Immunity, 4/5

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Immunity
By T. L. Odell
Part 4
Disclaimers in Part 0

* * *
Duncan rubbed his hand across his chin.  He definitely needed a
shave.  He opened his eyes, and Anne put her book down on the
table by the chaise where she was sitting.  "Good morning," she
said.  "Feeling any better? You slept through almost all of last
night without any trouble."

"How long?"

"Let's see.  You got here Friday night, and it's Monday morning.
Two and a half days.  What do you remember?"

"Not much.  Being hot, cold, seasick, sore."

"Well, that's it in a nutshell, I guess.  Didn't seem quite so simple
while it was happening, though."

"What hit me?"

"You don't remember?"  Anne explained about Duncan's illness
once again.

"So that part wasn't a dream, then?"  Duncan started to sit up.  He
saw Anne watching him from her chaise.  He moved slowly,
testing his strength very cautiously.  As he tried to get out of bed,
she raised her eyebrows and gave him her 'be careful' look.  He
was working too hard fighting off the lightheadedness to say
anything, but he understood.

Duncan waited until the spots stopped swimming in front of his
eyes before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  He just sat
there for a couple of minutes, regaining his equilibrium.

"The next step's going to be a lot harder," said Anne.  "How about
if I give you a shoulder to lean on?"

"I should be able to get to the bathroom myself, shouldn't I?
Haven't I been managing for the last three days?"

"Not exactly like that."  Anne glanced at the wine carafe, and
Duncan's memory began to return.  He felt his face grow hot.

"Tell you what," said Anne.  "You let me help you to the door, and
I'll turn you loose on your own.  Just promise that whatever you're
going to do in there, you'll do it sitting down.  I'm no more able to
lift you off the floor than I was three days ago."

Duncan shook his head, but allowed Anne to support him to the
bathroom.  When he returned, he made no effort to go anywhere
but back to bed.  Six steps to the bathroom and back felt more like
a marathon.

"Do you think I could get something to eat?  I'm a little hungry."

"That's a good sign.  I'll bring you some soup.  Give me a couple
of minutes to heat it up."

"I can come out,"  protested Duncan.

"No way.  Sit tight."

Duncan's eyes were closed, but he opened them when he heard
her come back into the room.  Anne was carrying a bowl of soup
on a tray.  He took about five bites before the spoon became too
heavy to lift.  Damn, he hated being so helpless.  It went against
everything he had trained for since he was a chieftain's son in the
Highlands, and even more so after his first death.

Anne merely picked up the spoon and started feeding Duncan.  She
talked about Mary, and how much she would like her new 'pet',
and that she would be sure to send Duncan pictures.  She talked
about her new position in Indianapolis.

"You'll miss the mountains," said Duncan.

"I'm sure I will.  I'll just have to get used to it, I guess.  But
there's
no shortage of cornfields."

"What about Jared?  He can't have liked this visit."

"He knows that I had a life before we met.  He also understands
the value of friendship, gender notwithstanding.  I'm sure he'd
rather you were somewhere else, but he won't begrudge me the
dubious honor of caring for you until you're well enough to get
back to your normal routine."

"Does Jared --"

"No, of course not," interrupted Anne.  "What was I going to say
... 'well, my last boyfriend died after he fell off a balcony, but he
didn't die, so there was no reason for me to take up with John and
get pregnant, but I didn't know that at the time, and then when I
found out, I discovered that people like him go around chopping
each other's heads off, so I broke it off.'  I don't think so, Duncan.
Give me a little credit.  He 'knows' that you made your fortune as
an antiques dealer, got tired of it and retired to run a dojo in
Seacouver. I think he kind of thinks of you as my Bohemian fling."

"I'm not going to touch that one."

When the bowl was empty, Duncan could barely keep his eyes
open.

"Sleep.  It's still the best thing for you.  Call if you need anything.
Remember, I refuse to pick you up off the floor."

* * *

Anne slept in her own bed that night.  The next morning, she heard
noises in the kitchen and found Duncan fumbling with the
teakettle.  Glowering at him, she escorted him to the couch in the
den and told him she would bring him a cup of tea.

"But I feel much better today.  Really.  I'll go nuts if I stay in bed."

"Fine.  But sit on the couch.  No walking around until I say it's
okay."

"Yes, ma'am," Duncan joked.  "Any chance of some toast with
that tea?  Or eggs?  Or waffles?  I need to get my strength back so I
can get out of your hair."

"Toast for starters.  We'll see about more after that."

Duncan turned on the morning news while Anne fixed breakfast.
She brought him his tea and a plate of toast with a jar of honey.
Watching her all the while, Duncan deliberately picked up the
knife, dipped it into the honey jar, and meticulously spread it on
his toast.  Anne pretended that she didn't notice his hand shook as
it returned the knife to the tray.

Duncan kept up the pretense that he felt fine for about half an hour
after breakfast.  He wouldn't admit to being weak, shaky, and
tired, but he put his feet up on the couch and was asleep before
Anne could suggest he go back into the bedroom.  She brought a
blanket out and covered him.  Although he still felt quite warm, it
was nothing like the raging fever of the previous days.

"Guess I dozed off for a few minutes," said Duncan when he woke
up.

"Just a few," said Anne.  "Not much more than a hundred and
eighty, but who's counting?"

"Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for.  Sleep is what you need.  It doesn't
really matter where you get it, although I think the bed is better
suited to someone your size.  Want some soup?"

"Not just now, I think."

"Fine, but I do want you to try to keep up with fluids.  I've got
some juice, water, tea, and even some Jell-O.  Slowly but steadily,
please.  Or would you prefer the IV?"

Duncan looked at his hand and saw the needle mark left by the IV.
His eyes opened wide, and Anne swore his face paled several
shades.

"You didn't remember that I had to force fluids into you?"

"That's not it - I guess it didn't register until just now what you
said about me being 'mortal'.  That would have healed almost as
soon as you removed the needle.  When did you take it out?"

"Sunday morning."

"Two days."  Anne saw sweat break out on Duncan's forehead,
saw the way he started swallowing rapidly and wasted no time
bringing the basin to him.

"Guess I won't put this away just yet," murmured Anne as she
wiped Duncan's face.  "How about getting back into bed?"

This time he put up no argument.  Duncan accepted Anne's
supporting arm and curled up in bed.  For the first time since he
arrived, Anne was worried about Duncan.  She had never seen him
afraid, not outwardly, and there was no question that the look in his
eyes when he saw the IV wound was fear.

End of Part 4

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