Immunity By T. L. Odell Part 3 Disclaimers in Part 0 * * * Anne brushed the hair out of Duncan's eyes. "Shush. Calm down; you're having another nightmare. Let's check that temp again. You still feel too hot." *Up two tenths,* she noted as she read the instrument. *No wonder you're delirious.* She wished she'd asked Joe how long this virus took to run its course. "Bathroom," croaked Duncan. *Great,* thought Anne. "Let's see if you can sit up, first," she said aloud. Passing out is unacceptable." Anne helped Duncan rise slowly to a sitting position, propped up by pillows, watching him carefully. "I'm okay," he said, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up the rest of the way. The color drained from his lips, and he began to sway. "No you don't," exclaimed Anne and gently pushed his chest. He fell back onto the pillows immediately. "Like I said, you're too heavy for me to pick up off the floor. Wait here for a minute. Don't move!" Anne hurried out to the kitchen and returned with an old wine carafe. She handed it to Duncan wordlessly. He was still sheet white, but she didn't need to see him blush to know what he was feeling. He looked at her with a pained expression, but she knew he understood that the alternative would be far more embarrassing. "I'll be right outside the door, Duncan. Call when you're finished." "You've never been on that side of a sickbed, have you?" asked Anne after she disposed of the contents of the carafe. "We mere mortals don't like being sick either, but we've had more practice. The best thing you can do is relax and go with the flow. Admit that your system needs some help, and quit fighting." Duncan slept fitfully all afternoon and into the evening. It was obvious he was in some other world, fighting half remembered battles, facing old friends and foes. As Anne started washing yet another load of sheets, she wondered if she was anywhere in his fevered thoughts. She checked Duncan's bag to see what other clothing he might have packed. She had already used the two clean T-shirts she found on the dresser. It was certain that nothing she owned would fit him, and anything of Jared's would be too small. If Duncan was going to be here for a while, he would need more than two shirts. Maybe she would call Joe after all. She might as well check to see if there was anything else she needed. Anne headed for the pantry to see what kind of food she had on hand for her patient. Eventually, he'd need something more substantial than ginger tea. She found plenty of soup, some Jell-O and applesauce. Also a few bananas that were getting ripe. That, combined with her basic panty staples, should be enough for a day or two. Duncan wasn't ready for much food just yet. She'd ask Joe to pick up some juice and bread from the grocery store, and she should be set. Hearing the sounds of stirring from the bedroom, Anne went to check on her patient. "I see you're up," smiled Anne. "Feeling any better? I have some news from Joe if you think you're up to a little conversation." Duncan's eyes had lost some of their fevered glaze. "What did he say?" "Well, you seem to have fallen victim to some kind of 'immortal flu'. Joe thinks you may have picked it up last week when you, er, met up with a colleague." Anne had never liked talking about the Game, although she knew it was part of Duncan's life. He nodded imperceptibly. Anne continued to relay the information Joe had given her. "It shouldn't be fatal, but you're likely to be miserable for a while," she finished. "You're absolutely right about that." "One more thing," continued Anne. "Joe said that while you've got the virus in your system, you're virtually mortal." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Your magic healing won't work fast enough to keep you alive should you do something stupid like fall off a cliff or stab yourself in the chest." "Joe's wrong. That's impossible." Anne shook her head. Taking Duncan's hand, she carefully removed the IV. Duncan watched as a drop of blood welled up where the needle was removed. The hole remained. Duncan stared at Anne for a moment, then spoke softly. "Thanks for not listening before. I guess I owe you my life." "No problem. I didn't think you really meant it, anyway." "Now, not to change the subject, but all the fluid you're putting in has to come out, and I don't think I'll ever get used to your damned carafe system." 'I'll take that as a request for my damned carafe. And the IV goes right back; you can't keep fluids down, and you're dehydrated." "Well, you don't need to be so cheerful about it." "Hey, just be glad you're a guy. It's a lot more complicated for those of us with indoor plumbing," retorted Anne. "Point taken. Now if you'll turn your back or something, please..?" His needs attended to, Duncan was asleep again almost immediately. Anne went to the laundry room to put the sheets in the dryer. A growl from her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten all day; she began reheating some of the lasagna. * * * *Duncan struggled to find his way across the room. It was dark, completely dark. The monster was coming at him. He had to save the girl. But he couldn't see. He couldn't see the girl; he couldn't see the monster. How could he fight an enemy he couldn't find? He reached out, feeling his way. No, he wasn't reaching... it was a sword he was swinging to keep the monster at bay. How did the monster know where he was in the dark? Just find a light, then you can kill the monster and save the girl.* * * * Sounds from the bedroom brought her back to Duncan's side once again. *Must be another nightmare,* she thought as she turned on the bedside lamp. He was groaning in his sleep, almost shouting. With four hundred years behind him, he certainly had plenty of subconscious memories for his fevered brain to draw from. Once again, she stroked his forehead and tried to calm him down. His eyes snapped open, but she was not what he was seeing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he mumbled. "I should never have gone back inside. It's my fault." This time his eyes cleared, and this time Anne saw a hint of recognition in their brown depths. He looked down, away from her gaze. "It's okay, Duncan. It's the fever talking. Another nightmare. Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes that helps." Anne sat on the edge of the bed and took Duncan's hand. "She's dead because of me. I had to go check the damned computer. Richie tried to help, but he lived and she died, and...." Suddenly, his body was wracked by sobs. They had talked about Tessa several times, and she understood his grief at losing her. Anne remembered how she had felt when she saw Duncan 'dead.' She leaned forward and buried her face in his chest, allowing him to grieve without having to see her face as he mourned another woman. His hands stroked her hair, and soon his breathing returned to normal. Anne wondered if he would have any memory of the episode when his delirium passed. * * * Duncan's head hurt more than he ever remembered. His stomach felt like he had just done a thousand crunches. He was too hot, but too cold at the same time. Every part of his body ached - even his hair hurt. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. As he looked around, he remembered that he was in Anne's guestroom. He noticed a blanket tossed over the chaise in the corner, and the soft light coming in through the window was beginning to overtake the glow given off by the lamp. He had vague recollections of Anne being in the chaise. Trying to sit up set off another paroxysm of pain both in his head and abdominal muscles. What had he been doing? As he continued to look around the room, he saw the basin on the chair by his bed. Well, that explained why his stomach was so sore. Maybe he'd try to get up and get something to drink. A groan escaped his lips, and Anne entered the room almost immediately. "Where do you think you're going?" "Thirsty" was all Duncan could get out. "Okay - I'll bring you some ice chips to suck on. You're not ready to drink a whole glass of water yet." She returned with a small bowl of ice. "Before I give you this, let me check your temp once more, please." Duncan waited for the thermometer to register, trying to sort out what had really happened and what he had dreamed. He couldn't think clearly; everything seemed to be hovering just at the edge of his consciousness. "Still almost 104," she said after removing the thermometer, and she spooned a couple of chips into Duncan's mouth. "This might make you feel cooler, too. Help yourself, but slowly - don't crunch them, just let them melt in your mouth. Not as good as M&M's, but better for you right now." "Thanks." He reached for the spoon, and it trembled in his quaking hand. Without speaking, Anne took the spoon and gave Duncan some more ice. He accepted the fact that he was too weak even for this small task, and closed his eyes as he savored the refreshing chips. Before long, he had once again sunk into a deep sleep. Duncan awoke to find Anne giving him a sponge bath. He still felt weak and shaky, but the fog in his head was lifting. "Your fever broke a while ago," she told him. She assisted him to the chaise while she worked on the bed, putting on dry sheets. He was able to walk - or hobble, actually, with her having to support only about half his weight. He even got his arms into the right holes in his T- shirt. He crawled under the covers, curled up on his side, and, breathing slowly and evenly, fell into a deep sleep. * * * The phone rang. "Hello," said Anne. "Hi, Sweetheart." "Jared. How was your seminar?" "Fine, but it would have been better if you were here. Did you and Duncan get things straightened out? How did he take the news that you were leaving?" Anne heard the unspoken, *and did he try to rekindle old flames?* "Well, things didn't go exactly as planned. We haven't exactly gotten around to discussing the house yet, but I think he's okay with my leaving." "What do you mean, you haven't gotten to the house yet? It's Sunday night. He got there Friday, didn't he? Why is he still there? What's been going on?" "Relax. I've spent the last two and a half days cleaning up vomit, emptying urinals and doing laundry. I can tell you, there's been nothing the least bit romantic going on. Duncan came down with a really bad case of the flu, and I've been playing nurse." "Mopping his fevered brow?" "More like holding his head while he threw up. Trust me, he's been so feverish he hardly knew it was me. I'm pretty sure that the one time he was muttering about a woman, it was his former fiancée." Anne paused for a moment. "Jared, I love you, and I'm planning to spend the rest of my life with you. You have nothing to worry about." Anne heard Jared take a deep breath. "I know," he said softly. "I just miss you, and don't really like the idea of another man in your house. But I understand that you wanted to tell him about us this way, and I hope I'll have a chance to meet him before you move out here." "Thanks, Love. It means a lot to me." They spoke quietly, talking about nothing in particular for about half an hour before Anne finally begged off. "I really have to get to bed. This is the first chance I've had to get some uninterrupted sleep. Love you." "Love you, too. Sleep well." End of Part 3