Disclaimer: Jim and Blair belong to Pet Fly legally, to us, morally. If there was money to be made from all this, I'd have a better computer than a 486, now wouldn't I??

Notes: This story popped into my head one night. Everyone I described the plot synopsis to went into hysterics, and demanded I write it. So, here it is! **THIS IS A JOKE, FOLKS!!!** Feedback is welcome and encouraged, hysterical flames will be shared among friends for more larfs.

Summary: Humor, Sarcasm, Parody

Jim Ellison clumped quietly up the stairs, nervously clutching the bouquet of pink posies and baby breath in his massive hand. He was late, even later than usual, (about 2 days) and he knew the flowers weren't going to do much to alleviate the tearful, wailing hissy-fit that was awaiting him behind his front door, and over a ruined dinner. 'Time to face the music, take it like a man,' he scolded himself internally. 'Hey, one of us needs to...' he thought ruefully.

Sure enough, two swollen from crying, delicate baby-blue eyes looked up at him miserably from their thin, gaunt face as he lumbered in the door, accompanied by the all-too familiar plaintive sniffles muffled by a tear-soaked lace hanky clutched in tiny fingers trembling under the weight of it.

"Where have you BEEN?" Blair wailed, tears flowing anew from his large, doe eyes, down his flawless porcelain complexion. "You were supposed to be home hours ago!"

"I know, honey-bunny, I'm sorry, but-"

"I don't want to hear your excuses!" Blair blubbered, weakly standing up from the table, a dainty shudder wracking his slim, frail, delicate frame. "I work and slave to make you a nice meal, and you can't even show up in time! Now it's ruined! Ruined!" He attempted to start clearing the table, but instead collapsed across it with a fresh set of wracking, plaintive, heart-wrenching sobs. "You take me for granted, mister!"

"No, Snowflake, you know that not true," Jim protested, shuffling closer to the table, placing a massive, powerful, crushing hand on the frail, slender, trembling shoulder. He winced as he felt the bruise forming on the pale, translucent skin, pushing the flowers under Blair's tiny,delicate nose. "See? Jim brought you flowers."

"And that's supposed to make it better?" Blair asked, whimpering shrilly, his small, slender fingers pushing weakly against the flowers. "You just don't appreciate me....." he simpered.

"No, Buttercup, you know Jim love you," Jim protested, lumbering over to the fridge. He pulled out one of the kegs, popping it open, downing half of it with a room rattling belch. "Please, poopsie-pie, Jim sorry...." he finished off the keg, reaching for another.

"Sure, you come home late, have a few beers, then expect me to forgive you just in time for you to get your sweaty paws all over me for some 'good lovin' ' that's supposed to make it all better," Blair sniffled weakly, standing shakily on thin, slender, frail legs, splashing through the puddle of tears on the floor as they continued to flow from his huge, wide blue eyes. "Well, let me tell you-"

Blair's weakly whispered words were drown out by a combination sneeze/belch that erupted from Jim as a result of the beer and pollen. Blair let out a tiny, high-pitched, frightened shriek as the gust threw him across the room, where he landed in a sobbing, frail, trembling, tiny,fragile, sobbing, wailing heap.

Jim winced, hearing the multitude of slender, dainty, delicate bones fracturing upon Blair's impact with the wall on the far side of the loft, and he lurched slowly towards the crumpled, sobbing, slight figure lying wedged between the TV Guide and the remote control.

"Jim sorry," he grunted, bending over as Blair shrieked in terror, practically drowning in his own torrents of tiny tears. "Jim no mean to hurt Blair. Jim take Blair to doctor!" He reached down, plucking Blair up between his thumb and forefinger. "Blair safe now," Jim smiled, putting Blair in his shirt pocket. He patted the small bulge reassuringly, barely noticing the sound of more dainty, slight, fragile bones fracturing, and Blair's resultant wailing sobs of misery and the flow of tears which instantly drenched his shirt (Which then clung to his rock-hard pecs)

Jim lumbered into the emergency ward, looking around dimly. "Jim need help!!" he grunted, lurching over to the counter, dropping his gun as he placed Blair carefully down in a box of tissues. "Blair hurt!"

Dozens upon dozens of doctors came rushing over, examining the curled up, bleeding, wailing, delicate, oh hell, look in your own damn thesaurus! form curled up on the tissues.

"You need to be in pediatrics!!" they all informed Jim firmly, as another swarm of doctors came rushing over to examine the wee, tiny, slender crumpled form.

"Let ME look!" a voice boomed out, pushing through the bottles of booze and over-endowed bimbos he was currently, as usual, knee-deep in.

"Dr Ross!" one of the nurses squealed, comitting suicide over the fact that, even though they had only just met and he didn't even know her name, he never returned her calls. Everyone looked at him with reproachful disgust.

"I will put aside all my tangled personal affairs, and go against all you paper-pushing beurocrats to save this child, even if it means my career, damnit!!" he thundered as his way too short hair greyed further, which was, quite frankly, not all that attractive, but much better than the bleach job from last year.

"We weren't trying to stop you," one of them grumbled.

"Well, you should! I can only treat this baby if it defies the insurance company!"

"Okay, okay, we'll see what we can do....." they sighed, moving off into a room filled with piles of paper, held together by red tape.

"That's right!! I must save this fetus!!!"

Within moments, all of Blair's bones were set, his heroin addiction was cured, he was no longer bulimic, his scoliosis was diagnosed, and he'd had a heart-warming pep talk as well.

"I'll see you hang for this, you bastard!!" Dr Ross screamed at Jim, slamming him up against the wall. Jim looked at him blankly, picking his nose.

"Ungh?"

"But Doctor, I love him!" Blair wailed, throwing a frail, thinly-boned, pale-skinned arm in Dr Ross' direction. "I won't press charges!!"

"You must!"

"I won't! I can't! What about the children??"

"You don't *have* any children," Rafe reminded him, making just enough of an appearance to get paid for the week.

"Damnit, you ARE a child!" Ross thundered. trying to get through to the tiny, bruised, narrow- shouldered, delicate boy who Jim was busily picking fleas from his sumptuous, silken, curly, soft halo of hair.

"But I know what I want! And I love him! I-" Blair stopped short, crumbling to the floor with a shrieking wail, shattering a few more slender limbs in the process.

"What wrong with Blair?" Jim grunted, scratching himself busily as Dr Ross and hundreds of medical personnel did a complete examination in seconds ( with no regards to his lack of insurance) of the tiny, puny,wee, little, etc, etc, form on the floor, lying curled up in an eggshell, which only accentuated the pale, translucent, ivory, perfect skin.

"Daminit!!" Ross bellowed.

"Ungh?" Jim slurred puzzledly.

"He's got his period!!!!"