Title: Angel on My Shoulder 
Author: Nancy Taylor 
Author Email: nat1228@comcast.net 
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete 
Series: MIGA # 2
Archive: Yes to CL, WWOMB, Fries 
Author's website: https://www.squidge.org/~nat1228/TSgen.htm

Written: May-July 2000 
Revised and expanded: January, 2002 
Previously published by Agent With Style

Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel 
and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely 
for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. 
No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Episode related: Warriors

Warnings: lyrics

Author's notes: Many thanks to Becky for the use of parts of her
episode transcripts for "Warriors." You made my job much easier.

Thanks also to my intrepid betas: Allison and Heather-Anne, for the
original version, and Heather-Anne and Kimberly for this revised and
expanded version. Couldn't do it without you!

Summary: Blair's seizures intensify.


ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER 
by Nancy Taylor 
nat1228@comcast.net


//'Cause I'm not angry, I'm not crying, 
I'm just in over my head. 
And you could be the angel that stayed on my shoulder, 
When all of the other angels left.//

=====||=====

"I'm heading out. Are you coming?"

"Can you do without me today?" The anthropologist looked up from where
he was hunched over his laptop, preparing a lesson plan for school.
"I've got some tests to grade and this damn lesson plan to work up."

"You sure you're gonna be okay here alone?"

"Jim, I'm fine. You don't have to babysit. Go on. Get outta here!"

Jim smiled. With his glasses firmly in place and his hair hanging
loose around his face as he bent over his computer, Blair looked ready
to tackle hell or high water . . . or migraine headaches, if need be.
Determined not to worry, Jim turned and walked out the door.

~~oO0Oo~~

Several hours later, with graded papers strewn around him and his
computer screen screaming for his attention, Blair stopped to rub his
temples. Damn! He couldn't afford a headache now. He had too much left
to do. 

Reaching up, he rubbed at his aching temples with his fingers.
//Please, don't let me get one of those freaking migraines now!// He
stood and headed for the kitchen, intent on finding one of his herbal
cures. Rummaging through the cupboards, he finally settled on brewing
some chamomile tea. Nothing was going to touch this headache, but
perhaps the hot drink would help relax him.

He knew he ought to go to bed. Fighting this wasn't going to make it
any easier. He pulled off his glasses, digging knuckles into his
aching eyes. //Man, this really sucks!// He trailed back out to the
couch, mug of tea in hand. At the very least, he needed to save his
work and shut down the computer. Sitting on the couch, he sipped at
his tea before placing the mug on the table and turning to his laptop.

Flicking a finger over the glidepad, he stopped the screensaver, and
revealed the active document on the screen. As he opened the dropdown
menu to "save," he froze, unable to continue. Oblivious to what was
going on around him, Blair's eyes rolled up and he fell to the floor,
hitting his head on the coffee table as he went down. The laptop, and
a considerable number of papers, went with him. When the convulsions
stopped, he lay deathly still.

~~oO0Oo~~

"Ellison! . . . Jim?" Simon stood at his lead detective's desk, trying
to get the man's attention. A firm hand on Jim's shoulder brought him
back from the edge of a sensory zone-out. "What's going on here?"

"I don't know, Simon. I've just got this feeling something isn't
right. Sandburg was awfully anxious to get rid of me this morning."
Jim shuffled some of the papers on his desk, then looked up at his
Captain. "That seizure he had yesterday scared the crap out of me."

Simon nodded his understanding. "You couldn't get him to go see his
doctor?"

"Hell, no. He seems to think it isn't any big deal. He's had them
before, when he was a kid." Jim brushed a hand across his
close-cropped hair in exasperation.

"Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off? Go home. Check up
on him," Simon suggested.

"He'd kill me. He doesn't like to be babied, Simon. I've got to
respect that. He's a grown man. He can take care of himself."

"So, call. Give him some line about picking up something for dinner on
the way home."

Jim shook his head. "He'd know I'm checking up on him."

"Let him know, then!" Simon insisted. "Isn't that what friends are
for?"

"Yeah," Jim sighed, nodding slowly. "Something's just not right." He
picked up the phone and dialed home. After three rings, the answering
machine picked up. "Simon, I've got to go," he said, replacing the
receiver in its cradle. "Sandburg's not answering the phone."

~~oO0Oo~~

Taking the stairs three at a time, Jim raced up to the loft. Nervous
hands fumbled with the key, taking precious extra seconds to open the
locked door. He entered the apartment like a charging bull. "Hey,
Sandburg! You home?" he shouted. "Answer me, dammit!" The utter
silence in the loft was unnerving.

Stopping to take a deep breath, he centered himself. He hadn't even
taken time to look around. The sound of a softly beating heart brought
his attention to living room area, and the clutter around one of the
couches. Running across the room, he knelt beside his fallen friend.
"Damn! It happened again, didn't it, Sandburg? Why didn't you say
something?"

A bleeding gash on Blair's forehead and blood on the table were mute
testimony to what had happened. Dialing "911" on his cell phone, Jim
called for an ambulance. "We're not playing around anymore. You're
going to the hospital," he told the unconscious man.

He lifted the computer from the anthropologist's chest and gathered up
the scattered papers. By the time the paramedics arrived, he had
already performed a cursory exam, convincing himself that Blair had
nothing more than a bad concussion. 

The medics performed their own exam, peppering Jim with questions as
they checked Blair's vital signs. They loaded the young man onto a
gurney and wheeled him down the hall to the elevator. 

Jim followed them out, climbing into the truck and staying close
behind the ambulance as it sped to the hospital.

~~oO0Oo~~

Jim paced the hospital lounge with the nervous grace of a predatory
animal. When the doctor finally appeared, he nearly pounced on the
man.

"James Ellison?"

"Yes. How's Blair, Doctor. . . ?"

"Freeman." He shook Jim's hand in greeting. "Your friend is doing
fine. He has a concussion, but nothing too serious. You mentioned he's
had seizures recently?"

"Yeah," Jim replied. "He told me he was diagnosed with epilepsy as a
kid, but hadn't had any seizures for years. It came as quite a shock."

"I can imagine. I'd like to hold him overnight for observation and to
run some tests, but there's no reason he can't go home in the morning.
I'd like to put him on Klonopin for a trial period; see how he
responds. It's an anticonvulsant," he added by way of explanation.

"Yeah, I know," Jim answered distractedly. "Anything. . . . Just get
these damn seizures under control."

"That's what we're trying to do, Mr. Ellison," Dr. Freeman reassured
him. "Would you like to see Mr. Sandburg?"

"Yes. Please." He followed as the doctor led him to a room down the
hall.

"Don't stay too long. He's drowsy and needs his rest."

"Thanks, Doctor." Jim pushed the door open to the dim room, dialing up
his senses to hear the reassuring beat of Blair's heart, and the soft
susurration of his breath. Walking over to the bed, he brushed stray
strands of wild hair from the high forehead, carefully avoiding the
large bandage on the left side.

Blair opened his eyes at the touch. "Jim?"

"Yeah, I'm here. How're you feeling?"

"Head hurts."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? You whacked yourself a good one when
you fell."

"Did I. . . ?"

"Have another seizure?" Jim finished for him. "Yeah, I think so. You
knocked yourself unconscious when you fell off the couch."

"Ouch."

Jim chuckled. "I just can't leave you alone, can I?"

Blair turned his head away from Jim and grimaced. "Sorry. I didn't
mean to worry you. I really screwed up, didn't I?"

"You bet your sweet ass, you did! If you'd gone to the doctor like I
asked, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

The younger man winced, hating to be caught in the wrong. "It won't
happen again," he whispered. "I guess I just tried to do too much, too
soon. Forgive me?"

"For scaring a year off my life?" Jim sighed. "Yeah. Just don't do
this to me anymore, okay?"

"'Kay." Blair's eyes fluttered and closed. Jim brushed a few long
strands of hair from Blair's forehead and smiled fondly at his
sleeping guide.

~~oO0Oo~~

Dr. Freeman pressed a bottle into Blair's hand. "This is the lowest
dosage available. Take one tablet, three times daily with food. I want
to see you in a week to run some tests, and see how you're doing on
the medication."

Blair screwed up his face, pushing the bottle back toward the doctor.
"I prefer not to take prescription medications. I like more natural
remedies. Thanks, anyway."

"This isn't negotiable," Jim stated, picking up the bottle and putting
it in his pocket. "I'll see to it that he takes them, Doctor."

"But, Jim. . . ."

"No 'buts', Blair. I'm tired of worrying about you. You're going to do
this for me, for *us*."

"He's a damned dictator, you know," Blair addressed the doctor,
tilting his head toward his partner. "Do this. Don't do that."

"Sounds like just what the doctor ordered." The physician chuckled.
"Take care, Blair. And take the medication. I'll see you in a week."

~~oO0Oo~~

Blair balanced the small pill in his hand, reluctant to swallow it.

Jim reached across the dinner table to rest a reassuring hand on the
younger man's arm. "Take it, Blair. You promised."

"But, Jim . . . they make me so tired," Blair sighed. "I *hate* taking
them!"

"Then I'll tuck you into bed, and you can rest." Jim patted the arm
under his hand and held Blair's defiant gaze.

"I don't *want* to rest, dammit! I've got things I need to get done!
If I don't get these papers graded before tomorrow afternoon, there's
gonna be hell to pay." Blair pulled away from the patronizing hand.

"And you won't be worth anything to the University or to me if you're
laid out with another seizure," Jim argued. "You promised, and I'm
going to see to it that you keep that promise."

Looking up into determined blue eyes, Blair grimaced and popped the
pill into his mouth, following it with a quick swallow of water.
"Happy?"

"Yes. Very." Jim smiled, trying to dispel the bad feelings that had
come between them.

The grad student pushed his chair back and stood. Without another
word, he turned his back on the older man and marched into the living
area, plopping unceremoniously onto the couch. Picking up a pile of
papers, Blair settled his glasses on his nose, picked up a pen, and
began to grade papers.

Jim watched him go, feeling slightly defeated. It was going to be
difficult to monitor the stubborn anthropologist, but he was
determined to see to it that Blair took his medication on schedule. It
was his night to do dishes, so he cleared the table quickly and set to
work. Once finished, he sat on the end of the couch opposite his
roommate and turned on the TV. Adjusting the volume down so as not to
disturb Blair, he settled in to watch the evening news.

Blair didn't even look up from the papers he was grading as Jim sat
down.

Trying to keep an eye on his friend, without intruding into his
privacy, Jim allowed the TV to go from the news into the evening
sitcoms without so much as a blink. Noticing, after about an hour,
that the younger man's head was drooping, he finally spoke. "Hey,
Chief. . . ."

Blair looked up, bleary-eyed.

Jim reached over and pulled the glasses from their perch on Blair's
nose. Folding them, he placed them gently on the table. "I think it's
time you head for bed," he suggested, getting no protest from his
actions.

Blair dug his knuckles into his eyes, which were already looking
bloodshot and tired. "Damn pills," was all he said as he rose and
shuffled into his bedroom, closing the French doors behind him.

A week later:

"So, Blair, how are things going for you?" Doctor Freeman asked.

"Great."

"And you're still taking the Klonopin three times daily?"

"Jim sees to that." Blair laughed.

The doctor scribbled some notes on a pad. "Any problems?"

"Just the usual side effects you warned me about: drowsiness, a little
irritability. Nothing I haven't been able to deal with."

"And there have been no more seizures?"

"No." Blair's answer was short and to the point, its very conciseness
a clue to the doctor that not all was well.

Sighing, the physician eyed his patient. "I can't help you if you're
not going to tell me what's wrong."

"I don't like taking the Klonopin. I told you that already," Blair
responded sullenly.

"Besides your aversion to medication in general, is there anything
about this *particular* medication that's bothering you?"

"I'm tired all the time," Blair confessed. "It seems like every time I
turn around I have to take another damn pill, and the next thing I
know, I'm taking a nap!"

"I can write you a prescription to counteract the drowsiness," the
doctor suggested.

"No thanks. I am *not* taking anything else!" Blair slid off the exam
table and headed for the door.

"Remember, Blair, you have to keep taking the medication," the doctor
admonished. "This isn't something that gets better with time."

"Yeah, right." The disgust was evident in the young man's voice.

"I mean it, Blair. This isn't some game we're playing," Dr. Freeman
told his argumentative patient. "You have to keep taking the
Klonopin."

"I said I would, and I will," Blair said sullenly.

"Okay, then." Doctor Freeman patted Blair's shoulder. "In that case, I
shouldn't need to see you again, unless there are any new problems.
You should make an appointment with your regular doctor for two months
from now for a med check. Otherwise, you're free and clear."

"Thanks."

"Take care of yourself, Blair."

"Thanks, Doctor," Jim added, as he placed his palm in the small of
Blair's back and guided the younger man out of the office.

"You can be such a pain in the butt!" Jim commented, once they were
safely out of earshot.

"You should know," Blair spat back.

"C'mon . . . lighten up," Jim pleaded.

A heavy sighed expelled from the lungs of the man walking next to him.
"I'm sorry, Jim. I've been a real ass lately, haven't I?"

"I'm taking the Fifth on that one," Jim chuckled.


To be continued in Mark of the Shaman...