Sicktember Day 1: Fever
Word Count: 1452
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong
Warning: N/A
Summary: Olivier has a fever. Drachma is attacking. Neither is Good.
Notes: NA

Fever

Hot. She was hot. Inside her thick, woolen winter coat, Olivier was hot. Looking at her from the outside, no one at a distance would be able to tell. She was suppressing the shivers that wracked her, and her coat was too thick to show the sweat she could feel soaking into her clothes. It was dangerous to be sweating out in the cold, and she knew it. But there was no other choice.

She was running a fever, and she knew it. A flu had been going around the fort. A third of her men had it, a third of her men were recovering from it, and a third were waiting to get it. She should be in bed, resting. She should be lying down, sleeping. She should be under blankets, with a cold rag on her head. She should be letting her sickness run its course, and let her body dictate what she was doing.

Instead of that, General Olivier Mira Armstrong was out on the top of Fort Briggs, the cold wind cutting through her as she looked out at Drachma. They had troops in the contested area. They had already launched an attack. They were preparing for more. She could not be lying down now, could not give into this sickness. Fort Briggs needed its general now. Her men needed their general now. Drachman needed to see the general of Fort Briggs now. Her place was here.

The wind blew. The sun beat down. The tension grew.

Olivier sweated, felt her body trying to give into the sickness, and refused to give in. Her men were here, ready, on alert, sick or recovering. She would do no less, no matter how much her body begged her to sit down, how much her sight wavered, or how dizzy her head felt. She would not lay down while her fort was in danger.

Then Drachma fired.

The shot arched up through the air, heading for the fort. Olivier gave the order, and her own men fired back, aiming at the shot, hoping to stop it before it hit the fort. The two shots collided in midair, exploding. The cubs flinched back from the explosion, and Olivier locked her knees to keep herself upright as her body tried to use it as an excuse for dizziness. But her bears were already on the move, aiming the artillery. All she had to do was give the order.

She did.

For the next half-hour artillery shots were exchanged between Fort Briggs and Drachma. Canons were aimed, moved, taken, switched, fired. She organized a dance of battle, keeping the artillery mobile and firing from various places on the fort. The Drachman forces met in kind, their ground forces much more mobile than that of the fort. But Briggs had the high ground, they had the supplies, and they had the superior artillery.

Finally, Drachma pulled back, retreating, although not without leaving the land pockmarked with places where artillery shells had exploded, where their artillery had been blow up, and bodies left behind in the snow. The damage to the fort was not nearly as clear, although they all knew that there was some, at least.

"I want a report on our damages," Olivier said. "Get repairs started immediately. Restock the weaponry and be prepared in case they bring another wave. Then those that are sick get back inside. Our fort remaining strong relies on you being strong."

There was a resounding "Yes, sir!" and Olivier turned to go in herself, pausing as she looked out over where Drachma had been. Or at least, she hoped that was how it looked. In truth, she needed a moment to steady herself as the world swirled around her. Now that the immediate danger was over, the fever was trying to overwhelm her. She felt like she was burning up. Standing was hard. Breathing was becoming harder. Staying on her feet was becoming more and more difficult.

"General," It was Miles' voice nearby, close to her. "The first reports should be coming in to your office soon."

Olivier took a deep breath. "Yes. I'll need to take them."

She forced herself to take a step forward, then another, then another, one by one, towards the elevator, knowing Miles was right beside her. She was, at this point, moving on muscle memory and the presence of Miles alone. It was enough, it seemed to get her into the elevator. As soon as she heard the door close, her body gave out, as if that was the signal it was waiting for.

"General!"

Miles sprang toward her, catching her as she started to fall. She could feel him supporting her, keeping her upright even as the elevator started on its journey down. She didn't try to get her own support back. She couldn't. Miles cursed in her ear.

"You're burning up. I'm taking you straight to Doc."

Olivier tried to object but couldn't get the words to work right in her head. Everything was a dizzy blur.

"You should have stayed in bed," he said.

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as the elevator started to slow. Olivier tried to force herself back to her feet, but she couldn't make them quite work like she wanted them too. She could hear the door opening, heard Miles yelling, felt someone else coming alongside her. They were moving, and she tried to keep up, but she kept stumbling. She tried looking up, but the world swam in front of her, and she found she was better to look down at her feet, although not by much.

Doors opened, and she smelled the sharp sting of antiseptic, and heard Doc's voice, although she had trouble hearing the exact words. Within moments Olivier was being deposited on a bed.

"General? General can you hear me?"

She could feel her coat being opened, words being tossed around. She hummed in response.

"Okay, General, your fever is dangerously high. I'm going to get you into something cooler and you're gonna get an IV of a fever reducer."

Olivier let out a small noise of assent, and she could feel Doc and her nurses working quickly. She was stripped of her uniform, wiped down to get the half-frozen sweat off of her, and put in something thin. She could feel coolness on her skin as someone ran a rag of alcohol over her. Her hair was pulled up and away, and she could feel the IV being put in her arm.

Somewhere in there she lost track of what, exactly, was going on. The next thing she was truly aware of was that she was in a hospital bed in sickbay, a sheet over her, and Miles was sitting next to her bed. She turned her head towards him, and he looked over at her.

"General." He said.

"…Miles," she responded.

He put down the report he was reading and turned towards her. "Do I need to lecture you about pushing yourself too far, and remind you that you've trained us to be able to run the fort even when you aren't here?"

"You don't have the rank to lecture me," she said.

"True," Miles said. "I'll let Doc do it then."

"….was it that bad?"

Miles slight smile dropped into a frown. "It was. Your fever was the highest that Doc has recorded so far. Being out in the cold didn't help the congestion in your chest, which made it harder for you to breathe. You were sweating enough that your uniform was wet, which meant that it was refreezing."

"…I see," she said.

He paused, and the shook his head. "You still have a fever. Doc said she's going to keep you here for a few days. General." He made sure that she was looking at him. "You need to rest. Don't worry about the Fort. We'll take care of it. Buccaneer and I are already taking shifts. But Briggs will be in far worse shape if you don't take care of yourself."

He was dead serious, and even through her fevered state, Olivier could see it. She sighed and looked away from him. "Something tells me that if I don't rest, you and Buccaneer both with force it on me."

"That would be correct, General."

"Fine."

She rolled away from him, pulling the sheet around her. Truth be told, she still felt awful. Her head hurt, she was hot, and she still felt a touch dizzy. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be up and tending to her Fort. But if she had to be here, at least she knew that her fort was in good hands.