Jim pushed open the door to the apartment and turned to take his partner's jacket, but stepped aside quickly when Blair pushed roughly past him, banging into the edge of the couch as he lunged toward the bathroom. A low moan erupted from his throat and he pressed a hand futilely to his mouth at the same time the first splatters from his retching hit the floor.

Hurrying to his side, Jim placed one arm around his heaving shoulders and pushed the bathroom door open with the other hand. He steered Blair over to the toilet, then, as the other man dropped to his knees, Jim busied himself wetting a cloth with cool water. A few minutes later, Blair sagged back until he fell on his butt, only Jim's hand preventing him from cracking his skull on the tub behind him.

"Easy, buddy. Your coordination's still a little out of whack." Jim crouched down at his partner's side and wiped Blair's sweaty, pale face. Blair reached up to take the cloth from him, so Jim stood again and filled a tumbler with water before helping Blair to his feet. "Here you go. Rinse," he instructed, pushing the glass into a shaky hand.

Blair nodded and did so, then tottered out of the bathroom and into his room on trembling legs. He sat on the side of his bed and scrubbed a hand wearily over his face. "Thanks," he croaked. "Sorry. I've got a migraine. They always make me throw up."

Jim frowned at him. "Are you sure that's all it is? You don't want me to call Doctor Parry and…"

"I'll be fine," Blair said firmly. He looked up and smiled wanly at his friend. "I'll be fine," he repeated. "I guess it's been a pretty heavy day. It just all caught up with me."

Jim nodded, though his concern lingered. "Lie down before you fall down, Sandburg. I'll make you that sandwich and a cup of tea."

"'Kay. Peppermint tea. It's good for upset stomachs." Blair obediently slid down onto his pillows and Jim bent to pull off his shoes and socks, then drew the covers up over Blair's shoulders.

He watched the anthropologist for a moment longer until he saw Blair's eyes close, then went out to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Cleaning up the evidence of Blair's sickness while he waited for the water to boil, he kept an ear on the spare bedroom and tried to convince himself to stop worrying.

By the time he came back with the sandwich and tea, Blair was deeply asleep. Jim debated waking him up, knowing he'd had little or nothing to eat all day, then decided against it when he thought of the possibility of Blair throwing up in bed. Making up his mind to cook his partner a nutritious breakfast before he went to work the following day, Jim took the food back to the kitchen and wrapped it, then placed it in the refrigerator, deciding that Blair could have it for lunch.

He did his usual rounds of the apartment, closing down and locking up, then checked on Blair once more before wearily climbing the stairs to his own bed.

0~0~0~0~0

Waking from a light doze, Jim lay for a moment in confusion, wondering what had disturbed him. The sickly odor of vomit tickled his nose, and he heard Blair padding quickly out to the bathroom again, already retching. Stifling a groan of despair, Jim climbed out of bed and threw on his robe before making his way downstairs.

Blair looked up from his position huddled over the toilet bowl, and Jim winced at his bloodshot, swollen eyes and cracked lips.

"I feel like crap," Blair moaned, misery etched in every fatigued line of his face.

"I'll bet." Jim crouched beside him, turning down his sense of smell as Blair dry-heaved, rubbing a comforting hand down his tense back. He waited until the sickness eased up, then wrapped a blanket around Blair's shoulders and went out to the kitchen to pour a glass of juice.

By the time he came back, Blair was seated on the floor, leaning back against the bathroom wall with his head tipped back, his matted hair scraped back into a messy ponytail. Sweat dribbled down the side of his face, collecting in the hollow of his throat, but he shivered uncontrollably, his arms clutching the edges of the blanket closely around him. His knees were drawn up to his stomach, and he writhed and moaned as though he was in awful pain.

Squatting down beside him, Jim tried to encourage him to sip some orange juice, but Blair screwed up his face as though he had been offered poison then gagged, and pushed himself up from the bathroom floor to lean over the toilet once more. "Maybe I should just camp out in here," he joked weakly.

"Not a good idea, Chief. I think you should see a doctor. You're getting dehydrated."

Blair shook his head tiredly. He stood, wobbling precariously, one hand planted flat on Jim's shoulder until he regained his balance. Pushing open the bathroom door, he made his way back to his room, not complaining when Jim slid an arm around his waist to help. "It's just a bug or something. I'll see the doctor at the clinic in the morning."

By the time a hesitant sun peeked out from behind iron-gray clouds, Blair was becoming increasingly disoriented, and Jim had already decided to call the doctor. Just as he began to punch in the hospital's phone number, Sandburg walked out of his bedroom. He looked awful.

His hair stuck up in disarray like a russet nimbus surrounding his head. The whites of his eyes were flecked with miniscule hemorrhages, the lids were still puffy and framed with shadows, and his skin had an unhealthy gray caste to it. His torso was bare, and he shivered violently as he shambled to the couch and flopped down, grimacing.

"How are you feeling, Chief?" Jim asked, though he decided it was a stupid question.

Red-rimmed eyes peered up at him from beneath squinted lids, and Blair's mouth turned down in an expression of utter misery. "Can't sleep," he whispered. "My skin hurts." He lifted a hand and rubbed at his forehead. "Everything hurts."

"I think you need to go to the hospital," Jim said. "I was just about to call them."

"No!" Blair staggered back up to his feet and moved toward his bedroom, shaking his head vehemently even as he winced in pain. "I don't need to go back there. I just need to get some sleep. No! Not sleep. She'll get me if I sleep." His eyes widened. "I need my pills."

He turned and staggered back to his room, and Jim followed him quickly, his concern mounting by the second. As he walked into the bedroom, he saw Blair pull a small plastic bottle from his dresser drawer and open the lid.

"What have you got there?" Jim asked, stepping closer. He held out his hand to take the pills from Blair's violently trembling hand. He knew Blair had been taking Aminophylline for his chest infection, but these didn't look the same. Blair pulled his hand back quickly and hid the bottle behind his back.

"They're mine," he said as he collapsed back to sit on the bed. "So I can be Jim's…your Guide again." He blinked owlishly up at Jim, and the Sentinel dialed up his sight to take in Blair's dilated, barely focused pupils, and the bright points of color in his cheeks.

Jim reached out a hand and rested it gently on Blair's forehead, taking it away when Blair moaned and flinched away from his touch. His skin was cool but dry.

Squatting down in front of the other man, Jim cupped Blair's chin in his hand and angled the other man's face toward him. "Blair, we need to go back to the hospital, all right? You're sick."

Blair reached out a hand and rested it against Jim's cheek, patting it clumsily. "I'm sick? Like before?"

Jim shook his head then stood and pulled a blanket from the bed, wrapping it about Blair's naked shoulders. "I don't know if it's like before. We'll just let Doc Carter check you out, okay? And you need to show me those pills, so I can tell the doctor what you're taking."

Suddenly, Blair launched himself from the bed and dove for the door. Jim went with him and had his hands full of a hysterical fighting bundle of frantic energy. "I'll die there, Jim. Don't take me back there, please. Mark died there. She killed him. She'll kill me too."

"No! You're not going back to the Pines, Sandburg. Just to the emergency room." He managed to get both arms around Blair's heaving chest, and dragged him forward until he had him enfolded in a firm but comforting embrace. "I won't take you back there. I promise. Easy, easy."

Blair began to rock violently in his arms, and Jim kept up his litany of soothing words, forcing the rocking to slow and proceed at a more sedate pace. He stroked down the disoriented man's back until he felt the smaller body relax against him, and Blair's breathing evened out into that of sleep.

He gently lifted Blair's right hand and unfolded the clenched fingers then removed the small pill container from his unresisting grasp. Turning it over, he was stunned to discover what Blair had in his possession.

Caffeine? Jim shook his head, feeling his own headache beginning to pound. He thought back over the times that Blair had tried to convince him to try natural remedies for his ailments. Some sort of crazy-named root that he was sure would cure Jim's cold and after his hair-raising experience with Nyquil, Jim had wished he'd taken Blair's advice. Blair was almost rabid in his refusal to put chemicals into his body.

'So I can be your guide,' Blair had said. Was that what this was about? Had Blair been trying to bolster his energy with caffeine? The evidence certainly indicated it. Jim rested his forehead wearily against Blair's damp curls and sighed.

Thinking back over every conversation they'd had recently, Blair had been saying that his recovery wasn't moving along fast enough, he wasn't getting better quickly enough. Jim had been too caught up in work to read between the lines. Blair didn't just help Jim with his senses. He worked alongside him as Jim's partner in every sense of the word, except officially. Perhaps he had unconsciously been putting more pressure on Blair to get back to his pre-illness state.

He realized why every aspect of his job lately had become an uphill battle. Blair wasn't there, smoothing the way, suggesting alternatives when he was at his wit's end in an investigation, advising him how to use his senses, then grounding him as he did so, steeling his stomach and stoically turning away from crime scenes that had some of the most seasoned cops puking their guts out.

Though they tended to strike sparks off each other, Jim knew Megan Conner was a fine police officer. She just wasn't Blair. He and Blair fit together like a hand in a glove. Whatever Jim needed to do, Blair was already figuring out how best to accomplish it before he even voiced his intentions.

Over the past year or so, they'd find themselves finishing each other's sentences, getting up do some chore, only to find the other had thought of it as well. Jim remembered a time when he'd had an almost overwhelming urge for Phad Thai noodles and walked into the loft to find Blair setting the white takeout boxes on the table.

Unsure whether the caffeine pills could cause such a reaction as this, Jim laid the exhausted man down on the floor when he was sure Blair was settled, covered him with the blanket, then pocketed the pills. Quickly, he called for an ambulance and unlocked the door.

He lowered himself back down by his ailing friend's side, grasping Blair's twitching hand in his. Suddenly Blair's whole body began to convulse; a slight tightening of the muscles at first, then his back arched up and his jaws clamped down. A low groan erupted from his mouth, white froth spilling from the corners of his lips, turning pink as it mixed with the blood from his bitten tongue. His eyes rolled back so that only the whites could be seen, and his head thumped the floor with the force of the seizure.

Jim got up onto his knees and crouched over him, sliding a hand under his head and pressing one hand to Blair's chest.

"Detective?" He looked up as a familiar paramedic tapped on the door of the loft. "This is getting to be an unpleasant habit," Juan Davide said, his face grim as he entered the apartment and quickly knelt at Blair's side.

Placing a hand on Blair's forehead, he gently restrained him through the rest of the seizure, protecting him from injuring himself on anything and suctioning the choking saliva from his throat. "Hang in there, Blair. We'll have you at the hospital in no time."

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