"Aww, man! I thought you'd know better than to stick your nose in a bunch of flowers by now! What on earth were you thinking, Jim?"

Jim glared at the hyper young man buzzing anxiously about him, moving things about, not so much to clear them, it seemed, as to rearrange the spaces to accommodate his sick friend. "Dat dey shmeld a lod bedder dan whadeber id waz you dohd me do shmell?" he growled, holding a soft tissue over his dripping nose, and wondering if the placement of the mess had some geomantic significance - maybe to attract luck with meeting psychos? Or to get away from them safely?

Blair rolled his eyes in exasperation; if Jim hadn't been so pathetically miserable he would have laughed. "You've got tests on the brain, man, I told you specifically not to smell it. What is up with you? First you don't notice there was something stinky around before I do, then you mishear my instructions and dial up instead of down, then you stick your face in the nearest flower arrangement? This is like, so...so...I don't have the words to describe it!"

If he could have done so without sounding like someone holding his nose(which he was), he would certainly have made some snappy retort to halt the torrent of words, but as it was, he settled for ignoring his annoying companion with as much aloof dignity as he could muster, something he normally did quite well, but given the circumstances…

"Poor Jimbo," Blair continued unfazed with a playful grin, deliberately annoying and knowing quite well the reason for the silent treatment. "It's your turn to cook tonight, but I won't hold it against you since you have a running nose. So what do you want for dinner? Pizza? Chinese?"

He blew his nose again, more forcefully, as if to convey his displeasure in place of his usual snort, and tentatively twiddled the dials, trying to see if he could feel how much pollen was still in him. Then he glowered at the overly cheerful anthropologist, and said, as clearly as he could, "Die."

To his immense satisfaction, the younger man blinked, taken aback for a moment. "Die?"

"I wand Die," he clarified, pleased that he had managed to surprise Blair. "Hod, shbai-shee shoob do glear my noshe."

Blair mulled over that briefly, then his puzzled frown eased into a happy smile. "I get it! You want Thai! Hot soup…" he trailed off, thinking hard, and continued more seriously, "Are you sure it's a good idea when you can't smell how spicy it is before drinking it? Your messed up sense of smell is going to seriously mess with your sense of taste, you know."

"Die," he insisted firmly, already feeling better at the thought of some nice hot, spicy soup. Blair was right though; while he had an enhanced sense of taste too, not being able to smell what he was eating would really suck.

***

"Aarrgghh!" Blair jumped up and made a dash for the fridge, yanking out cold milk and hesitating only an instant before he grabbed Jim's empty glass and filled it, muttering "I did say so"s and "what did the damn chef do, spill the spices?"s as he did. Jim was already at the sink with his face in a gushing stream of tap water and looking like he was trying to drown himself. He took a big gulp of the milk first before refilling the glass and holding it out to Jim, who resurfaced long enough to pour it down his throat with a great sigh of relief, then replaced his head under the tap.

The two finally settled down on the kitchen floor after a few minutes, passing the carton of milk between them, for the time being unconcerned about drinking directly from the shared container.

"Man, that was awful…I thought I accidentally set my mouth on fire or something! I'm sure it's given me an ulcer," groused Blair as he leaned back against the wall, then cracked open one worried eye to check on Jim when the other man failed to respond. "Jim, you okay?"

"Couldn't see anything for a minute there," sighed Jim, blinking away tears. He blinked again, and straightened abruptly. As did Blair, who sat up quickly in excitement, nearly spilling the milk as he grabbed his trusty backpack to rummage for pen and paper.

"Hey, what do you know, it did work! Your air passages are clear!"

"Yeah, sure," grunted Jim with far less enthusiasm. "After frying all my senses, that is. My mouth is still a little numb. Can't feel my tongue. " He shifted on the floor, and frowned. "Can't feel a thing," he said tersely, a note of panic in his voice.

Blair abandoned the search immediately to move to his side. "It's probably nothing," he soothed, hoping he was right. "You must have automatically dialed everything down to escape the burning sensation; we've been practicing with shutting down your senses when you get overloaded after all, just never tried it with touch or taste. Come on, big guy, feel the pressure of my hand on your face, then start dialing up until it feels normal."

Jim scrunched up his face in deep concentration as he obeyed, then finally relaxed and leaned back, exhaling with relief. "Okay," he said, smiling slightly at the way the anthropologist lit up in delight at the success. He took another swig of milk from the carton, then his brow knit slightly.

"What?" demanded Blair, immediately anxious again, almost bouncing where he sat on the floor, which had to be a painfully uncomfortable activity at best.

"Can't taste the milk," he replied, his voice strained, hardly surprising considering the unnaturally difficult day he'd been going through, as if some malignant entity had been deliberately sabotaging his senses.

"Oh man," said Blair plaintively, evidently thinking the same thing. "What next?"

"How would I know until you fix this?" he snapped testily, regretting it instantly as the younger man flinched at his tone. It wasn't Blair's fault all this was happening to him after all, and the kid was trying so hard to keep up with his problems besides.

"I'm just frustrated, Chief. This really isn't my day," he sighed, apology in his tone if not his words, and Blair relaxed fractionally.

"Well, let's try to fix your taste then," said Blair tiredly. "Take another sip of milk, and hold it in your mouth, then start turning the dial...Slowly, in case the spices aren't all gone."

"Blair."

"What's wrong?" At the unexpected use of his first name, he was instantly on alert.

"The dial came off."

"What?" Blair blinked, feeling himself suddenly in the Ellison zone, the existence of which he had suspected but never expected to experience.

"The knob was stuck, I twisted it and it came off." Jim's expression was of perfect seriousness, with just the right touch of helplessness and fear mixed in.

"Jim," he began, uncertainly.

"Yes?" The controlled unease, the expectant, hopeful look, waiting for a solution...

"It's an imaginary dial, you know."

"I know," said the sentinel with equal patience. "It still came off."

Blair was beginning to feel desperately confused. "Can't you stick it back on or something?"

"It won't stay on," said Jim unhappily.

"Oh man."

***

"I'm not drinking that, Sandburg," said Jim flatly, and bit viciously into an unoffending alfalfa sprout and tofu wholemeal sandwich, washing the mouthful down with a gulp of herbal tea.

"But Jim," wheedled Blair, "you can't taste it anyway, so why won't you drink some?"

He shot a glare of disgust at his friend's pleading look, unmoved by the same argument that had caused him to give in on the bacon and egg breakfast he had wanted.

"I can still see the color, smell the stink, and can you hear my stomach turning? No, I'm not drinking your algae shake and that's final." He crammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, finished the tea, and glanced wistfully at an advertisement in the newspaper for a new doughnut shop.

Blair sighed tragically at the rejection of his good intentions, ostensibly disappointed but pleased to see that Jim had regained some of his spirits. They had worked on his sense of taste all the rest of the evening and halfway through the night until Jim had given up in frustration and disgust, and they'd finally decided to wait and see if it returned on its own, or try again after a while if it did not. He privately suspected Jim was repressing it because of the traumatic memory associated with it, like he'd done before, but he didn't think Jim would take the suggestion very well.

He'd just have to make Jim want the sense back on his own, and in the meantime, he could get Jim to eat some more of the healthy food he wouldn't normally touch, accustom him to the textures and smells. Maybe losing that sense was a good thing after all, at least for a while.

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