Tired Beyond Reason
by Gemini
Summary: Jim has to take care of a sleepy Blair.
Previously posted on SentinelAngst list
Blair sighed, straightening his back and gently rolling his neck. He had spent way too many hours working on this paper during the last four days; his head hurt, his body hurt, and he felt half dead. He flexed his fingers trying to squeeze out a last few keystrokes before shutting down the computer for the night. Nope, nothing left there, folks. Shaking his head ruefully, he saved the document and powered down the laptop.
He was still sitting at the table, the dark screen in front of him, when the door opened twenty minutes later. "Hey, Chief, you're still up?"
Jim Ellison was Blair's roommate, partner with the police--at least unofficially--and Blair's best friend. Jim was also a sentinel, a person with all five major senses enhanced beyond the normal limits, who had a strong desire to help the members of his "tribe"--in this case, the people in the city of Cascade, Washington. Blair helped him with his senses, which could spike suddenly, causing extreme discomfort or even pain, or could lead to fugue-like states when Jim got too caught up in one sense. Acting as a guide to the sentinel was the fulfillment of Blair's life-long dream. He backed Jim up in his job as a cop, tried to keep him in good health, and often balanced out the sentinel's tendency to respond to the needs of his tribe even at the cost of his own well-being. Blair tended to do the same thing, but, well, that was different.
"Hey, Jim. Home from the stakeout so soon? Did you catch the guy?"
"Uh, hate to tell you, partner, but it's 6:30 a.m. My shift is over." After hanging up his coat, Jim went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He considered a beer, but decided a bottle of orange juice would hit the spot. Twisting off the top and taking a chug of juice, he walked over to the table and sat down next to the younger man. "Let me guess. You've been up all night working on that paper, right?"
Blair looked at him with a mixture of exhaustion and sheepishness. "Yeah. Damn, I didn't realize it was so late." He saw the lightening of the sky, now that Jim mentioned it; it was winter, so dawn came late. And now the night was gone, and Blair had two classes, office hours, and this paper still hanging over him.
"You'd better get some sleep, Chief. You're running on fumes." Jim was in Blessed Protector mode. Part of his responsibility as a sentinel was to take care of his guide, and he took that responsibility very seriously. Too seriously sometimes, according to his long-suffering guide.
"Wish I could." Blair stood slowly, fighting the lightheadedness that came from running on too much caffeine and too little sleep for too long. "But I have a class at 8:00." He started shuffling off toward the bathroom. "Think I'll take a shower before I go."
Jim watched him stagger slowly down the hall. He ricocheted off one wall and back into the other before finally making it into the bathroom. The sentinel notched up his hearing to make sure Blair didn't fall asleep while in the shower. But there was no sound of water running, no rustle of towels being pulled from the linen closet, just the slow beating of Blair's heart, the soft whisper of air as he breathed in and out then a harsher, more grating sound as snores escaped the tired man's mouth. Jim grinned, then pushed to his feet. Yup, Blessed Protector time.
He moved down the hallway, knocked softly at the door, which wasn't latched; it swung open at the light tap. Jim poked his head inside and had to muffle the chuckles that rose in him as he saw his roommate: Blair was leaning against the wall next to the tub, one arm hooked over the towel bar, his head tilted back and resting on the tiles behind him. His mouth was open--hence the snores--and his eyes closed. Laughing softly, Jim shook his head. Only Blair could literally fall asleep on his feet.
"Come on, buddy, let's get you to bed." He untangled Blair's arm from the towel bar and slung the limp limb over his shoulder, slipped his own arm around the smaller man's waist, and started moving him toward the door.
Blair barely responded, mumbling quietly and shuffling along enough to carry at least some of his own weight. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."
They reached the French doors leading to Blair's bedroom. Jim maneuvered the doors open with his free hand and drew the semi-conscious man across the room to the futon. Blair slumped down, oblivious to the change in his position. As soon as he hit the mattress, he curled up in a loose ball and sighed happily. Jim pulled the comforter and two blankets up over his roommate--Blair was always cold and used lots of blankets--without even trying to remove any of his outer clothing. His guide was only wearing socks, so he didn't need to take off his shoes. Jim was afraid that if Blair woke up at all, he'd insist on going into the university, despite his obvious exhaustion.
Moving quietly to the door, Jim turned and smiled at the sleeping man. Blair always looked so innocent when asleep. In some ways he was very innocent, awake or asleep. He was not naïve; rather, he had the ability to look at the world with the curiosity and open-mindedness of the young. Of course, Blair was usually a whirlwind of motion and words, swirling through people's lives and touching everyone's world in a delightful and unique way. Yes, Blair was definitely special.
He quietly closed the door and returned to the table. Finishing the juice, he tossed the bottle in the recycle bin. He made a quick call to the anthropology department, leaving a message for the professor that Blair wouldn't be attending her seminar that morning. Blair would be mad as a wet hen when he woke up and realized he'd missed the class, but he needed sleep more than more brain food.
After going through his bedtime routine, he checked on the younger man once more, cherishing the moment, trying to imprint it into his memory. Then he softly trod the stairs up to his room. Jim fell asleep smiling, satisfied he had fulfilled his role as Blair's Blessed Protector.
End
