"Sit down here, big guy. I don't think you should try to handle the stairs in your state, and I am so not going to try and carry you up...besides, the bathroom's nearer - wanna go?" At the mumbled negative, Blair allowed Jim to flop gracelessly onto the couch with some relief, not certain he could have manhandled the bigger man that much further. He made some attempt at stretching the kinks out of his back, filled a teapot and set it on the stove to heat. Picking up a washcloth, he dampened it and began wiping Jim's face, smiling affectionately as his inebriated Sentinel muttered some unintelligible complaint and tried to push the cold, wet cloth away, hands flapping ineffectually in the wrong direction.

"You are so drunk, man... What possessed you to take part in a drinking contest with Rhonda anyway? We've never tested the effects of so much alcohol on your system - Jim, don't go to sleep yet, I'm making you some tea - Hey!" As ear-splitting snores ripped into the peace of the night, Blair sighed and winced, wondering how Jim could stand himself. Maybe that was why he rarely overindulged like this. He slid down onto the floor beside the couch and wondered if he should bother waking him for the tea. "You're going to wish you were dead tomorrow," he warned, but Jim only sprawled out more comfortably and smacked Blair on the head with a flying arm. Well, maybe he could experiment with trying to dial down a hangover.

"Oh God," groaned the hungover Sentinel piteously. "Can't you make your heart beat any softer?" He curled out in a ball of misery, and tried to push his head into the couch, or so it seemed.

Blair refrained nobly from commenting on the request. He lowered his voice as far as possible, and touched Jim lightly on the arm. "Can you find the dials? Come on, listen to my voice…" Jim only whimpered, and flinched away from the voice and touch.

"Sandburg...get my gun..." he demanded feebly, squeezing as far from his Guide as he could.

"I don't think that's a good idea man, I'm a dreadful shot, you know."

"Keep trying until you get it right!" growled Jim, apparently at his wits' end.

"Okaay...no wait, who gets the loft?"

"Carolyn. The gun?"

"No way!" Blair bounced away in hurt disbelief.

"I'm going to shoot you, not myself, Chief - now gimme my gun!"

"It'll burst your eardrums," he tried.

"Bottom drawer upstairs - silencer in there." There was a long silence. Jim cracked open one eye to see Blair frowning in thought. "Chief?"

Blair scowled at him. "If you try, I'm going to call Simon, and tell him to bring his coffee. The mint-almond mocha blend he was drinking yesterday."

Jim considered that for only a moment. "Oh God," he uttered faintly, then all of a sudden he burst up and rushed into the bathroom, where he engaged noisily in activities no one really wants to hear about.

Blair watched in vague horror as Jim cracked the egg into his glass of whatever it was he was mixing. "What is that...that..." He turned slightly green as pepper, and some other things best left unmentioned joined the egg.

"Traditional hangover cure," declared Jim proudly as he stirred the mixture. "Works like a charm, every time."

"I can't believe you complain about my food man... This is really disgusting - Jim," he burst out, unable to see the Sentinel actually drink his strange concoction, "Have you tried it after your senses came online? I mean, Jim, if you zone out on that stuff I can't imagine how to bring you out...eeeew..."

"Told you it wouldn't work," muttered Blair under his breath as he patted the broad back hunched ignominiously over the toilet for the second time that day. "Yuck, it looks as bad coming out as it did going in. Eeew..."

"Did not," protested his sick friend with as much indignation as he could muster in his position. "You only said it was disgusting. Now get me the aspirin."

"Sure thing, big guy. After all, I live to serve you."

Putting down the phone, he sighed as he regarded his pathetic excuse for a Sentinel curled up on the couch. "It isn't a hangover, Jim. Seems there was something wrong with the food. Half the department is down with the same thing, and some of them weren't even drinking. And Rhonda's perfectly fine. She asked how you were feeling."

"Go to hell, Sandburg."

"No thanks, Jim. You don't seem to be enjoying your stay. Let's get you to the doctor and see what he says about a transfer back to earth. And hope like hell you're not allergic."

"Touch wood, Sandburg."

"You just had to say it, didn't you?"

"What? You weren't allergic to anything; you don't even need to take anything. You're just hungover."

"Like that's such a great comfort. The aspirin isn't working." He blinked blearily at the steps leading to his bed, thought wistfully about it for a moment, then flopped back onto the couch. Blair sat down beside him, smiling as he stroked his head.

"I'll get you some tea for the headache and nausea, and you just rest here and drink as much of it as you can," he whispered gently before he rose to prepare his tea. "A lot of the problem is caused by dehydration, so try to keep it down a while and you should feel better soon. Don't drink so much again, okay?"

"Chief."

A hand snagged Blair's shirt-tail as he got to his feet. He paused, and looked down to see if Jim wanted anything. "Yes, Jim?"

Jim looked as if he was about to reconsider whatever he was about to say, then sighed and let go.

"Thanks."

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