Spoilers:  None

Rating of Story: G

Characters in Story:  Blair & Jim

Warnings: None!  Unless a sick Blair is something you worry about.  :)

Plot Blurb:  Blair shares a bit about his past Christmas history with the Sentinel, prompting Jim's desire to right a wrong.

Special Note:  Dedicated – as ever – to Beta Supreme, Dreamweaver and my friends, Renee and Red.  They know who they are.  Without any of them, I am just a has-been.

Side Note:  This story is a March Themefic from the Sentinel Angstlist.  One of Black Wolf's requests was a Blair sicfic so, since I've recently done a wilderness story, I chose that option.  I hope you enjoy it, Black Wolf.  Many happy returns to you!

Feedback:  Wintersrose craves, needs and wants your feedback, much like she craves and wants chocolate!  Please, keep her writing!  

 

 

 

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"Here we go!" Grinning, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and merriment, Blair swung the last of the children up and got her settled on the back of the pony that waited, placidly, for his next passenger to mount.  The curly-haired anthropologist smiled over at Madelyn Shephard, the woman he was helping with this project, and watched her as she set out down the pony track, leading a pony named "Spot" along.  Spot's passenger, an eight-year-old boy named Barid, laughed gleefully and clapped his hands.  

Blair stared down the path after them and smiled back, confidently, at the somewhat frightened little girl who held on tightly to the rope in her hands.  Ghambiri was small, petite and only about five.  Newly come to the states with other refugees from the small island of "Narobi," she spoke only Hindi and was not sure at all about these strange people around her.  

Blair sent her a thumbs-up and flashed her a smile, wishing again that he spoke the language.  The children had arrived only a few days before, orphans who had survived the flooding of their small island village in the middle of the South Pacific, found by, of all things, an off-course cruise ship which was trying to avoid a nasty storm that threatened its normal path.  The children, eight in total, had been rescued from their small fishing boat by the crewmen of the cruise ship, and fed and clothed and coddled by just about everyone on the ship.  

The U.S. had allowed them to come to the States and, currently, they were staying in a state-run children's home located in Cascade, which was run by Blair's friend, Madelyn.  They were adapting, slowly, to a new life.  

And Blair, wanting to do anything he could to help, had agreed to come to help Madelyn out with the kids’ fair that morning.  

"Here we go, Ghambiri," Blair smiled as he reached up and swung the little girl off the pony, swinging her around in a circle a few times, eliciting delighted laughter from the child before he settled her back on the ground.  He knelt and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then sent her off to the other children as he turned to Madelyn.  

"You've been great, Blair," Madelyn smiled at him and he felt his heart bubble a little.  Madelyn Shephard – never Maddie – was beautiful and she knew it.  "I couldn't have done this without you."  

"My pleasure, Madelyn," Blair grinned back at her.  "This was great.  I've been needing something like this – just a day to have fun – for a long time.  Life's been hectic."  

"I heard," Madelyn said.  "How's that cop of yours?  Ellison, is it?"  

"Ellison, yeah.  Jim Ellison.  He's great," Blair said.  "Let me move in a month ago when my place blew up and, well, hasn't shown any signs of wanting me to move out.  He set up house rules, if you can believe it.  Not many, mind, but trust me…"  

Madelyn laughed as she brushed back her brunette hair.  "You and rules aren't on speaking terms."  

"Hey!" Blair protested.  "I can follow the rules.  Sometimes."  

Madelyn laughed even more at that.  "Right, Blair.  And my name is Duncan MacLeod."  

Blair laughed at that and shrugged, sending chestnut curls bobbing.  "Well," he confessed.  "I admit that I haven't been perfect about it, but Jim's one anal cop, man.  You gotta give him his space or he's liable to blow up at you.  Not that I mind.  He's…well, he could have turned me out on my ear, after all."  

Madelyn nodded.  "That's true," she said.  "Well, I have the kiddies corralled, why don't you go on?  Thanks again for helping."  

"My pleasure," Blair leaned forward and stole a peck on the cheek.  "Have fun."  

Then he left and drove to the Cascade Police department to find his partner, friend and roommate, Jim Ellison.  

** ** **  

3 days later:  

"Sandburg, get a move on; you're going to be late for your class!" Jim Ellison's voice boomed through the loft located at 852 Prospect Street as he finished securing his holster under his arm, and placing the firearm he carried where it belonged.  "Come on, Chief, your alarm went off over an hour ago."  

Jim pushed open the curtain that hung in front of his partner's room and peeked inside, finding that Blair was still bundled up under a layer of blankets and quilts on his bed, unmoving.  Jim frowned and listened, hearing a soft groan in place of a complaint, and the Sentinel moved swiftly to Sandburg's bedside and knelt there beside him.  

"Chief?" he said as he reached a hand for the blankets.  He moved a couple back until he could see Blair's face, and stared down at him, touching the younger man's forehead with the back of his hand.  "Damn, Chief, you've got a temperature."  

"Know that," Blair whispered, hoarsely.  "Feel like crap, too.  Don't know what happ'd.  Must…got cold…from one of kids….Don't have time. Gettin' up."  

"Maybe you should stay home today," Jim suggested, softly.  "If you have that cold I got on the train you might want a few days to get over it.  Come on, Chief.  Give yourself a break."  

"You did'n…" Blair muttered.  "Gotta class and test.  Gotta go."  

Blair up-righted himself on the bed and shifted until his legs were off the side.  Jim frowned, disapproval etched on the fine lines of his face.  

"Chief," he began again.  

"Cut it out, Jim," Blair rasped.  "I'll come right home when it's done.  Promise.  Don't feel like any extra.  Cancel office hours too."  

Blair started to get up but his legs didn't work.  Frowning, he looked at Jim, then over at the door and back at his bed.  

"Maybe I should stay home," he said, reluctantly.  

"Good choice, junior.  Do you want to see my doctor?  I can make you an appointment on my way out."  

"No way, man!" Blair protested as he fell back onto his nice, soft, warm, pillows.  "'s just a cold.  Not gonna give me anything for a cold.  You know that."  

Jim regarded him for a moment, trying to decide if he should heed the younger man or not.  Finally, he disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of juice, two bottles of water, a bottle of acetaminophen, and the phone.  He brought them all back in to his partner and settled them onto the small bedside table.  

"Sit up again, Chief," Jim commanded    "I brought you something to drink and I want you to take a couple of Tylenol™."  

Blair sighed but nodded and did as his partner ordered.  He sat up and took the glass of juice – and the acetaminophen – and downed them without a single protest…a true testament – in Jim's eyes – of just how sick the younger man was.  

"Good," Jim said.  "I'll come back during lunch and check on you.  Call your advisor at school and let them know you aren't going to be in today.  Then go to sleep.  Will you be okay by yourself?"  

"Yes, Jim," Blair said.  "Go to work."  

Jim nodded and, after a last, guilty, look, left for work.  

** **

Two days later:  

"Enough is enough, Chief!" Jim ordered his roommate.  "You've been sick for two days.  Your throat is so raw you can't talk.  I can hear your breathing getting more labored, and I think there's something wrong with your throat.  Quit fighting me and let's just go to the doctor, all right?"  

Sick, restless and hot, Blair frowned at his roommate.  He shrugged and waved weakly toward the door, which Jim took as assent.  

"I'll get you something warm to wear, then we're going," Jim said.  He dug around in Blair's drawers, pulling out clean sweats, underwear and socks.  He helped Blair sit up and change, then helped the listless young man to stand and put on his shoes.  

"Let's go," Jim said.  "I already made you an appointment, it's in 20 minutes.  We have just enough time to get there."  

Blair would've protested if he had the energy to do it.  He felt weaker than a newborn kitten, and his whole body wanted to lie back down again, very badly.  

The drive to the doctor's office was made in silence, since Blair couldn't speak, and they arrived just in time.  Jim ushered his partner inside the doors and to the receptionist’s desk.  

"Blair Sandburg to see Dr. Monroe," Jim said.  "He has a 10:30 appointment."  

"Sign in, please," the receptionist ordered.  "We have some forms he needs to fill out."  

Jim signed Blair in, and then brought him over to sit down in the waiting room to fill out the necessary reports.  Blair let Jim fill in what he could, and then he did the rest, not caring one way or another if they were done right or not.  

"Blair?" a nurse came out and Blair stood, shrugging out of his coat to walk over to her.  Not trusting him to keep to his feet, Jim got up and went with him, earning him what amounted to a 'sick Blair glare' from his partner.  Jim explained the symptoms that he'd noticed to the nurse, and Blair filled in, in his raspy voice, anything else Jim didn't know.  

"Mouth feels like cotton," Blair said.  "All dried up."  

The nurse took his temperature (102.3) his heart rate (68) and his blood pressure (110/75) and told him the doctor would be with him in a few minutes.  

Blair laid down on the table in the room and closed his eyes, almost managing to fall back to sleep before the doctor showed up.  He asked all of the same questions the nurse asked him, about his symptoms and so forth and Blair answered – again – wondering if this was a test of some sort.  Wasn't it all written down?  Didn't the doctor trust his nurse?  If he felt better, he would ask about it.  Maybe he could do a paper on it.  ‘The trust between doctors and nurses and the direct parallel to patient care’ – it had a nice ring to it.  

The doctor made him sit up again, something Blair protested vehemently, and checked his lungs and chest and his heart and his pulse (again), and then he took a tongue depressor and looked into Blair's mouth.  

The doctor's eyes went slightly wide with shock as he shone his little light up and around the inside of Blair's mouth, making both Sentinel and Guide wonder just what the hell was going on now?  

"I need to take some swabs of your mouth, Blair," Doctor Monroe said.  "I think I know what you have but I'd like to run a culture to make sure."  

"What?" Blair asked, raspily.  "Just a cold, right?"  

"I'm afraid not," Doctor Monroe said.  "I think you have diphtheria, but I have to do a culture to make completely sure."  

"How long will it take for the results to come back?" Jim asked.  "He's sick now."  

"It will take two days," Doctor Monroe said.  "But the question is, where could he have gotten this?  Were you immunized as a child, Blair?"  

Blair nodded.  "Pretty sure, yeah."  

"What about your adult vaccinations?"  

Blair stared at him, frowning.  "Adult…?"  

"Ah," Monroe said.  "Were you around anyone else who was sick recently?  Or any new people that you don't normally come into contact with?  It would have been about two to six days before you got sick."  

"Kids," Blair murmured.  "Kids from the island.  I was with them."  

Monroe nodded.  "Okay, let's take the throat swab.  I'll get that going and then I want you to give me a list of anyone you've been in close contact with since then – and we need to contact the person in charge of those kids too."  

Blair stared at him, blankly.  

"Open up," Monroe ordered.  He stuck a tongue depressor in Blair's mouth, then used a swab to swab Blair's soft palate and tonsils.  Monroe put the swabs inside of a tube and closed it up tight, then repeated the process again.  

"Here."  He handed Blair a sheet of paper.  "Be as thorough as you can."  

Blair stared at the paper.  It seemed an impossible gulf.  No way could he remember.  

Jim snagged it and wrote.  Madelyn Shephard – phone number.  Jim Ellison.  

"How close?" he asked when Monroe came back into the room, holding a syringe and a small bottle.  

"Er… within breathing distance," Monroe suggested.   

Blair jotted down the students he had talked to at school the days before he got sick and Jim jotted down the members of Major Crimes.  Eventually they had a list compiled, and the doctor held up the syringe.  

"I'm going to go ahead and start you on a course of antibiotics.  Are you allergic to Erythromycin or any other medications?"  

Blair shook his head, frowning at the syringe.  

"Good," Monroe said.  "And you, detective, need to get a diphtheria booster and I'll be giving you a 7-day course of oral erythromycin.  Can you take it?"  

Jim looked over at Blair, who shrugged slightly and nodded.  "Sure," Jim said.  "But why?"  

Monroe explained that anyone in close proximity needed to start a prophylactic dosing of the antibiotic regimen to make sure that they didn't get the disease as well – diphtheria was incredibly contagious, and even if Jim hadn't shown signs of it – well, he could still catch it in the next couple of days.  Better safe than sorry.  

Jim stifled a glare and nodded as he endured his own poke – at least his was in the arm, Blair noticed, bitterly.  He'd had to bare his backside to the doctor to get his injection.  

"All right," the doctor wrote a note with a flourish.  "You're going to be in the hospital for two days, Blair.  After two days on the medication you won't be contagious anymore."  

Blair sighed again.  He hated hospitals.  

"Can't I just stay home?"  

Monroe glared at him.  "No."  

Blair moaned.  He looked hopefully over at his partner but Jim shook his head, smiling.   

I hate losing, Blair shook his head as he shifted off the table to ride with Jim to the hospital.  Hate it.   

** **

Two days later, Blair shuffled into his room again and collapsed on the bed, grateful to finally be home and away from the hospital.  He looked over at Jim who was settling Blair's medications on the bedside table.  

"Lie down, Chief," Jim said.  "I'll go make you some soup and get you something to drink.  Then you should have a nice nap."  

"Who are you?" Blair asked his partner.  "You're not Jim!"  

"Delirious," Jim grinned as he sauntered into the kitchen to heat a pot of soup.  He brought it back in to his roommate a few minutes later, and waited beside the bed for Blair to drink it.  While Blair was doing that, Jim put a hand on his forehead.  

"Cut it out," Blair protested.  "I'm not feverish anymore.  Doctor said so."  

Jim, in a way that said 'I'm far superior to any doctor,' ignored Blair and continued to check his roommate, even making Blair open his mouth to reveal that the sores inside were finally starting to clear.  

"Next time," Jim warned the younger man when he was done, "you go to the doctor on day one.  Got it?"  

Blair sighed but nodded as he handed the half-full soup bowl back to Jim.  "Going to sleep now."  

Jim frowned.  "You should finish this.  Doctor says you need to build your strength up again."  

"Too tired.  Later," Blair murmured, already half-asleep.  

Jim smiled at the younger man and gently helped Blair lie back.  He pulled the blankets up over Blair's prostrate form before he took the soup back into the kitchen.  When he got back to Blair's room, the younger man was already snoring lightly, one arm stretched out beside him.  

"Good night, Chief," Jim smiled at him.  

"Night," a sleepy voice murmured back at him.