Part two
*~*~*
The alarm sounded. It took a few minutes to get his muscles to work, but finally he was able to slap the sleep mode, silencing the annoying buzz.
Sun poured in the fire escape door, but he wasn't inclined to get up just yet. Stretching, Blair rolled to his side, shoving his pillow more firmly under his head. He could hear his friend puttering around in the kitchen and the smell of coffee drifted in his partially opened doors.
The last weeks had totally wiped him out. The treatments drained him; zapping what little energy he seemed to have. The first round went by in a blur; his week off went just as fast. Today he had to return for his second round, but he wasn't in any hurry to get up and get dressed.
It wasn't as bad as he thought. He was tired, but it could be worse...so far he hadn't been sick...that was a plus.
"Eggs are done."
Blair flipped the pillow over his head, blocking out the light.
"Come on, Sandburg. I know you're awake."
Sighing, he kicked the blankets back and tossed his pillow on the floor. Forgoing the bathroom, he slumped in a dinning chair as Jim sat out a plate of scrambled eggs and a mug of coffee.
"Eat up."
"Yeah, yeah." He picked up his fork, scooping up a pile of eggs. The smell made him feel a little ill, but he ate them anyway, knowing that he couldn't afford to get sick, couldn't risk a delay in his treatment.
The coffee was hot, but tasted sour.
"Too strong?" Jim sat across from him, eating an onion bagel spread with grape jelly.
Yuck.
"It's fine." A tired sigh escaped. "Everything tastes a little weird." He pushed back his plate and chair, heading for the shower. "Can you drop me at the hospital? I'll take a cab home."
"I can pick you up, too." His friend pointed up.
"I know..." He leaned in to turn on the shower. "I don't want to mess up your day...I'll get dropped at the station and we can get lunch."
The water heated quickly and he kicked off his boxers and shed his shirt, stepping under the warm spray.
I muffled "okay" drifted from the kitchen and Blair smiled. He was truly grateful for all his friends help; he just wanted to keep things as normal as possible.
Washing quickly, he got out and dried off, rubbing the towel briskly over the skin of his chest, skimming around the protruding tube. He was careful not to get his hair wet, only washing it every few days to reduce the risk of damage. A few strands came loose when he washed it, a few more when he rubbed it dry. He had been using the blow dryer, but he still lost some just combing it.
Back in his room, he dressing in layers, thinking about just going for it and cutting it. Lisa had told him that hair loss was less noticeable with shorter hair styles and he know that the type of meds he was taking was a lot easier on the hair follicles.
"Ready?"
Jim was waiting by the door, jacket and keys in hand.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." He stopped to grab his sneakers, slipping them on, leaning against the sofa to bend and tie them, joints protesting the movement. When he straightened, Jim handed him his coat. "Thanks, man."
"No problem, Chief."
When he couldn't get his arm around into the other sleeve, Jim grabbed it up helping him slide his arm in.
Tears press at his eyes and he turned to the door quickly, "Thanks."
Jim patted his back and one lone tear streaked down his cheek. "Anytime, Chief...anytime."
*~*~*
The restaurant was crowded with late lunch patrons. Jim was a bit surprised that he and Blair had to wait to be seated.
His friend sat across from him, studying his menu. The perky waitress returned with their drinks. "What can I get you?"
"I'll have the grilled chicken Caesar salad." Jim sat his menu on the corner of the table, waiting for Blair to order. His friend shot him a questioning glance before ordering a BLT on rye.
"I thought with the way you were raving about the philly cheese steak that it was a sure bet for your lunch." Blair sat back, sipping his ice water.
Jim just grunted, picking up his own glass. He wasn't about to tell his friend that he didn't order his favorite because he knew the smell would make Blair feel sick. Jim had gotten quite good at reading his friend and his comfort levels with different smells and sounds.
They didn't talk much, instead just relaxing in the silence and sounds of the late afternoon crowds. Blair had found this place a few weeks into his treatment. A friend had told him about the café and its unique approach to dinning. The Paper Moon was in a trendy part of town and known for its vast menu. They seemed to cater to all degrees of heath conscious patrons, and still managed to serve a good philly cheese steak.
The interior was a bit...odd. The first time that Jim agreed to met Blair he was a little put off by the toilet sitting in the front arch way, flowers planted in the commode...but that was hardly the weirdest thing to be seen. Apparently the owner had an obsession with Pez dispensers. One wall in the main dinning area was covered with all types and the wall across held a large collection of toy wrestlers nailed and positioned. The ceiling was covered with clinging vines and lights; odd figures stuck out here and there...an infant car seat holding a tiny doll and a toy big wheel.
Jim shifted on the hard bench...the tables and chairs were all mismatched. This week Jim got the church pew and Blair sat on a wobbly chair that creaked and groaned with each of his friend's movement.
"So..." Jim shifted again, hand smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in his paper placemat. "You still going to "Jake's?"
Blair nodded, sitting back a bit as the waitress sat his plate in front of him. "Thanks." He picked up the pickle spear and sucked on the juice.
"Stomach bothering you?" Jim asked, scooping up a bit of chicken and salad.
His friend nodded, sitting back with his pickle. "A little."
Jim continued to eat, knowing that if he stopped, Blair would get upset. Jim had learned over the past few months that there were certain things not worth arguing over, so he continued to eat, pleased when his friend began to nibble on his rye toast.
The waitress brought him another glass of soda. "Can I get another pickle spear, please?"
Blair nodded his thanks as his friend pushed a plate with a few spears his way. "Thanks, man. You think I shouldn't go to Jake's?"
Jim pushed his plate back, nodding as the waitress swooped in and cleared the table. "Anything else?"
Blair grabbed the last pickle, popping the end into his mouth. "No thanks."
Jim slid over and stood, waiting for Blair to pull on his light jacket. "So?"
"So, what?" Jim asked, paying the bill.
"Jake's?" Blair followed him to the truck, sliding in and buckling up.
Jim did the same, wondering how to answer. "Well." He started, pulling out into the busy afternoon traffic. "I think whatever you want. It's your hair, Chief."
*~*~*
Man, this sucks.
Blair rolled over, bringing his legs up to ease the cramps ripping through his stomach. Three quarters into his treatment and it finally hit. Nausea rolled over him in waves and he moaned low, hoping not to disturb his sleeping roommate.
Jim had been great over the last couple of months, but if Blair ever gave any indication of not feeling well, his friend morphed into some hyped up version of Martha Steward, mother henning him to annoyance. Not that he didn't appreciate it and sometimes needed the attention...he just didn't want to have to admit it, not even to himself.
Soon the churning of his stomach was unbearable and Blair pulled his sweaty body away from his sheets, leaning forward, trying to ease the sickness.
A thick wade of goop worked its way up his wind pipe and he gagged, pushing it back down, holding his hand over his mouth as he stumbled to the doorway of his room. Footsteps sounded on the steps, but he barely looked up as he rushed through the hallway, bounding off the wall and ramming into the doorframe, dislodging his hand. Red slimy mucus sloshed from his mouth, the taste sharp and tangy.
Drops hit the floor on his way to the toilet, where he knelt, bracing his hands against the seat. Jim ran up behind him, turning on the tape, kneeling with him, rubbing his back and murmuring something in his ear. Tears burned his eyes and he let them run down his face to mingle with the vomit.
God, I can't breathe.
He panted in time with the heaves raking his body, hardly able to hold himself up. A cup of water appeared in his hand and he took small sips. His belly rumbled and rebelled as the first drops hit his empty stomach and made a reappearance.
"Sorry...sorry."
Jim held back his hair, wiping his mouth with a cool cloth and the tears surged.
"Shhh..."
Jim hauled him up and Blair was mortified that he couldn't hold his own weight. Jim pulled him close, moving forward, dragging Blair toward the living room.
"Owwww." Pain burned through his chest.
"Sorry, Chief." Next thing he knew, he was being lifted and shifted in his friend's arms.
"Jim...." he pushed weakly at his friend's chest. "...put me down."
"Working on it."
The world shifted again and he felt the soft sofa beneath him. "Sorry."
A cold cloth covered his face and he shivered, feeling his stomach churn. "I need to..." he surged forward and stumbled from the couch, Jim hot on his heels.
"Let me help."
Blair made it to the doorway before he throw up all over himself. Sinking to the floor, he leaned forward, resting his head on shaking knees.
"It's okay..."
Shaking his head, he looked over to Jim, kneeling at his side. "Noooo...not...'kay."
Jim reached forward, looking into his face. "Oh...Blair...your eyes."
*~*~*
I broke my promise.
What a crappy week.
Jim looked across the small room to where his friend lie, sheets tangled and sweat dripping, tiny mumbles escaping as Blair's fever induced dreams disturbed his body, rocking and shaking his limbs.
Jim swept a damp cloth left by the nurse over clammy skin, pulling the sheet and blanket closer to Blair's chin. Machines whirled and whined, but Jim tuned them out, focusing on Blair's spotty breathing and shallow heartbeat.
How could an eye infection land Blair into the hospital?
Conjunctivitis...whatever the hell that was.
He turned back to the window, searching the parking lot below, the leafy trees along the road way, the dimming light of the sun...but nothing took his mind off his friend, his thoughts turned back to a few nights before, finding Blair sick again, unable to walk, unable to take care of his basic needs and all the while he promised...promised that he wouldn't take Blair to the hospital...but in the end, he did.
I had too...didn't I?
A call to the doctor confirmed his decision. She said that it probably was an infection; that Blair's immunity probably couldn't fight off a simple infection...that if he had a fever he needed to be in the hospital.
He tried to explain, tried to tell his roommate that it was best to be where he could get treatment, antibiotics....
"But I'll have to stop Chemo."
"Maybe not, Chief. You still have five days before your next course..."
But he knew.
If Blair had to set back a course of treatment, that meant that his chance for remission went down, his chance for survival...
Turning from the cool window, Jim slumped into the chair by the bed, looking at his friend. "You still have two days, buddy."
Droopy, red eyes opened a crack. "Jim..."
Jim leaned in, hearing the change in Blair's breathing. He jumped up just catching Blair as he threw the covers and dived out of his bed. Jim grabbed him around the shoulder, making it halfway to the bathroom, holding a basin under Blair's chin, before the heaving started anew.
Was this ever going to get better?
"If I go, I might not come back." Blair murmured those words in the wee hours of the morning that day; looking at Jim with sad, redden eyes and a frown.
Of course he denied it, but now he wasn't convinced by his own words, feeling his friend shudder and shake...
Some time later, Jim eased out from under Blair and moved to the small, bright, bathroom, pulling the last clean towel from the shelf over the sink. The stench of sickness clung to the bathroom, and he moved faster, holding a hand over his mouth and nose.
They tried a few different kinds of anti nausea meds, but they seemed to stop working after awhile, giving Blair a few hours of restless sleep, but never allowing his body a chance to fully rest, to recover.
Jim pressed the call button on his way back to Blair.
He knelt next to his friend. Blair's body moved restlessly, but his eyes were tightly closed.
"Can I help you, Mr. Sandburg?"
Jim called over his shoulder. "Blair got sick again..."
"I'll be right in."
He carefully pulled the soaked gown down and off Blair's shoulders, his thin wavy hair falling forward. Moving the bowl away with his foot, he used the towel to clean his friend's face and neck, careful of the port near Blair's collarbone. A brownish mark ran the length of his chest and Jim ran a soft finger over the area.
"What is this?"
"Huh..." Blair's head lolled to the side, resting on Jim's forearm.
"Nothing, buddy. Let's get you up." With some effort, he got Blair up as the nurse came in, carrying a few more towels and a clean gown. Together they managed to roll his friend under the covers and shimmy him into the thin gown.
"Thirsty."
Patting the nearest shoulder, Jim pulled the covers up to Blair's shivering chin. "Be right back."
The nurse checked Blair over as Jim refilled his cup. When he came back, he nearly tripped on the puke bowl. Bending to pick it up, the nurse stepped closer. "I got it."
He watched her go, not liking her abrupt attitude.
Most of the staff have been more than kind, but she was a bit brisk...anyway, Blair didn't need to be dealing with someone who made him feel like it was his own fault for being sick.
"Jim..."
"Right here, buddy. Right here."
~*~
Days morphed into night and night into day. Time held no meaning for him. He would open his eyes to find his room dark and quiet, only to open them again to find it cluttered with people, all speaking and poking, the lights far too bright.
Faceless, nameless people came and went, but Blair knew that Jim was always there, somewhere lurking in the shadows. A gentle pat, a few soft-spoken words took all the sickness away.
But he was getting better.
Jim had told him.
His door was pushed open and his friend came in, a small smile on his face. "How you doing today?"
"Better."
Another small smile and Jim slipped into the seat beside Blair's bed. "I brought you some clean cloths." He held up a paper sack. "Dr. Stokes said it's okay to sleep in your t-shirt and sweats if you want."
Funny how something so small, something so normal could make him feel so much better.
"Sounds good. Nurse Hatchet said she would be back a little later to help me get in the shower. I can't wait."
"Then why wait." Jim surged to his feet, lowering the bed rail and holding out his hand.
After a small hesitation, he reached forward, grasping his friend's hand, allowing Jim to haul him to an upright position. "Thanks, man."
They managed to make it to the bathroom and he sat on the toilet, letting Jim start the shower, feeling the warmth and relaxing steam as the mirror began to fog over. "Let me help you."
His shirt was carefully pulled over his head, careful of his IV. "I think I got the rest."
Jim watched as he pulled himself up by the bar near the toilet and shuffle closer to the shower. With a quick flick of the hand, Jim pulled down the shower stool.
He pushed down his sweats, kicking them away as Jim busied himself on the other side of the small room. Stepping into the rimless stall, he sank carefully onto the lowered seat. The water hit his torso and chest, washing away tension and weariness. A small sigh escaped his slightly parted lips and he could hear Jim laugh.
"I'll be right out here when you're ready to get out, just call, 'kay."
He nodding, forgetting that Jim couldn't see him.
He moved the nozzle up and down the pole it was attached to, aiming the spray at sore and tender parts, but soon he became tired and turned off the tape. "Jim?"
After a few minutes, he pulled the curtain back. "Jim?"
A few towels sat perched on the closed toilet seat, so he reached for them, snagging them with the tips of his fingers. He dried off as best as he could, draping a towel over his shoulders and leaning forward to pull himself up.
The mirror over the sink began to clear and Blair leaned heavily against the counter, studying the stranger looking back at him. His skin was drawn and hung loosely, the bones of his ribs and hips protruding...brownish lines crisscrossed his skin near the port, a burn courtesy of his chemo drugs. His face was thinner, his cheeks shallow. His hair hung lifelessly around his pale skinny face and for the first time he noticed that his eyebrows were gone.
Not wanting to linger on his new appearance, he grabbed up a toothbrush. It was still in a package and it took a few times to free it. Feeling more tired than he should; he sank down to the toilet, flipping up the lid.
"Blair?" Jim stuck his head around the partly open door. "Sorry...I was trying to get someone to change the bed. You okay?"
Red flushed his face, but he nodded.
"No burning?"
God...
"Um...no...not today."
Jim smiled, eyes never leaving his face and Blair wondered how his friend could even stand to look at him like this.
"Good...I'm going to go get some more juice. Need any help getting dressed?"
"I'm good."
Jim backed up a bit, but stuck his head back into the room. "I'll be back in a second to help you get in bed. Wait for me, okay."
"I will."
Once Jim was gone, Blair turned, still sitting. He was able to reach the sink and didn't want to stand to brush his teeth. The bristles hurt his mouth and when he spit, pinkish goo washed down the sink.
"Ready?" Jim moved in, quickly pulling him to his feet and helping him get on a clean pair of sleep pants. "Are you bleeding?" a small frown marred his friend's face and Blair could see his nose twitch.
"Umm...my gums were bleeding, a little."
He was helped to a clean bed, the blankets already turned down. It felt great to slip between the clean sheets. "I'll tell Dr. Stokes...I'm sure they can give you something to help."
He only nodded, feeling a slight twinge in his stomach; a wave of heat worked its way up to his face.
"You okay?" Jim moved closer, pulling the safety rail up, a hand lingering on Blair's brow. "You're still a little warm, buddy."
He nodded, feeling sleepy and heavy. "Yeah, but I'm better...I have to be. Tomorrow I can restart my treatment."
*~*~*
"I don't know, Mr. Sandburg." The nurse studied the results of Blair's latest blood test.
Jim watched her, too. Knowing that she was going to have to call the doctor on call to get permission to resume Blair's treatment. They have already had a three day delay, because Blair's blood count was low and than borderline. The latest results were better, but still a little too close for this nurse.
"I'll page the on call and see what they say."
She left them and Jim turned to Blair, wondering about his stillness and silence.
"You okay, Chief?"
Slowly his friend tuned lifeless eyes toward him, a frail smile upturned his shallow cheeks. "Yeah...just a little disappointed, I guess."
"How about we take a little stroll. It'll be awhile before she hears back...no use hanging around here when the day is so warm and sunny."
For the last few days Jim had been taking Blair outside to the hospital courtyard, pushing him at first in a wheelchair and then walking beside him slowly, keeping pace with Blair's steps.
"I guess." Blair shifted his legs over the bed and pulled himself up with the rail.
Jim hovered near by, ready to help if needed. He moved with his friend as Blair slipped on his shoes and pulled his robe around him, tying it tight around the waist. Over the weekend, the IV's had been removed and Blair seemed to be resting better, sleeping longer periods as his fever broke and the nausea ended.
They walked quietly through the halls, nodding to the nurse as they left the ward. The elevator was empty and cool, it jerked a little as it passed each floor, making Jim a bit dizzy.
"You okay, man? How's the senses? Need help with a dial?"
Jim took a deep breath and shook his head. "Just not a fan of this elevator." Blair leaned back, resting against the wall. "Do you want me to grab a chair?"
"No...I'm cool" A tired smile reached his friend's eyes and Jim beamed back at him, laughing a little as Blair's stomach rumbled.
"Hungry?" The doors opened on the lobby level and they stepped out as a hoard of people pressed in around them.
"I could eat..."
They passed a few security checkpoints. The security guards checking bags of visitors and handing out passes glanced up to see Jim's pass before going back to examine one flustered women's large tote.
They neared the cafeteria, the halls busy with people moving toward a late lunch. Smells assaulted Jim's nose and he took in a deep breath, realizing that he was pretty hungry himself. He checked Blair out of the corner of his eye, trying to judge his friend's reaction to all the aromas drifting down the hallway.
People moved in and out of the swinging doors, long lines waited to pay the cashier. They found a booth near the exit and Jim hovered as Blair lowered himself onto the padded seat.
"I'm okay, ya know?"
"Yeah..." Jim scooted into the seat across from him. "I know...so what will it be?"
He watched as Blair looked around, taking in the people and noise. After a while he turned back to Jim. "I want something from Subway."
Jim sat up a little and looked to the line of people waiting to order. "You sure?"
"Yup...Chicken club, with just a little bacon, no mayo."
Surprised, he turned back to Blair and asked again. "You sure?"
A small chuckle escaped his friend and Blair shook his head. "Is that all you can say today, man?"
Jim rolled his eyes, "Okay...if that's what you want."
The line moved smoothly and Jim returned with a tray of subs and soda. Blair picked at his food, using a fork and knife to cut the bread and meat. He managed most of the chicken and all of the bacon, leaving a good chunk of bread.
"I'll take this with me." Blair scooted to the edge of the bench, holding his soda.
Jim resisted the urge to jump up and help.
Once back in Blair's room, Jim sat, waiting for his friend to emerge from the john.
"You want to sit or lay down?"
"Sit."
Blair lowered himself into the chair, shifting to push a pillow behind him.
"Want to watch TV?"
"Sure."
Jim flipped the TV on and surfed until he found an old western. They sat in silence, faces upturned to watch the TV mounted on the wall. Time passed, the nurse came in to say that they should be able to resume treatment later that day.
Blair's face remained impassive as the nurse left them.
"You okay?"
Man, he really could only utter a few select phrases today.
Blair looked up and smiled. "Yeah...just thinking."
His friend got up slowly and shuffled to the bed. It took him a few minutes, but Blair finally found a comfortable position and turned back to watch TV.
The western ended and with a few more flips, Jim found a do it yourself show.
"You don't have to stay."
Jim nodded, sighing. "I know...you don't want me to?"
Blair shifted to his side, pulling the covers closer to his chin. "I didn't say that. I just meant that if you wanted to, you don't have to hang around here and watch me sleep."
"I know..."
"It's okay, Jim." Blair pulled his legs up, shoving a hand under his pillow. "I'm going to get some sleep before they come back with my treatment. Go home when you want...but I'll be alright, 'kay."
*~*~*
The sun was setting over the harbor. Boats taxied in to their slips for the evening. One large ship moved gracefully across the soft waves, its white sails billowing in the breeze. A cool wind blow up from the water and Blair sank back further into his lounge chair, pulling a thermal blanket closer around him, a mug of coffee held in one hand.
This was...nice.
This was...normal.
Jim came out onto the balcony, carrying a box of pizza and a few plates. He sat next to Blair, opening the box and handing him a slice of meat lovers.
"Thanks, man."
"No problem, Chief."
Night came quickly, the lights of the city shined beyond the water, casting images of the high rises across the surface.
"So..." Jim began, shifting a little in his seat, setting his beer on the side table near his leg.
Blair didn't answer right away, looking out into the night, wondering if Jim could tell what the people on the deck of the sailboat were talking about.
"I'm okay, Jim."
His friend nodded, nibbling on his pizza.
It had been two weeks since his last treatment. A week since he left the hospital. A lifetime since his life seemed normal...
He had seen his oncologist this morning. Endured a battery of tests and had his port removed. She seemed hopeful. The scans looked good, but it would be a while before they know if he was clear, if they could say he was in remission.
He sat the pizza aside, sliding his tongue over his teeth.
"Mouth bothering you?" Jim pulled another slice from the box, picking the sausage off.
"A little." A swig from the warm mug helped.
"So..." Jim tried again.
"So," Blair said, looking to his friend. "So...I don't know. I don't know what to tell you, man."
"But she seemed hopeful." Jim encouraged, dropping his pizza back to his plate.
"Yup...she was very hopeful, but..."
"But..."
"I just, I don't know, man. I can't think too far ahead."
Because what if he wasn't going to be okay?
"I hear that." Jim laughed, rubbing a hand through Blair's short hair. "I can't believe you went through your whole treatment and then get your hair cut."
He fingered his short curls. "You don't like it."
Jim stood, picking up the box and the plates. "I didn't say that. It's just different, but it looks a lot fuller...healthier"
"Yeah, I think so too. Thanks."
The fridge opened and closed, dished clinked and clanked as Jim gave them a quick rinse. "You going to call back your mom?"
Was he? Could he handle her at this point, when it was still all so close.
"She thinks you're avoiding her." Jim called, coming back to sit, handing him a fresh cup of coffee.
"I'm not...I just don't want to get her hopes up is all."
Jim raised his eyebrows in question.
"I just don't think I'm up to going anywhere and I really don't need her to mother me...I already have enough of that." It was a joke, but Jim's eyes closed and he nodded.
Damn.
"Well I..."
"I didn't mean it like that...I'm sorry, man." Blair pulled the covers close and stood up.
Jim followed and soon they sat on the sofa. "Really, man. Thanks for being there for me. You went above and beyond the call." He chuckled a nervous hollow laugh. "Did a much better job than Naomi ever could."
Jim relaxed, settling back into the cushions. "You think?"
"Sure." Blair flicked on the TV and turned to the game. He had been looking forward to watching the playoffs all week, even if the Jags didn't make it this year. "You'll make someone a lovely wife someday."
A pillow grazed the side of his head, but he didn't retaliate...
For now...
The game started and Jim propped his feet onto the coffee table. Engrossed in the game, he didn't notice as Blair picked up the pillow near his lap, a small smirk on his lips.
And as the pillow thudded solidly against Jim head Blair knew...
He was going to be just fine.
*~*~*
End
