk anymore now…." Jim stopped stroking, and placed a cold cloth on Blair's forehead as a substitute. The younger man sighed and murmured another thank you.

"No more apologies or thank yous, Junior. Rest for awhile, and I'll see if I can't figure out something you can manage to eat easily, okay? I'll be careful of the ground glass."

"'Kay."

Jim stayed where he was for a few minutes, waiting while Blair's breathing evened out. Shortly, he could tell that Sandburg had slipped into slumber once more. He left the room on tiptoe.

##########

What to fix that would taste good to his young partner, that would be easy on his raw throat and starting-to-get-edgy stomach? Jim contemplated the interior of the refrigerator with frustration; he wasn't getting any inspiration from it at all.

Okay – his stomach's queasy, that eliminates eggs. He eats oatmeal because it's good for him, but he doesn't really like it; scratch oatmeal. An algae shake is out of the question; the smell alone would make him puke…as if making it wouldn't make me puke!

Slowly, Jim reached for the cranberry juice. That's probably safe….And a cup of peppermint tea. Peppermint's good for upset stomachs. Yogurt? Yeah, that ought to be okay. And…toast. Light on the butter, but lots and lots of honey, to soothe his throat.

He set about concocting Blair's breakfast, making a concerted effort to keep the noise level down. He didn't want to disturb his dozing roommate any more than he had to. He assembled the various items on a tray, adding the toast at the very last minute, and carried it towards Blair's room.

"Chief?"

"Mmmm?"

"Wake up for a little, okay?"

"Don' wanna."

A genuine wheedling tone: "Come on, Sandburg; I've got some breakfast for you."

"Don' wan' any."

"Please, Blair? You need to try and eat something. If you don't, you'll get sicker."

A reluctant blue eye opened and regarded the Sentinel suspiciously. "Told you…"

"And I told you I'd find something you could eat without it hurting your throat too much. So come on, sit up a little and eat for me."

Jim deposited the tray on Blair's nightstand, and set about rearranging his Guide to his liking. Pillows were set on edge, said Guide was lifted bodily and scooted backwards to sit against them, and the blankets were smoothed to accommodate the tray.

"There." With a flourish, Jim set it in place.

Blair regarded the offerings with a jaundiced eye that slowly became slightly more interested. "Cranberry juice?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yep."

A tentative sip.

"Did it hurt your throat?"

"No…not too much."

"There's honey on the toast, to help it go down easy."

An apprehensive nibble and swallow, followed by a small smile. "Tastes kind of good, man."

"Try alternating with the yogurt, Chief; that ought to coat your throat some."

To Blair's surprise, Jim was right. Not that Jim wasn't right quite often, but….The nibbles of toast became less tentative. The swallows of yogurt a little faster. The sips of juice a little larger.

In less time than Jim had hoped or imagined, the tray was empty, and Blair was leaning back against his pillows, smiling wanly.

"Thanks, man – it tasted really good."

Ellison removed the tray from his partner's knees. "I'll be right back."

When he returned, the sentinel looked keenly at Sandburg's face, noting the droopy eyelids and flushed cheeks with a frisson of unease. He lightly laid the back of his hand against Blair's temple. Hot…too hot. Damn it, his temp's still up! "How you feeling now, Chief?"

"Hot. Cold. Achy." A definite sniffle. "Stuffy."

Jim couldn't help laughing. "Stuffed Blair." An evil twinkle in the blue eyes. "A stuffed TEDDY Blair!"

Blair eyed him bitterly. "Ellison, when I get over this, you are SO dead!"

"Yeah, yeah, got it." The chuckles faded. "Breakfast sitting okay?"

"Yeah – for the moment." Blair shivered, and Jim immediately moved to pull the blankets over his shoulders.

"Lie down again, and try for another nap, why don't you?"

"'Kay." Obediently, Blair slid downwards and let Jim tuck and smooth the covers about him. Heavy eyelids weighted down with thick lashes fell to half-mast, then surrendered completely.

Time passed slowly. Jim showered, caught up on his reading, watched an old movie on television, fixed himself lunch, did a load or two of laundry. In between, he hovered over Blair, keeping a worried watch as the younger man's temperature settled at just above 101 and stubbornly stayed there. Ellison kept changing the cold compresses as they quickly became tepid, then warm – but he forbore offering his partner any more aspirin, not wishing to further unsettle Blair's stomach. Blair dozed, roused coughing, swallowed mouthfuls of juice, and dozed again.

The midafternoon ringing of the telephone startled Ellison out of a catnap. He fumbled for the receiver. "Ellison."

"Jim? It's Megan." The Inspector's crisp Aussie accent came over the wires clearly. "I was just calling to find out how Sandy is."

The Sentinel sighed. "So-so. Feverish. Cranky."

"He was so sick, when you took him home yesterday—"

"He's not quite that sick now," Ellison hastened to reassure the other detective. "But his temperature's still elevated, and now he's taken so many aspirins, he's got aspirin jitters and his stomach's upset – so he can't take any more for awhile. And that's the only thing that was keeping his temp down," he added gloomily. "He could dehydrate."

Megan was quiet for a moment, and then spoke again, in an uncharacteristically tentative voice. "Jim…would you take a suggestion amiss?"

"A suggestion?"

"Have you tried ice chips?"

Ellison felt like banging his head against the wall. "NO! Shit, why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're fussed about Sandy ." A soft chuckle. "I have another suggestion…."

"Let's hear it."

"Ices."

Jim frowned. "Ices? You mean like ice cream?"

"Nooooo." Megan sighed. "Um…ices. What do you call them – ah. Popsicles! They're cold, and they're liquid when they melt. They taste nice, and they're easy to eat, even lying down. He'd be taking in water so slowly that it oughtn't to bother his tummy. And the cold might help his fever go down."

The Sentinel took in a sharp breath. "Popsicles!" He blew it out. "POPSICLES!"

"Not a good…?"

"Connor, I owe you lunch. I owe you dinner. Hell, I'll spring for both! POPSICLES!" He was nearly crowing in triumph. "Now…where's the nearest store, and how fast can I get there, and will Blair be okay while I'm gone…?"

"Jim – JIM!"

"Huh?"

"Listen, mate. I'm going out to interview a witness in just a few minutes. How about if I pick up some and swing by your place." Megan's voice gentled. "I'd like to think I could help make Sandy feel better."

Jim gulped, feeling somehow ashamed of himself, although he wasn't quite sure why. "Thanks, Connor. I appreciate this, a lot. And I'd be very grateful if you'd pick them up."

"No worries, mate. See you in – half an hour, tops."

##########

Jim considered waking Sandburg, but decided against it. There was no reason to – Blair would just be uncomfortable, and fuss about Megan coming over. He spent the time tidying up the loft so that it didn't look quite so much like a hospital ward. He put the kettle on so there would be hot water for tea, and briefly opened the balcony doors so that the chilly January rain-filled air could wash away the scent of Vicks™ and sweat and stale lemonade.

Twenty-five minutes after he had hung up the telephone, Ellison caught the sound of Megan's footsteps approaching the loft door, and smelled her distinctive Hanae Mori perfume. He had the door open before she could knock.

"Come in."

"How…?" Megan eyed him curiously.

"Heard you coming," he evaded, and glanced swiftly at her feet. "High heels on the hall floor." He looked at the plastic grocery sack she swung from one wrist. "Popsicles?"

"Assorted flavors," she assured him.

"Bless you!" Jim took the bag from her and put the boxes of Popsicles in the freezer.

"Is he asleep?" Megan kept her voice low as she glanced towards Blair's room.

"I think so—" Jim stopped speaking, as muffled coughing was heard.

"Any chance of me saying hello?"

"You sure? He's probably contagious as hell…."

"I was around him yesterday too, remember."

"Not close."

Their hushed argument was interrupted by Blair's barely-heard voice: "Jim? You talkin' to someone?"

Ellison gave Megan an apologetic glance and disappeared into his partner's bedroom without a word.

"Hey Chief, you doing all right?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Somebody here?" Sandburg angled his head, trying to see past Jim into the living room.

"Megan stopped by to see how you were. She brought you a present."

"Present?" Blair blinked uncertainly.

"Popsicles," came from the doorway, where Megan now leaned against the frame. "Hi, Sandy; how're you feeling?"

"Like shit," Sandburg admitted with a grimace. "Stay away from me; you don't want to catch this. You brought me Popsicles?"

"I thought they might be something you would like. You can eat them all day long, and they taste nicer than just drinking water."

"Sounds kind of good," Blair said, and Jim wheeled away from the door, heading towards the kitchen at a fast clip. In seconds he returned, stripping plastic from a cherry Popsicle.

"Time for a cup of tea, Connor?" he offered, after scooting Blair up in bed and handing him the icy treat. Blair tried a tentative lick, nodded approval, and licked again, with more enthusiasm.

"Thanks, but no – I've got to run." Megan smiled. "I really do have to talk to a witness. Feel better soon, Sandy !"

"Hey, Megan?" Blair stopped slurping the Popsicle. "Can you answer a question for me?"

"I can try."

"Do koala bears really smell like Vicks Vaporub™?"

Megan stared, dumbfounded, and then glanced dubiously at Ellison, who was snorting with poorly-suppressed laughter. "I…um, I don't know, Sandy . I've never had the occasion to smell one."

"Oh." Blair sighed and resumed licking his Popsicle. "I just thought – you being Australian and all…."

"Well, it isn't like they're wandering around everywhere, just waiting to be scooped up and sniffed!" the redhead defended herself, and glared at Jim, whose snorts were fast developing into a full-fledged roar of hilarity. "They're usually in zoos, or off in the bush!"

"It's okay. Thanks anyway. And thanks for the Popsicles." Blair smiled, but his eyelids drooped wearily.

With a quick reach, Jim snagged the dripping confection from his partner's hand. "Finish this later, Chief; I'll stick it back in the freezer for you." He followed Megan from the room, making a quick detour into the kitchen as she headed for the front door.

"What was that about koalas?" the Inspector demanded in a whisper, as she stepped into the hallway outside the loft. "Is he delirious or something?"

"No!" Jim began to laugh again. "I'll explain some other time, Connor. You go on and interview your witness – and thanks again!"

"Any time, mate – and Jim? If you need anything and don't want to leave Sandy by himself…call me, please? I mean it. I wouldn't try to take your place, but I'd be glad to pick up anything you want."

Ellison's calm blue gaze was unusually gentle. "I will, Connor. And I appreciate the offer, very much."

Megan took her departure, and the Sentinel returned to the loft to take up his watchful care once again.

##########

Monday, 9:25 a.m.

"Jim, stop hovering. I'm fine. I'm really fine! Being alone isn't a problem….And you've got to get to work. I'll be just fine here!"

"You promise to stay put on the couch, right? I'll run home at lunchtime—"

"I promise. And I'll be okay even if you can't make it at lunch, man. I'm still not up to doing much more than sleeping, you know that."

"I know, Chief." Indeed, Ellison knew. His partner had spent the whole weekend either sound asleep, or halfway there. Jim found this made for a notable lack of conversation between the friends, but he also knew that it was absolutely the best thing for his Guide, and he figured that balanced the equation pretty well. Blair's condition had improved immensely, especially over the last 24 hours, and Jim had no real excuse to stay away from work and hover over him. Sighing, he buckled on his gun holster, preparing to leave for work. "If you need me, call, got it?"

Blair nodded, and made an 'x' somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

"I promise. Cell phone's right here. Regular phone's right here… Hey, Jim?"

"Hmmm?" Ellison paused in the act of shrugging into his coat.

"Thank you. For all this – ever since Thursday. It seems awfully inadequate to try and thank you properly, but…"

"You're welcome – but Chief, you don't have to thank me. It was important to me. Don't you remember? It's one of those Prime things you told me about for Sentinels." Jim grinned affectionately, and returned momentarily to the living room, to gently tousle his partner's curls.

"Prime things?"

"Yeah, Chief….Prime Imperative: Care for the Guide."

The End