Disclaimer: I do not own and am not, in any way, affiliated with the Dark Knight franchise.

"Hold, hold on, hold onto me
'Cause I'm a little unsteady
A little unsteady"

― X Ambassadors, "Unsteady"

Chapter Nine

Audrey sat at the desk, chin in hand, and staring vacantly at the wall. A book lay open in front of her, but she was having trouble concentrating on it. Every time she got to the end of a paragraph, she found herself lost and having to start over. It didn't help that the building was freezing that morning. Even wrapped up in a sweater and a jacket she entertained the idea of heating some water for tea, instant coffee, anything to warm up and fend off the headache that had been building all morning. Besides, that would mean having to rouse the goon squad and she didn't know if she could muster enough energy to verbally spar with Jack.

Jack, irate that she had outsmarted him and gotten him into trouble with Barsad, was now operating with open hostility and resentment. It almost made her miss the days of feigned flirtation; that she at least had known how to navigate. As punishment, he and Andy made sure that she was never left alone. The only place in the clinic where she had any real privacy was the bathroom which, as luck would have it, was devoid of windows or exit doors.

With renewed determination, she pressed her finger to the page and tried to dive back in to Outlander: a book she had read before, but one of her favorites. When she could actually understand it, anyway. What was that last sentence? She went back over it with an exasperated exhalation.

"Are you alright?" Arjun asked, looking over from his own book.

"Yeah, sorry," she said with a guilty smile.

"What is that you're reading?"

"Oh, Outlander."

"How is it?"

"Pretty good."

"Mmm and how long have you been running a fever?"

"Since this morning." It took her almost a full minute to realize what she'd said. It was the thing she had been refusing to admit, even to herself, and she started in her chair like she'd been goosed. "Damn you."

A wrist pressed against her warm forehead. "Oldest trick in the book. Go lay down, over there, please." He pointed at one of the cots in the corner. She closed her book and did as she was told. He brought over a blanket, which she wrapped around her shoulders, and a thermometer. The latter she took from him and stuck unceremoniously under her tongue. After what felt like an eternity, it beeped. She grimaced at the number on the screen. 102.

Arjun adopted his polite doctor tone. "Chills?" Nod. "Body aches?" Nod. "Nausea?" She shook her head then paused as her gut clenched. Nod. "My dear, I don't think you need me to tell you this, but I'm afraid you've got the flu." She breathed through her nose, trying to fight the queasiness, and laid back on the itchy black fabric of the cot.

"Isn't that contagious?" Andy asked. She could hear running water and then felt a damp, cold washcloth being placed over her brow and eyes.

Yes, she thought gleefully. Yes, it is.

"You mean we're all going to catch it?" Jack demanded. A vision of him, weak and hunched over the toilet, flitted through her brain and made her smile. It was short-lived when her stomach lurched. She swallowed, desperate to not puke. Audrey hated throwing up.

"Have either of you had your flu shot this year?" He paused to let them contemplate that. "Andy, I suggest you fetch Barsad. The sooner we get her out of here, the better. Although you've already both been exposed."

"I'll do it," Jack offered. "Andy, you stay." There was the scraping of chair on tile and he was gone. Aha. Of course he's scared of being sick.

She pulled the washcloth over one eye. Arjun was staring after him with an entertained look. "I've never seen him move so quickly." Then he rearranged his features into something more stern and looked down at her. She dropped the washcloth and tried to look penitent. "I am highly disappointed. You, of all people, should have known you were ill. Do you think you can manage ibuprofen?" Though the relief from her headache would have been nice, the thought of putting anything in her stomach made her want to gag. She shook her head, which was beginning to feel heavy. "Try to sleep then. I'll wake you when he's here."

(-)

"I thought she looked a bit peaky this morning but I didn't think twice about it when she wasn't whinging and moaning everywhere." She thought she detected a hint of reluctant admiration in Barsad's tone. He turned from Arjun to glower at her. "Although, you should have said you were feeling ill." And it's gone.

They were standing by the main entrance. Her head, neck, and shoulders ached and she wanted, more than anything, to lay back down. Arjun gave him two bottles and her book. "Advil and Theraflu. Audrey, make sure you take them both. It's the best we've got, I'm afraid. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of this." She managed a weak thumbs up. Nausea had returned with a vengeance.

"Come on, then," Barsad said, motioning for her to follow.

Audrey slogged along behind him, hoping she didn't look as pathetic as she felt. The wind stung her face, but offered some relief too. They turned a corner and so did Barsad's attitude. "If you weren't feeling well, you should have said something before we left the house. I'm not your bloody body guard, I have a job to do. If you can't-"

She opened her mouth to protest and immediately closed it again. No not here. Ashamed, but unable to stop herself, she ducked into the alley they were passing by. She managed to get on the other side of the fire escape before succumbing to the inevitable.

"Audrey?" Barsad called from the sidewalk.

"Go away. I'm fine," she insisted in a weak voice just before another violent bout seized her. When it was over, she wrapped one arm around her stomach and crouched down, side stepping away from the mess, to catch her breath. Gross.

With some effort, she lifted herself off of the ground and trudged back to the street. He gave her a once over and grimaced. "Finished?"

If it had been possible to die of mortification then and there, she would have gladly done so.

The apartment had never been a more welcome sight. Audrey made a beeline, though a slow one, for the bedroom and switched into a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt she had managed to scrounge up from the previous tenant's clothes. She pulled out her hair band and rolled her neck from side to side, sighing with relief when it cracked. She was hot, achy, and exhausted.

Barsad was waiting when she returned to the living room. She collapsed on the couch and held out her hand into which he deposited three pills. "Should I worry about you making it to the toilet?" he asked, handing her a glass of water. Was that a joke? He turned his face away when she looked at him, but not before she caught sight of the devilish grin lighting up his features. Ass. She glared as she drank. "Don't give me that look, you're the one who got sick in an alley, not me."

"Laugh it up. But remember that I'll be the one taking care of you when you get it." The threat was made from beneath the couch blanket she had pulled over herself.

He threw two more blankets over her. "Yes, well, there's the flaw in your scheme, you little bioterrorist. I never get ill."

"Ah," she intoned in a sleepy, but ominous, voice from under the fortress of warmth. "Famous last words."

He laughed again but when she peeked out she saw he was staring down at her with mild concern. "Right. You've got fluids, biscuits, blankets, and a working toilet. Will you be alright until I come back? I don't know when that'll be."

"Just leave me to die." She was running out of steam, her eyes blinking rapidly as she fought to stay awake. "No, really, I'll be fine. Thank you."

She was asleep before he closed the door.

Hours later, she sat upright, struggling to throw the blankets off of her before running to the bathroom. In her fever state, she had one moment of cohesive thought where she was thankful for the carpet around the toilet as her knees banged against the floor.

A pair of cool hands touched her neck, gathering her hair and holding it away from her face. She made a feeble attempt to push him away, but Barsad just rubbed her back. "Stop fighting. Just relax."

When she was done, he shoved a glass of water in her hand and, after she rinsed her mouth and took a sip, helped her back to her feet and the couch. "Why are you here?" Her voice was croaky as she crawled back into her cocoon. She rolled over and closed her eyes, wishing she could get warm again even though she was coated in a light sheen of sweat.

"Most people would say thank you," he grumbled. The cushion by her pillow sank as he sat on it. "Go back to sleep."

"Hey, Barsad?" Her voice was far away and dreamy.

"What?"

"Thank you."

And so it went for the rest of the night. Every time she was up, he was right on her heels. Eventually she quit protesting his presence, reluctantly allowing him to take charge of the situation. Sometime, around one in the morning, she managed to fall asleep and stay that way.

A tickling sensation on the back of her neck startled her awake. She reached around, praying it wasn't a spider, and was surprised to discover it was another hand. Craning her neck to follow it, she found herself looking up and into Barsad's sleeping face. The pillow had moved so that she was laying against his leg. She thought she remembered him stroking her hair and was glad he was asleep because her face felt hot and she didn't think it was from fever.

The whole scene just felt so… intimate.

Pondering that, she tried to sit up, but his arm reached across her chest and held her in place. "And where do you think you're going?" She twisted to look up at him and swore under her breath. His eyes weren't even open.

"To get my book?" Eyes still closed, he moved his hand up to her forehead. She still felt achy and feverish but significantly less so than yesterday. Underneath the pillow she felt his legs shift and then the hardcover was deposited in her lap. She drew her knees up, propping the book open on her stomach. "I'm surprised you're still here."

"I'm entitled to a day off. And one of the perks of being sort-of in charge is you can always make someone cover for you."

"Must be nice."

"Oh, it is."

They lapsed into silence, but it was devoid of their usual awkwardness and tension. It was comfortable, for a change.

"I never figured you for a romantic." Audrey, who had been blissfully lost in the misadventures of Claire and Jaime, faltered mid-page turn. Did he read it? Then, realizing where she had left off, horror set in: Did he read it from where I was?

"Uh- what?"

"Well, you've mostly stuck to the classics. Until now, that is. Sassenach." The attempt at a Scottish accent was not lost on her.

"So, you read it," she said drily.

"It was… racier than I thought it would be. I mean, is that what women are about? Massively built twenty-one year old Scottish virgins?"

Had someone offered her the opportunity to light herself on fire, she would have kissed them before taking them up on it. "I mean, no- you just- you can't- why wouldn't you just start at the beginning?"

He laughed. "I wanted to know why you've had your nose buried in that bloody book. You've been worse than usual." He absentmindedly drew his index finger back and forth along her collar bone. There was that strange intimate feeling again. Stranger still, she was enjoying it. "Now I know why. You're a hopeless romantic. All this time and I never would have guessed. Oh, and a huge perv."

"I'm not a perv!" she huffed. "There's a lot of eighteenth century historical research that went into these books. And not just about Scotland. Not that you'd know because you only focused on the racy parts."

"So prove me wrong."

She swallowed. Hard. Why? Why can't you shut up, Audrey? An idea came to her then. She rested her head back on the pillow. "You know, I think my fever is spiking again." Okay, well, you didn't have to be so Scarlett O'Hara about it.

His arm tightened as if anticipating an escape. "Oh, no, you don't. You're fine. Start reading." He smirked. "And don't hold back on the naughty bits."

Softly, but with feeling, she whispered, "Fuck." He tapped her expectantly and then began to massage her neck. A compromise. Fine. "There'd better not be a peep out of you about my accent."

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry about the delay on this, but here! Have some fluff. Thank you for reading.