Worry

Sully smiled as he sauntered up the brick driveway to the Mediterranean style house. A blast of cool air melted into the humid weather outside as he unlocked the door. Home sweet, air-conditioned home.

He set his luggage down at the door and kicked it shut.

"Hey kid, I'm home," he called out into the house.

Hearing no reply, Sully wandered over to the kitchen table and flipped through a week's worth of unopened mail. He peeked into an envelope with a return address from Caracas, and grinned at its contents. Everything was lining up perfectly for the job in Venezuela.

After uncapping a cold beer, Sully picked up his duffle bag to transport it upstairs. He looked down at his watch as he passed Nate's door. Two in the afternoon and the kid was still asleep.

Sully knocked a couple of times, without a reply. Quietly, he turned the handle and cracked the door open a couple of inches. The curtains inside were drawn, shrouding the room in darkness. Nate's body created a large lump under the sheets.

"Nate," Sully whispered. "Hey kid, time to wake up."

Nate grumbled something indecipherable. He turned his head away from the light.

Sully stepped closer to the bed.

"You will not believe what happened in Caracas. The contact that Cuervo set me up with was possibly the most gullible man I've ever met. He was practically volunteering information about the Fernandez mansion. It was like fishing from a barrel."

Nate remained silent.

"Aren't you hot under there?" Sully asked. He lifted the sheets. They were damp from sweat, but Nate was shivering underneath.

Frowning, Sully automatically placed his hand on Nate's forehead. He pulled back in surprise at the burning fever.

"What happened?" he asked. "I talked to you yesterday and you sounded fine."

"I haven't been feeling good," Nate mumbled groggily. A spasm of coughs caused him to sit up. "It's just…the flu."

With his teeth chattering, Nate grabbed the blanket and folded it around himself.

Sully hunted down a thermometer from the medicine cabinet of the bathroom down the hallway. After thirty seconds of waiting, the beep of the instrument confirmed the fever. The screen read 103.1.

"We're going to the hospital," he said, staring down at Nate with renewed worry.

Nate took the instrument out of his mouth. He tried to stifle another round of coughs.

"I'm okay. I just need to sleep it off."

"Yeah, and they just found a cure for cancer. We're going to the hospital."

Nate protested again.

"Tell you what kid, we'll go to the one on the other side of the city. Better food, better nurses. Remember that redhead from last time? What was her name? Something exotic, started with a 'Z.' We'll put in a request."

Sully didn't give Nate the option to decline, as he ushered him up. They made it down the stairs with Nate leaning heavily on him. The younger man's feverish skin burned against his own.

After struggling to buckle himself into the passenger seat, Nate accepted the help from Sully. He leaned his head back in exhaustion.

Sully walked around the car to the driver's seat. He wiped the look of alarm from his face as he turned to Nate.

"Ready?"

Nate nodded, without opening his eyes. They pulled out of the driveway and sped toward the emergency room.

. . .

Sully stirred as he felt the warmth of a blanket over his body. He opened his eyes to see a woman in scrubs leaning over him to adjust the edges. She had delicate, petite hands and striking green eyes. Her name tag read, "Zahara."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Sully sat up in the chair. He blinked against the overhead light and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"It's okay," he said, clearing his throat. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." He checked his watch. It was a little past midnight.

Sully looked over at the hospital bed. Nate remained still and asleep.

"He's on some pretty powerful meds. I wouldn't expect him to wake for another couple of hours," Zahara volunteered.

Sully smiled at her. When he described the red-headed nurse to Nate, he hadn't expected to actually bump into her again.

"Thank you, for the blanket," he said.

Zahara returned his smile. "We get a lot of hovering mothers, but we don't usually see fathers spend the night."

Sully turned to her. "I'm not—"

"I know," she replied. "Men don't like to show their softer sides, but I think it's an admirable quality. Try to get some sleep. I'll check on you both before my shift ends."

With a wink, she dimmed the lights and slipped out of the room.

Sully moved his chair closer to the bed and grasped onto Nate's hand. It was still unnaturally warm, although a step down from the blazing, pneumonia-induced fever a few hours ago. His breathing was rasped, even with the oxygen hood over his nose.

"You hear that, kid?" Sully said quietly. "Zahara. I told you the nurses here are better on the eyes."

Nate's own eyes remained closed. The shallow rise and fall of his chest translated into a struggled breath.

"Tell you what kid," Sully tried again, holding onto Nate's hand with a stronger grip. "When you get rid of this pesky pneumonia, we'll head to the Keys for a couple of days. I'll even let you pilot the plane."

He studied Nate for a few more seconds, with new worry lines etched into his forehead.

"That's all you need to do. Just get better, okay?"
Sully let go of Nate's hand, shifted his weight, and settled into the chair for the long night ahead.