The first scream nearly caused Jim to wet himself.

Enhanced hearing could do that, blissful unconsciousness to wide-awake in point five seconds. A personal best. He raced down the stairs, poured on the speed at the apex of the hard left turn, and skidded through the curtain into Blair's room just as he remembered...

Lash.

Of course, Blair would be having nightmares. It was natural. To be expected. According to all the PTSD articles Jim had ever read, a common reaction. But reading stark facts in Times New Roman font was not the same as actually hearing Blair scream.

Blair had been amazing after being freed from Lash's torment -- a strong, towering wall of professionalism that even veteran cops had admired. Hell, the kid had come to the station with him the very next morning.

But nightmare demons had patience.

Jim should have expected this.

"Blair!" He caught a bare shoulder and shook hard.

Waking with a choking gasp that had Jim in fear he'd swallowed his tongue, Blair bolted to a sitting position. "NO!"

"Easy, easy!" Jim released him, getting out of range from flailing fists. "It's me. It's Jim."

A ragged gasp. Stark fear and confusion slowly dimmed as Blair returned to the present. "Oh... oh, man. Man!" He rocked forward, pulling up his knees and wrapping both arms around them. He added a whisper, "Man..."

"You okay?" Jim leaned back, feeling foolish. He'd been so bent on getting the screams to stop, he'd actually knelt on Blair's mattress. He stood up.

"Uh, yeah." Blair blinked in the darkness. "Wow, sorry, Jim. I just..." He waved a shaky hand in the air. "You know."

Jim nodded and backed out of the room. "Right, yeah. No problem. As long as you're okay."

Blair flopped back. "Sure. I'm okay. Wow."

"Night, Sandburg."

The second time the screams hit, Jim was ready. He had decided to stay downstairs, sprawled on the couch with an afghan his only cover. The sofa made a lousy bed. Jim had stared at the high ceiling for half an hour, his thoughts too busy cataloging the dangers a civilian police observer was likely to encounter, then weighing them against his own needs. Finally, he had drifted off to sleep, only to be jerked back by Blair's terror-filled cries.

Running into the small bedroom, he found Blair fighting the covers, his screams hitting Jim's ears like the rushing wind during a ten thousand foot freefall.

"Blair!" Jim landed on the bed with both knees, hands reaching out and giving another hard shake. A split second after Blair's damp eyelashes flew up, Jim leaned back, their moves choreographed.

"N-no!" Blair choked. He clutched his throat. His chest lifted off the mattress as he sucked in a lungful of air. The other hand pounded the mattress. "S-stop!"

"Sandburg, you're okay!" Jim leaned forward again. He chanced a hand on Blair's upper arm. "You're home."

All muscles went slack and Blair collapsed onto the mattress. He trembled for a second before dragging a palm down his face and answering. "Wow, like... twice in one night. I'm sorry, man. Maybe I should get a-"

"Shut up, Sandburg." Jim pushed back off the bed and stood. "You're not going anywhere. It's okay."

"If this is okay..." Blair muttered, sitting up slowly. He lifted his blankets and swung his feet out. "I might as well make some tea or something."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go on back up. I'm fine. Unless you want some?"

Jim backed away again. "No, I'm fine."

"Okay. Thanks again." Blair stood, leaning heavily on his desk chair, looking exhausted.

Back upstairs, Jim lay in bed, listened to his new roommate puttering around in the kitchen, and wondered how long before it would happen again.

Not long.

It was a good thing the neighbors were on vacation.

The screams lifted the fine hairs on Jim's arms and legs. He ran, cursing himself. He'd thought he could monitor Blair. He thought he'd be able to tell when the nightmare would start. He thought he could slip down and gentle him out of the dream before it became too terrifying.

He was wrong.

Blair seems to be picking the dream up right where he last left it. Caught in the dream's iron grip, Blair's body fought the dead serial killer. Jim had heard stories about nightmares so vivid they killed the dreamer. Lash was trying to claim Blair from beyond the grave.

Jim fell onto the mattress, scooped both arms under Blair's shoulders, and lifted him into a crushing hold. Blair's heart pounded against its ribcage prison. At such a close proximity, Jim couldn't dial down the screams.

"No more! You're okay, damnit!" Jim shouted, frantic to unlock the chains of sleep.

Blair stiffened in his arms. "S-stop!" A pain-filled gasp then Blair wailed. "JIM!"

"I'm here. I'm here!" Jim shouted. He rocked, clutching Blair close, ignoring the swinging arms that finally settled to their own crushing hold on his back. He forced his voice to quiet down. "You're okay. You're in your room. Everything's okay."

"Jim. Jim. Jim," Blair chanted, like how Steven used to do when he wanted something really bad; a triple layer ice cream cone or a home run hit in T-ball or his mother to come home.

"Yeah, it's me, Junior," Jim muttered, his own heart calming down. He continued the rocking chair motions as Blair's breathing evened out.

Blair grew wobbly in Jim's hold. His chest hitched once, then twice more. Blair made no sound as he cried. It was spooky. Jim pulled back to view his friend, catching him by the shoulders when he slumped sideways.

"Blair?"

Tears slid down both cheeks. Blair ducked his head and closed his eyes. He raised a hand to screen his face.

"Come on, Chief. Don't do this," Jim muttered.

To Jim's own shame, Blair deflated. "S-sorry. I can't..."

Stupid. Stupid. Jim wanted to smack himself. "I didn't mean - oh, hell."

Enough of this crap. He shifted on the bed with his back against the headboard and the side wall. "Come here."

Weakly resisting, Blair whispered a faint protest. Jim ignored it, maneuvering his roommate sideways so he could lean back.

Nope, still not right. Jim found and stuffed pillows, first behind Blair, then behind his own back.

"What are you doing, Jim?" Blair whispered wretchedly.

Jim pulled the blankets up around them both. "Getting comfortable. That a crime? And no cracks about which way you swing, wise guy."

That brought a snort. For a second, Blair looked like he was going to smile, but it faltered like a flooded engine. He wiped his wet cheeks with a shaky hand, dropping his chin to his chest.

"Relax. We're fine," Jim whispered. "Sleep."

Blair tensed. "No, man, you can't sleep this way."

"Listen up, I'm a ranger. I once slept six hours sitting with my back against a tree, waist deep in swamp water. I figure this can't be much worse." Jim shifted, ignored the huff of indignation, leaned his head back and looked down his nose at Blair. "It's late, we're both tired. Now sleep." He lifted his head off the wall. "Unless you want to talk?"

Blair's expression grew guarded. "N-no. Sleep is good." He licked his lips thoughtfully, his eyes haunted.

Jim jiggled his hold. "Hey. This dream is not going to happen again. You're going to drop into a restful sleep. Like that Jag game you had to see to the very end, remember? Clean shot, nothing but net."

Blair's smile was timid. "You're comparing my sleep patterns to basketball?"

Jim grinned. "Yeah. Pretty cool, huh?"

Blair snorted, but shamelessly relaxed into Jim's embrace. "You're a better cop than a shrink, Jim."

"Really? I thought I was a pretty good shrink."

Eyes closed, temple resting on Jim's chest, Blair answered wearily, "Yeah, but as a cop flying to the rescue, man, you totally rock."

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