Guiding the Guide
by Quirkymac

Blair hunched over the steering wheel his fingers bone white with its tenacious grip. It matched the visible whiteness of his eyes that he was keeping wide open. He focused all of his energy in to not looking at the flashing dancing lights that danced in his peripheral vision.

Crap. Crap Crap! He did not have time for a migraine! A painful wince at the tightening jerk of the steel band around his head at the slight jerk the car gave crinkled his face as pulled outside Prospect place. Resting his head in thankful relief on the wheel, he inhaled and exhaled softly a few times, taking the chance to squeeze his eyes shut against the light that burned his brain. Attempting to ignore the rolling nausea that the still present fairy lights gave him.

Gingerly, he stepped out of the car, dragging his backpack with him. As softly as he humanly could, and with as little active movement on his part, he closed the door with a soft muffled thud before making his way into the building.

He squinted in the relief of the dimmer light of the entrance and dithered over the evil’s of the elevator vs the energy required of the stairs. When another heave of nausea batted at his stomach, he opted for the lift, simply not up to the tortuous slow pace his stair climb was likely to be.

**

Jim had long since heard Blair’s arrival. Instinctively and automatically having tuned in to his Guide’s heartbeat and general wellbeing, he had recognised all the symptoms of a migraine that Blair suffered from on occasion. He grimaced in sympathy.

Turning the tv off as he stood, he methodically worked his way around the loft. Blinds were drawn, lights turned off leaving just a single muted one to cast a soft glow. Kettle was switched on while he turned down the bedcovers of Blair’s futon and pulled the blinds in there.

Going back into the kitchen, he surveyed his efforts and nodded to himself. Pulling down a mug, he dropped a teabag of some concoction that smelled positively foul, tasted worse but that Blair swore by. The kettle hissed at him and he calmly poured the hot water into the mug. Leaving it to seep, he went over to the door and opened it just as the lift pinged. Unknowingly wincing simultaneously with Blair at the intrusive noise to his hypersensitive guide.

Taking the laden backpack with one hand as the miserable figure reached the doorway, he gently took Blair’s arm and steered him in. In barely audible tones he murmured, “Come on.. Lets get you to bed Chief.. Tea’s nearly ready.”

**

Blair gave a sigh of relief as the energy of even thinking was blessedly taken from him alongside the soothing feel the muted loft gave to his hypersensitive eyes. Numbly he allowed himself to be steered into his room, his coat long since removed and hung up.

He puffed a soft sigh as his shoes were slipped off, he really hadn’t been looking forward to the act of bending over. He just sat a while, the next conscious thing he was aware of being a hot mug slipped into his hands, cradled by larger ones around his own to steady it as it was lifted to his mouth.

“Gak” He shuddered even as the mellow assurances urged him to drink some more. Time held no meaning, though he was both immensely relieved and resigned when he realised the flashing lights had dissipated from wherever they had come. The lack of them reduced his nausea, but at the same time also meant that the intensity of the blinding, crippling headache he now had was likely to stay for a while. The only hope now was stillness and sleep.

Almost as if he had spoken the thought out loud, he felt his legs being carefully swivelled up onto the bed, his head carefully guided to the blissfully cool pillow and his cover’s pulled over him. A large hand massaged at his temple and he groaned with the pain/pleasure it brought.

His last coherent thought was that only a Sentinel could possibly be able to offer pain free assistance to such hyper sensitive pain, to instinctively know the volume of which voice could be tolerated…at the speed at which one could move…at the need for darkness…for stillness.

Perhaps because he too, perfectly understood what an exacerbated sense felt like?

The End

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