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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-05
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Derailed

Summary:

Blair's insistence at diagnosing and treating himself in order to keep up with Jim causes major problems.

Work Text:


Derailed
By Lyn

His apartment had been trashed!

Jim Ellison stood and stared at the chaos that had been his well-ordered living room when he’d left for work that morning. There was no visual sign of his roommate, Blair Sandburg, and Jim’s concern increased. Blair had caught Jim’s cold and had reluctantly agreed to Jim’s suggestion to take the day off. Slowly, Jim reached for his gun and took a couple of careful steps forward, sweeping the room and the stairway leading to his bedroom with his sharp gaze. He sent out his hearing, hoping to catch the shifty movements of an intruder, a rapid heartbeat, or gasping breath. Nothing….

A snort came from the pile of blankets heaped haphazardly on the couch and he spun, his weapon coming up to cover any sudden attack. A seemingly disembodied hand appeared from under the covers, hovered lazily in the air for a moment then descended on the box of Kleenex on the coffee table.

“Sandburg?” Jim queried of the lump moving beneath the bedcovers.

The blankets were flung back, and Blair sat up, his arms tangling momentarily in the covers before he tossed them to the floor with a hoarse curse. He stared at Jim with bloodshot eyes. “Jim!”

He coughed, choked, sneezed into a hastily raised tissue then tossed it into the paper bag on the floor with a muttered, “Eeew! Gross!”

“Sandburg, what the hell happened here?” Jim re-holstered his gun and indicated his devastated living room with open arms.

Blair looked around the room with a puzzled expression. “What?” He swiped an arm across his nose, grimaced and reached for another tissue, blowing his nose noisily. He dumped the Kleenex into the now overflowing bag and lay back down, resting one arm over his eyes. “Scared ten years growth out of me, man.”

“Sandburg,” Jim said, through clenched teeth, “what happened to my living room?”

“Nothing,” Blair replied with a croak. “I just got bored laying in bed so I moved.”

“Did you have to bring your entire life out here?” Jim hefted a pile of books from the overcrowded coffee table and headed towards Blair’s room.

“I didn’t!” Blair protested. He rolled onto his side and slurped from his bottle of water. “I couldn’t seem to follow the textbook I was reading, so I went and got a couple of novels instead, but my head’s so stuffed up, I couldn’t concentrate, and then I forgot to take the others back. Then I remembered those movies I borrowed from the video store that I hadn’t had time to watch, but I must have fallen asleep halfway through the first one.” He paused to take a gasping breath. “Besides, it’s your fault.”

Jim deposited the books on Blair’s desk, making a mental reminder to come back after dinner and put them in their rightful place then headed back to the living room. He picked up a plate of congealing… something and held it at arm’s length. “I don’t want to know what this is,” he warned, holding a finger under his nose.

“It’s… Never mind, but it’s supposed to be good for what ails you.”

“Constipation?” Jim muttered, walking into the kitchen and scraping the plate’s contents into the waste disposal. He returned to the living room, intent on attacking the paper bag of tissues next then stopped. “What do you mean, this is my fault?”

Blair raised his arm slightly and glared at Jim though the watering of his eyes made him look more miserable than accusatory. Jim decided to keep that information to himself. “You gave me your cold,” Blair said flatly without much rancor.

“I don’t recall wrecking the apartment when I had it, Sandburg.” Jim picked up the disgusting tissue-filled paper bag and hurried out to the kitchen with it. He debated throwing it in the waste bin then decided against it. God knew how many germs were lurking within. He’d take it down to the dumpster later on once he had his apartment ship-shape again. “I’m considering calling the CDC,” he said, placing the bag on the floor next to the bin.

“As I recall, you were having too much fun on that train to wreck the apartment,” Blair said grumpily. “Having whacked out visions and stuff from too much Nyquil. By the time we got home, you were fine.”

“Can’t help it if I have a superior immune system,” Jim bragged. “Maybe it’s something to do with the sentinel thing. Tell you what, how about tomorrow you research it instead of trashing the apartment?”

“How about—” Blair broke off, giving in to a hacking cough that went on for several seconds. By the time it subsided, he was holding his ribs and gasping for breath, tears streaming from his eyes.

Jim strode over and held out his bottle of water. Blair accepted it, nodded his thanks, and took a few sips before lying back against his pillows, still out of breath. Jim didn’t have to increase his hearing much to pick up the wheezing from Blair’s lungs. “How about we get you checked out at the hospital?” he suggested.

Blair shook his head. “It’s just a cold. I’ll just take some Niktabi root, Echinacea, Vitamin C, and I’ll be good as new in a couple of days.”

“Sandburg, that Niktabi stuff won’t do anything for you.”

Blair arched an eyebrow. “I beg to differ. You saying the Nyquil did?”

“I may have overdone it,” Jim conceded, “but I was better in a day or two.”

“Thanks to your superior sentinel skills,” Blair said mockingly.

“And a dose or two of Nyquil.”

Blair shook his head. “Your cold got better because you passed it on to me.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake…”

“There are several civilizations who believe you can rid yourself of illness by passing it on to your enemy,” Blair said.

Jim quirked an eyebrow. “I’m your enemy?” he asked.

“No… but it’s not a big stretch, what with you giving me your cold and bawling me out for getting comfortable on the sofa. Anyway,” he hurried on before Jim had a chance to object, “that’s what my mom always told me.”

“So it’s actually Sandburg folklore.”

Blair shrugged. “A little.” He scowled at Jim. “Doesn’t change the fact you gave me your cold.”

“Point taken,” Jim said. He reached out and felt Blair’s forehead. “You’ve got quite a fever going, Chief. How about you at least take some Tylenol and let me make you some soup?”

“Chicken soup? From the market on the corner?” Blair asked, sitting up and giving Jim what looked like a hopeful expression. “It’s home-made. Just the best for what ails you.”

“There’s a can in the cupboard,” Jim pointed out.

Blair shook his head. “Full of preservatives and junk, man. Now the real stuff…“

“All right already.” Jim stood and pulled his truck keys from his pocket. “Chicken soup from the market.” He pointed a finger at Blair and gave him what he hoped was an intimidating glare. “Stay under the covers, Sandburg. I’ll clean up the rest of the fallout when I get home.”

Blair settled back and groaned, rubbing at his chest. “No convincing needed, Jim. I think I’ll just camp out here till I feel better.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, Sandburg,” Jim said sternly. “Chicken soup, then bed, in that order.”

~o0o~

Blair shifted again in the passenger seat of Jim’s truck and gave Jim a baleful glare. “This is all your fault, you know,” he grumbled.

“What now?” Jim asked.

“This!” Blair lifted one butt cheek off the seat and rubbed his rump gingerly. “I told you I didn’t need to go to the doctor. I just needed to give the Niktabi root a chance to kick in, and I would have been fine.”

Jim rolled his eyes as he turned into his parking space and switched off the engine. “You didn’t sound fine last night when you kept me awake with all your coughing,” he replied. “Coming out of your bedroom, bent over like an eighty year old man, holding onto your ribs and bitching you were going to die didn’t instill a whole lot of confidence in me for the healing powers of Niktabi.”

“Yeah, well…” Blair opened his door and climbed out of the truck, joining Jim for the walk into the apartment building. “I still don’t think I needed an injection of antibiotics to kick-start my immune system. I swear, Jim, I thought old Doc McGillicuddy was going to offer me a lollypop for being a good boy.”

“Doc McGilliam is a good doctor, the best,” Jim said as he followed Blair into the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. “I’ve been seeing him since I was a teenager.”

“Really ancient then, isn’t he? Uh-uh!” Blair held up a warning finger when Jim raised his hand to whack his head. “No beating up on the sickly, Jim. The way I’m feeling, I might just barf on your shoes.”

“Ha-ha.” Jim led the way out of the elevator and down the corridor. He unlocked the front door of the apartment and waved Blair in first.

“Actually, it’s not much of a joke,” Blair said with a weak smile. “In fact, I think I’m gonna—“ He raised a hand to his mouth, spun on his heel and headed for the bathroom at a run.

“Great,” Jim grumbled as he headed upstairs to change. “I’m so not Florence Nightingale material, Sandburg.”

~o0o~

“Dinner’s on, Chief,” Jim called out.

“Not for me,” Blair replied, coming out of his bedroom dressed in track pants and a sweater, his hair still damp from the shower. “I’m still feeling kinda under the weather.” He coughed a couple of times then moaned. “Ow! Damn, that hurts.”

“You have to eat something, Sandburg,” Jim said, walking into the kitchen. “You need to start taking the antibiotics, and you can’t take them without eating first. Don’t forget the doc says take the Tylenol strictly every four-hours too so you can cough productively.”

Blair gaped at him. “Cough productively?” His eyes narrowed. “You were listening, weren’t you?”

Jim fixed a not-quite innocent look on his face. “Just making sure I got all the information necessary for your return to health,” he said. “Knowing you, you’d have told me the doc insisted that Niktabi root was the perfect cure for the common cold.”

“Well, he did say it couldn’t hurt,” Blair replied. “As long as I took the antibiotics and Tylenol as well,” he conceded.

“Anyway,” Jim added as Blair lowered himself down onto the sofa with a groan. “I made your favorite – steak, mashed potatoes, salad…” Blair’s complexion turned a little green, and Jim took pity on him. “Just kidding,” he said, “but there is some chicken soup left. I’m definitely having a steak though.”

“Be my guest,” Blair said, easing himself upright once more and following Jim out to the dining room table.

“Don’t forget to take your meds once you’re finished eating,” Jim said.

Blair rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

Jim frowned, but his heart wasn’t into giving his roommate a lecture. He could see Blair was far from well, and the way he was holding his ribs meant he’d probably had less sleep than Jim with all the coughing he’d done during the night. “I’m just trying to help here, Chief.” Blair smiled at that. “I could really use you back at the station with me,” Jim added, “but Simon’s not going to be happy with you coming in sounding like Typhoid Mary.” He headed out into the kitchen to retrieve his own dinner as Blair sipped at his soup with little enthusiasm. “Oh, by the way, I got you something.”

“You did?” Blair set his spoon down, a spark of interest showing in his expression. “A get well gift?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Jim said. He walked out to the dining room table with his dinner in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He set the bag in front of Blair and sat down, tucking into his food hungrily.

Blair picked up the bag, opened it, peeked inside then withdrew the bottle from within. “Nyquil?” He screwed up his face and turned his head as he let rip with a huge sneeze. Pulling a tissue from his pocket, he shook his head, and held the medicine out to Jim, simultaneously blowing his nose. “Thanks, but no, thanks. I already have enough chemicals floating around in me now.”

“You might not think you need it, Sandburg, but you were the one coughing all night. It can’t help your sore chest.”

“I have painkillers for my chest,” Blair reminded him, “and antibiotics for the bronchitis.”

“And I have an early start in the morning,” Jim replied. “I could really use an uninterrupted sleep tonight.”

Blair looked immediately contrite. “Damn, I didn’t even consider… Of course, with your hearing, you must be able to hear every sneeze, every cough…“

“Every snore,” Jim cut in. He softened his response with a smile. “Not your fault, I know, but maybe just a couple of doses of Nyquil will help knock your cold on the head a little quicker. The sooner you’re better, the sooner you can get back to school and the station.” He knew that last was probably unfair, but he really was tired, and frankly, he had to admit he was missing having Sandburg with him at work. It amazed him just how easily Blair came up with solutions and theories, not only for Jim’s often problematical senses but for cases as well. That comment regarding menopause on the train had been unwarranted though, he decided. He couldn’t help smiling as the memory of that conversation surfaced.

“What’s so funny?” Blair asked. He had the medicine cup in one hand and was pouring a measured dose of Nyquil into it. Grimacing, he downed the contents then quickly reached for his glass of water. “Oh, that’s nasty,” he complained. “How on earth could you stand it with your taste buds?”

Jim shrugged. “It’s supposed to taste bad,” he replied. “That’s how you know it’s doing you good.” He raised a finger when Blair opened his mouth. “Ellison family folklore,” he added.

“So, what was so funny?” Blair asked again. “You were sitting there, looking zoned but with this silly smile on your face.”

Jim grinned. “I was just thinking how far out some of your theories are about my senses, but that one on the train really took the cake.”

Blair looked puzzled for a moment then his eyes widened, and his cheeks reddened. “Oh, the menopause thing? I have no idea where that came from, man, I swear. It just kinda popped into my head and straight out of my mouth.”

“Nothing different for you then, right?” Jim grinned. He stood and took his plate to the kitchen. “I’ll excuse you from KP for tonight, Chief. Go get some rest.”

“Think I’ll go to bed in a little while,” Blair said around a yawn. “I’ve got a class in the morning.”

“You think you should be going in, Typhoid Mary?”

Blair waved the comment away, sneezed and coughed at the same time then smiled sheepishly as he reached for another tissue. “The antibiotics kick in after about twenty-fours hours. I’ll be close to a hundred percent by morning.”

“Just remember to take the antibiotics till they’re gone, Chief,” Jim instructed.

“Geez, Jim, last time I checked I was an adult!” Blair spat. He held up a hand as soon as the words were said. “Sorry,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You’re tired, sick, and pissy,” Jim said, accepting the apology. “I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine when I was sick either. Go to bed, Chief. I’ll see you tomorrow after work.”

Blair stood for a moment watching him, then nodded and turned toward his room. “Night, Jim.”

~o0o~

Jim was glad he’d come into work early. Going over the evidence on his latest case with the DA had taken longer than he’d expected. Ever since the Juno case, he’d been hypervigilant in explaining how he’d gathered his evidence. Simon had been particularly pissed off with how the Juno case had almost bombed, and Jim was determined not to let it happen again and equally as determined to ensure no one, besides Sandburg and Simon, found out about his heightened senses. It wasn’t easy to do, and twice today, the DA had questioned him more closely than Jim was comfortable with. He glanced at his watch, noting with relief it was close to lunchtime. The reports on his desk could wait an hour or two. He wondered how Sandburg was faring at school and decided to call and invite him to join him at a small café not far from the university.

“Hey, Jim,” Henri Brown greeted him as he exited the elevator. “What’s Hairboy doing here? Looks like he’s ready to croak, and I, for one, don’t need him sharing his germs. I’ve got a big date tomorrow night.”

“Sandburg’s here?”

Henri nodded. “Sitting at your desk, about ready to keel over.”

Jim hurried his pace into the Major Crime bullpen. “He said he was going to the university.” Blair was indeed at Jim’s desk, though rather than being seated at it, he was slumped forward, his head resting on his folded arms. His eyes were closed, his mouth open slightly, and Jim decided Henri wasn’t far off in his description of Blair’s condition. “Blair?” He shook Blair’s shoulder gently and when there was no response, tapped his cheek. “Sandburg? Wake up.”

“Huh?” Blair’s eyes slowly opened, and he looked at Jim, his brow furrowing. “Jim? Is it time to get up?”

“Not exactly,” Jim replied. “What are you doing sleeping at my desk?”

“Your desk?” Blair straightened then slumped back down a little, resting his chin in his hand. “Your desk?” he repeated. “I was about to ask you what you were doing in my room.”

“I thought you said you had to go to the university today.”

“I did?”

Jim rolled his eyes then reached out and shook Blair’s shoulder when he looked about to go back to sleep. “Sandburg! Wake up!” He waited until Blair opened his eyes again; eyes that were bloodshot, watering and way too vacant for Jim’s liking. “How many Tylenol did you take today?”

“Ty-what?”

“Pain pills, Sandburg. How many did you take?”

“Just what it says on the bottle.” Blair looked positively affronted. “I can read, y’know. ‘Sides, it’s only Tylenol.”

“You seem a little dopey,” Jim said. At Blair’s positively offended glare, he amended, “A little confused.”

Blair made what looked like a Herculean effort to sit up. He yawned, scrubbed at his eyes and stood, wavering a little on his feet. “I just forgot, that’s all. I’ve gotten so used to coming here, I forgot I was meant to go to the university. Damn! I’d better call them!”

“Here.” Jim handed him the phone. “How’s your cold?”

“Better, I think,” Blair said as he stared at the phone. “It’s still a little hard to breathe, but the Nyquil worked wonders. I hardly coughed all night, did I?”

“Not that I heard,” Jim agreed. “Look, Chief, I was just about to take a lunch break. Let me fill Simon in on what went down with the DA then I’ll run you home so you can get some rest. I’ll be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“Sure, okay.” Blair was still staring at the phone, and Jim gave up and headed for Simon’s office, shaking his head in fond exasperation. Just another trip into the Sandburg zone.

~o0o~

Blair was certain he’d forgotten something. He gazed over at the folders stacked on Jim’s desk.

Nope, not ringing a bell.

He stared down at the phone in his hand and with a sigh, placed the receiver back on the base. He felt a tickle in the back of his throat and braced his chest with one hand, waiting for the inevitable hot pain that stole his breath as much as the coughing did. Instead, he doubled over as an agonizing cramp gripped his stomach. He felt suddenly hot then cold and sweat dribbled down the back of his sweater, making him shiver. Great, that was all he needed. A stomach bug to go along with his chest infection.

He stood up shakily, determinedly fighting back the nausea assaulting him, gasping when the stomach cramps returned with a vengeance. Stumbling, he turned and headed for the bathroom at a shambling run.

“Sandburg? You okay?” he heard Henri call out to him, but he had no time for reassurances. He gave a thumbs up in Henri’s general direction and kept going, barreling into the men’s room, mumbling a stifled apology around the hand he had clamped to his mouth as he bumped into somebody leaving.

By the time the vomiting subsided, he was certain he’d turned his stomach inside out. He felt exhausted and drained, but at least the cramps were easing, and the nausea had abated. He went over to the hand basin and sluiced cool water over his face. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. “You look like crap,” he observed in a whisper.

Exiting the room, he paused for a moment to catch his breath, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes for a brief moment’s respite, then opening them to check Jim’s desk. Jim must still be talking to Simon, he decided, and he still couldn’t remember what he was supposed to have been doing before he got sick. Wracking his brain just made his head ache, and the noise of people talking, the constant movement of passersby down the corridor, and in and out of the various squad rooms was making him feel dizzy. He wanted nothing more than to be home in his bed, bundled up warm, oblivious to everything until he was cured.

Making a decision, he poked his head in the doorway of the bullpen. “H?” His voice died, and he coughed and tried again. “Hey, Henri?”

Brown looked up from his typing. “You need something, Blair? Man, you look awful. Go home, dude!”

“That’s where I’m headed. Let Jim know for me, okay?”

“I’ll go get him,” Henri offered. “You need a ride?”

Blair thought about that. Frankly, he couldn’t even remember coming here so he had no idea whether he’d driven or not. Get with the program, he admonished himself. How else would he have gotten here? And if he’d made it here okay when he couldn’t even remember doing it, then he’d be perfectly fine driving home again now that he was feeling better… His stomach did a little flip-flop, and he amended his assessment. Marginally better anyway. Coming to a decision, he waved Henri’s query away. “No, I’m good. Just tell Jim I’ll catch him at home.”

“Sure. Get better soon, man.”

“You bet.” Blair levered his aching body away from the doorframe and headed for the elevator.

The elevator was taking forever to arrive, and as the seconds ticked by, Blair felt his energy fading further. All he needed now was to embarrass himself by passing out in front of a bunch of cops. Turning toward the stairs, he pushed open the door and started down.

~o0o~

Henri Brown wasn’t one to sit on his hands if a friend needed help. Not bothering to debate his decision, he stood and made his way to Simon Banks’ office, knocking and waiting for the invitation to enter before opening the door and poking his head inside. “Sorry, Captain,” he said. “Jim, Sandburg wanted me to tell you he’s headed home, and he’ll see you there, but I thought you should know, he’s been throwing up, and he didn’t look good when he left.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake! I told him to wait, and I’d take him home,” Jim said, sounding impatient. “I still don’t know why he came here in the first place. He told me he was going to the university this morning.”

“I don’t think he should be driving, man,” Henri put in. He paused a moment, trying to find the right words. “He looked… a little whacked out actually.”

Jim stood and stared at him. “What do you mean, Brown? He’s got a cold, and he’s on some heavy duty antibiotics and Tylenol, that’s it.”

Henri held up both hands in apology. “Hey, Jim, no offense, okay? I just thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Henri.” Simon nodded at him, and Henri knew he was being dismissed.

Great! Here he was trying to look out for a friend, and he’d pissed Ellison off. Some days, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed. Jim strode past him toward the exit as Henri sat down at his desk but stopped and turned back to him.

“Sorry, H,” he said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Henri knew it wasn’t the time for long drawn-out explanations. He smiled and nodded. “Go tuck him into bed, Jim. Handcuff him to it if you have to, and tell him if I catch his cold, his ass is mine.”

Jim grinned. “You got it.”

~o0o~

He was in worse shape than he realized. Blair was certain he was descending the stairs, not going up, but each step he took felt like he was wading through molasses, and he could feel his chest tightening with each staggering move. “Need to start hanging out with Jim at the gym,” he muttered then laughed somewhat hysterically at the childish sounding phrase. “Jim at the gym,” he repeated in time with his footsteps. “Jim at the gym.”

His right foot skidded off the step below, and he grabbed for the railing, his heart pounding a panicked tattoo. White-hot pain suddenly imploded in his chest, stealing his little remaining breath, and his vision swam. His fingers brushed the metal of the handrail, but it was further away than he realized. His hand skimmed past it. Then he was falling, somersaulting downward… into oblivion.

~o0o~

Jim stepped into the elevator and stabbed the button for the parking garage. He was not in the mood for playing nursemaid, and Simon hadn’t looked at all impressed that his report was being delayed so he could go check on Sandburg. He reached out a hand toward the control panel, debating returning to the bullpen. Sandburg was a grown man, after all, suffering from a minor chest infection. He’d probably be as embarrassed as hell to think Jim had gone after him. He didn’t like the confusion Blair had shown by turning up at the PD in the first place though, and Henri’s comment that Blair had seemed whacked out was ringing alarm bells in his head which refused to be silenced. He dropped his hand back to his side with a sigh. It was no good arguing with his conscience. If Blair was sicker than he was letting on, Jim would never forgive himself.

Jim stepped out of the elevator and headed to where Sandburg usually parked his car. The Volvo was there, but there was no sign of its owner. Jim waved to Officer Jenkins who was on duty at the entrance. “Hey, Bob, you seen Sandburg?”

Jenkins shook his head. “Not since he arrived, Jim. The kid looked a little spaced out though. Didn’t even stop to shoot the breeze like he usually does.”

“Okay, thanks.” Jim turned back to the elevator, real worry now overtaking him. Where the hell would he have gone?

The stairwell door opened, and Detective Mike Francis stuck his head out. “Jim! Got a problem here.”

~o0o~

Blair was sitting propped up against the wall when Jim burst into the stairwell. Mike Francis was crouched next to him, pressing a handkerchief to Blair’s forehead, and Jim could see a thin trail of blood snaking down Blair’s left cheek.

“Sandburg? What happened?” Jim asked, squatting down next to Blair.

Blair opened his eyes and looked at Jim, but there was a vagueness in his gaze that had Jim even more concerned than he already was. “Dunno,” Blair huffed out. “Did I… Did I fall?”

“Looks like it,” Jim replied. He patted Detective Francis on the shoulder. “Thanks, Mike. You want to call the paramedics?”

“Already done,” Francis said. “They’re on their way. I was on my way down when I just about tripped over the kid sprawled on the landing.” He indicated upward with his free hand. “He was coming to, but he still seems pretty confused. He’s got a nasty gash on his head. Concussion, I figure.”

“Yeah.” Jim nodded his agreement then turned his attention back to Blair. “Blair? You know where you are?”

“Huh?” Blair’s eyes slid closed then opened wide as he gasped in obvious pain and doubled up. “Oh god!”

“What? Where does it hurt?” Jim asked.

“Stomach,” Blair moaned. He tipped forward, and Jim caught him in his arms, laying him on his side on the concrete as he began to retch. Within seconds of the vomiting subsiding, he was arching up against Jim’s restraining hold, his hands clutching at Jim’s. “Can’t breathe,” he panted. His eyes widened, and his lips took on a bluish tinge. “Jim! Can’t breathe!”

“Easy, easy,” Jim soothed, trying to hold back his own panic. “Help’s on the way, Chief. Just breathe nice and slow.”

Blair shook his head frantically. “No! Can’t!” His back arched up, straining rigidly for several seconds, and then he collapsed, his head smacking against the floor before Jim had time to react. His eyes rolled up, his body convulsing violently as Jim tried to protect his flailing limbs and head from further injury.

“He’s seizing!” Jim snapped out. “Where the hell are those paramedics?”

~o0o~

It had seemed hours before the paramedics had finally arrived to transport Blair to the hospital. By that time, Blair’s seizures had subsided, leaving him drowsy and more confused than he already had been. Jim had ridden to the hospital with him, leaning forward from time to time to try to rouse Blair from his stupor with little effect.

“It’s common for people to be drowsy and confused after a seizure,” the paramedic taking Blair’s vitals said. “You said he doesn’t suffer from epilepsy?” Jim shook his head. “Could be a result of the fall then,” he continued. “Once we get him to the hospital, they’ll do a CT scan, check for skull fractures and the like. He’s stable for now, that’s a good sign.”

Jim trailed the gurney carrying Blair until it was pushed through the trauma room doors, and a nurse held out a restraining hand, halting his progress. “Sorry, sir,” she said, “you’ll need to wait outside.”

Jim nodded, knowing he’d just be in the way and headed out to the waiting room. He’d paced the length of the room and was debating asking at the nurses’ station for an update on Sandburg’s condition when a doctor appeared from Blair’s room.

“Detective Ellison?” he said.

Jim waved a hand and walked over to meet the doctor halfway. “How’s Blair?”

“I’m Doctor McCarthy. Let’s sit for a minute, and I’ll go over Blair’s results with you.”

Jim followed him back to the waiting room and sat down in one of the free chairs while Doctor McCarthy took the seat opposite.

“We’ve got a bit of a problem with your partner, Detective Ellison,” the doctor said.

“The seizure?” Jim queried. “Was it caused by his head injury?”

“He has a mild concussion, but while he’s now conscious, there are other symptoms causing concern. The level of confusion he’s exhibiting is worse than what we’d expect from the head trauma. We’re waiting on the results of drug tests now…“

“Drugs?” Jim stood, shaking his head vehemently. “No way! Sandburg doesn’t use drugs, Doc.”

“Every indication is that he’s ingested something, Detective,” Doctor McCarthy said. “It’s not just his mental state. He’s suffering from stomach cramps and chest pain, and he’s having trouble breathing.”

“He’s had a bad cold,” Jim said. “He saw a doctor a couple of days ago. He was given antibiotics for bronchitis. Could that be it? Maybe it’s an allergic reaction to the medication.”

McCarthy nodded thoughtfully. “Could be. I’ll take some more blood with that in mind. Give us another half hour or so, Detective, then you’ll be able to see him, and hopefully, I’ll have a better handle on what’s happening.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll go phone my captain. Let him know what’s happening.”

The doctor turned to leave then looked back. “Detective! One more thing. Has Blair been taking any over the counter medication for his cold?”

Jim shrugged. “Just some Tylenol for his headache and chest pain… Oh, and some Nyquil for his cough.”

“Has he been taking both concurrently?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, his coughing was driving me nuts – we’re roommates—“

McCarthy held up a hand. “Bear with me, Detective, I think I have an idea of what’s wrong with Blair.”

“What?” Jim stepped up closer so he was almost in the doctor’s face.

“Acetaminophen overdose.”

Jim frowned at him. “A-what?”

“Time is of the essence, Detective, if it is an acetaminophen overdose. I’ll explain later once we’ve started treatment. With any luck, we can reverse the toxicity level before it damages Blair’s liver.”

Jim felt icy panic clutch at his heart. “Liver damage?” He swallowed dryly. “What if you can’t?”

“Overdose from acetaminophen is extremely fast-acting,” McCarthy replied solemnly. “Once the liver begins to shut down, options become extremely limited.” He paused for a moment, staring down at the case file in his hand then looked back up at Jim. “The patient becomes terminal. I’ve got to get back in there.” He hurried off, leaving Jim staring after him in shock.

~o0o~

It had been well over an hour now, and the doctor still hadn’t returned. Jim had phoned Simon and apprised him of Blair’s condition and now sat, feeling edgy and worn out, back in the waiting room. Two children were running up and down the room, ignoring their mother’s admonishments to sit quietly, and they were getting on Jim’s last nerve. The chubby red-headed boy ran past again and almost tripped over Jim’s outstretched leg. Jim grasped the boy’s arm and stopped his fall then fixed him with a gimlet glare. “I’m a policeman,” he said softly.

The boy gave him a wide-eyed look. “Really?”

Jim nodded. “Really.” He pulled out his badge and showed it to the boy. “It's against the rules to let little kids run around in the hospital, making noise. How about you and your little sister go sit quietly with your mom and read a book?”

The boy nodded at him. “It’s Kelly’s fault,” he whispered. “If she doesn’t behave, are you gonna arrest her?”

“How about you just make sure she sits quietly, okay?”

“Okay.” The boy grabbed his sister by one arm and dragged her over to their mother where they sat at her feet. The mother looked over, shrugged, then mouthed a thank you.

Jim nodded and sat back in the chair, stretching his cramped legs out and closing his eyes.

“Jim!”

Jim stood as Simon hurried over to him. “How’s Sandburg?”

“The doctor’s still with him. He thinks it’s an overdose.”

Simon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Drugs?” He shook his head emphatically. “Sandburg doesn’t do drugs,” he stated firmly, “does he?”

“No! It’s from the meds he was taking for his cold,” Jim explained. “I can’t remember the name of it, but it was in both the Tylenol and the Nyquil. I bought the Nyquil for him, Simon. I was sick of him coughing all night, keeping me awake.”

“You didn’t force him to take it,” Simon reasoned. “I know Sandburg well enough to know you don’t force Sandburg to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“I guilted him into it, Simon.”

“And you did that, knowing it would cause him to overdose,” Simon said, rolling his eyes.

“Of course not! I didn’t know…“

“I swear you and Sandburg are the poster children for the Guilt Society,” Simon responded.

“What does that mean?”

“Sandburg’s always blaming himself when your senses throw you for a loop. He’s been blaming himself that he should have known the Nyquil would screw with your senses.”

“How could he know?” Jim replied. “It wasn’t his fault…“

Simon held up a hand to silence Jim’s protest. “I rest my case.”

“Detective Ellison.” Doctor McCarthy hurried over.

“This is Doctor McCarthy, Blair’s doctor,” Jim said. “This is my captain, Simon Banks. How’s Blair doing?” he asked while the two men shook hands.

“Better,” McCarthy said. “It was an acetaminophen overdose. We administered a drug to counteract it and purged any of the chemical that was still in his system.” He screwed up his nose. “Not very pleasant, especially when you’re already feeling as sick as a dog. But the good news is that it looks like we caught it before it got to his liver. He’s going to be feeling pretty miserable for a couple of days, but the effects subside almost as quickly as they appear. He should be able to go home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Can we see him?” Jim asked.

“Of course. He’s been taken up to the second floor, Room 202. Keep your visit brief though. He’s pretty worn out.”

Jim nodded. “Thanks, Doc.”

~o0o~

Blair was sleeping when Jim and Simon entered his hospital room. He looked pale and exhausted, a faint trace of something brown and crusted coating his lips. He shifted in the bed, moaning softly, one hand rubbing his stomach as they approached the bed.

“We should let him rest,” Simon whispered. “Come back tomorrow.”

Blair’s eyes opened, and he stared dully at them for a moment then blinked and gave them a tired smile. “Jim! Simon!”

Jim reached out and patted Blair’s hand. “How are you feeling, Chief?”

“Lousy, actually,” Blair replied. He licked his lips and grimaced. “They gave me charcoal to drink. Man, that stuff’s nasty. Worse than Nyquil.”

Jim looked away, guilt attacking him once more. “I’m sorry, Sandburg,” he said. “I didn’t know…“

“Well, I figured you weren’t trying to poison me,” Blair replied with a small smile. “I mean, I know I annoy the hell out of you sometimes but still…”

Simon nudged Jim’s arm. “What did I tell you? Guilt’R’Us.”

Blair frowned. “Huh?”

“Never mind,” Simon said. “Glad you're doing better, Sandburg. I’d better get going. Have to pick Daryl up from his mother’s.”

“Tell him I said hi,” Blair replied with a wave. “I feel like a total idiot, Jim,” he said as Jim pulled up a chair and sat down. “I can’t remember how I got here, let alone what happened.”

“Long story, Chief,” Jim said. “When you’re home, I’ll give you all the nasty details.”

“That bad?” At Jim’s nod, Blair held up his hands. “Spare me, Jim. I don’t think I want to know.” He picked idly at the coverlet on the bed. “This wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

“I bought the Nyquil and forced you to take it,” Jim said.

Blair nodded slowly. “Yep, you did. I like to think you did that because I’m your friend.”

“You are!” Jim declared. “And I did!”

“Feeling pretty bad about it though still, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” Jim said.

“Well, when I get home, the doctor said I should take it easy for a few days,” Blair said quietly. “Nothing more strenuous than watching TV, reading… And I’ll need a healthy diet, lots of salads and veggies to regain my strength.” He glanced up at Jim through his eyelashes.

“Sandburg…” Jim growled warningly. “If you’re going where I think you’re going….”

“Just telling you what the doctor said,” Blair replied blandly.

“So, I’ll find that portable TV I stored in the basement, and you can have it in your bedroom,” Jim suggested, waiting for the inevitable protest.

Blair didn’t disappoint. “It’s black and white, Jim!”

“It’s small so it’ll fit in your room. That way, you can rest as much as you need.”

“But I’ll get bored!” Blair declared. “I’ve only been awake for ten minutes, and I’m bored already!”

Jim held up his hands in surrender. “All right already, Chief. Enough with the puppy dog eyes. Next thing you’ll be crying crocodile tears. You can lay on the couch…” Blair beamed. “…but my TV, my programs, and your books stay in your room. You want to read, lay on your bed. Deal?”

Blair gave an aggrieved sigh. “Deal,” he said.

Jim nodded in satisfaction and stood. “I’m gonna head home. You get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Jim headed for the door. “Oh, Jim, wait.” He turned back to Blair. “Doctor McCarthy said Niktabi root’s great for colds. He said I should keep taking it. So, could you brew some up for me tonight?”

Jim glared at him. “Don’t push your luck, Sandburg. I don’t feel that guilty.”

 
END