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Jim Ellison slowed his truck to a stop with uncharacteristic care. As he shifted it into park, he looked over to the passenger side of the cab. Blair Sandburg was asleep, his head lolling against the window, head cushioned from the chilly glass by his mop of curly hair. The younger man was out cold and even had one drop of drool glistening at the corner of his mouth.
Blair slept like he did everything else, with enthusiasm and total commitment.
Normally the site of Blair sleeping in the truck like a little kid on a road trip would bring a smile to Jim’s face, but not when he knew the cause. Drugs were the reason that Blair hadn’t stayed awake until they got home, drugs and the body trauma of having endured surgery earlier in the day.
Trying not to think too much about Blair being cut open on an operating table, Jim got out of the truck and jogged up to the front door to unlock it. Only when the door was open did he come back to the truck and his sleeping partner.
“Chief,” Jim knocked on the window. “C’mon, wake up, we’re here.”
It took a few more taps and calls that grew in volume, but eventually Blair lifted his head and looked around groggily.
“Jim,” he blinked at the older man with eyes that were unusually dull. “What’re you doin’ out there?”
“Trying to get you inside, Chief,” Jim answered. “I’m gonna open the door now, don’t fall out.”
It wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Blair wasn’t just sleepy, the drugs had also made him uncoordinated Luckily, Jim had prepared for that and even as he cracked the truck door open, he moved his body in the gap so that he could keep Blair safely seated.
“Whoops,” Blair exclaimed as he lurched when the truck door’s support started moving away. Jim quickly moved in and caught him.
Blair grinned up at him. “My blessed protector.”
“Yeah, I’m your hero,” Jim grunted as he lifted Blair into his arms. He maneuvered carefully so that he didn’t bump Blair’s wrapped foot against anything. Once they were safely away, Jim shoved with his hip to close the truck door.
It took several steps towards the house before Blair realized that Jim hadn’t put him down.
“C’n walk,” Blair clearly meant to thump Jim on the shoulder, but was so uncoordinated that his hand just waved in the air and didn’t hit anything at all.
“You aren’t supposed to put any pressure on that foot,” Jim reminded him. He glanced down to meet the cloudy glare of his sedated lover. “You really want to do that surgery all over again?”
“No.” Blair laid his head on Jim’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything else, but Jim could tell that he wasn’t happy about the situation.
Jim hated to see the younger man so dejected. “It’s temporary, Chief. You’ll have that scooter thing to help you get around until it’s safe to use crutches.”
“Oh, yeah, my bike,” Blair cheered up immediately and twisted in Jim’s arms in order to look around. “Where is it?”
“Quit wiggling,” Jim told Blair. The grad student was short, but sturdy, and hard to hang on to under the best of circumstances. Since Jim was currently trying to get them through the front door without banging Blair’s foot on anything, the circumstances weren’t exactly good, let alone the best.
Once safely inside, Jim immediately headed towards the bedroom he’d been told to use. He deftly turned his body so that Blair couldn’t see his scooter. Just one look at it and Jim knew it’d been a mistake to let Rafe and Brown bring their stuff over from the loft.
“Hey, I can use my bike now,” Blair protested, proving that the drugs might be slowing him down a little, but had done nothing to impact his stubbornness.
“Nope,” Jim said succinctly. There was no way that Jim was allowing Blair to operate anything remotely mechanical while under the influence, not even a push scooter designed for people who’d had orthopedic surgery. The damn thing had wheels and was completely out of the question.
“You’re a bully,” Blair declared as Jim continued down the hallway, but there was no heat in his words. In fact, he yawned widely, which softened his statement even more.
“Yup,” Jim answered as he carefully deposited Blair on the bed. “Or maybe it’s just my Sentinel instincts going wackadoodle because my mate’s injured.”
Blair’s voice rose in dismay. “Geez, Jim, I hadn’t thought about that. I’m sorry.”
It was hard not to look as smug as Jim felt at having successfully used Blair’s Sentinel obsession against him. “Yeah, give your Blessed Protector a break, Chief. I’m allowed to be overprotective for a while.”
Unfortunately, Jim willingly using the term ‘Blessed Protector’ had been a step too far and Blair’s eyes narrowed as he suspiciously assessed the older man. “And just how long does the Sentinel think he’s going to need to act like a fussy grandma of a mother hen?”
Jim only knew of one way to deal with that attitude. He bent and gently kissed Blair. Blair held still for a moment and then kissed him back. There wasn’t as much enthusiasm from his lover as usual and Jim took that as yet another sign that Blair wasn’t feeling like himself yet.
“Your Sentinel thinks he’s going to act like a fussy grandma mother hen for as long as it takes for you to heal, Chief.” His voice was soft as Jim answered Blair’s sarcastic question.
“No fair distracting me with kissing,” Blair protested. “Not when I feel like crap and can’t do anything more than that.”
“We’ve got time,” Jim assured him before stealing another kiss.
Blair settled back into the pillows with a contented sigh. As he did, however, he finally figured something out. “Hey, this isn’t our bed – where are we?”
“Simon’s,” Jim answered. “He’s on an Alaskan fishing trip for a couple of weeks and told us we could use the place while he was gone.”
Blair had been injured while working with Jim on a case, a scumbag had pushed him down the stairs. Simon was no doubt feeling guilty about that and had offered out of a sense of guilt.
“Why can’t we use our place?” Blair’s forehead was wrinkled in a frown. “I like our bed, Jim.”
“So do I, Chief,” Jim admitted as worked, taking off the shoe from Blair’s good foot. Blair had followed the pre-op directions and worn sweatpants, so there was no need to get those off of him. “But Simon’s place is all one level and doesn’t have a broken elevator.
Blair pouted for a moment and then his face lit up in an evil grin.
“No,” Jim said firmly, preempting anything Blair was going to say. “Simon was nice enough to open up his house to us; we are not going to replay him by making love on his bed. He told me to use the guest room and that’s what we’re going to do.”
The foam pillow that Blair had been given to elevate his foot was in the bedroom and, unlike the scooter, hadn’t been modified by Rafe and Brown. Jim carefully lifted Blair’s foot and placed it on the support.
“Aw, Jim, Simon’s not a Sentinel,” Blair complained. “We’ll wash the sheets and he’ll never know.”
Jim snorted. “But I’ll know, Chief, and I work with the man. He’s my boss.”
Blair’s grin was as wide as it was dopey. “Chicken.”
“Let’s wait and see if you suggest that when you’re not so heavily medicated, Chief,” Jim replied, wishing he’d had his phone out to capture blackmail material for future use.
“Hey, Jim,” Blair resisted Jim’s efforts to pull the covers up and finish tucking him in. “I gotta go, man. How am I gonna do that if I can’t put weight on my foot?”
Jim winced. He’d really, really hoped this wouldn’t be an issue so soon in Blair’s recovery. Before he could answer, however, Blair spoke again.
“I don’t suppose you’d help me, would you?” Blair pleaded with him, eyes wide and blue until he dropped his gaze. “You’d either have to hold me or hold Blair Jr., huh? Maybe both.”
It didn’t take a Sentinel to see that Blair’s lips trembled and not from potential tears either.
“You are an evil little shit on pain meds, Chief.” His words were a bit harsh, but Jim was hard-pressed not to grin.
“That’s why I prefer natural remedies,” Blair started to wind up on one of his favorite topics. Namely, the disadvantages of modern, Western medicine. “I don’t want to take the painkillers the hospital sent home, Jim, I’ve got this tea that - . . . .”
“No,” Jim said in a flat tone that brooked no argument. He dug a pill bottle out of his pocket. Jim had taken charge of it when the medication had been given to Blair at the hospital; knowing all too well how Blair felt about pills. “Maybe tomorrow, but today you’re gonna take the maximum that the doc says you can.”
“But- . . .”
“You know that natural stuff isn’t as effective,” Jim interrupted. He stalked into the attached bath and found a large plastic glass in the closet. As he filled it with water from the tap, Jim glanced into the mirror. His expression was thunderous; maybe that claim about being on edge because of his Sentinel instincts hadn’t been a load of crap to manipulate Blair after all.
It was a sheepish Jim Ellison that went back into the bedroom. “I’m sorry, Blair. I just don’t like to see you hurting.”
Blair opened and shut his mouth, no doubt taken back by Jim’s unprompted apology. He looked closely at his lover and sighed. “I get it, Jim, I really do. I’ll take the damn meds. Today, that is.”
True to his word, Blair downed the pills that Jim offered him and settled back onto the bed. Jim puttered around, refilling the glass and setting it on a bedside table so that it was ready for the next dose. He also pulled the curtains mostly closed so that the sunshine didn’t come through quite so strongly. Blair needed to rest.
Only after everything was set up for Blair’s comfort did Jim see to his own. He was already wearing a comfortable, well-worn t-shirt, but the jeans had to go. Their bags had been brought to the room and, while Jim used extra care when searching through his, nothing new or unpleasant had been added. Jokers that they were, evidently Rafe and Brown didn’t have a death wish.
Even with the light in the room dimmed, Jim could still tell that Blair was watching him with eyes that are half-lidded. He smiled fondly, Blair was fighting sleep, but sleep was winning. Jim made short work of changing into sweatpants of his own; selfish man that he was, Jim wanted Blair to fall sleep knowing that Jim’s arms were around him.
Jim slung his discarded jeans onto a chair with little regard for wrinkles. The same could not be said for how he climbed onto the bed; the Sentinel moved with great care, careful not to jostle his wounded lover. As soon as Jim settled against the headboard, Blair snuggled as close as he could get, his head pillowed on Jim’s chest with an accompanying gentle head butt that wouldn’t have seemed strange coming from a cat.
Chuckling, Jim started stroking Blair’s hair, knowing it soothed the younger man like nothing else. Something deep inside him, coiled tight ever since Blair had first been injured, relaxed.
“Don’t think you’re totally off the hook,” Blair murmured, already half asleep. “We’re talkin’ about this over protectiveness tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, Chief,” Jim dropped a chaste kiss on top of Blair’s head. “Whatever you want.”
Blair rubbed his cheek against Jim’s chest with a murmur of contentment. “Mmmm, d’mn straigh’ w’will.”
Jim kept up his rhythmic stroking as he felt Blair’s body completely relax into the abandon of sleep. He kissed the top of Blair’s head again, appreciative all over again of his lover’s indomitable spirit. Keeping him still long enough to heal was going to be a challenge. That was okay, Jim was up for a challenge, especially where Blair’s welfare was concerned.
As Jim carefully settled himself in the bed, ready for a nap himself, he thought back to the scooter waiting for Blair in the living room. In spite of himself, he grinned. Rafe and Brown had adorned the handles with long streaming ribbons, added a basket to the front and attached a bell. They’d tricked it out suitably for a kindergarten-age girl, not a college grad student. Blair was the most confident with his manhood than anyone Jim had ever met, it was a 50/50 chance that he’d think it was cool rather than be upset about it. Jim wasn’t sure which reaction he was most looking forward to witnessing. Either way, it would be quite the show.
With that happy thought, the Sentinel pressed his nose into Blair’s hair and let himself slide into a doze. His mate was hurt, but on the mend and where he belonged – in Jim’s arms.
The end