DISCLAIMER: I keep waiting for a royalty check, but since I never get
one, I guess none of these characters belong to me.
WARNING!: A few icky moments in this fic. If you're a mom, you probably won't be grossed out. <g>
RATED: PG… for the icky moments. :D
The Fever
by
Alcott
"Are you all right?"Fran asked. She had paused in the middle of her
discussion of their new neighbors to glance at her boss, and found him
tugging at his tie, loosening it around his neck. He suddenly seemed
too hot in his three-piece suit.
"Mr. Sheffield?" she asked. "Are you ok?"
"I’m fine, Miss… I’m…" He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then
shook his head and opened his eyes. "I’m just feeling a little…
light-headed…"
"Light-headed?" she grasped his arm and maneuvered him toward the
couch. He went willingly for a few steps, then stopped dead in his
tracks. "Oh, dear…" he muttered.
She saw the sickening green tint of his skin and whirled him on his
heels. "Into the bathroom, mister!"
He stumbled toward it and closed the door weakly behind himself.
She was standing outside the door, wringing her hands, when Niles came
by, carrying a basket of laundry. "Good heavens!" he said, hearing the
retching coming from the other side of the door.
"Max is sick," she said quietly.
"I hear that." Niles set the laundry aside and waited with her.
When Max emerged, his face had gone from green to pale, but he still
looked as if he might fall down at any moment. Fran grabbed one arm,
Niles grabbed the other.
"Good heavens, can’t a man have any privacy?" Max demanded weakly.
In perfect unison, Fran and Niles said, "No" and led him away from the
bathroom.
"Do you think you can make it upstairs, sir?" Niles asked.
"Of course I can!" Max wrenched free of their grip, then began to sway
on his feet.
"Alley oop, sir," Niles said, circling his employer’s waist with his
arm and hauling him toward the stairs.
It seemed to take forever, but finally they managed to drag Maxwell up
the staircase. By the time they were in his room, Max was panting with
exertion, leaning heavily against his employees.
They sat him down on the edge of the bed, and he took Fran with him,
leaning against her, his eyes closed.
"Get him undressed," Niles said. "I’ll call his doctor."
She didn’t give the request a second thought; Fran stripped the suit
coat from Maxwell’s body. "Mr. Sheffield, you’re soaking wet!"
"I beg your pardon…"
She clicked her tongue at his indignant protest and unbuttoned his
vest, shedding that as well. Without batting an eye, she unbuttoned
his perspiration-stained shirt and dropped that to the floor. Reaching
behind him, she pulled back the comforter and eased him down on the
cool satin sheets, tucking a pillow behind his head.
"You want your pants off?"
He nodded miserably, fumbling for his belt buckle. She was on the
buckle in an instant, unlatching it and unzipping his pants. "Lift your
hips," she ordered, and he did the best he could, although the jostling
made him feel nauseated again. She pulled off his pants and his socks
and covered him with his comforter.
"There, is that better?"
He felt so sick, he couldn’t answer; he merely swallowed hard and
closed his eyes tightly, trying to ride out the nausea. A few moments
later, he chanced to open his eyes.
Fran had walked out of the room, and was now returning with a bucket
and a towel.
"Miss Fine…?"he whispered.
She spread the towel near his head and placed the bucket on the floor.
"Just in case you need to upchuck all of a sudden and can’t make it to
the bathroom."
"I’m not one of the children, Miss Fine…" His words were cut off by the
chattering of his teeth.
"What, are you cold?" she frowned. The thick, Waverly comforter would
keep a snowman warm, and yet he was beginning to shiver.
"Can’t… s-s-seem to get… warm…" he mumbled.
"Oh, poor baby!" she wailed. "You must have caught the stomach flu that
Brighton had last week. My God, that was awful. The poor kid threw up
and threw up and threw up some more… There was no end to the stuff that
kid could find to bring up."
Max whimpered. "Miss Fine…"
"And I don’t know WHAT he was eating before he got sick, but it was
GREEN when it came back up. And I don’t mean just kinda green, we’re
talking The Incredible Hulk green! And lumpy, like cottage cheese. Make
that moldy cottage cheese…"
Max sat up, his hand clapped over his mouth. Fran grabbed the bucket
and held it for him as he lost the contents of his stomach once again.
"Maxwell, why aren’t you in your office?" C.C. demanded, flinging wide
the door. "Those contracts were due at noon!"
She froze solid where she stood, her nose wrinkling in distaste.
Max tried to speak, but he had to put his head back in the bucket and
CC squeaked and backed out of the room. Not Fran, though. She sat
beside him, stroking his back, murmuring that he was going to be all
right and that it would be over soon.
When it had passed, she wiped his mouth gently with the towel and
carried the towel and the bucket into the bathroom. She returned with
a fresh towel and the cleaned bucket. "See, didn’t I tell ya that was
going to happen?"
He had collapsed against the pillows and was shivering openly now. She
tucked the blanket up by his chin, but it didn’t seem to help.
Niles came into the room. "The doctor is on his way, sir," he said.
"Perhaps while he’s here, he should look at Ms. Babcock. She’s looking
a little green herself."
"How long will the doctor be?" Fran worried.
"An hour," Niles said. "In the meantime, sir, perhaps a nap would help."
Max nodded feebly, but he couldn’t stop trembling.
"Can I get you anything, sir?"
Max shook his head.
"I’ll be downstairs if you need me." And with that, Niles was gone.
"I’ll be in my room," Fran said. "I’ll keep the door open, so I’ll
hear you if you call for me."
"Wait…" Max whispered. "Miss Fine."
"Yeah?"
He held out his hand; it shook fiercely as he reached for her.
She came to his side, sitting down beside him, taking his hand in both
of hers. "Are you gonna be ok by yourself?"
"I’m… so.. c-cold."
"I think you’ve got a fever," she said. "I don’t want to put another
blanket on you, it’ll make you too warm."
He swallowed and closed his eyes. "Please stay with me."
"Wow, that must be some fever," she muttered.
"Let me hold you," he begged. "Please. I can’t… I can’t get…warm…"
She wondered if she should call an ambulance.
But she held back the blanket, and he moaned as its absence let the
cold air slap at his fevered skin. It was just for a second; then she
was beneath the covers, propped up against the headboard. She held out
her arms, and he cuddled against her, his cheek resting against her
breast. He sighed and closed his eyes.
He was so hot that he made her skin burn, but she held on tightly,
rocking him gently. "You’re going to be ok, Mr. Sheffield," she
whispered. And then, impulsively, she dropped her head and kissed the
top of his hair.
Within moments, his breath had deepened and she knew that, safe in her
arms, he had finally fallen asleep.
The End
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