Chapter 25: Fever
A/N: Just to clear up any confusion beforehand, this chapter takes place over the course of a week beginning with John's perspective. Hopefully, this clears up the pregnancy speculations. The Christmas chapter is up next and I have to say y'all are in for a treat!
You groan audibly.
Kicking the covers away for a moment of reprieve from the heat. Dismayed when that heat returns with the sheets being placed back over you.
An inferno was blazing in the depths of your soul and it's intensely petrifying. It's been a while since you've been sick with anything other than a cold. Being sick is the worst. The heat emanating from your body is stifling. It's an unbearable feeling to have to contend with. You're always thirsty. Your mouth is drier than the Sahara. Not to mention, that you're insanely uncomfortable all the time.
It felt like you'd been dropped on your head multiple times. The tension skull was comparable to a tightrope being pulled taut. A bout of motion sickness hits you every time you think you're well enough to sit up. Your body was too weak to keep you up longer than twenty minutes. It made no sense how miserable you were.
"The books…have to…take back." Your voice despondent and faint.
"No. You have to rest for now." Another voice tells you.
Amidst the smoldering haze, you're able to register a coolness running over parts of your skin. You seek the coolness of the towel, trying to focus all your attention on it in an effort to ignore the burning.
The fever mellows and elevates during certain periods and there's no way to predict which state will be present when you awake. Your current state of being was nightmarish - the feeling agonizing.
You're incoherent and delirious as a result, breathing is strained and hoarse. And you're disoriented and weak every time you wake up.
A pair of hands assist you in sitting up and the smell of food hits your nose. You didn't have much of a desire to eat, only not eating would make you sicker. Your hands are shaky as they reach out to take hold of the warm bowl of soup. The action was more experimental than anything else. You ingest the food slowly without much consideration.
Within ten minutes your stomach starts doing somersaults. You were beginning to think that your immune system did not want to do its job. At some point, the small trash can was brought from the bathroom to combat your vomiting. Even then, your stomach continues to churn painfully even after you've completely emptied it.
You're sick of hurling in a tiny trash can. You're sick and tired of being sick and tired.
When would it end?
This is without a doubt the worst time to become stricken with any sickness while you vowed to become more productive. Given that your luck has been shit lately. It certainly doesn't help that you're struck with fever dreams each time you close your eyes. All of them are vivid and distorted. You dream of faceless men coming to take you, incapacitating you before throwing you in the back of a car to be taken to God knows where. It's stuck on repeat - it plays over and over in your subconscious like a movie, sometimes with emphasis on various parts. They feel like strong hallucinations, and you can't make any sense of them. You believe the dream is choosing to torment you - no matter what you do you can't escape the muted fear that grips you the second you open your eyes for a respite.
Just how many times were you supposed to relive being shot in the head?
While in a fever-induced delirium, there's barely room for reason. You're in so much pain that you literally have no energy to sob. This is without a doubt the sickest you've ever been in your life.
After a while, you couldn't tell whether it was morning, daytime, or night. A definite indicator that your sleep schedule was thrown severely off. The confused thoughts only amplified how terrible you feel.
You don't mean to be demanding but you can't help it. With your awareness severely muddled, you just want the sweltering heat to dissipate. You had no desire to be taken to the hospital as spending the night in the ICU wasn't an ideal situation in your current state.
If this is what hell feels like then you're ready to rededicate your life to Christ.
From the second John placed her on the bed, he was made aware of the situation at hand. A thermometer check concluded that she was struck with a hundred and three degree fever.
She shivered violently trying to regulate her soaring body temperature - holding a tight grip on the comforter as she whimpered in distress. Sometimes she flailed in her sleep, both eyes tightly clenched shut. As if she was having some sort of nightmare. He had to gather the braids away from her face so they wouldn't become a hindrance. If bad enough, John would physically wake her himself for her to calm down.
By the looks of it they might have a long night ahead of them. She rambled unintelligently in her sleep at times, some of which can't be deciphered.
As much as he hates to admit it, there's not much he can do until the fever passes.
She seemed fine earlier in the day and to have her become violently ill later in the day was deeply unsettling. He deliberately kept 'Dog' out of the bedroom for a large portion of the happening for this very reason. Nonetheless, he had a feeling that the canine could sense that something was amiss with her condition taking into account that he lingered at the closed door whining.
"No- my underwear…in my drawer." She babbled listlessly.
One of John's brows rose in questionable fashion at the nonsensical ramblings.
His hand came to rest at the crest of her back when he lifted her during one of her waking periods.
"Here drink." He quietly bids.
He carefully monitors your water intake as drinking large amounts of water will help significantly. He's careful not to overwhelm you, letting you swallow down sips of water in measured gulps. He knows that she can't afford to be dehydrated when she's sweating excessively like this. Keeping her hydrated was of the utmost importance.
There was one thing that bothered him however, and that was her body's refusal to accept food. She needed to be capable of sustaining food to aid in her body's ability to heal itself. If he could avert dehydration then he could ward off starvation as well.
Attempting to feed her canned chicken soup was the most difficult part of the ordeal. She never got to finish. As he suspected, her reaction to the chicken soup was averse. Mere minutes after consumption she forcefully expelled it into the waste bin. And had his reflexes been any slower most of it might've decorated the floor. He'd gotten quite good at predicting when you'd regurgitate and he'd have the can strategically placed where he needed its use.
Vomiting was obviously a source of great pain for her but he would rather she eat and allow her body to absorb some nutrients before it's expelled as opposed to her not eating at all. Afterwards, she simply drifted back into a deep slumber.
He can't ignore the way the inside of his chest constricted each time she retched painfully. While the tinges of pain are fleeting it's instances like these that remind him that he's still human after all this time. A human with normal functioning emotions. Oftentimes, it's so easy for him to forget, less so with her unexpected introduction into his unconventional life.
He knew full well that the fever wouldn't break until it had run its course. Suppressing the fever with pills isn't a sensible method to combat the symptoms. He's dealt with the ailment many times before and it's never a pleasant sight. He remembers those same exact nights where he stood guard over another, watching for any signs of change that would indicate a worsening condition. He recalls that same unease - that same fear he felt throughout. He's conscious of how the threat of illness can impose on a person's life and change it forever. As a consequence he would not see the same thing happen again, not if it was within his power to prevent it. All in all, he would not go through a repeat occurrence.
He continued monitoring her condition day and night.
The second day was worse than the first - the fever had fully set in and was doing the most damage. He wouldn't allow her to kick away the covers as the heat it induced was needed for the time being. Underneath her eyelids, your eye shifted fretfully as she sights between states of consciousness and unconsciousness. Even the waking periods are brief and she doesn't have much energy to do much but shift the positioning of her head on the pillow.
While a fever shouldn't be cause for much concern, he took the matter soberly. John deemed the heat radiating alarmingly from your brown skin to be a worrying source of concern. As much as he tried, he could not ignore the crippling fear that gripped him upon the realization that you were struck with illness.
He sought to each of her needs without fail as she needed to be able to fight the fever without difficulty. The room was kept moderately cool for the most part. Her sweat soaked the sheets, her breathing labored and audible. She sweated through all of your clothing until he stripped her down to her shirt and underwear.
He worked diligently to bring down your temperature by rubbing a cold towel across your heated skin around the clock. He even watches as she struggles to move her sluggish limbs, her comprehension extremely limited. He greatly despised seeing her in such a wretched state.
When her indisposition hit the end of the forty-eight hour mark, her temperature seemed to fall to a more manageable level and she rested serenely.
He reached out and cupped the side of her face gently lifting it once more for inspection. In spite of it all, he would remain vigilant until she was restored to good health. He waits until she calms down enough to sleep peacefully before changing into his nightwear and sliding into bed with her pulling her close to his body.
Hopefully, the heat from his own body didn't prove stifling - judging by the way she nestled deeper into his body and inhaled his scent, he'd say it had the opposite effect.
That devastating weight in your skill is the first thing you feel when your awareness returns. You haven't even opened your eyes yet. Even opening them was proving to be quite the task itself and soon enough you're staring clearly at the ceiling. When you tiredly shift your eyes to the left, you're nearly taken aback by the sight of the hitman sitting at your bedside gazing at you intently. The sight of him didn't surprise you as much as you thought it would, truthfully you'd be more surprised if he wasn't there.
Frowning, you waited until your eyes fully adjusted to the room. The sheets were disheveled around your legs and waist. A substantial amount of energy went towards willing your body to sit up against the pillows. John quickly offered his assistance in that regard. Once that was accomplished, the austere, solemn man regarded you for a moment, eyes staring deep into your own.
"Do you feel better now?" He asked in a gentle, measured mien.
Even though your head was still a bit hazy, you did feel significantly better than better. "Yes. What time is it?"
"Half past twelve."
"How long have I been sick?"
"Three full days." He replied evenly.
Three days? Has it truly been that long?
You really must've been out of it if your time perception had been largely distorted. It was bad enough for you to have been bedridden for days but your body felt suspended in a state of object restlessness despite the absurd amount of sleep you'd been getting.
Not only that but you were convinced that the contract killer had been watching you sleep through your episodes, only you're much too unwell to express any sort of discomfiture about it. You don't want to know about all the things he's seen - all the different states of you literally going through it. In fact, you don't believe that he ever left your side. He cares for you just as your mother would in your delicate state. The general concern in his face was frighteningly palpable. It's not at all difficult to make out the way in which his brows are creased with worry.
"What's wrong?"
"Um…I have to pee."
It was then the man stood from the chair in what you know is an attempt to assist you.
Before you know what's happening next, you're holding out a hand to stop him. "Hey um...I want to try by myself. Please."
The expression on his face did not change, demeanor collected but he did not try to support further.
Presumably, this was a test for him to see if you were well enough to be mobile. If physical activity was too much then you'd be relegated to the bed again and you really didn't want that. After days of becoming acquainted with it, you'd had enough.
With a steady gait, you wobble to the bathroom on your own under the watchful eye of your lover, determined to prove to him that you were capable. Or at least convince him that you were better on some level. There's nothing hurried about your pace, you took it slow so as not to overwhelm your body. Fatigue still clung heavily to your extremities. Post-fever weakness is expected but it's important not to hinder the process of recovery although you probably won't feel at hundred percent for at least another week. That's fine as long as you aren't forced back into bed.
You released a sigh you'd been holding for the longest time, finally relieved to be out of his sight for the time being. Your cheeks heated when he literally came to stand in the doorway to watch you.
He was quiet in his observation while your entire face burned with shame. He was literally watching you pee and clearly he had no problem with it. You on the other hand, were very tempered to tell him to go away until you finished. Though there was some doubt that he'd actually do it. He was the type to see it through till the end. You supposed that this was his attempt at remaining attentive albeit even more so than usual.
You pretend not to notice him until finished and shakily amble over to the sink to wash your hands.
It's technically the fourth day when the fever dissipates completely. The joint and general tiredness lingers but it's nothing you can't deal with. John finally lets you out of the bedroom and Sweetface jumps you the second you're within his sight. He noses you in the stomach affectionately as you rub the top of his head. You're up and moving around albeit not as much as you usually would. After days of being confined to the bed you both share, you're happy to be capable of moving around the house again. John allows it on the condition that you consume food and drink water regularly without issue. He also provides you with a few vitamins to build up your energy and bolster your immune system. It's an easy deal you can follow through on since the worst of your nausea has vacated your system.
Under the care of your mother, she'd have you ingesting an obscene amount of ginger ale with Vicks vapor rub slathered under your nose. You supposed John's treatment is just as effective though. John remained entirely analytic in his response to your ailing condition. He kept a very close eye on your movements to the point where it's like he doesn't think you're capable of doing things for yourself just yet. It's not that you don't appreciate his help, he'd done so much for you already. Playing nursemaid and all. Honestly, he could've been a nurse.
Your mother and friends expressed concern and wanted to come check on your well-being after not hearing from you for days but you pushed their concerns aside citing that you were merely recovering from sickness and just needed to bounce back. Slowly but surely, you were gaining your strength back. The whole experience was hellish and you were glad that it had finally passed.
Once you're bathed and dressed in comfortable clothing, you're led downstairs. As you both step into the long entrance hallway, you spot the ladder still in the very same place where you left it. You know full well that your phlegmatic lover won't allow you to finish putting up the Christmas decorations under the circumstances. So there really was no point in asking.
The aroma wafting from the kitchen has you more intrigued than anything. He seats you expectantly before waiting patiently for you to begin eating. And although John's expression remains blase, though an indecipherable emotion is swirling in them.
On the table in front of you sits a bowl of soup with the consistency of a broth. Another smaller bowl containing sliced oranges sits in another bowl beside your glass of water. Already you spot carrots, celery, and tomatoes. The veggies floated appealingly in the thick, delicious smelling broth. It has your stomach rumbling longingly. The ingredients look fresh, way too fresh to be processed. There wasn't a chance in hell that any of it came from a can. The kitchen didn't appear out of order but you're positive the soup is homemade.
"Did you…make this for me?" You ask, utterly mystified.
John's head dips forward once in a single nod.
For the man to go out of his way to prepare a meal for you makes you feel extremely special. He's been going all out for you since day one and you don't know what all you can do to repay him for his generosity. He's so unbelievably considerate. Men like him only come around once in a lifetime. You cherished every single thing he did for you and one day that kindness would be repaid tenfold.
You never really need much reassurance from him as he continuously shows that he cares for you in different ways - this instance being a prime example. With him being such an emotionally guarded man throughout the entire duration you've been with him. It's probably why he won't just flat out say the words you now have no problem uttering to him. Fortunately, you're not naïve enough to think that because of that he doesn't feel the same. No, he'd much rather show you.
"I didn't know you could cook." You say, your brows pulling together.
"Eat." He gently encourages.
You nod in understanding, the corners of your mouth beginning to lift. There wasn't a time where you felt self-conscious about eating in front of him until now. With any further deliberation, you daintily picked up the spoon and began to eat. Flavor seemed to explode in your mouth.
"It tastes so good." You said in between spoonful's.
Aside from the sounds of you eating, you both sit in perfect silence at the table. The broth is hearty and full and to top it off - it tastes delightful. You would've never guessed that he seasoned his food perfectly. Never in a million years would you have imagined a meatless broth being good but you also won't know unless you've tried it at least once. It has just the right consistency and isn't watered down like most broths tend to be. With each bite, you're savoring the pleasantly warm soup on your tongue. It's so good you don't realize that you're practically shaving spoonful's into your mouth. It doesn't help that you're hungry as hell and it feels like you haven't eaten in days.
"Slow down." He urged.
You did as he bid and it takes about five minutes for you to clean the bowl of its delectable contents. You said nothing when he quietly placed another bowl of broth in front of you after you finished the first one and you wasted no time going to work on it. He clearly anticipated that you'd ask for seconds. It also shows that he's thinking more of you than you think for yourself.
"Have you had enough?"
The soup seemed to make you feel that much more rejuvenated, due in part to the fact that it's likely the first meal you'd had in days. Whatever the reason, you're immensely grateful.
"Mmmhh." You nod shyly as he moves to place the dishes in the sink.
"You didn't have to do all this for me." You quietly voice.
Predictably, the man's eyes flick to yours without hesitation and you quickly note the way he looks at you.
"Your choice of words are confusing…are we not one?"
A chill runs your body at that moment.
"Yes." You stutter.
"Then why do you say such things?"
You opened your mouth but quieted when you realized that you didn't have a valid answer to give him. Instead, you decided to turn your attention to the bowl of oranges.
The intense silence goes on until the man comes to sit next to you once more.
"Oh…I have something else I need to do."
The man looks at you from over the surface of the cup positioned at his mouth.
"I really need to go turn in some books."
In a tiny motion, John's head cocks to the side in a barely there gesture at your spirited remark. You guess the statement took him by surprise.
"You are not in any condition to be out just yet."
"But I'm okay now really!" You insisted. "I don't feel that sick anymore."
Clearly, he wasn't convinced in the slightest. You just hope you're not glassy-eyed while trying to persuade him because that would defeat the purpose. Whatever he says typically goes unless you can find a minor loophole, which is hard enough to find in itself. If he had his way, you wouldn't be leaving the house until he changed his mind.
You nearly jump when he reaches out and caresses your cheek with a calloused thumb. "I will take you to return the books."
You immediately perked up, meeting his calm brown eyes evenly.
Relief fills you in seconds. You were certain that he wasn't going to budge at all. There's a special place in heaven for men who treat their lovers with such fragility and kindness. "Thank you."
By day five, you appeared to have put John's concerns at ease, at least you thought you did. Apparently, the soup gives you the extra boost of confidence and energy you need - makes you feel like you're operating under pure adrenaline. Now you're zooming around the house like Speedy Gonzales getting things done. You even managed to sneak back on the ladder and finish hanging the ornaments. If he believed you were only playing at feeling better then you'd proved him wrong twice over. Though you suspect that John knew the soup he made would have this effect.
Once a great deal of your symptoms have subsided, you had to practically beg him to take you to turn the books in. He was very adamant about not letting you back into the cold especially when he believed your condition was still so precarious. At this point in time, John's authority is unquestionable. It had taken him a while to cave under your pleas but you refused to allow him to turn in the books himself.
The trip to the bookstore was supposed to be a quick in and out thing, which is exactly why you didn't put much effort into your appearance. You know you probably look a mess with your braids in a messy pile on top of your head while clad in leisure wear. You're due for a touch up around your edges soon.
John accompanied you to the store's entrance, merely trusting you to do what needed to be done then return swiftly. It was scary close to closing time and there weren't many people around as it was. Upon entering, you inhaled deeply. The places smelled like freshly printed paper and vanillin. You're smelled both plenty of times before and it always brings you pleasure.
The guy working behind the counter immediately perks up at the sight of you approaching.
He instantly flashes you a set of pearly whites. He was of medium build, tall but not overly so. He also possessed facial hair though not as trimmed and not nearly as thick as John's. This guy's facial hair consisted of a thin mustache that went no further than his upper lip.
"Hello, I'd like to return these books." You say, sliding the three books across the counter.
"Sure, just let me have a look at them." He goes.
He gives them each a quick but thorough inspection until he hums.
"It says that the deadline to turn these in was two days ago."
"I know…I'm sorry! I got really sick and I couldn't get out of bed for days-"
"That's understandable…things happen." He shrugs.
"I just feel so bad having to turn them in. I didn't even get a chance to read them."
"You do know that you could've had it extended over the phone right?"
"Wow it's actually my first time hearing of that." You're aware that most places that let a person rent books are really strict on deadlines and will sometimes restrict people from renting more books if they don't meet the deadlines in a timely manner. And here this random guy was trying to do you a solid by choosing to overlook it.
"I bet, my bosses usually only tell special customers about it." He whispers, rolling his eyes. "My name's Ethan by the way."
"Nice to meet you Ethan, I'm _."
"Um…you do know that this isn't the first time we've met right?" He laughed.
"We have?"
"You came here some weeks ago to check out these exact books."
"Sorry…I barely pay attention to anything when I'm hunting for a good book. I don't think I've noticed you before."
"It's all good."
That left you irrepressibly curious.
"So have you always worked here?"
"Yep. About a year and a half now." He drops causally. "It's a pretty mellow job for the most part. Definitely beats working in fast food. Plus I have a natural love for reading so it works."
How is it that you've never noticed him?
To be fair, nothing about him really stood out that much and that's probably why you couldn't remember him.
"Oh…I wish I had a job like this. Sounds perfect." You murmur longingly.
He smiled warmly. "Yeah about that - we have an opening if you're really interested."
At the proposition, you're gasping under your breath.
You'd be told that when someone offers you a job on the spot, you're supposed to tell them that you'd take the offer into consideration. The notion makes sense but then again, you're too excited to try and play it cool. You were going to accept the position off top and no amount of thinking was going to change that especially when the position was open and could be started at your own discretion.
"You can start with storage in the back. At least until you get used to the layout of the shop and know where everything is. I can assure you that it definitely won't be as demanding in the way that most jobs are."
You often wondered for the longest time what it would be like to work in a library or bookstore and now you were going to get that opportunity. Working here will be a great work environment and you can't wait to be amongst the novels and winding isles. It seems that your prayers for the perfect job have finally been answered. And best of all, you don't have to go through the painstaking process of hiring that's associated with every potential job. It's somewhat already established he wasn't the manager but you weren't inclined to ask any question.
"I'd like that." You nod. "Where do I apply?"
"Don't worry about it. Just pick a starting date and we can get everything sorted from there." He leans further across the counter. "We're not really supposed to employ people that way but I'm always happy to look out for someone." He adds.
"Thank you so much for this."
"No problem. We'll be in touch."
"Sure." You nodded.
These last few weeks have been hell for you mentally and emotionally so you're going to take this win and revel in it for as long as you humanly can. A job like this will effectively keep you grounded especially with how your mind likes to wonder.
If his gaze was still on your back then he probably would see you damn near skip out of the store like an idiot.
Upon leaving the store, you enveloped John in the biggest hug you could manage. Of course the hitman was taken off guard by this until you explained the source of your happiness. At first you thought you'd be met with the usual stoic disposition until he leaned to press a chaste kiss on your lips.
"Good." He remarks.
When the two of you made it home, you couldn't stop pacing the length of the floor excitedly. You grabbed your phone and speed dialed your mother with the quickness. And you're not at all surprised when she answers just as quickly.
"Baby you feeling better?" She enquires straight off the bat.
You immediately stop pacing. "What? Oh yeah, I'm okay. Listen…I have something to tell you."
"I'm listening."
"Ma, someone offered me a job position." You eagerly explain to her.
"Where?"
"The bookstore down on ninety-four. The one I always go to." You continue.
"See I told you it wasn't nothing to worry about. All you had to do was pray and be patient." She happily reaffirms.
"Well it worked way better than I thought it would."
"That reminds me, did you invite John over for Christmas?" She asks.
That gave you pause. With all that went on it had completely slipped your mind.
"Oh I forgot. I'm going to ask him now."
"Alright, well let me know something."
"Okay. Love you bye."
You hung the phone up just as John came through the door with an energetic pooch at his heels. He caught your gaze immediately. As customary, he merely waited for you to speak first.
Why the hell were you suddenly nervous? After all, he came to your family Thanksgiving dinner, why wouldn't he come visit for Christmas?
You wrung your hands together anxiously. It's only after a moment's consideration that you pose the weighted question to your lover. "Um. John…would you like to come spend Christmas with my family?"
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