CHAPTER SEVEN
XXX
Jack flipped the page of his notebook when he felt it. A sudden, hot flash that seemed to activate every sweat gland of his body and coat him in uncomfortable dampness. He wiped his hands on his pants, feeling as if the heat was going to suffocate him.
He had the brief, irrational thought to take off his shirt, but he was not wearing anything underneath it - and besides, no matter how hot it got, he never considered taking off the long-sleeved clothing before. This was a new heat, and he swore the classroom had been rather chilly earlier.
As the lecture droned on he continued feeling far too hot, but now a chill was beginning to encompass his body, gripping his core and making him shiver uncontrollably. Looking around, he noticed no one else appeared uncomfortable, his skin possessing an unnatural sheen to it.
"Jack, are you feeling alright?"
He felt his cheeks flush at the teacher's attention, looking up apologetically.
"Yeah . . . just cold," he said, cringing as he felt all eyes on him. He wanted to disappear, and he wanted the chills to stop.
A chair scratched against the floor, his heart jumping when he spotted Sierra standing and striding towards him. The back of her hand touched his forehead, a frown twisting on her face.
"I think he has a fever," she said. "I'll take him to the nurse."
The teacher acquiesced, Jack standing. He felt like his eyes were burning, as if he was preparing to cry, however he felt no desire to. He was way hot, wondering just how he could have gotten a fever so fast. He had been fine earlier . . .
Now that he thought about it, he did feel a bit toasty in History class.
Gathering his things he followed Sierra out of the room, her brow only furrowing further.
"You look really pale, are you sure you're okay?" She asked.
"I . . . I don't know," he said, each step making his stomach churn. He definitely had not felt that bad sitting down, however he did not think it was the usual butterflies he got while around her.
It was also strange that Sierra was acting this worried around him - usually she never gave him a second glance, but lately she had been paying a lot more attention to him. Stopping at his locker, conversing with him, as if she knew such an interaction was dangerous. And never had she ever interrupted class to "care" for a student. Did he really look that bad?
"We're almost there," she said, and he could spot the nurse's door just down the hall. "Jack?"
He realized he had started hyperventilating, taking deep and shuddering breaths as he tried to fight off the nausea. Leaning against the lockers he felt his mouth pool saliva, his dizzy brain realizing what was about to happen next.
"I-"
Then he vomited, cafeteria food chunks and stomach acid spattering on the floor, getting it all over himself - and Sierra's shoes.
XXX
June frowned. "101.4; how high was it in the nurse's office?"
"100.9," he croaked back, shivering under sixteen blankets as he watched his mother throw away the thermometer cover. She placed the device back in its holder and set it on his nightstand, next to the sick bowl that had already been washed two more times.
"You looked fine this morning," she said, her blue eyes filled with a mother's worry. "Did you feel fine?"
"Yes mom," he said, feeling unwell and irritable. "It just came on all of a sudden in class. Then I puked all over Sierra's shoes."
"At least she was nice about it," June pointed out, which was true. Instead of freaking out or screaming, the head cheerleader had handed him some paper towels she had seized from the nearest bathroom and helped him clean up a little bit. After that, she had finished escorting him to the nurse's office, and informed the woman to call the janitor. He had no idea what had happened to her after that.
"Yeah, but I puked on her shoes," he bemoaned.
"You're sick, it wasn't your fault," June placed a cool cloth on his forehead. "Try to take this Tylenol with water. If that doesn't work, we might have to try an enema."
"Mom," nothing sounded more embarrassing. After receiving a look that told him she was serious, he took the cup of water and pill. "I'll keep it down, I promise."
She nodded in satisfaction, waiting for him to take it and drink the entire glass before standing.
"I can make you some bland food and leave it for when you're hungry," she said, "but I have to go to work tonight. I'll try to have someone cover my shift tomorrow, but if that does not work I'll have one of the neighbors come check on you."
He nodded. "Okay . . . thanks."
She smiled, lightly brushing his hair back before exiting the room.
Jack sighed, looking at the clock. It was only 1:34, and the school nurse had called and woken his mother up from her sleep to come pick him up. He felt guilty, despite knowing he had not gotten sick on purpose. Still, there was a sense of responsibility - surely he could have called Arcee instead and had her drive him home, or perhaps he could have just walked, and taken care of himself. He did not need to make his mom disrupt her sleep schedule for him.
Both assumptions were ridiculous, however the guilt remained.
Closing his eyes he settled into the mattress, trying to suppress the nauseated feeling which made his stomach throb. He had to keep this Tylenol down if he wanted to feel better, however this sickness was more intense than anything he had encountered in a while.
When he opened his eyes again it was because he was so hot, glancing at the clock and realizing he had slept for around two and a half hours. The medicine was in full swing, his fever down and the chills eradicated, which was why his blankets now felt more like a trap than a safe haven.
Feeling his stomach growl he gingerly slipped towards the edge of the bed, standing and leaning on the nightstand. He felt a little dizzy, waiting for the spell to pass before grabbing the sick bowl and taking it with him to the kitchen.
As promised, June had left some unsalted tofu chicken noodle soup in the fridge, which he heated up in the microwave. Despite the temptation to inhale the entire, large pot full of soup, he did not want to risk throwing it all back up. One step at a time.
Curling up on the chair he sipped the soup, deciding it would be best to take an Ibuprofen to keep his symptoms at bay. It had been almost three hours since his last acetaminophen dose, and he was fully intended to sleep again once the bowl of soup was finished. He wanted to wake up with the minimal amount of symptoms as possible. If this could be beat by the next morning, he could go back to school and catch up on what he had missed.
Once he was done the young man took a moment to use the bathroom, splashing water on his face and taking a good look at himself in the mirror.
"I look like scrap," he whispered aloud.
His pale face stared back at him, dark circles already forming under his eyes. His hair was tousled from his nap, which only added to the poor image. He was sick.
"Alright. Nap time."
He slid back into bed, his phone buzzing and nearly causing him to jump out of his skin. Realizing his mom had only called Arcee to tell her Jack was not at school, he figured it was probably Miko or Rafael.
Indeed, it was the former, her silly little contact picture popping up with the text.
Dude, where are you? Arcee said you're sick?
He sighed, replying: Yeah. I threw up in the hallway.
Heard about that! All over Sierra's SHOES!
An involuntary groan escaped him. He had been so sick, and so mortified, he definitely did not notice if anyone else was in the halls. Of course that story would spread like wildfire, even if Sierra had not mentioned it to everybody - but why wouldn't she? It would humiliate him for an eternity.
A part of him was bitter. She had shared his victory over beating Vince in a race; what would have stopped her from talking about the loser who thought he could outrace a car on a motorcycle? Would she really do that?
Probably.
He sighed.
That was embarrassing enough. I'm going to nap.
See you tomorrow?
He hesitated.
I hope so.
Closing his phone he snuggled back into his covers, closing his eyes, which still felt hot at their edges. The softness of the blankets made him feel safe, and he was actually glad to be in bed, instead of stressing over the next homework assignment. It was nice.
XXX
When he woke again he knew it had been a long time, his body shaking uncontrollably from chills. He tried to pull his blankets around himself tighter, grunting in frustration when they did not obey him.
"You have been tremoring uncontrollably for some time."
He nearly screamed, jumping so hard it even startled Megatron a bit, red optics brightening briefly as he lifted his arm. Jack sat straight up, his chills forgotten for a moment, however the swift movement cost him.
Realizing what was going to happen next he grabbed the sick bowl, shoving his face in it right as the stomach acid burned his throat. The remains of what he had eaten that had not yet digested made a reappearance, looking much less appetizing than when he had heated it up in the microwave.
"You're sick."
Jack suppressed the urge to snap at the dictator and his astute observation, instead silently getting up, still using the sick bowl just in case, and going to the bathroom.
Once everything was cleaned up he took another Tylenol with a glass of water, crawling back into bed. Megatron had since sat up, Jack not caring when he did not lay beside him. He figured the metal being was disgusted, as no one liked the sight of vomit - especially organic vomit. Though he supposed it was and indication the mech was not a sympathetic puker.
He pulled the blankets up to his chin.
"Yeah. Been throwing up since this morning." He said, answering the question that had been laced in the statement.
"Do you know what it is?"
He shrugged. "So stomach bug, probably . . . maybe flu . . ." he stopped and closed his eyes as nausea made his stomach turn. "Don't want to talk much."
"Did you take medication?"
If Jack was surprised that Megatron cared, or that he knew what human medicines were, he did not show it, only nodding. The tyrant tilted his helm, looking at him. He was pale, yet flushed, his skin dripping perspiration even while he shivered uncontrollably. His temperature regulation was going haywire, trying to reestablish homeostasis and failing miserably.
Well, if he was cold, Megatron could warm him up.
"What-" Jack protested pathetically as his sheets were carefully peeled up. He went to grab them back, but metal digits wrapped around his wrist, pushing it back to him. The message was clear enough, though with each layer gone he felt colder. Closing his eyes he curled up, though as the next chill wracked his body he began to consider snarling at the warlord.
Once the final sheet was pulled back he felt something odd. Metal, hard and cold against his skin, pressing up against him. Even worse, then, was the feeling of the sheets returning over his body.
Seeing Megatron tucked in bed would have been more funny if Jack had not been miserable - and if it was not his bed, with him in it.
"What are you doing?" He hissed, though he did not dare to move. Vomiting on Sierra had been bad enough - Megatron would not be so kind of the same happened to him.
"Relax," with the tyrant's words ghosting over his ear, he was far from relaxed, "your temperature is far below where you need it to be. I will warm you."
You will what?
Before he could ask more questions, he heard another sound, realizing Megatron had, in essence, stopped breathing.
"Wait," he forced himself to turn, coming face-to-face with the tyrant. They were closer than Jack would have ever liked, their chests merely half an inch apart, his forehead nearly brushing against the same area of Megatron's helm. Red optics met him in an amused gaze, sharp denta flashing at him as the mech grinned.
"Surely you were aware that we have no reason to breathe, with the exception of keeping our systems at an optimal level of humidity and temperature," Megatron said, Jack suddenly becoming hyperaware as his servo pressed against his lower back. They were way to close for this.
"I knew about the breathing part," he said, swallowing a little and pausing to allow the nausea to settle. "It just - I'm sick. I'm not really thinking straight."
"Hm. Then rest. I will regulate your temperature accordingly," Megatron told him, sounding rather matter-of-fact about it. Jack sounded a little suspicious.
"Why? Sounds like work," he said.
Megatron continued to look at him as if Jack had just told the funniest joke in the world, and he was still thinking about it.
"Indeed, however I believe it is in both of our best interests that you express symptoms as little as possible; helping you obtain some level of comfort should allow you to heal faster. Achieve temporary hyperthermia is an important facet."
He was way too tired to tell Megatron that the last thing he needed was a fever.
"Fine," he turned around again, cringing when his stomach turned with him, yet it settled and the nausea merely left him with a few tremors. "Just don't let me get warmer than 103 degrees."
"As you wish," was the response, the pair of them falling into silence.
Jack still continued to shiver in the tyrant's arms for an agonizingly long time, nothing seeming to help. That was, until, he began to feel it - Megatron's chest was starting to become a heat source, something that felt amazing against his chilled core.
Too miserable and cold to care he curled up, trying to put as much surface area of himself against the heat. It did eventually warm up the space around them, Jack's chills subsiding as a warm arm heated his chest, and warmth continued to radiate against his back.
His breaths finally evened out, Megatron able to sense when he was finally asleep. The heaviness of his exhalations informed him of just how deep the recharge was, and how desperate Jack's body was for rest.
As his sensors began to read Jack's temperature leveling out, he cooled his systems again, gently cycling air to maintain the temperature the human's body had settled on. Within a few hours Jack's core temperature began dropping again, Megatron allowing his own to do the same to ensure he was not too hot, nor too cold. He assumed it was the medicine which was allowing this to happen.
He wondered if he should consider this illness a blessing. It had prompted Jack to snuggle up against him, willingly, which certainly would not have happened in any other circumstance.
As satisfying as it was to think of it that way, he had to be careful. Illness was something to take seriously, and he did not want Jack to suffer any complications from it. Influenza, a virus humans had known about for decades, still killed thousands a year. There had to be caution, and he would take every step necessary to ensure the human returned to full health.
Once Jack started to shiver again he warmed himself back up, keeping Jack close and comfortable for as long as he dared. Finally, he knew it was nearing the hour when his maternal unit would return home, and she would check on his condition.
Carefully sliding away, Megatron placed the sheets back over Jack, lightly caressing his pale cheek as he waited for Soundwave's Groundbridge. He would likely send the human a message to check on his health; he abhorred the idea of waiting until the nighttime to receive an update, as anything could happen in the span of a few hours. He only did not request updates every hour because Jack would see it as a rather aggressive invasion of his privacy. Megatron, however, was serious. He would not lose him.
Not again.
