New
Arrivals
Author-Rather
Titles
Migraine
by Rather
Summary: Short piece that contains neither tea drinking, nor use of the phrase, Blessed Protector, despite the fact that Blair has a nasty headache and Jim is compelled to help. Rated G. Mild smarm alert.
Disclaimer: Jim, Blair, Simon, and The Sentinel belong to Pet Fly, UPN, and Paramount and no copyright infringement is intended.
Thanks, Wendy.
He knew before he even opened the door that Blair was sick. His heartbeat was slow and steady, but he wasn't breathing like he did when he was asleep; it was too careful, too measured, and yet different from the control of meditation. Migraine, then.
He let himself into the quiet loft, wincing as his keys clinked into the basket.
He eased into Sandburg's room without hesitation. His roommate was lying on his left side, back to Jim, telling him which side, then, that the migraine had concentrated on this time.
Sandburg had explained once that he tried to visualize the pain draining out of his head through the sorest point. Jim did not scoff. He had headaches, too.
In fact, he wondered once again, what would happen if they were ever both struck down at the same time; Jim through some sensory overload, and Blair through one of his patented eye-strain migraines. He shook out of the brief reverie and approached the bed, careful not to jiggle it or put weight on the mattress.
He did not speak, instead reached for Sandburg's hand and pressed a finger into the center of Sandburg's palm. *Do you want me to get you a pill?* this asked.
It was rare that he would take one of them; they tended to knock him out for a whole day and leave him slightly dopey-feeling for two more. Sleeping it off without the medication certainly hurt more, but he would be clear headed and functioning sooner. Provided that he did sleep, that is.
As he had expected, the hand remained completely motionless, which meant, *No.*
He patted the hand briefly, and withdrew, not attempting any further communication. Sandburg had told him that even thinking hurt, and he certainly never wanted to cause him more pain.
He kept a close eye on his young guide, as he dozed through the afternoon and early evening.
Jim tidied up the large stack of exam papers and textbooks and Sandburg's own coursework notes which had brought on the headache. Then he wandered to the kitchen and quietly prepared a serving of a delicious stew Sandburg had frozen in convenient servings, eating it with part of a loaf of a hearty dark bread they had selected while shopping that week, even washed it all down with a large glass of milk, by his own choice, for once.
He smiled as he thought of Sandburg's reaction if he ever found out Jim had done something deliberately healthy for himself, and then wandered over to the couch to find a game or something on the tube. He wondered if he should be worried about himself, practically tiptoeing around his own apartment, in consideration of a roommate he had certainly never sought and now considered himself likely paired with for life. He shrugged and hurried the remote through several of Sandburg's saved, staggeringly boring, educational channels. Over-analysis was Sandburg's department, welcome to it.
He tried to immerse himself into the game he eventually chose, but it was difficult. Finally he shrugged and tossed the remote aside, and gave into his instincts. He padded upstairs and kicked off his shoes, retrieved his sleeping mask. He went back downstairs and eased it onto his roommate, and surveyed the result, pleased. Sandburg never moved. Then he plugged in the heating pad and spent quite a bit of time positioning it just perfectly over Sandburg's head.
Then he went and got a chair from the kitchen and - watched him sleep; remembering to unplug the heating pad after fifteen minutes or so, but leaving it in place afterwards. He then slipped away into sleep himself.
It was dark when he woke from his nap, slumping over onto the bed, and he noticed immediately that Sandburg was better. He had moved, at any rate, now faced Jim and curled slightly towards him. He sat up and took a look. Blair was looking back at him, quite blearily, but Jim could see a glint of blue through the curtain of hair. The sleeping mask was askew, the heating pad lay abandoned, and his breathing was still very measured. He covered up the foot that had emerged when Sandburg had shifted, and lit the candle on the desk so it wouldn't be pitch black to him. He didn't remember what one this was; violet or lavender or something so distinctly unmasculine he didn't * want * to know what it was, but it was the one Sandburg liked when he felt bad, so it was the one he lit.
He went to the kitchen and heated up some broth, then waited patiently as Sandburg, never moving, sipped slowly at it through the straw. Then, as gently as he could, he touched Blair's temple with the tip of a single finger, and began to massage it. He worked a long time; moving the finger around his forehead and the side of his head, and as he did, a few tears trickled from Sandburg's eyes. It was all right. Jim had seen it before.
"They're not tears, Jim," Blair had explained once, as Jim pretended not to understand. "I'm not crying - I just get all relaxed and it's not hurting quite as much and I dunno. My eyes just leak a little or something." Jim filed it securely in the locked-down area of the Sandburg Zone.
"Go to sleep, Chief," he now whispered, then immediately contradicted himself by asking, "what's your schedule like tomorrow?"
Sandburg whispered while drawing in and releasing the slow sighing breaths Jim hated to hear. They spoke of how much he still hurt, and how ill he felt.
"Got a few papers left to grade." There was a long pause. "Wanna recheck the last few I did, too. Make sure I was fair. Felt bad.
"Got to get them to the U by twelve. Got a study session from four to six. Last final's day after at one."
"Okay," soothed Jim, "that's not so bad. Got anything else for your own classes?"
"Nah. Just a paper. Sent it in already."
"Okay. We're fine then. Go to sleep, Chief. You'll be better in the morning."
"Yeah," Sandburg breathed, "have a lot of kids called?"
"Nah," it was Jim's turn to say, "been quiet all afternoon." He smiled as Blair relaxed and accepted the half-truth. The only reason it had been quiet was because he'd turned the ringer off of the phone and the volume down on the answering machine. If Simon needed him, he could call Jim's cell.
Ellison stayed by Sandburg's side long after he slipped back to sleep.
Finally, he rose, checked the blankets one more time, and slipped out of the room, leaving the door open just a little bit.
Just in case.
~end~