Time to Move On

How's Blair's "one week" at the loft became permanent. No copyright infringement intended on characters owned by Paramount/Pet Fly. Just a little non-profit tale for fun. Comments are always welcome.

Blair entered his office and settled in behind his desk, but he didn't remove his jacket. He felt chilled, even though the room was plenty warm enough, and the anthropologist scrubbed a hand tiredly over his face with a sigh. He'd been telling himself repeatedly all day that he was NOT getting sick, but contrary to his "mind over matter" beliefs, it appeared that he was. The mild headache that he'd awoken with had escalated into a painful throb, and a bone weariness had progressively overtaken him as the day had worn on. He'd made it through his two morning classes all right, but he was starting to doubt he was going to last the duration of his scheduled office hours. Feeling absolutely drained, he folded his arms on his desk and rested his head for a minute as he tried to decide what to do. Normally, he was always one to forge on ahead in the face of adversity, but he knew that the chills running through him indicated fever and his lunch was sitting in his stomach in a cold, hard lump, and suddenly his bed seemed to be calling out his name. So, rationalizing that it was mid-semester when he didn't get many students coming in for help and knowing that anyone that might stop by wouldn't have any pressing problems that couldn't wait, he decided to pack it in. Sandburg put in a call to the police station, leaving a message for his partner that he wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be in that afternoon, and then he grabbed his backpack and hit the lights, locking his office door behind him as he left and taping up a small note that informed anyone who might be looking for him that he had gone home sick.

It was funny, he reflected as he climbed into his car and began navigating out of Rainier and into the busy afternoon traffic, just how quickly he had come to think of the loft as “home”. Leaving a spacious warehouse that was his to command in favor of being crammed into a tiny room in an apartment with the original anal retentive should have been a transition that took some getting used to. But Blair had felt at home in the loft from his first night there. What precious little space he did have was cosy and clean and most importantly, rat free. It was reasonably close to Rainier, and naturally convenient for his sentinel research. And being a person of a gregarious nature, Sandburg also had to admit he enjoyed the company. But even as he made himself at home, he didn’t dare fool himself into thinking that he had a permanent place in the loft.

The week Jim had grudgingly allowed him had long since come and gone. Ellison surprisingly hadn’t broached the subject, but Blair just assumed he had extended the deadline because of special circumstances that seemed to keep cropping up. Like Lash, and Brackett. The disastrous attempt to escort Derek Wilson to Cascade to testify against Edward Murdock. Not to mention twin heartaches with Maya and Laura. It had been a crazy couple of months, with a string of intense cases, more than a few close calls, and some emotional drama for both of them.

Sandburg had been spending more and more time on the job with the detective, both at the station helping with paperwork and learning procedure, and in the field, actively assisting in the investigations. He had to balance his new role as observer with his obligations to Rainier, and whenever he did get a free minute, he usually spent it devising and executing new sensory tests. There were days when he barely had time to sleep or eat, let alone look for a new place to live. But he knew he was going to have to make time for apartment hunting very soon. Jim had been more than fair and generous with his home, but Blair knew his patience would only hold out for so long. It was time to move on. He was a bit sad, for he really liked living at the loft, but it was to be like every other residence he had inhabited throughout his life. Only temporary.

But as he arrived back at the loft, Sandburg’s train of thought did a complete 180, switching from the need to find a new abode to just being glad to be home. As he hung up his coat he realized he had made the right decision to leave, for he seemed to be feeling worse with every passing minute. Bed seemed to be a logical choice, but Blair opted to hop in the shower first. He was shivering relentlessly, and he hoped the hot water would put a stop to it. It did, but it also ignited a fire within him. The chills ceased, but the heat began rising until he broke out into a sweat.

"This is ridiculous," Sandburg grumbled to himself as he returned to his room and pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. "One extreme to the other."

The oppressive warmth also had the effect of amplifying the nausea that had been building, and with a groan of frustration, Blair collapsed into bed in the hopes that he could just sleep it off. But he wasn't that lucky. The cramping in his stomach grew worse, demanding his attention no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. For awhile, Sandburg fought it, entering into a battle of wills with his body. But when his gut clenched suddenly, he knew that he had lost the battle. He jumped up and started heading for the bathroom, but a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him and he had to stop and cling to the wall to keep from passing out. His stomach lurched again, and this time it was not to be denied. Sinking to his knees, Blair was helplessly sick in the hallway.

When he thought he could stand, he got up and continued on to the bathroom, for his stomach was not done with him yet. He expelled what was left of his lunch, retching painfully as his gut kept heaving long after it was empty. Finally it quieted, leaving him feeling like a limp, wrung out dish rag. But Blair remained where he was, needing to rest a minute before he could move and wanting to make sure his stomach would allow him such an activity. Shoving the hair back from his face, he realized he must be quite a sight. A quivering, sweating mound of jelly draped over the toilet, and he took comfort in the fact that there were no witnesses. At least until he heard the front door open, indicating that his roommate was home.

Dropping his head down on his arms, Sandburg closed his eyes and bit back a curse. It figured that Jim and his impeccable timing would pick that moment to walk in the door. Before he had even moved in, Blair had known that Ellison was fanatical in the cleanliness of his loft, and while the younger man wasn't what he would consider a slob, he didn't quite live up to the obsessive compulsive demands of the detective. This had been the only bone of contention between them so far, and Sandburg realized his often short fused friend was liable to blow a gasket over this one. While he hadn’t intentionally left a mess, it still wasn’t a pleasant thing to come home to. At the very least, he knew he had an ass chewing coming, but he also couldn’t help wondering if this would be the last straw that would lead to his imminent eviction. It seemed like an eternity, but Ellison finally appeared, standing in the doorway looking down at him. Blair met his gaze, but it was impossible for him to tell what his friend was thinking behind the neutral mask he often wore.

"You're home early," was all he could think to say.

"There wasn't anything going on so I decided to knock off early and come home to see how you were doing." Jim's voice was quiet, again neutral. But then his lips twitched slightly as if he were holding back a grin. "I was going to ask how you were feeling, but I guess that's pretty obvious."

"I'm sorry, man," Blair blurted out earnestly. "I couldn't help it."

"I know that." The detective moved into the room, plucking the cup from the sink and filling it with cold water before holding it out to the younger man. "Here."

"I'll clean it up in a minute, I promise."

"I'll do it," Ellison told him.

"Jim, you don't have to..."

"Blair," the sentinel interrupted in a gentle voice. "You look like shit. So just drink a little of this, and then go back to bed, all right? I'll take care of it, don't worry."

Sandburg met the blue eyes looking at him fondly as he reached out and took the offered cup, not knowing what to say. He was definitely surprised that Jim wasn't angry or upset, but he really hadn't been expecting such concern or kindness. They'd only known each other a short time, but it was long enough for Blair to come to admire, respect, and care deeply about the man who was his "holy grail". He already counted Ellison as one of his greatest friends, but he wasn't entirely sure that the sentinel would say the same for him.

They’d been in some tight spots together, which naturally would forge a bond as each man realized he could trust the other implicitly. It was nothing for Blair, who sometimes trusted a little too easily, but he knew it was not an easy thing for Jim to give and he appreciated that. But the sentinel was closed up tighter than a clam shell, and it was often hard to read him. He had begun relying on his guide more for help, but Sandburg could write that off as a type of tech support. Ellison had also comforted him after he saved him from Lash, but Blair still had to wonder if that was an overcompensation motivated by guilt, knowing that the detective blamed himself for not catching onto the killer’s game sooner. True, outside of their work relationship they seemed to be building a friendship. Going out to eat, catching a Jags game, having a few beers or just hanging out in the loft. But sometimes Sandburg got the feeling that Jim tolerated him as a pesky tagalong, and not much more. The activities they did seemed to be more out of convenience since they lived together, and Ellison had certainly given him no indication that their relationship had progressed to anything beyond casual.

“Do you need a hand?”

“No,” Blair murmured, shaking his head slightly. “I just want to sit here a minute. But I’ll be fine.”

Jim nodded, squeezing his shoulder gently before moving off to clean up the hallway. And with that, Blair no longer had any doubts that their friendship was a two-sided one. The blue eyes that were so often veiled had been wide open, radiating concern and sympathy and affection as they had gazed down at him. Letting it be known that the sentinel was there for his guide, and not out of convenience or obligation or duty. But because he wanted to be.

Feeling slightly better, Blair sipped at the water and waited for his strength to return. When his limbs lost most of the rubbery feeling, he got up, slowly this time, and carefully made his way back to his room, collapsing into bed. After awhile, a soft knock sounded on the wall and Jim stuck his head through the curtain to ask if he wanted anything. Sandburg declined, for all he really needed was to know that his friend cared. He’d been mostly on his own for over ten years and had learned to be independent and solely self-sufficient. It was an odd feeling having someone looking after him now, but, he decided as he curled onto his side under the blankets, it was a good one.

Blair eventually managed to doze off, and when he awoke, the room was dark. He assumed it was late, but as he glanced at the clock beside his bed he was surprised to see it was only a little after seven. With a sigh that became a groan, he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but it was a futile attempt. The chills were back, and he ached all over, making it impossible to get comfortable. So finally he kicked off the covers and carefully got up, anticipating the dizziness this time and letting it pass before he left his room and went into the kitchen. Ellison was in the living room watching t.v. and he turned to look over the back of the sofa as his roommate passed by.

"How you doing?"

"Miserable," Sandburg replied wearily as he pulled out the kettle and filled it with water. He wasn't aware that Jim had moved, but suddenly the detective was next to him, taking the teapot out of his hands.

"Here, I'll do that. Go ahead and sit down."

Gratefully, the younger man plopped down into the nearest chair, folding his arms on top of the table and using them to cushion his pounding head.

"Looks like you picked up a touch of the flu, Chief."

"Touch nothing." Blair's voice was muffled, but indignant. "This is a full body slam, man."

Jim grinned, and when he had the tea ready he set the mug down on the table next to his friend, patting his shoulder reassuringly before going back to the sofa and his movie. Sandburg sipped at the hot drink, hoping it would soothe him, at least enough so that he could get some sleep. But he'd only gotten half of it down when his stomach knotted up with cramps. Blair swallowed hard, dropping his head down and pressing his forehead against the cool table top as he tried to control his breathing. But then a stabbing pain hit him, like a knife in the gut, and he leapt up, knocking the chair over backward in his haste as he sprinted down the hallway. Ellison watched him go, wincing in sympathy as the bathroom door slammed shut. After a few minutes, the anthropologist slowly returned and stood hesitantly before his partner.

"Jim, I'm sick."

"Yeah, I think we've established that, Chief," the sentinel said wryly. But then he looked up at his guide and saw the scared look in his blue eyes and picked up his hammering heartbeat and quickly grew serious. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I just threw up blood," the younger man confessed, a slight tremor in his voice.

"Well, that could be a lot of things," Ellison told him calmly. "Maybe you've got some kind of virus. Or ulcers can cause that, too." He stood up and faced his friend. "But why don't you go change and we'll go get you checked out? What do you say?"

"Ok," Blair murmured. He turned and went to his room, putting on a pair of jeans and a Rainier sweatshirt before sweeping the damp curls back from his face and securing them with rubber band. When he returned to the living room, Jim was waiting for him, holding his coat. Sandburg slipped into it and they left the loft, going out into the drizzle and getting into the detective's truck

Jim kept up a stream of chatter during the drive to the hospital, teasing his younger friend in an attempt to take his mind off things. And while Blair appreciated his efforts, he was not in a joking mood and the detective’s conversation was largely one-sided, although he didn’t seem to notice.

Once they arrived at the emergency room, Ellison took command of the situation. For his part, Sandburg was all too happy to let him, finding himself a seat in the waiting room while his partner dealt with the receptionist. The sentinel soon came to sit beside him with a stack of forms and took it upon himself to fill them out, since he knew most of the required information. Blair supplied the answers to the insurance questions and some of the medical history that Jim wasn’t aware of, and then the detective returned the forms to the desk and came back to wait along with his friend.

“I just put myself as your contact person,” he told the anthropologist casually as he slid back into his chair. “I figured that would be the easiest thing, but I can have them change it if you want.”

“No,” Sandburg murmured, giving him a ghost of a smile. “That’s fine.”

Ellison nodded and reached for a magazine, but not before Blair saw the look in his blue eyes. He hadn’t listed himself out of any sort of convenience or practicality. There had been an honest commitment behind the gesture. The detective glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly before his eyes flickered back to the glossy pages in his lap, leaving Sandburg to hope that he had read the heartfelt sentiments in his own eyes. That the name on the paper had been the one he would have chosen anyway.

It appeared to be a slow night at Cascade General, but the two men were still left sitting in the waiting room for what seemed to be an eternity. Blair closed his eyes and tried to relax, concentrating on his breathing, for he was determined to suffer in silence because he definitely didn’t want to appear weak while sitting right next to the original tough guy. But sharp, stabbing pains kept slicing through his gut and it was hard to weather them unflinchingly. A particularly severe one caught him off guard and he couldn’t hold back a low moan as he hunched over in his chair, wrapping his arms around his stomach in a futile attempt to ward off the agony. As a gentle hand began moving soothingly up and down his back, he looked up at his sentinel, seeing only a fond concern in his features instead of the impatient scorn he’d been half expecting. Dropping his head down to rest on his knees, Blair again began concentrating, regulating his breathing and relaxing somewhat under the soft touch and the unexpected support behind it.

But his efforts turned out to be in vain as the nausea grew more and more insistent. Sandburg was loathe to move, worried that the activity would send his stomach into upheaval once more, but he soon realized that had become a moot point. He struggled to his feet, vehemently willing away the dizziness as his blurred gaze swept the waiting room.

“It’s over there,” Ellison said into his ear, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come on.”

The detective escorted his friend to the bathroom, worried about his unsteadiness and not wanting him to fall. Blair wanted to tell him that he was capable of the simple task on his own, but there was no time for words. He’d barely made it into the stall when his stomach heaved violently, seemingly not aware that there was nothing left to come up but a little bloody bile.

When his insides finally calmed and the worst of the shaking had ceased, the anthropologist picked himself up and dragged himself over to the sinks, splashing a little cold water over his face and rinsing out his mouth, although he dared not swallow any of the liquid. Pushing back the tendrils of hair that had come loose, he exited the bathroom, finding Ellison waiting for him by the door.

“You ok?”

Sandburg nodded wearily, allowing himself to be led back to the waiting room. He fell into his chair, not noticing for a moment that the sentinel had not joined him. Looking up, Blair saw his partner conversing with the receptionist, and while he couldn’t hear what they were saying, it was obvious the detective was demanding service. Sandburg leaned his head back, closing his eyes and stifling a smile. He’d given his sometimes hot headed friend several lectures on how he couldn’t always bully people into doing what he wanted, but this time, Blair was glad that Jim hadn’t listened.

Finally a nurse called out his name and Sandburg was taken to an exam room. Ellison accompanied him, answering the nurse’s questions while she took the patient’s vital signs. The doctor arrived, re-asking many of the same questions as he performed a brief examination before proclaiming a virus to be the culprit.

“Are you sure?” the detective demanded, not trusting the simple diagnosis coming from such a young looking physician who he suspected was probably some kind of intern or med student.

“We’ve actually been seeing a small outbreak of this over the last few days,” the doctor assured him as he stripped off his latex gloves. “The virus causes inflammation of the digestive tract, which is what causes the pain and the bleeding. But fortunately it’s short lived and it should run its course in twenty-four hours. If it doesn’t or if your fever gets any higher, come back in, but you should be fine in a day or so.”

Blair murmured his thanks, but he remained quiet as they got themselves together and left the hospital. Jim was equally silent, and as they arrived back at the loft, Sandburg felt the need to apologize to his friend.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said as he slid out of his jacket.

“For what?” Ellison asked, taking the coat from him and hanging it up on the rack next to his own.

“For making you go down there,” Sandburg explained. “I mean, you tried to tell me it was probably just a virus or something...”

“I was just trying to make you feel better, Chief,” Jim grinned. “Truth is, if you didn’t want to go to the hospital I was going to drag you down there anyway.”

“I never would have thought a twenty-four hour virus could make anybody feel this sick,” Blair murmured.

“Me, either,” the sentinel told him. “But I, for one, feel better now that we know it’s not anything serious.” He looked his friend up and down with a critical eye, realizing that all fears aside, knowing he would be fine wasn’t doing much to ease his partner’s immediate suffering. “But you look terrible. Why don’t you go lie down for awhile?”

Blair nodded, his energy spent and his stamina gone. He made his way to his room, not bothering to change his clothes as he fell into bed and curled up under the blankets. The pain was still knifing through his stomach, but he found it a little easier to bear since he knew it was only temporary. Although glancing at the clock, he realized he was in for a long night waiting for that twenty-four hours to be up.

It was a long night. A long, miserable night. Robbed of sleep, Sandburg restlessly went back and forth from his bed to the sofa. There was no comfort for him, and in the wee hours of the night the tv held little entertainment. He diligently tried to keep sipping at the Gatorade that his roommate had gone out and bought for him in accordance with the doctor’s advice, but he couldn’t keep it down. Jim also had a long night, as he kept coming downstairs to check on his friend, offering company when it became apparent he could do nothing else. But Blair sent him back to bed, figuring that one of them should at least get a little sleep. And then finally, just before dawn, the anthropologist managed to doze off for a few hours.

When he awoke, Sandburg realized that the loft was empty and his partner had gone into work. He found a note, instructing him to call if he needed anything. And ordering him to keep hydrated. With the hint of a smile, Blair poured himself a glass of the sports drink and took a tiny sip. He really wasn’t feeling any better, but the fluid stayed down so he kept sipping at the glass until he had finished it. Blair put in a call to Rainier to cancel his classes for the day, and then he tried watching tv for a little while but he was too profoundly exhausted. So he returned to his room and climbed into bed, hoping that this time sleep would come.

The next thing he knew, it was dark and he wasn’t alone. Hearing movement out in the loft, Blair stretched and pulled himself up, fumbling slightly as he reached for the lamp beside his bed. He blinked at the sudden light, and after a moment Ellison appeared in the doorway.

“How are you doing?”

“Better,” Sandburg replied, taking inventory and realizing that it was true. His fever had broken and the sharp pain in his stomach had been dulled to a mild ache.

“Good.” Jim smiled at him, leaning against the door frame. “Are you hungry? I’ve got some soup heating.”

“Maybe a little,” Blair agreed. He wasn’t really, but he figured it would do him good to eat something and start getting his strength back.

“I’ll bring you some.”

“No,” Sandburg argued, halting his friend. “I’ll come out. Just give me a minute.”

Ellison nodded, watching as his partner got to his feet more or less steadily.

“You know,” he said softly, glancing around him. “I think it’s about time we got you a door.”

“A door?”

“Yeah.” The detective patted his friend on the shoulder as he slipped past him. “A curtain just isn’t enough privacy. At least not for me. I really don’t want to know what you’re doing in here.”

Blair paused in the doorway of the bathroom, looking back at his friend, not knowing what to say. For all kidding aside, the sentinel was offering much more than a door, and they both knew it. He was offering commitment, and a permanent home. Jim met the expressive blue eyes, grinning to think that his talkative partner was suddenly at a loss for words. But with his own gaze he assured his younger friend that no words were necessary. All his griping and nagging aside, he liked having the kid around. And although he had gone out of his way to avoid it, having lost too many people that he’d been close to over the last few years, he had to admit it was a good feeling to have someone in his life to care about once again.

“I’ll pay you rent,” Sandburg began, but his roommate cut him off.

“You’re damn right you will.” But the words were gentle, teasing. “And I have a few rules to lay down. But we can hash all that out later. Now, hurry up,” Ellison encouraged him with a nod before he started back down the hallway. “You’re soup’s going to get cold.”

In a few minutes, Blair joined him in the kitchen and had a seat at the table, still a bit overwhelmed but basking in the glow of the fact that he wasn’t going to have to move on. It was starting to sink in that he was home. Not at the place he was crashing. Not at the place he was renting. Not at the place that was just a place. No, he was home. It had been a long time since he’d felt like he had a real home, and although it had never concerned him before, he realized now how much he’d been missing it. The feeling was warm and comforting and safe, and something he could never express although he tried with an almost shy smile for his friend. Jim just grinned back at him as he set a bowl of soup before him, giving his arm a little squeeze in understanding before he went back to the stove to ladle up his own dinner.

His appetite was definitely lacking, but Blair managed to eat enough of the broth to satisfy his partner. When he was finished, he tried to clean up the table, but Jim took the bowl from his hands and shooed him into the living room to rest.

“Just enjoy your little vacation while you can, Chief,” the detective threatened him playfully. “Because if you call in sick tomorrow, I’m leaving you a list of chores to do around here.”

“In that case, I’ll be at Rainier all day tomorrow,” Sandburg retorted as he stretched out on the sofa. “Actually, I really do need to go in. I’ve got to make sure we cover everything we need to get done so I can get the next test out of the way before Spring Break.”

“That is coming up, isn’t it?” Ellison mused thoughtfully as he eased himself into the chair next to his friend. “You know, I could use a break myself. It’s been awhile since I took any vacation time, and I’ve been… I don’t know, lagging lately. My senses have even seemed a little dull. Might not be a bad idea to take some time off and recharge the batteries.”

“Oh, man, I’ve got the perfect place,” Blair exclaimed as he sat back up and faced his friend. “It’s quiet, and peaceful. No distractions. Just what you need to relax.”

“Yeah,” the sentinel drawled in amusement. “As charming as that all sounds, I’ve got this inner voice telling me that I should know better.”

“Oh, come on,” the younger man needled him. “Would I steer you wrong? Ok, don’t answer that. But just trust me, Jim. I’m just talking about a simple retreat here. I was there a few years ago and I came back totally rejuvenated. It’s exactly what you need. You’ll love it, I promise.”

“All right, fine,” Ellison conceded, although it was obvious he still wasn’t totally convinced. “Let me clear it with Simon in the morning and then you can arrange it. I’m completely in your hands.”

Sandburg ignored the sarcasm, for he was sure that a week of quiet contemplation at St. Sebastian’s was exactly what his friend needed. A little down time where he could take it easy and forget about the rigors of daily life, as well as find the isolation to work on the focus and concentration needed to hone his sentinel skills. He’d be able to lose some of his ever present tension and rediscover his spiritual roots, without the burden of having to be in “cop” mode. It was inherent in him, always looking over his shoulder, expecting to see crime around every corner he turned. And Blair smiled in anticipation at the newfound freedom and relaxation his friend would find when he was finally able to cast all that aside.

After all, what could happen at a monastery?

The Sandburg Zone
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