Heat (Piper & Trickster) PG-13 6/7
The penultimate chapter! *nods*
Once again, both me and greenygal thank you muchly for your comments and feedback. We love it all :-).
Part One is here.
Part Two is here.
Part Three is here.
Part Four is here
Part Five is here
40.8 degrees Celsius / 105.4 degrees Fahrenheit
Piper had no idea how long it took for him to drive back to the shack. Something shrieked inside him that he should be keeping track, that the longer James's fever was this high, the more damaged his system was going to be even if he did survive. But he'd barely slept for days (hours? weeks?) and the only things that seemed real were the medical supplies on the seat next to him and the feeling of utter dread that seeped into every part of his being. Time was an incoherent blur that his mind refused to make sense of.
One minute the shack wasn't there, the next he was screeching to a halt next to it, stumbling out of the truck and through the unlocked door, calling, "I'm back" in a voice that was far too loud. Or was it that the shack was far too quiet...? For a fraction of a second Piper felt a stab of panic at the awful silence, and then James exhaled with a wheezing gasp and he remembered that he should probably breathe as well. Still alive. Still alive and Piper had supplies. Instructions. It would be okay. It would be fine.
Still, he staggered to the bed, dragging the bag with him, and laid a trembling hand on James's forehead. Just to make sure; to confirm...something.
James opened his eyes at the touch and stared uncomprehendingly at Piper, his voice cracking and catching as he gasped for breath. "C...Can't go on 'night. M'sick."
He's flashing back to his childhood again. Dammit. Oxygen canister. Give him oxygen first. He fumbled with the bag and dragged it out. "Shh, don't talk. It's okay, you don't have to go anywhere--" He tried to sound reassuring but he was talking too fast, he knew he was. "I have some tubes to help you breathe, just let me put them in--"
James didn't resist as Piper inserted the pronged tubes into his nose and turned on the oxygen, but neither did he look like he understood exactly what was going on. Still, the gasping seemed to ease a little as Piper watched him anxiously. He mumbled vaguely, "Faces...."
"Shhh," Piper said, again. "Faces, masks, you should get a new subject." He was still talking too fast, trying desperately to fill in the quiet while he steadied himself for what was to come. "Though it's better than--" No. He cut himself off, and reached for the bag. Work to do. He had work to do, and he had to concentrate.
He pulled out the medications, syringes and dressings and quickly separated them into piles on the shack's old coffee table. Pills, injections, medicine, drip. What was next?
James blinked hazily at the loaded table. "Where's hospital?" he mumbled.
If only. "About ten hours away," Piper sighed. "Just me, still. But it's going to be okay, promise."
Except...
He laid one hand on a syringe, then looked back at his companion and hesitated. The blood on the wall was still strikingly visible, drying now to muddy red-brown streaks.
It needs to be injected into the muscle in his buttocks.
And then there was the painkiller, and the drip, and there was no way, no way that James was just going to lie there and let him do this. Not when he was this incoherent, not after how he'd reacted when....
Please don't touch me.
Not if what Piper...if what he suspected was...was...
Don't...don't use. Please.
Don't use the flute. Because using the flute was stripping him of every shred of control, and the Trickster needed to be in control. James Jesse needed to be in control, and taking that away against his will would be worse than a betrayal, it would be a...a violation.
But maybe...maybe something more general. Just to relax him. Just a little. Stop the panic, because the medication had stopped being a matter of choice quite some time ago; now it was simply a matter of life and death.
Piper bit his lip, and walked over to a shelf in the corner of the cabin, pulling out a duffel bag stuffed with random mechanical components. With his back to his patient, he quickly and competently began to put a few of them together. Most of the bits were half-assembled anyway, so he knew it wouldn't take too long. The time seemed to stretch out as he worked, though, with James's confused stare boring into his back and the rasping breathing and the hiss of the oxygen as the only sounds.... He doesn't know what you're doing. You're not doing anything wrong, in any case. You're saving his life.
Piper chewed his lip as he linked in the last wires and settled the device in the bottom of the bag, out of James's view. You don't have any choice. He flicked a switch and a relaxing, nearly inaudible hum filled the cabin. Soothing subsonics, just enough to calm people down without actively controlling them. The humming even made Piper feel a little better, although he was far too stressed and self-aware for it to make much difference. He turned, watching his patient carefully.
James blinked rapidly at Piper, looking fractionally puzzled. Then his blinks slowed and the curled posture relaxed slightly. His eyes wandered the room, hazy and unfocused. "Wall's moving," he said softly. "Just a little. Hurts to sleep."
"It'll hurt less soon," Piper said, in a voice that he hoped sounded reassuring. He walked into the kitchen again and washed his hands thoroughly at the sink, then he moved back to the bed. In a voice that was as careful and unthreatening as he could make it, he said, "James, I need to give you some shots. They'll make you feel better."
He looked confused at that. "Got shot. Was bad."
What? Oh. Piper had to suppress a hysterical giggle. "Very bad," he agreed in a heartfelt tone. "These are injections. Injections are good." He held one of the syringes up to demonstrate. "But I'm going to have to put the needle in your bottom, and I need you to hold still--you'll feel better afterwards, I promise." He put his hand on the blanket but didn't pull it back, trying to judge James's reaction.
"I...I..." It was hard to tell if he understood or not, but his face was a mask of pain. "P...Piper." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Make it stop."
A brief shudder ran down Piper's spine. God, he hated those words. "I will. I will. Just a little more--" Taking a deep breath, he moved the blanket gently off and started on James's pants.
James cringed a little at the touch, even through the pain and the soothing humming, and he twisted his head to keep his eyes on Piper. He didn't struggle though, and Piper felt a tiny stab of relief at that.
Stiff with discomfort, he fumbled for the swabs and prepped the needle. This felt so...invasive. So embarrassing that only a few hours ago he would have scoffed at James's obvious discomfort. It hadn't been...he hadn't known that it was... When the Trickster’s mask was in place, it was almost impossible to tell if he was sincere, or deceitful, or… or really scared. How had Piper been supposed to know that he was serious about...?
Don't touch me.
God, his face when he said that. The image refused to fade away.
He shook his head, gritted his teeth. Stop thinking. Just do the job. Just get it done.
He started to talk to distract both of them. "This one's a painkiller--and this one's an antibiotic--nice drugs, drugs are good for you--relax, that's all--" He applied the swabs, reached for the syringes, and carefully and quickly injected them. He felt James tense a little as the needles slipped in, but his only real reaction was to bury his head in the pillow. Piper thought that he might have been murmuring something, but he couldn't hear it over the hissing of the oxygen and the humming from the corner.
Done. Thank god. When Piper withdrew, the tension in James's body eased a little and he turned his head to mumble, "Sorry..." It was hard to decipher what he might mean by that, or whether he was too delirious to mean anything much at all.
In any case, since when had James ever said sorry? It was all so wrong, and Piper was so tired.... "It's...it's fine. Well, it's not, but you're fine. I'd give you a lollipop if I had one--" He moved back to the table.
"Don' walk on it. ...hav'to practice..."
"I think you're going to be taking the day off. I'll write you a doctor's note--of course I'm not a doctor, but I got really good at forging those, all kinds of notes-- It came in handy later...." He was talking nearly at random as he looked around for a cup, found the one they'd been using on the floor with a crack in it, and went to get another one and fill it with water.
"...music notes... Piper?" James jolted to life a little as Piper walked to the kitchen. "Don't leave...."
Piper paused and turned to face him. "I'm not leaving," he said firmly. "See, right here--we're stuck with each other, remember? I just need some water--" When James seemed comforted by that he turned back, filled the cup and returned. "There's a couple of pills here, if you can get them down."
"Down... Head down... Stay..."
"I did keep my head down, remember? That's why I didn't get shot-- Here, can you swallow?" Carefully, he propped his companion up a little and poured some water into his mouth.
James was shaking, which meant that the water spilt a little, but he did manage to swallow and not choke. Piper felt another stab of relief. Hopefully he could get the pills and the oral Panadol down him without too much trouble.
After some thought he crushed the pills before trying to get James to swallow them, and then he lined them up with the Panadol and, one by one, coaxed them down his patient's throat. There was a lot of fumbling and a little coughing, but to Piper's relief, he didn't actually choke, and his only comment after the ordeal was surprisingly mundane.
"Bad...bad taste..."
Piper actually smiled at that; it was the most normal thing he'd heard James say in what seemed like ages. "That means it's good for you, I think. I know that's an unfamiliar concept--" He gave him a little more water to wash the medication down.
James spluttered a little but managed a couple of mouthfuls before sliding back gracelessly onto the bed. "'sgood for you. Falling..."
The painkiller was starting to have an effect, it looked like. Thank god. "That's the idea," Piper said. "Falling's good for you. Just this once, I promise--"
"Once...then you won't...won't do it 'gain."
Piper stared, uncertain what to say. For a few minutes he'd fallen into the rhythm of administering the medicine, barely thinking about the other issues, but now.... What did he mean by that? Was it just an innocent comment? A product of the delirium? Or was it a reference to...something worse? He just couldn't tell anymore. "I won't do anything that would hurt you," he said finally.
James was silent for a few seconds, just long enough for Piper to get a little worried. Then: "I...some...sometimes I know...'s hard...." His shaking was lessening, but he looked troubled.
"I know. I know. It's only me--" And God, if that was much of a reassurance, Trickster really was delirious-- He took a steadying breath. "I just want to help you. That's all."
He nodded, slightly. "Notagain. Floaty."
"Floaty's good. Floaty's great," Piper assured him, relieved to see the drugs taking effect. "Now, I need to put one more needle in, so you can have fluids--pretend it's chicken soup, or something--did you get that when you were sick? The housekeeper made it for me--" More random tangents to distract them both from the fact that he was taking off Trickster's pants again.
James blinked hazily and shifted at that, but the delirium, the humming and the drugs had combined to make it difficult for him to focus enough to get particularly worried about it. "Chickens...flying...not...not fall...I...I made..." He trailed off and turned his head to watch Piper as much as he was able.
"You made your own chicken soup? I guess that's about within your limits.... Or were you cooking chickens? Bet you burned them...." Piper slid in the needle while he was talking, and quickly started setting up a makeshift stand for the bag.
"Soup doesn't fly. Made shoes...."
"Well, most people's shoes don't fly either," Piper mused. "Maybe you could have antigravity soup...." He secured the bag. He was vaguely aware that he was making about as much sense as James was at this point, but he was honestly too exhausted to care. Next...what was next?
"Floaty shoes...." James sounded pretty floaty too. Some of the tension had left his body, and his face had lost the look of desperate agony that had been Piper's constant companion for far too long. Which was more than a minor relief, because next on the agenda was cleaning out the wound again and after last time....
Glancing over to his patient while he slathered disinfectant liquid all over his hands, he saw James looking at the needle in his thigh with the kind of vague uncomprehending curiosity that signalled that his brain was not currently anywhere near the planet Earth. Good. Great. That would make this so much easier.
"Okay," he said as he walked back, more to himself than James. "Almost done. I have to clean out the wound to make sure it doesn't get more infected." He swallowed and steeled himself. The echoes of James's screams from the first time just wouldn't leave....
But it was--well, not good, but not nearly as bad, because he had proper equipment and some faint idea of what he was doing, and, more importantly, while James squirmed and whimpered, and flinched if he pressed too hard, he certainly wasn't in the agony he had been. Piper finished with little difficulty, putting the bandage in place, and for a moment he just sat there, hands on James's back, not moving.
What's next? He tried to think, and it took him a moment to realize that he was, in fact, done. There was nothing to do until the next lot of medication, and that was a few hours away. "That's all," he marvelled out loud, again, as much to himself as to James. "Nothing else...."
Then again, it wasn't as comforting as it might be. They were still alone and James was still terribly sick, and Piper was now out of all remedy except waiting. He was exhausted. Utterly bone tired. But not quite tired enough to have stopped being afraid.
"Stop?" James's mumble was faint and barely there.
"Stopped," Piper sighed in agreement. "No more poking." Carefully, he tucked the blanket back around James, arranging it around the drip. He rested one hand on the back of his neck for a moment. "Go to sleep, now, you'll feel better when you wake up..."
James's eyes drooped shut immediately. "...'kay."
He drifted. And after a while, despite the tension, and the worry, and the sheer dread, so did Piper.
****************
Once again, both me and greenygal thank you muchly for your comments and feedback. We love it all :-).
Part One is here.
Part Two is here.
Part Three is here.
Part Four is here
Part Five is here
40.8 degrees Celsius / 105.4 degrees Fahrenheit
Piper had no idea how long it took for him to drive back to the shack. Something shrieked inside him that he should be keeping track, that the longer James's fever was this high, the more damaged his system was going to be even if he did survive. But he'd barely slept for days (hours? weeks?) and the only things that seemed real were the medical supplies on the seat next to him and the feeling of utter dread that seeped into every part of his being. Time was an incoherent blur that his mind refused to make sense of.
One minute the shack wasn't there, the next he was screeching to a halt next to it, stumbling out of the truck and through the unlocked door, calling, "I'm back" in a voice that was far too loud. Or was it that the shack was far too quiet...? For a fraction of a second Piper felt a stab of panic at the awful silence, and then James exhaled with a wheezing gasp and he remembered that he should probably breathe as well. Still alive. Still alive and Piper had supplies. Instructions. It would be okay. It would be fine.
Still, he staggered to the bed, dragging the bag with him, and laid a trembling hand on James's forehead. Just to make sure; to confirm...something.
James opened his eyes at the touch and stared uncomprehendingly at Piper, his voice cracking and catching as he gasped for breath. "C...Can't go on 'night. M'sick."
He's flashing back to his childhood again. Dammit. Oxygen canister. Give him oxygen first. He fumbled with the bag and dragged it out. "Shh, don't talk. It's okay, you don't have to go anywhere--" He tried to sound reassuring but he was talking too fast, he knew he was. "I have some tubes to help you breathe, just let me put them in--"
James didn't resist as Piper inserted the pronged tubes into his nose and turned on the oxygen, but neither did he look like he understood exactly what was going on. Still, the gasping seemed to ease a little as Piper watched him anxiously. He mumbled vaguely, "Faces...."
"Shhh," Piper said, again. "Faces, masks, you should get a new subject." He was still talking too fast, trying desperately to fill in the quiet while he steadied himself for what was to come. "Though it's better than--" No. He cut himself off, and reached for the bag. Work to do. He had work to do, and he had to concentrate.
He pulled out the medications, syringes and dressings and quickly separated them into piles on the shack's old coffee table. Pills, injections, medicine, drip. What was next?
James blinked hazily at the loaded table. "Where's hospital?" he mumbled.
If only. "About ten hours away," Piper sighed. "Just me, still. But it's going to be okay, promise."
Except...
He laid one hand on a syringe, then looked back at his companion and hesitated. The blood on the wall was still strikingly visible, drying now to muddy red-brown streaks.
It needs to be injected into the muscle in his buttocks.
And then there was the painkiller, and the drip, and there was no way, no way that James was just going to lie there and let him do this. Not when he was this incoherent, not after how he'd reacted when....
Please don't touch me.
Not if what Piper...if what he suspected was...was...
Don't...don't use. Please.
Don't use the flute. Because using the flute was stripping him of every shred of control, and the Trickster needed to be in control. James Jesse needed to be in control, and taking that away against his will would be worse than a betrayal, it would be a...a violation.
But maybe...maybe something more general. Just to relax him. Just a little. Stop the panic, because the medication had stopped being a matter of choice quite some time ago; now it was simply a matter of life and death.
Piper bit his lip, and walked over to a shelf in the corner of the cabin, pulling out a duffel bag stuffed with random mechanical components. With his back to his patient, he quickly and competently began to put a few of them together. Most of the bits were half-assembled anyway, so he knew it wouldn't take too long. The time seemed to stretch out as he worked, though, with James's confused stare boring into his back and the rasping breathing and the hiss of the oxygen as the only sounds.... He doesn't know what you're doing. You're not doing anything wrong, in any case. You're saving his life.
Piper chewed his lip as he linked in the last wires and settled the device in the bottom of the bag, out of James's view. You don't have any choice. He flicked a switch and a relaxing, nearly inaudible hum filled the cabin. Soothing subsonics, just enough to calm people down without actively controlling them. The humming even made Piper feel a little better, although he was far too stressed and self-aware for it to make much difference. He turned, watching his patient carefully.
James blinked rapidly at Piper, looking fractionally puzzled. Then his blinks slowed and the curled posture relaxed slightly. His eyes wandered the room, hazy and unfocused. "Wall's moving," he said softly. "Just a little. Hurts to sleep."
"It'll hurt less soon," Piper said, in a voice that he hoped sounded reassuring. He walked into the kitchen again and washed his hands thoroughly at the sink, then he moved back to the bed. In a voice that was as careful and unthreatening as he could make it, he said, "James, I need to give you some shots. They'll make you feel better."
He looked confused at that. "Got shot. Was bad."
What? Oh. Piper had to suppress a hysterical giggle. "Very bad," he agreed in a heartfelt tone. "These are injections. Injections are good." He held one of the syringes up to demonstrate. "But I'm going to have to put the needle in your bottom, and I need you to hold still--you'll feel better afterwards, I promise." He put his hand on the blanket but didn't pull it back, trying to judge James's reaction.
"I...I..." It was hard to tell if he understood or not, but his face was a mask of pain. "P...Piper." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Make it stop."
A brief shudder ran down Piper's spine. God, he hated those words. "I will. I will. Just a little more--" Taking a deep breath, he moved the blanket gently off and started on James's pants.
James cringed a little at the touch, even through the pain and the soothing humming, and he twisted his head to keep his eyes on Piper. He didn't struggle though, and Piper felt a tiny stab of relief at that.
Stiff with discomfort, he fumbled for the swabs and prepped the needle. This felt so...invasive. So embarrassing that only a few hours ago he would have scoffed at James's obvious discomfort. It hadn't been...he hadn't known that it was... When the Trickster’s mask was in place, it was almost impossible to tell if he was sincere, or deceitful, or… or really scared. How had Piper been supposed to know that he was serious about...?
Don't touch me.
God, his face when he said that. The image refused to fade away.
He shook his head, gritted his teeth. Stop thinking. Just do the job. Just get it done.
He started to talk to distract both of them. "This one's a painkiller--and this one's an antibiotic--nice drugs, drugs are good for you--relax, that's all--" He applied the swabs, reached for the syringes, and carefully and quickly injected them. He felt James tense a little as the needles slipped in, but his only real reaction was to bury his head in the pillow. Piper thought that he might have been murmuring something, but he couldn't hear it over the hissing of the oxygen and the humming from the corner.
Done. Thank god. When Piper withdrew, the tension in James's body eased a little and he turned his head to mumble, "Sorry..." It was hard to decipher what he might mean by that, or whether he was too delirious to mean anything much at all.
In any case, since when had James ever said sorry? It was all so wrong, and Piper was so tired.... "It's...it's fine. Well, it's not, but you're fine. I'd give you a lollipop if I had one--" He moved back to the table.
"Don' walk on it. ...hav'to practice..."
"I think you're going to be taking the day off. I'll write you a doctor's note--of course I'm not a doctor, but I got really good at forging those, all kinds of notes-- It came in handy later...." He was talking nearly at random as he looked around for a cup, found the one they'd been using on the floor with a crack in it, and went to get another one and fill it with water.
"...music notes... Piper?" James jolted to life a little as Piper walked to the kitchen. "Don't leave...."
Piper paused and turned to face him. "I'm not leaving," he said firmly. "See, right here--we're stuck with each other, remember? I just need some water--" When James seemed comforted by that he turned back, filled the cup and returned. "There's a couple of pills here, if you can get them down."
"Down... Head down... Stay..."
"I did keep my head down, remember? That's why I didn't get shot-- Here, can you swallow?" Carefully, he propped his companion up a little and poured some water into his mouth.
James was shaking, which meant that the water spilt a little, but he did manage to swallow and not choke. Piper felt another stab of relief. Hopefully he could get the pills and the oral Panadol down him without too much trouble.
After some thought he crushed the pills before trying to get James to swallow them, and then he lined them up with the Panadol and, one by one, coaxed them down his patient's throat. There was a lot of fumbling and a little coughing, but to Piper's relief, he didn't actually choke, and his only comment after the ordeal was surprisingly mundane.
"Bad...bad taste..."
Piper actually smiled at that; it was the most normal thing he'd heard James say in what seemed like ages. "That means it's good for you, I think. I know that's an unfamiliar concept--" He gave him a little more water to wash the medication down.
James spluttered a little but managed a couple of mouthfuls before sliding back gracelessly onto the bed. "'sgood for you. Falling..."
The painkiller was starting to have an effect, it looked like. Thank god. "That's the idea," Piper said. "Falling's good for you. Just this once, I promise--"
"Once...then you won't...won't do it 'gain."
Piper stared, uncertain what to say. For a few minutes he'd fallen into the rhythm of administering the medicine, barely thinking about the other issues, but now.... What did he mean by that? Was it just an innocent comment? A product of the delirium? Or was it a reference to...something worse? He just couldn't tell anymore. "I won't do anything that would hurt you," he said finally.
James was silent for a few seconds, just long enough for Piper to get a little worried. Then: "I...some...sometimes I know...'s hard...." His shaking was lessening, but he looked troubled.
"I know. I know. It's only me--" And God, if that was much of a reassurance, Trickster really was delirious-- He took a steadying breath. "I just want to help you. That's all."
He nodded, slightly. "Notagain. Floaty."
"Floaty's good. Floaty's great," Piper assured him, relieved to see the drugs taking effect. "Now, I need to put one more needle in, so you can have fluids--pretend it's chicken soup, or something--did you get that when you were sick? The housekeeper made it for me--" More random tangents to distract them both from the fact that he was taking off Trickster's pants again.
James blinked hazily and shifted at that, but the delirium, the humming and the drugs had combined to make it difficult for him to focus enough to get particularly worried about it. "Chickens...flying...not...not fall...I...I made..." He trailed off and turned his head to watch Piper as much as he was able.
"You made your own chicken soup? I guess that's about within your limits.... Or were you cooking chickens? Bet you burned them...." Piper slid in the needle while he was talking, and quickly started setting up a makeshift stand for the bag.
"Soup doesn't fly. Made shoes...."
"Well, most people's shoes don't fly either," Piper mused. "Maybe you could have antigravity soup...." He secured the bag. He was vaguely aware that he was making about as much sense as James was at this point, but he was honestly too exhausted to care. Next...what was next?
"Floaty shoes...." James sounded pretty floaty too. Some of the tension had left his body, and his face had lost the look of desperate agony that had been Piper's constant companion for far too long. Which was more than a minor relief, because next on the agenda was cleaning out the wound again and after last time....
Glancing over to his patient while he slathered disinfectant liquid all over his hands, he saw James looking at the needle in his thigh with the kind of vague uncomprehending curiosity that signalled that his brain was not currently anywhere near the planet Earth. Good. Great. That would make this so much easier.
"Okay," he said as he walked back, more to himself than James. "Almost done. I have to clean out the wound to make sure it doesn't get more infected." He swallowed and steeled himself. The echoes of James's screams from the first time just wouldn't leave....
But it was--well, not good, but not nearly as bad, because he had proper equipment and some faint idea of what he was doing, and, more importantly, while James squirmed and whimpered, and flinched if he pressed too hard, he certainly wasn't in the agony he had been. Piper finished with little difficulty, putting the bandage in place, and for a moment he just sat there, hands on James's back, not moving.
What's next? He tried to think, and it took him a moment to realize that he was, in fact, done. There was nothing to do until the next lot of medication, and that was a few hours away. "That's all," he marvelled out loud, again, as much to himself as to James. "Nothing else...."
Then again, it wasn't as comforting as it might be. They were still alone and James was still terribly sick, and Piper was now out of all remedy except waiting. He was exhausted. Utterly bone tired. But not quite tired enough to have stopped being afraid.
"Stop?" James's mumble was faint and barely there.
"Stopped," Piper sighed in agreement. "No more poking." Carefully, he tucked the blanket back around James, arranging it around the drip. He rested one hand on the back of his neck for a moment. "Go to sleep, now, you'll feel better when you wake up..."
James's eyes drooped shut immediately. "...'kay."
He drifted. And after a while, despite the tension, and the worry, and the sheer dread, so did Piper.
****************