If there was one upside to being stuck in Bolivia, presumed dead, and away from home and family, it was the food. Clay and Roque managed to stick to food that at least resembled American food, steak and fried chicken whenever (wherever) they could find it. Pooch was a little more adventurous, relying on Cougar to point out good food that was neither too spicy nor too bland, but it was Jensen and Cougar who most appreciated Bolivian cuisine.
It had seemed to be a given that Cougar would enjoy the food because although it was different than Mexican food, it still had a lot in common and Cougar loved spicy food. Surprisingly though, it had ended up being Jensen who was the most adventurous, trying anything and everything, street food, hole-in-the-wall restaurants, market food…there was almost nothing he hadn't tried, and for the most part, that was fine.
Except, Pooch thought as Jensen heaved into the toilet yet again, for right now. They weren't sure what exactly had been the cause of Jensen's illness, but it was a safe bet that whatever he'd picked up had been from something he ate, and he'd vomited a dozen times in the last few hours.
"Hey, you done?" Pooch asked as Jensen settled down a little bit. Jensen nodded slightly, then shivered. Pooch handed him a blanket though it was hotter than hell in the motel room, and then helped him wrap up in it.
"Come on, Jensen," he said, helping the hacker to his feet and then directing him toward the couch. Jensen stumbled slightly but made it without any trouble. Pooch helped him get situated and then handed him a bottle of water and a large bowl.
"Okay, I've got to head into work. Keep sipping this water, Jensen, or you're going to get dehydrated. Got it?"
"Got it," Jensen mumbled, his death grip on the water bottle turning his knuckles white. He was clearly trying to hold down a wave of nausea.
"Okay. See you in a few."
Pooch left without any further instructions, hurrying toward the repair shop where he'd been working. He felt bad for Jensen, he did, but he had work and everyone else had already left to their respective jobs, and he couldn't just sit around rubbing Jensen's back while he puked. Pooch had warned him to lay off the street food; the damn idiot had gotten himself food poisoning anyway and deserved his day of puking.
At least, that's what Pooch tried to tell himself.
Work was obnoxiously boring, changing oil and replacing windshields and not nearly engaging enough to distract Pooch from remembering how bad Jensen had looked. He told himself, again, that Jensen had done it to himself, that he was fine, just out of it for a day or two, but it was only a couple hours later when Pooch sighed and stood up, informed his boss that he had an emergency and needed to leave, then hurried back toward the motel room. Annoyed at himself for being unable to ignore the feelings of worry mixed with guilt, he swore to himself that he would kick Jensen's ass if he opened the door to find the techie playing video games.
He needn't have worried.
Upon opening the door to their room, Pooch was overwhelmed with the unmistakable stench of illness, probably both vomit and diarrhea. Jensen was sprawled on the floor between the bathroom and the couch, a puddle of puke next to his head.
"Jensen! Oh, shit," Pooch swore, hurrying to Jensen's side.
"'M okay," Jensen murmured, pushing himself up on weak limbs. "Jus' didn't make it in time. Sorry."
"Dude, no need to apologize," Pooch answered, helping Jensen to his feet. There was dried vomit on Jensen's shirt, and the hacker looked away and blushed. "Hey, don't worry about it. I've seen worse."
"What about work?" Jensen asked as he pulled the soiled shirt over his head.
"I left early," Pooch answered, eying the half-empty water bottle on the table. "Did you drink any water?"
"Couldn't keep it down," Jensen replied with a groan. "Sorry."
"It's fine, Jensen. Look, let's get you laying down and try to get some more fluids into you, okay?"
Jensen smiled weakly and shrugged.
"Whatever you say, Pooch. Prob'ly won't work, though."
Pooch looked again at the pale hacker, noted the dark rings under his eyes and the lightly trembling fingers, and hoped that it would.
xxxx
Clay wondered if Cougar had gotten the same phone call he had just received. Pooch had sounded worried, not yet panicked, but definitely concerned, about Jensen, and Clay realized with a pang of guilt that he hadn't even checked that morning to see if Jensen was feeling any better.
"Hey, Roque," Clay said, trying to get Roque's attention away from the cock fight that they had money riding on. "Roque!"
"Yeah, what?" Roque said, finally turning away from the fight.
"Jensen's in trouble."
Roque rolled his eyes. "What's new?"
"Pooch is worried."
"Then Pooch can deal with it," Roque said, taking a swig of whiskey.
"I'm going back to the motel room," Clay said, standing. "You can come or not."
"Damn it," Roque muttered, pushing to his feet. "Damn idiot hacker."
Clay didn't even try to hide his smirk.
Of course, that smirk was wiped off his face as soon as he opened the door to the motel room, stunned by the overwhelming smell.
"Shit!" Roque barked from behind him, bringing a hand up to his nose. "He'd better be dying."
"What the hell's going on?" Clay demanded as he caught sight of Jensen curled up on the couch. He was trembling and grunting in pain.
"Muscle spasms," Pooch answered. "He's dehydrated as hell."
"Jensen?" Clay said quietly, crouching down next to the prone man's form. "Can you hear me?"
Jensen muttered something unintelligible and weakly waved a hand through the air. Clay turned to Pooch, who shrugged.
"He's been pretty out of it the last half hour or so."
Cougar suddenly appeared from the bedroom carrying the advanced field kit they had. He made short work of selecting an IV bag and handing it to Roque before turning to Jensen. He tapped at Jensen's arm, swearing under his breath when he couldn't find a vein.
"All his veins are collapsed," he said quietly, moving to the other arm. He shook his head and tried to insert the needle into Jensen's arm, cursing when he missed the first time and Jensen groaned.
"Lo siento," he whispered, trying again and nodding in satisfaction before hooking up the saline bag that Roque was holding.
"Cougar? His breathing sounds kind of off," Pooch said. Cougar moved up to Jensen's face and listened to his breathing before shifting and pressing his ear against Jensen's chest.
"Heart sounds wrong," he said finally. "Happens with dehydration."
"Shit," Roque mumbled. "What the hell do we do for that?"
Cougar's response was to hold up a syringe.
"How do you know that?" Roque demanded, watching as Cougar inserted the contents into Jensen's IV.
"I actually paid attention in first aid," Cougar responded, pulling out another syringe. "This one should help with the vomiting."
"Did you know he knew all this?" Roque asked Clay under his breath.
"What, you think I would let us go out there with only your first aid knowledge? Hell yeah, I knew. Jensen knows almost as much as Cougar, when he's not the one needing the help."
"That should help," Cougar said finally. "We need to keep him cool, avoid heat stroke."
"On it," Clay said, leaving the room.
"He'll need light foods," Cougar continued, turning to Pooch. "Bananas, or rice. Something like that."
"Got it," Pooch said. "Nice work, Cougs."
Cougar nodded in acknowledgement of his friend's compliment.
"What about me?" Roque asked. Cougar grinned up at him.
"You hold the saline."
xxxx
Two days later, Jensen was back on his feet and just as annoying as usual.
"Glad to see you back to normal," Pooch commented, watching Jensen eat breakfast.
"Yeah," Jensen answered. "But I hate this shit." He dipped his spoon into his oatmeal and watched with a disgusted expression as the mush dribbled back into the bowl.
"Hey, you deserve it, man."
"I know," Jensen said with a sigh. "I'm thinking about using Roque as one of those testers, you know? The ones who tested food for poison before the king ate it."
Pooch laughed.
"Good luck with that, Jensen. You get that man to eat an enchilada and I will be impressed."
Jensen looked up in excitement.
"Is that a bet?"
Pooch narrowed his eyes for a second.
"Yeah, it is."
"Sweet!" Jensen crowed, standing up. "Well, I'm late for the doll factory, but it's on Pooch. 20 bucks says he eats one by the end of the week."
"Oh, it's on," Pooch answered, shaking his head as Jensen walked out the door.
xxxx
Three days later, he handed his money over to a very smug looking Jensen as Roque happily ate a pile of four enchiladas.
"How the hell did you do that?" He asked, watching incredulously as Roque started in on his third.
"Mad skills, bro," Jensen answered.
Pooch sighed. He couldn't wait to get out of Bolivia.