Infected

"Ah, Geez, Goren, you're a disaster!" Mike ignored the stench and stepped carefully past the towels and dirty clothes to the big man on the bed. "Too much to drink?" He asked.

Goren was in his shorts on the bed, his pillow over the back of his head. He groaned something in response. Logan stepped forward. "Bobby, are you all right?" He moved to shake his shoulder, and his hand registered the heat in Bobby's skin right away. "Oh, hell, you're really sick!"

Bobby groaned in agreement and adjusted the position of his legs. Mike started carefully picking things up off the floor and slinging them into the laundry basket in the closet. It was obvious the man had vomited on himself.

Logan hurried to the kitchen and washed his hands, then he poured a glass of water for his friend. He took it back to the bedroom and tried to convince Goren to drink, but he wouldn't budge. "You have any medicine around this place?" Logan asked, but Bobby didn't reply. He went back to the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets. Then Mike had a better idea. He pulled out his phone and called Eames.

"Hello, Mike," she said, sounding annoyed.

"Eames, I need your help."

"What's wrong?" she asked, picking up on the stress in his tone.

"Your partner. He's sick as a dog. He won't talk to me. I thought maybe you could-"

"Bobby's sick?"

"Yeah, he threw up and everything."

She shook her head. "He's probably just hungover."

"You ever know him to miss the fucking toilet when he's hungover?" Mike was getting aggravated, now. "He's got a fever. He's sick."

"Let me talk to him."

Mike frowned. "I'll try," he said, and walked back to the bedroom.

"Goren, your partner wants to talk to you." Mike waited, but the big man barely moved. "Goren!" He said again, a little louder. "It's Eames." Bobby managed to turn and get the pillow off his head. His face was pale except for the flush in his cheeks. "She wants to talk to you."

He moved, and Logan thought he was going to sit up and take the phone, but instead he dashed past him and heaved into the toilet. Logan put the phone against his ear again. "I think you should just get your ass over here."

By the time Alex arrived, carrying a stuffed grocery bag, Mike was fed up. "About time!" He cried. "He's a fucking mess. I thought about calling a bus for him."

This had Alex concerned. She handed Mike the groceries and hurried back to Bobby's room. He was on his side in the bed, sleeping. His skin was pale and there were dark bags under his eyes. She touched him, and he shivered. Alex untangled the sheets and blankets at his feet and covered him. "Bobby," she said. "What's going on, huh?" She kept her voice soft and friendly, and snuck a hand onto his hot forehead. She slid it down to his cheek, and then his neck.

He whimpered.

"Bobby, talk to me. Mike's got me worried that we may need to take you to the hospital."

He frowned and shook his head. "No hospital," he croaked, his voice dry and raspy.

"All right, then," Alex said with satisfaction. "tell me your symptoms."

"Achy…cold…headache…"

"And vomiting, I know. Diarrhea, too?"

He frowned again. This was too personal.

"Bobby, I think you're getting dehydrated. You'd better start drinking, or I am taking you to the hospital."

"No."

"If you don't want to go, drink this water."

"Just… puke it up again…"

She smiled. It was like talking to her nephew. "Where's that genius mind I'm so used to? You know you need to drink. It's either that or the hospital."

A long pause, and then, "Okay."

Slowly, he pushed himself upright and barely managed to open his eyes. She held the glass in front of him, and he almost missed when he reached for it with his hand. Alex put her arm around him and kept the other on the glass, helping him lift it to his lips.

He sipped and started to lower his hand, but she pushed back.

"More than that, Bobby. C'mon."

He took a bigger drink, and she set the glass on the bedside table as he lowered himself back to the mattress again. "Ooohh…" he said miserably.

"Have you taken anything?"

"What?"

"Have you taken anything for the fever?"

"Uh… yeah… uh…"

Frowning, she felt his head again. "When?"

"Uh… can't remember," he mumbled.

"C'mon, Bobby… last night? Or this morning?"

"Uh… last night… in the night…"

"Okay. I'll get you something."

He groaned again as she went back out to his kitchen. Logan had already unpacked the items from the bag, and he was no longer angry with her. She'd purchased everything a sick man might need: fever reducer, cold packs, clear soda, chicken soup, and two kinds of crackers. "I put the ice packs in the freezer," he told her.

"Good." Alex grabbed the bottle of pills and wrestled with the safety seal. "You're off the hook, Logan. I'll take it from here."

"You don't think he needs the… a doctor?"

"Not yet. As long as he'll work with me, I think I can take care of him here."

"He'll work with you?"

Alex gave him a knowing look, and Logan backed down. Of course Goren would work with Eames. She's probably the only person who could convince him to do anything. "He's in good hands, then," Logan said. "You call me if you, you know, run out of crackers or something."

She smiled at him. "Thanks, Mike."