Disclaimer: Don't own nothing. Don't sue.

Author's note: Sorry that this took so long. Blame ML, best friend and proof reader, who has had more of a life than usual, but is now forgiven. Blame can also be given to Hurricane/Tropical Storm/Tropical Depression Ernesto, that interrupted normal life for a few days here in FL. Thank goodness for weather that turned out to be fairly boring.

Thanksgiving

It was almost 7:45 PM when Jack managed to get up off the couch. He had returned from the Leery's around 6:30 and for the last hour, he had lain in happy contentment, too full to move. The food had been incredible, and he was grateful to have the chance to see Dawson again, even though his friend was only in town for a few hours.

Thanksgiving is for families, and a week ago Jack had felt a bit depressed that his own family was so far away. Andie was slated to be on call all weekend, and Jen and Grams were flying to Paris to visit Jen's mother. In the end, they had finally decided that they would all spend Christmas together in New York. Even his father was planning on flying in to stay for a few days.

It had been a great Thanksgiving so far. His father had called this morning and they had talked for over an hour. Almost as soon as they had hung up, Jen and Grams had called. Dinner at the Leery's had been wonderful, with more food than four adults and one child could possibly consume, and Dawson and Jack had watched with amusement the interaction between Gail and Steve. They may have thought they were being discrete, but it was obvious that their relationship was pretty serious; they weren't fooling anyone. The best part of the day had occurred during dessert when Jack's cell phone rang. It was Andie, who had found a few minutes between patients to call.

Jack checked his watch: 5 minutes until kickoff. He turned on the TV and peered out the window. No Doug, which was unusual. Doug was almost pathologically punctual. He knew that Doug hadn't forgotten because he had mentioned getting together to watch the game only that morning, as they finished up their morning jog down the beach. Doug claimed that football was a good excuse to escape the circus that was the Witter household when all of the family came to visit.

The game started; still no Doug. After twenty minutes, Jack found he couldn't sit back and enjoy football. He dialed Doug's phone number: no answer. After leaving a message, he tried Doug's cell—again, no answer. He couldn't escape the feeling that something was terribly wrong, and he grabbed his keys and headed out to his car.

As he approached Doug's apartment, the first thing he noticed was Doug's patrol vehicle parked in its usual place. Jack parked right behind the SUV, and then jogged up the steps and rang the doorbell.

After waiting a sufficient time, he was about to walk away when he decided to try the doorknob. To his complete surprise, it turned in his hand. That was weird, seeing how Doug always locked his door when he wasn't home.

Feeling more than slightly apprehensive, he entered Doug's apartment. The first thing he noticed was a set of keys and Doug's cell phone on the counter, but other than that, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. "Doug? Are you here?" he called out as he walked through the living room into Doug's bedroom. He was about to turn around to leave, when he decided to continue on into the bathroom.

When he entered the room, the scene that met his eyes was such a contrast to the orderliness of the rest of the apartment that he could only stand in shock for a few seconds. The trail of vomit began at the door and led to the toilet, and curled up on the tile floor was Doug, who was looking pale and clearly rather ill. Trying not to gag at the stench, Jack knelt down beside Doug. "Doug? Can you hear me?" At his words, Doug opened his eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"How long have you been like this?" he asked.

"Couple of hours, maybe longer." Doug spoke slowly and softly, in hopes that if he could somehow not move a muscle, the nausea could be held at bay.

Jack looked down at the figure on the ground, completely at a loss as to how to proceed. The decision was made for him when Doug began to struggle to get off the floor. Instinctively Jack reached down to grab Doug's shoulders, so that he was partially supporting Doug's weight. When Doug was finished retching into the toilet, Jack helped him so that he was sitting, propped up against the bathroom cabinet.

"Doug, staying in here can't be helping things. Maybe you'd feel better if we got you cleaned up and in bed," he suggested. "Maybe I should call Pacey."

Doug shook his head, unwilling for someone else to see him completely humiliated and pathetic.

Jack sighed. "Do you trust me?" he asked. He waited for Doug's affirmative nod before he continued, in as business-like manner as possible, "well, then. Let's get you out of these clothes and cleaned up." He reached down and began undoing the cuffs of Doug's shirt.

When the buttons on the sleeves were free, Doug began fumbling with the buttons at his collar, trying to do something for himself. Jack watched him struggle for a bit, before he reached up to do it himself. "Here, allow me." Before he began undoing the buttons he looked up to make sure that Doug was OK with this. Either Doug trusted him completely, or was too ill to really care, because he made no objection. In no time Doug's shirt and t-shirt were laying in a heap on the floor. Damn he looks good without his shirt. The thought crossed Jack's mind before he could stop it. Damnit Jack, he trusts you! How could you be checking him out at a time like this, yet the other half of his brain rationalized, how could you not take notice? He leaned down to remove Doug's shoes and socks.

Trying to project an air of calm he was far from feeling, he said, "OK Doug. Let's get you standing so we can get your pants off." Somehow he managed to get Doug up off the floor and leaning against the sink. Soon enough, Doug's pants had joined the growing pile of clothes on the tile floor, and Doug was clad only in his boxers. Even after such a short time Doug was beginning to sway alarmingly, and Jack quickly maneuvered him so he was sitting on the toilet, somewhat propped against the nearby counter.

For the first time Jack took notice of his surroundings. Unlike most of Capeside, Doug's apartment building had been built fairly recently, probably sometime during the nineties. As a result, the bathroom was only equipped with a shower stall. Shit! There's no way Doug can be in there by himself. What if he falls and cracks his head open? Damn, damn, damn. Now what? Coming to a decision, Jack removed his keys and his wallet from his pocket and tossed them on the counter. A moment later they were joined by his watch and cell phone. He removed his shoes and socks, and then his shirt joined the pile of clothing on the floor. He hesitated, considering whether he should remove his jeans before he decided that the additional layer of clothing was probably crucial to maintaining his sanity during the coming ordeal.

He turned on the water in the shower, and then there was no delaying the inevitable. "OK Doug. Time to get you cleaned up." Doug nodded and allowed Jack to help him stand up and step over the ledge to enter the shower stall. He noticed that Doug looked mildly surprised when Jack stepped in behind him, but didn't say anything.

Jack was beginning to think that his presence was completely unnecessary when Doug suddenly began to sway sideways. Jack grabbed his shoulders and righted him before Doug could fall over. After the second time it happened, Jack wrapped his arm around Doug's chest, while using his free hand to scrub at the vomit that had dried in Doug's hair. Thank God Doug was so out of it, that he appeared to not notice the effect their closeness was having on Jack's body. Jack tried to concentrate on the task at hand, mentally cursing his traitorous mind and body.

When Doug was reasonably clean, Jack turned off the water and grabbed the large blue towel hanging on the rack. He dried off his friend, trying to ignore the sodden boxers that clung to Doug's body like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. He wrapped the towel around Doug's waist, and pulling Doug's arm over his shoulders for support, half-carried, half-dragged his friend into to the bedroom, where he deposited him on the bed. He rummaged through the drawers until he found a pair of sweatpants and a pair of boxers. He wrapped the towel around Doug's waist a little tighter, and the reached up under the towel to remove the sodden pair of underwear, and then helped Doug into a dry pair of boxers and the sweatpants. When this somewhat delicate procedure had been accomplished, Jack noticed that Doug was looking even worse than when he had first discovered him on the bathroom floor. Doug was looking extremely pale and his whole body was shaking, but Jack couldn't tell whether it was from fever or exhaustion, or a combination of both. He helped Doug slide between the covers and headed off to deal with the disaster that was the bathroom. He found a mop in the broom closet and a cleaner that contained bleach. He threw the pile of clothes into the washing machine and then went back into the bedroom to grab another pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt for himself. He went into the newly sanitized bathroom to change. After checking on Doug, he threw his soggy jeans into the washer.

Doug was still pale, but no longer shaking. Jack sat on the side of the bed. "Hey Doug? How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"Water," Doug croaked. He looked up at Jack. "Hey, you're wearing my clothes."

Jack laughed. "I hope you don't mind, mine were a bit wet."

"No problem," Doug mumbled. "They look better on you anyway."

Jack looked down at the Capeside Sheriff's t-shirt he was wearing, silently disagreeing, given that Doug looked incredibly sexy in anything he wore. Jesus, where did that thought come from? Shaking his head, he headed into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

When he returned, he saw that Doug was sitting partially upright in the bed, and when Jack handed him the water, he saw that Doug's hands were steady. He took a cautious sip, and was about to take another when his expression became a bit panicked. "Oh shit! I'm gonna—" He couldn't even finish the sentence before we vomited into the trashcan Jack had immediately grabbed and shoved toward him. When he had finished, Jack helped him lay back in the bed. Instinctively, he reached out to brush Doug's hair from his forehead. Jesus, he's burning up. Trying to keep the panic out of his voice, he suggested, "why don't you rest for a bit." Doug nodded, and closed his eyes obediently.

Jack walked out to the living room, after retrieving his cell phone from the bathroom. He dialed a familiar number, and sighed when a familiar voice answered.

"Hey Jack, I didn't expect to hear from you again today. You're lucky you caught me between cases."

Andie was drawing breath to continue when Jack interrupted her. "This isn't a social call. I've got a friend here. He's really sick. He's throwing up and his fever's really high. I don't know what to do."

Immediately she switched into doctor mode. "How high is his temp?"

"I don't know! I can't find a thermometer, but he feels really hot," Jack replied.

"First off, you need to give him something to get the fever down. Tylenol or ibuprofen."

"I can't!" Jack replied, feeling helpless. "He isn't even keeping water down, let alone pills."

Andie was silent for a few minutes, considering. "How long has he been ill?" she asked.

"Probably four or five hours, could be longer" Jack guessed. "I've only been here an hour and a half."

Andie's reply was immediate. "Jack, you have to get him to a doctor. It could be the flu, but it could also be food poisoning. You don't want to mess around with a fever like that, and he could be dehydrated as well."

"OK. Thanks, Andie." He hung up the phone, and was walking back to the bedroom before he realized he hadn't even told her who was ill. Doug was lying in the same position Jack had left him in, curled into a tight ball under the covers. He sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to jostle Doug. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Doug opened one eyelid and replied, "don't ask."

Jack decided not to beat around the bush. "You're not getting any better, and I think your fever is getting worse. We need to get you to a doctor, but the only place open at this time on Thanksgiving is the emergency room."

Doug sighed, and then accepted the inevitable. "OK, but no ambulance."

Jack was relieved that Doug had agreed without a fight. "I'll drive, but you'll have to sit in the passenger seat; my car doesn't have a back seat." For the second time in his life, Jack truly regretted his choice of transportation.

"No, Jack. I feel even worse sitting up. Take my car."

"Won't I get in trouble for driving the Sheriff's personal patrol vehicle?" Jack asked.

"Only if you've put the Sheriff out of his misery and are using his vehicle to dispose of the body." The right side of Doug's mouth curled up in a credible imitation of a smile.

Jack smiled in relief. "OK, just lay there while I get everything ready." He walked out to the kitchen and found Doug's keys and went to unlock to car. He grabbed a coat out of the closet, and headed back into the bedroom.

By some miracle, they made it out to the car and all the way to the hospital without incident, but then their luck ran out. They were almost to the emergency room door when Doug fell to his knees and began retching again. When he was through, he glanced down at his newly soiled clothing and sighed, "can someone please just shoot me now?"

Jack reached down to help him up, trying to find something to say to relieve the other man's misery. "Hey, given its location, I'm sure that's not the first time this bush has been yaked upon. Just look at how small it is compared to the others." His attempt at humor was rewarded with a small smile from Doug.

Miraculously, the ER was fairly empty and Doug was taken back almost immediately. As the nurse led him away, Jack promised to return with clean clothing. On the way back to Doug's apartment, Jack felt even more uncomfortable, convinced that at any minute, he would be pulled over and asked what the hell he was doing driving Doug's patrol vehicle. At Doug's apartment, he grabbed another change of clothing, and then checked the refrigerator. As he had suspected, there was nothing appropriate for someone with stomach problems. He was driving back to the hospital when he saw Pacey's Explorer in front of the Icehouse. He maneuvered the patrol vehicle behind it, and was getting out when he saw Pacey coming out of the restaurant, a pile of papers in his hand.

"Hey Jack! Happy Thanksgiving!" he called, before he noticed the vehicle. "Why are you driving Douggie's car?"

"It's a long story, but the short version is that I just took Doug to the ER because he has a fever and can't stop throwing up."

"Jesus! Is he OK? What did they say?" Pacey asked, very alarmed.

"I don't know," Jack replied. "I ran back to pick up fresh clothing. Andie says they'll probably give him IV fluids and something to get the fever down."

Pacey nodded. "What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"Eventually he'll need to try and eat something, and Thanksgiving leftovers are not exactly the best thing for a queasy stomach," Jack suggested.

Pacey laughed, "especially if they came from the Witter household! I'm sure I can come up with something better, maybe Jell-O and chicken broth. Why don't you get back to the hospital and leave the food to me. Call me when you hear anything."

Jack nodded and climbed back into the SUV, relieved that there was one less detail to take care of. When he returned to the hospital, a nurse escorted him back to the treatment room where Doug was laying on a gurney. He was in a hospital gown with a paper sheet draped over his legs. An IV was dripping into his arm, and he was hunched over, throwing up into a basin held by a nurse in pink scrubs. Jack noticed that

Doug looked pretty miserable. When Doug was lying down again, Jack moved into the room. "Are you feeling any better?" he asked hopefully.

"A little. I think the Tylenol is helping." Doug tried to look upbeat.

"How'd they manage to give you Tylenol when you're still throwing up?" Jack asked.

He could have sworn that Doug blushed, and the nurse seemed to be trying not to smile. "Don't ask. Believe me, you really don't want to know."

Doug looked so embarrassed that Jack quickly tried to change the subject. "So what's the prognosis?"

"They're letting me go once the IV is finished. They think it's the flu. They assure me that eventually I'll stop throwing up once it has run its course. I'm not sure I believe them." Doug smiled. "So who won the game?"

Jack grinned. "I have no idea. I was too afraid to turn on the radio in your car. I didn't want to turn on the siren or mess up something."

Doug started to laugh, but quickly stopped, clutching his abdomen. "Oh God, don't make me laugh, it hurts too much!"

Jack excused himself, and went outside to call Pacey. When he returned the nurse was unhooking the IV. He turned his back as Doug changed into the new clothes. They drove to Doug's house without incident, and once there, Doug fell asleep almost immediately. Jack went out to the living room and turned on the TV with the volume turned down low.

Over the next few days, Doug stayed in bed convalescing. Jack and Pacey would each drop in several times a day to check on him. They knew he was finally getting better when he started to get irritated by their constant attention. A week after his trip to the emergency room, Doug returned to work. It probably wasn't the smartest idea, but he was sick of lying on the couch all day.

A few days later, he was finally feeling back to normal again.

Author's note part 2: To those of you that have weak stomachs, I would like to apologize profusely for this chapter. I am very very sorry. But hopefully in a chapter or two, you will a) forgive me and b) understand why this chapter just had to be here.