Heatwave (POST)

"Ugh. . ."

Jack can't help but let out a groan, eyes shut tight and hand thrown across his face as he lays in the backseat. His skin prickles, heat crawling up his back and neck, shirt dryly rubbing his skin raw. What little he can perspire doesn't help at all, and his body merely defaults, skin breaking out in irritated red patches.

Ugh, why couldn't I be more human?

"You doing okay, Seán?"

"Too. . .hot. . ." he pants.

Mark, driving the car, winces. It had been his idea to visit L.A., after all. He had some old friends from Cincinati who had moved there, and some new friends he wanted to meet. He had then had the brilliant idea to invite his roommates-slash-friends, who had all agreed.

(Jack has been positively vibrating with excitement, and a touch nervousness, while Dan and Phil has debated without a single word. Ultimately, they too agreed.)

Unfortunately, they only time they could all get work off at the same time was the last week and a half of July.

And then further complexities led them to only obtaining two sets of tickets on differing flights. Which wasn't too much of a problem - Dan and Phil were fine sticking together, and Mark and Jack were more than fine pairing up.

So the plan was set - Mark and Jack would land first, taking a rental car, and then drive back the following morning to get the two Brits.

But, of course, it couldn't be so simple.

The heatwave, it would seem, had decided to strike; and in a stuffy city with tall structures that seemed to trap the heat in, like Los Angeles, it definitely affected their comfort.

To top it off, it would seem that the AC in their car was blown - rolling down the windows did little but allow the tangible heat to settle in.

Now, for Mark, it wasn't much of a problem. Sure, sweat was pooling out of him, so much so that his hair fell limply in his face. But it wasn't his first time in stifling, 120F degree weather.

But for Jack, not only as an Irishman, but also as a Bossotronio who couldn't naturally regulate to the heat, the almost 49C was like some sort of hellish furnace.

"I wanna die," he groaned aloud.

"We'll be there soon," Mark said, worrying his lip and glancing at is friend through the rear-view mirror. While Jack could be dramatic at times, he knew that this wasn't the case.

The heat had a texture to it - something vaguely like rough wool; enough to irritate, but not to scratch. It made them feel feverish, Jack even more so. Maybe even like standing in front of an oven freshly opened, but all around you, clinging, soaking into your flesh.

It was uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable.

Mark was worried by time they made it to Wade's, since Jack's eyes were glassy, and movements heavy. He was worried about heatstroke, though Jack just waved him off. Bob managed to help him into the house, with Tyler, while Ethan (who Mark had yet to be acquainted with), asked worriedly if they needed anything.

Mark went alone to pick up Dan and Phil the next day, while Seán recuperated, wondering how he would explain the twenty-hour nap to his non-alien friends.