Getting there
Part 2
Joel Taggart parked neatly outside Prospect Place and looked at his passenger. Jim hadn't moved. "Jim, we're here."
"Oh, thanks." and he pushed at the door.
"You're ok, right?"
Jim paused. "I've been better" Jim mumbled as he got out and limped toward the lobby doorway.
He watched Joel drive off, and raised his hand in farewell. Blair would be back from campus soon, and Jim had a lot to tell him. Jim had had a busy day. Remembering they were short of some foodstuffs, he turned round and headed for the corner store.
Blair opened the door and was surprised not to smell dinner or see Jim in front of the TV. He put his rucksack in his room. In the kitchen there was a bag partially full of food, and a six pack of beer with a couple missing sat on the counter top.
"Jim? Are you here?" Blair was getting anxious, Jim should have heard him.
He checked the balcony, the bathroom, fire escape, nope. Maybe he was asleep. He went up the steps to Jim's room. An Army foot locker was open on the floor, photos, letters and other items rested on the lid and on the bed. Two beer bottles sat on the bedside table, one empty, one half full. Jim sat on the edge of the bed, eyes half closed, a handgun in one hand, a cleaning cloth in the other. A faint smell of oil hung in the air.
Blair swallowed hard. Something was very wrong here, what had he zoned on?
"Jim?" he said again softly trying not to startle him as he stepped closer.
"That's some shine you got going there" he said slightly louder. Great conversation, Blair.
"Huh? Blair!" slurred Jim at last, gazing fuzzily at him.
Oh, boy' thought Blair plastered, with a gun "What's up?"
"I's thinking. Stuff. Whole lotta stuff in the box. My box." Jim said expansively gesturing with the gun.
"You want to tell me about it, Jim?"
"Buddies." said Jim
"You mean us…or…?"
"Just photos an' letters. All for what?" Jim sighed.
"Did you take your medication this morning, Jim? Can you remember?"
"Umm, pro'lly. Seen Simon, seen counsellor, Joel gimme a lift. Seen everybody, man."
"Ok, you've had a busy day, partner."
"Yeah."
"That loaded?" asked Blair nodding at the gun.
"This?" said Jim as he peered at it. "Nope, jus' cleaning it. Gotta look after stuff"
"Quite right. Jim, listen to me, please put the gun down anyway."
"Why?"
"Just because."
"'kay." and Jim leant forward and with exaggerated care put it back in the foot locker. He was still holding the cloth.
"Cloth?"
"Oh." and that went in the locker too.
"Jim, how many beers have you had. Did you buy it round the corner?"
"Yeah, roun' corner. Jus' a few I think. Weird." he smiled and then slowly fell backwards on the bed eyes closed.
"Jim! Talk to me. What's weird?" asked Blair frantically.
"Tired, so tire…" mumbled Jim.
Startled, Blair checked him over; he was breathing... just passed right out after one and a half small beers. He had no way of knowing if he needed to call an ambulance or just let him sleep it off.
His Sentinel metabolism might mean that whatever this was would knock him for six, but would be processed quickly so he could be back on 'duty' soon. Or… Blair didn't want to think about other possibilities right now. He undid Jim's shoes and eased his legs up onto the bed, and covered him with the rest of the duvet. "I don't do this for just anybody, Jim." he muttered to himself.
He picked up the photos and letters and put them back in the locker, closed the lid, and slid it under the bed again. He didn't want Jim waking up forgetting it was there and taking a header down the stairs. Finally he grabbed the beer bottles and made his way back down stairs.
Back in the kitchen, Blair unpacked the food, and while the pasta was coming to the boil he peered at the beer label. Was this the usual stuff Jim bought? Or was it an 'improved' blend? Different brewery? There were lots of possibilities. He'd have to check it out.
Damn, but he really wanted to talk to Jim about his day, seeing Simon; the counsellor- was that what had tipped him into buying the beer? Was looking at his past that bad? Well, yeah stupid, that's why he's in this mess in the first place, Blair; he berated himself angrily as he added the sauce and put the result on a plate.
After he had eaten, he went upstairs to check on Jim. Still conked out, he hadn't moved a muscle. He wasn't seeing a panther so everything must be ok. He went back downstairs and returned with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol for the morning, or whenever Jim surfaced. He might want it, he might not.
Jim liked a few beers on occasion, but he didn't overdo it as a rule, especially since his senses had come back on line. But for one small beer to make him drunk and pass out was worrying. He got a pad and pen and made a list of questions and reached for the phone directory.