Jim hadn't known, not really. Hadn't realized quite how far they'd come in so short a time, to the point where Blair's continued existence seemed vital to his own. Part of it was the fact that only Blair knew what he was going through, could help him control his raging senses. And part of it was the fact that only Blair could see through his wall to what was really on the inside. That, to be honest, scared the hell out of him.
"Jim." Blair's hand on his shoulder startled him but like a true career army man, he showed no surprise. "You aren't zoning, are you?"
Jim shook his head wordlessly, unable to look up and see the cuts on Blair's face, the slightly glazed look that still haunted his eyes. He had almost lost Blair today. Almost lost Blair. Jim never liked to lose anyone, whether he knew them personally or not, but losing Blair...he didn't think he could have taken that.
"I think I'm, you know, gonna hit the sack early tonight. You, uh, need anything?" Jim shook his head again. "You sure you're all right?" After a pause, Jim shook his head yet again, and Blair knelt next to him. "Do you want to talk about it?" He stopped Jim from shaking his head with a firm squeeze to his shoulder. "Look at me."
Jim was accustomed to taking orders, but not from Blair. He slowly turned his head to look at him. "I'm sorry," he said. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm alive," said Blair. "Thanks to you, man. I really thought...I really thought that that might be it, you know? I mean, I tried everything I could, but it was his show. He held all the cards." Jim looked into his Guide's face, saw the fear that still lingered there, and realized that this time, he had to be the strong one.
Reaching out, he brushed a stray piece of hair off Blair's face. "Do you want something to eat first?"
"No thanks, man. I'm not really hungry. Good night." Blair hesitated, and looked like he wanted to lean forward and kiss him, or something, but didn't quite dare. After a brief moment of struggle of his own, Jim took the initiative and kissed Blair's forehead.
"Get some sleep," said Jim, seeing the profound weariness lying even deeper than the fear.
"Guess I kind of screwed tonight, huh," said Blair as he began to stand up again.
"Hey," said Jim, urgently. "Blair, you did everything right." To punctuate his statement, he stood and held Blair close. After a moment he seemed to recognize the intimacy of the gesture and let his roommate go. "I'll see you in the morning, all right?"
"Yeah," said Blair, backing away. "Yeah." Jim knew that look well by now-- the one that said 'Jim, we need to talk'--but, again, it just wasn't the time. He watched Blair retreat to his room, then fixed himself a sandwich and sat down in front of the television. The chase, the shooting, finding Blair alive and in relatively good shape--it had all conspired to leave him more than a little wired. Hopefully the beer in his hand would help bring him down enough to get a good night's sleep before going in to the station tomorrow.
Flipping channels aimlessly, he finally admitted to himself that it all came back to Blair. He'd known the moment he agreed to let Blair stay for a week that he was committing himself to a lot more than that, so it didn't come as a surprise when the week passed by unnoticed. And then another. "If you hadn't asked..." he said to himself, echoing the thoughts he'd had that day. "If you hadn't asked...I wouldn't have offered, and that would have been a damn shame."
Sandburg was the one big on analysis, not him. So why was he the one going over and over this? Much longer and it was going to be affecting his work. One more 'talk to me' look from Blair and he would, telling him exactly what he was thinking. How each day that passed made him respect Blair all the more. Made him value their relationship more. Made him feel things that he didn't think he ever would. The progression was unstoppable.
His eyes flicked towards the door of Blair's room as he heard faint whimpering from inside. He was on his feet, the Seinfeld rerun easily forgotten, and was there before the conscious thought to go was even processed. "Blair?" The other man was asleep, curled in a tight ball and clutching his blankets compulsively. Whimpers and moans escaped his lips as he twitched and fought an invisible enemy. "Blair!"
Jim knew the dangers of touching someone when they were in that kind of state, and tried to wake him with his voice instead. "Blair!" he called again and the moans grew louder before Blair's eyes finally snapped open. He sat upright and looked at Jim with wide, panicked eyes before recognition hit.
"Jim? Jim?"
"Yeah, it's me, Chief."
Blair took a few quick, deep breaths before collapsing back against the pillows. "Hope I didn't wake you, man."
"You didn't," Jim assured him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I was still up. What was it?"
Blair groaned. "It was Lash," he said. "I was back there...in that warehouse..." he stopped there and closed his eyes.
"You don't have to talk about it," said Jim. "Maybe you should take something to help you sleep."
Blair shook his head vehemently. "I don't believe in that stuff, man. I'll be okay." His eyes still closed, he began taking long, slow, deep breaths. "I just need to, you know, think happy thoughts." Impulsively, Jim reached out and took his hand. Blair smiled. "You know, birthdays and bluebirds. Stuff like that."
"Do whatever you need to do, Chief," said Jim. "I'm right here." Blair kept breathing, in and out, in and out until he began to drift off to sleep again. Jim stayed right where he was, holding Blair's hand and guarding him.
As Blair slept, Jim's thoughts began creeping back to him, finally forming some sort of order. "My god," he whispered. "I think I'm falling in love with you." And so he stayed there, watching over Blair and keeping the nightmares away, leaving only when dawn broke and he began to get ready for the day.