Cared For
by Dusty Tyree

Blair limped into the elevator and wearily pressed the button for the third floor. What a horrible day he'd had, and it was still early afternoon.

Boy, but he was tired.

His head ached, his back was killing him from the impact with the desk in his office; his wounded leg had given way and he'd narrowly escaped banging his head on the edge, which was lucky, he supposed, but it still hurt him when he tried to take a deeper breath.

Maybe Jim and Simon were right, he should've taken another few days before going back to the university after their hazardous trip after Quinn.

He'd been worried about losing more time from his lectures and classes; even though his advisors and fellow grad students had been supportive when they'd learned what had happened.

They even thought he was a bit of a hero, having helped bring back an escaped killer.

Blair didn't feel very heroic; he knew he'd slowed Jim down and getting himself shot had only added to his sentinel's burden.

Jim hadn't seen it that way, nor Simon, but Blair thought they were just being kind because he'd been shot.

God, that had hurt.

After the first numbness had faded, that first spike of pain had literally taken his breath away, when he'd been able to breathe again, he'd wanted to scream with pain.

He had managed to not make that much of a fool of himself; at least he hadn't cried and made Jim ashamed of him.

That chopper ride was pure hell though; he'd gone hoarse yelling for Jim to get him down, all pride stripped away by the terror he'd felt as his stretcher had hung beneath the metal body of the machine, dangling literally in thin air.

Surely they could've winched him up a bit closer; maybe it was punishment for trying to be a cop.

He'd known it was the quickest way to transport a wounded man, but he wished there had been another way to get him to the medical help he desperately needed

As the elevator stopped he lifted his head from where it was leaning against the wall and limped out and along the corridor to number 307.

All he wanted to do now was lie down and rest, he needed to take his antibiotics, which required food and drink, but he'd settle for just being horizontal at that moment.

Jim's truck was parked outside, so maybe his roomate would make him a hot drink.

He really shouldn't rely on the detective, after all, he was an adult and quite capable of making his own drinks and meals.

When he was tired and hurting, as he was now, however, it was so good when they were put in front of him, with the brusque comment, "Eat, Chief, get your strength back," and a soft clip to the back of his head, which barely ruffled his curls.

Jim had been great since he'd come out of the hospital, being really supportive without intruding when Blair really did need to be by himself.

As he paused at the door, getting out his key, he heard the faint sound of voices from inside the loft.

Oh hell.

Jim had a visitor, bang went his chances of being able to lie down and rest.

It sounded like Simon's voice, so he couldn't expect Jim to play nurse in front of his Captain. Jim would never hear the end of it; being teased by the rest of the Bull Pen, would not make for a happy detective.

Time to put on his 'I'm fine' expression. He didn't want to appear a whimp in front of Simon, or Jim, for that matter. He would manage for the few minutes it would take him to be sociable then escape to his room. Food and a hot drink would just have to wait.

Forcing a smile to his lips, he pushed open the door and entered the warmth of the loft; it was amazing how home-like the loft had become over the past few months. He felt good just stepping inside the door; which was odd, because he'd never really known a feeling quite like it before. Sure, he'd had other places he'd stayed at for more than a few weeks, but he'd known, even as a child, they were only temporary.

Here, he was not just Naomi's kid who needed looking after while she was away.

He paid rent, albeit a very small amount compared to other places. He had company, to watch sport or other programmes on television and share meals, someone to talk to at breakfast, and in the last few days, someone to help him with the after effects of a gunshot wound.

Here, he felt safe.

The visitor WAS Simon Banks, he and Jim were sitting on the couch, papers spread over the coffee table, bottles of beer in their hands.

"Hey Jim, Simon, how you doing?" Blair asked as he dropped his backpack against the wall.

"Fine, Sandburg," Simon's deep voice answered him. "How's the leg?"

"Not too bad, aches a bit," Blair said as candidly as he could. It did more than ache, but he knew if they knew how badly it hurt, they'd be worried and try to make him stay home, or worse, take another trip to the hospital.

Jim stood up and Blair waved at him. "Don't let me disturb you, I'm just going to crash on my bed for a little while."

Oh hell, he hadn't meant to say that out loud, now Jim would be curious. Even now, he could see Jim's head tilt in the way Blair had come to know as the sentinel's 'listening' mode.

He half turned away to shrug out of his coat and stilled, the resulting spike of pain made the sweat stand out on his brow.

Jim was beside him in an instant.
"Sandburg? Are you okay, Chief?"

Ellison's concerned voice cut through the fog in Blair's mind and he nodded.

"Yeah, just give me a minute."

He was struggling to get his arm out of his sleeve and tensed as his back protested, the pain making the colour drain from his face.

He waited, hoping the pain would fade enough for him to give Jim his coat; he tried to take a deep breath, and couldn't help the small moan that escaped his lips.

Suddenly there was a warm presence beside him and two strong hands divested him of the coat; then the same hands guided him to the couch and lowered him onto the cushions.

"What happened, Chief?" Jim's voice seemed to come from a long way off.

"Fell against my desk, hit my back," Blair was too hurt to even try to lie; it was easier just to tell what happened.

His eyes were closed tightly, his full lips tightened to a thin white line of pain.

"Simon, would you get his pills - they're in the bathroom."

"Sure, Jim."

Blair managed to open his eyes. ""Sorry. Didn't mean to be a nuisance."

"Don't be an idiot, Chief. You aren't a nuisance, and you didn't do anything wrong. Let me take a look at your back?"

Blair tried to protest, he didn't want to move, but Jim eased him forward and pulled the younger man's shirts up.

Simon, coming back into the room, whistled. "Sandburg, that looks really nasty?"

"It feels it," he said softly, not caring now about being strong and silent.

Jim frowned as he saw for himself the black bruising that was forming on his room-mate's winter pale skin. He could even see the tiny blood vessels breaking as the bruise spread further round Blair's ribs.

"Chief, I'm going to touch your ribs. See if you've broken anything," warned Jim, before gently running his sensitive fingers over the younger man's chest and back.

Blair hissed with pain, even though Jim's touch was gentleness itself, it still hurt.

"Steady, Chief, nearly done," soothed Jim.

After a few minutes, he sat back and gently arranged Blair's clothes to cover him again.
"I don't think anything's broken, Chief, but you may have cracked a rib."

"Oh great!" muttered Blair, "just my luck."

He took the glass of water and the pills Simon held out, but Jim stayed his hand.

"Wait a second, let me get you a couple of crackers, You know taking those on an empty stomach makes you feel sick."

Blair cocked an eyebrow at him. "How'd you know my stomach was empty?"

Jim held up a hand. "Hold on, Professor. Get that look out of your eyes. Not anything to do with my senses, just pure deduction. It's almost two, so even if you'd had anything to eat since breakfast, which I doubt, you told me you didn't have classes this afternoon, so you came home to have lunch, right?"

"Right," Blair sighed.

Simon hid a smile, it was always entertaining listening to Ellison try to avoid anything to do with tests; just as it was to hear Blair find ways round Jim's excuses. This time, it looked as though the sentinel was winning.

Looking at his watch, Simon went to get his coat. "I'll catch up with you later, Jim. Sandburg, hope you feel better soon."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair muttered guiltily, "But don't let me interupt your meeting."

"No problem, Sandburg. It'll keep. I'll see you later."

Jim came back from the kitchen with a plate containing four crackers, and half an apple sliced up, which he placed on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"I'll look over those papers, Simon and see if I can come up with anything fresh. I'll be at the station in the morning. Okay?"

"That's fine." Simon waved a hand and let himself out.

"Simon didn't have to leave, Jim. I'll just take these," he tossed the pills in his hand, "and go and lie down for a while."

"It wasn't anything very urgent Chief, just the DA wanting to cross the t's - again. Simon and I were just going over it for the third time. It'll be okay in the morning."

He picked up the plate and held it out, "Here you go, this will hold you for a few minutes while I heat up some of that stew from yesterday for us."

"Didn't you and Simon already have lunch?" asked Blair as he chewed on an apple slice.

"Nope. I was waiting for you, and Simon already ate before he dropped in."

"Oh!" Blair felt a warmth flow through his aching body. Jim had waited to have lunch with him. "That..." he paused, not quite knowing what to say, he felt both awkward profoundly moved. It wasn't often he was lost for words, but this time he was.

"No big deal, Chief. While I'm doing that, why don't you go and have a hot shower, and I'll wrap those ribs, make you more comfortable."

Blair nodded and having eaten the rest of the snack, he swallowed the pills and started to get up.

Jim was there, grasping his upper arms and easing him upright.

"Thanks Jim, I really appreciate this..."

"No problem. But next time you fall over your own feet, make sure there isn't a wooden object in front of you." Jim grinned, "it will hurt less."

"Oh thanks, Ellison," muttered Blair, but he was smiling, "You're all heart, man."

"That's me, Junior. Just don't call me soft..." Jim said as he moved into the kitchen.

"A sentimental sentinel?" mused Blair, "Sounds like we need more tests."

Jim's theatrical groan followed Blair into the bathroom.

As Blair got undressed for his shower, he couldn't stop smiling.

He was home and he was safe, he had a friend who cared; wasn't such a bad day after all.

Dusty Tyree
(c) February 2009