"Such is my life," Jim thought. "I go from receiving a stupid `cop of the year' award to playing nurse." He gave his roommate's appearance serious consideration.

Blair moaned. Eyes closed, long hair tied back hours ago, the younger man's cheek pressed against the toilet seat with a string of saliva dropping into the bowl made for a pathetic sight. He had spent the night drinking and smoking cigars like a cloistered kid away from home for the first time. The knowledge that Jim's own coworkers were partly to blame kept the older man from launching into a lecture worthy of a Southern Baptist preacher on revival night.

Blair's complexion had a greenish pallor that might have been funny under normal circumstances, but now caused Jim to seriously consider a predawn trip to the ER. The deciding factor in remaining home was Blair's level of alertness. If that took a nose dive then they were out the door.

The loft reeked. Vomited beer and whisky had never been high on Jim's list of pleasant odors. The fun was still rolling in; Blair didn't seem to be finished yet. Jim's nose had checked out hours ago and his ears considered doing the same.

"Rinse?" Jim offered a glass of water.

Blair accepted the glass blindly, trusting Jim to hit his reaching hand. Blair lifted his head; just enough to fill his mouth and spit.

Jim patted his shoulder as he got to his feet. "Don't go anywhere." All this kneeling and standing, his knees were killing him. He went to the kitchen, pulled a bottle of Gatorade out from a lower cupboard, and re-entered the bathroom to see the final spit. Blair set the glass aside and hugged the toilet again.

"Drink, Chief." Jim said, offering the Gatorade and rescuing the water glass from the falling off the edge of the counter.

Another groan escaped, followed by a weak protest, "Can't... too busy dying."

"You need fluids." Jim lifted one pale hand and pressed lax fingers around it.

Blair raised his head and took a sip. After a moment, he took a second. Nothing happened. Jim took the bottle away and set it on the floor. Leaning over, he flushed the toilet, giving Blair another bowl of clean water to contaminate.

A wet washcloth lay next to the sink and Jim ran it under cold water and wrung it out. He pressed into Blair's hand. Blair dutifully wiped down his face, continuing under his chin and around his neck.

"Better?" Jim asked.

A weak smile. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna live." A burp and shudder caused Blair to groan again, followed by a muscle contraction that started low in his gut and folded him over the bowl as another bout of heaves produced more foul smelling vomit. The sharp scent of bile followed.

Blair's stomach gauge finally pegged the empty mark.

"Oh, God. Jim... make it stop."

"No can do, Otis. You got yourself into this mess. You get to ride it out." Jim yawned and checked his watch. The sun was due up within the hour. Jim was glad he had the next two days off.

Blair spat into the toilet and laid his cheek back down on the seat. "I swear, man. Tea and coffee. That's all I'm ever drinking."

"Riight."

At noon, Jim woke and stretched. His senses found Blair still sleeping. They had both fallen into their respective beds an hour after sunrise. It had been a rough night.

Jim got up, not surprised to feel several ripened bruises as he moved. It had been years since he'd ridden a horse. Leaping from his horse onto the fleeing killer and knocking them both to the ground had spread the abuse all over his body.

Laboriously donning his robe, Jim headed for the kitchen. Coffee would wash down a dose of Advil just fine. The temperature in the loft was brisk. Before falling asleep, Jim had purposefully left several windows open to clear out the `sick ward' smell. Just a hint lingered. Rain clouds had drifted in, giving the city a gentle soaking. The cleansing matched Jim's mood.

The sweet knowledge he was getting another chance with his brother put an extra spring into this step. Jim grinned as he poured bottled water into the coffee maker's reservoir. He reached high, past the normal coffee bag, finding the glass jar that held the expensive grind from some exotic roaster; a gift from Simon. Filling the cone and starting the brew cycle, he looked in the icebox for a cylinder of pop-up sweet rolls.

The first drip of dark brown elixir landed with a rich splat just as movement sounds came from Blair's room. Jim enjoyed the coffee bean smell while meticulously spacing out lines of delicate rolls into a greased pan, breathing in the smell of cinnamon. He slid the pan into the oven as Blair emerged.

"Morning, Lazarus," Jim greeted in a quiet voice, rechecking the oven's temperature.

Blair visibly curled inward, hunching his dropped shoulders. His hands aborted in their flight toward his ears as his face cringed with pain. "Aaah... owwww."

With strength equal to Hercules, Jim held back a snicker. "Sorry," he offered in even a quieter voice.

A dismissive wave and Blair shuffled toward the bathroom. After a few minutes, shower sounds drifted out and - in the time it took the sweet rolls to bake and cool - a more alert, but still hung over, roommate reappeared wearing a robe. He took a seat at the table.

"Oh, man." Blair dropped his face into both cupped hands, propped up by elbows on the table. "I can't believe I smoked cigars."

"I can't either." Jim set the pan of frosted baked rolls on the table and poured a second cup of coffee.

Blair's smile was puny but sincere as he accepted the cup. "Never smoked before... well, tobacco, that is." Seeing Jim's frown, he sipped. "Ahhhh, this is the ticket."

"So why the experiment into the cancer zone?" Jim asked, joining his friend across the table. He shamelessly helped himself to three of the heavily frosted rolls. After all, they were small.

Blair tested the lightly frosted side of the pan with his fingertips before working one out and taking a tentative bite. He chewed thoughtfully then gently shrugged as if the effort hurt. "Donno, guess because the guys were all doing it."

"Didn't Naomi give you the spiel about `I don't care what Johnny's mother lets Johnny do...'"

Blair looked puzzled.

Jim tried again. "You know, the one that ends with; `if Johnny jumped off a cliff, would you jump off a cliff?'"

Blair pointed a frosted tipped finger at him. "Change the name to Jim and I did jump off a cliff after him. Into a river, remember?"

"Only because we were pinned down by automatic gun fire, Einstein. Don't recall seeing a gun held to your head last night."

Blair used his finger to scoop more frosting out of the pan's side and onto his roll. "So, how was Stephen? You guys catch up?" he asked.

"Yeah, we talked. It was good." Jim picked up the second roll, getting ready to take a bite. "Up and until we had to carry you out of the bar." He wasn't ready to let Blair off the hook yet.

"Really? Don't remember."

Chewing thoughtfully, Jim wondered if his friend was telling the truth. Blair's had a way of shifting his gaze when he lied. "Yeah, in fact you told us about your `pretend brothers'. How - when you were young - you'd pick strangers out of a crowd."

Blair choked, dropping his roll. He reached for his coffee.

"Careful, it's hot," Jim warned, feeling guilty. Blair really didn't remember leaving the bar.

After taking a swallow, Blair sputtered, "I-I said that? Shit, I was drunk." He looked at Jim sheepishly.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Blair answered, running a hand down his face with a sigh. "Man, I hadn't thought about that for years. I used to drive Naomi nuts asking for a brother."

"Why?"

Taking a second to gulp another swig of coffee, Blair's eyes did that slide thing, slipping away to ghost over the loft. "Who knows? I was just a kid. It was great, everything was good. Lots of fun, ya know?"

Yeah, right. Jim wasn't buying it for a second.

"I used to wish I was an only child," Jim admitted.

That seemed to grab his roommate's attention. "What? Why?"

Lifting and dropping his shoulders, Jim licked frosting from his own fingers as he thought about his reasons. "I guess when kids are unhappy, they figure being different would make everything better."

"You were unhappy?"

"Sometimes... after Mom left. When my old man was riding my case, or making me and Stephen work for his favor. Like he didn't have enough for both of us."

Blair's eyes became deep pools of empathy. "That is... so wrong, Jim."

Another shrug. "It's history. I'm just glad Stephen and I get a chance to work things out. We've made plans to take in a basketball game, courtside season tickets." Jim grinned. "Three of them."

Blair straightened in his seat. "Really? Me too?"

"Yep." Jim grinned. "I think you're the ice breaker or something. Stephen likes you."

"Cool," Blair said enthusiastically, then sobered. "But, hey, this is your guy's time... to reconnect. Just say the word, Jim, and I'm - like - out of the picture, okay?"

"He'll just have to get used to the idea I went and found a surrogate `little brother' to torment in his absence." Jim offered a wicked smile. "Hell, he'll probably enjoy having someone younger to pick on."

Blair's look was priceless - complete surprise, but in a good way. Then a wicked grin slipped into place. "I donno, Jim. Maybe Stephen and I will gang up on you. Ever think about that?"

Reaching for the last roll, Jim's eyes narrowed. "Bring it on, Junior. Bring it on."

end

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]