Author’s Note: This story contains a few minor episode spoilers. No copyright infringement is intended on characters owned by Pet Fly/Paramount, so don’t have a panic attack about it. Comments are always welcome.
The sentinel hung up his coat and made a beeline for the kitchen, opening up the fridge and grabbing a bottle.
“Want a beer?”
“No, thanks.”
“You alright, man?” Ellison asked, glancing at his roommate who was still standing by the door.
“Fine,” Sandburg replied, shrugging out of his jacket and placing it on the hook next to his friend’s. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know, you’ve seemed a little quiet tonight,” the detective told him.
“Just tired, I guess,” Blair said, stifling a yawn. “I think I’ll just head to bed. Night, Jim.”
As he watched his guide disappear into his room, the sentinel frowned slightly, not entirely convinced that nothing was wrong. While Sandburg had outwardly appeared his usual self, there had been something decidedly low key in his behavior for most of the night. Ellison wondered about it, but then he brushed his concerns aside. If Blair was having a problem, he’d tell him about it. It was probably just the anthropologist/observer’s demanding schedule catching up with him. Satisfied with that explanation, Jim made himself comfortable in front of the tv and caught the end of a movie and the nightly news before deciding to turn in himself.
Ellison awoke in the morning and made his way downstairs, helping himself to a cup of coffee before jumping in the shower. He shaved and got dressed and was halfway through breakfast by the time his roommate made an appearance.
“I was just wondering if I should come and get you up,” the sentinel told him. “Since when do you hit the snooze?” It was very rare occasion when his friend didn’t rise immediately as the alarm went off, and he couldn’t ever remember Blair hitting the button for forty minutes.
“Since today,” Sandburg grumbled as he poured himself a mug of coffee.
“All right, Sunshine,” Jim drawled. “What is with you?”
“Nothing. I just have a headache.” Blair grabbed the detective’s arm and pulled his wrist up so he could look at his watch. “And I’m going to be late.” He dropped his friend’s hand and set his mug down before scurrying off to the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later with dripping hair and a towel around his waist. Ten minutes later he came out of his room, tucking his shirt into his jeans before he retrieved his mug and downed the contents with a few big gulps.
“You know, Chief, maybe you ought to stay home today,” Ellison suggested, taking a good look at his roommate and thinking he was looking a little wan.
“Stay home?” Sandburg echoed in disbelief. “Are you serious? I’ve got a million things to do today. My morning is booked solid.”
“And that would be why God invented sick days,” the sentinel reminded him wryly.
“I’m not sick,” Blair protested with no small vehemence. “It’s just a little headache. And you’re not helping it any by jumping down my throat.”
“I admire your determination, Chief, I really do,” Ellison said mildly, convinced that his usually good natured friend must be feeling sick if he was getting that testy. “But if you’re coming down with something, denying it isn’t going to change the facts. You can’t talk your way out of being sick.”
“Yes, I can,” Sandburg insisted. “It’s just mind over matter. I don’t have time to be sick, and I am not getting sick. I am late, though. I’ll see you this afternoon at the station, ok?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jim sighed as his guide grabbed his coat and his backpack and flew out the door. He didn’t believe his friend for a second, but Blair was a grown man, so what else could he do?
The next time Ellison laid eyes on his partner it was immediately obvious that Sandburg was suffering from more than a mere headache. As the observer entered Major Crimes, the sentinel gave him the once over, taking in his drawn, flushed face and picking up on a slight wheeze coming from his chest.
“What happened to mind over matter?” he couldn’t help asking smugly.
“I think my mind lost,” Blair replied softly.
“More like you’ve lost your mind,” the detective reproached him gruffly as he got up out of his seat and pushed his friend down into the chair he’d just vacated. “What the hell are you doing here, Sandburg? Why didn’t you just go home?”
“I was going to, but I forgot my keys this morning,” the younger man confessed sheepishly.
“Oh, for chrissakes,” Jim muttered, pulling his own keys out of his pocket and working the loft key off the ring. “Here. And don’t start whining about not being allowed to keep a spare above the door. Just go home and go to bed.”
But the key slipped through Sandburg’s trembling fingers and hit the floor. He fumbled slightly as he picked it up, and the sentinel’s eyes narrowed as he watched his guide start to get up, then quickly sit back down.
“All right, give that back,” Ellison commanded, taking the key from his grasp and fitting it back on his ring.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re not driving like this.”
“Jim, I’m all right...”
“You’re not all right, Chief,” Ellison argued sternly. “You’re running a fever and you’re dizzy and you are not driving. End of discussion.”
“Ok,” Blair sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to win this one.
“Look, I’ve got to take a statement in half an hour,” the detective told him, glancing at his watch. “You want me to see if one of the guys can drive you home?”
“No,” Sandburg told him, shaking his head slightly for he didn’t want to impose on anyone else. “I can wait until you’re done.”
Jim studied his friend, his piercing gaze softening somewhat as he took in his miserable expression and realized how lousy he must be feeling.
“Come on, get up,” he ordered, pulling on his partner’s arm and helping him to stand.
“What are you doing?” Blair asked as he was led through the bullpen. “Jim, where are we going?”
Ellison didn’t answer as he escorted his friend into his captain’s empty office.
“Here. You might as well take it easy while you’re waiting.”
“Jim, no,” Sandburg protested as his partner waved toward the leather couch lining the far wall. “Simon would...”
“Let me worry about Simon,” the sentinel reassured him. “He’s at a meeting downtown, so he’s not even here. It’s quiet in here and nobody will bother you so you can relax. Here, give me your jacket.”
Before Blair really knew what hit him, he was stretched out on the couch with his coat tucked in snugly around him. A flare of indignance rose up in him and he wanted to protest being treated like a five year old, but in truth his head was throbbing and his whole body ached and it just felt so good to be lying down somewhere dark and quiet. He closed his eyes as Jim left the office, figuring that as long as he was already there, it wouldn’t hurt to rest for five minutes or so.
Captain Banks was unaware his office was occupied as he entered and flipped on the lights before taking a seat behind his desk and sifting through the stack of messages that Rhonda had taken in his absence. A muffled cough alerted him to the fact that he was not alone, and he looked up sharply to see the figure huddled on his couch. The mop of dark curls peeking out from underneath the red plaid coat was a dead giveaway as to the identity of his mystery guest, and he instinctively opened his mouth to bellow. But then Simon paused as he realized that Sandburg, although often a little too informal and cavalier, would not just waltz into his office and crash on his couch unless he had a good reason.
Blair stirred slightly as cool fingers rested against his forehead. He assumed it was Jim checking on him, but the touch didn’t feel quite right, and the hand was too big and heavy to belong to Ellison. Sandburg opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he looked into the captain’s concerned face peering down at him.
“Hey, Simon,” he murmured, discovering his voice had taken on a slight rasp. Not too surprising, giving the sharp prickling in his throat. “Sorry about this. Jim wanted me to wait for him in here and I guess I fell asleep.”
“That’s all right,” Banks replied gently. “Where is Jim?”
“Interviewing a witness.” Blair scrubbed a hand over his face and struggled to sit up. “I’ll clear out of your office.”
“No, stay here,” Simon told him, pushing him gently back down and pulling the jacket up over his shoulder. “I can’t very well have you out there infecting the rest of my staff.”
Sandburg smiled slightly, not fooled for an instant by the captain’s gruff posturing.
“Well, I wouldn’t be here at all if Jim would just let me keep a key above the door.”
“So you can get another load of manure dumped in your living room?” Banks shook his head slightly. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to go and find our friend Jim for a briefing, and then he can get you out of here.”
Simon tucked the jacket around him a little tighter, patting him on the shoulder before he slipped out of the office, turning off the lights as he went and leaving Blair slightly chagrined. It was bad enough when Jim did it, but his captain’s attentions were just adding insult to injury. He was a grown man and there was no reason to coddle him like a child. For a moment Sandburg was tempted to go track down his partner and demand the loft key and insist he was perfectly capable of driving himself home. But he didn’t feel well enough to get into a battle of wills, especially one which he had virtually zero chance of winning, so he gave up and closed his eyes, willing Jim to hurry up before Rafe or Brown could wander in to tuck him in, too.
As Ellison entered the bullpen, he immediately noticed his captain reclining in his chair with his feet up on his desk, using his phone to return his calls.
“Did you get demoted?” the sentinel quipped. “Or are you just going for a change of scenery?”
“Well I had to go somewhere,” Banks told him. “Since my office seems to have been converted into an infirmary while I was gone.”
“I’m sorry about that, sir,” Jim apologized. “I didn’t know what else to do with him.”
“It’s all right,” Simon assured him. “Let’s just go over what you have so you can get out of here and take the kid home.”
The detective brought his boss up to speed on the case and outlined his planned course of investigation. Banks gave him the go ahead to proceed and although it was a little early, he generously granted permission for Ellison to call it a day. They both returned to the captain’s office, and the sentinel gently woke his guide. Sandburg shrugged off his friend’s assistance as he got to his feet and slipped his jacket on, and they left the station and headed out of the building.
“Jim, I don’t want to leave my car out here on the street.”
“All right,” Ellison agreed amiably, knowing that his truck would be fine in the station’s garage. “We’ll take your car. Although how you can worry about leaving it on the street when you leave it unlocked is beyond me.”
They got in the Volvo and Blair retrieved the key he kept hidden under the dash and passed it over to his friend. As Jim started the car and pulled away from the curb, Sandburg leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes for the duration of the ride, silent except for an occasional cough. The trip home was uneventful, and as they entered the loft Blair dropped his backpack by the door and hung up his coat before heading to the kitchen and pulling out the tea kettle.
“What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it fairly obvious?” Sandburg asked wryly as he held the kettle under the faucet.
“I’ll do that.” When Blair merely looked at him, Ellison retorted with a glare and held out his hand expectantly. “Chief, you look like you’re on your last legs. So just give me the damn thing and go and lie down.”
“I think I can manage...”
“Sandburg, will you just take your ass down there to your room and go to bed!”
Blair paused, staring at him in surprise. The glare hadn’t phased him, it never did. But the thundering voice had cowed him. He hesitated, as if trying to decide how much was bluff and how far he could push it. But then he meekly handed the kettle to his sentinel and brushed past him as he left the kitchen and went to his room. Shaking his head, Jim set about making the tea, and when it was ready he carried a steaming mug into his friend’s room. Sandburg was huddled under the covers, but he sat up and took the offered cup.
“Thanks.” He took a sip and glanced at his roommate. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Ellison asked.
“Well... I don’t know.” Blair gave him a slight grin. “I just get the feeling you’re mad at me for something.”
“No, I’m not mad at you,” Jim assured him. “I just wish you’d take better care of yourself, Chief.”
“Why should I, when I have you to do it for me?” Sandburg teased.
“Are you hungry?” the sentinel asked, an exasperated eye rolling the only dignification he was willing to give to that particular remark.
“Not really.”
“I”m going to heat you up some soup,” Ellison told him, resting his sensitive fingers against his forehead to gauge his temperature. “I want you to take something for this fever, and it will sit better if your stomach’s not empty. Okay?”
Blair nodded his acquiescence, and Jim left him to rest while he went out to the kitchen, realizing that his partner had not been far wrong with his joking. Sandburg did everything he could to take care of everyone around him, but that didn’t leave much left over for himself. He didn’t take care of himself, not like he should. So Ellison was going to have to do it for him. Not an easy task, he discovered, as he had barely gotten the soup on the stove when his roommate appeared and started rummaging through the cabinets.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m out of Niktabi root, but I think I’ve got some vitamin C pills around here somewhere,” came the muffled response.
“I’ll bring you some orange juice,” the sentinel told him firmly, taking him by the arm and pulling him away from the cabinet, giving him a slight push in the direction of his room. “Go back to bed.”
Sandburg obeyed, and he remained there until his partner brought him the soup and the juice and two pills. Jim returned to the kitchen, feeling hungry himself. He planned to finish off the soup if Blair didn’t want any more, but he decided he needed something a little more substantial to go with it and made himself a sandwich. Just as he sat down at the table to eat, Sandburg appeared again, carrying his half eaten bowl to the kitchen. Ellison intercepted him, taking it from his hands.
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” the sentinel said in a no nonsense voice. “When I told you to go back to bed, I meant go back and stay there.”
“I was just...”
“Driving me crazy, I know,” Jim sighed. “Did you take those pills?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want anything else to eat?”
“No.”
“Then go lie down and get some rest. I’ll make you some more tea in a little while.”
Blair shuffled back to his room with a slightly petulant air, leaving Ellison to shake his head after him.
“He calls me stubborn,” the sentinel muttered to himself. He finished his own dinner and quickly cleaned up the kitchen, then made himself comfortable in the living room and clicked on the tv. After flipping around for a minute, he settled on ESPN. Normally he didn’t get too excited about hockey, but it was the only thing on that grabbed his interest. As the game started, he began to hear stirring coming from Sandburg’s room. “He better be going to the bathroom,” Ellison whispered to himself as the French doors opened. But the soft footsteps came down the hall and Jim turned to glare at his roommate over the back of the couch.
“Are you intentionally trying to piss me off?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Of course not. You weren’t in there long enough to fall asleep.”
“Just lay off me, man,” Blair snapped irritably. “I can damn well get up if I want to.”
“Fine,” the detective sighed, throwing up his hands in surrender. “Get up. Go dance a jig around the loft for all I care. Knock yourself out, Chief.”
Sandburg didn’t answer as he picked up his backpack from where he’d dropped it by the door and carried it back to his room. Ellison turned his attention back to the game on tv, deciding to wash his hands of his infuriatingly obstinate friend and let him take care of himself. But soon his mind began to wander, and his sentinel protective instinct began to kick in. Something was wrong with his guide. Blair wasn’t being stubborn out of pride or defiance or his innate need to be self sufficient. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but Jim began get the distinct feeling that there was some underlying problem that his partner was masking with truculence. He debated it with himself for a minute, then turned off the television and went down the hall to the room under the stairs. One of the doors was open partway, and the sentinel took the opportunity to study his guide, unnoticed.
He was lying on his side under a pile of blankets, his head supported heavily in his hand as his eyes scanned over the top sheet of the stack of papers on the bed next to him. Ellison could hear the wheezing in his lungs and the start of congestion building, and he didn’t need to hone his sight to pick up on the flush of fever on his cheeks. Sandburg stifled a cough, and the fingers kneading at his temples suggested headache. All in all he painted the very picture of misery, and Jim could think of absolutely no reason why he didn’t just give in and let himself rest.
“What are you doing?”
“Grading tests. What’s it look like?” Blair replied, barely sparing the figure in his doorway a glance.
“I guess ‘why’ might have been a better question. You’re not going to attempt to go to Rainier tomorrow, are you?”
“Maybe,” Sandburg shrugged. “I only have one class tomorrow, and I might feel better in the morning. But it doesn’t matter if I don’t. I still have to do these sometime.”
“But why now?” When he didn’t get an answer, Jim moved into the room to stand next to the bed. “You know, Chief, I used to think you worked yourself to exhaustion because you had too many obligations and a demanding schedule and you didn’t have any other choice. But that’s not it, is it? You do this to yourself on purpose, don’t you? Flying from one project to another until you literally drop, and then you’re up and at it again the second your eyes pop open in the morning. Why is that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blair protested, a bit too quickly. “I do have a lot of obligations. I’m busy...”
“I know,” Ellison prodded. “But you can’t stop, can you? Even now, when you need to.”
“Just leave me alone, all right?” the younger man sighed with a weariness that turned to chagrin when his friend snatched up the stack of papers. “Jim, come on! I’m trying to work.”
“And I asked you a question,” the detective argued, slipping into interrogation mode. “Come on, Chief, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You can’t even be alone in your room doing nothing for ten minutes.”
“Jim, just drop it, please?” Blair begged.
“I would if you would just answer me,” Ellison badgered. “Just tell me. Why is it so damn hard for you to sit still?”
“I can’t.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” Jim said dryly. “But why?”
“Because then the thoughts start coming to me and the walls close in and I can’t breathe, all right?” Blair shouted hoarsely.
“I’m sorry,” the sentinel told him softly after a long, stunned pause. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, it’s all right.” Sandburg sighed, shoving the hair back from his face as he pulled himself upright and slid over to give his friend room to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Remember when I told you that I’d been in and out of therapy since I got out of my Pampers? Well, I wasn’t kidding. Anxiety really is a normal state of being with me. I battled with it for years and tried about every kind of psychotherapy there is. Nothing worked, and all the mild anti-depressants hardly made a dent. Then I met my last shrink. He said I had an overabundance of restless energy and that I just needed to find an outlet for it. That I needed to sort of distract myself, and if I could keep my mind busy and my body active there would be no room for anxiety. It sounded a little weird but I was desperate and willing to try anything. Took me awhile to get the hang of it, but I learned how to keep myself occupied and wear myself out, both physically and mentally. And once I did, the anxiety went away.”
“But how is that any way to live?” Jim asked quietly, seeing his energetic, multi-tasking friend in a whole new light. “Working nonstop day in and day out to exhaust yourself? Never getting to stop and smell the roses?”
“It isn’t as bad as it sounds,” Blair told him. “Really, man, don’t look at me like that. I’m used to the pace of my life. It’s normal for me. And I have my downtime. All those meditation and relaxation techniques I do balance out the hectic parts. Along with things like going to movies or ball games. It’s really no big deal, Jim. I haven’t had a panic attack in years. The only problem is that in times like this, I don’t know how to shut it off. And I’m afraid of what will happen if I do.”
“What about meditation? Can’t you do it now to help you relax?”
“That might be more concentration than I have right now,” Sandburg admitted. “Believe me, the best thing you can do is just give me back my papers. I’m just going to work a little bit until I get tired, and then I’ll go to sleep.”
Ellison hesitated for a moment, wanting to help but eventually deciding to defer to his friend’s expertise on the matter. He had no better solution and Blair obviously knew best when it came to dealing with his own long standing problems. So he got up and returned the stack of tests, hoping that his partner would expend that excess mental energy in a hurry and be able to get some rest.
Sandburg did tire quickly, but getting some rest turned out to be harder than it sounded for sleep proved elusive. His body ached, not allowing him to get comfortable, and fits of coughing kept him awake. It became obvious that he was not going to make a miraculous recovery, so he called and left a message for one of his fellow colleagues to cancel his afternoon class. Then he kept working and made it through the stack of tests, eventually spending the wee hours of the morning flipping through journals and thumbing through notebooks in an effort to distract his mind. It wasn’t until dawn was breaking that exhaustion finally claimed him and brought him to slumber, so naturally he was less than cooperative when his partner sat down beside him and shook him awake a short time later.
“Come on, buddy,” Jim coaxed him patiently. “Just sit up and drink a little of this for me and then you can go back to sleep.”
Realizing that compliance was the only way to get rid of his unwelcome intrusion, Blair dragged himself up and took the glass.
“What is it?”
“An algae shake,” Ellison answered.
“You made this? I thought you hated the smell of it.”
“Take a couple more of these, too,” the sentinel continued, ignoring the accusation as he pressed two pills into his friend’s hand. “I have to go to work now, but I want you to take two more at noon, ok? I set your alarm, in case you’re asleep. I left you some lunch in the fridge, so try and eat something when you take the pills. Are you listening to me?”
Blair nodded, even though his eyes had been starting to close. He swallowed the pills with a gulp of the shake and tried to focus on what his partner was saying.
“Here’s the paper, and some other things to keep you occupied if that restless energy starts acting up,” he explained, setting a small bundle down next to the bed. “And I’ve got some drinks for you here, too. Make sure you keep yourself hydrated.” Jim took the empty glass he was handed. “Now your phone’s right here on the table next to you. If you need anything, you call me. And, Chief, when you get up, be careful. Take it nice and easy, all right?” Blair had burrowed back down under the covers, and with a sigh Ellison shook his shoulder before peeling back the blankets from the tousled curls. “I’m serious. My roommate in college had the flu and got dizzy and passed out cold. Smacked his head on the edge of his desk and lost his two front teeth.”
“Ok, I’ll be careful,” Sandburg promised as a chill shook his frame.
“All right. Get some rest.” The sentinel tucked the covers back around his guide and patted him gently on the leg as he got up. “I’ll be home around five, but if you need anything before then, call me.”
“I will,” Blair whispered, closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep.
The alarm buzzing was a painful annoyance. Sandburg bolted up quickly to silence the machine, then sat rubbing his pounding temples as he tried to sort through the confusion, not quite sure what was going on. He remembered that he was sick, which would account for him still being in bed at noon. And as his head began to clear, he had a vague recollection of Jim barking orders at him early that morning, which most likely accounted for his rude awakening. With a heavy sigh, Blair struggled out from under the tangle of blankets, staggering a bit dizzily as he left his room and crossed the hall to the bathroom.
It came back to him that he was supposed to take more of the pills that thus far had not been very effective. He didn’t think it was really worth the effort, but since he was already up he decided to save himself the nagging and do as he was told. Blair made his way to the kitchen, getting a glass of water and shaking two pills out of the bottle left prominently on the counter, swallowing them with a slight wince as they slid past his sore throat. There was something about lunch, he remembered, and upon opening the fridge he discovered several deli containers stacked on the top shelf. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he should have something, so he examined the plastic tubs and selected the container of rice pudding, figuring it would be easiest on his throat and stomach. Blair managed a few bites, then put the container back in the fridge and headed back to his room with his glass. He realized he probably should have gotten a refill, but he was shivering from both chills and weakness and he just wanted to lie down. But as he entered his room he saw that he had missed a few additions among the clutter when he had first gotten up.
The small cooler that they took on fishing trips was on the floor by the bed. Blair sat down, pulling a blanket over his shoulders as he sorted through the stack that was on top of the cooler. The paper, a handful of magazines, and a few logic problem and crossword puzzle books. He set those on the floor and opened the lid of the cooler, revealing bottles of assorted beverages nestled in a sea of melting ice cubes. Blair selected a cold bottle of iced tea, holding it against his forehead for a minute and enjoying a momentary respite from his fever. Popping the lid, he took a sip and set the bottle down before climbing back under the mountain of covers, realizing that Jim had been busy. He must have gotten up early to make all the preparations, ensuring that his guide would be provided for, as much as possible, while he was gone. Blair was a bit surprised by the gesture, not having expected such a degree of thoughtfulness from his friend, but he was also touched and grateful as his independent streak took a backseat to his misery and he decided that sometimes it was nice to be cared for.
Sandburg set the puzzle books aside, as he wasn’t feeling up to any activities requiring real thought, but he glanced over the paper and spent the rest of the afternoon restlessly flipping through the magazines. It was almost 5:30 when the front door opened, announcing the arrival of his roommate, and it wasn’t until that moment that Blair realized he had been unconsciously waiting for his friend to get home. He could hear the detective moving around in the kitchen, presumably putting things away, before his light step came down the hallway and he stuck his head in through the door.
“Are you awake?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Blair couldn’t help asking.
“Point taken,” the sentinel grinned as he stepped inside the room. “Feeling any better?”
“No,” Sandburg admitted. “And those pills you keep forcing on me aren’t doing a thing.”
“Well, don’t worry because I’ve got something else to force on you.” Ellison had a seat on the edge of the bed next to him and displayed a box that he’d been concealing behind his back.
“Jim, no,” Blair protested as his friend ripped the top off and pulled out a bottle of greenish fluid. “What are you even doing with that stuff, man? I thought you vowed to stay clear of it after what happened last time.”
“I did,” the sentinel said calmly as he broke the seal on the bottle and unscrewed the lid, pouring some of the ominous medicine into the dosage cup. “But I’m a special case. Simon swears by this stuff. And since we are not on a train and you don’t have hyperactive senses that will react adversely, drink up, Chief.” The younger man didn’t move, staring at the offered cup with no small measure of suspicion. “Come on, Sandburg. It’ll help you feel better. At the very least it might knock you out for awhile. Just try it. Trust me.”
With a martyred sigh, Blair took the cup and downed the shot, shuddering in revulsion as he handed the empty cup back and snatched up the bottle of juice on the table next to him to wash away the taste. Jim just watched him, having expected more of a fight and realizing that his friend must be feeling really badly to have given in so easily.
“Do you want anything?” he asked softly.
Sandburg shook his head slightly, relaxing back down against his pillows. But the sentinel wasn’t convinced, giving him an affectionate pat through the blankets as he stood up.
“I’ll go put the kettle on.”
Blair grew lonely as the shadows darkened the loft and he eventually moved out to the living room, curling up on the couch as he realized that misery really did love company. The evening passed in a blur, for the medicine he’d taken definitely made him drowsy and he spent long stretches asleep in front of the tv. Whenever he opened his eyes, he found that Jim was right there, seemingly eager to get him anything that he might want. His appetite was completely gone, but he let his sentinel coax a little applesauce into him and he obediently drank whatever was pressed into his hands. When he began to shake with chills, a warm blanket joined the afghan that covered him. And after he’d muttered something about Rainier, he overheard his friend on the phone, officially calling him in sick for the following day. Then, realizing that everything was taken care of, Sandburg gave up the fight to stay awake, content in the knowledge that his partner had his back.
He was warm and comfortable and definitely did not want to get up, but Jim was gently persistent and finally managed to rouse his reluctant friend as the hour grew late.
“Come on, Chief,” he urged, helping him sit up. “Let’s get you to bed, ok?”
The sentinel lent his guide a steadying hand down the hallway, where Blair detoured into the bathroom. When he came out and entered his room, he found his partner waiting for him, armed with another dose of the insidious medicine. Sandburg really didn’t feel any better, but he couldn’t deny that the drug had let him get some sleep, so he swallowed the fluid without complaint. Jim had a glass of water all ready for him, and he took a few sips before setting it down on the table and collapsing into bed, pulling the covers up over his head.
“If you need anything, just yell,” Ellison told him. The anthropologist gave no sign that he’d heard, so after a moment’s hesitation Jim tiptoed out of the room, turning off the light as he left.
The previous morning’s routine repeated itself in that Blair found himself awakened early for more medicine and an algae shake. He took the dose readily enough, but after a few sips of the shake he handed it back with a slight grimace.
“Sorry,” he whispered hoarsely as the thick mixture settled heavily in his stomach.
“It’s all right,” the sentinel assured him, setting the glass aside. “I restocked the cooler for you. Do you want something else?”
“Water.”
“It’s not real cold yet.”
But Blair didn’t care, gulping at the fluid with a pained wince.
“I could stay home today,” the detective offered.
“Why?” Sandburg demanded, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I’ll be ok, Jim. It’s just a touch of the flu.”
“I think it’s a bit more than a ‘touch’, Chief,” Ellison said wryly. “And a few hundred people died from the flu in this country last year, you know.”
“I’m not dying,” Blair insisted.
“I know,” Jim told him softly. “But you just take it easy today, ok?” He stood up with a sigh, not happy about leaving his ill friend home alone but realizing it wasn’t serious enough to warrant his missing work. “Everything’s right here for you. And here, I got you these.”
He pulled a packet of throat lozenges out of his pocket, glad he had decided to pick them up on his convenience store run that morning for his partner was sounding even raspier than the day before. Blair took them but seemed to have a little trouble working one of the tablets out of the foil seal.
“Here, let me.” The sentinel took the package back and popped one of the lozenges out, handing it over to his guide. “If you need anything, just call me, ok? And don’t fall asleep with that thing in your mouth!”
“I won’t,” Sandburg muttered grumpily, insulted that his friend felt the need to point out something so stupid.
“All right, then I’m leaving.” But in truth Ellison waited outside the door until he was sure that Blair had finished the tablet and was sleeping soundly before he went to work.
Blair was awake when his alarm went off at noon, but the sudden noise startled him anyway. He quickly turned it off, groaning slightly for even the small movement seemed torturous. It was something he hadn’t thought previously possible, but he was feeling even worse. His throat was raw and his head was pounding ceaselessly and his entire body ached. Three blankets weren’t enough to stop his shivering and his coughing was worse, too, which didn’t help his other symptoms any. Feeling somewhat sorry for himself, he got out of bed for a trip to the bathroom, bringing a box of tissues with him when he returned. Jim had wanted him to try and eat something, but Blair didn’t have the energy to make it to the kitchen even if he were hungry, which he wasn’t.
He sucked on one of the throat lozenges for a minute before plucking a bottle of sports drink from the cooler and swallowing a few sips. Then Blair crawled back under the covers and curled in a ball, taking a valiant stab at meditation. But the throbbing in his temples made it hard to concentrate and the frequent coughing fits made it impossible to relax, so he was denied any relief from the spiritual plane. Sleep didn’t seem to be an option either, so he was resigned to just lying there and riding it out. But as the minutes slowly ticked by, an apprehensive feeling began to creep over him. Foreboding thoughts overtook his mind as his heart started to pound and his gut rolled and a cold sweat erupted from his skin. In a desperate effort to ward off the approaching anxiety, Blair grabbed the medicine bottle from the table. Not bothering with the dosage cup, he just unscrewed the lid and gulped down a mouthful, hoping that the stuff would knock him out before he started to panic. He replaced the bottle and picked up his cell phone, clutching it tightly in his hands as he burrowed down under the covers and tried to take a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. Blair closed his eyes, hoping he could hold on until the medicine kicked in and helped him to relax. And if he couldn’t, then Jim was just a speed dial away.
The room was dark when Blair woke, but he thought he heard a faint sound coming from upstairs.
“Jim?”
The sentinel heard his soft whisper, evidenced by the immediate tread on the stairs above his head. In a moment the French doors opened, spilling a soft glow of light into the room.
“Hey, Chief. Do you need something?”
“No,” Blair murmured after a moment’s hesitation. He was still miserable, but he felt more relaxed and the anxiety had seemingly abated. And he couldn’t help thinking that the comforting presence of his friend in the doorway had a lot to do with that. “I just wondered if you were home.”
“Well, I am. So when you do need something, let me know. Do you want to come crash on the couch for awhile?”
Sandburg declined, deciding it wasn’t worth trying to summon the strength to get up. But he wasn’t lonely, for Jim checked on him frequently, bringing him hot tea several times and a bowl of ice cream once, which didn’t do much for his chills but numbed his throat nicely. The detective also apprised him of what had been going on at the station the last couple of days, entertaining him with anecdotes and apparently not minding that the conversation was mostly one sided. And when Blair returned from his latest bathroom visit and collapsed face first into bed, all traces of resistance finally beaten out of him, Jim covered him up and sat beside him, running a hand up and down his aching back until the younger man was lulled into an exhausted sleep.
The sentinel stood in the doorway, listening to his guide’s soft moans and his elevated heartbeat. Sandburg was obviously having a nightmare, and Ellison was debating whether or not to wake him. But after a particularly heartbreaking whimper, he made up his mind and entered the room, perching on the edge of the bed and giving his friend’s shoulder a gentle shake. Blair reared up with a startled gasp, and the detective was quick to reassure him as he eased him back down against his pillows.
“Easy, Chief, it’s just me. Settle down.”
“Jim?”
“Yeah. Here, have a sip of this.” Ellison handed him the bottle of water from the bedside table. “I’ll be right back, ok?” He went across the hall to the bathroom and ran a washcloth under the faucet before returning and resuming his seat on the edge of the futon. Taking the water bottle the anthropologist held out to him, he set it aside and began wiping the sweat from his friend’s face. “That must have been some dream,” he said sympathetically as he folded the cloth and laid it across the younger man’s forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t remember now,” Blair murmured, hoping that his partner wouldn’t catch him in the lie since his heart was already racing. “What time is it?”
“It’s late.”
“You should go to bed,” Sandburg told him, forgetting that it was Friday and therefore the detective didn’t have to work in the morning.
“I will in a minute.” It was a lie, but unlike his partner, the sentinel didn’t have to worry about his heartbeat giving him away. He stroked the damp curls back from his friend’s face, not needing a thermometer to tell him that Blair’s fever had risen even higher. Reaching down, he removed the lid from the cooler on the floor and wrung out the washcloth in the melted ice water and shook it out until it was cool instead of cold. “Go back to sleep,” he soothed his guide as he gently bathed his face. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
Blair’s eyes were already closing, and with a small sigh he gave in and relaxed, secure in the knowledge that everything would be all right. Jim would see to that.
Sandburg spared a longing glance at the shower, wishing he had the energy for it. But he didn’t, so he exited the bathroom and headed back to bed, hoping that maybe he’d have a little more strength after he slept a little more. As he climbed back under the covers, he was surprised to see his roommate appear in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted out.
“I live here,” Ellison reminded him smugly. “And good morning to you, too.” But the smart ass left his demeanor as he approached his friend, gazing at him with a critical eye. “It’s Saturday, so I’m off,” he explained, reaching out to check his guide’s fever. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Blair replied with palpable relief. He still had all his symptoms, but they had lessened in intensity, and he was mostly just feeling wiped out.
“Your temperature’s down at least,” the sentinel said with satisfaction. “Do you think you could handle a little food?”
“Maybe later, Jim, ok?” Sandburg bargained.
Ellison nodded, realizing that his partner was exhausted and needed rest more than anything.
“All right,” he agreed, giving his friend’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I guess you’ve earned the right to sleep in.” He left his guide in peace and closed the doors quietly behind him, just glad that Sandburg seemed to be on the road to recovery.
Once he was alone, Blair reached under his bed and pulled out the journal that he always kept there. He flipped to a blank page and jotted down a few sentences of text that summarized the bulk of the previous night’s dream. Not much at a glance, but it amounted to a revelation that was going to require a lot of thought a little later. But for now, fatigue was claiming him, so he replaced the journal and snuggled down into his bed, slipping immediately into a deep, healing sleep.
As Blair entered the sunny office, the man behind the desk rose and came forward to greet him. Dr. Dowling’s hair had gone from gray to white, and he had developed a slight stoop and a not so slight paunch, but there was still a spring in his step and his eyes still sparkled with intelligence and kindness behind the thick bifocals he wore. Sandburg grinned as his hand was enveloped in a firm, warm grasp, anticipating the customary slap on the shoulder to follow. He was not disappointed.
“It’s been a long time, Dr. D,” he said fondly, using the informal nickname that he had given the distinguished gentleman so many years ago. “When I called, I was half expecting to be told that you’d retired.”
“I tried, but my wife wouldn’t let me,” the psychiatrist told him with a wink. “She doesn’t like the idea of me hanging around the house all day. So if I give up my practice, I’ll have to find a hobby. I hear that something called rollerblading is all the rage with you kids today.”
“Stick with your practice, trust me,” Blair advised him wryly.
“I don’t know,” the doctor joked. “It’s probably less dangerous than dealing with some of my patients. At least the kids have helmets and pads.”
“That doesn’t make them any less insane,” Sandburg insisted.
“Speaking of which, I suppose that brings us to the reason for your visit.” Dowling chuckled slightly as he put a hand on Blair’s shoulder and indicated that he should have a seat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, my boy, but I was rather hoping I’d never see you again. I assume the old anxiety is back?”
“No. Well, yeah, a little bit. But that’s not really why I’m here. Something else happened.” Blair eased himself into a comfortable chair next to the big picture window, glancing out at the landscaped garden before focusing on the doctor who was claiming the chair opposite him. The office contained the traditional leather couch for those patients who felt more comfortable relaxing and telling their problems to someone they didn’t have to directly face. But Sandburg had always had an open nature and he had never been shy about sharing even the intimate aspects of his life, especially to a doctor trained to help him. He much preferred a direct face to face dialogue, where he could take an active role in the conversation and receive immediate feedback. Which was also one of the reasons he felt such affection for Dr. Dowling. After seeing a plethora of various psychiatrists over the years and finding them all to be rather remote and stone faced, it was a relief for him to find one that wasn’t distanced from his problems, but that got in there with him to sort things out. Blair never had to guess what he was thinking, for Dowling was very candid with his emotions and expressions, and he gave the impression that he was really, truly, listening, even when he was busily scribbling down notes on his pad. But in order to listen, someone first had to be talking.
“Go on,” the doctor prodded him with some amusement, well remembering the young man’s penchant for whirlwind thought and not surprised that he had wandered off so quickly. “Tell me what happened.”
“I had that dream again,” Blair began, snapping his attention back to their session. “The one where I wake up terrified, but I can’t remember what it was that scared me.”
“And this time you remembered?”
“Yes.” Sandburg sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and met the doctor’s compassionate gaze. “It was something that happened to me when I was really little.”
“How little?”
“I’m not sure.” Blair frowned slightly as he considered it. “I had to be really young. Probably not more than two or three.”
“And what happened?”
“My mom.... left me with some ‘friends’.”
“Left you for how long?”
“I don’t know,” Sandburg replied. “A few weeks, I guess. Maybe even a couple months.”
“Did something happen with these friends?”
“No, they were nice enough,” Blair said slowly. “The thing was, I thought she left me there for good. I always knew that Naomi wasn’t cut out to be a mom. Even way back then I could sense that she didn’t want to be tied down to a kid. And I was convinced that she ditched me there and wasn’t ever coming back for me. Nothing that anyone did could console me, and every night until she came to get me I had nightmares and woke up crying.”
“When she did come to get you, did your mother explain anything to you? Reassure you that she hadn’t left you?”
“I don’t think so,” Sandburg murmured, trying to think back. “The dream was just the fear of being left behind. I can’t really remember what happened after that.”
“Blair, I want to show you something.” The doctor rose and went to his desk, picking up the file that was lying on top and returning to his seat. He opened the file and flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted, then held it out to the young man and indicated the precise spot. “This is a notation I made after our very first session.”
“Projects a fierce independence,” Blair read out loud, his eyes going wide as the words sunk in. “Possibly a compensation for deep rooted abandonment issues.” He sought out the doctor’s gaze, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “But if you thought this, why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”
“Because it was just a hunch,” Dowling explained. “And since you didn’t remember this incident at the time, nothing you told me lent any weight to this theory. Besides, what sixteen year old on his own in college isn’t going to project a fierce independence?” The doctor took the file back from him and closed it up before setting it aside. “I’d like to explore what triggered the sudden memory of the dream, and therefore, this trauma from your past. What was different about the dream this time? Why do you think you were able to recall these events now?”
“I don’t know,” Blair answered with a puzzled shrug.
“Try and think back to the night you had it, and more importantly, the events on that day. Was there anything out of the ordinary or especially memorable?”
“There was nothing memorable about it,” Sandburg assured him. “I was sick with the flu so I was in bed all day.”
“Before we started, you mentioned having a little bit of anxiety. Was this before or after you had the dream?”
“Before. In fact, it was that same day.”
“How bad was the attack?”
“It wasn’t an attack,” Blair told him. “I started feeling like everything was closing in on me, and I tried to relax and breathe through it, and it just never progressed into panic.”
“Ok, let’s go back to the dream,” Dowling said as he jotted a few notes down. “Were you remembering this instance of your mother leaving you as a boy, or were you reliving it?”
“Reliving, I think. No, wait. I wasn’t little, though. I was like I am now. But I was all alone, and scared, and I remember thinking that Naomi had left me again, just like she did before.”
“You were scared,” the doctor repeated. “Any other emotions? Did you feel angry, or betrayed?”
“No,” Sandburg replied. “I was just terrified.”
“What about when you woke up?”
“Jim was there,” Blair said slowly, remembering how the terror had immediately vanished as his partner had comforted him. “I was really sick and he was sort of taking care of me.”
“Jim?” the doctor questioned.
“My roommate. Well, my best friend, really.”
“So you were abandoned in your dream, and this terrified you. Then you woke up and Jim was with you. How did you feel then?”
“Safe,” Blair whispered, not even having to think about the answer. It was how he always felt around his sentinel.
“What else?”
“I don’t know,” Sandburg sighed impatiently. “It felt good. You know, I wasn’t alone, and I didn’t have to worry about anything because Jim was there.” He paused for a minute, rubbing his hands over his face before looking back to the doctor. “God, that makes me sound so needy!”
“Blair, we all need someone at some point in our lives. Especially when we’re sick or going through some rough times.”
“I know that!” Blair protested vehemently. “But I’m twenty-eight years old and I have my own life now. I should be able to be alone with myself and my thoughts and not go into a panic because my mom stashed me with strangers for awhile when I was barely out of diapers!”
“Have you ever heard of Harry Harlow?” Dowling asked, knowing that the young man before him was extremely well versed on all manner of subjects.
“Yeah,” Sandburg replied, a bit confused by the abrupt segue. “He did some behavior studies on macaques, right?”
“He did indeed. And what he found was that the baby monkeys desired their mother’s touch, even if the mother was an inanimate surrogate. They needed it, every bit as much as they needed food. The mother provides a safe haven for the infants in times of fear or stress, and this creates an affectional bond. Harlow theorized that the same principles applied to humans.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“Blair, from what you’ve told me of your past and how you were raised, I can guess that you were most likely very isolated as an infant. Without any other family members, or even a permanent residence with constant surroundings, your mother was your entire world. The only familiar, stable presence you had to relate to. When she left you, she left you with nothing. Your safe haven was gone, and you had nothing to counter the stress of your situation, which is why you reacted as negatively as you did.”
“That sounds like a p.c. way of saying ‘overreact’,” Sandburg ventured.
“Well, in the same situation Harlow’s monkeys curled into the fetal position and screamed ceaselessly,” Dowling related with a smile. “So I wouldn’t necessarily say you overreacted.”
“All right, I think I understand where you’re going with this,” Blair told him. “But I don’t understand why I’m still going through it. I’m on my own, so I can’t be abandoned. So why am I still so afraid it’s going to happen?”
“Because you’ve been walking a tightrope of both extremes,” the doctor explained gently. “There’s still a small child deep inside of you, afraid of being left all alone. And he’s warring with the adult part of you that advocates independence, to the point where you can’t bear to admit you need anyone for anything, because that would just leave you open to being abandoned once again. Blair, you have to learn that everybody needs help sometimes, and there’s no shame in asking for it or accepting it. But you also can’t be totally reliant on others, and that sometimes you are going to be alone. I believe that your anxiety is stemming from your conflicting emotions, probably subconsciously, that alternate between wanting to cling to the people in your life so that they can’t leave you behind, and wanting to keep them at a distance and prove that you don’t really need them. You’re going to have to find a balance between the two. And when you learn how to accept those that you need when you need them, but also how to let them go so you can be on your own, then you won’t need to come to this office ever again.”
“It all sounds too easy.”
“The solution is simple,” Dowling pointed out. “But getting to it is not going to be. You can forgive your mother for what she did. And you can give your trust to those you’re closest to. But in all my long experience, I’ve never met anyone who found it easy to make peace with themselves. You’re going to have to dust off all those old self esteem issues, and realize that you did not deserve to be left behind, and that you are worthy of other people’s care and devotion.”
“Yeah, that one might be tricky,” Blair murmured, already squirming at the thought of having his deepest, darkest insecurities, ones he frequently tried to mask with either false bravado or humbleness, brought out to the light for a painful scrutiny. But it was what he was there for, and the conflict he was going to have to face before he could find peace.
“You can do it,” the doctor assured him. “In fact, I’ll wager you’ll have this anxiety licked before you earn your PhD.”
Sandburg burst out laughing, much to Dr. Dowling’s surprise.
“In that case, at the rate I’m going that will give us plenty of time.”
Ellison entered the loft, initially thinking that his roommate was not home, but quickly detecting his presence out on the balcony. He hung up his coat and helped himself to a beer before going out to join him.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Just thinking,” Blair replied, a bit absently. “I’ve got a few things I’m trying to work through.”
“You’re not feeling anxious or anything, are you?”
“No, Jim,” Sandburg told him patiently. “Now stop asking me that, or you’re going to make me sorry I ever told you about it.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about it before now?” the detective asked, knowing that his friend was not one to hold back anything from him, no matter how personal. A polar opposite to his own strong reluctance to divulge anything about himself.
“I don’t know.” Blair shrugged slightly, not having really considered it. “I guess because it hasn’t been an issue since I’ve known you. Up until now, I mean.”
“Chief, I have to ask...” The sentinel hesitated, running a hand over the back of his neck nervously. “It’s not because of me, is it? I mean, I don’t make you feel...”
“You make me crazy, Jim,” Sandburg informed him. “But not anxious.” He glanced over at his friend and realized that he was not only serious, but that the thought that he might be a contributing factor was causing him a great deal of concern. “Why would you think that you had something to do with it?”
“I know I give you a lot of grief,” Ellison murmured, suddenly becoming very fascinated with peeling the label off his bottle. Something which he’d yelled at his roommate for on countless other occasions, since the paper shards ‘made a mess’. “And I don’t always counter the griping with anything good. But I want you to know now, Blair, that I do appreciate everything that you do for me. And I want to thank you for all your help, and apologize to you if I ever made you feel like I didn’t want you around, because I really am glad to have you as my friend.”
“Thanks, Jim,” Blair said quietly. “That means a lot to me.” He took a deep breath and looked away, suddenly wishing he had a label of his own to peel. “And I owe you another thank you, too. For all that you did for me when I was sick. A lot of times it’s not very easy for me to ask for help...”
“Well, that’s the good thing about friends, buddy,” the sentinel interrupted, clapping his guide affectionately on the shoulder. “You never have to ask.”
They both fell silent, and after a few minutes Ellison turned away from the darkening city and started back inside. But he paused in the doorway, looking back at his friend, his blue eyes filled with fond concern.
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
Blair met his gaze, feeling the familiar safe warmth flooding through him. The same warmth he’d felt the first day he’d met his sentinel. Things were seldom easy with Jim, but they were comfortable. From the start there had been a natural give and take between them, and almost instantly they had begun forming a solid, unbreakable bond. And as Blair grinned at his friend, he knew that he never had to worry about his relationship with James Ellison. They loved each other, they trusted each other, they needed each other, and they helped each other. And Blair realized he was really, truly ok with that.
“Yeah,” he replied confidently. “I’m fine.”
Jim nodded and went inside the loft as Sandburg turned back to look out over the Cascade skyline. Maybe he wasn’t quite fine yet, but he would be. With Dr. Dowling’s help, and his sentinel to guide him by example, Blair was quite sure that he’d soon give his anxiety the boot and be able to truly find peace at last.
finis