*PLEASE READ THE CONCLUDING PARAGRAPH ON THE AUTHOR'S NOTE, LOCATED BELOW THIS STORY.


Chapter 6 – Assumptions

For the past two days, an orange-furred figure, tall and slender, lay bedridden, concealed by a red linen blanket. He fixed his eyes on the television screen, which broadcasted the previous night's football game. He couldn't decide whether to stay in the blanket or throw it from him - he couldn't make out the temperature of the room. It seemed as if the temperature would change from hot to cold at inconvenient times. He would occasionally run his paw, cold and unused, over his sweltering, perspiring forehead. He had a temperature gauge hanging from his mouth, and the reading gradually increased.

Postoperative care at home advanced as planned. All that remained from the postoperative symptoms were of the minor flu, typical following the surgery, because of an autoimmune response due to the removal of a useless organ. An antipyretic and an antiemetic, prescribed by his doctor, paired together in dull orange bottles.

Judy strolled into the room. She casually approached the fox as a quarantine specialist would approach a bucket of radioactive material. Gradually, she performed each action, and slid the temperature gauge from his mouth, careful not to touch the end that had contacted his saliva. For a moment, she stared at the gauge, but did not apprehend it. After a moment, she muttered "106" and slid the sensory end of the gauge, the part that had contacted his mouth, back into the plastic cover. She set it next to his untouched glass of water, and with even greater cautious movements, apprehended his frontal temperature.

With careful consideration, she caught his attention with a small guttural noise. When his eyes, glossy and quiet, met her, she smiled minimally. "I think you should take the doctor's advice. Your fever is running high."

"Remember, Carrots," he muttered, coughing. "Remember a fox's optimum temperature."

"I know," she whispered, gently patting a patch of fur exposed on his head, unsuccessfully attempting to compromise it. "But how about we take his advice?"

"There is a small, minimal problem with this..." he whispered, coughing again. "I probably shouldn't be given a bath by until marriage."

"Nonsense," she opposed. "And I wasn't implying that I would bathe you the way you would do it yourself. A bathing suit is called a bathing suit for a reason."

"Why do I have you with me?" He muttered happily. He slowly, but surely, moved from the couch and planted his feet on the cold carpet. He shifted his weight, instinctively, to stand, and slowly strolled away. After a moment, he stopped at the staircase. "This staircase looks a lot bigger than I imagined," he began the strenuous ascent, using the wooden rail for support. Judy ascended a faster pace and quickly met up with him, clenching her paw around his right paw, hanging unused on his side. "Aren't you going to get sick or something?"

She laughs. "No, silly. Your body is just becoming confused because you had something removed. The only reason you're running a 5-degree fever is because your body thinks there's a foreign invader in there," she taps his forehead, still warm. "Now let's go run you that bath."

After what seemed like a five-minute ascent at Nick's pace, Judy waited patiently at the left of Nick's closed door. Slowly, the door swung open and Nick stood in the doorway, shirtless, only wearing a pair of blue swim trunks. He smiled, as Judy reached for his paw and took it. Judy led him into the larger bathroom and shut the door with a small shove. She quickly turned the tap on and ran warm-cold water, and ten minutes of filling later invited him into the tub. He gradually waddled over and stepped in, laying himself down in the water. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and dabbled his face with the cool water. Judy, with a clean rag in one paw, stuck it in the water and began dabbing his forehead with it. At contact, Nick lowered his paws into the abyss of water and lay as if he was falling asleep. "Thanks for this, Carrots." He said gratefully.

"No need to thank me," she said, laying the towel over his neck and rubbing her paws together to remove the water that had spread. She wiped them on a towel and set it down. "You deserved it."

"Not only do I have a fever, a bath of cool water is contradicting me, I'm wearing swim trunks, and I'm talking to my girlfriend giving me said bath. Best time of my life compared to, say... everything else." He let a toothy grin spread across his face as she began dampening his ears with the soaking rag.

After he had stayed in the tub of water for over a half an hour and finishing ablutions, even though comfortable, began aspiring from the water. "I think I'm done," he said, looking at Judy. "Can I get out now?"

She took the dry towel in her hand and wiped off the water on his forehead, placing her paw over it. She curved her eyebrows in confusion and tried again. "Can't tell. Let me get the thermometer."

She measured his temperature, and with a firm 101.9 reading on it, allowed Nick to depart from the satisfying confinement. She took a towel and surrounded his waist with it. She allowed him to dry himself, but carefully studied the technique. "I can see why it is so difficult to independently dry your fur," she laughs as his struggle. "Let me help."

Refusing, he shook his head and tore the towel from her reach. She laughed as she watched him conclude the drying process. He strolled from the room and Judy followed, and stopped as soon as he gently closed his bedroom door behind him. He emerged with a black t-shirt and a pair of red sweatpants. He descended the staircase, unassisted, and returned to his original origin of stay. Judy slowed her pace and she again approached him. "So, how was the bath?"

"Good," he admitted. "Even though I sat in a pool of freezing water, it did feel nice to contradict my fever."

"Well, your fever has gone down significantly," she said, smiling. "I'm glad my Nick is getting better." She examined the tray table and gasped. "When did you last drink water?"

"Two hours ago," he confessed, flashing a fake smile. "Is that bad?"

"Well, it also could explain the fever," she logically concluded. "Why don't you drink it?" She put a straw in the cold beverage and held it to his lips. He slowly sipped the cold beverage, but shook his head lightly and shoved it away. "It tastes like drinking contaminated pond water. Is there anything else?"

"Apple juice?" She asked, standing.

"Sure," he agreed, closing his eyes. "Sounds good."

She sighed and delivered him a cup of golden liquid, again holding it to his lips. This time, he conquered the entire glass. "Now that isn't contaminated pond water."

A moment later, after Judy rolled her eyes, the door emitted a soft pounding. Judy, confused, walked over, and unlatched the door, swinging it open.

One thing neither mammal in the house had noticed is that a storm was beginning to pick up. Rain poured from the sky like rocks, and wind whooshed through the countryside like an airplane through jet stream. The houses roared as the wind passed over them. A tree next to the house across the street swayed.

Standing in the doorway was a short, adult mammal, wearing green shorts and a black dress shirt with orange stripes. He held a pair of sports sunglasses, soaking wet. His fur was matted, and he trembled, his arms crossed over his chest. He clenched his teeth and his eyebrows stood atop his eyes, indicating worry.

"Why, hello, Finnick." Judy greets, smiling.

"Why, isn't it the fuzz? I need a towel." He glances to his left, locating Nick. "Hey, Nick. Nick the Cop. Nickety-Split. How've you been doin'?"

"Finnick?" Nick whispers, his eyes meeting the fox. "Why are you here?"

"Well, I kinda got caught in that storm out there," he mutters, and Judy places a dry white towel on his shoulders, and he begins drying himself. "Anyway, I decided I should've come to the first house I saw and try to let myself in. It's a good thing it was the two of you - actually, I care more about you than Fuzz, obviously," Finnick ruffles his own matted fur on his head with the towel, places it in his grip and walks up to the sick fox. "What's with you?"

"Complications from surgery," he says, frowning. "Tell me, do I look like a three-year-old?"

"Nick," he says, frowning. "You always look like a three-year-old. Now with your little red blankie and laying around like a couch potato, I could say you were a ten-year-old. Twelve. Three-year-olds are active. Clearly, you're not."

Nick rolls his eyes and returns them to the TV screen. "Move outta my way," Finnick demands, planting himself next to Nick's feet. "Move your feet," he says, waving them away. Nick nearly curls himself into a ball, and returns his eyes to the TV. After a moment, Finnick nudges Nick with his finger. "Why don't'ya sit up? We've got a great game going on." Finnick's eyes remained attached to the TV.

Nick obeyed Finnick's suggestion and sat up. He removed the blanket from himself and didn't feel cold. "Hey, Carrots, looks like that bath really did held me."

Finnick, glancing at Nick, laughed profusely. "Oh, gosh. You took a bath? What the heck for?"

"Well, I was running a fever..."

Finnick chuckled. "Where's the things I taught you gone? Don't take a bath when you have a fever. Be a man and deal with it."

"Two days of dealing with it enough? And yes, I did kinda go with the things you so called 'taught' me," Nick made quotation marks with his fingers on both sides of his head. "But they didn't work. Just like your other 'teachings'. Why would I give money to someone else that I don't know?"

"You know what else doesn't work?" Finnick said, trying to contain his laughter. "You trying to take a bath to reduce your fever! You're an idiot, you know that?" He burst out in laughter once again.

"I'm not the idiot," Nick replies. "The doctor gave me that advice. If that doctor wasn't my uncle than I probably wouldn't've done anything."

"Okay, maybe I can give your uncle some credit for that. But I need to know one thing - did you do it yourself?"

"Do what?"

"Get your bath! Did you do it yourself?"

"No," Nick replied firmly. "No, I didn't do it myself. I don't even have the strength-"

"Well, who was it?" He smiled.

"Who was it, what?"

Finnick frowned. "Uh, the person who gave you your bath! Who was it?"

"Judy," Nick replied instantaneously. "She gave it to me."

"Nick," Finnick faked a cry. "I think I may finally be proud of you."

"Why?"

"Well, because you finally exposed yourself to someone else. It was like yesterday, when you were mortified doing this kind of stuff."

"Are you kidding? I was in swim trunks! Why would I do that? That's the obscenest thing you've said, ever since I met you."

"You know what?" Finnick says, sighing. "Even though I look at the negative of everything, I'm gonna have to give you some credit for at least allowing someone else to meet your needs."

"Well, I don't know why your exactly proud of me for doing that... I would be more proud of myself for avoiding that stuff and meeting my own needs."

"I guess you haven't changed," he says. "Actually, maybe a little. But just a little. Now, can we get back to that game?"

"It wasn't me that started this unnecessary discussion."

"Actually, it was you. Anyway, have any brew? I want to at least have something enjoyable."

"Excuse me?"

"Brew, oil, vitamin B, sherbet..."

"What?"

He sighs. "I guess you have lost your slang terms. Do you have any beer?"

"No," Nick says. "I'm a police officer, so I shouldn't really have it..."

"That's right," Finnick admits. "I kinda forgot that you paired with Fuzz."

"Can you please stop calling her that?"

"Fine. Howbout Carrots? Or fluffbutt? Or-"

"How about Judy? Last time I checked, the most formal way to refer to someone is by using their real name."

"Only because I forgot it."

Nick rolled his eyes. "To conclude, I don't have any alcohol. No beer, nor tequila, nor moonshine, nor rum, nor any sort of alcoholic beverage."

"S-"

"And no, we don't have any smoke, nor do we have e-cigs, weed, or addictive substances, if you exclude my medication I'm taking. And I hope you're not addicted to antiemetics or antipyretics."

"I don't know what the heck you just said in that last sentence, but no, I'm not addicted to those drugs."

"Why don't we continue with our game, instead of talking about drugs all day? If you want them, go get them. But expect me and Judy to be on the scene."

"Good idea," he agrees, smiling. "Anyway, good advice. Let's watch our game."


Hello, guys, CrazyWriter here. I thank anybody who has read this chapter. The next chapter will be written within the period of one week and three months from the time the previous chapter is written. If you want to suggest ideas, please do so, and anybody who also wants to ask me a question or wants me to add something to this current chapter, please PM me or send me an email (address is in my profile) and I will get back to you as soon as I can. Any constructive criticism is appreciated, but please try to avoid flares, as they will not be tolerated and will be immediately removed/reported. Thank you for your cooperation.

Update 3/2/17 - A new story was written, but was deemed too short. Future chapters will continue to be released upon normal schedule, but may be delayed, due to a plan of writing a novel. Thank you.