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Home

by Helen W.

During 'Cypher'...

It's the little things that trip a guy up.

Blair knew the drill. Tell the nice EMT in the blue uniform your name and your birthday and what year it was and who was president (three tries allowed) and they left you alone, wouldn't make you get up from the curb and go spend the rest of the day in an emergency room.

And he was doing pretty well, mentally counting off the questions because being half-stoned always made numbers so pretty, until her-nametag-said-Sally-Reed got to number 5. Blair had never liked the number 5.

"Where do you live, Blair?"

And he just stared at her-nametag-said-Sally-Reed; because, really, who was going to believe that he lived in a burned-out shell of a warehouse over on Lincoln?

"Blair, are you with me?"

"Yeah." Maybe Jim would explain things for him, if he asked him.

But - where was Jim? Had he left? Been taken to the hospital? Jim hadn't seemed that badly hurt... but what did he know about this sort of thing?

"Jim?" he called, looking around, then, again, louder and maybe a bit more desperately, "Jim!"

"You okay, Chief?" And Jim was plopping - yeah, that was definitely a plop - down next to him.

"Yeah," Blair said, "Yeah, man, I'm fine."

Jim squeezed his shoulder, and Blair felt a shudder travel from the roots of his hair downward. He took a deep breath... steady... he could do this... if his head didn't hurt so much, if he could just think straight it would be no big deal...

"She wants to know where I live," he said. "I don't know what to say."

"Tell the lady 852 Prospect before you get everyone worried," Jim said.

"Yeah, I'm crashing with you, but I don't live there," he said. He didn't want to get this wrong. He'd gotten the first four questions right, but if he missed this last one he'd only have an 80, a B but barely.

"Seems to me you've settled in pretty well," said Jim.

Really, Jim was brighter than this normally. "But it's not where I live!" Blair protested.

"Yes, it is," said Jim.

Oh. Oh, shit, no, not here, not now...

Jim's hand was on his arm now. "Is it because of today? Because of where he got you? You don't have to go back..."

"No!" Blair shook his head and clenched his eyes shut.

There were hands on his shoulders now, turning him, pulling him close. Blair gasped in dirty cotton and sweat and warmth and safety. Home.

He felt as much as heard Jim say, "He's okay. I'll watch him, bring him in if his confusion doesn't clear."

"You sure?" asked the EMT.

Blair felt Jim's nod against his hair. "He's quite a guy," Jim said. "He did everything right up there. A cop couldn't have done better. But I think he's had enough for today. Right, buddy?"

Blair decided the question was rhetorical.

The EMT must have left them then; or, at least, she stopped asked questions and when Blair finally felt able to straighten up and put a little space between himself and Jim she was gone.

"Up to heading..." And Jim paused.

"Home?" Blair supplied.

"Home," said Jim, and smiled. "C'mon, Chief, let's go home."

THE END

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