Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock or The Incredibles
Chapter Twenty: Weak in the Knees
Francis woke up on Thursday morning to a splitting headache. He blinked his eyes several times, trying to adjust to the dim lighting in his room. He raised his hand to his temple and tried to rub the pain away. It stubbornly persisted. Francis sat up, throwing the sheet off his body, and his vision dimmed for a second. He shook his head and the blackness at the periphery of his vision receded.
Francis swung his legs over the bed and hunched over, holding his head in his hands. Willing his headache to go away. He had an algebra test today; a headache would only make it more difficult than usual to concentrate.
After a few moments of sitting motionless in the dark, the pain ebbed. Francis sighed in relief and started getting ready for school.
When he heard Violet leave the bathroom Francis snuck down the hall and jumped into the vacant bathroom. He locked the door behind him. Francis knew Helen kept some pain relievers in the medicine cabinet beside the mirror. He fumbled around with several bottles of cough syrup and little orange bottles with confusing prescriptions printed on the side before he found a bottle of pain relievers. Francis took a few seconds to read the back before untwisting the cap and tapping two pills into the palm of his hand, as per the instructions. He tossed back the pills dry and moved to put the bottle back, and then though better of it and tucked the bottle away in his pants' deep cargo pocket. The headache might come back.
Violet took a deep breath and fiddled with the microphone attached to her ear. She listened anxiously for her cue and when Tyler, who was playing Polonius, bid farewell to Reynaldo, Violet glided onto the stage.
The spotlight hit her and Violet felt all of her nervousness melt away. She stepped daintily, despite the cumbersome dress she was wearing and Tyler turned to her as she spoke her line.
"My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced; no hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle; pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; and with a look so piteous in purport as if he had been loosed out of hell to speak of horrors, he comes before me."
Tyler said his line. "Mad for thy love?"
Violet continued, letting a tremble of uncertainty and fear enter her voice. "My lord, I do not know; but truly, I do fear it."
They were running a full dress rehearsal. The show was to open to the public next week. All of the characters were in full costume and makeup. The light and sound crews were hitting all of their marks. Everything was going so well. They were ready to have an audience.
Well…they sort of had an audience already. Francis sat in the last row of the auditorium. His feet propped up on the back of the seat in front of him. His arms were folded over his chest as he watched the play. He'd seen enough rehearsals at this point that he had almost the entire play memorized and still only half of an idea of what was actually happening on that stage. Shakespeare was confusing.
He did know one thing, Violet was good. Like, actually really good. Francis didn't claim to be an expert on acting or theater but Violet was capable of making him forget it was Violet Parr he was watching. She became someone else. For someone who was invisible most of the time, she sure did shine in the spotlight.
The rehearsal drew to a close, dead bodies littering the stage as Fortinbras stood over the destruction, soldiers flanking him. Fortinbras spoke his final lines and the kids playing the dead characters were carried off stage. The curtains slid shut and the stage went dark.
The director and crew burst into polite applause.
The curtains were pulled back and the cast assembled on stage for their notes.
Violet looked up and found Francis sitting at the back of the room. He flashed her a thumbs-up and she smiled.
The next morning, Francis slept through his alarm.
No one noticed until Helen pointed out his absence from the breakfast table so Bob lumbered to his feet to go wake the teen up so he wouldn't be late for school.
Bob rapped on the door with his knuckles and waited a few seconds for a response. Nothing. Silence. Bob cracked the door open and looked into the bedroom. The room was dark; the curtains were pulled across the window. The lights from the hallway fell across the bed, illuminating a bare arm flung away from the covers and half of Francis' face turned towards the doorway. Bob stepped into the room. "Francis, wake up. You're going to be late."
Francis didn't stir. Bob frowned and stepped further into the room. He reached out and shook Francis' shoulder. "C'mon kid, breakfast is already on the table." Francis' head lolled limply at the movement but he didn't wake.
Bob's heart dropped. For one sick moment he thought Francis was dead. Bob withdrew his hand and clapped it over his mouth in horror, fighting back panic. Then he noticed Francis' clenched fists balled up in the sheets, the way his jaw was set, his brow furrowed. A trickle of sweat slid down the side of Francis' face. Bob searched for a pulse on Francis' wrist. He wasn't dead. Bob nearly shouted in relief.
Now that his heart wasn't hammering so loudly, Bob could hear Francis' ragged breathing and see the way the teen's chest jumped as he fought for each breath.
Francis may not be dead but there was something seriously wrong with him.
Bob ran back to the doorway and shouted for Helen.
Helen dropped what she was doing and ran out of the kitchen, the teenagers hot on her tail. She had never heard Bob shout like that before.
Her husband was standing in Francis' doorway, his face as pale as a ghost.
"What is it?" She gasped.
"Francis…something's wrong. He won't wake up." Bob explained as quickly as he could.
Helen turned to Virgil. "Get your father." She and Bob hurried into Francis' bedroom.
Virgil turned on his heel and dashed towards his father's suite. Violet stood in the doorway, watching as her parents pulled the sheets away from Francis and rolled the pyro onto his back. Helen found the pulse on Francis' neck and felt his forehead, nearly pulling away in shock when his skin almost burnt her hand.
"He's got a fever." Helen stated. "His breathing is erratic."
"What's going on?" Dash stood beside his sister in the doorway. "Why're people yelling?" He yawned sleepily. Dash's eyes widened when he noticed Francis lying still and pale on his bed. "What's wrong with Francis?" His voice jumped with worry.
Bob got up and ushered the kids away from the door, shutting it behind him. "Francis is sick. Give us some space guys."
Lucius and Virgil rounded the corner and stopped beside Violet, Dash and Bob. "What's the matter?" Lucius asked.
"Something is wrong with Francis. Go get Doc, quickly." Bob said.
Lucius nodded. "Right." He disappeared in the direction of the garage.
"What can we do?" Violet asked.
Bob shook his head nothing. "Nothing else, right now. We don't know what's wrong. We have to wait for Doc to get here until we know what next step to take. You guys go eat breakfast and look after Jack-Jack for the moment. Then, get ready for school."
"School? But…" Violet faltered, not sure what to say.
"Go on." Bob motioned. "It's not going to do any good if you three just stand outside the door, waiting. And just because Francis is sick does not mean a day off from school for the rest of you."
Virgil nodded and steered Dash away. "He's right. C'mon."
"But you'll let us know if we can do anything to help?" Violet asked.
"Of course." Bob smiled. Violet returned the grin and followed after Virgil and Dash. When his children had entered the kitchen Bob turned back to the door, the smile slipping off his face.
"So what's up Doc?" Lucius asked.
Doc Sunbright straightened from where he had been kneeling beside Francis' prone body. "It's a virus. A nasty one."
"So what do we do?" Helen asked, staring at Francis. The teen had been unresponsive thus far and it was fraying at her last nerve. Her motherly instincts were working on overdrive.
"Francis has a very weak immune system and so when he gets sick, he gets very sick. This virus in particular is straining his respiratory system. His temperature is flaring dangerously high in an effort to get rid of the virus but his body is not strong enough to handle the extremes of both the temperature and the strong virus. So first and foremost, we must kill the virus. Francis' body can handle high temperatures on its own so that's not my prime concern. If the virus dies, the fever will vanish with it." Doc rummaged in the big black suitcase he had brought along and came up with a hypodermic needle and a small vial of liquid.
"What's that?" Bob asked.
"A powerful liquid antibiotic of my own concoction. It should do the trick." Doc drew some of the liquid into the needle and pulled Francis' arm out from under the blankets. He found a vein and inserted the needle.
Doc continued, "Francis is going to need an intensive antibiotic treatment to get rid of this virus." Doc searched though his bag again and came up with some more vials. "A few shots of this every few hours should get rid of that virus in a few days."
"Should we take him to the hospital?" Helen asked. "That's probably for the best, don't you think?"
"Normally, I'd agree with you." Doc said. "But unless you want to explain a 130 degree fever to the hospital staff, I'd suggest Francis remain here. His room will need to be cleaned to sterilize it as much as possible. That will help ward off infection."
The Supers nodded their understanding. "You're right, we can't risk taking him to the hospital." Lucius agreed. "We'll have to make do here."
"We're all trained in first aid and can administer the shots ourselves." Bob explained. "Just tell us what to do and how often."
Over the next few hours the adults worked tirelessly to get a proper sterile environment for Francis. Helen gathered all of hi dirty clothes and linens and took them to laundry room. Lucius wiped down all the surfaces with an anti-bacterial scrub.
When the kids came home from school, there were a whole slew of things to explain.
"Why can't we see him?" Dash asked. His face was scrunched up with worry. "He's just sick. We get sick all the time. Mom always lets me sit in the living room and play video games all day. Why can't Francis come out? Or why can't we go in?"
Bob rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Dash, Francis is sicker than your average cold. For the moment, let's pretend Francis is at the hospital. He needs to be in a clean place so that he can get better faster. That means only a few people can go into his room, and we don't want any of you kids going in. Doc says the virus is contagious. We can't risk it spreading around the house, especially not with Jack-Jack."
Dash frowned but lowered his head, accepting the information.
Violet locked eyes with Virgil. He looked just as worried as she felt. "But he's going to be okay, right Dad?"
"Doc seems to think so, so that's what I think too." Bob answered.
"How long is going to be sick?" Virgil asked.
"We don't know. It's up to Francis."
Silence met that statement. None of the kids seemed satisfied with it.
Bob ruffled Dash's shock of blond hair fondly to try and ease the tension. "For the time being, try and keep things quiet, at least on the main level. Francis needs to rest. And none of you go into his room. Everyone understand?"
Murmurs of agreement echoed around the living room. A sense of unease fell over the Sanctum. Bob hadn't realized how quiet it was without Francis' loud voice or how much the pyro had become essential part of all of their lives over the few months he'd been living with them. Things just seemed wrong without the redhead up and about.
By the time Monday night fell on the Sanctum, Francis' temperature had fallen but he was still too warm to the touch. Since the initial treatment by Doc, Francis had stirred a few times. He would awake blearily and slur something nonsensical before he slipped back into a deep sleep; his exhaustion always got the best of him. Francis' body was putting all of its energy into fighting the invasive virus and consciousness was a luxury it couldn't afford.
The fourth day that Francis was out of school, Frieda approached Violet in the hallway.
"So where is he?" She asked bluntly.
"Who?" Violet cocked an eyebrow.
Frieda raised her own eyebrow to challenge the other teen.
"Oh, you mean Francis." Violet deduced. "He's sick."
"For four days?" Frieda asked, the challenging look replaced with one of worry. "Is it bad?"
Violet considered the question. None of the kids had been allowed into Francis' room since he had fallen ill. From what she gathered from the adult's conversations, Francis was pretty sick. He wasn't awake often and when he was he wasn't lucid. He still had a temperature but it was falling each day with the continued antibiotic treatment.
"Yeah. He's pretty out of it." Violet answered safely. She didn't want to scare Frieda.
"Maybe I could come see him? My mom makes a mean matzo ball soup that always makes me feel better when I'm sick." Frieda suggested.
Violet paled. "No! I mean…huh, you probably shouldn't. My mom says it's contagious. I haven't even seen him in days and we live together."
"I could just drop it off. I want him to know I'm thinking of him." Frieda continued. "That's what a girlfriend does, right?"
Violet paused. "So, are you guys official now?"
Since their first date, Francis and Frieda had been hanging around each other a lot more often and were more physical with one another but nobody had thrown around the words boyfriend, girlfriend, or couple. Violet hadn't wanted to assume anything.
Frieda nodded, a small smile lighting up her face. "Yeah."
Violet smiled too. "That's great. I'm happy for you guys."
"Thanks." Frieda tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. "So can I come over tomorrow? I'm going to be in Metroville visiting my cousin so I could…"
"I don't think…"
Frieda frowned and cut Violet off. "Why not? I just want to drop off the soup. I won't go into his room or anything. Promise."
Violet grasped at straws. "I'll ask my mom and text you later? Is that okay?"
Frieda shrugged. "Sure, okay."
"Frieda? Frieda wants to come here?" Helen asked.
Violet nodded. "She wants to see Francis."
Helen shook her head. "Oh no, look at this place. She can't." Superhero paraphernalia was everywhere. Virgil had left his mask and goggles on the table. Dash was zooming in and out of rooms with abandon. Jack-Jack, sitting in his high chair, let out a sneeze and burst into flames. The baby giggled and clapped his hands as his body became a raging inferno. Helen rolled her eyes. "No, that would not be a good idea."
"So what do I tell her?" Violet asked. "She's going to think it's weird, because it is."
Helen thought for a moment and then grinned. "We'll play the chaos card. Tell her your poor; frazzled mother can't handle a guest coming to see her messy, out-of-control home. Trying to control five kids, including one who is very and sick and a baby? We'll make it a pride thing. That seems ordinary enough, doesn't it?"
Violet nodded. "Yeah. That's should be okay."
Violet: hey Frieda, it's a no go on dropping by this weekend. my mom is freaking out about Francis and keeping the baby healthy and the house clean. she's sort of crazy but now's just not a good time. maybe once things calm down?
Frieda: I totally understand. That's fine; things must be hectic at the moment.
Violet: yeah, but since you're visiting, do u want to hang out at the mall on Sat?
Frieda: For sure! Bring Virgil; I miss seeing him since he transferred.
Violet: will do, c u then.
Violet tucked her phone away and grinned. Crisis averted.
Bob turned Francis' arm over and searched the teen's needle-bruised skin for a vein. It had been five days since Francis had fallen ill and the teen was showing marked improvement in his condition. He could stay awake for longer periods of time and his temperature had almost completely vanished. Doc had decreased the amount of antibiotics in Francis' treatment, which indicated that they were on the home stretch.
Francis was sleeping peacefully at the moment, his face buried into his pillow, one arm thrown over his head and his legs hopelessly entangled in the sheets. Bob finally found a vein and injected the antibiotics. Francis stirred in his sleep and his brow furrowed before he settled again.
Bob grinned and pulled the covers over the sleeping teen. He'd handled sick kids before; he had three of them after all. Bob had dealt with chicken pox and pneumonia and everything else under the medical spectrum but he had never seen such a sudden and violent virus like this one. When Francis had first come to the Sanctum, Bob had skimmed the boy's medical history and had seen that there were some issues, but he hadn't known how serious those issues were. Well, now he did know. And he was going to be watching Francis a lot more carefully from now on to make sure nothing like this ever happened again.
Francis shifted in his sleep again, convulsing with shivers. A rivulet of sweat slid down from his brow and over his cheek as the pyro settled onto his side and his hand groped for something, eventually gripping the edge of his pillow.
Bob placed the back of his hand against Francis' temple, trying to gauge his temperature. He was still a little too warm for Bob's liking. A few more days of medication should fix that.
Francis opened his eyes and a small groan escaped his lips. He closed his eyes and tossed and turned for a second, trying to get away from the all-encompassing ache that had overcome his entire body. He blinked, trying to figure out where he was. The last time he had felt this awful was when he was ten. He'd gotten sick and had been confined to the government center's infirmary for almost a month. Francis fully opened his eyes and jerked his head in alarm.
He wasn't in a government center. He was in his own room.
Francis' brow furrowed and a wonderfully cool hand landed on his forehead, stilling his jerking movement. Francis looked up at the blurry figure bent over him. A few seconds later the blurriness sharpened and the teen recognized Helen leaning over him, worry etched into the features of her face. Her other hand had moved to the crook of his neck, her thumb tracing a soothing, circular motion on his cheek.
"Wha…?" Francis winced. His voice was far raspier than usual and it hurt to talk, his throat was dry and scratchy.
Helen seemed to sense Francis' distress and she reached for a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Francis reached for it and his frown deepened when his hand trembled.
Helen helped Francis sit up, adjusting the pillows behind him to support his back and then helped him take a few small sips from the glass. Francis had never been so thankful for water before in his life. When it didn't feel as though his throat was on fire, Francis hazarded another attempt at talking.
"Wha' hit me?" Francis asked slowly, his voice breathy.
Helen smiled softly. "You got very sick. You've been asleep for almost a week." At Francis' startled look, Helen quickly added, "You woke up a few times but you weren't lucid. You had a high fever."
Helen pulled back the covers from around Francis' body and deliciously cool air quickly dried the sweat that had been making his body sticky. "It seems as though your fever broke."
The sheets were damp with his sweat and Francis was glad to have them away from him. He put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
"What's the matter? Does something hurt?" Helen asked.
"Ever'thing." Francis muttered. "Dunno, 'm tired."
Helen busied herself with removing the sheets and blankets from Francis' bed and a few minutes later returned with a clean set. She made the bed quickly and gently and Francis sank back into the mattress, his eyes fluttering closed.
"You go ahead and sleep Sweetie. The worst is over. You're body's just trying to catch up." Helen explained as Francis drifted further and further away from consciousness.
"I'll wake up again?" Francis questioned tiredly. He didn't like the idea of losing another week of his life.
Helen pulled the blanket up to Francis' chest and he stared up at her with bleary, unfocused green eyes. "Yes, of course you will." She leaned over and planted a soft kiss on the teen's temple like she had done so many times before for her own children. The corner of Francis' mouth quirked up for a second and then his eyes closed. A few seconds later he was in a deep, rejuvenating sleep.
It wasn't until Tuesday that Francis was able to stay awake for several consecutive hours.
Virgil and Dash sat on Francis' bed, each was holding a hand of cards. Francis was propped up against the headboard, several pillows supporting his back. Each time his breathing got raspy, the pyro would reach for a glass of water sitting on the bedside table.
"Got any three's?" Dash asked. He grinned delightedly when Francis threw down a card.
Normally playing Go Fish would have embarrassed Virgil and Francis, but it was the only card game Dash knew.
Francis reached for his glass and took several long sips before rearranging the cards in his hand. "Um, any five's?"
"Go fish." Virgil recited. As Francis reached for the pile, Virgil took the opportunity to study the other teen. Francis was still very pale and dark rings circled his eyes. His breathing was better but Helen didn't want Francis getting out of bed and moving around unless it was absolutely necessary. The antibiotic treatment had been downgraded to one dose a day. The fact that the others kids were being allowed in to see Francis spoke volumes to his health. He was definitely on the mend.
Dash put down another set of matching cards and Virgil squinted at the younger boy in suspicion. "You're pretty good at this, huh?"
Dash nodded, but a flicker of mischief in his eye told Virgil everything he needed to know.
Virgil reached over Dash and the boy threw his cards down, grabbing hold of Virgil's arm, trying to hold him back.
Francis' mouth quirked into a smile and he pulled his knees up to his chest to allow the other two more room to fight on the bed.
Virgil got a hold of the edge of the blanket by Dash's side and he yanked it away. A small pile of cards lay underneath. Virgil gasped. "You cheater!"
Dash threw his body over the cards. "It's not what it looks like!"
Francis laughed, and immediately regretted it. His body spasmed with a sudden coughing fit. Virgil and Dash stopped fooling around and jumped into action. Virgil reached over and pounded Francis on the back and Dash darted off the bed to get the glass of water, but found it empty. Dash ran to the kitchen and back, the glass now nearly over flowing with water.
After a few seconds, Francis calmed down. He rubbed at his throat, wincing. "Ow."
"You okay?" Virgil asked.
"Yeah." Francis nodded. He reached over and pulled Dash up onto the bed with one arm before putting him in a gentle headlock. "What's the standard punishment for cheating at Go Fish?"
"Death by feather, I believe." Virgil whacked Dash in the face with a pillow.
Violet poked her head in the door and smiled when she saw the three boys goofing around. "Hiya, mom said to bring Francis some soup." She entered with a bowl and spoon in hand.
Virgil and Dash clambered off the bed and left the room, still shoving one another and laughing.
Francis' face turned a slight shade of green when Violet handed the bowl to him. He put it down on the bedside table.
Violet smiled understandingly. "Try to eat a little of it. You lost a lot of weight."
Francis scowled. "Did not."
Violet patted his arm condescendingly. "Okay. Whatever you say. I'll humor the sick kid."
"Hey, aren't you supposed to be at play rehearsal?" Francis asked. It was a little after four on a weekday. Normally play rehearsal ran until five or later.
Violet's cheery expression faltered for a second. "Rehearsal's over. The show was last weekend. We sold out both dates."
Francis' jaw dropped. "But…I…" He looked up at Violet. "I missed it?"
Violet tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Yeah, but it's okay. You've seen it a dozen times anyway."
"It's not the same." Francis grumbled. "I wanted to see it. Was kinda looking forward to it."
Violet smiled and leaned over to kiss Francis on the forehead like her mother had done a few days prior. "That's sweet. Thank you."
Francis mumbled and shifted around in his bed uncomfortably.
Violet stood up. "I think you should really be thinking about what you're gonna tell Frieda."
Startled, Francis looked at Violet. "What?"
"She kept asking to come see you. Wanted to know if you were okay. I started running out of excuses." Violet explained. "She was worried about you."
"Oh man." Francis slumped back against the pillows. "Frieda. I didn't even think about her. What am I going to say?"
Violet shrugged. "You've got a couple days to think about it. I'm sure you'll come up with something."
Author's Note:
Oh, man. It's been a while since I updated hasn't it? My life got CRAZY. And yet somehow, I manage to find the time to update during Finals week? There's something wrong with that. So like I said before, I WILL finish the story. It just might take a while.
PLEASE REVIEW!