See story.I made a funny one, and I kept it in.

The term "Blairsicle" has been floating around in my head lately, and I chuckle every time I think of it. I have no idea if it has to do w/our triple digit temps here in AZ, or just liking Jim rescuing Blair from being wet and cold. At any rate, enjoy!

How To Make A Blairsicle

Author: Jvantheterrible
Date: August 17th, 2002
Pairing: J/B
Disclaimer: Oh come on. Not mine, no monies, and is Petfly even AROUND anymore? Well? Hello? Anyone? Hellooooo....<echoing around room> Fine. They're mine, and I claim all responsibility for the H/C that's about to ensue. LOL.

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Blairsicle Lesson One: Flu (Blair)

I haven't felt all that great for the last few days, but man, this is it. Finals are finally finalized, and I'm on my way home now. I can feel myself sweating under my customary layers with the fever that's been threatening to take over at the first sign of true exhaustion - which was officially reached about three hours ago.

Somehow I managed to finish grading all the tests and post the results; no sense in making the kids wait any longer than necessary to find out if they've passed Anthro 202 or not. That's really no way to go on Christmas Break, wondering if you've managed to ace my exam or not, so I remove that bit of curiosity from their tiny little minds so they can holiday in peace. Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that I would hate to have to take up any of my own holiday time sloughing through page after page of mediocre essay question responses after classes full of my witty and entertaining instruction. Nice to know I can still crack myself up after all this time; nah, I'd rather be free to entertain a certain Sentinel, if you know what I mean.

So it's now nearing 7:45 pm, and I'm more miserable than I believed possible - mostly because this is going to ruin just about all of my plans for the rest of the evening. Scratch one evening, this will probably keep me down for the next several days, if this fever and the shivering shakes that have kicked in are any indication. Shit man, this is just great. Swell. Groovy, peachy, and all that jazz. At least the Volvo started right up. I can't believe she wasn't more temperamental, given the fucking blizzard that is currently blowing around. With the increase in my temperature, I'm not really all that cold at the moment and I try as hard as I can to enjoy the beauty of the swirling snow as I drive no faster than 25 miles an hour in the direction of home. Maybe if I'm lucky, Jim will have a fire going, and I can just take a shower and snuggle down into the sofa next to him. And he'll make me some tea and wrap me up in a blanket and I can nod off against that nice, muscular, firm shoulder of his. And...what the fuck was that? Why is the car stopping? Shit, the engine died...just sputtered right out.

I manage to steer my beloved classic to the side of the road, and within minutes she's nearly coated with the damp and sticky snowflakes rapidly descending from the blackness overhead. Ever the optimist, I of course attempt to restart her - but she's having none of that. No sound is forthcoming as I turn the key in the ignition over and over again, finally leaning forward and dropping my chin to my chest so my forehead is resting on my hands atop the steering wheel. "Goddammit baby, come on! Daddy's not feeling well here, okay?" I say aloud to the car, sitting back in the seat and trying the key several more times before I break out into a gale of cursing that would most likely embarrass even my worldly mother.

Cellphone! Ahh yes, my saving grace...I'll just call Jim, and he can come and pick me up and we'll worry about the Volvo tomorrow, or whenever I happen to be feeling more alive. Funny, but this little curve in my road home is just about the final straw. Normally I'm the stoic, positive, motormouthed Guide from Hell, always ready to analyze everything to death with my never-waning enthusiasm...but at the moment, I feel like shit, and it's getting worse. So much for never-waning...never say never, man.

Suddenly, I find that I'm chilled - a rather unpleasant sensation after just ten minutes ago sweating like a pig. This has to be that flu that's been running rampant across campus, and this is no fucking time for me to be stranded in a blizzard. Now I'm just pissed off, and I dig into my ever-present backpack resting on the passenger seat and unzip it quickly, my hands shaking badly as I rifle through it in search of my phone. Unable to find it after several minutes, I am totally frustrated - and nauseous, just to add to the fun - so I dump everything out onto the floor. No phone magically drops from the canvas, and then I remember - SHIT! I left it at home this morning because the battery was dead and it needed to be charged.

I groan loudly, allowing yet another stream of curses to escape my lips as I slump back into my seat. I look outside, struggling to see through the thick and quickly falling snow so I can gauge where the hell I am...and I nearly sob as I realize that I'm still about 10 miles from home. I'm perspiring and hot and freezing all at once, and there are no other cars on the road because it's a fucking blizzard and no one is supposed to be out driving, and I have no phone, and won't Jim realize that I was due home by now?

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Blairsicle Lesson Two: Poker Night (Jim)

"Ellison, you are a son of a bitch," Simon spat at me as he tossed his cards mock-angrily (although not entirely mockingly) to the table in frustration. Rafe rolled his eyes as he silently folded, and only Joel and H remained in the game as I upped the ante once more, for what must have been the twentieth time this evening.

"Sorry, sir. I can't help what I get dealt," I say innocently while I grin wolfishly at best and eye my remaining opponents. I look down at my watch, sensing that it's getting to be late; Sandburg is due home any time now, and I want to make sure that I can take care of my Guide. Blair hasn't been feeling well for the past couple of days, and despite his insistence that he was 'fine, man', there's this nagging feeling eating at the back of my mind. Better that I finish up this hand, annihilating my friends for one final time tonight before heading home about $95 ahead. Besides; I miss Blair. He's been so busy these last couple of weeks, preparing exams and giving tutoring sessions, not to mention dropping into the station to help me out with paperwork whenever he has a free hour. God, I love him so much; suddenly, I decide that it's time for me to head home...so I fold graciously, allowing H and Joel to duke it out to the end.

As expected, they are less than thrilled with my decision to throw in the proverbial towel. "Come on Ellison, you have to give us a chance to win our money back," Rafe pleads, and H nods in total and complete agreement before adding, "Word, man. You can't just clean up like that and take off. Besides...who helped you out on the Billings case last week while Hairboy was tied up at the U?"

I was standing just behind my chair, getting ready to pull my coat on when I realized that H was right; he had helped me out last week, and I suppose I owed it to him to let him try and give me some more money. It had taken Blair three hours to fix all the mistakes that H had made with that file, and I rolled my eyes as I feigned exasperation and dropped my coat once more to the sofa; fine, let them give me some more money. It would just mean that many more gifts I could get for Blair for Christmas, courtesy of our friends in Major Crimes.

"You're on, H. Finish up this hand and let's go," I tell him as I grin and crack my knuckles, sitting back down much to Simon and Rafe's collective dismay. I'll just call home in a little bit and let Blair know that I'm kicking ass tonight and will be there within an hour or so.

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Blairsicle Lesson Three: Stranded (Blair)

Oh man, this is so not good. My teeth are chattering, and I'm not sure if it's from the cold outside or the flu that's overtaking my entire being at the moment. Every five minutes I'm cold, then I'm hot, then I'm cold, then I'm hot again; I can't decide whether to leave my coat on or take it off. I'm so fucking tired that I just lay across the gear shifter and rest my head on my rolled up coat (off, I decided finally) as a pillow on the passenger seat.

The Volvo's battery hasn't died yet, which means the hazard lights are still blinking and the dash clock reads 9:35 pm. Surely Jim will be out looking for me, right? Oh fuck. I forgot. It's Friday night...and Jim got off early today...and it's poker night at Simon's. Christ, he probably won't get home until...until...shit. I close my eyes and try to focus on not shaking, trying to will my body heat to keep me warm despite the frigid temperature outside, and the chills and sickness now running rampant inside of me.

If I didn't feel so horrible, I might try a spirit walk to contact Jim, but I'm way too tired for that kind of activity. I lie in the car and watch the snow continue to build up on her frame, coating the windows more heavily with each minute that passes. I have no idea how much time lapses before I finally drift off into a sweaty, troubled sleep, hoping with my last conscious thoughts that someone will happen upon me here and call Jim. I know I should stay awake - keep alert and watch for anyone that might be able to give me a lift home or at least call home for me. My eyelids are just so heavy, and I'm so cold...but I'm hot...but I'm cold, and I just so want Jim here to take care of me. Come on man, just show up and take me home. All I need is a hot shower and some tea and a blanket and a fire and some snuggling and I'll be fine, honest man, I swear.

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Blairsicle Lesson Four: Forget To Call Home (Jim)

This has been the best Poker Night ever! I swear, I have made another $95 since I stayed, and the guys are even more pissed off at me...then I look down at my watch. 10:03 pm. SHIT! Sandburg was probably home hours ago...but why didn't he call? He must not be feeling well; I get up from the table, not surprised that there are no more pleas for me to stay so they can win their money back, and grab Simon's cordless. I dial home, and the phone rings and rings and rings. No Sandburg. Hmph. Maybe he nodded off when he got to the loft...at any rate, it's time for me to leave. I need to check up on my Guide and make sure he's alright. Just for shits and giggles, I dial his cell; out of service. Yeah, that's right, he left the damn thing at home this morning so it could charge up, I remember now.

A slight feeling of unease still niggling at the back of my brain, I bid the guys a good night (ignoring their curses and under-the-breath mutterings at my winnings) and bundle up. The snow has gotten downright ugly tonight, and I head out to the truck with a huge smile on my face, $200 extra in my pocket, and thoughts of snuggling up to my Guide warming me all the way home. Maybe he'll have a fire going, and be bundled up on the sofa under a blanket (or two, knowing him) and sipping tea and watching a Discovery Channel special when I get in. All I'll have to do is kick off my shoes and join him, wrap my arms around him and hold him close...if he's still not feeling well, that will fix him right up.

The weather is much uglier than I realized; it takes me a good forty-five minutes to get home from Simon's...and I'm more concerned than ever when I get home and park, only to find that the Volvo is nowhere in sight. God, what if he had some sort of trouble, and I've been out playing cards, and he's along the road somewhere, freezing to death - Jesus, get ahold of yourself Ellison, I tell myself as I sprint up the three flights of stairs to the loft. I'm too worried to stand down in the lobby and wait for the elevator, and before I even open the front door I know that Blair is not here; I can't hear his heartbeat, and the lights are all off, and there's no fire, no tea, no Sandburg. FUCK!

I sprint back down the stairs, slipping and nearly falling on a patch of melting snow that fell off my shoes on the way up. I catch myself and manage to calm down enough to walk quickly the rest of the way down, running out the front door of 852 Prospect and making my way back to the Ford where I parked her not 10 minutes before. Her engine is still ticking, steam still coming off the hood from the heat as I hop back in, buckle up, and rev her up once more. Jesus Christ, Chief, where are you?

I swear the temperature has dropped at least 20 degrees since I left Simon's house, and if Blair is stranded somewhere, I have very little time to find him before...before...oh no you don't, Ellison, I tell myself, just...find...your...fucking...Guide. I open up sight and piggyback that onto hearing, scanning out as far as I can without Zoning, searching for Blair as I make my way slowly along the road, turning and heading towards Rainier (Blair's treasured 'back way') so I can check that route first.

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Blairsicle Lesson Five: Delirium (Blair)

Oh man, my head is fucking killing me! I open my eyes and find myself staring up NOT at the skylight over our bed, but the inside of my fucking car. Shit! I must have passed out. I manage a glance at the dash clock once again, and I'm sure I'm hallucinating as I see it flashing 12:00. Great; the battery finally died, and I'm still out here. The entire inside of the car is dark; the windows are all completely covered in snow - as I'm sure the rest of the Volvo is - and I'm still here. My lips are dry and cracked, and when I try to flick my tongue out to wet them, I find myself parched equally there. Nothing more than a sandpaper against sandpaper sensation meets my efforts, and I realize that I have to get some water into me, despite the fact that opening up the car will only let in more cold.

I sit up groggily and roll down the driver's side window, reaching out with one mitten-clad hand to gather up a ball of snow. As I try to roll the window back up, the knob comes off in my glove at the three-quarters of the way mark and I barely stifle a cry of rage; I'm too tired to exert the energy necessary to bitch at this point. Instead, I bring the small handful of snow to my parched mouth and lap up what I can manage, closing my eyes as I allow the frozen stuff to melt on my tongue. God, that feels great...the snow I'm eating and the cool air flowing into the car make me feel a million times better. I drop the window crank to the floor as I continue to eat the snow from my mitten, snarfing it all down greedily - until I realize that my stomach is so not ready to accept anything; most especially not the water that is now hitting it.

I throw open the driver's side door just in time to empty my stomach's meager contents into the snow building up alongside the Volvo. The cold air feels so good against my fevered brow that once I'm finished heaving, I just lean back into my seat and smile, oblivious to the snow still falling. I don't realize that it's blowing into the car and landing on me, melting and absorbing into my flannel shirt and the underlying layers until it hits my skin and sizzles against my fevered flesh. All I know is that it feels like heaven, and I'm sure that Jim is on his way to pick me up, and then we can go home and build a fire, take a shower, have some tea, and snuggle.

I called him a while ago from my cellphone and told him that I was stuck here, and he said not to worry. He told me that he'd be here in just a few minutes, and then he'd take me home and give me a hot shower and make me some tea and we could snuggle. No really, he did...didn't he? I'm sure that's what he said, man, honest. He's on his way, and soon I'll be home in the loft, wrapped in his loving arms, and he'll give me medicine and make me all better so I'm not sweating anymore. And I won't be shivering and shaking anymore either...he promised! He's on his way, just like he said, and he'll be here any minute. Just wait, you'll see, man...'cuz I am way tired, so I'm just going to take a little nap until Jim wakes me up.

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Blairsicle Lesson Six: Frantic Partner (Jim)

I check my watch as I make my way frustratingly slowly through the snow-covered roads along my Guide's most favorite route home. Chief. Darwin. Hiawatha. Einstein. Sandburg. All of the names I've called my partner filter through my mind as I search for him, desperate for so much as a glimpse of that goddamned green Volvo sticking out from the snow blanketing the entire city at this point.

The time reads 11:27 pm, and I growl in frustration; I have yet to find any sign of my missing friend, partner, Guide, and lover...and I'm at the end of my proverbial rope. I've managed to get all the way to Rainier and haven't sensed so much as a fart from my other half. Doing a half-assed donut in the snow-covered parking lot of Hargrove Hall, I suddenly remember the alternate/alternate route that Blair sometimes uses to come home from work. It consists of a number of widely un-used, un-policed (much to my dismay), and more often than not un-plowed (in the worst of weather...like this) roads leading to our end of the city.

It takes me a good half an hour, driving around 15 miles an hour now, in the blizzard that has done nothing more than worsen, before I reach a pile of snow just slightly out of whack with the rest of the formation in the area. I open up all my senses and find that not only do I not Zone, I manage to locate my missing Guide mere feet away from where the Ford is currently parked alongside the deserted and snow-covered road. I can hear his heartbeat, and despite my glee at finally finding him, the frown on my face deepens at the slow pace of said pulse. The lack of body heat exuding from where he is currently buried is all too alarming, and I scramble to knock the snow away from the car - and finally, his body - mortified at my discovery once I've managed to brush most of the offending material away.

His beautiful face is practically frozen into a slight smile, his gray-blue lips pulled up in some semblence of a grin, his eyes tightly shut, cheeks gray and cold atop the sickly heat emanating from him in his fevered state. Ice resides in his curls, which are damp and matted to his head, crystalized from the heat coming from his scalp meeting with the frigid wind blowing in from outside the open car door. Christ, how long has he been here, and with the goddamn door open?

"BLAIR!" I find myself shouting, all too dismayed at the lack of reply that meets my near-sobbing plea as I go against every rule of paramedic training and the idea of not moving prone bodies. This was no accident, I realize as I take in the still pristine condition of the Volvo. Instead, I pull my frozen and lifeless lover into my arms and rock him against my chest, my own knees going numb in the snowdrift alongside his disabled vehicle as I flip my cellphone open and manage to call for an amublance. Once I've managed to get out the gist of our location, I drop the phone into the snow, wrapping both arms around my lover and pulling him ever closer to me in an attempt to warm him back up.

I lean down and kiss his clammy forehead every few seconds, murmuring words of nonsense against his chin, and his cheeks, and his nose, and everywhere else that I can reach with my lips as I hold him close and wait for the medics to arrive. "Stay with me, baby," I mutter to him, tears streaming down my cheeks and falling every so often to drip onto the tip of his nose as I cradle him in my arms and rock him like a babe.

It feels like an eternity before I hear the distant sound of sirens; I've got Blair resting between my legs, his back against my chest, my arms wrapped possessively around his chest and locked around the front of his waist. I've been whispering a continuous litany of endearments into his ear, unsure whether he's really heard me or not, and just thinking that I've been talking to the uncaring frigid air swirling around us makes me sob into the now-thawed curls plastered to his fevered head.

"Come on, Chief. God, I'm so fucking suh-horry, baby, I swear, I'll never do this again...why did you leave without your cell, anyway? Goddammit, Blair, come on, stay with me here...I can't do this without you, you know that...you know I can't do anything without you, sweetheart, you're my other half..."

My voice trails off as the sirens near, and within minutes the paramedics have pulled my lover from my arms and loaded him into the ambulance, beckoning me to follow in my still-running truck. I didn't want to put him in the truck because it was too warm in there, and I know that you can't warm up freezing people that quickly. Stunned as I am, I manage to climb up into my Ford and follow the ambulance numbly to Cascade General, tracking my beloved's vitals the entire way, my window down so the cold can help keep me from Zoning. It is undoubtedly the longest forty-five minutes of my life since I've known Blair; he's been hurt before, but nothing like this. Hang in there Chief, I'm right behind you.

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Blairsicle Lesson Seven: ICU (Jim & Blair)

I sit at Blair's bedside, having run into several nurses that have taken care of both of us before, and managed to coerce them into letting me stay with my partner. I can no more leave him than stop breathing, and as horrible as it is to see him hooked up to all these wires and machines, it's better than the alternative. Blair's body temperature had dropped to 87 degrees, and once the doctors got him wrapped in thermal blankets to bring it back up to normal, his fever spiked out at 106 degrees. It has been touch and go since we got here, and I've been a nervous wreck.

I called Simon to let him know what had happened, and he offered to come to Cascade General; I told him that the weather was atrocious and not to bother, and that I'd be staying with Blair for the duration. He understood totally and told me not to worry about coming in until Sandburg was home, and assured me that he most definitely would be in to see 'the kid' the next morning. I thanked him profusely and cut off the connection, putting my phone back into my coat pocket and resuming my previous "watch", holding Blair's IV-free hand in both of mine, releasing it only once to brush some stray curls off his forehead before reclaiming his hand.

The incessant beeping of the monitors is unnerving, so I try to block them out and focus solely on my Guide's vitals at their source. That accomplished, I lean forward and talk quietly to him, wanting him to open those gorgeous baby blues just for a minute so I know that he's going to be alright. There's not so much as a fluttering of eyelashes as I move closer to him, but I keep murmuring to him anyway. I know he can hear me; I can feel it in my heart.

"Hey babe, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that I'm here. That was some way to find you, Blair. You scared me to death, out in the snow and cold like that, with the goddamn car door open no less. You and I are going to have a serious talk about you and your cellphone when you get out of here, do you hear me, Darwin? I know you can hear me, so I'm just going to chat with you for a little while. You don't have to say anything, it's all right. I know you'll more than make up for it when you're back on your feet and back to your normal, annoying, infuriatingly beautiful self. I love you, Blair. I know you know that, but I'm going to keep saying it anyway, okay? It makes me feel better to say it to you, even if you can't say anything right now. I just want you to rest and get better so I can take you home and hold you in my arms and keep you safe. I know; you're probably going to have a fucking heart attack now, because big bad stoic Jim Ellison - Sentinel of the Great City - is using words to express himself. Well, let me tell you, babe, there is nothing like nearly losing you to make me the most prosaic guy on the planet."

I shut up for a minute so I can rub my eyes, still keeping ahold of Blair's hand with my free hand, and check my watch - Jesus, it's 3:49 am. I suppose I should try to sleep, but it's so hard to do sitting in this goddamn uncomfortable chair. What I want to do more than anything in the universe is climb into bed with Blair and wrap myself around him so I can hold him until he wakes up. Of course, that's not a fucking option right now, seeing as how all the wires and monitors and IV's are blocking the entrance of another person into the bed. I sigh deeply and keep ahold of Blair's hand as I lean forward so I can fold my arms and rest them on the edge of his mattress, putting my head down so I can rest for just a minute. I drift off as soon as my cheek hits my forearm; the Guide is safe for now, and this Sentinel needs a nap.

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I open my eyes and see nothing but blackness; shit, where the hell am I? Did I die there on the side of the road? I panic for just a moment, my heart pounding in my chest until I wake more fully and realize that one of my hands is way warmer than the other. I look over tiredly, struggling to keep my eyes open for just a few more seconds so I can adjust my vision, and manage a slight smile at the sight of my bedside. Man, if I'm dead, this is heaven; Jim is clutching my left hand in one of his, snoring and drooling all over his folded arms. I don't think I've ever seen a happier sight, and despite the massive headache and overwhelming bone-deep exhaustion I feel, I manage a tiny smile before I nod back off.

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Cascade General, Three Days Later

"So help me, Chief, if you EVER get that sick again and go to work anyway, I'll kick your ass...are you listening to me?" I chide my lover, who is getting dressed and preparing to be taken home by yours truly. He nods at me and gives me a grin, sneezes twice, and holds up a hand to prohibit my 'are you sure you're okay to go home' speech.

"Yes, oh Great Blessed Protector, I am, like, way ready to go home," he assures me with a thumbs-up sign as he drops into the wheelchair I've procured from the nurse's station. "Home, James," he says with a snicker and a cough, and I shake my head as I wheel him out of the room that has been our home for the past four days.

"Keep it up, Sandburg, you just keep that shit up. I don't care if you aren't fully recovered, we're still going to have a major chat about your cell phone. And that goddamn piece of - "

"Jim, we're in public," he hisses at me before I continue.

"Fine, that so-called classic that you insist on driving around. And another thing, Chief," I tell him with mock-anger; I'm so happy to be taking him home that this whole rigamarole is just good-natured banter anyway - and he knows it, the little shit.

"I love you too, Jim," he tells me as he looks up at me and bats his eyelashes several times in succession, that Sandburg grin melting my heart for what must be the millionth time as I push him into the open - and thankfully empty - elevator. I hit the button for the Lobby, and as soon as the doors close I'm on my knees beside his chair, plundering his mouth with my tongue.

"Jim," he says a little breathlessly, "You're going to get the flu, man," he warns me.

"Chief, if that's the worst I can get from you, bring it on. It's better than finding you as a Blairsicle along the highway," I tell him as I kiss him once more before the doors slide open to deliver us to the Lobby.

As I wheel him towards the exit, my Ford running (to keep it nice and toasty for my lover) and patiently awaiting our arrival outside, he gasps and laughs, finishing off with a coughed out, "Blairsicle? Blairsicle, Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief, Blairsicle. You were a Blairsicle when I found you out there, and you'd better never ever EVER let me find you like that again, you hear me?" He stands up from the chair as I let go of the handles to open the passenger side door for him. I watch him closely as he gets in easily and buckles up, laughing and shaking his head before looking directly at me with a gleam in his eye.

"What?" I ask him, and he just motions for me to get in the truck. I leave the wheelchair where it is, waving at the orderly inside to come and get it as I head to the driver's side, hopping up and buckling myself in as I look quizzically over at my partner in all things to find him still grinning.

"Well?" I ask him, only to have him lean over and plant a wet kiss on my cheek, whispering in my ear as I put the truck in gear.

"So what does it take to make you a Jimsicle?" He asks as his hand snakes down my chest and stops only when it rests on my waking and eagerly hardening groin. I buck my hips up beneath his grip and give him a winning smile of my own, batting my eyelashes as I reach down and remove his fingers from my denim-clad crotch.

"Gee, Chief, I don't know. How about we get home, and you can pretend you're the wind...and blow?"

"Just drive, Ellison," he says with a smug smile as he crosses his arms over his chest, sniffling a bit as he chuckles, "Just drive, and I'll give you all the wind you can handle."

"Promise, Chief?" I egg him on a bit as I squirm in my seat, pressing the accelerator just a bit harder than normal.

"Whoooooosh, Jim. Whooooosh," he replies, and I shudder as I turn the Ford onto the freeway and let my imagination run amok. I'm only sure of one thing now; I'm going to spend some serious time melting my Blairsicle when we get home.

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The End.

End How To Make A Blairsicle by Jvantheterrible: jvadesignage@aol.com

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