"Welcome back, Jim."

Making his way to his desk, Jim Ellison dipped his head in acknowledgment. A tidy stack of reports filled his out basket. Four pink colored `While You Were Out' messages taped to his monitor fluttered as he sat down and rolled his desk chair in place.

Jim was ready to work. He'd been away too long.

"How you feeling, Jim?" Simon Banks asked as he entered the bullpen, coat draped over an arm. Scattered raindrops in his tight curls reflected the florescent lights, a testament of the Cascade's current winter weather pattern.

"I'm good," Jim answered, with a trace of scratch in his voice. His throat was still tender and he wouldn't be eating spicy food for a few days, but overall he felt good.

"Glad to hear it," Simon answered, then went into his office.

Returning his attention to his desk, Jim powered on his computer and reached for the reports. He thumbed through the pages. "What the..?"

They were all completed and waited for his signature.

"Wish I had a roommate that came in and did my work while I loafed," Brown sing-songed from his own desk then let his face split into a wide grin. "Can't remember you ever calling in sick, babe. Feeling better?"

Jim nodded absentmindedly and then sighed. Were these comments and questions going to go on all freaking day?

He finished reading the first report and picked up a pen to sign it. The report was well written, considering Sandburg wasn't a cop. He flipped it over and started to read the next one. More detectives filed in and soon the office hummed with activity. When Simon came out to start the morning briefing, Jim had signed all but one of the reports and stood to toss them into Rhonda's inbox. The unsigned only needed a few lines added to the probable cause and it would be finished as well.

Returning to his seat in a daze, Jim listened to Simon's talk. He found his attention returning to his nearly cleared desk.

"Finally, I want to commend Detective Ellison," Simon said with his best `in conclusion' voice. "If the rest of you ladies had used common sense and stayed home at the first hint of sickness, we wouldn't have had this little adventure. As it stands, I think our Major Crime flu epidemic is officially over. There've been no new outbreaks this last week. Now, get some work done."

Jim tried not to blush as he remembered what really had happened.

He had awakened sneezing and feeling a little rough. He had heard Blair making a call that morning...

"Hey, man. Sorry to bother you at home, but Jim's sick. He's not coming in."

Struggling to get out of bed, Jim couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Sandburg! What the hell!"

"Yeah, I'll tell him. Thanks, Simon."

Lurching to the railing, Jim watched Blair hang up and look up with an innocent, but hardened gaze. "Just park yourself in that bed, Typhoid Mary Ellison. You're not going anywhere."

And he hadn't. Blair had called it correctly.

Jim's bug had ravaged him to a degree he'd never felt before. He'd soaked his sheets with sweat, shivered, sneezed, coughed and even puked a few times. It had been an experience he hoped he'd never have again. He vaguely remembered Blair with him through every stage. Jim had been confined to bed, only getting up to piss. Sandburg had brought him soup and juice every two hours, which had been why he had had to use the bathroom so freaking much. Blair preached new age medicine with purging and stuff. The loft had been filled with weird, yet soothing smells. Pots bubbled on the stove. He had hot water bottles on his feet when he'd been cold and ice packs on his neck when he'd thought his head was a degree away from bursting into flames. Fruit smoothies appeared next to his bed during the day. There hadn't been a time when the sheets didn't smell like they had just been laundered.

Yet during it all, the kid had come in and done his reports. Jim thought Blair would had slipped away to work at Rainier.

Leaning back in his chair, Jim was stunned by the depth of Blair's care.

At quitting time, Jim's work was completely caught up. Driving home, he whistled a Santana tune. The city glistened wetly in the street lights. The air held a bite that promised something worst than rain. Sure enough, as Jim locked the truck and made is way down the sidewalk, the first white flakes drifted down. Arriving in his darkened loft, a light coat of white already covered the balcony railing.

Snow in Cascade wasn't that rare. Snow that hung around was.

Jim flicked on the lights and turned up the thermostat. The loft was clean, the air still held some of Blair's naturopathic voodoo scents. Jim had bitched, but they had masked his own smell of sweat and, during the worst times, vomit. Pointing remote at the TV, Jim checked the fridge for dinner ideas. He had no idea whose night it was to cook. He and Blair never really recorded a schedule, they just talked about it.

"... Good idea to make sure those pantries are stocked up, eh, Heather?"

"That's right, Jeff. This storm promises to be a beauty."

"Okay, good to know. In international news tonight..."

Jim frowned, turning to look out the windows. Yeah, the railing was whiter. Flakes now stuck to the balcony deck. He glanced at the clock above the sink. Where the hell was Sandburg? Swinging the icebox door closed, he went for the cordless phone. Blair answered on the fourth ring.

"Where are you?" Jim demanded, cutting off Blair's customary greeting.

"Oh, hey, Jim."

"You're not still at work?"

The sound of Blair roughly clearing his throat made Jim frown. "No, man. I should be, but I saw the snow and decided to bag it. I'm almost home."

"Good." Jim relaxed. "I'll cook."

"Cool, see you in a few."

Returning to the fridge, Jim surveyed the pickings. He wasn't totally back to normal in the stomach department yet, but something smelled good. He followed his nose and placed his hand on a large, square container of plastic with a yellow and cracked lid. Not his Tupperware. His stuff still looked new. This container was so old it had a real seal's head logo.

"Should be in a museum somewhere." Jim lifted it out carefully and set it on the counter. The contents sloshed. He pried open a corner and his mouth watered. He'd found the homemade chicken soup that Blair had served when Jim had been the sickest.

Oh, yeah. A bowl of this and some warm bread and they were set to go.

When Blair entered the loft ten minutes later, Jim had two bowls set out on the table. He watched Blair flick snow off his shoulder. "Hey, how you feeling?" Blair's voice was scratchy and thick, like a rusty hinge on a crooked garden gate.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "I'm okay. You?"

"Fi--" An explosive sneeze sprayed the wall behind the coat rack with a fine mist of snot. Blair sniffed. "Fine, man. I'm fine." He sniffed again, pushing wet hair back from his reddish cheeks. "It's really sticking out there. Glad I don't have classes for the next few days."

"Up for some soup?" Jim asked.

Blair waved a dismissing hand in his direction. "Nah, gonna work on my paper and go to bed early."

The curtains swayed as he passed through into his room. Jim heard the clunk of his backpack landing on the floor.

Jim poured the soup into a pan. He stirred until the temperature was perfect, then ladled out a healthy serving and carried the bowl to the table. He buttered several slices of microwave-heated bread. Taken his time with the meal, he let the soup delight his pallet, effortlessly breaking apart the ingredients. The noodles had to be handmade. Had to be.

Bowl now empty, two slices of bread consumed, Jim wiped his mouth with a paper towel and thought about a second helping. First he'd make sure Blair didn't want any. Jim went to the door and parted the curtain with his hand. "Sandburg, you sure--"

Sitting crookedly at his desk, Blair was less than an inch away from toppling to the floor. His neck angle made Jim wince. The kid breathed nosily through his mouth.

"Blair, wake up." Jim moved close, getting a hand under and trying to straighten him before he fell. "Damn it."

Moist heat soaked through flannel into Jim's palm. He had a fever. Jim grunted, lifting and hoisting Blair upright on the chair. He moved closer so Blair could lean on him, giving him free hands to pat the flushed cheeks. Eyelids fluttered and stopped half raised.

"Uhhhggh?"

"Come on." Jim tried to drag the chair back from the desk. Blair was heavy and limp. "Stand up for me."

More alert, Blair tilted away. Arms spreading, he gripped the edges of his small student desk and held on. "Gotta work. I'm good. I'm fine here, man," he blathered with a desperate edge.

Jim ignored him. Not having to support the younger man anymore, he was able to get both hands on the chair and dragged it back, the legs scraping the floor. "You're sick, Sandburg. Work later. You need to lie down." He took an arm and tugged.

Blair rose reluctantly, still trying to free is arm as Jim walked him the short distance to his futon. He sat with a groan. "Can't be sick... work to do... I never get sick..."

Jim crouched down to attack the laces on Blair's high-top sneakers. "Looks like taking care of me got you."

"Shit." Blair toppled sideways. The wrong way, his head ending up at the foot of his bed. "I was careful."

Yanking both shoes off, Jim peeled the socks off and tossed them toward the doorway. He stood, fists on hips. "Go ahead and get undressed. I'll get you some aspirin and juice."

Rolling his head back enough to peer back through half closed eyes, Blair balefully nodded. Jim left, gathering up the promised supplies and returned a few minutes later to find Blair in the exact same position, only this time snoring with both arms curled close to his chest, knuckles under his chin.

"Wonderful." Jim set the glass and bottle on the desk. "Work with me here, Sandburg."

In spite of his words, Jim gently raised Blair back up, supporting his head as he tugged up his polo shirt. Blair's arms flopped back down as the garment came up and off. "One down, two to go, Jim quipped, lifting the Henley underneath the same way. A waft of sour sweat tickled Jim's nose when the Henley went the way of the polo and socks. Blair snorted awake as his arms flopped down a second time. He reeled back, drunk-like as he considered Jim sitting next to him.

"Whoa... time for class already?" Blair slurred.

Jim had to smile. "Relax, Otis. We're getting you ready for bed now."

"We are?" Blair blinked owlishly. "We are? O'come?"

Jim considered leaving the t-shirt, but it held more sweat then the Henley had so he tugged up the hem. "Because it's time to sleep. Get this off."

Blair wrestled with it, losing the war. Jim freed him, catching Blair has he tilted.

Blair immediately began to shiver.

Jim stood, going to his dresser. "Come on, finish striping. You're not going to enjoy sleeping in those jeans. I'll get you a clean shirt."

Goose bumps breaking out on his arms, Blair unbuttoned and unzipped. Jim retrieved a shirt just in time to catch him seconds away from pitching head-first to the floor as Blair stood to push the jeans off his hips.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Jim muttered, seeing an injury in the making if he continued to let Blair try this on his own. He let Blair fall back on the futon and tugged the pants off his legs, then tossed the jeans toward the socks. He helped Blair into the clean shirt. "Okay, into bed."

There was a momentary tangle of bedding, until Jim finally pulled Blair to his feet, holding him close to his chest with one arm while he organized and flipped down the bedding. That done, he deposited his roommate on the mattress, guiding his head to the pillow before lifting his shins and finally getting him all the straightened on the bed. Shaking out a couple of aspirin, Jim managed to get Blair up enough to swallow them and a quarter glass of juice. That done, he let Blair back down and unfolded the blankets and smoothed them out.

Blair's teeth clicked as he shivered. He moaned unhappily, twisting as if unable to find a comfortable position. Jim frowned. "You need the bathroom or something?"

"Gotta work," Blair said, rolling up on an elbow, pushing down the covers.

Jim perched on the edge of the futon, purposefully trapping the blankets in place. He cupped Blair's shoulder and gently eased him flat on the mattress. "Listen to me, Sandburg. No classes. You're not missing any work. Just relax."

"None?"

Jim patted his fevered cheek. "Sleep, that's an order."

Blair snorted weakly. "As... if..." He stilled. With a sigh, his eyelids stopped fluttering and his breathing evened out in sleep.

Waiting a minute to make sure his roommate was truly under, Jim looked around the room. Blair's stuff had finally found places on shelves and cubbyholes. The original `week' was forty-five days ago. Blair had lived out of boxes for a while, but after enduring the Lash invasion, Jim had told him to unpack. Blair had offered rent. Jim had countered with splitting utilities and groceries. They'd fallen into an easy coexistence.

Jim carefully slipped off the bed. Blair slept on.

Entering the living room, Jim noticed the thick blanket of snow on the balcony.

Lit by the soft city lights reflecting on fresh snow, Jim didn't even need to use his dials to see the pipes running the length of his ceiling.

What had woken him? He lifted his head and listened. Strong wind gusts blew off the bay. But that hadn't been what had woken him. Then he heard it. There it was again, Blair was moving around downstairs. Not unusual, the guy often worked into the early morning hours. Jim let his head sink back into the pillow when he remembered Blair was sick.

Not good.

He flipped back his covers. Cold air hit his bare skin. What the heck? Jim had a practice of turning down the thermostat at night - no reason to spend money on heat not needed - but this was icy cold. Had Blair turned off the furnace? Jim reached for sweatpants, his ears tracking movement below. Blair was muttering something low under his breath.

Taking a second to find his slippers before descending the stairs, Jim spotted Blair sitting on the floor in the kitchen. Several of the cupboards and drawers were open. Blair was hunched over, kneeling in his T-shirt and boxers, moving objects around on the hardwood floor as if assembling a large jigsaw as he talked quietly to himself.

Nearing, Jim saw his frying pans and kitchen knives laid out. "What the hell are you doing?"

The exclamation caused Blair to jerk with a start. His hands closed over the largest butcher knife. "Shitshitshit, he's here. He's here!"

Jim pulled back, staying out of range, recognizing Blair's confused expression as a man not fully aware of his surroundings. "Hey, hey, buddy. It's Jim. Put the knife down."

But Blair had side-crawled under the table, muttering madly.

Stepping through the assorted mess on the floor, Jim kicked other knives out of Blair's reach. He squatted down, holding out his hand, entreatingly. "Talk to me, Blair. What's the problem?"

Shivering, Blair's unfocused gaze didn't stay still on any object long enough to register. It flicked over Jim. "He's coming. He's coming. No time, man. Gotta be ready." He tightly gripped the knife.

"Who's coming?"

"Wants to be me." Blair's face twisted. He sobbed. "Can't let him!"

A bitter shard of failure shot through Jim's heart. God, he should have known. Blair had been so aloof and calm afterwards. He'd waved off the department offers for a shrink, joked with Jim about being a blessed protector, given the world a tough-guy image.

But it had been an act.

Moving special-ops-fast, Jim caught the wrist and twisted the knife free. He tossed it into the sink where it landed with a clatter. Blair shrieked with fear, scrambling after it. Jim caught him, falling on his ass as he tamed Blair's flailing arms and drew him in.

"No. No, Sandburg. Calm down and listen to me," Jim whispered into Blair's messy hair. He pulled Blair between his bent knees and wrapped him with both arms. "Lash is dead. He's not coming."

Blair reached for a nearby frying pan. Jim pushed it away. The next move was for a smaller knife. Jim caught his hand and kicked the knife across the room. "Shhhh, partner. Calm down for me."

"Doesn't stop," Blair chanted softly. "Locked. No help. He's coming. Skylight. Door. He's coming."

Jim caught Blair's chin and turned his face until they were eye to eye. "Blair," Jim said louder. "Look at me. Listen. Lash is dead. He's dead. You're with me. You're safe."

Blinking stupidly, Blair quieted. "Jim?"

Jim smiled. "Hey, buddy. You with me now?"

"Jim?" the feverish man repeated.

"It's okay." Moving awkwardly, Jim managed to get them both out from under the table and onto their feet. He led Blair back to his bedroom, taking the longer way to keep clear of the mess on the floor. From the looks of it, Blair had emptied all their cupboards and drawers. How the in the hell had Jim slept through it?

Blair obediently returned to his futon and let Jim arrange the sheets and blanket. He shivered in spite of his hot skin. Jim cupped his forehead, seeing awareness and intelligence in those blue eyes again. "Stay put."

Returning to the kitchen, Jim soaked a wash cloth, filled a class with water and headed for the bathroom. He found the aspirin bottle and opened the sink cupboard to retrieve a large plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol. He took his bounty back to the small room. Blair silently watched him set the stuff on the desk.

Jim shook out the pills. "Sit up a second."

Blair followed orders, a much better scenario then a few minutes ago. He swallowed the white pills and drank all the water before lying back down. "What happened?"

Jim was working on soaking the washcloth with alcohol. "You're a little warm, buddy. You were having a waking nightmare." He set the bottle aside and picked up Blair's closest arm. "This will help."

"Too cold," Blair complained, trying to tug his arm free.

"No, you've got a fever. This will only take a minute." Jim worked quickly, wiping down his arms and spending time on his neck, all the places where Blair's major arteries flowed closely to the skin. The alcohol evaporated quickly, cooling his skin. Jim made sure to keep the blanket covering whatever part of Blair's skin he wasn't working on. After he was satisfied that Blair's body temperature was lower, he tucked the sheet and blankets back in and sat down.

"Do you remember the dream?" Jim asked.

"No," Blair answered, unable to look at Jim.

"Liar," Jim admonished gently.

"Shitty time to use the senses, man."

"So sue me." Jim folded the washcloth carefully into quarters. He wasn't leaving until they talked about this. "How many nightmares about Lash have you been having?"

"First one."

"Tell me the truth."

Blair closed his eyes, holding his breath as if he was ordering his body not to betray his emotions. He spoke after a few seconds. "I... I might have had a few. But I don't remember them when I wake up. Tonight's was the first... bad one."

"You should talk about it," Jim said, offering.

Blair licked his chapped lips. "Maybe."

"Sandburg."

"T-there's someone at Rainier I could talk to. If I need..."

"I mean right now. Here. Talk to me."

Blair looked surprised. "Really?"

"What?" Jim held out both arms. "Do I kick puppies and slap nuns around? Why not me?"

That brought a rough chuckle from Blair. He relaxed deeper into the mattress. "You're right, man. I feel warmer."

"I'm glad." Jim lifted an eyebrow, a move he always practiced since he was a young boy watching the first run of Star Trek. He'd liked Spock more than Kirk. "So talk."

"It's stupid," Blair started. "I was so stupid."

"How so?"

Blair rolled onto his side, toward Jim, not away. He scooted closer to the wall at his back and drew his knees up, forming a smaller lump under the bedding. "I saw him earlier, at Rainier... I think, I'm not sure. Just a reflection. Chris and I were fighting at the time."

"How is that stupid?" Jim asked.

"Why'd I come home? Why'd I call you and not nine-one-one? Why?"

"You were scared. It happens."

"It's just stupid, man. When I was in a position to do something about it, when I was still at Rainier - I didn't." Blair squeezed the corner of his pillow until the skin over his knuckles pressed white. "No, stupid me, man. I wait until I'm cornered here at the loft before I believe what I saw on campus."

Jim shrugged. "We all thought the same thing. He'd been made. We figured he'd beat feet, not hang around to claim another victim."

Blair curled into a tighter ball and Jim wished he'd found a way to rephrase his point. "All I'm saying here is that you weren't the only one who screwed up. Simon, me, the others in Major Crime, we all thought the same thing."

Blair was quiet.

Jim tossed the washrag aside. He sucked at this type of thing. The whole Lash case had been hell on them, from the beginning, from when Simon had thought Blair was the leak, to Jim giving that stupid talk about `hanging with cops' - hell, where had that drivel come from? - right up to Blair screwing up at the church and them all looking like imbeciles with Lash calling the shots up and until he broke in and kidnapped Blair.

"Think you'll fall back asleep?" Jim asked.

Blair still looked haunted, but he nodded. "I'm good, man. Thanks."

Jim wished they had stronger flu and cold medicines, but Blair had flat out refused to allow them into the loft, quoting how the cocktail of chemicals was worst than the illness. Come morning, he'd check with the pharmacy and get something. Jim didn't know his way around all the naturopathic dried weeds like Blair did.

Jim patted Blair's shoulder and stood. "Okay, call me if you need anything."

"Thanks, Jim."

As Jim climbed the stairs to his loft, he glanced outside and noticed more than a foot of snow had fallen... and more was coming down.

Jim woke with a sensation of being wrapped in cotton, cotton that had been stored in a freezer. A sense of panic hit. The loft was freezing, even worse than when Blair had had his nightmare. The quiet was absolute, no traffic sounds, no hum from the refrigerator, no rattling from the vent in the kitchen. Jim raised his head and checked the microwave readout - nothing. A distant sound, coming from above the building, registered. Wind, lots and lots of wind.

Crap, they'd lost power.

Jim bundled up, dressing first with sweats then finding his robe. His slippers were right where he left them. The lower floor was even colder. He checked on Blair first and found him curled into a sleeping miserable ball under the blanket. Jim didn't have to touch, he could feel the heat radiate from Blair when he entered.

"Chief." Jim laid a palm over his friend's forehead out of habit.

Blair groaned, shimmying deeper under the blankets.

Pulling the blankets down woke Blair up.

"Noooo," he whined, one hand scrambling for the blanket.

Jim took his arm and lifted. "Come on. You'll be warmer out on the sofa." He wrapped Blair in the blanket before leading him out into the living room. White layers of snow banked up against the windows, adding to the Arctic atmosphere.

Blair folded willingly into sofa, crushing the blanket ends in his claw-like hands.

Jim went to the fireplace and fired the gas igniter. Flames leaped up around the concrete logs, throwing off weak heat. Too weak. The fan needed electricity to run. Jim pushed the coffee table to one side and rolled up the carpet. With nothing in the way, he was able to push the sofa holding Blair closer to the freestanding fireplace.

"Jim?"

"Hold on. You're going for a short ride."

Blair blinked bleary around. "What's happening? Why's it so cold?"

"We've lost power." Jim checked the front of the sofa to make sure it wasn't too close.

"Power?" Blair echoed, confused.

Jim went for more blankets, bringing them back to pile on top of his roommate. He could hear Blair's muffled protests and took a second to lean over the back of the sofa to unbury his roommate's face. "What?"

Blair looked up at him. "I said I need to breathe."

"Do you want to be warm?" Jim answered.

"Can't I have both?" A corner of Blair's mouth quirked upward with appreciation. "What time is it?"

"Early, not even five." Jim touched Blair's fevered cheek. Blair was still shivering. "The cold woke me. You want more blankets?"

Blair nodded.

"Okay, hold on. Be right back." Jim bounded up the stairs and found an extra wool blanket he kept in the bottom of his cedar chest. He scooped the goose-down comforter off his own bed and brought them both back downstairs, dumping the comforter on the floor to arrange the last blanket over the other two. Blair's curled up form allowed Jim enough space at the other end of the sofa, so he picked up his comforter and climbed over the back to settle in next to Blair's feet.

Blair immediately started to sit up. Jim caught his ankles before they left the sofa. "What are you doing, Sandburg?"

"You need more room."

Jim pressed his feet back down. "There's plenty. Don't undo all my hard work. Stay put."

"Okay." Blair settled back into the sofa cushions with a sigh.

Jim took his time to wrap up in the comforter, using the extra folds to cover up Blair's lower body. He felt the heat's weak caress and knew between the bedding and the gas fire, Blair would be okay.

"Jim?"

"What?"

"You ever get stuck in a snow storm?"

Bringing his own legs up and turning, Jim tucked his feet between Blair and the sofa back. He wriggled into the corner and found it agreeable. "A few times. Once in the army. It was just a training exercise. Upstate New York. So damn cold we pissed icicles."

Blair huffed. "No way."

"Who was there, Sarge, you or me?"

"Huh?"

Jim rolled his eyes, what was he thinking? The kid had no idea who he was quoting. "Never mind."

"You said a few times, when was the other?" Blair asked, his voice sounding stronger as the shivers started to go away.

"Why do you want to know?"

"No reason," Blair paused to yawn. "Curious."

"A camping trip in the mountains. What about you?"

"Nah, Naomi never dug snow... that's funny man. Digging snow..."

"Yeah, it's a riot. You sure you feel okay?" Jim nudged him with a toe.

"I'm fine." Blair shifted, obviously trying to make more room for Jim.

"Stop it. I'm fine."

Blair stilled. "I remember a story I read, think it was Jack London. I was seven. You know the one, where this guy needs to start a fire coz he's stuck in a storm - Alaska, I think - and he has to have heat and he has only so much dry stuff to burn and he works and works and works and..." Blair yawned.

Jim knew the story. He let Blair tell it.

"He gets it going, I think."

Jim couldn't see Blair's face under the mound of blankets, but he could hear the way Blair's voice got when he wrinkled his forehead in thought. "Yeah... it's going and he's just starting to get warm only he built the fire under a tree and when the fire burns, it dumps a load of snow and the fire goes out and he tries again but he can't feel his hands - can you imagine that, Jim? You can't feel your hand?" Blair's voice is languid and sad. "Anyway, he tries to run back to the camp and he can't feel his feet and he falls down and he can't get up and he dies... he just gives up."

Except for the soft popping of the gas fire, the loft is silent. Jim tucks his comforter tighter under his chin. "Last time I looked, Klondike, the loft wasn't built under a snow covered tree."

Blair snickered. "I know that."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Jim wondered idly what it was going to take to get Blair to fall back asleep. But Blair seemed alert. His over-active brain was humming on all pistons. "To Build a Fire."

"Huh?" Blair's question floated up from deep within blanket folds.

"That's your story. It's called `To Build a Fire.'"

Blair pondered that. "Funny I remembered the story and who wrote it, but not the title."

Jim smiled. He'd read the story in high school, assigned reading in his junior year. Blair had been - what? -seven years old? "I like the part where it reads, `he was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, not the significances.'"

"Wow," Blair breathed, somehow finding enough energy to lift his head and shoulders and stare with wide-eyed wonder at Jim. He scooted on his butt until he could lean against the opposite arm to mirror Jim's position. "I can't believe you can quote it."

Jim shrugged. "It's a classic."

Blair's rosy cheeks puffed as he smiled. "Do you remember anything else?"

"I just remembered how the guy thought he knew everything he needed to know, but he was still a greenhorn," Jim answered with a shrug and watched Blair's happiness slip away.

"Yeah, there is that..."

They went back to listening to the fire pretend to burn concrete logs. Jim watched snow land on top of snow, building deep frozen waves of winter. His sight could only penetrate so far into the swirling speckles before even he couldn't tell what was close from those falling out over the bay. It was mesmerizing, dangerous and yet hard to quit.

"Greenhorn." Blair's whisper pulled Jim back into the loft.

"What?"

Caught in the act of burrowing back down under the blankets, Blair stopped, his head bent at an awkward looking angle. He cleared his throat and cocked his head into what Jim was becoming to recognize as Blair's lecture pose. "Back in the seventeen hundreds, some cultures would use animal horns to make jewelry, you know, like cameo broaches. They'd have to heat the horn, the apprentices would overheat them and the horn would turn green."

If Jim had a dollar for every time a chat with his roommate would take an unexpected turn, he could retire next week. "Really."

An explosive sneeze slid Blair the rest of the way back down into the nest of blankets. Jim moved to climb out. "I'll make some tea."

"You don't have to," Blair told him, but didn't protest any further when Jim scaled over the sofa back.

Moving away from the fireplace returned Jim to cold temperatures. Living in a loft had disadvantages. It never seemed to matter most of the year, Northwest temperatures were not extreme, just different degrees of wetness. Jim filled the tea kettle and lit a gas burner on the stove. Reaching for the tea jar, he got down a box of instant oatmeal at the same time. They might as well have breakfast to help them stay warm.

Ten minutes later Jim carried a tray filled with tea, a bottle of aspirin and bowls of oatmeal. Moving the coffee table close, he could return to his corner nest and reach back over to get Blair's bowl. "Sit up, Sandburg."

"Huh?" The mound of blankets shifted.

Jim poked it with his toe. "Breakfast."

Curious, Blair's messy head reappeared. He took the bowl and stared glumly at the contents. After a moment of contemplating, he picked up the spoon. They ate in silence. Jim finished first and returned the empty bowl, settling back into his sofa corner with his tea.

Blair looked at the tea mug, dropped the spoon back into the half full bowl and held it out. "I'm done."

Jim set his mug down on the floor, then leaned over the sofa back to return Blair's bowl. Shaking out two aspirins, Jim picked up Blair's tea. "Here."

Cautiously, Blair pushed the white pills between his teeth and slurped tea. He nodded, not commenting on the honey Jim had added. Jim figured it couldn't hurt. The calories would do him good.

"You warmer?"

"Yeah," Blair answered. "Thanks."

"I'll call Simon and check in a little later," Jim said. "Looks like this storm will be shutting down the city for a while."

"You're not going in?" Blair asked.

Jim shook his head.

"I'm okay, man. You don't have to stay."

"I know," Jim told him. "I'm just not interested in fighting the snow and idiots that will insist on driving with their bald tires. I'll use some comp time." Jim didn't mention last night and Blair's delirious ranting. There would be no way to get to him quickly if he got that sick again today. And the hospitals were likely to be filled to capacity.

Blair yawned, showing his tonsils, then rubbed his eyes. Jim leaned forward to take the half full tea mug. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

"Way ahead of you." Blair scooted down and curled his legs up. He tugged and tucked his blankets, getting them just so and, in less than the time it took Jim to finish his own tea, was snoring.

Jim set his tea on the floor next to the fireplace and got comfortable before drifting off into his own warm sleep.

Somewhere the sun commanded the sky and the earth felt its warmth, but not in Cascade.

Day came in the form of dark gray as snow filled clouds continued to cover the city and temperatures never left the teens. Snow fell like a silent curse and the mayor got on the radio to warn people to stay off the streets. Jim checked in with Simon, finding his boss was already at work.

"We're on generator power," Simon told him. "Only essential crew needed. You can take your comp time."

"Thanks, Simon." Jim was wearing his wool camping pants with his cashmere liners and two Pendleton shirts over a long sleeve cotton pullover. "I've got the fire going and there's still ice forming on the inside windows."

"Yeah, I know. Several of the officers came in on their own, with their families in tow, just to keep them warm. We're turning the third floor into an improvised day care."

"Another reason I'm glad I'm not there."

Simon chuckled. "It's not too bad. How's the kid?"

Jim wandered over to the sofa to peer down and the rat's nest of curls poking out from the blankets. "He's still sleeping. Wish his fever would break."

"All the hospitals are crammed. Hopefully he's not going to get any worse."

Carefully turning back the top two layers, Jim reached down to check Blair's fever. It was the same as the last time he had checked - high, but not dangerously high. The aspirin was still doing its job. "He should be fine."

"Call me if you need anything," Simon invited. "I can have a unit stop by."

"Thanks, I'd better sign off. I'm on my cell and I don't want to run out of power."

"Good plan, talk to you later."

Jim returned his phone to the table by the door. He could hear movement inside the building as the other tenants went about their daily routine. Thankfully, the retired couple next door had already done the sunbird thing and was happily staying in their second home in Arizona. Erickson, the guy that lived the next unit over had already dressed and left for work. He managed a chain of convenience stores in town. The other unit held a married couple, the Franks, who were awake and enjoying a quite day off together as both of their bosses had told them to stay home. They were treating it as a mini-vacation. A single guy lived in the last apartment. He was finally up. Jim could hear him talking to his girlfriend on his phone. They were planning a ski trip. Jim couldn't remember his name. Blair knew it, of course.

It was funny, within a few weeks after moving in, Blair had already learned every one of Jim's co-tenants and was able to give a concise report on them. Jim had lived here on Prospect Street for years and only knew of the couple that spent half the year in Arizona. And that was because they had knocked on his door once to ask him to keep an eye on their place. Jim had agreed and dutifully written down their contact information. Every spring they bring him back a trinket from the southwest.

He was startled out of his musings by a harsh coughing fit from the sofa. Jim relit the burner under the tea kettle. A palsied hand reached up to grip the back of the sofa. The coughing subsided and Blair's matted hair appeared first, followed by a flushed face.

"Hey." Jim crossed the loft.

"Gotta... get up," Blair croaked, looking miserable. He swallowed and grimaced in pain.

Jim remembered how much talking had hurt. At the peak of his own illness, he'd felt like he'd swallowed lava. "Hold on."

Jim picked up the end of the sofa and swung it away from the fireplace before unwrapping his roommate enough so that Blair could get his stocking feet on the floor. Blair swayed as he stood, clutching Jim's arm and closing his eyes as he shivered. The walk to the bathroom took time. Jim turned him loose next to the sink. He raised the lid on the toilet and backed away. Blair fumbled with his boxers, clumsily pushing them down and sitting.

Jim closed the door. Going to the linen closet by the back door, he got out a clean sheet and went back to the sofa. Now that Blair was up and moving, Jim could make the sofa more comfortable. The loft still felt like a walk-in refrigerator. If they hadn't had a gas fireplace, it would be a freezer.

The toilet flushed just as Jim arranged the last blanket to his liking. He was standing by the door as Blair immerged. "How you doing, buddy?"

Blair looked up with bloodshot eyes, his flushed face showing his misery as he crossed his chest and shivered. Jim guided him back to the sofa and pulled back the blankets. Blair's shivers ramped up several notches when the cool sheet touched his skin. Jim wished for power, knowing he could ease Blair's discomfort with a heating blanket.

Wait a second. The hot water bottle Blair had used when he had been sick was still upstairs.

Jim patted Blair's shoulder. "Stay put."

He put the water back on to heat and jogged up the stairs. It wasn't there. Back down the stairs to look. The kettle just started to whistle when he found it under the sink, back with the cleaning supplies. Jim tested the kettle and found it too hot. He put a cup of cold water into the rubber bladder and topped it off with water from the tea kettle. The rubber warmed up until it was too hot to handle. He wrapped it in a pillowcase and took it back to Blair.

"Here, try this." Jim slipped the hot water bottle under the blankets.

Blair clung to the heat, eyes closing with bliss. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Jim looked out the window seeing the snow continue to fall from gray skies and wondering how much longer they were going to be out of power. He glanced back down and saw Blair drifting back to sleep. It was still early. Jim would give him a few more hours before waking him. Blair would need more fluids and something warm in his stomach.

Jim returned to the kitchen to check the pantry. Blair hadn't had much time to shop before catching Jim's flu. There were crackers and soup, though. It would be enough for lunch. Jim could always brave the weather on foot and hike to the closest market for more supplies. He liked that idea, actually. Blair could use something for his congestion. Maybe some old-fashion Vick's rub. It hadn't been possible to use any of that when Jim had been sick; Blair had been afraid Jim's sensitivity would flare up, making the cure worse than the sickness. But there was no reason Blair had to suffer, not when there were medicines to make this more bearable.

Yeah, Jim liked the idea. He'd slip out and get some supplies before Blair woke up.

Cascade had transformed into a mystical land of frigid whiteness. Snow filled the streets, blending the sidewalk in with a slight bump. The wind was lighter now, the snowfall reduced to a few flakes. Random footprints told of hardy souls braving the elements. The neighborhood didn't have kids, not enough parks to keep them busy and the nearest school held the lowest rating in the city in all things that good parents wanted for their young. Yet the housing was too rich for low income. Jim had found the combination perfectly suiting his needs.

He reached the corner market about the time his toes felt frozen. Heat kissed his nose as he entered. A portable propane heater hissed in the corner by the door. The place was nearly empty, except for the store owner and three other shoppers. Two old men sat in chairs by the front window, sitting and watching the street while drinking coffee. Grabbing a hand basket, Jim started filling; rolls, crackers, can soups, bananas, fruit juices and instant pudding mixes. He hit the pharmaceutical aisle next. Blair would need multi-symptom medications, maybe some of that spray that numbed the throat. He added some Vick's rub. The man behind the counter looked happy to see the full basket set down before him.

"Find everything?"

Jim nodded. "Just glad you opened today. I have a sick roommate."

"Lousy time to be sick," the man commented as he took each item out of the basket and entered the prices onto a notepad with sure movements. "City's completely shut down. Trees all coated with ice, wind is knocking them down like dominos. I hear the countryside looks like a war zone. Power knocked out by falling trees. Never seen it take out the city power before."

"Sounds like one of those `one in a hundred year' storms." Jim had his wallet out, watching the man add.

"No kidding. Okay... that's eighty-nine, twenty-three."

Jim handed over a hundred and waited for his change. Medication cost so much now a days. "Thanks again for opening up."

"Come back tomorrow. If we're still out of power, all the perishables will be half price."

It was hard to leave the warmth. Jim drew his collar snug and opened the door to frigid cold. The walk back to the loft was uphill. Jim slipped and slid along, keeping a tight hold on his bag. The snow had started to fall again. Wind blew it down his neck. He dialed down his sense of touch. Finally on his block, he was just reaching for the door when it opened.

"Sandburg!" Jim blurted.

Blair blinked up at him in confusion. He wore his sweats under his coat and a pair of tennis shoes without socks. His face was red with fever and his eyes bright. "Jim, I found you!" he gasped out, clawing a handful of Jim's coat lapel and tugging. "You okay?"

"Get back inside, you idiot." Jim used his foot to hold the door open as he one-armed turned and pushed Blair back into the lobby. "What the hell are you thinking trying to go outside?"

"You were missing," Blair mumbled, walking in a crooked line toward the stairs. Jim pulled him back on course and Blair overcorrected to steer off in the opposite direction until Jim had to tug him back the other way. They continued their awkward dance across the lobby.

"Where we goin'?"

"Home." They stood at the base of the stairs. "Hold on to the railing, Chief."

Blair obediently wrapped a hand around the rail, like a bronco rider getting ready for the chute to open, but stood fixed at the base of the staircase.

"Sometime this week, Sandburg." Jim didn't mean to sound pissed, it just came out that way.

Blair managed to focus on Jim's mouth. "Huh?"

"Come on," Jim ordered, gently nudging Blair up the stairs. "One step at a time."

Three steps past the first landing, Blair was gasping. On the second landing he folded, landing hard on his butt and groaning.

"Chief, I can't carry you," Jim snapped.

"Just... give... me..." Blair covered his mouth and looked panicked.

"Shit!" Jim squatted down. "Breathe through your mouth. Just relax."

"Try...ing."

Breath vaporized in the cold air, Jim could feel the fever pour off Blair's body. He set the food sack down. Opening up the bag of bread rolls, he upended the contents into the sack and handed Blair the empty plastic bag. "Here."

Blair's trembling hand clutched it, he curled until his forehead rested on his bent knees, looking thoroughly miserable. Jim waited, hoping his friend would master the nausea. After a moment, Blair straightened and nodded. He held out his hand and Jim took it.

"Okay?" Jim asked as he slowly pulled Blair to his feet.

"Think so." Blair leaned into Jim's arm. They circled the landing and began to ascend the last flight. Blair stopped. "The food."

"I'll come back for it." Jim tightened his hold around Blair's waist. They had momentum and he didn't want to lose it. "Come on."

Blair lasted until the front door was open before he shuddered, covered his mouth, eyes widened in panic. Jim literally scooped and ran for the bathroom. There was a tense few second when Jim fumbled with the lid, expecting all their effort to be wasted and not looking forward to the mess he'd have to clean, but Blair held out. Anchored, white-knuckled to the rim of the toilet, he let go with force. At such close range, Jim twisted his dials down, smell, taste, hearing even sight.

It went on for an eternity. Jim wanted to close his eyes, not see his friend's misery as wave after wave of sickness flowed through the sick man. Blair slipped more than once and Jim was forced to realign, glad he hadn't left his roommate alone. After a long five minutes, Blair reached up, his fingers missing the metal lever twice before he managed to activate the water. The foul mess swirled and disappeared into the pipes. Jim tentatively returned the dials to normal. `Smell' took a brief sniff and twirled itself back to a one. Jim didn't mind one bit.

"S-sorry." Blair sounded exhausted and humiliated at the same time, wiping sweat-soaked locks back from his face.

Jim reached for the damp washrag he'd left from his evening shower. "Next time, keep your ass in the loft."

"But..." Blair crumpled sideways, collapsing against the bathtub. His eyes were glazed and confused. He twitched as Jim gently swiped his mouth. He lifted a hand as if to take over.

Jim doubted he could even find his face in this condition. "Sit still."

Blair's face had gone chalk-white. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

"Listen," Jim told him, gentling his tone. Obviously the kid was near delirious with fever. "We're having the mother of all blizzards out there right now. No one is going anywhere. Even the criminals are sitting this one out. I only walked down to the store for some supplies."

Blair remained motionless.

"Hey, are you hearing me?"

Nothing.

"Shit, let's call a press conference. Sandburg stopped acknowledging words," Jim muttered, then took a deep breath and forced the lingering anger away. He folded the cloth and carefully wiped the sweat off Blair's face and neck. His next statement was completely neutral. "How you feeling, buddy? Okay in there?"

"Huh? ... yeah." Blair blinked slowly.

"Think you're ready for more sleep?"

"Bed..."

Jim pulled him up and walked him out of the bathroom and to the sofa, helping Blair out of his coat along the way. He slipped off the sneakers and got a thick pair of socks on his cold feet. "Back under the covers. I'll go get the groceries and make you something warm to drink. Easy... no, let me get the blankets. There, how's that?"

Blair rolled onto his side and curled his legs up with a sigh. "Sore."

"Yeah, your gut got a work out, that's for sure. I'll find something for that, too." Jim patted his shoulder. "Stay put, Chief. I mean it. I'm just going down for the food. Stay. In. Bed." He waited until he got a nod before going to the kitchen. He filled the kettle and set it on the stove before going back downstairs for the grocery sack. It was where he'd left it. Returning to the loft, he put away the groceries. He left the bottle of pink medication out. He'd give a dose to Blair now and another in 2 hours. It might slow down the nausea. He went to work on opening and heating soup broth. Not as good as the stuff Blair had found, but the kid needed something other than water in his stomach.

Soup warming, Jim prepared more medication; Advil for sore muscles, night time flu medication to help him sleep. He had some Gatorade to wash it down with, some electrolytes couldn't hurt. There was frozen apple juice in the freezer. He'd make up a batch. The more liquids he could get into Blair right now the better. Jim looked over at the sofa, glad to see Blair still. The loft was a few degrees warmer than the hallway, but still cold. The darkness of the day, along with the bank of snow pressing against the windows gave the place a surreal look. Ice age had hit cascade.

Soup ready, Jim converted the coffee table to a lunch buffet. He laid out Blair's medicine and adjusted the furniture until he was certain Blair still received the full benefit of the weak heat coming from the freestanding fireplace, yet was still easily assessable.

"Time to sit up, Sandburg." Jim pulled the top layer of covers down to reveal a shivering guide. "Are you still cold?"

Rising up to his elbow, Blair nodded. "Can we t-turn up the heat?"

Jim frowned, not happy with the dull, slow blinking and the way Blair didn't seem to focus on his surroundings. The faster he took the medicine, the better. "Open up." Jim started with the flu stuff, pouring an adult dose between Blair's hot, dry lips. "No, swallow it, Blair," Jim ordered when the other man's face screwed up with revulsion. He had the glass of apple juice ready. When Blair swallowed he gave the man a few sips to wash out his mouth.

Blair started to drop back down.

"Hold it, there's more."

"Jiiim," Blair whined.

"Here." Jim quickly pushed in more pills and held the juice glass back up. Blair drank slowly.

The soup was in a mug. Jim had added some cold water to cool it to sipping temperature. After getting Blair comfortably propped up on throw pillows, he guided the mug to Blair's lips. After three sips, Blair tried to give the soup back.

"Just a little more, Sandburg," Jim coaxed.

"Na uh," Blair answered, his fingers started to let go.

Jim caught the mug before it spilled and reluctantly set it aside. He listened to Blair's stomach growl with rebellion. "Okay, lay down."

Shimmying back into the blankets, Blair shivered. Jim had the hot water bottle ready and lifted the covers to slip it in. "Hold it close, Blair."

Groaning with relief, Blair clutched the heat and sighed. Jim rubbed his shoulders, moving downward to stroke his back, anything to help Blair not focus on his stomach and the possibility of throwing up. Gradually, Blair relaxed until congested snores told Jim he was asleep. Jim carefully arranged the blankets until he was satisfied his friend had as much protection from the cold as possible.

With nothing left to do, he dropped into the yellow chair and closed his eyes. He was hungry. There was still food to put away and a bathroom to clean up.

Instead, Jim slept.

He woke, stiff-neck and starving. The loft was aglow with crystallize sunlight reflecting off snow. It nearly blinded him. Standing like an ancient man, he stretched while his gaze took in the bundle on the sofa. The slow heartbeat told him there was a roommate within the pile of blankets. Jim's breath puffed from his mouth in heat-killing clouds that evaporated in seconds.

Hot soup first, maybe a few rolls with butter. He slipped a hand into the mass of bedding and found Blair's cheek. Frowning, he peeled off the layers. Blair was too hot. Again. The medication wasn't keeping the fever down like it should. He removed the top blanket and set it on the chair before going to the kitchen. After the soup was warming, he used the bathroom and washed his face and hands, blessing the city forefathers for running a gas main down Prospect Street. At least they had a way to cook and stay warm, relatively speaking.

Soaking a washcloth in cold water, Jim returned to the sofa. This wasn't going to be pretty.

Blair woke with a jerk and a muffled curse as the washrag swiped over his face. Jim caught his flailing arm, managing to keep from being coldcocked and kept at his task.

"Q-quit it!" Blair snapped, squirming like a worm on a hook, tangling himself up in the blankets.

"Settle down," Jim told him gently. "It's this or a cold bath." He finished Blair's face and pulled down his top to cool his neck and shoulders.

Blair shivered, his eyes hidden behind hooded lids, mouth pressed into a straight line of misery. At least he didn't look like he was going to puke. The washrag had warmed up by the time Jim finished with Blair's upper body. "There."

"Jeeze, man. I was sleeping... and warm," Blair snapped peevishly, sounding more alert but still nasally and congested. When Jim took off the other blanket, leaving him with one, Blair's eyes opened wide. "What are you doing?"

"I want to see if fewer blankets keep your fever down."

"You're nuts. I'm freezing."

Jim smiled. "You're not freezing. The loft may be cold, but we're above freezing in here." Folding the second blanket, he carried them to the kitchen, knowing if he didn't that Blair would get them back. The soup was ready. Jim filled two mugs and carried them over, along with a bottle of aspirin to find Blair sitting up, blanket wrapped tightly about his body and frowning.

"How do you feel?"

"Pissed."

Sighing as he handed over the mug, Jim set his mug down and knocked out two pills before recapping the bottle. He held them out. The soup was not so hot that Blair couldn't use it to wash them down. "If we can't manage your fever better, I'm thinking you need to go in to the hospital."

"Don't need a doctor... just a flu." Blair swallowed the pills, grimacing. Sipping his soup, his energy flagged. He reached out, trying to set the half filled mug on the side table.

Jim took it from his hand, saving the floor. Blair's stomach growled and gurgled in a way that had the older man watching the pale face for signs of distress. "That going to stay down?"

Carefully breathing through his mouth, Blair gripped the edges of his blanket. "Trying..."

Crap. Jim sprinted for the cupboard and brought back a plastic dishpan from under the sink. He set it on the floor next to the sofa, waiting. The gas fire snapped and popped quietly. The rest of Cascade was muted by snow. Jim imagined he could hear Blair's blood eddy and flow in his veins, amplified by the lack of city chatter that leached twenty-four, seven into his loft.

Blair swallowed hard and closed his eyes in misery. "Gaawd."

"You going to make it?" Jim asked, half in jest, half worried.

Blair relaxed a little. He leaned wearily against the sofa's arm and wiped his face with a trembling hand. "Feel like leftover shit, man."

"There's an image." Jim nudged the dishpan to one side. It made sense to keep it ready.

Pulling up his knees, Blair turned sideways and burrowed into sofa cushions. "Don't suppose you'd do me a favor and knock me out."

Jim barked a laugh at the absurdness of the suggestion. Still, he couldn't blame the kid for asking. "Try and go back to sleep."

"Freezing." Blair proved his statement with a full body shiver.

Jim dipped his hand into the blanket folds and found the back of an overheated neck. "Your fever's still too high." He picked up the mug. "Try some more. Small sips."

Blinking in what appeared to be deep thought, Blair negotiated, "Will you give me the afghan if I do?"

Footsteps in the hallway brought Jim to the door. He opened it to find Simon's fist poised to knock. "Everything okay?"

Simon nodded. "Captains are taking eight-hour shifts. I went in at four, so I'm off." He entered the room and looked around. "Wish I had gas heat."

Jim relocked the door. "You don't?"

"Nope." Simon unwrapped his neck and hung the thickly knitted wool scarf on a hook. He unbuttoned his coat. "It's nice in here."

Slowly during the day, the loft's temperature had risen until Jim was comfortable in jeans and a heavy gauge sweater. Towels stuffed under the balcony door kept the heat in.

"If you don't mind a bland dinner, you're welcome to crash here." Jim pointed to Blair's room while fixing an extra mug of hot chocolate. "I can change the sheets on Blair's bed."

Simon leaned over the back of the sofa, smiling down at Blair's sleeping face. He entered the kitchen, accepting the hot drink with a grateful smile. "I don't want to take the kid's bed."

"He'll be sleeping upstairs."

Simon's eyes widened.

Jim chuckled. "It's the warmest part of the loft. I'm taking the sofa." He cupped his own mug, soaking in warmth.

Simon sipped. "Naw, Brown's got a generator and a wood pellet stove. I'm bunking with him. Just wanted to stop and check in on you two."

"How's the streets?"

"Horrible, but the city issued me a four-wheel SUV to use during the `event.' Funny, when I was a kid, this would have been a major cause for celebration. Schools are closed. Businesses closed. Every hill in the city had kids sledding." He shook his head. "Now I think of it as a city-wide emergency."

Jim felt guilty. "Should I..?"

"Jim, I'm not saying you should go in," Simon assured. He dipped his head back at the sofa. "You have responsibilities here. Hell, crime is virtually closed. We have over sixty percent of the city out of power. Two substations are down. Traffic cops patrolling the streets say you can spot a person - or their tracks - with ease. No one is misbehaving right now. It's too cold."

Jim was thankful. His city was behaving without him. He didn't know what he would do with Blair if he had to go into work. He already knew he couldn't just leave him. Not with the kid having fever-driven nightmares. He'd likely find him barefooted in an alley. It was weird, before Blair moved in Jim would never consider not going into work under this type of circumstances. In fact, Carolyn used to complain about it, even though Jim thought his sense of duty was an attribute she had first admired about him. "Thanks."

A weak, congested voice sounded from the living room. "Jim?"

"Right here, Chief," Jim answered.

Blair's head, hair pillow-whipped into a big snarl, appeared over the sofa back. "Need more paper... gotta finish this article... we got stamps, right?"

Simon snorted. "What's he saying?"

Jim filled a cup with soup he was keeping warm on the stove. He grabbed a tube of saltines from the counter and went to his roommate. "Time for a late lunch, Jimmy Olson." He settled onto the sofa. It was pulled back from the fireplace now that the loft was more habitable. He set the crackers down and palmed Blair's forehead, seeing the blush of fever on his beard-stubbled cheeks and the way his eyes were slow to track. "Hey, buddy."

"The chancellor really wants me to finish, man," Blair mumbled as he dug a fist into his eye.

"You've got plenty of time," Jim soothed. He could feel Simon's presence behind him and suddenly wished the man would leave. Blair would be mortified if he knew. "I called her and she understands you're sick."

"I'm... sick?" Blair looked at the spoon Jim was holding in front of his face in confusion and opened his mouth.

"Just a little. You're going to get better." Jim spoon fed his roommate.

Simon tiptoed to the door, setting the empty mug down on the side table. "Jim," he whispered. "I'll call you later."

Jim nodded and kept spooning soup.

Blair felt worse than awful. He wondered who had steamrolled him and why. His head was stuffy. His ears heard a strange tinny ringing sound. Every movement sent urgent messages to his brain: stop that, it hurts. But his bladder had the most urgent message of all: Get up and take care of me or hope you're wearing a pair of Depends.

With a groan, Blair pushed off his mattress and made his way to his feet. Thick socks padded and warmed his feet as he stumbled toward the curtain. Early morning light filtered in through the windows. His eyes were not quite focused yet, but he moved with ease, knowing the way by heart.

So it was with major shock that he found only empty air where there should be a floor.

With an abrupt scream of terror he fell forward...

Into Jim's chest.

"Damnittohell, Sandburg! Didn't you hear me?"

With his world once more righted and both feet on the solid ground and Jim's sturdy arms keeping him from plummeting down the new cliff in his room, Blair blinked in his surroundings.

Not his room.

This was Jim's room.

He nearly took a header down the stairs.

Gawd...

"Chief?" Jim sounded less pissed now, almost concerned even.

"How'd I get in your room?" Blair mumbled.

"Don't you remember me telling you last night it was warmer up here? And you agreeing to sleep here?"

Blair had no idea what Jim was talking about. In fact, the last twelve hours were a complete blank. "Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I really, really gotta take a leak." In fact, he wondered if he was going to last long enough to make the stairs. He fidgeted from foot to foot, unable to get around Jim's bulk.

In no time, Jim got him down to the main level and into the bathroom.

"Thanks." Blair fumbled with the cord on his sweatpants he didn't remember donning. Jim left the room.

After he was done, his hands washed, and frightened from a very scary glimpse into the mirror - was that really him? - Blair stumbled to the kitchen table and sank into the closest chair. The loft was colder than normal. The fireplace was burning without the electric fan running. The digital clock on the microwave was blank. None of the overhead lights were on. Outside, the balcony was covered with a deep blanket of perfectly white snow.

"We lost power?"

Jim stirred a pan filled with something over the gas fire. "No, half of western Washington lost power."

"Seriously?"

"As a heart attack."

"Wow."

Jim poured something into two mugs and set one down on the table. "Start on this, I'll make eggs."

Food sounded better than good. His stomach growled. Sniffing, Blair smelled apples and cinnamon. He sipped. "Mmmm, nice."

Unhooking his favorite egg pan from the ceiling rack, Jim nodded to the aspirin bottle on the table. "Take two of those."

Blair thought about it, then shook his head. "I've got some willow bark I'll brew in a while."

"You must be feeling better," Jim said with a grin.

"Why?"

"Because up until now, you've been taking all the western medicine stuff I've been giving you without a single complaint." Using his whisk, Jim attacked the eggs in a bowl, adding a little milk and shredded cheese from a bag.

Jim had given him pills? Blair vaguely remembered being cold and fighting over blankets. He remembered sleeping on the sofa. Was he sick? Yeah, he puked. Jim was there. They climbed stairs. What had they been doing down in the lobby during a power outage anyway?

It was weird how much he couldn't remember, except everything he could remember included Jim taking care of him.

"Well, I guess I'll forgive you, man." Blair sipped his hot apple juice.

He'd never been this sick before in his whole life. No wonder so many people died from influenza. He'd never have made it without Jim's care. He really needed to show his appreciation here. "Jim, thanks for... you know, taking care of me."

Jim shrugged as he poured the egg mixture into the hot pan. "You took care of me. Why wouldn't I return the favor?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't dealing with freezing weather and a city-wide power outage."

Gently stirring the eggs, Jim shared a warm smile. "That's another part of the Jack London story that I remembered."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"After fifty below, a man should travel with a partner."

End

If you'd like to read the Jack London short story Jim and Blair referred to, go here:

<<http://www.pagebypagebooks.com>>;

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]