Jim arrived at Cascade General's ICU and went immediately to Blair's room. A smile greeted him.
"You're awake. That's a surprise."
"Nurse was just in," Blair answered briefly, indicating the IVs and monitors that needed frequent checking.
"Lucky for me. I usually have to sit here and wait for you to wake up. How are you feeling?"
"Fuzzy." Blair closed his eyes briefly, not yet having the strength to stay awake for long intervals. "Sit." He waved toward a chair pushed in the corner.
Jim pulled the chair over next to the bed and settled in. He picked up Blair's hand, squeezing gently. "You're looking better today, you've got more color."
"That's from all the nurses pinching my cheeks and telling me what a cutie I am. You'd better watch it, Jim, you've got competition." A small grin curled his lips.
"You can flirt all you want, Casanova. Just remember whose bed you come home to."
"Always." Blair attempted to squeeze Jim's hand in return, but managed only a weak curling of fingers. His eyelids slid shut again.
"Go to sleep," Jim suggested. "I don't mind, and you need your rest."
"I'm sorry," a nurse interrupted. She stood in the doorway with a cart filled with bathing supplies. "You'll have to step out of the room for a few minutes while I bathe Mr. Sandburg."
Jim stood, but didn't budge from Blair's side. "Let me."
"I'm sorry, sir, but that's impossible. If you'll just step outside, this will only take ten minutes." She pushed the cart up to the bed and began to peel back the blankets, mindful of all the needles and tubing sprouting from various areas of Blair's body.
"I'm Blair's S.O., and I used to be a medic in the Army. I know how to bathe bedridden patients."
"I'm sorry. . . ."
"Check with Dr. Casey," Jim interrupted, standing his ground.
"This is quite irregular," the nurse protested.
"So, what else is new? Go check." As the nurse backed out of the room, Jim took stock of the supplies on the cart. More than sufficient to do the job.
The nurse came back a few minutes later, looking a bit miffed, but resigned. "She said you could bathe him, as long as I stayed in the room to supervise in case anything goes wrong."
"What could go wrong? It's just a bath," Jim argued. "I'd like a little privacy." The nurse stood her ground. "All right, give me a minute, would you?" He stepped out into the hallway and over to the nurses' station. "Can you get Dr. Casey for me, please?" he asked, picking up the phone's handset and handing it to the nurse at the desk.
Several minutes and a short conversation later, the head nurse on the floor entered Blair's room and escorted her indignant colleague out. "He's all yours. Ring the call button if you have any problems."
Turning on his heel, Jim re-entered the room and pulled the blinds shut. "Finally, a little privacy," he breathed. "Hey, Chief." He shook Blair lightly. "You ready for a bath?"
Blair nodded agreement, smiling, even though his eyes were still closed.
Jim carefully stripped off Blair's gown, then draped it modestly across his hips. Taking the waterless cleansing foam, he saturated a cloth and began at Blair's neck and shoulders, working methodically down his chest, skirting the still-sore nipples as the cloth caressed each small breast. He worked quickly, mindful of how easily his partner chilled, scrubbing down his chest and abdomen until finally reaching his hips. He removed the cotton gown, exposing lax genitals nestled in a thatch of dark curly hair. After a half dozen heartbeats, he lifted them gently in the palm of his hand and washed them. He longed for the intimacy so long deprived them by the pregnancy, birth, and now this, but steeled his resolve to be patient. Blair was worth waiting for.
He pulled gently at his partner's shoulder and hip, turning him about three-quarters of the way over, so he could reach around to scrub back and buttocks. When he had finished, he pulled a clean gown from the cart and dressed Blair. He then finished wiping down legs and feet. He pulled the blanket up to Blair's chest, laying his arms on top of the covers.
"Ready to have me tackle that mop on your head?" he asked his dozing partner.
Blair cracked his eyes open and nodded. Jim knew well how much the young man hated dirty hair. At home, those curls were washed daily, sometimes twice a day, if conditions warranted. He filled his palm with the rinseless shampoo and began massaging it into Blair's scalp, working his way out to the ends of the long, kinky strands of silk. He then toweled out the moisture and oils before pushing the cart aside, finished at last.
"How am I supposed to comb out that mass?" he mused aloud, pulling a small, black comb from his hip pocket and shaking his head.
"Pants."
Jim turned to look at the figure on the bed. "Pocket." Blair had lifted an arm and was pointing toward the closet.
Getting up, Jim went to search through the pockets of the jeans Blair had been wearing when he was brought into the hospital the day before. In the left hip pocket was a bright red stylist's pick. He withdrew the instrument, and returned to the bedside, carefully detangling the curling strands until Blair's hair lay like russet silk against the stark white of the pillowcase.
"Better?" He stroked his fingers across Blair's forehead, brushing a stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes.
"Much. Thanks, Jim." Jim watched as two tired eyes opened to smile at him with guileless blue.
"You're welcome. It was my pleasure." Jim's voice held obvious affection. He leaned down to press his lips against the full ones beneath him, and was surprised when they parted, offering more than the usual Puritan pecks that had become the norm of late. He allowed himself a brief taste before pulling back, afraid of his body's reactions if he lingered. "You rest now, okay?" Blair nodded. "I'll be back tomorrow. Love you, Babe."
"Love you," the soft voice replied before Blair's breathing evened out in sleep.
Softly, Jim pulled the door closed behind him as he left.
The following morning:
Stripping off his dirty clothes, Jim entered the bathroom and started the water for the shower. After his morning ablutions were finished, he went upstairs to dress.
He was just starting breakfast, when there was a knock at the door. Puzzled, he went to see who would be visiting at this early hour. "Mrs. McGinty! What are you doing over here so early?"
"I thought you might need some help with the baby, seeing as how your young man isn't here."
Jim grinned, wondering how Blair would react to being called his "young man." At least the old woman didn't seem to disapprove of their relationship. "Please come in. I was just fixing breakfast. Would you like to join me?"
"Oh, thank you, no," she answered. "I've already eaten. You go right ahead." She bustled herself into the apartment, making herself at home. "You must be lonely," she said, turning to Jim. "I remember what it was like right after my Glover died. The apartment was so empty, so quiet. My children had all moved away. I hardly knew what to do with myself."
"Well, Blair isn't dead," Jim reminded her. "He's coming home. And I have Laurene here for company."
"Little ones are more work than company," she said knowingly, "but they do tend to soothe that aching spot in your heart. . . ." Her eyes became vacant as her mind wandered through old memories. Snapping back to the present, she pinned Jim with a look. "You miss him."
"Yeah, I do," Jim admitted.
"Why don't you let me watch little Laurene, while you make a trip to the hospital?"
"I wouldn't want to impose. . . ."
"You wouldn't be imposing," Mrs. McGinty interrupted. "Now, you get yourself off to the hospital and spend some time with that young man of yours. Don't you worry about anything here."
Jim smiled in relief. He'd wondered how he would be able to visit Blair so long as the ICU rules were in place. His only other babysitters tended to work unpredictable hours. "I really appreciate this, Mrs. McGinty," he said, grabbing his coat.
"Please, call me Flo," Mrs. McGinty offered.
"Thank you, Flo. I'll try not to be gone too long."
"Take your time. Your young man needs you. Don't worry about me, I'll find everything I need. I'm a nosy old woman." She smiled.
Jim returned her grin. "Good-bye, Flo." He closed the door and hurried down the hallway toward the elevator.
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