Chapter Six: Jack Doesn't Like Bile… Can't Imagine Why!

          "Jackie-Boy… wake up…"

          Jack rolled over in bed and immediately saw Ellie's face.  For a moment, he forgot who she was, or the fact that she'd been living under the same roof as him for a little over a month.

          "Who are ya?" he asked, swatting sleepily at her head.

          "I'm your conscience… we haven't spoken in a while," Ellie stated sarcastically. [AN1]

          "Mouth!" Jack shouted, trying to hit the girl on the head.  She managed to duck out of the way.  Her reflexes were good, because she was clumsy and had to have fast reflexes to keep from getting hurt.

          "Jack, you really shouldn't hit girls…" Ellie chastised, crossing her arms and giving him a look of reprimanding on her face.

          "An' why is dat?" he asked, pushing himself up on his elbows.

          "Because they'll probably hit you back!" Ellie's hand swung through the air and smacked him on the head, not hard enough to actually hurt, but hard enough to teach Jack a lesson.  It was then that Jack realized there was no one else in the bunkroom.

          "Where'd everyone go?" Jack asked, looking around.

          "To work, smart one.  You slept in.  Kloppman tried to wake you up, but he couldn't.  Said you looked a bit peaky." Ellie scrutinized him. "You do look kinda sick.  Are you…?"

          She didn't get her answer, however, because Jack found himself jumping off the bunk and running to the bathroom.  Ellie followed him and watched with intense worry as he threw up in the toilet.

          "Aw, Jackie, you're sick…" Ellie rubbed his back as he leaned over the toilet, gasping for air.  She felt his forehead. "Oh my God!  You're burning up!" She watched as he drowsily got up and wandered down the hall to her bedroom.  He collapsed on her bed.

          Ellie watched him from the doorway. "Sure, Jack, you can sleep on my bed." She rolled her eyes when she realized he was asleep.  The metal trash basket was placed next to him in case he threw up again. "Let's play a game of solitaire…" the brunette muttered, crawling onto the other end of the bed and producing a pack of cards from her pants.

-x-x-

          "Hey, Ellie!"

          "Yeah?" Ellie's eyes shot up from her third game of solitaire.  Camden was standing in the doorway, papers in her arms, staring as Jack snored at one end of the bed, and Ellie played cards by his feet.

          "What's… goin' on here?" the redhead asked curiously, trying to keep the reprimand and uncertainty out of her voice.

          "Jack's sick…" Ellie frowned. "So I'm staying here to take care of him.  I think he stayed out in the cold too long yesterday." She shook his head. "He didn't wear his coat, like everyone else, and everyone told him to… I think he's got the flu." Camden gave her friend a small nod, and Ellie look over at her again. "Could you stop by Medda's and tell her what I told you?"

          "Yeah, I'll… I'll do that." Camden nodded, her mass of red curls bouncing under her hat. "Just… take good care of him, okay?  He looks a little peaky."

          "Yeah, I get that a lot."

-x-x-

          Jack woke up a little while after Camden left.  He tried to sit up, but found that that made his head pound, so he laid on his back and looked around the room. After a few seconds, he realized that he was in Ellie's room, on Ellie's bed, and wondered how he got there.

          "Glad to see you're finally awake," a familiar voice said from the end of the bed.  Ellie was seated at the end of the bed, playing, what looked like, blackjack.

          "How long's I sleepin'?" he asked, holding his throbbing head.

          Ellie rolled her eyes up to the ceiling in thought. "Well, you woke up at about nine, and then you barfed, and you stumbled into my room about two minutes later and passed out, and it's about lunch time now…" She quickly did the figures. "You've been asleep for about three hours."

          "Well, den I'se gotta get ta woik!" Jack exclaimed, sitting up quickly.  A wave of nausea washed over him, and it felt like he had a porcupine jabbing at his brain. "What's wrong wit' me?"

          "You've got the flu," the girl stated simply, keeping her eyes on her cards. "We told you to put your coat on, but you just didn't listen…"

          "Look, I don' need a lesson heah, Ma," Jack groaned sarcastically.

          Ellie rolled her eyes. "Sor-ry… Look, I got Camden to tell Medda that I was watching you today, and I'm not leaving until you stop…" She watched with concern as Jack leaned over and emptied the contents of his stomach into the trash basket. "-Throwing up."

          He shook his head. "I gotta get ta woik." He sat up quickly and grabbed onto a bedpost for support.

          "It won't hurt for you to miss one day of work." Ellie pushed him back onto the bed. "You should eat something."

          "If I eat, den I'll trow up more…" he groaned, falling back onto her pillow.

          "Yeah, but would you rather throw up bile?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

          "What's… bile?"

          "It's the stuff that your stomach produces to digest the food in your stomach.  After your thrown up all the half-digested food, that's all you have left in there, so that's all that comes up.  It's green, and bad smelling, and it burns your throat like acid…

          "An' why's dat?" Jack asked, feeling like this was the exact opposite of what  he wanted to happen to him today.

          "Because it pretty much is acid," Ellie replied, shrugging.

          "Whaddaya got ta eat?"

-x-x-

          "How's he doin'?" Racetrack asked, appearing in the doorway around three or four.  Jack was asleep again, and Ellie had moved on to reading a book.

          "He's better..." Ellie replied slowly. "But he's still really tired, and he's got kind of a headache.  His temperature's come down a lot."

          "Hey, y'know, Ise was talkin' ta him yestaday, an' he said-"

          "Race, if he said anything about me, I don't want to know." Ellie shook her head. "You probably misinterpreted it, anyway.  That's what happens most of the time.  To me, at least."

          "Well… he only has good tings ta say 'bout ya."

          "Sure, Race, whatever… Just like you've liked me since I've been here?" Ellie rolled her eyes, and Racetrack looked down at his feet guiltily. "Wanna play blackjack?"

          "Nah."

          "Poker?"

          "Nope."

          "Castle?"

          "Yeah!  I'se haven't met anyone who's knows hows ta play dat in a long time!"

-x-x-

          The author would like to make a statement at this time: (Stands up on soapbox, clears throat) Very mild fluff is ahead.  If that make you squeamish and squirm, do not read further.  That is all.

-x-x-

          When Jack woke up, the sun had set and the room was a mass of shadows.  There was something warm wrapped around his waist, and, when he looked over, Ellie was asleep beside him.  He carefully removed her arm from his waist, causing her to stir a little, and made his way into the bunkroom.  Everyone else was asleep, so he didn't have to deal with them feeling sorry for him because he had been sick.  It was a welcome relief.

          As Jack settled onto his bunk over Racetrack, he was amazed at the fact that Ellie would miss work for one day, just to take care of him when he was sick.  Although she did make more than he did, about nine dollars a week. [AN2]

          Still, it didn't make much sense.  Ellie was the kind of person to be the favorite aunt, and occasionally the strict mother, but she was never the caring mother-figure.  She cared about people, but she liked disciplining people more than staying with them when they were sick.

          "Have fun bein' babied taday, Cowboy?" Race asked suddenly.  Jack looked down to see the shorter boy's head sticking out the side of the bunk. "Gad, she nevah lef' da room da whole day!"

          "Shut up, Race," Jack growled, throwing his only pillow at Racetrack's face.  Unfortunately, Race ducked out of the way, and picked the pillow up from the ground.

          "Tanks foi da pillow, Jack."

AN1: Yep, now I'm quoting Finding Nemo… (shakes head) t'is a sad, yet funny, day.

AN2: This is based on the assumption that he makes seven dollars a week.  I calculated that by figuring that he sells one hundred papers a day, and seven hundred a week, and each paper in worth a penny, which means he earns seven dollars a week.  Also, if you compare what the money was worth then with what the money is worth now (a ratio of 1:75, judging on the fact that the average paper costs 75 cents now and 1 cent then) then, in our time, Jack would make about 525 dollars a week, and Ellie would make 675.  Ellie gets paid about $2.25 ($168.75) for each performance, and performs about four times a week, on average.  Okay, I'll stop being a math geek now.

Author's Note of the Chapter: I think my math geek monologue was pretty much enough for this chapter.  If you're confused, ask your math teacher.  Of course, my smart aleck friends have already challenged my genius.  Cable-paying fools.  I am, of course, kidding.  I'm probably wrong, anyway.  Correct me if I am.