Blue Bloods

Rumbling construction equipment woke Jack from a sound sleep. He debated the pros and cons of going to the window to investigate for a bit before he remembered. A wondering smile crept across his face, and he rolled slowly out of bed and walked carefully to the window. He tried to wipe the idiot grin off his face, but it wouldn't leave. His legs didn't hurt or wobble. The curtain opened with a twitch of his hand, a hand that didn't ache or slip.

The SUV dangling a few dozen feet from his window was a bit of a surprise, but in a world where burning balls from outer space healed dying mercenaries, aerial automobiles weren't even worth mentioning. He spun and sauntered over to the head. They'd removed the remains of the catheter the first day, and the bedpan sat dry and lonely on the shelf. Jack stripped off his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and scrubbed himself down with a washcloth. The whole time he chuckled softly, unable to contain his glee at being able to do everything for himself.

The one blemish in his otherwise perfect morning, other than it being afternoon, was the tub. A wide crack showed where he'd tried to use it the second day after the rain of fire. Young Charlie would be up to fix it one of these days. Jack needed to let Doc know he could help out if Charlie needed a hand. Thoughts of how to reinforce the tub when they replaced the cracked shell danced through his head as he stepped up to the toilet to relieve himself. Despite the urgent messages his bladder sent his brain, nothing came out.

I guess this hasn't changed.

Just when he was about to give it up and head down to the cafeteria, something tore loose in his nether regions. Pain from his groin shot straight up his spine. A grunt forced its way out before he could rein it in, and his gaze snapped from the mirror to his crotch. The pain had disappeared, even memory of it a fading ghost, but a stream of bright red flowed into the toilet.

Looks like it's time to go see the doc.

***

Steve stalked through the hospital, trying to find his way to the break room he'd where left Angela sleeping. Every spot in the building not filled with the injured or sick sheltered a huddle of refugees, homeless after the devastation wrought by the falling sky. Bathed or not, they filled the air with a miasma of despair. It cut at Steve, tearing away even more of his temper. Antiseptic wafted through the air, fighting a never-ending battle against disease. The fetid odor of decay slunk through the corridors anyhow.

The emergency room's automatic doors swung open with a hydraulic swish; Steve closed his eyes and followed the sound, trusting to his nose to keep him from running into anyone, listening for the faint echo from the walls to keep him from running into anything. Before long a gust of air laden with burnt oil and overgrown grass rolled over him.

He slid his eyes open and stared at the emergency room.

"How did I just do that?"

"Do what?"

Steve stumbled backward into a crash cart before recognizing Jesse's voice. The cart went over on its side with a clatter, and he wound up draped over it, the sharp edges from the cart shoving painfully against his side.

"Whoa! Paranoid much?" He glowered up at her, but it had no effect beyond widening her grin. When he lifted a hand, she leaned down, grabbed his forearm, and hefted him to his feet effortlessly. Her grin got even wider, then dissolved completely.

"Oh... crud." Without another word, she leaned in and grabbed at his backside. Before he could react, a sharp tug pulled him off balance until she backed away, a large needle in her hands. The tip glowed with an unearthly blue light.

"Where did you get that?"

"Out of your butt, twinkletoes. I don't see any blood on it. Just this... I don't know what the heck this is. Do you have a glow stick in your pocket or something?"

"No. That should be full of adrenaline. I think..." Steve's heart pounded once, then hammered away at a frantic pace. Jesse's face receded down a long, narrow tunnel. He grabbed at her, hoping to keep her close. Her hands closed over his wrists, and his arms stretched to span the gap. He tried to pull free, but her steely grip held him fast. Her lips moved, but the thunder of his heart drowned out every other sound.

Steve's heart gave one last hammering beat, then went silent. The world snapped back into focus. His knees gave out, and only Jesse's hands on his wrists saved him from toppling to the ground. She stared into his eyes as if looking for something behind them.

"...stay with me! Steve! Keep your eyes open! You've got to stay with me, Steve!"

"I'm okay. I'm just a little dizzy." The smell of old pennies wafted to him from the floor, and he bent over to pick up the discharged adrenaline syringe. The tip glowed blue and stank of copper. He held it up for Jesse.

"Sniff this."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, but leaned over and did as he asked. After a few seconds she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then shrugged.

"Smells like... plastic? Maybe a little like rubbing alcohol?'

"You don't smell the copper?" Jesse just frowned, sniffed deeper, and shook her head. "What about the... the iron in the air. It's everywhere down here." He was losing it, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop. "Help me, Jesse."

"I've got to get you to Angie."

Before the avalanche of scent overwhelmed him again, he forced two more words past his lips, "break room."

***

Jesse stumbled backward as Steve's full weight dropped into her arms. Worse, he wasn't dead weight; he had curled in on himself, as if trying to bury his head in his belly. She scooped him up like a child. The moment his feet left the floor, his weight all but disappeared. His chest vibrated; a low rumble pressed against her.

The downstairs break room was on the opposite side of the emergency room, so she worked her way there, trying not to step on anyone's feet or bump into any injured people. The injuries coming in now were mostly minor, but there were a lot of them, as people struggled to rebuild what had been lost. Worse, from her perspective, none of the other injuries caught the eye the way a petite brunette carrying a fireman in her arms did.

When she got to the break room, she spun around and backed through the curtain blocking it off from the main part of the emergency room. Other than the television, currently showing yet another of Katrina Wells' videos of her mystery hero in action, the room stood empty and quiet. She lay Steve down on the tiny couch, glad he'd curled up enough to fit, just hoping he could answer her questions.

"Steve, can you hear me?"

A groan was his only response. She thumbed open one eyelid, and he twisted away from her, a deep growl shaking the air in the room.

"Whoa, Steve! It's me, Jesse. Angie's not in the break room. Any other ideas?"

"Nap."

"No! You can't go to sleep. Not until we sort out what's happening to you. Understand? Do you hear me, Steve?" She forced his head around, thumbed his eyelids open again. He glared at her balefully, trying to twist his head out of her grasp, but she'd worked with one too many animals in pain to let that happen. After a minute of struggling, he started to whimper, words interspersed with his pain.

"Not me. Angie sleeping. Upstairs. Moron. Migraine. Bad."

A young woman wearing a volunteer's striped smock chose that minute to stick her head into the room. "I'm sorry, but this area is off limits to patients. I'm going to have to ask you to return to the emergency room."

"Just a sec." Jesse fumbled until she found her ID badge, shoved deep in a cargo pocket when she worked to hook the Jeep of the Jerk to the crane. "I'm volunteer staff. So's he. Can you bring us a hot compress?"

Indecision warred on the young lady's face as her desire to help warred with the rules she'd been told about who could have what. Twice she started to turn, then turned back to Jesse, where she stopped with her mouth hanging open, caught on the edge of speaking by Jesse's glare.

"Look, I'm not even asking for aspirin. Just a washcloth with hot water. The flipping janitor can get me one of those if you can't do it."

With that, the young woman blushed redder than the stripes on her smock, muttered out a quick 'okay', and jogged off toward the nurse's station. Jesse flicked off the television, pulled the curtain, and curled herself over Steve's head in an effort to block the lights and sound. After a minute or so, his whimpering died down, his breathing slowing from a pant to something approaching normal.

"Okay, Steve, I'm trying to help, but I can't let you go to sleep." Half to herself, she muttered, "where the heck is the candy striper with the compress?" Steve's breathing sounded right on the edge of snoring. She leaned over and hissed in his ear. "Steve! If you don't start talking to me, I'm going to shout in your ear. Got it?"

His head twisted around slowly until his face pointed more or less at hers. His eyes cracked open, just slits, but even so his gaze dropped down past her mouth, settling about six inches lower than it ought to.

"View's nice. Shame the volunteer staff all suck ass."

"Yeah, just keep pushing it, mister." Despite herself, a weight came off Jesse’s shoulders. If Steve was well enough to leer at her and fling insults, he was well enough to make it to Angie. Now she just had to find her.

"You left the rat at home."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure? Maybe he's about to spring out from where you're staring." Right now, she'd do anything to keep Steve awake and talking, but when he was well she would kill him.

"Can't smell him. Just you. Papaya. Curry. Ginger. Sweat."

Trying to be gentle, she put a finger under his chin and pushed his face back up until their gazes met. "I haven't had curry for two days. Unlike you guys, I've taken time to bathe."

"Yeah. Herbal soap. Flowers. Old woman flowers. Smells nice."

"Thanks."

"Doesn't suit you."

The candy-striper rescued Steve from his imminent suffocation by arriving with a steaming, dripping cloth in a plastic bowl. Jesse grabbed it by two corners, flipped it a few times to roll it up, and slapped it across his face at eye level. She held it there while he swore at her and tried to twist away. When she stopped to take a breath, she asked calmly, "Head still hurt?"

"Of course, it... wait, yeah, that's kinda better. Now my face hurts, though."

"Yeah, it's killing me to look at it. You ready to go look for Angela?"

"Uh, get me some cotton balls."

After waiting for the candy-striper to bring back a handful of little cotton puffs, helping Steve wad them up and stuff his ears and nose, and digging through her pockets for a hair clip to secure the wet towel, Jesse practically bounced with impatience.

"Okay, are you feeling better?"

"Meh. Can't see or hear or smell. I'm all Helen Keller today."

"Yeah, that's the Steve we know and loathe. I'll lead you by the hand. Where is Angie?"

Steve pushed himself onto his feet. He didn’t whine or wobble any more, but without sight or hearing he fumbled for her hand. "I left her sleeping in the upstairs break room, the one with the lock on the door."

"Did you lock her in?"

"Yeah."

Jesse frowned at him before realizing he couldn't see her. "Moron. Now we've got to hope we can wake her up by pounding on the door."

"Nope. Grabbed her key card before I left. Figured I'd check on her in a few hours. Headed that way when my head went nuts. Hey! Stop pawing at me! I mean, wait 'till we get to the break room, at least."

Jesse just shook her head and went back to towing Steve through the hospital. "Yeah, no. Your pockets are empty, Steve. Either you dropped it when you went psycho... more psycho than usual... or somebody swiped it. I guess we're down to pounding on the door."

"I can find it. It smells like her." Steve froze, nearly falling over when Jesse tugged on him. "Did I just say that?"

"Yeah. Let's go find Angie."