Jaguar rolled out of bed just north of eight o’clock the next morning. He was still tired and his body ached; his sleeping had been fraught with tossing and turning. The room was chilly, so he rifled through his drawer until he found a pair of socks, and then padded into the living room, headed for the kitchen. Jaguar didn’t expect to find Falcon curled up on the sofa, tucked under a quilt, with VH1 playing music videos on the television.
“Falcon?” Jag asked quietly.
She shifted, a wince pinching her face.
“Are you okay?”
Falcon didn’t answer. He moved closer, kneeling down. She was pale, a sheen of sweat spread across her forehead. She didn’t flinch as he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
“You’re burning up,” he said. “Are you sick?”
Falcon closed her eyes and shook her head. “No,” she croaked.
“Is that wound infected?”
“Maybe,” she admitted quietly, her voice breaking. “It hurts.”
Jaguar felt his chest tighten. “Let me see.”
She nodded miserably and turned onto her stomach. He tugged the quilt back so he could look at her shoulder. Her sports bra was damp, her skin clammy, and she hissed briefly as he peeled the bandage off her shoulder.
“Jesus, Falcon,” he breathed.
The wound was swollen and an angry red color; he touched it gently, causing Falcon to twitch. It was blazing under his fingertips. He frowned. This was bad. It was definitely infected and the fact that it was making Falcon sick was an even worse sign.
“Has it hurt recently?”
“A little…”
“Little?” She was lying. He knew she was lying because she hated seeming weak. She would have brushed off the pain until it became unbearable, which is exactly the point it had reached. Jaguar wanted to chastise her for it, but this wasn’t the time.
Her groan gave him all the answer he was looking for.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” Jag told her. “I think it’s really infected. You could be really sick.”
Falcon shook her head.
“C’mon Falcon, you’re seriously sick. You need medical attention.”
Again, she shook her head. “Call the director,” she rasped. “Have him send a doctor over. No hospitals.”
“But –“
Her head jerked around to look at him. Her face was serious, but her eyes were pleading.
“Okay,” he sighed reluctantly. “I’ll call Marcus.”
Her face softened. She was in pain, serious pain. Something in his gut twisted as he gazed at her. After another couple seconds he nodded curtly, vaguely recognizing that he was a little slow on the uptake, and then stood up and moved into the kitchen. Jag picked up the phone and dialed AD J Marcus as he brewed coffee.
The director wasn’t happy, but after a few minutes of posturing and semi-serious threats to quit, Marcus relented.
“I’ll make a call.”
Jag stirred a little sugar into his coffee. “Good.”
Neither man bothered with closing pleasantries before hanging up. Jag set the phone back on its cradle, picked up his coffee, and rejoined Falcon.
“Marcus is sending someone over.”
Falcon didn’t answer. Jaguar kneeled by her head. Her eyes were closed. She had slipped off to sleep. The small hairs not contained by her ponytail were stuck to her forehead from sweat. He swallowed hard as he reached forward and brushed a few away. The heat from her skin was alarming. Jag slid to the floor by her head and leaned back against the sofa, taking a long drink of coffee.
Music videos continued to play and Jag watched vaguely. The voice-over had just announced the seventh video on the list when Jaguar felt Falcon shift behind him. A small, warm hand landed softly on his shoulder. Jaguar’s breath caught.
Her fingers tightened, fisting the fabric of his t-shirt on his shoulder. She tugged at it softly, pulling closer to him. Jaguar suddenly found it really hard to breathe. Her breath fanned the back of his neck, causing the hairs they tickled to stand up straight, and send goose bumps racing down his spine. She continued to doze, her deep even breathing sending new shivers every time she exhaled. He wanted to pull away, but he also didn’t want to risk waking her.
Oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t want to wake her, but a sick part of him didn’t want to move either. Having her so close, so intimate –
A knock on the door made him jump, nearly sloshing lukewarm coffee down the front of his shirt. With as light a touch as possible, he uncurled her fingers enough to extract himself and then stood up to answer the door. He turned the deadbolt and then pulled the door of the apartment open.
A blond man, probably somewhere around the age of forty, stood in the doorway; he was dressed in black wool coat and clenching a doctor bag in his hand. Snowflakes were melting on his lapels.
“C’mon in,” Jaguar told him, swinging the door open and stepping back.
The man took a couple steps inside, allowed Jag to shut the door, and shed his coat. He hung it on the rack near the door and shivered.
“It’s a little cold out there today, isn’t it?” he asked facetiously.
Jaguar gave him a wan smile. “Just a little bit.” He extended his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
The man took Jag’s hand and they shook. His fingers were icicles.
“It’s no problem,” the man responded, letting go of Jaguar’s hand. “James is an old friend of mine. I’m Daniel.”
“Jaguar,” he answered. “Falcon’s in the living room.”
Daniel trailed after Jaguar as Jag led him into the room. “You’re a part of the project?”
He knew? Jaguar turned to look at Daniel. “Yeah… What do you know about it?”
“Nothing really. James mentioned it. He was explaining that you went by somewhat odd nicknames.” Daniel’s gaze found Falcon. “So, when did she start getting sick?”
“Last night, I think.” Jaguar bent over her, pushing a few more strands of hair from her face. “I think it’s her shoulder.”
Daniel nodded, set down his bag, and moved to examine her shoulder. Jaguar stood beside him as he removed the bandage to take a look for himself. He sighed.
“You’re right,” the doctor told him. He turned his blue eyes to Jaguar. “James said she didn’t want a hospital?”
Jag nodded, unsure of what to tell him.
“Ideally, I’d definitely recommend it, but if you’re willing to take care of her, and she doesn’t get any worse, I think it can be avoided. But if she does get worse, there’s going to be no way around it. She’ll need hospitalization.”
He nodded again. “Of course.”
“Well,” the doctor mused, “then I’m going to need a few things. But first,” he looked at Jaguar. “Where can I wash my hands?”
