Author’s Note: I do not own these characters from “The Sentinel” and I am not profiting in any way from the following tale. Just borrowing the guys for a little smarm and banter, and really, what’s the harm in that? A pox on all who would cry, “copyright infringement!” Comments are always welcome.
Jim Ellison wrapped a towel around his waist and exited the steamy bathroom, shaking his head slightly as his roommate bumped him as he stumbled past. Blair wasn’t really what he would call a morning person, but he was usually alert and functional when he got up. But he’d been feeling a little under the weather all weekend and judging from his uncharacteristic lethargy and disheveledness, Monday morning had apparently found him no better. The sentinel made a side trip to the kitchen to start the coffee brewing, then he trotted upstairs to get dressed. He’d always made it a point to try and give his friend as much privacy as one could have when one coexisted with a guy with heightened senses, and that went double where the bathroom was concerned. So he didn’t notice anything amiss, at least until he heard his guide call his name, a note of anxiety in his voice. He finished tucking in his shirt and doing up his belt, and then went back downstairs to see what was wrong. Sandburg was standing in the hallway, and the detective was surprised when his partner held out a hand to ward him off.
“Don’t come near me,” he insisted firmly.
“Why?” Jim demanded sharply. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you ever had chicken pox?”
“Why?” Ellison repeated, although the question seemed to indicate precisely where this particular conversation was heading.
With a sigh Blair lifted up his T-shirt, plainly displaying the red dots covering his stomach.
“How in the hell did you get exposed to chicken pox?” Jim wondered, although he wasn’t really surprised. That was his partner. If there was a mess to get into, he would unerringly manage to find it.
“Heather,” the younger man explained glumly as he dropped his shirt. “The daughter of the girl I’ve been seeing. She had it a couple weeks ago and I must have caught it from her.”
“Why didn’t you stay away from her if you’ve never had it?” Ellison asked.
“I didn’t even think about it,” the anthropologist admitted sheepishly.
“The mother must be really something.”
“This isn’t funny, Jim,” Blair insisted. “And you never answered me. Have you had chicken pox before?”
“No.”
Sandburg sighed again, running a hand through his tangled curls.
“All right. It’s probably too late because you’ve probably already been exposed. But just in case you haven’t, I’m going to clear out of here for a few days. Just to be on the safe side.”
“And where are you going to go?” the detective interrogated him, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing a hard gaze on his roommate, letting him know there would be no obfuscations.
“I don’t know,” Blair said uncomfortably, squirming a bit under the glare. “I’ll get a hotel room for a few days.”
“Why can’t you stay with your girlfriend?”
“Technically, she’s not quite my girlfriend and besides, she lives with her parents. It’s ok, Jim, I’ll just find a room...”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I don’t mind,” Sandburg argued. “I’d rather do that than risk you catching this, too.”
The sentinel kept his penetrating gaze on his guide as he thought things over. Blair was as stubborn as they came when he had his mind made up about something, and Jim was fairly sure his mind was made up about this. He knew the kid well enough to know what was going through his head. Worrying about how a generally mild virus would play chaotic havoc within the system of a sentinel and not wanting to be the one to drive his friend into insanity as his sensitive skin tried to cope with an itchy rash. It was a worry that Ellison didn’t necessarily share, although he was by no means eager to share in his roommate’s affliction. But he also didn’t want Sandburg to leave, wasting some of his scarce resources to hole up sick and alone in some cheap fleabag motel. So he came up with a compromise he thought they could both live with.
“You don’t have to leave,” Jim finally told him. “I’ll clear out and stay with Simon for a few days.” He couldn’t help thinking it was a bit of overkill, but he knew Blair would insist on going if he didn’t take off first. At least this way he’d know his guide was safe, and maybe he’d stop worrying about his sentinel long enough to take care of himself a little bit.
“Jim, I appreciate the gesture but I don’t feel right about running you out of your own home,” Blair began.
“It’s your home, too, Chief,” Jim told him with a shrug. Then his lips quirked into a grin. “So just stay here and be comfortable with your germs.”
The discussion wasn’t over as far as Sandburg was concerned, but he didn’t get the chance to further argue his point. As he was running late, Ellison waved off his concerns as he hurriedly packed a bag and poured some coffee into his travel mug. Then he was gone, the decision made. Leaving Blair a little confused as to how the master of manipulation had been so utterly thwarted.
Blair took his bowl of soup and headed for the table, but then he hesitated as a thought struck him. He had the loft to himself, which meant nobody was there to enforce the lengthy volume of house rules. Feeling rebelliously naughty, he continued on into the living room and made himself comfortable on the couch as he flicked on the tv, thinking that Jim would kill him if he knew his roommate had had bright red tomato soup anywhere within a five foot radius of the furniture. But then again, what the sentinel didn’t know wouldn’t hurt either of them.
He sipped at the soup and absently flipped through the channels, but his mind was distracted as he thought about Ellison’s actions that morning. Jim could often seem one dimensional, predictably reacting the same way to any number of various scenarios. But after two years of living and working with the man, Blair found he was still repeatedly surprised by his friend. He had fully expected the typical Ellison exasperation that was commonly directed at him when he either deliberately or inadvertently disrupted the sentinel’s anal retentive world. Catching a highly contagious virus seemed like it would have fit into that category, but Jim had just rolled with it with an acceptance that was just slightly tinged with irritation. And he hadn’t really seemed put out at all that he’d had to evacuate his home, his sanctuary.
Blair was still feeling badly about that. Because first of all he knew how much of a creature of habit his friend was and what the stability of familiar routines meant to him, so having to abandon his comfort zone, even for a few days, wasn’t an easy thing for him to do. It was different when Jim was in the army, or even when he was staked out in the field or went camping, because he was able to take those areas and make them into his own. But having to adapt to someone else’s living space was not something he readily adjusted to. And secondly, someone else’s living space was not going to be sentinel-friendly. Blair had spent a lot of time and effort over the past two years slowly introducing various aspects into the loft that would help his friend deal with his often overwhelming senses. Turning the place into a haven that was easy on the eyes and ears, accommodating to sensitive skin, and soothing to a highly discerning nose. He doubted Jim was even consciously aware of a lot of it, but Sandburg suspected he’d notice the absences while he was gone. And he likely wouldn’t be very happy about it, so God help Simon or whoever he’d convinced to put him up because an irritated sentinel could lash out worse than a cornered badger.
As he carried his bowl back to the kitchen and set it in the sink, Blair wondered if maybe he should just clear out to a motel and call Jim and tell him to come back home. But then as he returned to the couch and stretched out, pulling the warm afghan off the back to cover himself, he rejected that idea. It would just piss Jim off, and honestly he didn’t really want to leave. He couldn’t really be out exposing other people to the virus, and riding out the illness in isolation in some impersonal hotel room was not exactly an attractive proposition. Being sick was no fun, but at least he had the comforts of home to fall back on. Jim knew this and had apparently decided that if one of them should be displaced for a bit, it would be less miserable for him, even with the stress on his enhanced senses. And for that, Blair was grateful.
He had just started to doze off when the sound of the key turning in the lock startled him awake. For a split second an irrational stab of panic shot through him, but then he immediately relaxed, telling himself that it was just Jim either coming back to check on him or picking up something he forgot. But when the door swung open it was not Ellison who stepped inside.
“Simon,” Blair blurted out as the tall police captain entered the loft. “What are you doing here?”
“Making myself at home,” Banks replied, tossing the keys in his hand onto the small table by the door as he set a suitcase down on the floor. “As much as this pains me to admit it, Sandburg, we’re going to be roommates for the next few days.”
“What?” Blair sat up, sweeping the wild curls back from his face as he processed this information, coming to the conclusion that since Jim couldn’t be there to keep an eye on him, he’d either begged or bribed his boss into doing it for him. “Look, I don’t know what Jim told you but I don’t need a babysitter.”
Simon snorted as he took off his overcoat and hung it up on a hook.
“Anytime you’re left alone you fall headfirst into trouble,” he reminded the younger man. “Jim and I didn’t think we should take any chances.”
“That’s not fair,” the anthropologist argued as he grew annoyed. “And I resent the two of you conspiring to oversee my life like I’m some little kid who can’t take care of himself...”
“Easy, Sandburg,” Simon interrupted, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “This isn’t about you taking care of yourself. I’m not here to babysit you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because if I have to share living space with one of you, I’m picking the one who can’t see and hear every little thing I do,” Banks explained with a wry grin.
“Whose idea was it?”
“Mine,” Simon told him. “But I think it was a relief for Jim when I suggested it.” The tall man stepped forward and hovered above the couch, looking down at his new roommate as he tried to undo the offense. “Look, Blair, Jim is one of my best friends and I want to help him out, but I think we’d kill each other if we had to live together, even for a few days. And if you’re sick, you should have someone keeping an eye on you. There’s a difference between that and babysitting, and you know it. This seemed to be the solution that worked best for everyone, but you have a say in it so if it doesn’t work for you, just say so.”
Blair’s inherent fierce independence and pride warred briefly and then folded to common sense. Jim and Simon were just trying to look out for him and there was no resentment to be had in that. He couldn’t go out, and chances were that he was going to need groceries and supplies before he ceased being contagious. And if, God forbid, some weird complication struck him down, then at least someone would be there to help. It was a little bit odd to think of Simon as his roomie, but Blair had lived with a wide variety of eclectic people throughout his life, and even though Banks was his boss, unofficially, he was still a friend.
“No,” Sandburg relented finally. “No, it works fine for me.”
“Good, now move over.”
“There’s a seat right there,” Blair pointed out, waving a hand to emphasize his words.
“I hate that chair,” Simon told him with an air of authority, slapping his blanketed knees gently. “So move.”
Resignedly, Blair assumed a sitting position, making room for his “friend”, the police captain who flopped down beside him and immediately commandeered the tv remote with an air of authority.
Sandburg had a headache, but he wasn’t sure if it was from his illness or from the bickering he’d been doing with Simon for the past two hours. Forget about Banks and Ellison killing each other, he thought grimly as he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the bottle of ibuprofen. The MCU gang would be coming to the loft in the morning in search of their missing captain, only to find him dead on the floor with the remote control jammed down his throat. Blair grinned, then made a face at his reflection as he glanced into the mirror, noting that spots were beginning to appear.
With a sigh, he took the pills with a swallow of water and then began gathering up a few of the sentinel comforts he thought Jim might be missing, like his gentle soap and the sleep mask he’d forgotten. Blair packed a bag, thinking Simon could bring it to the detective in the morning. And shaking his head as he realized that with his voluntary evacuation, even with the stress on his enhanced senses, Jim had still gotten the better end of the deal.
When the pounding on his doors started, Blair just groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. But Simon apparently didn’t get the message and barged into his room, bellowing his name.
“What?” the younger man snarled irritably as he lifted his head to glare at the captain.
“I’m leaving for the station soon,” Simon informed him as he knotted the tie at his throat. “Do you want some breakfast before I go?”
“No,” Blair replied, adding a grudging, “thanks.”
“You really should eat something,” Banks urged him.
Sandburg sighed, burying his face back into his pillow. He didn’t feel well and the last thing he wanted to do was to get up at this insanely early hour for breakfast. But he had a sneaking suspicion that Simon probably wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer, because that would mean having to tell Jim and then enduring a grilling interrogation by a protective sentinel when he got to work. So Blair tried to think of something elaborate that would annoy Banks enough to chase him off the idea.
“Denver omelette,” he finally requested, his voice muffled by the pillow. But he turned his head a little in time to see the captain roll his eyes as he left the room. Satisfied, Blair snuggled back up under his blankets, but just as he had drifted off again Simon came back in barking at him to get up.
“You’re breakfast’s on the table,” Banks told him. “So get your butt out there because I’m not about to wait on you.”
Curiosity overcame his desire for sleep and Blair dragged himself out of bed and shuffled out to the table to find breakfast was, indeed, waiting for him.
“You made this?” he asked, genuinely surprised that the stern captain would go to the trouble.
“It’s what you asked for, isn’t it?” Simon clarified as he pulled on his overcoat.
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Blair mumbled as he slid into a chair. “Thanks.”
“I’m going to work,” Banks announced as Sandburg took a bite of the fluffy eggs, liberally stuffed with ham and onions and peppers. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Have a good one,” Blair distractedly called after him.
“I’ll try,” Simon said dryly, adding just before the door slammed shut behind him, “and do the dishes when you’re done!”
Obediently, when Sandburg finished his breakfast he wrapped up the leftovers, washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. And then promptly decided that was enough in the chore department for the day. The general malaise that had been plaguing him seemed to be growing stronger. He felt tired and achy and the itching was intensifying to the point where it was distracting him from pretty much everything. Staring at his laptop screen made his head throb, he couldn’t focus on anything he tried to read, and daytime tv was a complete waste of time. So by the time Simon arrived back at the loft that night, Blair was restless and grumpy and not in the mood for the gift that the captain had brought for him, courtesy of everyone in the MCU.
“I should have known this would be one big joke to you guys,” the anthropologist muttered sullenly, tossing aside the mocking red polka dotted tie in disgust.
“We just thought you might want a matching accessory to go with your new look,” Banks teased him.
“Yeah, I’m sure everyone’s getting a big laugh out of this,” Blair grumbled. “But it’s so not funny, Simon. I can’t go out like this. My whole life’s on temporary hold until I stop being contagious. I’m going to miss all my classes this week. Do you have any idea how far behind that’s going to sink me? God, what am I going to do?”
“Stop scratching for starters,” Simon advised with a smirk.
Sandburg glanced down at where he’d been unconsciously rubbing his stomach through his shirt, then glared at the captain.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying my misery,” he sulked. “Go on, mock my pain.”
“I’m sorry,” Banks chuckled. “Look, why don’t I order us in some dinner? Then you can call your girlfriend and ask if she has any leftover calamine lotion. Maybe she’ll bring it over and you two can play connect the dots.”
“Oh, you’re a riot,” Blair snorted. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room. Scratching,” he added pointedly over his shoulder as he flounced off down the hall.
Simon just grinned and began thumbing through the phone book, looking up the number of the Chinese restaurant down the street.
Morning found the stricken anthropologist even more irritable, and the police captain wisely put a lid on his jocular ribbing as he got a good look at the increased number of pox and the dark circles under the younger man’s eyes. A mild virus it may have been, but it definitely wasn’t a pleasant one and Banks decided to ease up on the kid, forgiving his snappiness as he assumed the constant itching hadn’t let him get much sleep.
And he was right. Sleep had eluded him most of the night and Blair’s efforts to nap during the day were largely futile, even though he was tired and felt lousy. He just couldn’t rest, squirming uncomfortably against the furniture, his clothes rasping against the blisters all over his body. Sending up a prayer to whatever deity protected sentinels, asking that Jim and his hyper sensitivities were spared this torment, Sandburg headed for the shower, having inadvertently discovered the day before that his oatmeal soap had given him a shade of relief from the maddening itching. Then he returned to the couch, not having energy for anything but channel surfing as he waited for Simon, hoping that the captain wouldn’t be bringing him any more gifts to “cheer him up” for he was not in the mood for more teasing.
As it was, Banks returned to the loft bearing two gifts. A steaming container of fragrant chicken soup that he’d gotten at a nearby deli, and a small paper bag that he tossed to the anthropologist on his way upstairs to change his clothes. Blair opened the bag suspiciously, but grinned as he pulled out a large tube of topical anesthetic anti-itch cream.
When Simon came back downstairs, clad in much more informal attire, he found his temporary roommate in the bathroom, twisting in half and craning his neck over his shoulder to look in the mirror as he attempted to reach the spots on his back.
“Why don’t you let me do that?”
Gratefully, Blair handed him the medication and had a seat backwards on the toilet, resting his arms on the tank and shivering as he pressed up against the cold porcelain. Simon moved behind him and hesitated briefly as he eyed his young consultant who was naked except for his boxers.. Sandburg was completely covered in scabs and blisters and emerging red spots that would soon become blisters. There wasn’t an inch of unaffected skin anywhere on his arms or back or legs, and a shudder ran through the tough captain as he realized the skin underneath his boxers must have been similarly affected. The thought made him cringe, but it also filled him with empathy and any remaining amusement he might have derived from the unconventional observer being stricken with a children’s disease rapidly faded.
Banks squeezed out a glop of the ointment and started the application, but then he paused and rested his hand gently against the back of Sandburg’s neck.
“You have a fever,” he announced.
“I know. Simon, if you could just...”
The captain obligingly dabbed the medicine on the cluster of spots that the anthropologist had indicated, and Blair sighed in relief as the soothing cream cooled the area in the middle of his lower back that had been driving him crazy.
“I talked to the pharmacist when I picked this up,” Simon told him as he continued his administrations. “He said it would help with the itching and take the sting out of the raw spots. Seemed pretty sympathetic. He said the symptoms of chicken pox are a lot worse in adults than they are in kids.”
“Well, thank you for that,” Blair said, his voice muffled slightly as he had his face buried in his folded arms.
“For what?”
“For finally acknowledging that I’m an adult,” Sandburg clarified, picking up his head and grinning at his captain.
“In physiological terms only,” Banks stressed. “I think we’re about done here.”
Blair stood up and retrieved his t-shirt from where he’d dropped it on the floor and struggled to pull the garment on over his head without scraping against his skin.
“The pharmacist also said that adults are at greater risk for complications,” Simon continued, “so if you get worse you have to tell me so we can get you checked out.” The younger man nodded absently and turned to leave, and the tall captain stretched out a hand. He didn’t actually grab Sandburg’s arm, keeping in mind the blistered skin, but the gesture was enough to stop him and get his attention. “I mean it, Blair,” Banks warned, his voice firm but with an undertone of concern. “You let me know if you start feeling like something’s not right.”
“Ok, I will,” Sandburg promised wearily.
Satisfied, Simon relented and moved on to the next matter of debate. The “Jewish Penicillin” he’d brought home. He offered and Blair adeptly tried to demur without actually refusing. But Banks was insistent and not falling for the typical Sandburg obfuscated runaround.
“Have you had anything to eat at all today?” he demanded.
“I had a little,” the anthropologist replied, although he did not willingly offer up any details.
“You need to keep your strength up,” the captain argued in his best authoritative tone. “And I went to the trouble of getting this for you, so you’re going to eat it, Sandburg. That’s an order!”
Resigned, Blair sat at the table and sipped at tiny spoonfuls of the rich broth under Simon’s watchful eye. He got through half the bowl before he pushed it away, looking defiantly at Banks and almost daring him to argue. But the captain seemed satisfied so Sandburg wandered into the living room and curled up on the couch. Simon stayed at the table, enjoying the large sandwich that he’d gotten for himself. When he was done he puttered around, cleaning up the kitchen, but was distracted by a small moan coming from the sofa. He didn’t comment but kept one eye on the form huddled there, until Blair abruptly jumped up. The younger man froze, one hand on the arm of the couch and the other wrapped around his stomach as he hunched over. Simon started toward him but Sandburg bolted down the hallway into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
When he emerged several minutes later he was pale and sweating and shaking. Banks met him in the hallway and pressed a glass of ice water into his hand.
“I’m sorry, Simon,” Blair said softly after he took a sip, looking up at the captain with wide blue eyes.
“Sorry for what?” he asked, perplexed.
“I tried, but I couldn’t keep it down,” the younger man explained. “I know you went to all that trouble to get it for me and that was really nice of you...”
“Sandburg, I just stopped at the deli for crying out loud,” Simon interrupted him. “It’s not like I slaved over a hot stove for hours. And I shouldn’t have pushed it on you. I just thought that getting a little food in your stomach would do you some good, but I shouldn’t have bullied you into it. I’m too used to barking orders at you, I guess, and that’s hard to switch off. But don’t worry about it.”
Blair blinked, as if suddenly realizing he was apologizing when he’d done nothing wrong. He shook his head slightly and swiped a hand over his eyes.
“Sorry, don’t listen to me,” he murmured. “I’m just exhausted.”
“I can tell,” Banks said sympathetically, studying his haggard appearance. “Why don’t you go try and get some sleep?”
“I think I will,” Sandburg agreed, stifling a yawn. Taking his water with him, he made his way over to the French doors of his room. “Night, Simon.”
“Good night, Blair.”
When the captain came downstairs in the morning he found his roommate curled up on the couch with a box of Kleenex, lines of exhaustion clearly visible on his spotted face.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked in sympathy.
“A little,” Blair replied wearily.
Simon didn’t comment but after he showered and dressed he went to the kitchen and puttered for a few minutes, bringing over a mug of tea and a plate of toast.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to wait on me,” Sandburg murmured as he accepted the mug he was handed.
“That was before you became so pathetic.” The words were gruffly teasing, but the hand that rested on the younger man’s forehead was gentle. “Did you take anything for this?”
“Yes,” Blair answered before he took a sip of the tea.
“You don’t have to eat that if you’re not up for it,” Banks told him, nodding at the plate he’d set on the coffee table. “But try a few bites if you can, ok?”
“Thanks, Simon,” Sandburg told him, taking another small sip of the tea before reaching out to set the mug on the table next to the plate.
“And don’t worry about the dishes,” the captain teased him as he slipped on his overcoat. “I’ll take care of them tonight.”
It was a long day punctuated with a meeting with the mayor and capped off with a late breaking case that resulted in an extended game of phone tag with three judges in order to secure a warrant. So it was late when Banks finally left the office, though he wasn’t the last one to go. Ellison was still at his desk, finishing up a report.
“Burning the midnight oil?”
“Hardly,” Jim retorted as he made a few more notations and closed up the file on his desk with a flourish. “Just finishing up so tomorrow I can enjoy a well earned day off, watching the game on YOUR big screen tv. Maybe I’ll invite the guys over, grill up those steaks in the freezer...”
“And maybe I’ll throw your butt out and send you back home with Pox Boy,” the captain growled.
“He driving you crazy yet?” the detective chuckled.
“Sandburg? You know, he’s not so bad.” The captain felt himself starting to grin and quickly schooled his face into a scowl. “But I’ll have you back working a beat if you tell him I said that.”
“My lips are sealed,” Ellison promised as he rose from his chair and grabbed his coat. “Feel like grabbing a late dinner?”
“Not tonight,” Banks replied, doing his best to sound casual. As hard as it was to believe, he found himself wanting to get back to the loft and check on Sandburg. He knew he was overreacting and tried to blame it on the fact that he had been charged with overseeing the well being of the guide, and he did not want to have to answer to a protective sentinel if he failed. It certainly couldn’t be that he cared about the kid, who had looked so miserable when he’d left that morning. But whatever the reason, he couldn’t let Ellison know he was worried about Blair. “I’m wiped out. I think I’d rather just go home and crash. In YOUR bed.”
The sentinel studied his boss for a moment, watching him as he stifled a yawn. Simon started to think he hadn’t been convincing and that Jim was about to call him out, but then the detective shrugged and turned off his desk lamp.
“How’s he doing?”
“Well, he’s not having much fun, but he’s ok,” Banks reassured him as they left the bullpen. “He’s in good hands, Jim, don’t worry.”
“I know,” Ellison told him, using the distraction of pushing the elevator button to hide the concern in his eyes. It just seemed that somehow in the past couple years, taking care of Sandburg had become something of a hobby for him. And it was bothering him a little that his partner needed him now but he couldn’t be there for him. Taking a deep breath, Jim let it out slowly and relaxed. It was just a mild virus. Blair would be fine, and until he was, Simon was looking out for him. It wasn’t the same as having his partner watching his back, but his guide wasn’t alone and he was being cared for. Ellison bid goodnight to his captain and friend as they parted in the parking garage, sparing a glance behind him to watch the tall man get into his car and take off. No, it was ok. Sandburg WAS in good hands. But even the seasoned detective would have been surprised to discover just how good.
Simon entered the loft, trying to be quiet when he realized the apartment was dark and silent. He locked the door behind him and hung up his coat, tossing down the bag of fast food he’d picked up on the table as his gaze drifted toward the room under the stairs. The French doors were open a crack so he peeked in, straining to see the still form sprawled on the bed in the dark.
“Sandburg?” he whispered.
“I used to be,” came the muffled reply. “Now I’m just agony.”
“Do you want anything?”
“Yeah, your gun so I can put myself out of my misery.”
“Well, I can see this evening’s going to be a barrel of laughs,” Banks sighed as he turned and headed upstairs to change. When he came back down he had a seat at the table and wolfed down his dinner before returning to Sandburg’s room. This time he let himself in and turned on the small lamp next to the bed, ignoring the vile look the younger man shot him as he assessed his condition. On top of the pox, Blair also was suffering from symptoms that resembled a bad case of the flu, along with utter exhaustion from his inability to get any real rest.
“You’re burning up,” Simon announced as he felt his forehead.
“Yeah, well, that’s actually the least of my problems at the moment,” Sandburg said humorlessly.
“Well, that one we can do something about. Hang on for a minute.”
“Like I’m going anywhere,” the anthropologist muttered sarcastically. Though not one to normally wallow in self pity, Blair lay there on his stomach, trying not to scratch and feeling very sorry for himself indeed and not really paying attention to Simon until the large man sat down on the bed beside him with a loud creak and began to bathe him with cool water. It took him so by surprise he was speechless, but when he finally found his voice he decided that it felt so good it was worth the humiliation. The water cooled his fevered skin and the soft cloth soothed the maddening itch, so when he was instructed to turn over, he rolled over onto his back with no argument. He watched the captain through half lidded eyes, a bit surprised to find that the gruff man prone to bellowing could have such a gentle side. Though he realized it shouldn’t surprise him. After all, Ellison was as tough as nails, but he was always as gentle as a lamb whenever his partner needed a little TLC.
“Simon, thank you,” Blair murmured as his agony receded. “I swear, I was about to seriously lose my mind.”
“That’s ‘Captain’ to you, Sandburg,” Banks growled automatically. But his gentle ministrations never faltered and after a minute he softened and shrugged. “I did this for Daryl years ago when he had chicken pox.”
“He’s lucky to have you for a dad.”
“Tell him that,” Simon chuckled. “He thinks I’m all rules and curfews and riding him about his grades.”
“Well, I would have given a lot to have had someone like you riding my ass when I was his age,” Blair confessed. “Naomi was great and I had a good life, but sometimes I feel like I missed out, you know? Not ever knowing my dad.”
“I don’t know, Sandburg,” the captain sighed as he paused to dip the cloth back into the bowl of water on the floor. “You might not be missing anything at all. Sometimes I wish I’d never known my father.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
Simon faltered, realizing he’d let slip more than he ever meant to.
“Never mind. Just forget it.”
“Come on, Simon. I mean, Captain. How come you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Because it’s personal,” Banks told him. “And despite whatever else is going on here, I’m not telling you any bedtime stories.”
“Please?” Blair begged. “It will help take my mind off the itching.”
Simon sighed again, realizing something his best detective had learned long ago. When Sandburg started to beg and turned those big blue eyes on you, resistence was futile.
“My own father was a drunk,” he blurted out.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Why? It wasn’t your fault,” Banks pointed out. He reached a hand up under his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault, except his.” He retrieved the cloth from the bowl at his feet and wrung it out, resuming the gentle bathing of the fevered, blistered skin of his young friend as he continued. “I was born in Virginia. The county was desegregated by then, but kind of in name only, you know? I had to deal with a lot of crap growing up. We all did. My father was a proud man. He couldn’t take it, but he knew better than to fight back. Maybe he was too scared to. Anyway, only way he could cope was to lose himself in a bottle. Got so bad he couldn’t keep a job. My mother had to work two of them just to keep food on the table.”
“What was she like?”
“Why are you so interested in my family history?”
“Hello?” Blair reminded him in exasperation. “Anthropologist!”
“Well, my mother...” Simon’s eyes took on a faraway gaze and he smiled slightly. “My mother was a saint. She worked so hard, and then she would come home and cook and take care of the house. I never heard her complain, not even when my father would steal the grocery money from her to go to the pool hall and come stumbling home in the morning blind drunk. And she was never too tired for us, you know? My sister and I. She loved us enough for her and my father both.”
“How did you end up in Rossberg?”
“My father died when I was ten. My uncle had settled his family in Rossberg a few years before that and they helped her to move us out there. I don’t think she really wanted to, but she did it for us. I think she thought we’d have a better life there, with more opportunities. And she was right. She always stressed education for us, so I got a scholarship and worked my way through college. Then I joined the police force, and you know the rest.”
“Is that why you became a radical in Rossberg? You hooked up with Peggy and worked to make the world a better place because of what you lived through back in Virginia?”
“Yeah, I guess I did. But listen, talking of Rossberg reminds me.”
“Of what?”
“I’ve got a couple of painkillers left over from when I got shot there. They aren’t really designed for this, but one might help you get some sleep.”
“Captain Banks, are you actually suggesting that I take a narcotic drug that was not prescribed to me? And you are actually going to furnish said drug?”
“If it will knock you out and shut you up so I can get a little peace, then yes I am,” Simon retorted. “Do you want to try it? It’s up to you.”
“At this point, I’ll try anything,” Blair said wearily.
Banks nodded and got up, heading out to the living room where he’d left his briefcase. He’d tossed the vial of pills into one of the inside pockets almost a year ago when he’d returned to work following his injury and had all but forgotten they were there. But now he was glad he had them, for as much as he normally enjoyed seeing Sandburg in torment from his self-induced mishaps, this time the kid really was suffering and in need of relief. He returned with the medication and a glass of water and the anthropologist sat up to take it, then flopped back down with a wince of pain.
“Thank you, Simon.”
“You’re welcome, Blair,” the captain told him gently as he sat back down beside him and reached for the cloth still soaking in the bowl of water on the floor. And there he remained, tending to his sick friend long after he had fallen asleep.
Blair quietly opened the doors to his room and stepped out into the hallway, pausing as his eyes became adjusted to the dark. His backpack was by the front door, he remembered, and he carefully began navigating his way through the loft, silently praising himself for his stealth abilities.
“Sandburg, what the hell are you doing down there?!”
The anthropologist froze, then turned his face toward the upper level with a scowl.
“You know, you have the ears of a sentinel, Simon!”
“No, I have the ears of the father of a teenage boy,” Banks called back. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, fine, I’m just getting something.”
“Well, get it and go to bed and stop making racket!”
“All right, geez,” Blair muttered to himself as he retrieved the floppy disc he’d been looking for from his backpack. “I didn’t think anybody could be more anal about noise than Jim.”
“I heard that!”
“Sorry, Simon!”
“Captain, to you, Sandburg!” Banks bellowed as he rolled over and glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. Blair’s fever had broken and he’d been feeling better, which translated into an overabundance of restless energy bordering on stir crazy. Which in turn had made Simon regular, garden variety crazy. But the good news was that no new spots had appeared in two days, so the contagious portion of the disease was coming to an end. Which meant the captain could go back home and reclaim his life and leave his detective and observer to deal with each other. Not for the first time, he wondered how they had managed not to kill each other yet. Two more unlikely roommates he’d be hard pressed to find. But somehow they made it work and strangely, were all the better for it.
“Sandburg!!”
“I’m sorry, I’m just getting something to drink,” came the yell from below. “Turn on Jim’s white noise generator and quit spying on me!”
Banks glanced over at the small machine next to the bed, but decided to leave it off. After seeing Blair so sick and miserable, there was something reassuring about hearing him active and getting back to his usual pain in the ass self, and he was not in a hurry to drown out the sounds of recovery. At least until...
“He’s actually making popcorn,” Simon muttered into his pillow, plainly hearing the hum of the microwave and each abnormally loud kernel explosion coming from the kitchen. Well, he had to hand it to the kid, he had a pair on him. Deciding to spare him another bellow, since it would most likely just fall on deaf ears anyway, the captain rolled over and closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise from below. He’d soon be gone, back to his quiet, private, sane world. And he wouldn’t miss the loft... well, maybe just a little bit. It was painful to admit, even to himself, but maybe, just maybe he was a little better, too, for enduring Sandburg in his life. Aggravated and sleep deprived, sure, but somehow better all the same.
Finis