I figure one of these a week. Sounds good? Yes no, maybe so? The begining of this story was how I was feeling last week. Well, this and last week :P

Jackie

Thanks to: e-dog, Macaroon, BeachChick, Dessler, dansingwolf, Maria, blueangel, Vrbinka, BiteBeccy, SarahRabb, my.evian, anna, Jaggie107, snugglebug, Manda, Lisa, cbw, Xblue, froggy, aserene, crazybum, VrbinkaCZE, sally, trooper, starryeyes, Martini, NavyBabe, jaggurl, and mizukimar for the feedback:)

Part 3 – Doctor's Visit

"Harm?" There's a knocking on my door, calling my name and it feels like someone has just taken a bat to the base of my skull. I feel miserable. Somehow, (I think it was the Gunny I was defending) I got some sort of bug. A cold, the flu, Ebola, whatever you want to call it and it's sucked the life out of me. It took me an hour to call in sick, simply because I couldn't move from the bed. Last night was murder, every time I stared falling asleep my nose kept running a marathon. Around four AM, I ran out of those nice tissue paper with aloe on it. You know? The kind that feels good on your nose. Since then, I had resorted to toilet paper (I have a roll next to me right now) which feels like sand paper every time I blow into it. I've had so much water that I may as well just drag the five gallon bottle out of the water machine, park it next to my bed and just stick a long ass straw in it. Light bugs me. I found that out the hard way as I went into the head and the lights I turned on nearly blinded me. "Haaaaaaaarm?" There is a knock on my door again and it takes an superhuman amount of will power to get me moving.

"Yea, yea. . .coming!" My voice is all disgusting and nasally. God, I hate being sick. I open the door up to find Mac standing on the other side, she bends down, picks up a bag from, what has to be, a grocery store then barges right in. As she passes me Mac stops and gives me a peck on the cheek and a silly grin, but it does nothing for my mood. "Uh, Mac. . .Not in the mood for company right now."

She heads straight into my kitchen, props the bag up on the island and starts taking things out of it. "Well, since you're sick today I though you'd like some chicken soup."

"What I'd like is to be shot and put out of my misery." I lock the door then drag myself over to the island. I want to sit up on one of the stools, but that won't work. My body aches too much to try. Instead, I just lean heavily against on of the chairs. It's then that I feel a sneeze coming on, but just my luck, nothing happens. Ugh!

"Why don't you go and crash and I'll bring it over to you when I am done."

I shrug, that sounds reasonable enough. "Just don't burn down the kitchen." Wincing as a blow my nose on the toiler paper, I shuffle my way across the apartment and towards the steps to my room. Why, oh, why didn't I just build a ramp here? No, I have to maneuver these steps then walk those few feet to my bed. I throw myself on the bed and don't get any sleep at all, surprise, surprise. Instead I lay with my head propped up so I can see what Mac is doing in the kitchen. She seems very at home and I file that memory away for inspection when my brain isn't in a cold medicine induced haze. It doesn't take too long for this wondrous smell to permeate my apartment and for the first time all day, I am actually hungry.

About an hour later, Mac brings in a tray with soup and some oyster crackers which she tosses into the soup. Something about me needed to eat something solid if I've been taking medicine. I grunt in response, not caring if I upset her, I am really sick! I lift the spoon to my lips and take a sip and she smiles as I nod at her approvingly. All of those bad jokes about her not being able to cook were just that. Course, Mac prefers to reheat, nuke and order out, but she's cooked for me before and I've yet to drop dead. She settles herself at the edge of my bed and her hand feels my forehead, cheeks and neck. "You're burning up."

Why does everyone automatically think their hand is a substitute for a thermometer? I blow on the spoon to cool down the soup then swallow some down. "I feel like roadkill."

"You look like it too." She says with a grin, then reaches over for my thermometer which is sitting on my nightstand. "Lift up your arm." She commands as she shakes the thing to get rid of the last reading. I had to think about the thermometer didn't I? Now she's giving me this motherly, doctoral, Mac look which would be cute if my brain wasn't swimming.

I stare at her for a moment and for the first time I really realize that Mac is in my apartment. Well, not just that she's in my apartment, but that she can get sick. And this thing, well I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. . .Hmmm, check that, I wouldn't mind if Palmer had it. I push Mac's hand away from my t-shirt, where she is tugging to lift it up. "Woah, wait. . .You shouldn't be here. . .I don't want you getting sick too."

"I'll be fine. I had a double dose of vitamin C and Echinacea. I'll stay cootie free. . . Now lift up your arm." She says in that I'm-not-taking-no-for-an-answer tone.

Nope, not going to do it. Not going to let her take care of me as if I am some five year old. I am a grown man and I can take care of myself. "Mac, this is nice, but I don't need you to take care of me." Okay, that sounded a bit bitter and I didn't mean it as such, but I had my male pride to take care of here!

"Haaaaaaaaaarm." That warning tone of hers unnerves me, I am so not in the mood for it.

"Maaaaaaaaaaac" I repeat in the same tone and she just rolls her eyes at me. "Look, really I'll be fine." I slurp down some more soup and some of it gets all over my shirt. Who cares? I am sick! "Thanks for the soup and for stopping by, but you really have to go."

She's gonna fight me on this I can tell. Grabbing a napkin, she dabs at my shirt cleaning the soup off. Yea, I know, I should be thinking: ahhhhhhh, that is soooo cute! Hah! Umm, well, yea it is. "Let me see your throat." She turns on the lamp beside my bed and angles the shade so that she could see me better. I squint at the light.

I shove another spoonful of soup in my mouth and shake my head vehemently. Course right around there this friggin coughing spurt starts and I hack my lungs out for a good minute. Mac is staring at me with concern, okay, so I am sick, I feel like crap and I want to be taken care of.. Besides, I bet every single heterosexual male would die to have Mac as their nurse. Screw male pride! With a sigh, I do that "aaaaaaaaaahhhhh" sound as I open my mouth and let her take a look around.

"Hmmm." She starts, holding my chin and moving my head in different angles. Mac is gentle with me, despite her I'll-kick-your-six-any-day-Marine exterior. "Not good. . .looks like you have an infection. . .You need to go to the doctor." Her fingers run softly through my head and I stupidly give into her, until it dawns on me – she wants me to go WHERE!

That's when I start to lose it. "Oh no, hell no!" Anything but the doctor, I'd prefer spending a weekend dealing with the budget report than going to the doctor!

Mac shakes her head. "Look I know you don't like them, but you are sick and your throat looks infected." I try to object but she gives me a pointed glare. "You don't have a choice." And the gentleness has run right the hell out of here, Sarah MacKenzie is on Marine-on-a-mission mode.

I concede, against my wishes, but I know that if I don't do as she wishes, Mac will just haul me down there anyway. "Okay, fine. . .but I am finishing my soup first!"

The moment we walk through the halls of Bethesda, I am inclined to just turn around and bolt. And this isn't because I have a doctor's visit, I feel like bolting even when I am here visiting someone else. I hate doctors, all sorts of doctors, shrinks, neurosurgeons, general practioner, the OBGYN. Especially the OBGYN after not being able to help much with Mac's health concerns. I take a deep, shaky breath as we walk into Dr. Rawlings office. Mac ushers me into a chair and she speaks with the receptionist about who I am, what I am in for and what paperwork I need to sign. I swear, this is like a death sentence, I'd rather be in the brig.

My leg is nervously moving up and down in a speed that is incomprehensible, especially with as crappy as I am feeling. I reach into my jacket and pull out a travel sized packet of Kleenex which I will, no doubt, go through in less than twenty minutes. Jeez, I am debating just sticking a cork in each nostril, better yet, let's just hermetically seal my nose. As I go into another full minute coughing spree, the female Navy Lieutenant sitting two seats away from me stands and heads over to the other end of the waiting room. Smart woman. Under normal circumstances, I'd be perturbed, but for the moment, it's best if people just run away from me.

Mac brings back the paper work and hands it to me to fill out. I stare at it and the words start to cross, from exhaustion, from whatever plague has gripped me, I am not sure. "Mac, can you fill this out. . ." Cough. "For." Cough. "Me." Cough. Cough. Cough. Cough. "Please. ." I wheeze out and she sympathetically reaches into her purse and produces the bag of cough drops that I though we left at home. He unwraps one, then sticks it in my mouth. "Bless you. . . You're an angel."

She chuckles. "Uh huh, just remember that if I ever need you to take me to the doctors." Grabbing the pen attached to the clip board she fills out the things she knows. "Besides, I need to get you healthy. . .Can let you croak before we go on another date." She says in a sing song voice that makes me chuckle. Well, cough and chuckle. It takes her quite a while before she bumps into something she doesn't know. I don't know why, but I find that endearing and smile at the notion that she knows me so well. "I am not sure on this one. . 'Do you have allergies to medications?' Penicillin right?"

I nod. "Yep, nothing else." She fills out that part then skims through the things she hadn't filled out.

Mac grins. "Are you currently using recreational drugs?"

Yes, I am. Sarah MacKenzie. That's a wonderful drug wrapped in Marine greens with a body that can stop traffic and eyes that can melt a man at twenty paces. "Nah, I tossed out my stash of pot." I joke with her and for my efforts go into a slight coughing/wheezing fit.

"Woah there, sailor." She runs soothing circles on my back and I moan happily with the contact. Damn, am I happy I am not in uniform.

She's scanning the sheet for more details when she abruptly stops her musings on me. "Okie dokie, here it's asking. . .uh, well, do you have problems ejaculating?" I shake my head no and she proceeds to another question which has her blushing. "Any problems getting or maintaining an erection?" She stumbles through the question.

"No." I joke, "All my parts are working just fine and dandy."

The Lieutenant at the other side of the office, I can tell, is hanging onto every little last word we say. She was watching us until that whole thing about my. . .uh, parts came up. Now she's turned beet red. I swear I hear Mac hiss out a breath of relief. Then she moves towards the clincher. "Are you currently sexually active?"

Wow, who would have thought that just a simple doctor's visit would turn to this? "No, I am not." Again, Mac breathes a sound of relief.

"When was the last time you engaged in sexual activity and was your partner male or female?" The sentence rushes out so quickly that, if it wasn't because I filled out that same form a couple of months ago for my physical, I wouldn't have a clue what she said.

Now, this poses a problem. Well, maybe. Some would have you believe that I've had women in and out of my life, various women since Renee left. While this is slightly true, the fact is that I haven't been sexually active with any of them. I intended on letting Mac know, but not quite in this venue. Mentally I count back, "Female, May 2001."

The Lieutenant scoffs, as she over hears that part and quickly tries to mask it as a cough. Mac is just staring at me and there is a look in her eyes, an odd look, guilt maybe? Guilt that she had an intimate relationship with Webb while I stood at the sidelines. I am slightly pleased at holding that power over her, but I won't use it for the wrong reasons. Instead I smile and shrug. "I underestimated you." She says in a soft voice. "I'm sorry for that."

"It's not your fault." Which is true, I could have fought her, she pointed out to that last week. We get interrupted when the nurse pokes her head out of the door. I know this conversation we shall brush again at another venue, am just not too sure I want to have it. Thank God the nurse interrupts. "Commander Rabb? Your turn."

Mac hands me the forms and settles herself into the chair. Now, I start to panic. "You aren't going in with me?" She furls her brow for a moment, then gets it, she knows how I do not like doctors.

With a sigh, she stands up, grabs her purse and follows me in. "Sure, I'll hold your hand, kiss all the boo-boos and keep them bad bad doctors away."

I stop and glare at her for a moment, but deep inside I am smiling. "Funny."

As we pass by, I hear the Lieutenant softly tell Mac. "He's a keeper." To which Mac agrees.

To Be Continued...