Disclaimer: We all know who they belong to.

Author's Notes: This fic's to cheer up Hephaistos. [Thank you! — Heph]

Blair's Bleary



Jim watched the young grad student try to eat and yawn at the same time, and tried to remember the Hiemlich maneuver. Blair's habit of burning the candle at both ends had finally caught up with the younger man, and Sandburg was learning that Sleep Debt sends a couple of collection agents named Luigi and Nunzio around when it was time to pay up.

Blair stabbed ineffectually at a chunk of almond chicken. It fell off his fork halfway to his mouth, leaving a greasy stain on the front of the kid's brick red long-sleeved T-shirt. Glazed blue eyes blinked in incomprehension at the bare tines of the fork, then leaned over in slow motion to pluck the gobbet of fried meat from the hardwood floor under the table.

"Hey, kid, time to hit the rack. I'll tape it."

"Uh-uhn. I've been looking forward to this special all week," Blair shook his head stubbornly. The Discovery Channel was airing a documentary on the Chopec, and Blair was dying to see it. A few of the filmmakers had come to Cascade for the 'war against Cyclops Oil' portion, had gotten a few comments from Jim about his year and a half living with the tribe, but had fawned over Blair's status as the only white Chopec Shaman. Evidently Incacha's choice was unprecedented, and a pretty big deal, anthropology-wise.

Blair staggered over to the couch while Jim cleared up the remains of their dinner. By the time the sentinel came over with a couple of colas, he knew in the kid's condition, a beer would put him under the table.

They settled down, Jim checked to make sure the VCR was taping as flute-music signaled the start of the special.

Unfortunately, the narrator was that British guy from the old coffee commercials... the guy who had played the school librarian on that weird show Sandburg watched with the teenagers and the vampires. He had a very calm, quiet, soothing voice.

Blair's eyelids fluttered.

British narrator guy droned on about the history of the tribe, the screen showed the first twig huts being built. Jim had not-so-fond memories of building his own hut, and wondered how many times they cut out a wall falling over.

Speaking of falling over, Blair sagged slowly downward on the couch. Jim watched him topple gently until Blair's head was near his own thigh.

"Hey Sandburg."


"You're missing the program. Either wake up or go to bed."

"... um-hum..."

"I'm not carrying you into your room this time."

"... hmmm..."

"I mean it. I've got a bad back."

"... um..."

"You listening to me, kid? You can just spend the night out here on the couch."

"... um..."

Jim gave the mass of curly brown hair next to his knee a thoughtful glance.

"And we have to get up early tomorrow because you're going to get your hair cut."

"... um -- okay..."

"You want to look nice for the wedding. Remember? I'm moving to Utah, marrying Cassie and your mom, gonna raise ditzy red-headed kids."

"... hmmm..."

Jim plucked a pillow from between him and the couch, grabbed his guide under his armpits, and hauled him up so that his head rested on the pillow next to Jim's hip. Blair automatically brought his feet up, curling like a puppy.

"... you can give one of the brides away, but I promised Lee Brackett he could be my best man."

"... mmmm..."

On the screen, Anthony Stewart Head droned on about rainfall percentages that affected agriculture in the region. They were taping it, and could watch it later. Jim had found something more entertaining.

~ End ~

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Page last updated 8/15/03.