Beta-ed by the lovely and talented LoyaulteMeLie

8

Sunset District , San Francisco, CA, 0823 hours, October 7, 2149

Jean knocked on Malcolm's door, but there was no answer. She kept knocking, louder now, and tried shouting through the door. "Malcolm? Mal, if you don't let me in I will find a way to get this door open." He didn't reply, and she was just about to go ask the building manager for a spare key when her hand came to rest on the doorknob. Knowing how cautious Malcolm always was, she expected to find the door locked, so she was very surprised when the knob turned easily in her hand and the door opened.

She stepped inside and shut the door behind herself, more worried than she had been a minute before. There was no way that Malcolm would have left his place unlocked. He was far too cautious – hell, the man was downright paranoid about some things – so she knew something was rotten in Denmark.

"Mal?"

A series of deep, awful sounding coughs answered her. She looked around for the source of the noise and spotted him on the couch, struggling to sit up. His dark, tousled hair and pale, damp face slowly came into view over the arm of the couch. With what looked like a great deal of effort, he finally managed to stand. Malcolm had wrapped himself in a dark blue comforter and was clutching it to his chest with one hand while the other hand was braced against the back of the couch. She smiled a little at the visual. He looked like a giant blue taco. A giant, blue, feverish taco caught in the midst of a wrenching coughing fit. Her smile vanished at the awful sounds and she moved towards him, leaving her coat and supplies by the door. She rushed forward to steady him when he folded in half and lost his balance, one hand braced against his knee and still hacking away.

Jean put her arms around him, helping him straighten up and trying to keep him steady. "It's okay, Malcolm. It's okay," she murmured, rubbing his back through the blanket. He leaned a good deal of his weight against her and she held him tighter, starting to really worry when the coughs continued instead of dissipating. "I've got you." He seemed to nod against her, but she had no idea whether he was signaling his understanding or if the motion was due to his labored breaths.

A few interminable seconds later he stopped coughing, and with her help he managed to stay upright, but he still seemed wobbly so she didn't plan on letting him go any time soon. Malcolm rested his head on her shoulder and gave a tiny groan, and she could feel the heat of his forehead radiating through her shirt. She frowned worriedly at his uncharacteristic behavior and continued to gently rub his back. For him to be acting like this, he must be very sick.

"Jean?"

She smiled and started trying to edge him towards his bedroom. This was the first time he had spoken since she had come in. "Yeah?"

He leaned against her more heavily and rubbed at his nose with a hankie. "I'm sorry I tried to cancel lunch."

That was more in line with the Malcolm she knew. She chuckled and gave him a quick, affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry about it. Lets just get your fever and this nasty cough under control, okay?"

"Okay." He nodded against her but then seemed to lose his footing for a moment. She caught him and shifted around so that his free arm was draped over her shoulders and one of her arms was wrapped firmly around his middle. He gave a tiny, hesitant cough and let his head hang forward. "Sorry," he croaked, starting to cough again, and she couldn't tell if his cheeks were red from fever or if he was blushing.

"Its okay, Mal. Just lean against me." She resumed rubbing his back, knowing that the motion sometimes helped to soothe coughs. However, judging from what she had read about this Hesperan virus, she had a feeling that her standard bag of tricks might not be good enough. As they moved along she felt his forehead and winced at how warm he was. "Poor thing, you're burning up. C'mon. Lets get you to bed."

He didn't really respond, except for trying to muffle a cough in the shoulder region of his puffy blanket, and allowed her to lead him to his bedroom.

"Did you get sick on your trip?" She knew that he had, but it seemed as good a way as any to start the conversation.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded against her. "Yes."

"And the people you were on this trip with, they didn't take your stubborn English backside to a hospital when they saw how sick you were?"

He gave a slight shrug, seeming a little defensive about his colleagues' actions. "They took me to a doctor. He said I'd…" he cleared his throat, wincing, but his voice still came out sounding low and hoarse. "I'd recover at home if I just rested."

"Like hell," she shook her head angrily. "I'd like to see that doctor's license… and shove it up his malpracticing ass. Sending you home like this is completely irresponsible. You can barely stand, and with a fever as high as yours seems, dehydration is a killer. Someone as sick as you are needs to be looked after, and the people you were with, I really hope you don't consider them friends, 'cause they don't seem to understand loyalty or empathy."

He made a soft noise of protest and rubbed at his nose again. "Jean, please… not so loud. My head is killing me."

She rubbed his shoulder apologetically and grimaced, not realizing that she had raised her voice. Considering how angry she was with that mysterious doctor, and Malcolm's mysterious friends or colleagues or whatever they were, it wasn't surprising that she had gotten loud. Those people, whoever they were, had contributed to Malcolm being in his current state, and that made her see red. The fact that they had just left him at home to take his chances with an alien virus and no medical care made her want to bash their heads in, her own Hippocratic oath be damned.

"I'm sorry," she was careful to keep her voice low this time. "Is this better?"

He nodded, sniffling into his hankie. "Better." He sneezed into the hankie twice and then sniffled again, groaning softly. His nose seemed to be bothering him quite a bit, too.

She shook her head, her protective instincts going into overdrive. "Bless you."

Malcolm was dead on his feet by the time they reached his bedroom. Jean urged him to sit down on the bed and was surprised that he didn't fight at all when she unwound the comforter from around his shoulders, although his shivering did become more pronounced. She kept a wary eye on him while she spread the comforter over his bed, noting that he crossed his arms over his chest as he shivered, probably in an effort to stay warm. She grabbed an extra pillow from next to the bed and put it on top of the pillow that was already at the head of his bed, turned down the covers and then gently touched his arm when he didn't seem to notice that the bed was ready. "Mal? Do you want to lie down now?"

He started at her voice, looking confused for a moment before nodding at her with a forlorn expression. "Yes... please."

She smiled gently, hoping to reassure him, but secretly she was freaking out. The only other time she had ever seen Malcolm this – well, pliant was the only word that came to mind – was never. She had never seen him like this. Even during their desert survival training, when he was concussed and on the verge of heat stroke, he had seemed more aware of what was going on around him and more in control of his faculties than he was right now, and that frightened her.

He lay down, or, more accurately, tipped over into bed with a soft moan and allowed himself to be tucked in. She tutted sympathetically and smoothed out the covers, drawing them up over his chest. "I'm going to scan you, okay? Just need to know how bad this fever is…"

His eyes were wide and almost frightened when he blinked up at her. "Can I have water?"

The desperation in his voice hit her like a kidney punch, but she managed to smile and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Of course you can. Water, tea, soup, juice… you name it. Just rest easy and let me do my doctor thing, okay? Then I'll get you a nice drink."

Malcolm relaxed back into the pillows and closed his eyes. He smiled faintly, nodding. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Jean gave in to an impulse to straighten his hair with her fingers. He usually kept it so tidy, but just then it looked like some kind of mutant hedgehog was living on top of his head, and she knew that he wouldn't want to be so unkempt.

"Hmm?" He blinked up at her, seeming confused by the touch.

She gave his hair a final brush with her fingers and stood up. "I'll get my kit. You just relax."

His only reply was a soft groan. His fever-glazed eyes slid shut again, and he pulled the covers tight as he shivered.

Jean quick-stepped into the main room, nearly breaking into a run as she headed for her bags. She scooped them up, slipping the handles over her arms so her hands would be free, and then she made a bee-line for the kitchen, where she took down a large drinking glass and a ceramic pitcher, and she filled each container halfway with ice and topped them off with filtered water. After a short search through the cabinets she found a plastic bendy straw, which she placed in the glass. One more quick look around confirmed that there wasn't anything else she needed in the main apartment, so she headed back to the bedroom.

When she got back, Malcolm had rolled on to his side with the covers bunched up around him and he was coughing badly. Worry knotted in Jean's stomach as she put the glass of ice water down on his bedside table and set her bags on the floor.

She sat on the side of his bed and rubbed his back, hoping to soothe the coughs. "Easy, Mal. Easy does it."

He gave a feeble nod and wheezed, catching his breath for a moment before succumbing to another bout.

She kept rubbing his back with one hand while she used the other to unzip a compartment of her medical kit, fish out a medical scanner and turn it on. "It's okay, Mal. Help is here. I'm just checking your fever, and…" the scanner beeped a warning, and the screen registered that his body temperature was 104.7°F. Jean shook her head at the readout, setting the scanner aside as she resumed speaking. She was fairly sure that he couldn't hear her over his barking coughs, but she reasoned that it couldn't hurt to try.

"Okay. I've got your water right here, and once you've had it I'm going to give you something to tame those coughs. Would you like that?"

The coughs abated just before she told him about the water and he didn't answer at first, instead trying to catch his breath. After a minute he opened his eyes, although doing it seemed to take a lot of effort, and he blinked at her, nodding with a whispered, "Please."

She smiled, glad that despite the high fever he still seemed to be pretty cogent. "Good. Do you want to sit up a little? It might help you breathe easier."

He nodded again and tried to push himself upright, but he didn't get very far. His arms shook and the effort left him panting for breath. He lay back, wincing, and muttered, "How am I supposed to – "

She shook her head, gently scolding him. "I didn't mean on your own, silly." She moved closer and slid an arm under his shoulders, gently urging him into a sitting position. He made an unhappy sound, either because he felt wretched or in reaction to the man-handling, she had no idea which, and she gave him a fond squeeze. "I'm here to help, Mal." She re-arranged the pillows and coaxed him to sit back against them. "I had a nasty case of pneumonia a few years ago, and it really helped my breathing to sit propped up."

He just blinked at her for a moment, and then his eyes darted towards the water on his bedside table. "Jean?"

She picked up the drinking glass and held it for him, her concern growing as she watched him fumble for the straw. His hand was shaking and he couldn't seem to get a hold of the straw in order to guide it into his mouth, even though it was only a few inches from his face. She frowned. "It's right there, Malcolm. Can't you see it?"

He sighed quietly, looking embarrassed. "No, I can't." His expression became frustrated and he balled one hand into a fist, softly hitting the mattress in a rare show of undisguised temper. "I can't see a damn thing. Everything is blurred and I… I don't…" He trailed off, squeezing his eyes tight and slowly shaking his head. She thought that he was just angry until she heard his breath catch. He grabbed the hankie out of his pocket, fumbled it to his face and sneezed into it twice, rubbing his nose through the cloth afterward and groaning to himself.

"Bless you, Mal." She had moved the water out of the way in time, and now she put it down again and shifted to sit next to him with an arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry about that. Blurred vision is just one of the symptoms and it will go away along with all the others. Actually, it's the first symptom that clears up after your fever breaks, so we won't have to wait too long." The tension seemed to drain out of him when she pulled him close and rubbed at his shoulder. "In the mean time, I'm here to help. Just let me be your eyes for a few days. Okay?"

When he gave a relieved nod, she picked up the glass again with her free hand and raised it until the straw brushed against his mouth. He shot her a wary glance but opened his lips for the straw and started drinking the water. After a few sips he relaxed and let his eyes close, apparently just enjoying the hydration. She watched him carefully, looking for any sign of impending coughs in case she needed to move the glass out of harm's way. He managed to finish most of the water without incident, leaving a half-submerged lump of unmelted ice chips in the otherwise empty glass, and rested his head against the wall as she lowered the glass.

She put it aside and turned back to him, hoping that the drink had done him some good. "Did that help?"

He nodded a tiny bit, then sniffled badly and slowly raised the hankie to his face as his breath hitched. Jean let her arm run up and down his back as his breaths deepened, and she felt his muscles tense up before he pitched forward with another sneeze. He kept the hankie pressed to his face afterward as he sniffled.

"Bless you."

He groaned again, and was just starting to clear himself out into the hankie when another bout of coughs struck. She rubbed his back, waiting it out, and was surprised when he turned to lean against her. He rested his head on her shoulder and coughed into his hankie, holding the cloth tightly over his mouth as he shook with the fit. She was pleased, if surprised, by his uncharacteristically trusting behavior, and determined to let him know that she wouldn't do anything to betray that trust. She held him close, resting her head against his and murmuring to his hair, "I've got you, Mal. Don't worry about a thing."

He seemed to nod in reply between coughs, but she couldn't be sure. Not knowing what else to do, Jean used her left hand – the one not rubbing his back – to gently massage the center of his chest. It seemed to help somewhat, since the coughs started to peter off.

"Malcolm? Is this helping?"

He managed a nod, so she kept rubbing his chest until the coughs died out. Afterwards he rested against her side, his chest heaving, and moaned softly, "Jean?"

She moved her right arm up to loop around his shoulders again and used her other hand to reach for the glass on his bedside table. "Yeah?" The pitcher was just out of her reach, so she couldn't top off his water, but there was still enough in the glass for Malcolm to have a few sips of water, and as for the remaining ice, it would do a good job of soothing his throat, which was undoubtedly sore from so much coughing. Fortunately the glass was close enough that she didn't have to lean away from him in order to pick it up.

The Englishman wiped the hankie at his nose and made a soft, unhappy noise. "I feel terrible." His voice sounded painfully hoarse, and he rubbed a badly shaking hand at his throat, wincing after he spoke.

She smiled to herself, both amused and worried that he was admitting to being something other than 'fine'. She gave him a gentle squeeze and rested her hand on his forehead. "I know, Mal. Ready for some medicine?"

"God, yes." He croaked enthusiastically, which made her chuckle.

"Okay. Now I know you're sick, since you're being so cooperative." She hugged him close for a moment and then offered him the glass again. "How about you have a bit more water and suck on some ice chips while I get the hypo ready?"

He nodded again and she put the glass into his hand, carefully wrapping his fingers around it and making sure he had a good grip on it before she removed her hand.

"Think you can manage?"

"I'll try." His hand was shaking badly, but he was able to get a mouthful of ice without any further help from her.

She watched him struggle for a few seconds, and only got up once she was certain that he didn't need a hand. She swung her legs over the side of his bed and stood up, putting her bags on the foot of his bed so she could keep an eye on him while she was unloading her supplies. "Okay, I've got some medicine here that's usually used for treating the flu. It'll help with most of your symptoms, but I can't do anything about getting your eyesight back to normal. That will happen on its own. I've also got a few hundred cough drops, a salve for your chest to help loosen the congestion so your coughs will actually get rid of the junk in your lungs, and some herbal tea that will help your throat." She glanced over at him, smiling. "You feel like having some tea?"

"With honey?" Even muffled by a mouthful of ice chips, his tone was unmistakably hopeful.

She grinned, tickled by the fact that he didn't disprove the cultural stereotype about Brits and tea. "And lemon. I'm going to set you up with a chilled IV to make sure you stay hydrated. It will also help bring your fever down so you'll be more comfortable." She loaded the hypospray with medicine and started calibrating it for the right dosage.

He smiled at her and closed his eyes, lowering his arm to rest on top of the covers and letting the glass of ice chips start to tilt in his hand. "Thanks, Maddie."

Jean blinked for a second, confused, and gently took the glass from him. She put it back on his table along with the loaded hypo and scanned him again, frowning. The scanner beeped like it had before, but now his body temperature had shot up to 105.2° F, which might account for him being confused. "Malcolm, what did you call me?"

The smile didn't leave his face as he shifted position slightly, settling against the pillows. "What I always call you, Maddie. You're always so good about looking after me…" he stifled a yawn and coughed lightly into his hankie. "Even…" he coughed again and a sad look came over his face. "Even when Father told you it wasn't worth the effort, you still stayed with me... took care of your big brother. " He opened his eyes again, looking up at her hesitantly, and reached out for her hand. "You will stay with me this time too, won't you?"

Jean sat back down on the bed, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Of course I will."

She was torn. She knew that she should try to ground him in reality, but part of her wanted to play along with his fevered confusion in order to learn more about her reticent friend. After a brief debate, her less selfish side won out and she decided that playing along to gain insight into his past would be an underhanded thing to do. Using only one hand, since Malcolm was still holding the other one, she tipped the remaining ice chips into a clean washcloth from her bag and folded it envelope-style, squeezing the cloth for a few seconds so that heat from her skin would melt some of the ice and make the compress useful.

She smoothed Malcolm's sweaty hair back from his forehead with one hand, then gently laid the compress on his skin and coaxed him to lean against her. He couldn't see well enough to recognize her face, so letting him rest his head on her shoulder wouldn't impede her efforts to identify herself to him. She made sure to keep her voice soothing and smiled, even though he probably couldn't see it due to the awkward angle and his blurred vision. "Malcolm, I'm not your sister."

He blinked up at her, looking confused. "Not my… But who else would bother to…" He shook his head, starting to seem anxious, and tried to pull away, squinting at her suspiciously. "Who are you? What do... do you want from…" He started coughing again, shaking slightly in place, and he cringed away from her when she tried to rub his back.

"It's me, Jean."

She let him pull away, not wanting him to feel trapped, and fought to suppress her own disquiet at the implications of what he had said. So at some point Malcolm had been ill, and when baby sis started to take care of him, Reed senior had told her not to do it? Well, bravo Maddie for not listening! And as far as Malcolm was concerned, there was no one other than his sister who would 'bother' to look after him without expecting something in return? Jean shook her head, hatred for Stuart Reed and sympathy for Malcolm temporarily overwhelming her. She had to close her eyes and slowly count to ten before speaking again.

"Jean, remember? From Starfleet?"

He just shook his head, still shuddering with paroxysmal coughs, and made a feeble attempt to lean further away from her. If he tried to sit up by himself in his current state he was liable to fall over. The bed was king-sized, so there was no risk of him toppling over onto the floor, but if he was lying flat it would take him that much longer to get his breathing under control. She put her arm around his shoulders again and drew him close, hoping that the action wouldn't alarm him too much.

He groaned and tried to pull free, but this time she didn't let him. "No, Mal. I came over here to look after you and that's what I'm gonna do, whether you cooperate or not. Now, just rest against me and try to get your breath back."

He stopped fighting her and let himself relax, making a pained sound between coughs when she started massaging his chest again. His breathing steadied a few seconds later and he muttered to her shoulder, "…hurts."

She made a sympathetic noise and held him close for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mal. Let me get that hypo for you…" She reached for the hypo of medicine and finished setting the dose, then injected it into his neck. Giving it to him in the arm would have hurt less, but the medicine would work more quickly this way.

He made another pained sound and sniffled but didn't move away. His hankie had disappeared somewhere among the covers, along with the cold compress, so Jean set aside the hypo and put a box of paper tissues on his lap. She put a tissue in one of his hands and then hunted around for the compress, hoping to use it to get his fever down. After a minute she stopped looking and decided to get his IV set up instead, since that would be a more effective way of lowering his temperature. She stood up, keeping her arm around his shoulders in order to ease him into a comfortable position on the pillows. Once he was propped up, she withdrew her arm and headed towards her kit again.

"Thought so." He gave her a sad look as she moved away and then he closed his eyes. "I knew you wouldn't stay." He spoke softly, and the resignation in his voice hit her like a physical blow.

If he had sounded surprised or hurt, it might not have affected her as much, but the fact that he expected her to abandon him and let him suffer alone very nearly broke her heart. True, because of the fever he wasn't exactly in his right mind, but she suspected that right now it was affecting him more like truth serum than a hallucinogen, and as such it allowed her a rare peek behind his formidable defenses. What she saw was a sad, lonely man who seemed to have learned the hard way that he shouldn't expect anyone to go out of their way for him or offer him comfort. She decided that that was going to change, effective immediately. Malcolm Reed was just going to have to get used to the fact that he had a friend who was willing, nay, who was actually eager to help him, and she would do whatever was necessary to make sure the message got across.

"No, sweetie." She shook her head and petted his sweaty hair back, hoping that he would open his eyes so she could at least tell if she was getting through to him. "I am staying, Mal. I'm just getting up for a minute to set up some supplies so I can look after you." She bit her lip, trying to think of a way to prove that leaving his side and leaving him alone weren't the same thing. "Do you want me to bring you some more water?"

His eyes opened and he stared at her for a long moment with a guarded expression before nodding slightly. "Please."

She smiled and went back to her kit, quickly rigging up a collapsible IV pole and hanging a bag of Ringer's lactate from it. The IV solution was held in an ice-pack type sleeve to keep the liquid chilled. Jean talked to her patient while she worked, since she knew that he couldn't see her very well, if at all, and she wanted to reassure him that she was still nearby.

"Just so you know, Mal, I'm here to look after you and I'm not gonna leave you on your own until you're feeling a hell of a lot better. I might have to get clothes or supplies in a day or two, but I'll make sure that someone will be here to look after you while I'm out. You won't have to go through this by yourself, okay? D'you hear me?"

He nodded listlessly, his gaze dull and unfocused. "I hear you," the gray eyes slid shut and he frowned, muttering, "I just don't understand. Why are you –"

She shook her head and gave a frustrated sigh as she got out more supplies from her kit. "Because you're my friend, you impossible, stubborn man! And I won't let you be alone and miserable. One or the other if there's no helping it, but not both at the same time. You're important to me, so I can't sit idly by when you're suffering. I have to help. Clear enough?"

He didn't respond. She took his hand and carefully inserted a peripheral IV, adjusting the IV drip to an appropriate speed and then taking a moment to pet back his hair again. Sweaty and matted wasn't exactly a bad look for him, oddly enough, but seeing him so far removed from his usually neat self unnerved her. He relaxed slightly as her fingers ran through his hair, so, on a hunch, she repeated the gesture. With any luck, she had just found something that might help soothe the not-so-savage beast. He sighed a little at the touch, sounding more at ease, and she smiled to herself . "It's okay, Mal. I'm here for you."

She sat by his shoulder, just watching him breathe for a while and scanning him every so often. Despite what she had said, there wasn't too much she could do for him except sit idly by. There was no cure for this virus, so she had to let it run its course. She could give him medicine for his symptoms, keep him company and try to help him feel better, but not much else.

The corner of something white poking out from under the dark blue comforter caught her eye. She grabbed it and realized that it was the cool compress. She smoothed it in place on Malcolm's hot forehead with a relieved sigh. "Well, this should help a little." His eyelids twitched and gradually came open. He blinked at her for almost a full minute without saying a word.

After a while, his silent, steady gaze started to make her uncomfortable. She dabbed the cool cloth at his face and the sides of his neck, hoping he would speak. She didn't even care if what he said made sense or not, she just wanted to know that his brain wasn't frying. After a while the cloth started to feel warm and dry in her hand, and she squeezed it, realizing that she would have to get it wet again if she expected it to do him any good.

"Mal, I'm gonna get some cool water for this cloth, okay? I'll be back in a minute. Do you want anything from the kitchen?"

He coughed a little, wincing, and shook his head with a pained grimace. When she stood up, he grabbed at her hand and looked genuinely frightened. "Maddie? Where are you going? "

Jean cringed inwardly. She had thought that he was acting more lucid, but it seemed that he was stuck in his fevered delusion. Trying to snap him out of it once had agitated him, and since she didn't want to do that again, this time she reluctantly played along. It didn't matter that he thought she was someone else, although the experience was a little disturbing for her. The important thing was to help him stay calm and comfortable, so she put on a happy face and tried to do just that. "I'm just going to the kitchen, Mal. Don't worry, I'm coming right back."

He relaxed back into the pillows and gave a genuine smile, and she thought it was the first time he had actually looked relaxed since she had arrived. "So… you're going to stay?"

"Yes." She petted his hair back again. Doing that really did seem to help him relax, because he loosened his grip on her hand. She took the opportunity to stand up and move out of his reach, just in case he tried to make another grab for her. "Close your eyes. I'll be right back with something to help you feel better."

He did as she said and she stepped through the doorway, shaking her head as she moved back into the kitchen. She needed to track Maddie down and find out what the hell had happened to Malcolm when they were kids. Jean frowned. At least, she assumed that if he was reliving an actual memory instead of just raving, it was probably something that happened when he was young. She got out a bowl and set it in the kitchen sink, letting it fill under the faucet while she opened his stasis unit and looked around for some kind of ice-pop. Anything to bring his temperature down and soothe his tortured throat.

"M… Maddie?"

She shook her head at the unsteady voice coming from the Englishman's bedroom, and winced when he started coughing badly. Phlox. She needed help from Phlox. He knew about this disease. As soon as Malcolm was sleeping peacefully, she would call Starfleet Medical and ask the Denobulan doctor to come lend a hand. With any luck, he could bring a wider array of medicine and enough cold packs to help keep Malcolm's fever from climbing too high.

"Coming." She switched off the faucet, grabbed the bowl of water and something called a 'Pineapple-Dazzle' fruit pop, and walked back towards her sick friend. The next few days were going to be rough.

TBC