The responsibility of tolerance lies in those who have the wider vision.

Like an invading enemy on attack, the migraine battered Jim's judgment, breached his sense of reason.

"Sandburg, I said forget it. In other words; no."

Blair took a step back, as if distance brought understanding. He sputtered half a second before drawing in a defensive breath, obviously not surrendering.

"Damn it, Jim. I did tell you! I told you last month! And again last week. It took me forever to arrange this. You need it. It's important."

"I've gotten along fine so far, what's another week?" Jim hung his jacket on the wall hook and pulled his gun, still in its holster, from his waistband. Blair had met him at the door, dressed to go out, obviously waiting impatiently.

"Jim!" Hands flew up in the air. "I don't freaking believe you! I do all this..." Face growing red, Blair started circling the loft in tight patterns. He spit and sputtered like a hydroplane on Lake Washington. "Months of work, begging for the use of a lab, promising to cover classes..."

Jim cranked down the tantrum. He had no choice. It took all his strength and control to keep down the half-digested sandwich that churned and boiled in his gut. An hour of quiet; that was all he needed. He dropped onto the sofa. The floor shook from the forceful slamming of the front door.

Blair was gone.

"Shit."

Blair stormed down the sidewalk, fists slammed into his pockets. Making sure he was far from Jim's ears, he let it rip. "Of all the self-centered, stubborn, king of jerkiness, butthead sentinels in the world, I get the cream of the damn crop!"

The spring evening was mild. The neighborhood traffic was heavy, with commuters rushing to get to their homes. A light rain fell, making Blair wish he'd taken his car. Then again, the coolness would keep his head from exploding.

God, he was pissed.

How could Jim be such an ass?

Even forgetting his stupid thesis and the fact Blair needed some data for his work, his life, his chance at a PHD. Blair honestly wanted to keep Jim in top form, safe. Was it too much to ask? Jim needed to train his skills.

"It's no different from going to the range and shooting your gun!" Blair announced to a cluster of rock pigeons foraging in the gutter for food. They flew to the air, chased by Blair's anger.

The horn and screeching of tires came a few seconds after Blair stepped off the curb. Blair scurried back to the safety of the sidewalk, his heart choking his cry of surprise.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" an angry driver shouted, his head and shoulder appearing out the side of his blue colored Lincoln. "Lose the blinders!"

With a hand raised in sheepish acknowledgment, Blair waited for the irritated driver to pass. He continued to the corner, looked both ways and safely crossed the street.

Something about the driver's admonishment stuck and Blair worried the expression in his mind. Turning into an open deli, he ordered a beer and sat down in a quiet corner. His thoughts left Jim as he remembered.

"Lose the blinders, Eugene. For the last time - I'm not letting you turn this place into a retreat."

Buck Stevens wasn't shouting, but Blair could tell he was mad. Real mad. Blair leaned out to get a better look through the screen door. He was glad he had gotten to talk to Naomi. He missed her. But when she handed the phone to `Him' and he asked to talk to Buck, the older man had ordered him out of the house.

Buck didn't say nothing about sitting on the front porch.

"You knew that when you asked me to buy you out, little brother. So just keep looking for that financial support until you've got enough to buy your own land. This place is mine!"

Ouch. Blair held back a snicker. The Jerk was getting what was coming to him. Blair wished he could see Eugene's face. Was it red? Naomi was probably patting his arm or something, trying to get him all calmed down.

As much as he loved his mom, he wouldn't lose sleep over the notion of her and The Jerk being gone a little longer. Ever since the police had come and arrested those two Florida guys, he and Buck had been having some real fun. When Buck wasn't making him do chores and stuff. But even that wasn't so bad.

The screen door opened and Blair realized he'd been caught. When had Buck hung up? He didn't slam the phone like normally mad people did.

"What did I tell you?" Buck towered over Blair's hunched form.

Blair stood slowly, guilt causing his face to burn. "The porch isn't the same as being inside, right?"

Buck's hand swiped over his short hair, pausing to scratch the back of his head as he glared down. "You knew I wanted you out so you wouldn't hear that conversation."

Blair played the humor card. "I had to hear you tell him off. Was he like really pissed?"

One corner of Buck's mouth twitched up, but the rest of his face was carved from stone. He pointed to the twig chairs. "Sit."

Blair sat. He'd long ago realized he wasn't in any physical danger from this man. Okay, there was that one incident with the wooden spoon, but he wasn't packing any weapons right now. Blair swung both feet, leaning forward with his hands on the edge of the chair. "What did he say? You were fierce, man. Totally in his face."

"Blair," Buck said with a tired sigh, his face kinda sad. "I know Eugene is not your favorite person in the world." Buck ignored the snort that caused. "But no matter what a... jerk... he can be, he's still my brother. My little brother. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," Blair answered, tilting his head. What was the big deal here? "I know Naomi likes him and all. But she's liked other guys, a lot cooler than Eugene. She didn't last long with them; she's not going to put up with him much longer."

"See, that's the difference." Buck studied the distant brown cliffs. "He'll always be my brother. Your mom isn't always happy with some of the things you do, but she'll always be your mother, right?"

Okay, this was going places Blair didn't want to be. "Yeah, I suppose."

"She puts up with you." Buck quirked a grin. "And I'll put up with Eugene. He'll cool down. We'll be fine. If he believes in his dream enough, he'll learn to find a way to reach it on his own."

"Naomi will probably help," Blair admitted sourly, kicking the nearby porch railing.

"Maybe, but then I'll get an expert gardener to boss around a bit longer, won't I?"

Blair smiled.

"Listen, Runt. I know my brother has faults, but my duty is to be tolerant, to keep the wider vision. Families are worth the effort, understand?"

Jim answered the phone with hope. "Sandburg?"

"Jim."

"Oh..." Jim swallowed his disappointment. "Hi, Simon."

"How're you feeling? What did the doctor say? What did Sandburg say?"

Jim rubbed his forehead. The pain was still a twelve on a scale of one to ten. "Ah... the doc said that stuff wasn't harmful. Said I shouldn't have had a reaction. He figures I just got a face full of the stuff."

Simon snorted. "You passed out, Jim, gave me and Brown dual heart attacks. I shouldn't have let you talk me out of calling Sandburg. So, what did the kid say?"

"Nothing, I didn't get a chance to tell him... yet." Jim dropped back onto the sofa. He was getting lightheaded again. Simon was making a big deal out of nothing. Jim had only been unconscious for a few seconds.

"What?" Simon sounded shocked. "What do you mean? Where is he? You're not alone, are you?"

"Simon, I'm fine."

"Jim.'

"Blair's out. Something came up," Jim answered, remembering Blair's exasperation, his obvious frustration. "I forgot we had an appointment tonight. He's disappointed. I'll tell him later."

`If he comes home,' Jim thought bleakly.

"I'm coming over."

"NO!" Jim bit his lip, a pain spike nearly pulling a groan from him. "I was just going to bed, sir. I'll be fine in the morning."

It took a few more minutes of wheedling, but Jim managed to get Simon to admit he couldn't help and promise to stay away. Jim set the cordless down, unable to raise his body off the sofa, content to sprawl.

Using his key to access the building from the rear entrance, Blair paused to answer his cell phone. He brushed the rain off his shoulders with his free hand.

"This is Blair."

"Where are you?"

"Simon?" Blair plugged his other ear. The reception was faint and he wondered if he should go back outside for a stronger signal. "What's up?"

"Jim needs you. He got exposed to a chemical today on a bust."

"WHAT!" Blair let the wall hold him up. Sudden fear short-circuited his brain's ability to tell his knees to work.

"Calm down, Jim saw a doctor. The crap wasn't anything dangerous, but with Jim's sen -"

"Simon," Blair interrupted ruthlessly, stumbling for the staircase. "I'm home, just got here. I gotta check on Jim."

"Call me!" came the order just before Blair disconnected. Pounding up three flights of stairs left him breathless as he madly tried to remember how to unlock the front door.

"Jim!"

The cop's long body was bonelessly draped over the far sofa, twitching like a man watching a bad dream. Blair fell to his knees beside the sofa, one hand covering his friend's forehead. Jim's skin was warm. Was it too warm? Did he have a fever?

"nononodon'tdothistome," he muttered through clenched teeth, fighting down the rising panic. He lightly slapped Jim's cheek. "Hey, man. Wake up, please?"

Dull blue eyes emerged, peering mournfully at him. "Y'r back."

"Jim?" Blair whispered. "You okay?"

Rising stiffly, Jim straightened with a grunt and a grateful nod at Blair's assistance. "Y-yeah. Didn't mean to sleep down here. What time is it?"

"Forget the time." Blair leaned close. Was that a rash on Jim's neck? He pulled down on Jim's collar. The skin looked okay. Concern and anger fought for dominance. He pushed the anger back. Jim didn't need another confrontation right now. "Why didn't you tell me about the chemical?"

Jim shook his head. "I'm okay. Just a headache. Sorry about... before -"

"Save it." Blair held up a hand. "I'm an idiot. You're an idiot. And Simon's on my shit list for not calling me immediately."

Holding his head in both hands, the sentinel whispered back, "Sandburg..." He paused to swallow. "... how about we whisper tonight?"

"Nah uh," Blair answered firmly. "How about you tell me what the hell you got exposed to?"

Clumsily pulling out a rumpled sheet of onion-thin paper from a pocket, Jim offered it like an olive branch. Blair noted the pain etching his friends face. He snatched the paper, but stayed quiet as he read, keeping one hand on Jim's shoulder, gently massaging it. The doctor had ruled out anything serious, listing Jim's vitals well within acceptable range.

"Did you shower?" Blair asked, skimming over the form. Where was the chemical listed? Surely they got the name before releasing Jim. Ah, there it is. Blair didn't recognize it. He'd call his friend in the chemistry department. Blair needed to know everything there was to know.

"Sorta wiped down at the scene," Jim answered. "Used those baby wipes you put in the Ford."

"Good, that's a good start." Blair rose to his feet. He looked over at the kitchen table; his laptop still sat where he'd left it. "Strip. Leave your clothes right here. Don't touch anything. I'll have the sofa cleaned later. Get in the shower. I'll bring you some clothes. Wash your hair at least three times. I'll be on the internet and making some calls."

Jim rose to his feet. "The hospital didn't think it was any big..."

Blair stopped him with a look. He didn't give a rat's ass what the doctors had said.

Jim sighed, a hand cupping the back of his own neck as he studied the floor. "Yeah, right. Guess I'll be getting naked now."

"And don't touch anything," Blair reminded him.

"Right." Jim clothes fell to the floor. "Hey, Sandburg?" Jim paused at the bathroom's doorway, looking back, a tired smile building on his face.

Busy powering up his laptop, Blair glanced up. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming back."

Blair nodded. His duty was clear. "Always, man."

end

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