Title: Revelations

Author: CatMoran

Category: Drama, Drama, First Times, Series: Awakenings

Rating: R

Warnings: m/m, h/c, angst

Pairing: J/B

Summary: The series has a name! This is the fifth story in the 'Awakenings' series. The first four are 'The Last Straw', 'Equilibrium', 'Miracles' and 'Home is a Person'.

This story is a sequel to Home Is A Person.

Date Archived: 04/29/00

Author's disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the canon characters or concept; I do own my original characters and this story.

Summary: rev...e...la...tion (rve-l'shen) noun 1. a. The act of revealing or disclosing. b. Something revealed, especially a dramatic disclosure of something not previously known or realized.

Spoilers: For STP2.

Feedback: Positive or negative.

Archive: Personal archives - yes. Anywhere else - probably, but please ask first. Leave my headers intact.

Revelations
By CatMoran

Blair returned to his room after art therapy and was surprised to find Jim there, reading the newspaper. "Hey, man, what're you still doing here? I figured you'd be out of here hours ago."

"Hey, Chief." Jim looked up from the sports section. "How was therapy?"

Blair hopped onto the bed. He'd been awake for just three days and was moving around normally, albeit a little more slowly than his usual speed due to residual stiffness. He grabbed the front section of the paper off the bedside table as he answered. "OK, I guess. It's group therapy with pictures instead of words." Blair shrugged. "Seriously, doesn't Simon need you to get back to the station? You've been gone a while, man."

"Go back without you?" Jim grimaced and shook his head. "He'd never let me out in the field. And you know how I feel about paperwork."

"Jim, man, if you're waiting for me to go back to the station..." Blair looked away and began to crumple the newspaper in his hands. "Look, don't worry about it. I'll talk to Simon, explain that you don't really need a guide anymore. You can go back and you won't be stuck at a desk."

"Don't need you? Chief, without you I'm a zone waiting to happen-"

"Jim, you haven't zoned in months! Years, even." Blair shot a glance up to Jim before looking away again. He appreciated the excuse, but he no longer had the luxury of allowing Jim to keep up the pretense that he was needed.

"That's just because you're always there, buddy. Having you around sort of automatically grounds me." Jim set down the paper he'd been reading and looked intently at Blair.

Blair looked up in surprise. "Why didn't you tell me? Never mind, when do you ever tell me these things?" he added with a fond reproof. "Well, we'll work something out. I'm sure there's some sort of exercises I can work out for you-"

"Blair. No." Jim's voice was quiet, but emphatic. "I'm not going back without you."

Blair sat quietly, trying to make himself say what Jim needed to hear. He couldn't do it. "Jim, I-I'm not sure if I can go back." His voice dropped to a whisper.

Jim smiled. "I know. That's fine, I already told Simon there was a good chance we wouldn't be back."

"Jim." Blair looked up with a puzzled frown. Jim was too accepting, didn't he understand what Blair meant? He should be upset about his cowardice. "Man, you're a cop. A sentinel. You belong on the force, you protect people, you..." Blair's voice cracked slightly as he continued, "...this is a lifetime thing for you, you can't drop it just because I won't be there. Look, I'll talk to Megan. She knows the score, maybe I can show her how-"

"Blair, you're not getting it." The concern showed in Jim's voice. "I'm not going back without you."

"But, man... you're going to regret this. You'll just end up blaming me." Blair's emotions were too close to the surface, he couldn't control them. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears started to fall.

"No, Blair. What I regret is that I've allowed my job to kill half of my soul for the last two years-" Jim cut his words off as he saw that Blair had started to cry. "Hey, buddy, what's wrong?"

"I c-can't let you d-do this..." Blair dropped the mangled newspaper to the bed and leaned forward to hide his face in his hands.

"Blair, it's OK... it's OK. Really." Jim paused as he searched for words to convince and comfort his friend. "I've let you get hurt enough. It's no sacrifice to me if we find something else to do with my abilities. Look, I'm on leave right now anyway. There's nothing final about my not going to work today, and it wasn't fair for me to spring this on you so soon."

"I can't go b-back man, I just can't!" If anything, Blair's crying had grown stronger.

"I know, Blair. You want to talk about it?" Blair shook his head. Jim wasn't surprised, so far Blair had avoided any discussion of the events leading to his hospitalization. "All right. Just let it out, you'll feel better." Jim hoped that was true. The sight of Blair sitting alone on the bed disturbed him, so he moved to sit next to his friend. After a moment's hesitation, he gently laid one hand on the other man's shoulder. They stayed that way for a while.

Blair's deep sobs finally trailed off. He raised his head but didn't look at Jim. "Sorry about that."

"Nothing to be sorry about." Jim produced a handkerchief and offered it to Blair. "Feel better?"

Blair took the handkerchief, made a cursory attempt to clean his face and blew his nose. He finally answered, "Some. I don't know where that came from, though."

"You don't? I think it came from an enormous amount of stress, combined with a lack of support from your clueless partner. That's just a non-professional opinion, of course," Jim joked, hoping to distract Blair.

"Jim, it's not funny, man," Blair said in a tired voice. "It's no wonder you don't want to work with me if I fall apart over nothing."

"Hey, who said anything about not working with you? I thought the whole point of our conversation is that I do want to work with you."

"You said you need me, Jim," Blair pointed out. "That's not the same thing."

Jim frowned for a moment. "You're right, it did sound that way. My mistake--I need you, but I also want to work with you. Is that clear?"

Blair nodded hesitantly.

"Furthermore," Jim continued, "I haven't seen you fall apart at 'nothing'. I've seen you not fall apart over a lot of very big things. It takes a lot to take you down; it didn't happen until you hit your limits. You just need to let me know what those limits are, so that we can both work within them. OK?"

"Jim, that's not fair to you. Why should you have to conform to my limits? You can do so much more."

"Blair, you've always worked with my limits. Every time you run into one, you adjust. It's just time for me to do some adjusting, too. This is a partnership, got it?"

Blair nodded. He still looked unconvinced, but Jim hoped it was a start.

"If you wash your face you'll probably feel better," Jim suggested.

Blair nodded again and headed into the bathroom. A moment later, Jim heard a choked exclamation from the other room. He chuckled quietly and followed his friend. Leaning casually in the doorway he inquired, "Something wrong?"

Blair stared at his reflection in the mirror. "How did I end up with raccoon eyes?"

"Ummm, cheap mascara?" Jim ducked as Blair spun around to smack him; the blow landed lightly on his broad back.

"Jim! I--you--you're really a jerk sometimes, you know?" Blair sputtered and turned back to the mirror, quickly soaping a washcloth and scrubbing his face.

"Yeah, Chief." Jim let his smile show. "Just make sure you get all the newsprint off your hands while you're at it."

Blair stared at Jim via the mirror then laughed, a little shakily at first, then more strongly as Jim joined in. He cleaned off the newsprint then returned to the bed. "I'm feeling a little wiped, man. I think I'll just lie down for a while." He lowered the head of the bed, kicked off his shoes and curled on his side on top of the covers.

Jim settled back into the chair, picking up the newspaper he'd been reading earlier. "Sounds like a plan. I'll run out in a little while and get us something for lunch. How does Ming's sound to you?" Jim asked, naming a restaurant just down the street from the hospital.

"That sounds good, Jim. But, the food here is fine, really."

"If I'm getting myself something, there's no reason for you to suffer by yourself."

Blair was already starting to doze off. "Thanks, Jim..."

Jim watched Blair for a few minutes. "You're welcome, Blair," he murmured, before returning to the sports section.

Blair slept for several hours, finally waking just past noon. Bags of Chinese take-out sat on the bedside table, he supposed that the smell had awakened him. Jim was turned toward the TV, watching a gameshow with the sound nearly off. "Hey, Jim. Have you eaten yet?" Blair stretched until he heard his spine pop. Turning to face him, Jim made no effort to hide his grimace at the sound. "Sorry, man. Sleeping four weeks makes a guy a little stiff. I hope you weren't waiting on me for lunch?"

"I just got back a few minutes ago. I figured it wouldn't take long for the sweet & sour chicken to wake you. It looks like I was right." Jim pondered his friend for a moment. "You look like you're feeling better."

"I am feeling better." Blair was mildly surprised at the truth of his statement. "I feel sort of like I got rid of a huge weight, you know?" Blair fell silent. Jim sensed that he was working something through and waited. After a few minutes, Blair asked, "Did you mean it?"

Jim knew what Blair meant, but said the words anyway. "That I want to work with you? Yeah, Chief, I mean it. There's nobody else I've been happier to work with than you."

"Wow. That's just... that's great, Jim, really, but it's sort of hard to believe, you know?"

"Why's that? You're a great partner, and I like having you around. At work, and at home."

"Jim, I don't want to sound obtuse, but you haven't exactly been acting that way." Blair looked questioningly at Jim.

Jim wanted to deny it, but looking at Blair, at that moment, he knew he couldn't lie. He was still afraid to tell the truth, and the struggle showed on his face.

Doubt crept onto Blair's face. "Jim?"

Jim knew he had to say something, and struggled to find something true that he could say. "Blair." He stopped for a moment, then restarted. "Blair... you're right. I'm a jerk. For a while, ever since... the fountain. I've been so afraid of losing you again, that I've been hiding from you. I know that doesn't make sense..." Jim's voice trailed off, he'd run out of words and hoped that would be enough.

"Fear based responses." Blair's voice was almost a whisper.

Jim heaved a sigh in relief. "Yeah, I guess. I didn't notice before. What I was doing, I mean." A frightened look grew in Jim's eyes as he realized the consequences if Blair couldn't forgive him. "I'm sorry, Blair."

"Jim, why did you bring me back?" There was no condemnation in Blair's voice, only curiosity.

Jim was thrown by the change of subject. "What?"

"When I was catatonic, why did you bring me back?" Blair amended, "you did bring me back, didn't you? I have these memories--I was sort of trapped in a pit and you came to get me out. I know they aren't real, but it feels kind of the same as what happened when I drowned."

"You remember," Jim said quietly. "I didn't think you would."

"Do you regret it?" Blair blurted out, almost as a single word.

"No!" Jim vigorously denied. "Never! I just didn't think... I mean, Dr. Burke said you'd remember things that happened. But, I wasn't sure. And I'm not sure that what I did brought you back, it could have been the ECT," he explained.

"No, man, it wasn't the ECT. It was you. I remember the ECT. It was good, I felt better, but I still didn't want to come back. Not until I saw you come for me. So, why?" Blair returned to the question.

This time, Jim answered without thinking. "Because I can't live without you." Jim turned away in acute embarrassment.

Blair gasped in shock. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Jim's voice was quiet and contained a hint of a growl.

"Thank you, Jim." Blair's voice was filled with awe at the admission from his friend.

Jim turned back and studied Blair's face for a moment before replying, "You're welcome. So, I think we'd better eat before I have to track down a microwave to reheat this stuff."

Blair accepted the change of subject with a smile. "Sounds good, man."

At 2pm, Blair entered Dr. Burke's office. The room was comfortably furnished in the style of a private library, a very different environment than the pleasant but much more clinical look of the rest of the ward.

The focus was on a trio of maroon leather easy chairs, two of them facing each other and the third a little off to one side. Under the chairs lay an Oriental rug of rich colors. The overhead fluorescent bulbs were off; light was provided by a large window that overlooked the city park across the street and a pair of table lamps near the chairs. A desk sat unobtrusively in one corner, family photos and a brass lamp occupied the surface. A few small Monet prints hung on the walls, the remaining wall space was taken by bookcases. Many of the books were technical, but others could be identified as old leather-bound classics. Blair supposed it was meant to put patients at ease and inspire confidences.

Dr. Burke was seated in one of the pair of facing chairs. He looked up from the file he was studying and smiled as Blair entered. "Blair, welcome! Please, have a seat. How are you feeling today?" Dr. Burke focused his attention on Blair.

"Fine. I really feel good today, Doctor."

"That's good, can you tell me what's changed?"

Blair was startled. His answer had been essentially the same since Friday; this was the first time that Dr. Burke reacted as if he believed it. "Well, I finally understood what was really bothering me, and I found out that it's not something I need to worry about."

"What was bothering you?"

"I... can't really say."

Dr. Burke tried another approach. "So, was this related to either of the shootings?"

Blair flinched slightly at the last word. "Not directly. The... shootings... just sort of made the problem seem more likely to happen."

"The shootings haven't gone away, Blair. What has changed, that this problem no longer concerns you?"

"I didn't have all the information before." Thinking of his earlier conversation with Jim, Blair couldn't stop a big smile from appearing on his face.

Dr. Burke looked skeptical. "This must be quite some information you learned," he prompted.

Blair wouldn't be budged. The smile remained in place, and he replied with a simple "Yup!"

"Is this something you have control over?"

Blair's smile faltered. "I'm not sure I understand your question?"

Dr. Burke elaborated. "Are you confident that this information will not change in the future? Is it something you can rely on? I ask because, if your recovery is grounded on your expectations of another person, it may not last."

Blair considered the Doctor's point. It made sense, but did it really apply to the unique relationship he and Jim had? He'd been touched by Jim's statement in part because it put words to his own feelings. On the other hand, Jim had demonstrated in the past that he could live without Blair. Or had he? In every case, Jim's efforts to push Blair away had, eventually, been matched by his efforts to bring Blair back. It was unstable ground, but with enough confidence in himself and patience for Jim, he knew it was as stable as anything he could achieve by himself. However, this wasn't the time or place to voice his opinions. Dr. Burke was waiting for him to speak; perhaps it was time to exercise his neglected obfuscation skills. "I think I see what you're saying. Instead of relying on someone else, I need to know I'll be OK no matter how things go with this issue in the future."

Dr. Burke smiled. "Exactly. Since you're reluctant to talk about the issue and person, before our next session I'd like you to give some thought to what qualities you may feel that you lack, for which this person helps you compensate. Now, how would you feel about continuing your therapy as an outpatient?"

Blair's smile reappeared at full force. "Really? That'd be great! Why now? I mean, not that I disagree or anything, but I've been, you know, awake for several days."

"Coming out of the catatonic state was only the first step of your recovery. In the last few days you've shown significant improvement in your depression, and have indicated that you are no longer a threat to your own safety. Let me clarify that if you do leave the hospital, I'd like you to continue with your antidepressant medication for six weeks or more, as well as continuing the psychotherapy sessions. Will you have any problem with that?"

"Not a problem, Doctor. Even if I wanted to skip out my roommate, Jim, would make sure I was here." Blair grinned in fond annoyance.

"All right. We'll see about getting you set up with an outpatient schedule and a prescription, and maybe you'll be home by tonight."

That night Blair wandered through the living room of the loft handling random objects from the bookshelves and coffee table. "It was nice of Simon to treat us to dinner, but I'd have been just as happy eating take-out here. It's weird, I sort of feel like I've been gone just a few days--but I miss this place just like I've been gone for a month!" Blair sat on the couch with a happy sigh. "So... when are you going to tell me what's going on?"

With a deliberately casual tone Jim replied, "What do you mean?"

Blair snorted. "You want me to make a list? OK, front and center--why'd Simon give us a ride home from the hospital? Your truck is parked out front, I don't see casts on any of your limbs, so... what's going on?"

Jim sat on the other couch facing Blair. "It's just temporary. I had a couple of seizures-"

Blair leaped out of his seat. "Seizures?? When, Jim? What caused them? My God, have you seen a doctor about them?"

"It's no big deal, Blair," Jim insisted. "I had two seizures while you were in the hospital. Both occurred exactly as you were getting your ECT treatment. I think that's how I was able to reach you. The first one happened while I was in the waiting room of the hospital, or I wouldn't have seen a doctor. And my driver's license wouldn't have been suspended," Jim added in annoyance.

"Geez, Jim. So, except for the two seizures, nothing else strange has happened? Your senses are OK?" Blair settled into a familiar pacing/lecturing mode.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Jim grumbled.

"And they both happened just as I got the ECT?"

"I don't have any proof of that, but it'd be a heck of a coincidence otherwise. Both seizures happened while you were in the treatment room, at about the same time the ECT was performed. The first time, I could sense you nearby. The second time, I think you probably know about as much as I do. I was in a-"

"Wait, Jim. Don't tell me! I want you to write it all down, and I'll write down what I experienced. I want a chance to compare the two without being influenced by what you tell me. This is fascinating! I wonder if it's a sentinel thing. I've never read anything like it..."

Jim snorted. "Sandburg, I don't think they do ECT in the jungle, you know?"

"Yeah, but Jim, it could have occurred in other, similar situations. Like, when one of the pair was running a high fever, or seriously injured or something."

Jim stared at Blair with a look of dread. "You'd better not be planning to run tests on this, Sandburg."

"No, no tests," Blair agreed, waving his arms in a distracted manner. "Too dangerous, without the right kind of medical backup. It's just really interesting, you know? They didn't happen to run any tests on you during the seizure?" Blair added with a hopeful look on his face.

"Sorry, Blair. They tried, but 60 seconds wasn't enough notice to assemble the testing gear," Jim answered dryly.

The sarcasm completely missed Blair. "Nuts. Well, if it ever happens again, maybe-"

"Blair!" Jim's face skipped past dread to settle on alarm.

"Oh! Sorry, man. Yeah. No tests. So, how long 'til you can drive again?"

Jim tried to sound casual. "No more than six months."

"Six months? Jim, man, you'd better let me drive the truck, you'll be a pretzel after six months in the Volvo!" Blair crowed.

"Laugh it up, short stuff!" Jim growled at his friend as he stood and walked toward Blair. He lunged.

"J-I-I-I-M! No fair tickling!" Blair shouted as he struggled to return the attack.

Several minutes later, both men were collapsed on their backs on the floor, panting.

"Way to wipe a guy out, Jim," Blair complained between gasps.

Jim tried to steady his own breathing. "Just part of my evil plot to get you to bed early, so I can have the remote all to myself."

"If you wanted the remote," gasp, "you could have left me in the hospital."

Suddenly serious, Jim rolled onto his elbows to face Blair. "I'm not leaving you anywhere, Chief. You belong here. Or maybe in the shower... you stink!"

"Gee, Jim, I always knew you cared." Blair stuck his tongue out and maneuvered to his feet. "A shower! In our bathroom! Real hot water!" he rhapsodized as he headed for his room.

"You'd better leave some of that hot water for me!" Jim called out after him.

The following day dawned cold and rainy. The two men spent the day in normal weekend activities, ignoring the small detail that it was a Tuesday. Running errands and catching up on the housework Jim had neglected during the previous month kept them busy most of the day. They planned to spend the evening watching a classic western marathon on video, but the activity of the day caught up with Blair early, sending him to bed after the first movie. Jim headed upstairs not long after, assuming that the effects of a month of stress and relative inactivity had conspired to tire him out as well.

The next morning, Blair woke to a quiet loft and bright sunlight streaming through the windows. It puzzled him for a moment; Jim was not known for sleeping late and he was never so quiet in the morning. Then he realized that the beautiful weather must have lured the older man out for a morning run. Satisfied with this explanation he considered the merits of sleeping a bit longer. He snuggled back under his soft, warm, wool blankets; they were courtesy of Naomi's last trip to Israel, and infinitely more satisfying than the thinner acrylic blankets used by the hospital. He was just drifting back to sleep when he heard a strangled whimper from somewhere in the loft. Without thinking he flipped back his covers, pulled on the blue plaid bathrobe he'd left draped over the back of his desk chair and hurried out to the living room.

"Jim?" he called softly, not certain that he hadn't just imagined or dreamt the sound.

Another whimper, this time clearly from the direction of Jim's bedroom. Blair hurried up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and nearly tripping in his haste. He did succeed in stubbing his big toe on the top stair.

"Jim? <ouch!>, What's wrong?" He was still speaking quietly in case the other man was simply dreaming. There was no reaction. Jim lay on the bed, sheets and blankets strewn all over, his face contorted with fear. Thinking that the other man was having a nightmare, Blair moved to the side of the bed and gently shook Jim's shoulder to wake him. The reaction was instantaneous and frightening.

Jim sat up with a shout that might have been Blair's name, grabbing Blair's wrist with both hands and holding it tightly. His eyes shot open, but instead of looking at Blair they were moving around the room almost randomly. Blair started and would have jumped back, but Jim's grasp held him in place. After a moment, his wildly beating heart began to slow to a normal pace. "Shit, Jim, what's wrong?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. It was pretty obvious that Jim could not see him. It was likely that his hearing was also off-line, since he hadn't reacted until Blair touched him. Blair sat on the bed and looked around the room, trying to determine if anything there was the cause of the problem.

Everything looked the same as it had on Blair's previous visits upstairs, except for a small prescription bottle on the nightstand. Blair picked it up to read the label, squinting to see it clearly. "Dilantin... filled February 28? That's two days ago! Jim, what the hell is this?" Blair thought for a moment, then set down the bottle to pick up the phone.

"Forensics, please," he replied when the phone was answered. A moment later Blair continued, "Hey Serena, this is Blair. Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, do you have a minute to do me a favor? Could you check one of your books and tell me what the drug 'Dilantin' is prescribed for? Yeah, I'll hold on."

"Really? What're the side effects? Uh-huh. Yeah. Thanks a million, Serena. I really owe you one. Lunch? Sure. Maybe next week though, things are a little busy here right now. Yeah, I'll give you a call." Blair disconnected and laid the phone down.

In a conversational voice he addressed the unhearing sentinel who still held his arm in a death-grip. "All right, Jim. We're going to get through this. Then I'm going to kill you for taking this shit. What were you thinking, man? Anti-convulsants? When you know that those seizures weren't anything medically related? And a list of side effects like that? You're really looking to just scare the shit out of me, aren't you."

Jim had calmed considerably since making contact with Blair, but Blair wasn't sure he wanted to go through the day with the larger man as a bracelet. Besides, there were certain basic needs that both men had to tend to. Blair stood and tugged on one of Jim's arms with his free hand. As he'd hoped, Jim followed him off the bed. Leading him past the closet, he stopped briefly to grab jeans and a sweater. A stop at the dresser for socks, and they were ready to head downstairs.

At the top step, Blair realized they had a problem. Both of Jim's hands were still holding his right wrist, and his left arm was full of Jim's clothing. Jim was walking a little unsteadily, and Blair wasn't confident that Jim's grasp on his arm would be sufficient for navigating the stairs. //This is like that old logic puzzle,// Blair thought, //except instead of a rowboat to carry a carnivore, an herbivore and a vegetable across the river, I have two arms to transport one sense-impaired sentinel and a pile of clothes down the stairs. It's going to take more than one arm to lead Jim down the stairs in this condition. Oh well, what he doesn't know, won't hurt him.// With that thought, Blair threw the clothes over the railing, freeing up both hands to help his friend.

Once they reached the much smaller space of the bathroom, Blair was able to convince Jim to let go of him and take care of things on his own. The moment the door was shut behind him, Blair rushed to the living room to grab up Jim's clothes and pile them on the kitchen table. Then he hurried into his own room and replaced his bathrobe with jeans and a flannel shirt.

Aware that he had only a few more minutes at most before Jim needed him, he considered the options for communication. He knew a little sign language, but he wasn't sure that Jim did. Anyway, how did it work when the person was blind as well? Sign spelling, maybe? OK, that was a longshot option. The tapping of his fingers on the desk reminded him of Morse code. He didn't know it, but Jim might. And wasn't there a chart of it in that communications textbook he'd kept? Blair dove into the cramped space under the futon frame, searching for the book. Halfway under, he found something better. "Scrabble! I'd forgotten I had this." He hauled the old board game out, just in time to hear the bathroom door open.

Blair led Jim to the kitchen table, and showed him where his clothes were. Then he spelled out DRESS AND WAIT HERE with the game tiles and ran Jim's fingers over them. To his relief, Jim nodded. Without thinking, Blair gave him a quick hug around the shoulders, then hurried into the bathroom to relieve his own bladder and brush his teeth. He quickly ran a brush through his hair, happy for once that it was still relatively short. Returning to Jim, he saw that the other man was dressed and had found something to do. The score pad and pencil were out of the Scrabble box, and Jim had already written something down. Blair hurried back into his bedroom for his glasses. He returned to the table and pulled another chair around to Jim's side of it. Blair settled down to read the first question.

"'What time is it?' Good, basic stuff first." Blair spelled out NINE and grabbed Jim's hand to show him the letters. To his surprise, Jim jumped and nearly fell out of his chair before settling down with a glower aimed more or less in Blair's direction. "Duh! Good one, Blair, startle him when he can't see or hear anything." He quickly spelled out SORRY, then gently patted the other man's hand before leading it to the words.

"Next question--'What happened?' I need something to eat before we get into that one." He spelled FOOD FIRST THEN ANSWERS. Jim nodded at this, so Blair went to the kitchen and returned with bagels and juice. They ate, then resumed the conversation.

SIDE EFFECTS OF NEW DRUG, Blair spelled in answer to Jim's last question. Y DIDNT U TELL ME

"Thought it would be OK," Jim wrote in reply.

Blair wished he had a way to communicate his anger over Jim's carelessness. DID U READ THE DRUG INFO

Jim nodded his head then wrote, "It said blurred vision possible. That's all."

Blair shook his head in frustration. U SHOULD HAVE TALKED TO ME. HOW R SENSES

"Sight & hearing are messed up. Taste & smell OK but just at normal levels. Touch is OK but have pins & needles."

GO TO HOSPITAL

Jim shook his head vehemently and wrote, "NO. If side effects too strange, we'll get too many questions. I'm not sick. Wait for it to wear off."

Blair expected this response; he'd meant the hospital statement as a question anyway. OK TELL ME IF IT GETS WORSE CAN U TALK

"Don't want to, can't hear myself."

Blair replied OK and left it at that.

Over the course of the day, the tingling in Jim's extremities increased to the point that he could barely read the Scrabble tiles. He didn't know any sign language, and Blair wasn't sure it would be any easier to feel than the Scrabble tiles anyway. Fortunately, they discovered that he could read letters spelled out against the palm of his hand.

They spent a very long, frustrating day with Blair's conversation as Jim's only entertainment. Meals were sandwiches and other easy fingerfoods that didn't require vision or a good sense of touch to eat. Finally, it was late in the evening and they both began to yawn, probably from boredom as much as anything else, Blair thought.

"tired?" Blair spelled. At least this method of communication allowed more punctuation.

Jim nodded.

"bed?"

Jim shook his head.

"y not?" Blair asked.

Jim reached for the notebook Blair had given him that morning. He was sure that his decreased sense of touch made his writing clumsier, so he'd mostly abandoned it later in the day. "Don't want to be alone," he wrote as embarrassment flamed across his face.

"couches?" Blair suggested.

Jim frowned.

Blair realized that Jim had no way to know that he wasn't alone, unless they were close enough to touch. "want me 2 sleep with u?"

Jim nodded his head, his face reddening further.

"OK. Wait here." Blair ran upstairs and after several minutes of rummaging through Jim's dresser, found shorts and a T-shirt that Jim could wear as pajamas. Blair hurried back downstairs. Placing the clothes in Jim's hands, he led him to the bathroom. While Jim was getting ready for bed, Blair found a set of clean sweats to sleep in.

When they were both ready for bed, Blair led Jim upstairs. Jim's king-sized bed suddenly seemed much smaller. At first, each man lay stiffly on his side of the bed, wide-awake and uncomfortable. After a while, Jim's hand slid across the bed and bumped lightly into Blair. Blair took hold of the wandering hand, and both men began to relax. A short time later, they were both asleep.

In the middle of the night, Blair woke from a disturbing dream that featured him losing a wrestling match to an octopus. It didn't take long for him to figure out what had triggered the dream--Jim was wrapped snugly around him, his face buried in the back of Blair's neck. While the situation was not unpleasant, it was definitely not something Blair had expected.

Blair considered untangling himself from Jim. The other man would certainly reach new heights of embarrassment if he knew he was using Blair as an oversized teddy bear. But if the dream had a basis in fact, any attempt was probably a lost cause. Hoping Jim would let go on his own before he woke up, Blair ruthlessly ignored his body's reaction to the situation and finally drifted back to sleep.

The next time Blair woke, it was light enough to see Jim's face just inches from his own. Since he'd managed to roll over, Jim had apparently loosened his hold at some point during the night. But he still held Blair firmly in place with an arm and leg each draped over the smaller man's body.

Blair was still considering the options for extricating himself when Jim's nostrils flared and he murmured Blair's name. As Blair stared in amazement, Jim moved closer and briefly caressed Blair's morning stubbled cheek with his own before pressing his lips to Blair's. The contact lasted only a moment, then Jim moved away to a distance that could be measured in millimeters.

Blair was stunned. Jim's eyes had never opened, but he'd obviously detected Blair's presence by scent. Jim appeared to be soundly asleep, but it was no woman he was dreaming of, unless her name was Blair. Blair's mind spun in circles. He desperately wanted to reach the obvious conclusion, but was terrified of the consequences if he was wrong. He made an anxious attempt to release himself from Jim's hold and began to hyperventilate.

The sound of Blair's panic woke Jim. He let go of his friend and maneuvered to help Blair sit up. "Blair? What's wrong?" He moved back to give Blair room to breathe, but stayed close enough to leave one hand on his knee. He waited patiently as the other man's breathing calmed. "You OK now?" he finally asked.

"Yeah, just a little claustrophobic, I guess," Blair answered, with just a faint wheeze to his breathing.

"I guess I should have warned you, Carolyn always said I was a space hog."

Blair was inexplicably calmed by this reminder that his best friend had been married and was straight, and he was able to think clearly. "Your senses are better this morning."

Jim nodded. "Yes, except my sight is still sort of off."

"Off how?"

Jim squinted. "It's a little blurry and, unless there's two of you, I'm seeing double."

"I'm pretty sure there's only one of me." Blair smiled in relief at the obvious improvement. "Good. Your side effects are down to normal. Now's the perfect time to go see Dr. Rollins."

"Why? Everything's getting better, what can she do about it?"

"Jim, you are not taking another dose of that FDA-approved poison. And your doctor has to know you've decided to stop taking it, unless you're planning for it to be a surprise at your next appointment?"

"Why not?" Jim grumbled.

"Because it'll be a lot easier to explain if she sees how it's affecting you. Besides, I want to make sure it's not harming you in other ways," Blair explained.

"All right, it's not like we've got anything else to do today. We've got time for breakfast first, right?"

"We will if you stop arguing." Blair grinned.

As Blair expected, Dr. Rollins took Jim off the medication. He was relieved when she recommended that they wait to see if there were any more seizures before trying another drug. Predictably, Jim growled about the indignities his truck would suffer during six months of 'Sandburg's driving'. Blair thought that Jim was probably relieved to have an excuse to spend the next six months keeping an eye on him, but figured that was one opinion that he did not need to share.

The side effects that Jim had suffered cleared up quickly, and for a few days their leave from the PD was almost like a vacation. When the unusual amount of free time grew stale, Blair convinced Jim to join him in volunteering at an after-school program that needed tutors and mentors. Jim discovered that he actually enjoyed helping the kids with their schoolwork and teaching them the finer points of basketball.

Blair loved acting as a teacher again, but found that it wasn't enough to keep his mind busy. As the weeks passed, he found he was constantly worrying over the same thought--the brief dream-kiss Jim had given him and what it might mean.

Several times Jim caught Blair standing motionless, staring into space. He could be a patient man when the situation wasn't life threatening, so he waited.

One evening Blair was up to his elbows in dishwater, in what Jim had come to think of as a Sandburg-zone. "Chief, are you trying to think those dishes clean?"

"Mmm? Oh, yeah." Blair distractedly handed a plate to Jim.

Jim watched Blair resume his motionless pose. This odd behavior had gone on for nearly six weeks. Jim told himself he wasn't really worried, but it was happening with increasing frequency. "So, Blair, what's with the zone-outs?"

Blair blinked and looked at Jim. "What zone-outs? I haven't seen you zone once in-"

"Not me, buddy, you."

Blair gaped at Jim. "Me? You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. You're either zoning or napping with your eyes open. So out with it. What's got you so distracted?"

"Oh, that. Jim, I was just thinking. Nothing important, you know?"

Jim cocked an eyebrow at his friend. "Nothing important yet you obsess over it for six weeks. Tell me another one, Chief."

"Really, Jim, I don't see what you're getting so worked up about." Blair dropped the dishcloth into the sink with a splat and stalked to the refrigerator. Slapping his hands on his jeans to get the worst of the soap and water off, he opened the fridge and pulled out a can of ginger ale.

Jim watched the performance and fixed a questioning gaze on Blair.

"What??" Blair demanded as he opened the can.

Jim continued to look at Blair, adding just a touch of the patented Ellison interrogation stare to it.

"Aw, man, don't do that." Blair rolled his eyes, walked into the living room and settled on the couch.

"Don't do what?" Jim asked mildly. Drying his own hands on the dishtowel, he followed Blair to sit on the other side of the couch.

"Do you plan to follow me around all night?"

"Nope. Just until you tell me what's bugging you."

"Who said anything was bugging me?"

"You did just now, when you avoided me."

Blair snapped, "Jim, not everyone is a crook who needs to be interrogated."

"And now you're avoiding the subject," Jim countered mildly.

"Jim, trust me. There are some things you just don't need to know."

Jim considered that. "That's fair. But if you won't talk to me about it, will you promise to talk to Dr. Burke?"

"No way, man." Blair waved his hands in a negating gesture, nearly spilling his soda in the process. "There are some things he definitely doesn't need to know."

"Now you're really getting me worried, Chief. What could be so bad that you can't talk to Burke or me? You've got to tell someone, this is starting to get really weird. Zoning is my job, not yours."

"You really are worried, aren't you." Blair stared at Jim as if trying to see what he was thinking.

"That's what I just said, Blair."

"What if I told you it's really nothing to worry about? I mean, not anything serious."

"Blair..." Jim frowned at his friend in frustration.

"All right, fine. Have it your way. But first you have to promise that you won't freak out on me."

"What?"

"Just promise you won't freak out, man."

"Right. OK, I won't freak out. Now, what's bugging you?"

"OK." Blair got up and started pacing around the living room. "Remember your promise, OK, Jim?"

"Yes, I'll remember. Could you just tell me already?" The muscle in Jim's jaw started to jump. He was sure that Blair was trying to drive him crazy to avoid answering the question.

Blair stopped suddenly and blurted out, "What did it mean when you kissed me?"

Jim stared. It took several seconds for his brain to come back online. His first thought was //kiss? I kissed Blair? No. I'd remember something like that.// What he said was "Blair, how long have you been hallucinating?"

Blair's curls, which had grown longer in the last few months, whipped wildly as he shook his head. "I'm not hallucinating. That night that we, uh, shared your bed, when your senses were all messed up? I woke up and you were, um, smelling me. Then you said my name and you--kissed me. You weren't awake but..." Blair's voice trailed off in apprehension and he stared at Jim, waiting for an indication of what the bigger man might do.

Jim returned the stare. He tried frantically to assemble enough coherency to communicate. "I-uh-that-that wasn't just a dream." He said it almost as a question.

Blair bounced in place nervously. "No man, it wasn't. What did it mean?"

Jim swallowed and blinked several times. "What-er, what do you want it to mean?"

"No way, man. I answered your question, now you answer mine." Blair was still nervous, but adamant.

"Well, it means," Jim glanced around as if looking for an escape route. "It means I-I love you. And I'm attracted to you."

Blair's knees gave out under him in pure relief and he sat on the floor. Jim rushed over and knelt next to him, taking hold of his face and looking worriedly into his eyes. "Blair, are you OK?"

Blair gazed back at Jim, studying his expression. He lightly placed his own hands over the other man's hands. He was speechless for a moment longer then replied, "Kiss me again?"

Jim's frightened scowl flowed into a smile. Then he leaned over and their lips touched.

The End