Jim let himself and Blair back into the loft, dropping his keys into the basket with a wince.
"Hey, man. You okay?" Blair stopped in the process of shrugging of his jacket. The day had been a long one for both of them.
Jim sank back against the couch, too exhausted to even take of his shoes. He looked down, cocking his head as he studied them. It was a long, long way down there. He could see the small smudges of dirt the besmeared soles had left on the floor. He had to get them off.
"Why don't you take a picture, Jim?" Blair laughed, returning to the living room, Ibuprofen in hand.
"Don't tease me, Sandburg. I can still reach my gun." Jim growled. He was going to take the offending footwear off. He was.
But his shoes were just too damn far.
"Jim, where do you hurt?" Blair settled next to him, holding out a glass of water and a small cup with two pills. "Here, take these."
Jim followed Guide orders, downing the pills with a grimace.
"God, those taste awful."
"How are the senses."
"Off the wall."
"Hmmm. It was probably that sedative they gave you. Whatever the hell it was. I sure wish you had gone to the hospital. I mean, god knows what Colonel Oliver gave you."
"I'm fine, Sandburg. I'm fine." Jim bent forward and placed the glass on the coffee table, unable to suppress the grimace.
"You're shoulder's still bothering you, huh?"
"Mmmmm." Jim closed his eyes tipping his head back against the couch.
"Have you tried the dials? Where are they?"
"Sandburg, the only thing I can hope to visualize right now is a Wonderburger spiked with Demerol." Jim groaned as he stood. "I'm starved."
"There's some yoghurt salad in the fridge, and some left over ostrich chili. I think Joel left some." Blair said absently, tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully. Jim sighed loudly as he rooted about in the fridge.
"My kingdom for a steak."
"Yeah, and you'll be enjoying your kingdom from the grave after dying from a heart attack." Blair replied, suddenly jumping up and darting to his room. Jim shook his head in amazement. The kid gets shot at, arrested, has to hang out with *Simon* all day, and still has energy to burn. He on the other hand, gets kidnapped, spends the night in a cage, has one little fight, and feels like a truck ran over him. God, he was getting to old for this job. Deciding for the time-tested and true standby, Jim grabbed a loaf of bread -- whole wheat with little weird bits, for Sandburg's sake -- a jar of peanut butter -- low fat -- and a jar of jam -- low calorie, no swweetener. With little winces as he moved the knife over the bread, he made his sandwich and poured some milk.
"Jim," Blair said as he exited his room, various items clutched in his arms. "Hey, Jim. I have an idea."
Jim put the sandwich down on the table, and stared as it was merely whisked away again, spirited of to the bathroom.
"Sandburg! What the hell are you doing?" Jim asked in utter confusion. "You better not flush my supper, Chief."
"Funny, Jim. Really funny. Come in here." Jim could hear the sound water running in the tub. Curious, he followed his partner into the bathroom. Blair sat on the edge of the tub, testing the water with one hand, while placing the food on the small shelf by the tub with the other.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm helping you. Pass me that towel." Jim wordlessly handed it over.
"Okay, now strip." Jim stared. And blinked. Blair stood, hands on hips, pursing his lips and staring at the water in the tub. He looked up, and seemed surprised that Jim hadn't moved.
"Jim, as much as I appreciate Sentinel weirdness, bathing with your clothes on is just too way up there on the weird scale for me." Blair patted Jim on the shoulder as he brushed by him on the way out. Feeling far to deep into the Sandburg zone to object, Jim efficiently stripped down to his boxers, neatly hanging his shirt and pant on the hook that he had screwed into the back of the door.
He almost got hit on the nose by said door, when Blair returned, ripping open a small packet and dumping it into the water. The younger man turned off the taps.
"It's all yours, man. Those are Epsom Salts. They're supposed to help relax muscles. Oh yeah, and I brought you this."
Blair set a dog-eared book on the toilet seat cover.
"You just relax, man."
He was gone again in a swirl of flannel and curls. Blinking, Jim picked up the novel and realized that Blair had sacrificed a book that Jim had wanted to read all week, but that Blair had been hogging. Dropping his boxers into a heap while reading the back, he stepped into the water. For a minute he could feel the salts dissolving against his skin, but then the heat slowly sank into his muscles. He opened the book, and became lost, occasionally surfacing for a bite of his sandwich.
He had lost track of time, when the door flew open. Sensitive hands flung the book across the tiny room, automatically going down.
"Hey, Jim. How's it feel?" Blair asked. "Oh don't be silly, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before. I just popped in to give you *this*."
Before Jim could protest, Blair proceeded to wrap a warm object that felt like...like...a bean bag?...around his neck. Jim opened his mouth to protest, but instead closed his eyes as heated bliss slowly sapped the tenseness from his shoulders. He sank lower and lower into the tub. The sigh of contentment sounded suspiciously like a purr...but he didn't care.
"Well, I'll just leave you to your...um..well...I'll just leave." There was a smile in Blair's voice, that Jim didn't need heightened senses to hear.
Cracking one eye, he waited until Blair had closed the door behind him, and murmured. "Thanks, Chief."