Title: Father Figure 17: Jammies and Jimbear

by Amethyst

Rating: R

Pairing Jim and Blair

Summary: The parental woes of chicken pox. Blair reveals some childhood tales and the tension between Jim and Naomi escalates.

This is the standard disclaimer. They don't belong to me. This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Paramount, UPN, or Pet Fly Productions.

This story contains corporal punishment. Be warned.

Thank you to my betas, Reva and Spacepixell, for all their hard work.

My entire Father Figure Series can be found at my personal site:

Father Figure Series 17: Jammies and Jimbear

Jim dropped wearily down onto the couch. He listened as a short burst of coughing from behind the downstairs bedroom doors gradually tapered off to a drowsy moan. Restless squirming followed before the miserable young man settled down. The sentinel monitored his guide's heartbeat until it slowed to something slightly above Blair's normal sleeping rate. Jim reassured himself that this was just the fever.

Jim rested his head back against the soft leather. Closing his eyes, he pulled a deep, calming breath in through his nose and slowly let it escape out of his mouth. After the fifth cycle, tense muscles and constricted blood vessels gradually responded to the relaxation routine. The slight pounding in his head faded and the ache in his neck loosened. Releasing the sigh of the truly exhausted, Jim found himself mentally reviewing the events of the last few days.

Blair had been officially diagnosed with chicken pox three days ago, three very long and difficult days. During the daytime, Jim put in his 8 hours at the station then returned quickly to the loft to take up the role of caregiver and comforter for his ailing charge for the rest of the evening.

Blair was tired, feverish and irritable. He had broken out in a raised rash over most of his body, face and scalp. Even though the rash was sparse, it was widespread, itchy and uncomfortable. The young man unconsciously scratched and dug at the offending lesions at every opportunity. At least, every opportunity when he thought Jim wouldn't catch him. Dozens of threats and warnings were met with huffed denials and sincere, but unfortunately, broken promises. Jim had finally taken action against the incessant scratching when he found a bleeding area on the young man's arm earlier this evening.

While Blair soaked in yet another oatmeal bath, Jim dug through his old winter gear in the back of his closet and found some things he was sure would help with the situation. Carrying them down to the washer/dryer combination he had recently installed in the closet at the end of the hall, Jim tossed them in to wash away the musty smell and ensure the articles of clothing were as soft and non-irritating as could be.

Passing by the open bathroom door, he glanced in, checking that his charge hadn't fallen asleep in the tub like he had the evening before. Getting the sticky oatmeal out of Blair's long hair had been an event he didn't want to repeat anytime soon. Jim grinned as he watched the youth quietly submerge the bright yellow, rubber duck bath toy Rafe and Brown had sent home to him after learning of his quarantined state of health. Both men remembered their own childhood bouts of chicken pox and knew Blair would be spending a fair amount of time in the tub trying to soothe his inflamed skin. They couldn't resist the opportunity to tease and torment the young observer.

Water splashed onto the far wall when the duck emerged from under the surface of its tiny pond and a stream of mucky water erupted from its mouth; a rash covered hand squeezing the soft plastic body forcefully. Jim shook his head at the antics and continued down the hall to the kitchen to start dinner; thankful the younger man was momentarily occupied with something besides scratching. A muffled cough and sniffle made Jim frown slightly in concern even as he concentrated on dinner.

Blair settled back against the cold porcelain of the tub, enjoying the sensations of the cooling water and soothing oatmeal dust comforting his raw skin. For once, Jim wasn't hurrying him to get out of the bathroom.

God, this feels so good. I thought I was going to peel my skin straight off my body if this damn itching didn't stop soon. How do little kids stand it? It's driving me crazy and it's only been a couple of days. It feels like weeks. Probably feels like months to Jim. He was getting pretty creative with those threats he was coming up with. Dr. Denton's, boxing gloves, taping my fingers together, mittens--I don't think he was serious about the handcuffs. Could be wrong, though. He had that look on his face that always makes me think that even though he sounds like he's teasing, he really, really wants to do whatever it is he's threatening me with. I so don't want to go there.

The crawly tingle of another unattended itch drew Blair's attention. Wiggling his shoulder to get it under the water without getting the hazy liquid in his hair, he tried vainly to reach the inaccessible area on his back. With sudden inspiration, Blair reached out and captured the rubber duck as it floated by. Refilling it with the medicated tub water, he aimed the duck at his back and fired. The stream of water coming out of the duck's mouth trickled down his skin and bathed the offending shoulder blade. Chuckling with manic glee, he refilled his weapon and fired again, this time with more force, simultaneously soothing the rash and providing enough pressure to relieve the ungodly itch.

Low chuckles of delight and whispered mumbles filtered out of the bathroom to reach sensitive ears in the kitchen. Jim paused to listen, sentinel hearing focused on his guide. With each sound identified, labeled and cataloged, a detailed picture of the scene in the tub slowly began to take form in the Protector's mind. Jim grinned as the splashes and spurts of the attacks registered along with the satisfied sighs of his charge and gurgled slurps of the refilled yellow duck. A muted, "oh, yeah, man, almost better than doing the wild thing," widened his grin.

Slipping a tray of breaded chicken into the oven to bake, Jim set the timer and went to check on the washer. Sparing another glance into the bathroom, he paused in the doorway to watch the battle of 'yellow ducky versus chicken pox' rage on. The foundation of another wall around Jim's heart crumbled at the scene before him. Damp curls clung to Blair's smooth face and neck, a smile of delight and innocence transforming his face into that of an angelic five-year-old. The image was reinforced by the twinkle of pure mischief in his wide blue eyes as he squirted the duck and splashed playfully in the tub.

"Rafe and H will be happy to hear their present came in so handy, Chief. How goes the war between rubber ducky and the big bad rash?"

Engrossed in the attack on his latest itch, Blair jumped at the sound of Jim's low, quiet voice. Unfazed, he grinned back at his companion through unruly curls. The young man laughed and made slight squeezing motions with his weapon, allowing small bursts of water to stream from the duck's mouth into the tub.

"Oh, no, reinforcements on the enemy's side. Stay back. I have a loaded duck and I'm not afraid to use it. The fight against the evil itch will continue until the yellow ducky is victorious. We will not surrender." Blair punctuated his last statement with a forceful squirt of water, the stream landing a mere 6 inches from the big man's feet.

"The duck better keep the water in the tub and know how to clean up after himself if he wants his 'comrade in arms' to live long enough to wage another battle at a later date and time." His stern tone didn't match his amused expression.

"Eeeck." A grimace of mock terror flashed across Blair's face before the smile returned and the duck submerged for another refill of ammunition.

Compulsively, Jim wiped up the puddle with a nearby hand towel. Hiding his grin, he wandered down the hall, keeping his hearing focused on the bathroom for the expected rebuttal. He loaded the dryer with the freshly washed clothes, chuckling out loud at Blair's muttered "tall people have no sense of humor, duck. If you're going to live here, you might as well learn that now. Everyone I know is tall and none of them have much of a sense of humor. Trust me, I wouldn't steer you wrong, pal." The splashes and splats continued as the battle resumed.

Jim set the timer on the dryer and returned to the kitchen. Measuring rice into a pan of water that was boiling nicely on the stovetop, he covered it, turned down the flame and reset the timer. Dropping a bag of baby carrots into the waiting steamer he snapped on the lid and adjusted the heat. Dinner should be ready just after the dryer was done. Jim made a mental note to start coaxing Blair out of the tub in 10 minutes.

Grabbing a cup of coffee, the weary detective settled down on the couch with the evening paper for a few uninterrupted minutes of quiet. The timer for the dryer buzzed ten very quick minutes later, pulling Jim from the sports section. He dropped off his empty cup in the sink on his way to the dryer and knocked loudly on the open bathroom door as he passed.

"Okay, Junior, up and out of there. Dinner is almost ready. Don't forget to rinse the tub out. That oatmeal is like clay when it dries. And it won't be me scrubbing it out, either."

"Okay, it's getting pretty cold anyway. Jim, I forgot to bring clean clothes in with me. Could you grab me something?"

"Got something right here for you, Chief, fresh out of the dryer."

"Great, man, thanks."

Blair sighed contently as he rinsed off the duck and placed it on the shelf in the tub. After splashing one last wave of the soothing, cool water over his arms and back, he stood and stepped out of the tub. Wrapping himself in a large bath sheet, Blair hurriedly dried his chilled skin off with light pats so the itching wouldn't start again. Jim entered the room and handed the younger man a folded pile of navy blue cotton.

"Put this on. I think it shrunk enough in the dryer that it will fit okay. Dinner will be on the table in five minutes. Get a move on, Chief."

Blair grabbed the bundle Jim handed him and shook it out. Staring at the one-piece union suit, complete with button down trap door, Blair was momentarily at a loss for words. But only for a moment.

"NO WAY am I going to wear this. Come on, Jim, this is a pair of kid's pajamas. I'm not going to wear this, man." Wrapping the towel tighter around his body, Blair barreled out of the room and right into Jim's chest.

"I'm not wearing this, uh-uh, no way, not going to happen. This better be a joke, man. I'm not wearing Dr. Denton's." Blair thrust the suit back into Jim's arms and turned to side step around the big man to go to his room in search of sweat pants and T-shirt. A long arm snagged his waist and pulled him around to face back into the bathroom.

"Hold it, Chief. These are not kid's pajamas. They're part of my cold weather gear. I haven't worn them in a while, but they're not kid's wear. They'll cover you up so you're warm when you get chilled, they'll keep you from scratching directly at your skin, they're loose and comfortable enough not to rub on the rash and they're made of cotton so they'll be absorbent while you're all sweaty when your fever breaks. Face it, Junior, they're perfect. Put them on. Dinner is ready. You've got two minutes."

"NO. I'm NOT--" Smack. "---Ooow!" Rubbing his bare backside under the thick towel, Blair turned a hurt pout on his attacker.

"Can it, Chief. Get dressed. Now."

The pout disappeared as quickly as it had come. One look at the stern gaze of his surrogate father and Blair accepted the suit back, twisting his face into a grimace of disgust.

"You're not going to make fun of me?"

"How could I make fun of you? They're mine to begin with, Chief."

"Yeah, I guess. But you had better not say one word, man, or I'm changing."

Jim stifled a small grin and nodded solemnly.

"Not one word, I promise. Now get dressed so we can eat." The oven timer interrupted and thankfully ended any further discussion.

Their pleasant dinner deteriorated rapidly. Blair's congestion returned full force after the therapeutic effects of the warm, moist air of the bathroom wore off and his good humor disappeared along with his ability to breathe easily.

The young man complained that the meal had no favor, the Kool-Aid Jim insisted he drink hurt his throat, the room was too cold, his clothing was too baggy and Jim wasn't paying attention to him when he tried to pull the older man into a conversation about reducing his grounding due to illness. Jim had to physically remind Blair to stop scratching by restraining his wrist six times during dinner. By the time the meal was over, Jim's head was pounding and Blair was in full petulant brat mode.

Jim started from his reminiscing at the sound of muffled footsteps trudging slowly up the outside hall. Dragging his tired body off the couch with a silent groan, he opened the front door to greet his visitor just as Simon raised one hand to knock, his other hand holding a brown paper sack.

"Hi, Simon. What brings you here? Delivering takeout?"

Simon scowled at his friend as he lower his hand.

"I hate it when you do that."

Jim took in the sour expression on his boss's face and gave into the smirk he had been struggling to hide.

"I know." Jim stepped back and opened the door wider, allowing Simon to walk into the room.

"That's why you do it, too, isn't it?"

The smirk widened as Jim closed and locked the door. Turning to face his visitor, Jim motioned towards the kitchen.

"Yes, Simon it is. Take off your coat and sit down. I was just going to make some coffee. Interested?"

Simon slipped off his coat and hung it up on the rack by the door.

"Smart ass. Yeah, I'll take a cup. You certainly look like you could use one. I just dropped by to see how things were going and leave something for the kid. A little something to yank his chain. It's right up there with Brown and Rafe's yellow ducky. He wearing you out already?"

Jim pulled a canister of coffee from the refrigerator and filled the basket.

"Honest to God, Simon, I didn't know how patient and forgiving my father really was while I was growing up until now. If I was anywhere near as grumpy and hard to please when I was sick as that kid in there is, I'm surprised I survived to see my teen years. Thank God, Sally was there then. I'm half tempted to call her up, thank her profusely for my childhood and see if she could come over for an evening."

"That bad, huh?"

Jim poured water into the machine and pulled two cups down from the cabinet shelf.

"Don't get me wrong here. The kid is really sick. He's hacking, sneezing and can't breathe half the time. He's running a fever of 102, even with medication. The antibiotics to keep him from getting pneumonia make him nauseous because he won't eat enough to settle his stomach before taking them and his throat is so raw, convincing him to swallow anything, food, liquids or medicine, is a battle all by itself."

"Sounds like fun. I remember when Daryl had the chicken pox. Keeping him entertained was harder than keeping him from itching. That was a long two weeks. Joan really got the worst of it. I just pinch-hit in the evenings for an hour or two. That was a challenge for just that short of an amount of time. Joan had the patience of a saint back then. Of course, Daryl was six at the time."

A wistful tone had crept into Simon voice as he remembered a time when his own family had been whole and close. Shaking his head slightly to clear the mood of any melancholy thoughts, the big man moved forward into the kitchen to accept an empty cup. Leaning against the counter, he watched as the coffee brewed the last drop noisily and sputtered to a stop.

Jim remained silent while he poured them both a cup of coffee and relaxed back against the counter beside his friend. Savoring the aroma and heat from the cup, he inhaled deeply and slowly let the breath out, tension flowing out of his body along with the air. Sensing Simon's dampened mood he moved the conversation off in a lighter direction.

"You know, it's the scratching that is the hardest to cope with. I swear, Simon, if he doesn't stop digging until his skin bleeds, I'm going to handcuff him to the bed spread-eagled until this passes. By the way, can I borrow your spare set of cuffs, sir?"

"No, you may not. I can't believe a skilled and intelligent, ex-covert ops man like you can't cope with one young anthropology grad student, a pint-sized one at that. Getting old, Ellison?" Simon goaded his friend and toasted him with his coffee cup.

"That's not what you told the ED doctor when I was poisoned. 'High maintenance' I believe you called him." Jim hid his smile behind his cup while he sipped slowly at the hot liquid.

Simon scowled and set his coffee down on the counter. "I thought you were unconscious."

Lowering his cup, Jim let his smile register on the other man. "I was. Dr. Walters told me. It's a good description. At the moment, it's right on the money."

Several muffled coughs from behind the French doors drew both men's attention. After a moment, the coughing subsided into silence. Jim flexed his shoulder muscles and rotating his aching neck.

"I need a solid 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep right about now. Hopefully Blair will sleep through the night for a change."

"He's that restless?" Concern edged Simon's voice and darkened his eyes. "Should he be this sick?"

Jim sighed and gulped another mouthful of coffee down. "Dr. Arden said it should be expected. When adults get chicken pox, it usually hits them hard. He said that his cold symptoms could progress into pneumonia and that flu symptoms would probably show up too. Everything is just worse at night. His congestion increases from lying down, that causes him to cough and that makes his chest and stomach hurt which makes him nauseous. While he's up trying not to cough and throw up, he starts the scratching. I can tell you, it makes for a long night for both of us."

"Didn't the doctor prescribe something for all that?" Jim smiled to himself at the sharp tone of concern and affection in the other man's words. Yep, definitely "Uncle Simon" mode.

Jim heaved a sigh and shook his head. "I have all that stuff. Getting Blair to take it is half the battle and getting him to keep it down is the other half. He's so worn out and miserable he can barely cope most of the time. Tonight was a little better. Once I convinced him to take another one of those oatmeal baths, he settled down for awhile. The steam helps his congestion and the water helps his itching. You should have seen him in there playing with that duck. Not only was he having a ball with it, he figured out a way to make it work for him."

"How's that?"

"He fills it up with the medicated water and uses it to squirt the places he can't reach to scratch. The bathroom was a disaster, but it was worth the mess to see him feeling a little better."

"Sandburg and his rubber ducky. That would have been worth a few bucks to see. You didn't by any chance take pictures, did you?" The devilish gleam in the captain's eye pulled another smile from the exhausted detective.

Mock indignation colored Jim's reply. "Simon, I would never do that to him." A raised eyebrow from his companion changed his mind. "Okay, maybe I would, but just a few photos to keep at home in the family album. Nothing to pass around at the station."

"Good enough for me. Work on it. Maybe one with the present I got him." A self-satisfied grin now brightened Simon's face. Jim chuckled remembering the expression on his young charge's face as he unfolded the union suit earlier.

"Actually, a few of him in his new jammies might be worth the penalty I'd have to pay for taking them."

"What new jammies? Flannels with puppies on them?" Amusement lighted the darkness that had threatened to settle on Simon's eager face.

"Oooh, no, even better, sir. Full-length, drop-seat union underwear. The best they make."

"Drop-seat union suit? You're kidding." Anticipation and disbelief caused the captain's eyes to widen mischievously.

"I had to do something about his scratching. Reminders, warnings and threats weren't working. Short of finding him a pair of those footed pajama things and tying him up, this was the best I could come up with. He was thrilled."

Caught in the act of swallowing, Simon snorted softly into his coffee cup. "I'll just bet he was. Did you have to wrestle him to the floor and dress him?"

"Nah, he saw the advantages to wearing them once I pointed them out."

"Ah huh."

"And I refused to let him out of the bathroom before he put them on. He threw a little fit and tried to talk his way out of it, but in the end, my logic won him over."

"Your logic and how many swats?"

"Just one. He is sick."

"Remember, Jim, sick is not an excuse to let him go wild. Let him get away with shit now and you'll have your hands full for weeks." Simon let the full force of his fatherly experience lend weight to his words.

"I know. And I won't. He's just so miserable and uncomfortable he can't sit still or keep quiet. He's complained about everything under the sun, including his grounding, until I finally had to send him to bed, whining and arguing the whole way. He was being a complete pain in the ass. He fell asleep in less than two minutes once he got into bed."

Jim chuckled softly and turned to rinse out his empty cup. He cocked his head slightly to one side then took a clean glass down from the cupboard and filled it with water. He shook several tablets from two bottles on the counter into his hand.

"He looked really cute in his little jammies, though."

"I'll bet. I can just see it now. You know I need a picture of that." Heh-heh-heh. Simon distinctive snicker filled the room.

Simon stared at Blair's bedroom doors and mentally pictured the young grad student rumpled and sleepy, dressed from head to foot in the union suit. To Simon's surprise, the image suddenly shifted and moved slowly toward the subdued lighting in the kitchen. A slurred, sleepy but raw voice startled him out of his musing.

"-im?"

Ellison turned from the sink and walked over to the apparition that was slowly materializing into flesh and blood the closer it got to the light. Placing a hand on the slender shoulder of his charge, Jim halted his forward motion and steadied the barely-awake young man. Jim passed his palm over Blair's fevered cheek before returning it to a slumped shoulder.

"I'm right here, Chief."

"I can't get back to sleep. There's too much noise out here. Can't you turn the TV down, man? My head hurts and all I can hear is talking." Blair tilted his head in an effort to make his sleep-heavy eyes rise to meet Jim's. They made it as far as the big man's chest then gave up the effort, closing completely. One hand automatically began to scratch at his stomach. A larger hand instantly stilled the motion.

"The TV isn't on, sleepyhead. Simon's here. Open your mouth and take these. They're for your fever and the itching."

"Simon?" Blair's speech sounded thick and distant. Jim wrapped an arm around the young man's shoulders and drew him closer for warmth. Tapping Blair's cheek, he signaled the youth to open his mouth. Blair immediately complied, accepting the capsules popped onto his tongue. Jim raised the glass of water to a set of dry, pale lips and held it there as Blair drank. A murmured sound signaled when the youth was finished and Jim lowered the half-empty glass.

"Yeah, he's here. And he brought you a present."

A crooked smile lit up the young face while Blair tried to focus his questionable eyesight on the tall, vaguely familiar form near the sink. "A present? Really?"

Simon couldn't keep himself from smiling at the sight of his legendary hard-assed detective crouched low to peer into the face of his one and only observer. The strong arm wrapped tightly around the slender form both supported and comforted the young man. Blair leaned into the warmth of the hard body beside him, resting his mane of riotous curl on Jim's chest.

The dazed, blue eyes of a child much younger than Sandburg really was gazed up at the gruff captain. Innocent eyes filled with surprise and more than a little delight making the tough man act difficult for Simon to maintain.

Pulling the paper bag from off the counter, Simon gruffly thrust it in the boy's direction.

"I thought you could use someone to talk to during the day while Jim's at work. Daryl had one. This one made me think of you."

Blair forced his bleary eyes open and cautiously accepted the brown paper bag. Hesitant about what new joke would be played on him, he gingerly opened it. Thoughts of a gaggle of yellow rubber ducks flashed through his mind but soft, warm fur met his touch. Reaching further into the bag, Blair slowly withdrew his present. Jim quickly erased the smile of amusement the animal brought to his lips. Simon openly grinned and waited for the infamous snappy Sandburg comeback.

Dropping the bag on the floor, Blair turned the stuffed animal around and stared at the dark brown, furry body of a twenty-inch tall toy bear. Its dark, mohair fur was sheared close to its body. Eyes of light blue rested on either side of a long snout that extended at sharp angles, its intense expression giving the impression of watchfulness and restrained power. Its arms were thick with stuffing and the legs were long and firmly filled. The ears were cupped and stood out stiffly, seemingly caught in the act of listening. Long moments passed while Blair stared at the gift.

Both older men shifted restlessly and steeled themselves for the explosion of indignation that was bound to erupt from their irritable young companion. The unusual silence began to unnerve the stalwart captain first. Exchanging questioning glances with Jim, he moved closer to the silent young man and picked up the bag from the floor. Maybe a sick Blair wouldn't appreciate the intended joke after all.

"I thought it looked like Jim, actually. Ah, I thought, well, hell---"

A shy smile slowly stole its way across the weary young face of the bear's new owner. Simon's explanation sputtered to an end when Blair reached up and wound his arms around the man's neck, hugging him tightly before releasing the blushing captain. Simon scowled fiercely as the furry toy pressed against his face and knocked his glasses askew during the embrace. Blair stepped back and drew the bear close to his chest. Gazing up first at his 'father' then at the flustered captain, he smiled nervously.

"Sorry, Simon. It just that --when I was little and would get sick--. Naomi would always have meetings or a date and I would kind of be alone. A lot. I always wanted a stuffed bear, but my mom---, ah, well, I-I just never had one." The thick, raw voice tapered off into an awed whisper. "This is so great."

Blair swallowed once to soothe his throat and regain some of his lost voice. The young man gently ran his fingers through the silky mohair and rubbed at the long snout. He turned sluggishly and hugged Jim then fixed overly bright eyes on Simon before scooting groggily for his bedroom door bear clutched to his side.

Blair stopped at the doorway; half hidden by the frame, his side facing his companions, bear gripped firmly to his chest, navy union suit baggy and too long, tousled hair and sleepy eyes fleetingly transforming the young man into a ragamuffin toddler.

Catching a glimpse of the young child he never had the opportunity to know while Blair was growing up warmed Jim's heart and made it ache all at once. All the missed opportunities in his life suddenly hit home hard. Jim's natural instinct to care for and protect this rare soul roared to a barely controllable level. His voice soft with affection, he gently called out to his charge.

"I think you'd better close the back door there, Little Boy Blue. You're getting a breeze." Jim gazed dropped pointedly down to Blair's backside. A slice of pale flesh showed whitely against the dark navy of the suit, top button of the back undone, flap hanging open, part of a cheek exposed, adding to the picture of sweet innocence. Blair transferred the bear to his other hand and grabbed hastily for the missing fabric. He grinned and sleepily mumbled, "I don't want my bear to see me bare. 'Night, Jim."

Heavy eyes found Simon's outline and smiled shyly at him. "This is so great. He's perfect. Thank you, Uncle Simon." The glass paneled door closed before either man left in the room regained the power of speech.

Simon tried to swallow past the lump of emotion blocking his throat. It took several attempts, but the tightness gradually loosened. Needing time to regain his composure before his friend, Simon busied himself folding the now empty paper bag. Suddenly angry about his gruff compulsion to hide his affection for the young observer, Simon crumpled the bag and threw it at Jim.

"So much for my little joke. Christ, he really liked it. Who knew?" Pained embarrassment showed in Simon's eyes.

Jim recovered faster than Simon, barely contained anger and disbelief evident in every word. "As a matter of fact, Simon, he loved it. Why do you suppose that woman wouldn't let a child have a simple stuffed animal? What kind of mother was she?" Catching the wadded up paper he deftly scored two points by lobbing it into the waste bin, never missing a beat of their conversation.

Disgust colored Simon's reply. "I can't even imagine, Jim. Afraid he might actually have somewhere to turn for comfort instead of her? Could she be so insecure about her role in Blair's life that a stuffed animal would threaten her? Who knows what she was thinking? I think if we did understand her that would be a scary thing. I'm happier not knowing, personally."

"I guess you're right. Damn, she just makes me so mad sometimes. Just when I think I've got a handle on what his life was like, something new and rotten comes up. Like this immunization thing. Do you know that woman never made sure Blair had any of his shots? Not a single one. And she dragged him all over the world. He's lucky to be alive."

"None of them?" Disbelief evident in his voice and expression, Simon leaned against the back of the sofa.

"None. Dr. Arden ran titers for everything. The kid has to go through the full course of shots just like he would if he was a newborn, same schedule and everything. Think of the all times he's been injured. Getting the tetanus booster doesn't do anything if you haven't had the initial vaccination of tetanus to begin with. Dr. Arden says it useless. How many times could he have gotten infected just since we've known him? Naomi never said a word, even when she knew he'd been hurt."

"Have you talked with her yet? What excuse did she give? Maybe there was a reason we don't know about."

Jim snorted in disgust and rubbed absently at his forehead, frustration and anger fighting for control of his emotions. "I've left messages in six different places on two continents. She hasn't bothered to return them yet."

"Don't go jumping to conclusions without at least hearing what she has to say, for the kid's sake. You and Naomi don't need any more tension between you than you've already got. It hurts him the way it is now."

"I know, I know, Simon. I've been waiting to hear from Naomi before I tell him he needs the immunizations and why. I'd like to have a really good story to explain all of it when I do tell him. Not just, 'sorry Sandburg, your mother is a flake and she didn't care enough about you to see that you were protected from life-threatening illnesses when you were a baby so you need to get your immunization shots now.' That should make him feel warm and cherished. God DAMN that woman."

Jim slapped his open palm hard against the support post near the kitchen and tried to bite back the intense anger that soared through him. A sudden, plaintive croak from the behind the closed bedroom door instantly doused his burning rage.

"Jiiim?" Several deep coughs followed the summons. Pulling himself together, Jim faced his silent, but understanding friend.

"Sorry, Simon. I appreciate your stopping by. Blair really seemed thrilled with the gift, joke or not. And thank you, he hasn't smiled like that in days." A small smile touched the weary detective's face. "Sorry to rush you, sir, but I need to go see what's keeping him up."

Simon pushed off the sofa and walked over to the coat rack. "It's time I headed out anyway. I've got an early morning meeting with the Chief. And you're welcome, both of you." He pulled on his coat and adjusted the collar. "You go ahead and check on Little Boy Blue in there. And you're right about the jammies. Sandburg looks all of about three years old in them, especially with the 'Jimbear' tucked under his arm. I'll let myself out and lock up. Night, Jim" Jim nodded his appreciation to the older man and turned to Blair's room.

" 'Jimbear'? Great, sir, I can't wait to hear that one at the station. Night, Simon. See you in the morning." The reassuring sound of the loft door closing and locking solidly registered on the sentinel's subconscious. Another round of harsh coughing rang out, hurrying him along. Jim opened the glass-paneled door and slipped quietly into the room.

"-im?" Jim settled down on the edge of the bed and lay a hand on the still-fevered brow of his charge. He absently brushed damp curls off to one side of the youth's forehead and slipped his hand around to cup the slender neck, automatically gauging Blair's temperature.

"Yeah, Chief, I'm here. What's wrong, buddy?"

A weary sigh escaped followed closely by more coughing. Blair squirmed restless under the covers and began to vigorously scratch at his stomach and chest. "It's the itching. Do we have anything for the itching? Maybe I should take another bath."

"I just gave you medication for that. Lay down here, and let it have a chance to work. If it doesn't do the trick soon, I'll get out the Calamine lotion. " Jim gently pulled Blair's hand out of the front of his pajamas and held the offending hand firmly in one of his own while the other continued to softly stroke stray curls off the young man's face. Gradually, the rhythmic stroking, combined with the comforting presence of his surrogate father, lulled the boy back into a light doze.

Jim remained at Blair's side until his senses told him the youth was deeply asleep. Pulling the blankets more snuggly up around Blair's shoulders, Jim noticed the bear tucked securely in the crook of the boy's left arm. Watching the pale, pox marked, and sweaty face grimace briefly in discomfort, Jim silently wondered what other surprises awaited them both as a result of Naomi's lack of parental attention and concern while she was playing at being Blair's mother.

**********************************

"I can't think of a single reason why you couldn't have gotten it done. Don't you understand how important this was to his health? And still is?" Ellison's voice boomed across the bullpen causes several heads to turn his way. Caught up in the heated telephone conversation, the irate detective remained oblivious to the curious glances being sent in his direction. One in particular seemed to be devoting an unusual interest in Jim's conversation.

"No, I don't. All I see, Naomi, is someone who didn't care what happened." Jim viciously threw a pencil across the room; too angry to be concerned where it landed. Several more heads turned to focus on his corner of the bullpen. Joel casually tried to distract the man he was interviewing from listening to his friend's frustrated rant, but Jim's voice demanded attention from everyone within earshot.

"I can't believe you don't understand how important this was. You dragged him all over this continent and several others, on forged documents I might add, and you never gave a thought to his immunizations once? Think of all the diseases he could have been exposed to. Now why do I think your shots are up to date?"

Jim sat ramrod straight in his chair in reaction to the unheard rebuttal then abruptly stood, the sudden action knocking over his coffee cup and splattering reports with the last few drops of the now cold beverage. Jim slapped his desk blotter with his free hand, trying hard to restrain the urge to damage objects on his desk. Unfortunately, restraining himself from further physical action only made his voice louder. His tone changed and became an almost animal growl, low and harsh, yet smooth in its threatening delivery.

"I have every right. He's biologically as much my son as he is yours. Remember that, Naomi. Maybe more so." Jim's penetrating voice carried over the normal hubbub of conversation. Every eye in the bullpen, detective, suspect and civilian alike, was fixed on the detective. Speculation was soon to run rampant in the department at the easily misinterpreted words.

Every police officers' attention instantly snapped back to their own desktops at the sound of Simon throwing open his office door. Jim's furious tirade escalated and Simon's scowl deepened as he listened.

"I think this is demonstration enough of how little you do care, so don't bother." Slamming the phone back down on its cradle, Jim rubbed both hands roughly over his face and stared out into the bullpen. Joel caught his eye and gave him a weak smile of support and understanding. The man with Joel nodded slightly in a stranger's polite greeting. Jim rewarded him with a cold stare. Henri and Rafe both glanced his way then busied themselves in their paperwork.

Ignoring the rest of the bullpen's curious eyes, Jim scanned to the tall figure waiting impatiently in his office doorway. He sighed heavily at the captain's wordless, summoning gesture, strode over to the office and entered. Simon closed the door firmly behind him.

The man seated next to Joel turned back to the big detective. "It appears Detective Ellison has a rocky relationship with his ex-wife." Joel frowned slightly at the man's personal comment.

"You know Jim Ellison?"

"Oh, of course. His father has been a business associate of mine for years now. I knew Jim was divorced but I didn't realize he had a child. I always thought Jimmy would make a good father, all that military training and police work. I'll bet the boy is just like him." The casual tone belied the sharp interest in the man's eyes.

Joel snorted in surprise. "Blair? Like Jim? No, not on the surface, anyway. Two more opposite men would be hard to find, but they're both good people." Marcus Keyes nodded encouragingly and continued to wheedle information from his companion.

"I'm surprised William hasn't mentioned his grandson. He's so proud of his famous detective son." A light edge added a touch of hardness to the man's words.

Aware of Jim's difficult relationship with his father, Joel automatically came to his friend's defense, hoping to justify the elder Ellison's seeming lack of inclusion in his son's life. Joel didn't feel the need to clarify the lack of biological ties between the two men.

"They didn't know each other until recently. Blair grew up with his mother. Jim just connected with him this last year. Blair is a great kid, kind, sensitive, understanding, good with people, and brilliant. He started college when he was 13. Can you imagine that? 13. I could barely tie my shoes by then. The kid's not much older than that now." Joel shook his head in wonder.

"So, Blair, is it, goes to college? Here in Cascade?"

"At the university. He has his master's and is working on his doctorate in anthropology." The big man fairly glowed with pride at the young man's accomplishments. Keyes filed the obvious personal affection for Ellison's kid away for future consideration.

Impressed, Keyes turned to stare at the now empty desk of Detective James Ellison. "Maybe I'll have to reacquaint myself with the detective and his family."

Joel nodded and looked down at the report on his desk. "If we can finish up, we can get started looking in to your suspicions of embezzlement within your firm. I want to thank you for coming in, Mr.Keyes. It saved me a trip."

Keyes pulled his attention away from the missing detective's desk and focused on the man before him. "Believe me, Detective Taggart, I'm so very glad I did."

A serene smile graced the man's face.

"It has been my pleasure to help in any way I can. After all, it is my company we're talking about. It was very generous of the mayor to intercede on my behalf and have the Major Crime division take the case." Joel smiled politely back at the man and began the interview again.

****************************

Jim threw himself down into the nearest chair and closed his eyes, mentally preparing for the other man's forth-coming lecture.

"Are you done entertaining the entire bullpen?" Simon's intimidating scowl went unnoticed by its target. Jim silently rolled his head back and forth against the chair's back, pointedly ignoring the sarcasm. Simon tried another tactic.

"Sounded like you handled that phone conversation with your usual finesse. Naomi, I take it?"

Jim grimaced and sighed heavily, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "How could you tell, sir?"

"It wasn't too hard to guess. She's one of the few people who can get you that riled up. Gossip will be flying around the department with the speed of a heat-seeking missile inside the next 60 seconds. You'd better be prepared for the fallout."

Jim snorted in disgust. "Excuse my language, sir, but who the hell cares."

Simon took the cigar from his mouth and waved it haphazardly in the air. "People are going to talk and the kid's going to hear it. You practically accused her of not being his mother out there."

Distress flashed across Jim's features. "Shit."

"Exactly." Hands steepled in front of him, cigar held between two fingers, Simon waited for the implications of his actions to register on the other man.

Groaning with frustration, Jim pulled himself upright and focused his unhappy gaze on his friend.

"Christ, Simon, that woman gets my back up from the moment she says hello."

"I know. Joan can still do that to me sometimes. Maybe you'll get lucky and everyone will just think that you and Naomi shacked up as teenagers and Blair really is your kid."

Jim massaged his right temple and leaned forward, propping both of his elbows on his knees.

"Terrific. He either hears his mother isn't really his mother or that I'm his father and I ignored him his whole life. Wonderful. I think I need to go home, sir." Jim stood and gestured toward the bullpen.

Simon scowled and leaned back in his chair. "I think you need to go back to work, detective."

"You're all heart, Simon."

"I know. Whose turn is it to check on the kid at lunch time?"

Jim gave Simon an uncomprehending stare, not quite managing to appear innocent enough to pull it off.

"Turn, sir?"

Simon pulled a face and stabbed at the air with his cigar. "Don't think I don't know my men have been dropping by the loft to check up on things during their lunch hour ever since you came back to work. I was a detective before I got this office, you know. Joel was missing Monday, Rafe Tuesday and Brown yesterday. That must make it your turn today."

A smug grin plastered on his face, Simon stuffed his unlit cigar into his mouth and glared up at his detective.

Resigned, Jim huffed out a weary breath and rested one arm on the tall filing cabinet beside the door.

"Simon, I can't just leave him alone for nine hours. God only knows what I'd come home to. He'd be trying to do research or write a paper or he'd be scratching himself into a bloody lump."

"Come on, Jim, it can't be that bad. I thought he was too tired to do much of anything but sleep and complain."

"He is, but that doesn't stop him from trying. I overheard him on the phone trying to convince some TA at the university to bring him some work from his office while I was in the shower this morning."

"Doesn't he, of all people, know better than that by now?"

"He would, if he was thinking clearly. That's my point. Mrs. Pritchard from down the hall, the one that makes me the brownies, checks on him mid-morning and in the late afternoons, but he needs to take his pills at lunch time and he 'forgets' unless someone is there to remind him, someone he can't obfuscate his way around."

"That sounds like something he would try. Maybe he needs more than one swat across his backside."

"Don't think I haven't been tempted. God knows under normal circumstances he's given me enough reasons to--attitude, swearing, refusing to take his medications, not to mention the no phone calls rule while he's grounded, the list is a mile long."

"Sick kids are a test of every parent's patience and love, Jim. That's why God made them cute, so we don't kill them. Otherwise, there wouldn't be anyone left on the planet."

"I think you're right, sir." Jim drew his hand over his face and let it drop to his side.

Simon sympathized with Jim's troubled state.

"While you're thinking, why don't you let me take the lunch run. I'll make sure he takes his medication and eats a decent meal. That'll give you time to come up with a plausible answer when someone 'confides' in him about your little performance out there today."

"Thanks, but I think I'd better do it. He was upset with me for canceling his university plans. I think I'll pick up some of his favorite foods, show up a little early and maybe spend a little extra time with him. You know how he is, he gets bored, even if he is too sick to do anything else besides sleep and lay around."

"Okay, if you're sure. It's really no bother, Jim. I'm meeting Daryl for lunch. Joan's dropping him off in a couple of hours for a long weekend."

"No, but thanks, anyway, Simon. I'll keep it in mind. Are you two doing something exciting for the weekend?" Jim walked to the office door and opened it. Simon stood and walked around his desk. Both men exited the office and joined the hubbub of the busy bullpen.

Simon slapped Jim lightly on the back and trailed him to his desk.

"No real plans. Thought we might drop over and see if Blair was up to some company on Saturday for a few hours. Might give you a chance to take a little break. Daryl has a new board game he's been driving me crazy with. Maybe my kid can keep your kid occupied long enough that we can watch the Jags game. I'll bring the beer."

Intent on the conversation at hand and blanketed by the familiarity and security of their surroundings, neither man took notice of the scrutiny from an eavesdropping interloper.

"Now that, sir, sounds like a plan. I'll give you a call Saturday morning if Blair's not feeling up to it, otherwise, it's a go. Blair will be happy to have some company besides me for awhile."

"Let's plan on it then. 6:00 all right with you?"

"Works for me, Simon."

Jim sank down into his chair and reached for the file on the top of a large pile of unfinished reports.

"Good."

Simon frowned at the imposing tower of incomplete paperwork destined to reach his desk in the near future.

"Get some work done for a change, detective."

Reaching out, the captain pulled Jim's phone to the far edge of the desk. "And stay off the phone."

"Cute, sir."

Jim pulled his best blank, covert ops stare and held his ground until the other man gave a satisfied grunt. Simon turned and made his way back to his office, passing by Joel's desk on the way. After a few polite, but brief words with Taggart's visitor, he sequestered himself back at his desk.

As Jim waded into the delinquent reports, attention focused on the mind-numbing work required of him for the next several hours; he missed the growing intensity of Marcus Keyes' calculating gaze.

****************

The now-familiar and unsettling rhythm of Blair's fever-elevated heartbeat reached Jim as he slipped his key into the loft door. The disturbing sound of a second rhythm registered less than a second later. Resting the carryout bag containing their lunch on the floor in the hall, Jim pulled his service weapon and entered his home, automatically pinpointing the exact location of both beating hearts.

Quickly stepping into the living room, gun leveled at his target, he was rewarded with a high-pitched shriek of terror. A tall stack of test books scattered across the floor and a small body landed in the middle of them. Miscellaneous loose papers drifted in the air to settle silently over the sprawled form.

"Whoa, whoa. Jim, Jim, man, it's okay. It's okay. It's just Shelley, a friend of mine. It's okay."

Blair reached down to the sprawled figure at his side and turned his body so that it partially shielded the dark-haired girl from Jim's sight, his free hand extended in a placating gesture of submission. Experience had taught Blair that now was not the time to be confrontational when faced with Jim in full Blessed Protector mode.

Jim immediately relaxed and lowered his weapon. A stern look of displeasure settled over his face as he surveyed the scattered papers, books and unwanted visitor. The displeasure turned to stony politeness as the young woman stood up from the floor and shifted to face him, pulling Blair up and in front of her at the same time. Large brown eyes stared at him from over Blair's shoulder.

Blair recognized the emotions that flashed across his Blessed Protector's face and he understood the meaning of each of them all too well. Squirming under the icy glare, he stammered out an explanation of sorts.

"Ah, hi. You're home early."

"Looks like it's a good thing that I am."

"Um, yeah. Shelley was kind enough to drop over and bring some things to me. So I won't get behind with my classes. And-and this will give me something to do --when--not now, definitely not now, but later -- when I'm feeling more up to it."

Blair licked at his fever-dry lips, scratching distractedly at his right shoulder and arm.

"Much later."

Blair was sure ice formed on the words.

"Ah, yeah man, much, much later. Days from now, really."

Jim continued to keep the young man's gaze in an icy hold, promises of warmed body parts to be had in the near future, easily foretold in the stare.

Blair swallowed convulsively and bit down on his lower lip to keep it from quivering. He automatically began to rub his right index finger absently over his right thumb knuckle in a gesture of distress that spoke volumes to his Blessed Protector about the magnitude of the mishap taking place.

Retrieving their lunch from outside, Jim set the carryout on the kitchen counter. Folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the kitchen post, he watched Blair and Shelley hurriedly stuff the fallen papers and books back into a large handled paper sack, an expression of displeasure and impatience clearly written on his handsome face. Every few handfuls, Blair would glance up at Jim and then quickly look away. Shelley carefully watched the silent communication between the two men. Unnerved by the stillness, Blair began to babble to fill the void.

"I know I'm supposed to be taking it easy, but…This was so nice of Shelley to interrupt her day and bring me this stuff after monitoring my class all morning. She's really a great friend. She has a dozen more important things to do. She's the TA who is picking up my workload while I'm resting."

"Resting? Here I was under the impression that the doctor said you were sick, Chief."

Blair blushed and tossed a sheepish look at Shelley. Shelley smiled softly at the schoolboy blush and hurried to reassure both men.

"Blair, I told you, if you weren't up to it, I could finish these up for you. It's really not a problem, I didn't have plans for the weekend anyway."

"No way, Shelley you've--"

A volley of deep, torturous coughing forced Blair to sit back on his heels and gasps for breath. Suddenly a strong arm encircled his waist and he was lifted to the couch. Jim rubbed soothing circles on his back and supported his upper body weight until the distress settled to a manageable level. Blair leaned back into the comfort of Jim's embrace and closed his eyes to stem the tears of frustration and embarrassment that threatened to fall. Finally glancing up, he caught the look of concern on Shelley's face. Stammering slightly, he tried to reassure his friend.

"I'm fine, Shell, don't worry. It's just---"

A sharp exhalation of air from beside him stopped his obvious attempt at obfuscation. An equally sharp voice took control of the situation.

"Listen, Miss. Shelley? He's not fine. He's sick and he's going to be sick for several more days, maybe as much as another week and a half. He's not up to visitors or grading papers and tests or anything else right now. He's out of commission till further notice, no matter what he says. I'd appreciate it if you could take these things back to the university with you."

A half-hearted murmur of rebellion escaped the huddle form under Jim's arm, but it failed to be acknowledged by either of the other two people in the room, except for a stern glare from Jim.

"Yeah, sure. That's okay. I can do that. I thought this was a bad idea, but he really sounded so much better than when I talked with him yesterday."

"Yesterday." Blair stiffened at the tone of Jim's voice and his suddenly tighter hold.

"Yes, when he called to ask for a copy of my notes. We take a class together on Wednesdays. There's a test next week and he wanted to study."

Jim gave Blair's shoulders one last firm squeeze and stood, smiling with all the wattage of the dazzling Ellison charm he could muster at the moment.

"Well, Shelley, as much as Blair and I both appreciate all you're doing for him while he's ill, I think it's time he got some of that 'rest' he was talking about."

He stooped to grab the handles of the heavy sack and gently settled the load by the door. Jim opened the front door and smiled expectantly at the young woman.

"Thank you for coming by."

Shelley smiled tentatively at the big detective and bent down to whisper in Blair's ear. "Don't worry about being embarrassed, I still live with my parents too. Fathers can be so overbearing."

Blair blushed a deeper shade of red and rolled his eyes at her, aware Jim had heard every word she had whispered. She edged her way to the door, giving the imposing detective a wide berth.

"I guess I'll be going now. Hope you feel better, Blair. Call if you need anything more."

"He won't need anything more anytime soon. Thank you."

Jim's gaze caused the young woman to pause momentarily and reconsidered the wisdom of leaving her friend alone. Jim narrowed his eyes at her hesitation and Shelley bolted for the door, barely remembering to grab her purse and the bag of booklets on the way. After reaching the relative safety of the hallway, she called out to Blair. "Call me later, okay. Just so I know you're still breathing. Bye."

The walls echoed her rapid steps down the hall and through the stairway door. Jim absently tracked her to the second floor and then dismissed her from his thoughts, closing the loft door and locking it.

"Hold it right there, Junior."

Blair froze in his steps mere inches away from the relative safety of his room. Turning reluctantly back to face his 'father', he ducked his head and spared a glance at the angry man standing before him. Nervously tucking a strand of curls behind one ear, Blair tried unsuccessfully to stifle another round of coughing before turning pleading eyes to his protector.

"What?"

Jim's disbelief was clearly reflected in his body language and tone. " 'What?' I can't believe you just said that. I think we have a few things to discuss here, young man, starting with phone calls and your little visitor there."

Blair's innocent expression hardened into a look of open defiance.

"What's your problem, man? What's wrong with my having company if I want it? I'm an adult, I can decide if I'm sick or if I'm better. If I want to get back to work that's my choice, not yours. You're not my father. I have one parent and she understands that I need to be out and around people and can take care of myself. A little thing like a child's disease shouldn't keep me down for this long. You're just trying to control me. I don't n-need y-you to-to take care of me or t-tell me what to do."

Blair's voice started out firm and disdainful. By the third sentence his chin was quivering and by the fifth tears streamed down both cheeks. His final sentence was stammered out, barely recognizable as English.

Jim stared dumbfounded at the uncharacteristic display of rude, disrespectful behavior. Sudden insight came with the deciphering of Blair's last words.

"Naomi called you."

Frantic nodding and a skyrocketing heart rate alerted him to the coming storm. Ducking rapidly to his right, Jim evaded the anthropology journal that sailed through the air by his head. It was followed rapidly by a small wooden box from the end table between the couches. Jim caught it in mid-air and tossed it on the sofa.

Two quick steps later, he had a swearing, panting fireball in his grasp. Mindful of Blair's congestion, Jim lifted and turned the squirming demon until a small backside presented itself over the back of the nearest couch. Holding Blair in place with one hand, Jim pulled down the young man's gray sweat pants. Slightly surprised to find the seat of the blue union suit under the pants, he hesitated only seconds before deftly unbuttoning it.

"NO. You can't do this. I'm sick. I'm sick."

"Thought you just declared yourself well enough to do schoolwork and have company. Your pitching arm appears to be fine, too. That makes you well enough for a little attitude adjustment in my book."

A heavy hand landed on a pale, spotted cheek, eliciting a yelp of outrage. Jim delivered several more measured, hard swats, making contact by alternating cheeks in a rapid, steady rhythm. Blair's yelps of indignation quickly turned to sobs and gasps. Jim suddenly changed technique and began to rain swats to both cheeks simultaneously, being sure to catch the underside of the now blazing bottom. He moved to one side to avoid a pair of wildly flailing legs.

"I don't feel good. Stop. Pleeease." SWAT…SWAT

"So now you're sick?" SWAT…SWAT

"Yeeeeees." SWAT…SWAT

"Sick enough to need a couple more days of total rest?" SWAT…SWAT

"Yeeeeesss." SWAT…SWAT

"Sick enough to do what your doctor told you to do?" SWAT…SWAT

"Yeeeeeeeessss. I'll behave. I'll rest. I-I understand." SWAT…SWAT

"Good. I thought so. This position always seems to clear your head." SWAT

Releasing the pressure from the slender back, Jim pulled the sweat pants back up, ignoring the unbuttoned flap of the union suit. He straightened and turned back to face the couch just before his arms were filled with a shuddering body. Blair wrapped himself around Jim's chest and held on for all he was worth.

Squeezing Blair hard against him, Jim slowly maneuvered them into Blair's bedroom. Easing down on to the bed, Jim slowly rocked back and forth, murmuring soft words of nonsense into the mane of curls by his cheek. One hand stole up and cupped the back of Blair's head snuggly to his shoulder, fingers massaging the itchy, pox-covered scalp beneath them.

"Sssh, it's okay. I understand, I know. It's okay, Chief. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not leaving. You didn't hurt me. I understand. Sssh, honey, ssshh."

Mournful sobs broke through in between strangled coughs. Jim lifted Blair into his lap and continued to rock, pulling a blanket from the pile of coverings on the bed and wrapping it around the shivering youth. Ten long minutes and many whispered endearments later, Jim pulled back slightly to stare down into red-rimmed eyes filled with misery.

"I'm so sorry, Jim. I didn't mean any of those things. I just don't feel good and Naomi called and she said all this stuff and I didn't know what to think and--"

"I know, Chief, I know. I knew I should have come home as soon as I finished talking with her, but Simon vetoed it. I should have let you know to expect a call from her. I'm sorry I didn't."

Regret and anger made Jim tighten his grip, tucking Blair closer to his chest.

"She said you yelled at her. And told her she didn't really care about me. Just because she didn't agree with getting immunizations. A lot of parents don't get them for their kids, Jim, even today." Blair's voice was raspy and thick with emotion. Hiccups punctuated every third or fourth word.

"A lot of parents don't drag their non-immunized kids all over half the world, either, Chief. I just got upset with her attitude. She doesn't seem to understand how sick you are right now and how easily this could have all been prevented if she had just considered the possible consequences of her decisions down the road. You've traveled to a number of third world countries, Chief, before college and since. Your career choice alone means you'll be doing a lot more of it in the future. You need to be protected. That's the point I was trying to make. She took it as a personal attack."

Jim felt a weary nod against his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, Naomi can be sensitive about her parenting skills. She's taken a lot of criticism over the years. Usually she doesn't care what people think, but it really bugs her that you see holes in the way I was raised."

"Holes? Yeah, I guess I do. Blank spots were she should have been there for you, made better decisions for you, kept your health and safety in mind a little more. Holes."

"But, Jim, man, she's my mom."

Jim actually bit his tongue and mentally counted to ten before answering.

"Yeah, Chief, I understand. Anytime someone made a crude remark about my mom being gone while I was growing up, even if it was true, I resented it. I do understand. And I'm sorry Naomi and I had another fight. I know it upsets you."

"That's because I love you both, man."

"I know, I love you, too."

Jim rested his head on the soft curls by his cheek and heaved a sigh of frustration. He settled back more comfortably against the bedroom wall, taking the bundle in his lap with him. A lump pressed into his side and he shifted to remove the offending object. Simon's brown bear emerged from under the covers. A chuckle escaped before Jim realized it.

"Hey, look what I found. Jimbear."

A tear-stained face popped up and Blair slid slowly from Jim's lap to the bed. Taking the stuffed animal, he managed a smile at the sight of the stern, blue eyed bear. Tucking the toy close to his chest, he turned wide, innocent eyes on his amused companion.

"Jimbear?"

"Simon's name for him. Said he reminded him of me. You can name him anything you want to."

A delighted smile lit up Blair's puffy, streaked face. "Jimbear. I think I like. He is like so you, Jim, strong and stern, but soft on the inside. He even has that intense Ellison stare. Not an easy look for a stuffed animal to pull off, man."

Jim ruffled Blair's tangled curls and then tapped his forehead to get his attention. A serious expression descended over his features.

"You want to share why you never had one of these before? Just about every kid's had a favorite stuffed animal."

Blair swallowed past the lump forming in his throat and looked up shyly at his tough as nails, ex-ranger, covert ops, police detective Blessed Protector.

"Even you?" Sadness touched Jim's heart as he watched the fear and embarrassment take hold in Blair's eyes.

"Yeah, Chief, even me."

Astonishment caused Blair's eyebrows to rise halfway up his forehead.

"You had a stuffed bear?"

"Nope. Rabbit. About 15 inches tall and made from brown velvet. He went with a storybook I liked. I took him everywhere. When I was about five, I left him in my bed and just slept with him for the next couple of years. He was my closest confidant, knew all my secrets."

"Wow."

"I think Sally still has him boxed up somewhere. She offered him to me just after Carolyn and I got married, probably thought we were going to start a family."

"That is so cool. A piece of your childhood you can still touch."

Blair stared down at the fur and stuffing in his hands and gently rubbed a thumb through the silky fibers. "I would have given just about anything to have had a friend when I was growing up. You know, someone I didn't have to leave behind all the time. Someone I could tell my secret wishes to without worrying if it would upset mom's plans or her current boyfriend. You know, so I wouldn't have been alone so much of the time."

Jim tugged the smaller figure closer to him and turned Blair's chin around to face him. A wistful, forlorn, hungry pain haunted the dark blue eyes, making Jim wish he had the power to reach out into the past and avenge himself on every person who had ever been the cause of it.

"How come you never had one, squirt?"

Blair tried to drop his gaze but Jim refused to let go of his chin. Tears brimmed and a single drop broke free to roll down a speckled cheek into Jim's hand. Blair choked out an answer, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Naomi isn't into material things, man. She--she wanted me to be independent, not to rely on anyone or anything else but myself. I-I wasn't allowed to have a friend."

"It's just a stuffed animal, Chief."

"I know. That's not what I meant. I-I wasn't allowed to have anyone get close to me. I wasn't allowed to have friends, any kind of friends, real or stuffed."

"Come again?" Jim struggled to keep the disbelief and anger from his voice.

"N-naomi said it wasn't healthy to get attached. That we would be leaving soon and it would hurt less if I just stayed alone."

"Jesus." The word barely made it past his clenched teeth. Rage boiled up in Jim's chest. Only the pressing emotional needs of his child kept him from exploding in a fit of outrage.

"But it got really lonely, man, and I got scared sometimes. I thought maybe, I wasn't worth other people loving me. Maybe, my mom would be the only one who would ever care about me." More tears fell until one heartbreaking sob burst forth and the dam binding a lifetime of suppressed emotions broke and flooded the room.

"But even she never cared." Blair's expression of devastated abandonment was branded into Jim's memories for all time.

Jim couldn't drag Blair into his arms fast enough. Jim's chest and one measly stuffed animal, both of which were held in a death grip by Blair's clenched fingers, muffled the strangled, desperate sobs.

"Honey, honey. It's all right. Hush. I'm here now. I love you. I'm right here, where I'll always be, right here beside you. Hush. Ssssh. I'm here. I love you, Blair. I'm here."

Jim hugged the shuddering figure of his 'son' close to his body and maneuvered the both of them flat on the bed. Heartbreaking sobs and shuddered gasps filled the air for so long that Jim knew he would hear them in his sleep forever. He idly watched as shadows started to crawl across the far wall and the soul-wrenching sounds began to fade. He listened to the answering machine dutifully recording concerned messages from Simon and Joel and felt the exhausted body in his arms finally go limp. His own voice was raw from hundreds of murmured reassurances.

Awkwardly retrieving a comforter from the foot of the bed, he surrounded Blair with its soft warmth, drawing it snuggly around the thin shoulders so only the top of Blair's head peeked out. Each attempt to leave the bed was met with a whimper and reflexive tightening of Blair's grip on his shirt, even long after the boy was asleep.

When the call of nature and the growling of his stomach could no longer be ignored, Jim unwrapped himself from his human restraints and slid gracefully out of the bed, relieved when Blair didn't react. He paused long enough to gently stroke strands of flyaway curls off of the young man's sleeping face. He resettled the stuffed bear beside Blair. Even in sleep, Blair reflexively drew the small animal closer, nuzzling his face into the short fur.

Jim quickly used the bathroom and then sorted through the carryout meal from lunchtime, salvaging what was possible and discarding the rest. After silencing his hunger, he dialed the phone, managing to catch Simon in his office.

"Banks."

"Hey, sir."

The expected bellow still caused the sentinel to wince in pain.

"Ellison. Where the hell have you been? Do you realize I've been ready to send a squad car over to the loft for the last 30 minutes? Why aren't you answering your phone? This had better be damn good, mister."

"Naomi." Jim felt that summed up the entire problem nicely.

"What?"

"Naomi. She called Blair after I talked to her. She upset him and triggered about a dozen of his insecurities. He threw a few items at me and things pretty much when downhill after that."

"The kid threw something at you?"

"Yeah, a couple of things, actually. He's got a pretty good aim, considering."

"Why?"

"I not exactly sure, but I think it was for being right. About Naomi not caring enough, not being there for him. It's a tough fact to have to face, realizing the woman you've always known as your mother maybe doesn't care all that much about you." Jim pulled in a deep breath. "Been there, Simon, done that. He's blown apart, confused and in pain. You should have seen his face when he realized it. He was talking about that bear you got him and suddenly it hit home for him."

"Christ, I knew I shouldn't have bought that damn thing. It was a lousy joke."

"Maybe, but he hasn't let it out of his sight since you gave it to him. Naomi wouldn't let him have friends, any friends, stuffed or real. That's why he never had a favorite toy. He's like some doll to her, Simon. She's a greedy little girl who can't share her toys and won't let anyone else love them even after she's discarded them for new ones. Damn, I hate her."

"That must have been some scene. I can't even imagine the pain that boy is going through."

"That's why I couldn't leave him. I'll make up the time with vacation, if that's all right with you, sir. I think I'll need tomorrow, too."

"Sure, Jim. Take it while you can. It's quiet here at the moment. We still on for Saturday?"

"I think Blair will need some distractions by then. Let's plan on it for now and see how tomorrow goes. If there are any changes I'll call you."

"You do that. And Jim?"

"Yeah, Simon?"

"Take care of the kid. Daryl will never forgive either of us if something happens to him. Or Joel or Rhonda or Brown or Rafe or--"

"I get the message, sir. Good night."

"You'd better. Night, Jim."

Jim padded softly over to the bedroom doors and slipped through the doorway. Adjusting his eyesight, he focused on Blair's flushed face and automatically monitored his vitals, finding the telltale signs of a deep sleep along with the fever and congestion unchanged from 30 minutes ago. Cautiously, he removed Blair's sweatpants and closed the flap on his pajamas. He checked the comforter's position, placed a chaste kiss on a warm temple and left the room, firmly closing the door behind him.

Unable to shake the sight of Blair's stricken face from his heart, Jim dreamed of his own childhood memories and 'holes' that were left in his life. They were mixed with a strange collage of animals--bears, panthers, wolves and rabbits--all leaving footprints through his subconscious. Not until early morning did the sentinel slip into a restful sleep, finally released from the insistent tugging of animal spirits on his soul.

***************************************

Marcus Keyes cradled the phone close to his ear and listened to the distant ringing. On the fourth ring the phone was picked up.

"I've decided on a change of plans. I have everything you have already provided on Banks, his son and Ellison. Now I want you to find out everything you can about Ellison's son… No, illegitimate, as I understand it. Raised by his mother. The boy's name is Blair, student at Rainer, lives with his father now. I want to know everything there is to know. And I want it soon. Don't disappoint me."

Keyes hung up the phone and flipped open a file on his desk. Taking a photo out from between a stack of shots, he ran a finger lightly over the faces on the paper. It was taken at a recent Jags game, cheering crowds and the smiling, happy faces of Daryl Banks and Blair Sandburg beamed out at the camera.

"Oh, yes, my dear little boys, I definitely have a change of plans for you."

end