CHAPTER EIGHT
XXX
Jack woke up feeling like death.
Chills burst across his chest, making him shiver uncontrollably. He pulled the sheets closer to himself and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling uncomfortably nauseated as a headache pulsed across his skull. A hazy thought brushed across his unconsciousness, and he reached back to see if Megatron was still there.
His fingers rubbed against cool sheets, the human at first disappointed that his heat source was gone.
What in the Allspark am I thinking?
He shook his head, however he immediately regretted it as he was punished with sharp pains from the back of his eyeballs which traveled straight through his head.
A groan escaped him, and despite feeling terrible he dragged himself out of bed. Grabbing the sick bowl in case he threw up he went to the bathroom, realizing he looked even worse than when he had checked on himself yesterday.
He was so pale, his cheeks a splotchy pink, his eyes rimmed red as if he had been crying. Instead of being mussy from his sleep, his hair was matted down by the cold sweat persisting along his body. Truly, he looked like death.
Deciding he needed a shower he jumped in, cranking the heat on to maximum level and letting the chills continue to wrack his body. He was so cold and miserable - living in the middle of the desert, he never really had to experience such a sensation. He decided he hated it.
Trudging into the kitchen he took a closer look at the time, seeing it was six thirty. His mom would be back in seconds.
As he fished for Tylenol he heard her car park in the driveway, trying to keep his body from shaking so intensely and uncontrollably. The last thing he wanted her to do was worry after a long shift at work.
Opening the door his mother jumped in surprise, blue eyes wide as she took inventory of his state.
"My god, Jack," she put her purse down and set her keys on the counter top, touching his forehead. "You're burning up. Were you miserable all night?"
He hesitated, realizing that, no, actually, he had slept just fine.
"I woke up only a couple minutes ago," he admitted, supposing that if he was asleep, then he would not be expected to give exact details. "I guess I was okay up until now . . ."
"What's your temperature?" She asked, starting to search for the thermometer.
"I don't know," he said, waiting to drink the water and Tylenol. He also had a bowl of chicken noodle soup covered in the microwave, but even the thought of smelling the food made him want to throw up.
Eventually finding the device, June placed a disposable cover on it and had him place it under his tongue. Jack was grateful that, despite her nursing background and the increased accuracy, she did not make him take the temperature rectally.
It seemed to be a long time before the thermometer beeped, Jack's shivers eventually decreasing. He supposed it meant his body was finally heating up.
June's surprised, then extremely concerned face, made his heart stop. "103.4. What other symptoms are you having?"
He cringed. "Well, I do have a headache now, and I'm nauseous . . ."
"What about body aches?" June forced him to sit, giving him two Tylenol with the glass of water. "Have you thrown up recently?"
"I haven't eaten recently," he sipped on the water. Now that he thought about it, his back was aching, however he assumed it was because of him. Though he was not about to tell his mother that. "My back hurts, I guess. But I think it was from sleeping on it wrong."
"If your temperature goes up another degree, I'm taking you to the hospital," June said, feeling his cheeks after he took another drink of water. "Your temperature should not be rising this fast, nor should it be this high."
"It's probably just a stomach bug, mom," he said, though that in itself sounded like a horrendous lie. "Or maybe it's flu."
"It is still a bit early for flu season," she said, however he could tell she was agreeing with him. Nevertheless, his mother looked extremely worried, and she rarely ever was. "I managed to get a friend to cover my shift for me. We're going to do round-the-clock alternating Tylenol and Ibuprofen, keeping that fever down. I want you to try and eat whenever you feel hungry. But if you can't keep things down, I'm having you taken to the Emergency Room. I don't want you to become dehydrated, that will destroy your kidneys."
He nodded, suddenly feeling sick. He leaned his forehead on the edge of the table, willing himself to not throw up. "Do you think . . . maybe . . . I can get something for the nausea?" He asked. "Like Zofran?"
"I can check. If not, I'll either find something over-the-counter, or I can see if one of the doctors will prescribe some," she assured him, gently stroking the top of his hair. "Let me clean up and change into something more comfortable."
After he nodded his confirmation she left, Jack wondering how he could feel so miserable. He had flu before, and even stomach flu, but this was something completely different. He felt as if he had been run over a train, then given the stomach flu.
As he waited he tried to will his pain to go away, also wondering what would happen if he did end up going to the hospital. He would get fluids, for certain, but what would they test for? Trying to think back to what could have, possibly, made him sick, he kept drawing blanks until . . .
Oh my god. Venezuela.
He had a hundred mosquito bites, all of them hiding underneath his clothes and fading away from existence. So, of course, his mother never saw them; if she had, she would have asked at least five million questions.
What do mosquitoes give people? Malaria?
He doubted it was malaria, however he otherwise had no idea what they could have given him. Trying to figure out what the symptoms were and how they could be treated left him with nothing, because unlike his mother, he never studied human diseases. Even then, he would never be able to explain malaria to the doctors, because rarely did they have mosquitoes in the middle of Jasper, Nevada, and he could guarantee none of them carried the parasite.
Closing his eyes, Jack hoped this was just the flu. He had no way to explain away how he could have gotten anything else to his mother, because if she tried to corroborate any story he came up with to the Autobots . . .
That would raise only more questions, and would jeopardize everything.
Of course, there was the slim chance that June would take his word for it and not try to interrogate Arcee about why she and Jack were in South America, however, it was a slim chance all the same.
Arcee was not stupid, but maybe he could convince her they had?
Jack cringed. This sucks.
As much as he hated it, he knew Megatron would have some answers. The warlord would volunteer them freely, of course, because he too would not want to jeopardize their agreement. He was far too desperate for that.
Desperate. Desperate to . . . have me.
Jack shuddered, though this time it was not because of the fever.
"Are you okay?" His mother asked quietly, making him jump a little and pull him violently out of his thoughts.
"I don't know if okay is the right term," he joked weakly. "But . . . I think the Tylenol is helping."
She smiled softly. "Good. Let's get some chicken soup in you."
XXX
A knock at the door at 4 pm was a little strange to June, until she realized that perhaps Miko and Rafael had decided to stop by. The assumption was not out of the question, as the trio were practically inseparable, and it was after school.
However, she was greeted by the unexpected surprise of a young, though very pretty woman standing at the doorway. She looked a little shy at first, her spine straightening as she saw June. In her arms were a few books and papers, her red hair bouncing as she met the mother's gaze with lively green eyes.
"Hello Ms. Darby," Sierra greeted, her cheeks flushing a light pink. "I was just stopping by to drop off the notes and homework for today. For Jack. How is he feeling?"
"Sierra," she recognized her from Jack's multiple school yearbooks. She had been in his class for several years before skipping sixth grade. From what the nurse could remember, she had always been quite sweet, and Jack occasionally spoke about her in a good light. "Thank you for stopping by. Jack is . . . still quite sick."
The head cheerleader handed over the books and papers with a frown. "He definitely didn't look good leaving school today," she admitted. "Is he going to be okay?"
"We've been keeping a tight Tylenol and Ibuprofen regimen," June assured her, pausing. "Would you . . . like to see him? You'll have to wear a mask."
Sierra took a moment to think, then smiled and nodded. "Yeah, if it's alright with you. I don't want to impose if you're busy."
"Nonsense, and I'm sure he would like some company," June let her step inside, Sierra finding the ear-loop masks on the kitchen table and sliding one on. Making sure it was a snug fit, she let June direct her to the living room, where poor Jack was laying on the couch.
"Jack, you have a visitor," June announced, his eyes snapping open. He nearly bolted off the sofa when he saw who it was, jumping and sitting up, though it was with a grimace. His body was killing him.
"S-Sierra! Hey!" He blurted.
Her eyes crinkled up, smiling behind the mask. "Hey. I heard you were still pretty sick."
"Yeah," he was not sure what to say, painfully aware that she was just standing there awkwardly. "O-oh, by the way, I am so sorry for getting vomit on your shoes."
She laughed, waving a hand. "Don't worry about that. They get vomit on them at least once every week."
He looked at her, a little taken aback by her response. "Oh, um, work?"
"Volunteer," she shrugged, looking a little shy about it as she sat on the nearest chair. He noticed she just sat on the edge, not really comfortable and not sure what to do as a guest in the house. "I, ah, volunteer to work at the hospice in the next town over. The Nobody Dies Alone program, cleaning rooms, patient comfort."
There was a split second of idiocy where he thought to ask if she liked volunteering there, realizing right before he opened his mouth what she was talking about. He closed it again, flopping for words for a moment. A joke seemed incredibly inappropriate to follow that up, the young man deciding to go for a more tender approach.
"That's . . . that's good work," he said, genuine but also feeling like an moron. "You know, really altruistic. I thought you did cheerleading on weekends."
She waved a hand. "That's for competitions, and it's not cheer season anymore. I wanted to get some experience, because I'm thinking of working in the geriatric field. Obviously, not everyone there is older, but the majority are."
He blinked, surprised by this. He had figured she would study business, maybe continue to do cheer through college and go to work for one of the football teams, or be on a competitive team. Geriatrics seemed completely out of left field.
"Wow . . . that's really cool."
The smile she gave him was one of amusement, but it was also sad. "You don't really have to lie. It's not the first thing people say they want to do when they grow up. Though I gave up on being an astronaut in fourth grade."
"N-no!" He stuttered. "I mean, it really is cool. I think it's awesome. Not a lot of people want to go into that field - it's unique."
She blushed a little, laughing nervously. "Thanks."
There was a long moment of silence, the pair obviously thinking of something to say. Sierra fiddled with a string on her skirt, opening her mouth to ask a question, only to close it.
"I'm glad you're doing okay," she said finally. "And I hope you get better soon. Being sick sucks."
"Yeah," he agreed, offering her a small smile. "Thanks for stopping by."
"Of course," she smiled as she stood, giving him a shy wave. "Text me on occasion, I want to make sure you're feeling better."
His eyes widened, unbelieving what she said. Text her? As in . . . have a conversation?
"Y-yeah, I definitely will," he promised, and with that she left the living room.
His thoughts were in a tizzy. Sierra was here, and she had been talking to him. It was like a dream come true; it was as if she was finally noticing him.
However, his joy was quickly snuffed out by the realization that he would have to keep her at a distance. He would never risk trying to date her while also having Megatron come visit him every night. Just the thought of lying to the warlord scared the scrap out of Jack. If he dared to forge a relationship with Sierra, and Megatron learned he had gone behind his back for some human girl . . .
He felt sick to his stomach. Why is everything so perfect now?
Why was there temptation? Was this some sort of elaborate, twisted test that Megatron had concocted? How would he manage to do that?
Sierra gave June a smile as she took off her mask, throwing it in the trash. She bid the woman a good evening and opened the door, nearly smacking straight into a fist raised to knock.
Miko's ponytails bobbed as she jumped in surprise, her jaw dropping when she recognized who opened the door. "Sierra?"
The girl looked equally surprised. "You . . . you're the exchange student, right? Miko?"
"Yeah," the punk girl crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow and looking immediately suspicious. "What are you doing here?"
"I just came by to check on Jack," the senior frowned. "And give him the notes from today. He's been really sick."
"I know. Because I'm his friend," Rafael looked at Miko in bewilderment, not sure why she was being so hostile. If anything, Sierra was one of the nicer people in school.
Sierra was not sure what to say to that, instead just stepping out of the door and between the pair.
"Ms. Darby has face masks on the kitchen table," she said over her shoulder, walking down the driveway and towards a car parked near the Darby's driveway. She saw an Urban 500 and some kind of heavy-duty car settled on the other side of the street, though Sierra merely assumed they were the neighbors' cars. She doubted either Miko or the other kid - Rafael, the really smart freshman - could drive just yet.
Miko strutted into the Darby household as if she owned the place, snatching a mask from the aforementioned table and marching into the living room. There, June had entered and was in the process of measuring Jack's temperature, surprised when she noticed the pair.
"Miko, Raf," she straightened. "Did Sierra let you in?"
"Uh-huh, we came to see how Jack was doing!" Miko answered, the nurse immediately noticed she had put the mask on upside-down.
"How is he?" The quiet Rafael wondered aloud.
"I've been better," Jack mumbled from his position on the couch, every movement making his muscles ache. "Flu, probably."
"Though it hit you like a train," June sounded worried, looking at the thermometer. "And you still have a bit of a fever. 102F."
"That blows," Miko crashed into the nearest chair, the one Sierra happened to have been sitting in prior to their arrival. "We were starting to wonder when you were coming back to base."
"Not any time soon," June shot the girl a look. "Especially in this condition. Right now he just needs rest and fluids."
The young girl huffed, but she did not dare fight June on that. In all honesty, Jack did look like scrap, dark circles beginning to form under his eyes, his face much paler than usual. He also shivered on occasion, despite being under at least seven blankets.
"So what did Sierra want?" She asked, not bothering with tact.
"She just wanted to see how I was doing," Jack sighed, his mother disappearing into the kitchen to put the thermometer away. "No harm, no foul."
"Yeah, well, she's never visited you before," Miko pointed out.
"We've known each other since grade school, Miko," Jack reminded her, "and I threw up on her shoes . . ."
"And she didn't ask you for new shoes?" She quipped, the boy giving her an unamused look. She shrugged. "That's what I would have done."
Jack sighed, not having the energy for this kind of conversation. There was a pause, silence befalling the group before he asked the question that he was sure he knew the answer to.
"How goes the search for Optimus?" He asked.
Miko frowned. "Still nothing. But the 'bots are looking, and Ratchet's trying to 'turbo-charge' the Groundbridge and turn it into a Spacebridge!"
"Any luck?" The boy asked.
It was Rafael that answered, the young boy sounded defeated. "No, not yet. Every attempt we've tried has failed - either because the bridge doesn't start up at all, or it destroys the test cars we drive through it."
Jack rested his head back on the pillow, feeling the Key burn through the pocket of his jeans. They were running out of time, if what Megatron had told him was true: that Optimus was decoding a database full of weapons of mass destruction, which could be used to annihilate either of their planets if the warlord so chose to do so. But what could they do? He was so useless.
Megatron was right there. Yet Jack was too cowardly to ask him questions, scared he would see through them and realize the boy was just using him. His stomach twisted, this time from fear instead of illness. He was no master manipulator, he did not know how to trick people into revealing information. Megatron would see through it all.
That was, until Jack had him completely convinced he was serious about this . . . thing they were doing. This courtship. But Jack could not even bring himself to pretend it was real. Not yet.
"We'll find a way," he said, the promise more so for himself than his friends. "We'll get the Key to Vector Sigma, we'll get the knowledge of the Primes, and we'll get Optimus back. We have to."
Miko nodded. "Yeah; we won't Buckethead get away with stealing Optimus!"
Jack cringed.
If only you knew the half of what he was getting away with.
