Disclaimer: No, of course they're not mine.
Rating: PG
Warnings: A few bad words. Minor Jim owwies.
Summary: How a week turned into three years.
Notes: I've never been convinced that Blair likes living in that cupboard, no grown man would see that as a viable place to live, especially not when he previously rented a humungous warehouse. OK so the slasher in me thinks it's a cover – see Blair sleep there, you'll never suspect us! – but in my gen moments… well I was asked to explain why Blair would put up with his dinky res and came up with this. When the askee finally stopped giggling, she told me I had to write that down. So I did. But it got a bit more melancholy than I planned, but what the hell.
Notes 2: This is another Sentinel Angst list escapee.
Flush
By NorthernStar
"Fuck!"
Jim jolted awake at the sudden noise that had thundered through his head like a gunshot, his heart hammering against his ribs. He sat up in bed, the adrenaline rush fading away as his hearing automatically zeroed in on the cause.
Blair.
A soft thud-thud-thud continued below, underscored by whispered swearing.
Smiling to himself, Jim lay back down. He had just enough time for a lie in before getting up for work.
---
Blair hopped around his tiny, tiny, so fucking tiny room holding his pained foot and swearing. He hoped vaguely that the tribal mask he'd trod on getting out of bed wasn't broken. He owed the University enough money as it was.
The pain gradually faded and he sat back down on his bed. His eyes fell on the mess piled up in the... room? Could you really call this cupboard-with-delusions-of-grandeur a room?
God he really needed to get his own place. With lots of space.
Lots and lots of lovely wide space.
But short of borrowing his cousins tent and camping on campus, that wasn't about to happen. His funds, such as they were after years of study, had been severely depleted replacing the books and the electrical equipment, not to mention most of his clothes, lost in warehouse explosion. He hadn't even had insurance.
He was screwed.
No, he was royally screwed. Jim expected him out by Thursday, and while he might just let Sandburg stay a few more days if he looked desperate enough, Blair really wasn't in the mood to ask. Larry had trashed any good will there and besides…if he never had to sleep on this futon again, it would be too soon.
He wasn't looking forward to stowing everything in his office and kipping on someone else's floor, but he'd done it before and he could deal. Just. It certainly wouldn't be any worse than the four months he'd spent with Professor Stoddard in the desert, sharing a Bedouin tent with five other students, two native guides, Eli, three camels and a goat.
Sighing, Blair got up and padded into the kitchen. He scratched his chin, feeling the stubble scrape against his fingers. Despite the growing itch and the lure of a shave, he carefully let Jim have the bathroom first. Good guests made for good hosts.
Besides, he was in need of a perk, a kick to the veins, something to get the blood going.
Blair went straight past the coffee machine and pulled a jar of green powder out of the cupboard.
Blair smiled. A fresh pot of algae…. The day seemed better already.
---
Jim grunted something that might possibly have been 'good morning' as he came down the stairs and disappeared into the bathroom. Blair happily set about chopping and mixing, the whirr of the blender drowning out the sounds of Jim's shower. He was pouring out the shake into a glass when the shower stopped, which meant Jim had been quick and left him enough hot water to tend to his hair without the final rinse being stone cold. Jim had apologised the last time that had happened, and he'd tried to be casual about it – 'Best kept beauty secret, man. Cold rinse. Shiny hair.' – but Jim had given him the weirdest look and avoided him for the rest of the day.
Oh yeah…gotta get out.
Blair sat down at the table, sipping his shake. He heard the toilet flush and knew he wouldn't have to wait much longer.
Then there was a thud and a tumble…and then…silence.
"Jim?" He went to the door, listening through the wood. Nothing. No answer at all. "Jim, you OK, man?"
His heart froze when he heard a burbling, choking noise.
"JIM!" He rattled the door, but the small lock held firm. He tried again with no success then finally he rammed against the door with his shoulder, splintering the wood.
Jim's backside mooned him the moment he opened the door. The rest of the cop was barely visible, his head and shoulders swallowed by the toilet. Blair stared transfixed for a half-second; suddenly back in his own adolescent, gaining first hand knowledge of his school's plumbing systems courtesy of the class bully.
"JIM!" He drove forward and hauled his friend out of the bowl, cursing him under his breath for being tall and huge and obsessed with junk food.
Jim's body finally slumped down onto the bathroom floor, his hair dripping, his nose bleeding and smelling not so faintly of bleach. Blair quickly checked his airways and rolled him into the recovery position. He grabbed a towel and covered his damp friend. "Hang in there, man. I'm just gonna call an ambulance, OK?"
There was a faint cough and a hand grabbed his wrist.
"No." The word was half-choked but Blair caught it away.
"Jim?" He hadn't realised his friend was awake.
"No ambulance." He croaked out and began coughing.
"You're bleeding. And you were out." Panic tightened his chest, shock catching up with him now it was over. "Man I thought you were like…drowning." A chuckle overtook him, edged with nerves. "In the toilet."
Jim pushed himself up to sit and tugged the towel Blair had laid over him up to wipe his dripping face. He seemed surprised when the towel came away red.
"I really think you need to get checked out, Jim. I can drive you to the ER."
Jim carefully prodded his own nose. "It's not broken." He decided, hissing with discomfort as he continued to feel along the cartilage.
"You were unconscious."
"I'm OK."
"You could have concussion."
Jim sighed and Blair saw he'd won the argument. "I'll need a dry shirt." He said, resigned, and went to get up.
Satisfied, Blair held up his hands, waving Jim down. "Stay put, all right? I'll get one."
Blair was back in less than half a minute, but found Jim had completely ignored his advice and got up. He was standing in front of the mirror inspecting the damage.
He placed the shirt on the towel rail and looked at Jim. "What the hell happened?"
Jim continued to poke at his nose, not looking at his friend. "I zoned."
"You zoned! In the bathroom? Oh man…" Blair chuckled dirtily. "What were you doing in the there?"
Jim glanced at him, but the deadly glare had little affect.
"I flushed the toilet and…" He sighed, and Blair was delighted to realise his friend was actually…embarrassed. "…the sunlight from the window, sparkling on the water spinning round…" He trailed off. "I was just gone, Chief."
Blair crossed to the clouded glass window and glanced between it and the toilet bowl, frowning over the possibilities. "Do you realise what this means?"
Jim pulled off a wad of toilet paper, wet it under the tap and began attending to his nose. "Catheters?" He spat.
"No…Look the first time you zoned, it was a Frisbee, and since then you've zoned on wheels and gun barrels…maybe there's some correlation between spherical objects and the zone out. You know, spinning disks have been used in hypnotism for hundreds of-"
He turned. "Everything's gotta be about research for you." His words were sharp.
There was a slight pause. The anger surprised him. "Jim…if I can narrow it down, find the cause, if there's one, you know, maybe we can do some exercises. Get you past it."
"And you get another chapter in your thesis."
"Probably." Blair frowned. "You want out?"
Jim sighed, grabbed his dry shirt and headed out of the bathroom. That line of questioning seemed to be over. He was learning that about Jim, if you couldn't see a win or a solution, then you don't discuss it. As if conserving oxygen was a constant concern.
Blair trotted after him. "Jim-" He began.
"Look…" Jim cut him off as he shrugged into his shirt. "I'm sorry. I hear what you're saying, Chief." He sighed. "If you hadn'ta been here…" He sank down on the sofa.
"I was here." Blair said, hating the darkness on Jim's face. He sat on the coffee table in front of his friend. "We'll find a way to stop this." Blair told him. "I promise."
"My senses aren't gonna go away, Sandburg. This is the real deal here, right? Forever?"
Blair didn't have nearly enough research to give a complete answer, but everything he did know pointed to that. "Pretty much."
"And next time I zone…it could be the oven…the microwave… I go out on the balcony…"
"Jim, there's an answer, all right. Remember how it was a few weeks ago? You've come so far, man."
"This is a giant leap backwards, Chief. Before I worried about zoning out on the street, but now I've got you backing me up. This is different." The frown deepened, probably the closest he'd ever come to expressing hurt. "You can't do that 24/7."
Blair thought a moment then let out a breath. "Look, I…I don't have a place lined up yet…. I could stay, like another coupla weeks, we work on some things…"
Jim looked up, right at Blair, as if everything had suddenly become simple. "Maybe you could stay, period." He said. There was no hesitation in his voice.
Out of the corner of his eye, Blair could see the little box he'd been sleeping in these last few nights, with its chipboard walls he'd cursed, its futon he hated – sleeping might be anathema to most students, but hey, it was nice to get a little – its poor lighting, drafts and stupid ugly curtain-door, but he kept his gaze on Jim who sat in front of him, damp, bloodied and waiting.
Hopefully.
Eli had once warned him that research was responsibility and that it would catch up with him one day. He'd never understood that until now.
Damn.
Jim shrugged, like it was nothing. "I could use the extra rent."
Blair flexed his fingers, mulling it over. He looked down at them, pulling his eyes from the thinly veiled plea in Jim's eyes. Unlike the warehouse, unlike a lot of the places he'd lived, he wasn't wearing fingerless gloves. Nor five layers of clothing.
"It's not much of a room so…350 a month."
At least he'd be warm.
Blair straightened up and gulped air. "Jim…I can't live with these walls, man." But the smile on his face and the lilt in the words gave away the real answer.
Jim matched his grin. "We'll paint them."
"And the décor…screams neo-military/cop/macho-"
"Maybe a few of your Fertility God…knows-what's around, tribal carvings…"
"More than a few, like the whole lot."
"A handful."
Blair grinned. "Half."
"A quarter."
"Third."
"A third and you pay 400 a month, Junior."
Blair laughed and found that it was genuine. "OK, OK, a quarter."
Jim held out his hand. "Deal?"
Blair took it for a firm shake. "Deal…roomie."
And somewhere, vaguely, in the very, very back of his mind, Jim wondered what the hell he was doing.
--End (or should that be beginning?) --