She's the leader of her own world order
She's a legend in my own mind
She's the goddess of her own religion
My madonna
And I can't believe she's mine
--from My Madonna by Dexter Freebish
Micah struggled to a sitting position, letting the rag drop limply to the mattress.
"Gabe?" he croaked. His hand went out blindly searching for the wheelchair. When it hit home, he gave it a yank. The chair slid forward, hit the bed, and rolled away. "Gabe?" Micah pulled himself to the edge of the bed and stretched out his hand, trying desperately to grab the armrest, but his fingertips barely brushed it. He leaned a little farther -- just a little bit -- and suddenly the world was ripped out from under him. His vision swum, the room spun, and with a thud and a flash of pain, Micah was on the ground.
(ow)
"Gabe!" This time, it wasn't a question; it was a call for help. He knew very well he couldn't get up. The fever was getting worse, it seemed, and the fall had rekindled some forgotten wound in his back. If it had been dying embers before, it was an inferno now.
"Let me--" There were more struggling sounds from the hall. "I have to help-- Let me go, you bastard!" A sharp slap rang through the house. Micah tried to sit up, feeling the need to help in some way, and immediately winced. His back screamed in protest at the sudden movement, so he fell back to the floor. Gabe poked her head in the room. "Micah, what--" She stopped right away and dashed forward. "Oh my God, what happened?!" Her hands were already probing and inspecting for injuries, running gently over his face and hair.
"Fell off," he said dimly. Micah looked up and saw Jeremiah standing behind Gabe, arms crossed threateningly over his chest.
"Can I--"
"You've done enough," she snapped, and hooked her hands under Micah's arms. "I'm going to lift you to the--" But she didn't even get to finish. Micah let out a cry at the flare of pain that shot through his back. Gabe inhaled sharply and let go. "Okay -- okay, so that won't work." Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably in the background.
"Are you sure I can't--"
"Shut up, Jeremy!" The girl whirled on him and, with surprising strength, shoved him back into the wall. "All you're doing is making it worse!" Jeremiah looked surprised, but not for long. He decided to lean against the wall as if it were his idea to be there in the first place. Micah glared up at him in hatred.
(this is your fault)
He was recieved with a cool stare.
"Honey, just lie still. I'll get Edith to help, okay?" Gabe ran a hand from his forehead over his hair, bringing Micah's attention back to her.
" 'Kay," he mumbled. She smiled weakly and got to her feet.
"Be right back." Gabe turned, heading out the door, and was stopped by Jeremiah's restraining hand.
"Where do you think you're going?" Jeremiah asked in a low voice, his fingers tightening around her wrist. Micah tried to spit out a curse
(let go of her you little prick)
but the fever was taking hold and his back was screaming, so speech was nearly impossible. Gabe's eyes spoke for him. She looked at the hand around her wrist and slowly transferred the gaze to Jeremiah's green eyes.
"If you don't let go of me right now," she said coldly, giving Jeremiah the blackest glare either of them had ever seen, "I swear to God, I'll kick your sorry ass so badly that Micah will be able to walk better than you." Her words were low and probably supposed to be confidential, but Micah heard anyway. He didn't mind for the moment; the fact that the ceiling was shifting into funny shapes was higher on his list of priorities.
"Try it," Jeremiah hissed, and Gabe yanked her hand out of his grasp.
"Get out of my house, you son of a bitch." The boy glared for a moment -- first at Gabe, then at Micah -- and turned.
"I'll be back," he muttered, slinking towards the front door. "You can be sure of that." Gabe followed after him. Micah dimly heard a door slam, then Gabe's scream -- "Bastard!" -- before the world did one last crazy twirl and finally went black.
"Micah. Micah, sweetheart, can you hear me?"
(mom?)
"Honey. Oh, honey, you have to open your eyes."
(angela?)
"Please, Micah. Please open your eyes for me."
(gabe)
Hard as it was, Micah lifted his eyelids and looked for the voice speaking to him. Gabe was sitting on a chair beside the bed. They were in her room.
"Wha--" He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a finger gently over his lips.
"Sh. Don't talk yet. I'm not sure if the fever has passed." Then she smiled weakly down at him. "Crazy night, huh?"
(son of a bitch Jeremiah)
Micah wasn't allowed to answer, so he just glared. Gabe brushed his hair away from his eyes.
"Yeah. I know." She snatched a thermometer from the nightstand by her bed and held it to his lips. "Can you open your mouth for me, love?" He obeyed and let the tube slide in. The girl stroked his face lightly with her fingertips. "Good. That's good." A minute or two went by before she pulled the thermometer out and squinted at the result.
"So, doc," Micah said, making a weak attempt at a joke, "am I gonna make it?"
"Quiet. You'll make the fever worse." But Gabe smiled shakily down at him anyway. "It's still a little high: 100.4. It should pass after a little while." She dropped the thermometer on the nightstand, seized a glass of clear liquid, and turned back to Micah. "Can you lean forward a little?" He sat forward as best he could, and Gabe slid a hand behind his head. She held the glass to his lips. "Drink, please." Micah took a little sip, made a face at the taste, and swallowed.
"Yuck," he spat, smacking his lips in an effort to rid them of the odd flavor, "what is that stuff?"
"Warm 7-up. It's what I always drank when I was sick. Take another sip." He frowned up at her, but obeyed and gulped a little more of the bubbly liquid.
"Tastes gross," Micah muttered, and took another sip.
"Sorry. It helps with the fever, I promise." Gabe pulled the glass away.
"Are you sure?" He offered a weak smirk. "It's not just to see me make funny faces?" She chuckled quietly, turning back to him.
"Nah. Amusement is just a bonus." The girl pressed the back of her hand to his forehead again. "You feel a little cooler. I think the fever's going down." Micah leaned back into his pillow.
"Good," he murmured, then reconsidered. "Gabe."
"What, sweetheart?" She stroked his face lightly with her thumb. He swallowed a little and met her eyes.
"Did he hurt you? Badly?" Gabe blinked in surprise, then laughed softly and covered it with her hand.
"Oh, honey," she said quietly, cupping her palm against his cheek. "No, he didn't hurt me badly. My wrists are a little sore, that's all." The girl chuckled again, but it was a sad sound this time. "Your back is a big knot of pain, you've had a fever for the past three hours... and you want to know if I was hurt." Gabe smiled, somewhat mournfully, and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "You're such an angel."
(me?)
Micah opened his mouth to counter, but he shifted a little and his back screamed. So, much to his dismay, a whimper of pain escaped instead.
(weakling)
Her hands held him still.
"Don't try to move," Gabe said gently. Then she paused and reconsidered. "I'm going to try to roll you over on your stomach, okay?" He looked up at her, black brows raised.
"Won't that hurt?"
(so what if it does wimp)
"Just a little. But believe me, it'll be worth it." She slid her hands securely on one of his shoulders and his side, then let out a short breath. "If it hurts too much, tell me to stop. Ready?" Micah nodded a little.
"Yeah, I guess."
(no you're not wimp wimp wimp)
"Okay. Here we go." It was one swift motion. Before he had time to react, Gabe had flipped him over onto his stomach like a pancake -- and, much to his surprise, with only a little twinge of pain. "Are you okay?" she asked almost immediately.
"Just fine," he mumbled, gingerly folding his arms to make a cushion for his head. Gabe sighed in relief.
"Oh, good. Good." There was a short period of silence before she very gently began rolling up the hem of his shirt.
"What are you doing?" Micah asked with only mild surprise.
"Part of your recovery program." Gabe finished rolling his shirt a little above his shoulderblades and turned to the nightstand. "It'll make you feel much better." She squirted something into her hand, rubbed it between her palms, and lowered them to his back.
"What are you going to do, grease me like a pig?" He snickered to himself, then stopped abruptly when she began ever so gently kneading his aching back.
"Shut up or I'll stop." Micah didn't need to be told twice; the massage was heavenly. Whatever she had on her hands smelled like lavender and spread an odd cooling feeling down to his spine, through his throbbing muscles and shattered nerves. Gabe worked in silence. Her fingertips rubbed and stroked, slowly battling the blazing pain until it was just a dull sting.
"Recovery program my ass," he mumbled sleepily, eyelids drifting closed. "Mmn."
"Feel good?" she asked in a quiet voice. Micah buried his face in the cushion of his arms and sighed.
"Mmn." Gabe smiled and pulled her hands away, rubbing them on her jeans.
"Thought so." She paused, then leaned forward and pressed her face gently against his bare back. "Mm. You smell yummy."
"Thanks," he muttered into his sleeves. "It's every guy's dream to smell like lavender." The girl ran her fingers delicately over his spine, making Micah shiver involuntarily.
"I think it's sexy," Gabe whispered, then pressed a soft kiss against his skin. "I gotta go find Edith. I forgot earlier that she had gone to work, so I'm going to call her and see if she can come home."
"Don't bother her with me." He lifted his head gingerly from his arms to look at her. "I'll be--"
"If the fever comes back," she informed him quietly, "and I can't get it back down, we'll have wished that Edith was here. I'm going to call her." Gabe gave him a weak smile and kissed the bare skin of his back again. "I won't take long. I promise."
Micah sighed quietly and glanced around the room. His back did feel much better, and it did feel as if the fever was going down. It only took a moment to realize that Jeremiah was leaning onto the sill, his head sticking through the open and unlocked window.
(son of a bitch)
"How's the little patient doing?" he murmured calmly. Micah couldn't move for fear of his back, so he just glared at him over the cushion of his arms.
"Get out." Jeremiah smiled thinly.
"Sure. But there's no guarantee I won't be back." Micah scowled and started to sit up, but a sharp sliver of pain went through his spine. He laid back down.
"You cowardly little shit," Micah said quietly, giving Jeremiah the blackest glare he could manage. "If you ever lay a hand on Gabe ever again, I'll--"
"You'll sit there and watch," Jeremiah finished, a smirk dancing across his face, "because you can't do a god damned thing about it, can you?"
(SON OF A BITCH)
"Get out," he said softly, and the boy shrugged.
"Whatever you say, Mr. Balding." Jeremiah flashed a grin before dropping out of sight. "I'll see you later. Be sure of that."