Disclaimer: I own nothing but the girl and her family. Thank you.
Ohhh...Lord, his head is killing him. Brewing, throbbing pain is pulsing in his cranium. Not the front, around his forehead and eyes, or the back, or the sides. His whole head. Jones rubs his eyes, opens them, blinks. He doesn't see stars, or spots, but something about his vision definitely feels haywire. He rubs them again, blinks. Throbbing, that's what's wrong.
Despite his whole noggin pounding, he can feel his heart beat...right behind his eyes. It feels as though it would be easier for him to just allow his eyes to zone out and blur, rather than fight and keep them in focus. He groans, cups his hands on the surface of his desk, and cradles his aching skull. He'll usually get a headache after reading a pile of research on the computer, or after filling out a ton of paper work...but he's hardly done anything. He got to work, sat down at his desk, picked up one sheet of paper, then...boom. No, no, he realizes. It had started off small, barely even noticeable, and making the mistake that most do, had tried to ignore it.
Well, that worked out.
Now, as he sits, he can feel someone hitting him with a mallet...except there's no one near him. Colors swim before his pupils despite his closed eyes, his stomach turns. He tries to stand up, only for the blood to rush to his head. Gravity takes advantage, pushing him back down into his chair. He clasps a hand over his forehead, takes a deep breath, then tries again. Like Goliath after being hit with a stone, he just stands and sways, managing to support most of his weight on his desk before he can fall before his Israeli foe.
What's going on, here? He wonders. He'd had an early morning, yes. What's new? He touches a hand to his forehead again, tentatively. The knot in his stomach twists again, and the next thing he knows, he's hugging a toilet in the men's room. They're not light heaves, either. They rattle his body, forcing him forward with such a force that he has to lean down closer to the water in order to avoid a spread out mess. His fingers clench the rim, his temperature climbs.
When the last scraps of breakfast make it into the porcelain, he slumps down to the floor, against the left side of the stall. His breaths are heavy as he crosses his arms over his belly, sweat dribbling down his back. He's certain if he took his jacket off, it would probably show, too. Pull yourself together, his mind soothes, Get some medication, get back to work. Certain that he can't possibly throw up anymore (not that he'd have the energy too, anyway), he struggles to his feet, legs shaking.
"Jones?"
"Y-...Yes, sir?" His boss would be the first person he'd run into, go figure.
"Jones, I finished this file not too long ago. Take it to Bullard, he's been waiting for it."
Great. Bullard's dissection lab is the last place he needs to be; the smell bothers him enough on a day when he feels completely healthy. "Y-yes, sir." He reaches feebly for the folder, only for it to slip easily from his fingers to the floor. The paperwork within scatters, he curses softly. "Sorry, sir."
"Are you alright?" It's not Barnaby that asked the question, but Gail. "Ben? You don't look so-"
Everything is so...black. Why is everything black? He can hear voices, and feel something cool and wet on his forehead, but he can't-...it would help if he opened his eyes. He's greeted by several familiar faces: Barnaby, Bullard, Gail and a friend in uniform, Liam.
Bullard is the closest, he being the one with the most anatomical knowledge. He smiles in that charming Bullard way, feeling the area beneath Jones's jaw and checking his pulse. "Ah, you're awake."
"Awake?"
Bullard nods. "Yes, awake. The state which you're in after you've been asleep."
"You fainted." Gail puts in. She grabs another wet paper towel from Liam, dabs at his forehead. "You gave us all a scare."
Jones furrows his brows. "I-...I fainted?"
"Yep." Liam answers. Though he displays a playful smile, he knows his green eyes can't hide the concern from long-time friend Jones. He just plays it out, like he always does. "Fell right out on the floor. Nearly took your boss out in the process." He laughs softly through his nose.
Jones looks up at his boss, standing not too close, but not out of the loop, either. "I-..."
"Tried to catch you. You're just a deadweight." He smiles sportively, but not out of the bounds of anxiety.
Bullard cups his face, turning his head to get a better look at his eyes. Withdrawing a small torch from his pocket, he holds up his left index finger. "Focus on the tip of my finger."
He does so, following it as the light shines in his eyes. "What-...I just...fell?"
"Stone cold." Bullard replies. "Took two strong young men to get you in your desk chair. Have you been feeling sick lately?"
Jones shakes his head. "No...not until this morning. I got a headache. Tried to ignore it. Made me sick. Came back to try to work, then blacked out."
"Hm." Bullard nods, drawing his lips into a thin line. "What are your symptoms?"
Jones closes his eyes, swallows. Ugh...it hurts to think. "Throbbing headache...vomiting. I thought I only had a migraine until..."
"Obviously you've been feeling dizzy? Fatigued?"
"Yeah."
"Been a bit congested, too?"
"Mhm." He coughs.
"Chest pain?"
"Yeah...been going on for a few days, now."
"Ahhhh." Bullard crosses his arms. "You might have influenza. Go home, soak in some warm water, and sleep. All you can really do is rest. Plenty of fluids, you know the drill."
Yes, he knows the drill. This could mean missing a week of work. Which means a large chunk out of his paycheck. He began to protest, tried to sit up and claim he was okay, now that it was out of his system...until a wave of nausea came over him. He sinks back down as Bullard says something, he doesn't know what, to Barnaby, then walks away. "Sorry, sir." He mutters.
"Don't apologize." He says simply. "Just do as your told. Warm bath, hot tea, sleep. Don't come back until you're well. That's an order."
Jones smiles weakly, not even bothering to open his eyes. "Concerned about my health, sir?"
Barnaby turns to his desk, saying over his shoulder, "No. I just don't want you getting all of my good officers sick."
The ride home was miserable. Gail had to pull the car over twice for him to empty his belly, and Liam had ended up having to get out of his own car and put the sick man back into the vehicle...on both occasions.
As he reflects now, though, he realizes...this is much worse. Being half carried, half dragged isn't exactly the best medication for your pride. Nor is having Gail dig around in your hip pockets for the keys to your front door, or having Liam practically holding you on his back by your hands while she does so.
He's practically unconscious when they deposit him on his bed, so he doesn't have to feel the rush of discomfort as they strip him down to nothing but his black briefs and hide his nearly naked self beneath the sheets.
Liam eases himself down onto the edge of the mattress, breathing heavily. "Right, then. Just let him sleep?"
Gail nods, leaning against the nearest bedpost to catch her breath as well. "Yeah, he should be out for a while."
He stands slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder as his breathing evens out. "Right this way then, mi'lady." He leads her out of the room and to the kitchen, offering her a seat at the table before investigating the contents of the refrigerator.
It's a tidy place, Gail realizes...for a bachelor. She hasn't explored, but if she had to guess, she'd say it's a two-bedroom, two-bath, with the living room and kitchen as practically the same room. The living room is tiny, large enough to contain two small navy blue couches, with a television tucked neatly in the upper right corner next to a sizable window.
The kitchen is even smaller, virtually a corner itself. The bar and fridge take up most of it, the fridge being a looming figure in the upper-left corner, the bar built-in place just a few feet away, creating a nice little nook. The stove-top oven is an older one, the method of lighting the burners being a match. It takes its place next to the fridge, and everything else about the kitchen, aside from the cupboards, is a countertop with a sink. No dishwasher in sight.
She looks back to Liam, making himself well-enough at home. There's a pile of sandwich meat on a plate, next to cheese and lettuce.
He's pulling out bread and a tomato when she catches his eye, and he pauses a moment with his brows raised. "What?"
"Making yourself at home?"
He remains stationary for a moment, then grabs a knife out of the drawer nearest him. "Ben and I go way back. Grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school. He doesn't mind feeding me every now and then." The knife hovers over the plump tomato. "I can fix you one, too."
"Oh, no thank you."
"Sure? It won't take me long, I could just grab another plate."
Gail shares a gaze with him for a moment. She didn't really have much of a breakfast, and it's getting pretty close to lunch to begin with..."You don't mind?"
Liam just smiles, reaching for more bread and another plate without a word.
She realizes now that this is probably the most time she's ever spent with him. She was in uniform with him, yes, but the only words they had ever really spoken to one another were work related. She comes to the conclusion that, despite being bald, he's really a rather attractive thirty-something. Thick, black brows shadow olive eyes, set just right over strong cheek bones. His nose is a little bigger than average, yet doesn't take away from his features. His lips set a neutral line as his fingers work nimbly, oddly graceful for someone with such paws for hands.
She pretends to be occupied by Ben's notepad when he looks her direction, feeling strangely guilty for getting caught staring at him. She doesn't look up again until he places the sandwich and a bottle of soda in front of her.
"What's that?"
"Ben's notes relating to the case so far. I didn't realize he paid so much attention to detail..."
Liam snorts, takes a big bite out of his sandwich. "Always been like that. I swear, he's still a child...only his body matured, that's all."
Gail smiles, turning a page. "Really?"
He nods, washing down the remnants of the first bite with soda. "Mhm. Never worked with anybody that asks so many questions. Guess that's good, though."
"Why do you say that?"
"It means he's real thorough. Not too much got by him when he was in uniform."
She turns another page, then pauses. After a few moments it turns into downright staring, and after a few more moments she picks up the pad and knits her brows at it.
Liam eases his sandwich down, leaning closer to her on his elbow. "What is it?"
"His notes." She says. "He quoted her-"
"Her?"
"The wife of Danny Cox, the man we found in the restaurant."
"What about her?"
"She said, "Sometimes I hate him...that man. He keeps bringing in all these strangers and...that woman. Not good for the child. I know he's not fond of her, but you don't see me running away. Sometimes I wish they would all just disappear.""
"All these strangers." Liam echoes. "And that woman." His brows furrow. "Doesn't he say anymore? His notes, I mean."
She shakes her head. "No, nothing. We'll have to ask him about it later."
"Or her. Aren't you supposed to go back?"
"Yeah, when Barnaby's ready." She takes a bite of sandwich, furrows her brows as she chews. "Though...I may not be able to go with him."
"Eh?"
"Ben." She says, reaching for the soda. "I may have to stay and look after him. I don't think he has any relatives near by to take care of him."
"You're willing to miss a week of work?"
"He's my friend, and he can't take care of himself at the moment." She says casually. "Besides, I'd want someone to do the same for me."
Liam nods, picking up his sandwich again. "Oh, I see. You're a good friend, Miss Stephens."
She smiles. "It's Gail. And thank you."
"Liam. You're welcome."
They smile at one another, Gail breaking eye contact first to grab her sandwich, Liam following shortly after. Lettuce crunches, soda bubbles. The rest is silence.
Sorry for the wait! You know, college and all that, and Thanksgiving. Oh, and is it too early to start saying Merry Christmas? Oh well, I don't care. Merry Christmas!
Rollieo: Haha, thanks. I doubt it happens for him very often, so I decided to highlight it. I'm also a fan of football (soccer over here) as well. I can just imagine him having a morning like that! Lol! Don't know why, but I'm just drawn to characters that have been abused and whatnot, and I thought it would be something that would bring Gail closer to the kid. I wouldn't call it rambling...I always enjoy reading your feedback. :) Oh and as for the chapter two thing, 'tis fine! Those things happen. I hope this chapter was satisfactory for you!
Shorina: Thank you. :) I was hoping that little segment would be enjoyed. For some reason, I don't know why, I always have trouble writing Barnaby, so I really appreciate that compliment! THANK YOU again, LOL. I've been trying to figure out her rank, but everywhere I looked it said that she was a WPC. I knew she had gotten promoted at some point or other, but I didn't know what to. I just went with her earlier ranking and hoped someone would correct me, which you did. :) I hope this chapter was satisfactory!
