Alive Beneath the Snow, 2/5
Title: Alive Beneath the Snow, chapter two
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 4,533
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Supporting Characters: Greg, Vic the Slick
Summary: It's discovered what's wrong with Sean---and it's worse than the agents imagined.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort.
Chapter Two
Greg was hard at work on a new case by the time Rockapella returned to ACME. He looked up, blinking in surprise as the door opened and admitted them. "Hey guys," he greeted. The Gumshoes watched the singing detectives enter, silent but interested.
Sean waved, sniffling as he prodded Vic in ahead of him. "Hi," he said through a yawn.
Greg stared at him. "Sean, you look terrible," he said.
"I caught El's allergies," Sean smirked.
"And I'll probably catch 'em next!" Vic complained.
Sean cackled. "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to jail we go!" he sang as he herded Vic out of Greg's office and through the map room.
Elliott snickered, then sobered. "He must be coming down with something," he said. "You can't catch allergies."
"It's probably just a cold," Scott said.
"Or the flu," Barry said.
Greg nodded. "Probably," he said, staring towards the corridor. Sean was still singing his ridiculous song, his voice echoing down the long hall.
"He's full of pep anyway," Greg remarked.
"That's Sean," Scott said, looking down the hall too. "Always cheerful, even when he doesn't feel like it."
Elliott and Barry nodded. Despite none of them knowing for certain what was wrong, they did know that Sean would remain perky for as long as he possibly could. Sometimes he seemed to get more cheery when he was not feeling well, struggling to keep it from being obvious that he was under the weather.
Now Barry handed Greg a small crate. "The statue is in here," he said.
Greg blinked, accepting the parcel. "I'll see that it gets back," he said.
"And we'll go after Sean," Scott said. "Thanks, Greg." He jogged into the map room, followed by Elliott and Barry. Greg shook his head as he watched them go.
"It's good to have them back," he said to the Gumshoes. "It was getting lonely around here without them."
****
Sean retreated to his room as soon as Vic was secure in a holding cell. Two small clicks echoed through the space as he first shut his door and then locked it, slipping the bolt into place. He turned, slumping against the heavy wood. A sigh left his lips as he reached up, massaging his eyes and temples. Finally, he did not have to pretend all was well.
He had wanted to keep the facade going until he was alone. The last thing he had felt like doing was cracking jokes and singing nonsense. But he did not want the others to see how bad off he had really gotten.
He stumbled forward, coughing into his hand as he entered the bathroom and turned on the light. He grimaced as he stared at his reflection. "What happened to you?" he sardonically snarked. The guy looking back at him was flushed, his eyes bloodshot and glazed---not to mention sunken. He looked not unlike a zombie.
He groaned. Maybe if he rested for a while, he would feel better. He did not want to go to the infirmary. All those pokey proddy things would just put him in a worse mood. But most of all, the others would know something was terribly wrong. Sean never went to the infirmary of his own free will. Yet right now, even with the pokey proddy things, it was not sounding like such a bad idea. This felt worse than any case of anything he had ever come down with.
He turned on the water, soaping up his hands and then rinsing them before switching off just the hot tap. Cupping his hands under the faucet, he quickly filled them with the now-cool substance. Then he leaned over, splashing the water on his face. He frowned as he grasped the sides of the sink, the droplets trailing down his skin and landing on the white enamel. It had not helped; he still looked and felt as feverish as ever. And now he was just cold. He shivered, grabbing a towel and patting his face dry.
Now he turned away, bringing a hand over his face while using the other hand to feel along the wall and guide him back into the main room. He would just get to the bed and sleep. That was the best idea.
Yet deep down, he knew that was not going to help. This was not something he could sleep away.
He stumbled in the doorway, swaying forward. A gasp left his lips as he grabbed for the woodwork with both hands, struggling to regain his footing. Everything was shifting and twisting out of focus. He let go of the doorframe, taking a shaking step onto the carpet. But it was a fatal mistake. His body could not handle trying to move without assistance.
That was when he knew he was not going to make it to the bed.
****
Scott frowned as he and the others made their way upstairs to the agents' rooms.
"Sean sure must've got up here fast," he said as he reached the landing. "The guard said Sean all but threw Vic at him before hurrying away."
"He's feeling worse than he let on," Barry said. "He was acting strange before you and El even woke up on the flight."
"He was fine before that," Elliott said. "Whatever it was really came on him fast." He looked to the closed door as he and Barry followed Scott to the top of the steps. "Maybe we should check on him."
"He probably went right to bed," Scott said, crossing to the door. "Sean?" he called with a soft knock.
"If he's asleep, we shouldn't disturb him," Barry said. "He needs the rest."
Scott put his hand on the knob anyway. Then his eyes widened in surprise. "It's locked," he gasped. Had Sean just not wanted to be disturbed while he slept . . . or had he been trying to keep everyone out for some other reason?
"Sean!" he exclaimed, raising his voice.
Elliott came closer to the door. "I don't hear anything in there," he said, trying to swallow the growing worry in his heart.
Barry was torn. His first inclination was still to leave Sean alone. He had probably gone to sleep the instant he laid down. And he would not appreciate being woke up, if he had actually locked the door to prevent it. On the other hand, if Sean was so ill he was trying to keep them out, something would have to be drastically wrong. He had slept through a good deal of the flight, too, so unless he was seriously ill he would not still be tired.
"Sean, if you don't open this door, Barry's going to force it open," Scott called, pressing himself against the wood.
Elliott did likewise. "Still nothing," he reported, his voice grim. "Maybe he is just sleeping, but we need to find out!" He looked to Barry. "We could pick the lock, but it'd be faster for you to just get it open."
At last Barry nodded. Scott and Elliott stepped aside, allowing him to get at the door. The big man threw himself against it, causing the lock to groan. A second attack sent the door flying against the wall with a loud bang! Barry barely paid attention. Now he could see that Sean was not in bed at all. And alarm and horror gripped his soul.
"Sean!" Elliott cried, running in and crashing to his knees beside his oldest friend. Sean was sprawled on the carpet, his arms flung around him and his eyes closed. Elliott reached out, gently turning Sean onto his back. Sean fell into position, weakly groaning but otherwise not regaining consciousness.
Scott gasped. "I'll run down to the infirmary and get a doctor!" he said, his heart gathering speed as he turned and ran out the door.
Elliott nodded, though he hardly heard. He lifted Sean's wrist, checking his pulse rate. "It's going so fast," he breathed.
Barry knelt beside them, laying a strong hand on Sean's forehead. "He's burning up," he said, his eyes narrowing in concern.
And for the first time, Elliott noticed the tears in Sean's shirt. "What happened here?!" he exclaimed. He reached to examine the holes. Sean's undershirt was torn as well, and three parallel red marks were visible on his chest.
Barry stiffened. He had not realized the statue's claws had penetrated Sean's skin. Could that be what was wrong with him? There was no telling where that thing had been. What if the wounds were infected?
"Elliott, go talk with Greg and the laboratory," he directed. "We have to get that statue examined before it's sent back."
The brunet's eyes widened, realizing what Barry was thinking. "O-okay," he stammered. His legs wobbled as he got to his feet. If Sean had been infected by that cat, and the resulting illness had been building the entire length of the flight, what was going to happen to him? Would the infection have progressed too far to be stopped? No, he could not think that!
Barry bent over Sean as Elliott hurried out of the room. "Sean!" he said, his voice commanding. "Can you hear me?"
Sean's eyes fluttered and opened, but they were glazed and unseeing.
Barry gritted his teeth. "Sean, speak to me," he pleaded.
Sean's lips parted, but he did not have the strength to do more. His eyes slipped closed again.
Barry growled under his breath. Swallowing hard, he took Sean's hand to feel for his pulse. Elliott was right---it was racing. He bowed his head, clasping Sean's hand between his own as he prayed.
****
Elliott skidded to a halt as he arrived back in Greg's office, grabbing onto the edge of the desk to keep from flying across the smooth floor. Greg and the Gumshoes started and looked up, their eyes wide in astonishment. Elliott scarcely noticed, instead breathing a sigh of relief to see the crate sitting on the desk. Ignoring Greg's protests of disbelief, he grabbed hold of the wooden lid and pulled. It had to come off! It had to! But the nails were holding fast.
His eyes wild, he looked over Greg's desk for something that could help. But aside from a letter-opener, there was nothing even remotely useful or sharp. He grabbed it up, stabbing it into the lid and splintering the wood. With its assistance he pulled up enough of the planks to dig inside. Throwing the letter-opener to the desk, he pushed his hands through the jagged hole and withdrew fistfuls of packing peanuts. The colorful foam flew left and right as he carelessly threw it to get to the statue nestled in the center. Then a gleam of black caught his eye. He rocked back, letting the light shine through the opening. There it was, the right front paw raised with the claws extended.
He snatched the figurine out of the crate, his eyes flashing. It was impossible to control his furious thoughts at that moment. This thing had hurt Sean when he had been trying to save Vic the Slick. Of course, Vic was perfectly fine. And judging from the scene upstairs, Sean was growing worse by the minute.
"Elliott!"
Greg's voice finally penetrated. The short man jumped a mile, clutching the statue in his hands.
"Elliott, what are you doing?!" Greg sounded a bit cross. "I was going to pass it along to ACME Shippingnet in a few minutes."
"It can't go yet!" Elliott retorted with such vehemence that Greg recoiled. Then he sighed, seeing Greg's reaction. "I'm sorry," he apologized, regretting his outburst. "But we discovered that Sean got scratched by this thing. He's having a bad reaction to it, too."
Greg gulped. "You . . . you mean . . ."
"He didn't catch my allergies, and he also isn't coming down with a cold or the flu," Elliott said. "He may have been infected." He turned to leave the office. "I'm taking this to the laboratory so they can analyze it."
"O-of course," Greg said, still reeling from this news. "But El . . ."
Elliott glanced back, impatient worry in his eyes and his very stance. Greg lowered his voice.
"Is Sean . . . going to be okay?"
Elliott looked away. ". . . He has to be," he said at last. "We won't accept anything else." With that he ran back through the map room and into the corridor leading to the rest of ACME, leaving Greg staring after him.
****
The next hours were spent in agony. Scott, Elliott, and Barry paced back and forth in the infirmary waiting room, listening to the wall clock tick through the seconds. What was taking so long?! The doctors should have some idea of what fate had befallen Sean by now! The laboratory had not contacted them on the test results of the statue, either, which only made it look like something was very wrong with it. The longer it dragged on with no solution in sight, the more worrisome it became.
". . . Sean's probably awake by now," Scott said at last, stopping his pacing to weakly smile.
"And complaining to the doctors that he's fine and wants to go back to his room," Elliott added with a forced chuckle.
Barry said nothing, instead preferring to watch the other two try to make sense out of things. He did not have anything to offer to their attempts. He was too afraid that this was far, far worse than they had even imagined. And he could not bring himself to pretend everything would be alright. For Scott and Elliott, that was how they were coping with the same terrified feelings, but it was not Barry's way.
He had been berating himself ever since the discovery that Sean had been scratched by the purloined statue. Why hadn't he noticed or at least thought to find out whether Sean's shirt had been the only thing torn? Had Sean even known himself? Or had he known but said nothing, believing it was not anything to worry about? That would be so like him.
He came to attention as an exhausted doctor emerged, pulling down the protective mask covering the lower half of his face. The older man looked from Barry to Scott and Elliott, clearly knowing something but not knowing how to say it.
"Well?" Barry spoke, his voice carrying a warning that he did not want to be kept in the dark any longer.
"How is he?!" Elliott exclaimed.
"Is he awake?!" Scott echoed.
The physician held up his hands for silence. ". . . He's breathing on his own," he admitted, "and he's awake. But he's getting worse. We got the report from the lab---there's tiny openings at the tips of the statue's claws. When Sean was scratched, the substance inside the statue went into his bloodstream."
"Substance?!" Scott and Elliott cried in unison. Barry's eyes narrowed. No. . . .
"Poison." The doctor shook his head. "They broke the statue open to analyze it and see if they can come up with an antidote, but as it is . . . I'm afraid you'd all better start preparing yourselves for the worst. At the rate his condition is advancing, he isn't likely to last through the night. The poison's already been in his system for the better part of twenty-four hours."
Scott's stomach dropped, while Barry's twisted. With just a few words, their worlds were crumbling to pieces. Sean . . . Sean had been poisoned? While trying to help that creep, a life-threatening concoction had been forced into his body, with the very real possibility that there would not be a cure?
The conversation with Sean from the flight leaped to the forefront of Barry's mind. It had been an eerie foreshadowing. Sean had been relieved that he had not died trying to climb up and down that old balcony. Now he was sacrificing himself for Vic anyway.
Elliott's eyes flashed. This was too much to take in all at once. He would not accept that Sean was dying. He would not! They had to be able to find an antidote, and in time!
"We have to see him," he declared. "Where is he?!"
"You should see him," the doctor agreed. "He . . . he's been asking for all of you. And if you don't go now . . . you might not have another chance." He turned to lead them down the hall. "I'll take you to his room."
It was really just a short walk down the corridor, but for all of them it felt like a mile. Was Sean really as bad off as the doctor said---nearly on death's threshold? And if he was not, was he going to get that bad before things were over? . . . Would he make it through at all?
The physician led them through a set of double-doors and then down another hallway before at last stopping in front of a room at the very back. He opened the door slowly, his expression grim as he peered inside. Elliott swallowed. Did he think Sean would have passed on already?
But the doctor gave a quiet nod and looked to them. "He's still awake," he said, speaking in a low voice. "He seems to be accepting his fate, but try not to say anything to upset him."
Elliott was horrified as he stepped through the open door. Sean was resigning himself to death? That was not like him. The physician must be mistaken! Sean would be fighting, determined to stay alive. And he would keep kicking and screaming against Death until he was forcibly taken.
But the sight of their friend and leader laying in the bed made him stumble back in stunned shock. Sean's skin was somehow both flushed and pale at the same time. And not only that---its gaunt appearance made his cheekbones even more visible. The heart monitor was beeping at an abnormal quick speed, signaling the poison's strengthening hold. As he looked towards Elliott, however, the glazed eyes flickered with acknowledgment and he raised a hand just enough off the bed to gesture for the older man to come to him.
Elliott ran over now, Scott and Barry right behind him. The doctor shut the door, giving them their privacy. Elliott barely noticed as he gripped Sean's hand in his, uncontrollably shaking.
Sean gave a weak squeeze. "Hey, I'm not dead yet," he said. "Even though I know I must look it. . . ." His voice was weak too, scarcely distinguishable as it rasped from his throat. "I . . . I made the doctor tell me what was wrong. I needed to know. . . ."
Elliott shook his head. "Sean, you're going to be okay," he protested.
Scott nodded, gripping the bed railing as his knuckles went white. "They're going to make the antidote," he said.
Sean was silent. At first Barry thought he was gathering his energy, but as he spoke at last, the reason for the hesitation became clear.
". . . I might not be here by then." Sean looked to each of them in turn. "It's already been almost a day. And . . . I started feeling funny almost right after it happened. For me to go so far downhill so fast . . . it doesn't look good. Maybe a full twenty-four hours is the limit."
Usually Elliott was able to keep himself composed even in the most dire situations. But when a dear friend was in a state like this, and he could only stand by, helpless, and watch him suffer and die, it was too much to bear.
"You're not supposed to give up!" he cried, clutching his childhood friend's hand tighter. "You're supposed to keep fighting while we try to find a cure! . . ." He stared into Sean's glassy eyes, his own filled with indescribable pain. Sean could not leave them! He could not, especially not like this!
Sean looked back, regret and sorrow in his eyes. "Oh El. . . ." He brought his other arm up, shakily placing it around Elliott's trembling shoulders. "I'm not giving up, I promise. I am still fighting." He smirked, though it was tinged with sadness. "You know I'll kick that poison to Kingdom Come if I can." He drew Elliott down further, hugging his friend as best as he was able. But as he looked to Scott and Barry over the top of Elliott's head, the spark of sorrow grew more pronounced. "I just don't know . . . if ol' Sean's going to make it out of this one. . . ."
Elliott stiffened, even as he tried to hug Sean back. Suddenly his heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Barry clenched a fist. For Sean to ever say something like that, the problem was worse than even he had feared. He had known it would be serious, but he had never expected Sean to acknowledge the severity. He had thought Sean would laugh it off and say that he was going to show those doctors and the poison and everything else that he had been underestimated.
Scott was staring at Sean in disbelief. His mind was blank, frozen in the face of these unthinkable words. Sean really did believe he was dying.
Sean looked at them again, trying to smile. "Hey, say something," he pleaded. "I . . . I might not be able to fight off this sleepiness much longer. . . ."
Barry moved closer to the bed. ". . . I should have realized you'd been hurt," he said, the self-hatred evident in his tone. "I never even thought to check. . . ."
"How could you have known?" Sean retorted. "I didn't know, either. It wasn't bleeding. I thought I was okay. Who'd think three little scratches could do this?"
Elliott straightened up, his eyes filled with a fire that the others had only rarely seen from him. "And Vic walks away scot-free," he said. "After everything he's done, and how he's tried to kill Scott in the past, all that happens to him is that his stupid plaid jacket gets ripped!"
"It's not fair," Scott agreed, the same blaze burning in his heart.
"No, it isn't," Sean said, a bit of frustrated anger slipping into his voice. "But . . . that's life. And death, I guess." He shook his head. "I only have myself to blame. What is it they say---no good deed goes unpunished? That's me, risking life and limb to save a creep and being defeated by a little statue."
Barry reached over, gripping Sean's shoulder. "Don't forget what we talked about," he said, his voice filled with pained emotion.
Sean looked to him. "You can really say that, even in the face of this?" he said, incredulous. "I'm dying here."
Scott and Elliott looked to each other, puzzled. What had Sean and Barry discussed? Would they be let in on it at all? Or was it something private that they should leave to their friends' hearts?
Barry swallowed hard. ". . . I'll admit, part of me wishes you hadn't done anything," he said. "But at the same time, thinking of you . . . of any of us . . . deciding to leave Vic in trouble is just sickening."
"He'd leave us in an instant," Sean said. "In fact, I think he was going to cut the vine I was climbing up, before he realized that he was in trouble."
Elliott hissed. "I hate him," he said. "I hate him!"
Scott pulled his best friend close in a hug. "I hate him too," he admitted, the underlying anger seeping into his voice.
Elliott clutched the younger man. "And because we're suckers enough that we can't leave even him in trouble, we have to pay for it! Sean's paying for it!"
Sean let out a sad sigh. "Yeah . . . I am," he said. "But the rest of you really have it worse. My pain probably won't last too much longer and I'll be dead and gone. Still . . . no matter what happens to me, you three have to keep living. For you, the pain won't stop."
He looked to Scott as the heartbroken blond stared at him. "Scott . . . you've always been my unofficial second-in-command," he said. "If . . . if something happens to me, now or some other time, I want you to be the leader."
Scott's eyes widened. He did not want to think about that. And how could he ever take the position that Sean had held for so many years? It would twist his heart too much. But on the other hand . . . when it was what Sean wanted . . . how could Scott deny it? Sean was hoping to leave things in some semblance of order. If it would make him feel more at peace for Scott to accept, then Scott was determined to do so.
". . . You're still the leader now," Scott said, coming back to the side of the bed. "And . . ." A lump hopped into his throat. "Even if the time comes that it falls to me . . . I'll always think of you as the real leader. I . . . I'd just be holding the position open for you . . . so you could take it again sometime. . . ."
Sean smiled, a genuine, tired, yet touched smile instead of his usual grins and smirks. "Someday I would, too," he said. He reached for Scott, but Scott was already leaning down to hug him.
"You've always been such a screwball," Scott said, trying to smile back. "I didn't understand at first . . . but I did later. I'm proud that you've been our leader." He pulled back, looking into Sean's eyes. "I always will be."
"That goes for us, too," Elliott said. Barry nodded in complete agreement, still standing to the side.
"I hope so," Sean said, a bit of his joking facade surfacing again. But it faded. "A guy couldn't ask for a better bunch of friends."
He released Scott and looked to Barry. "Don't think I'm leaving you out of this glomping session," he said, gesturing for Barry to bend down.
Slowly Barry did. Sean hugged him too, raising up just enough to speak in his ear. "It's not your fault," he rasped. "Don't blame yourself."
And Barry held him closer, still berating himself even as he tried to curb his feelings.
Sean slumped back on the pillow, giving him a bleary look. "If you'd figured it out on the plane, what good would it have done us?" he said. He was worsening; his voice was starting to slur. "There wasn't a doctor on board."
"We could have landed somewhere else," Barry said, pulling back to stare at Sean's ill complexion. He was more flushed than ever. The fever was working desperately to overthrow the poison, but would he last long enough for the antidote to be ready? And would the antidote work at all? Or . . . was this really the last time they would ever talk to their beloved friend?
"ACME has the best doctors," Sean said with a faint smirk as his eyes began to close.
Elliott gave a weak cry, unable to stop himself.
Sean struggled to open his eyes again. "I'm still hanging on," he promised. "I'll fight until the sheet's pulled over my head. Heck, who says I have to stop then, either?"
But Elliott could not laugh. And as Sean slipped into unconsciousness, he cried out louder, anguished.
Scott hugged him close again, agony and pain in his own eyes. Then Barry came to them as well, embracing them both in his strong arms. All they could do now was pray for a miracle.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 4,533
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Supporting Characters: Greg, Vic the Slick
Summary: It's discovered what's wrong with Sean---and it's worse than the agents imagined.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort.
Chapter Two
Greg was hard at work on a new case by the time Rockapella returned to ACME. He looked up, blinking in surprise as the door opened and admitted them. "Hey guys," he greeted. The Gumshoes watched the singing detectives enter, silent but interested.
Sean waved, sniffling as he prodded Vic in ahead of him. "Hi," he said through a yawn.
Greg stared at him. "Sean, you look terrible," he said.
"I caught El's allergies," Sean smirked.
"And I'll probably catch 'em next!" Vic complained.
Sean cackled. "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to jail we go!" he sang as he herded Vic out of Greg's office and through the map room.
Elliott snickered, then sobered. "He must be coming down with something," he said. "You can't catch allergies."
"It's probably just a cold," Scott said.
"Or the flu," Barry said.
Greg nodded. "Probably," he said, staring towards the corridor. Sean was still singing his ridiculous song, his voice echoing down the long hall.
"He's full of pep anyway," Greg remarked.
"That's Sean," Scott said, looking down the hall too. "Always cheerful, even when he doesn't feel like it."
Elliott and Barry nodded. Despite none of them knowing for certain what was wrong, they did know that Sean would remain perky for as long as he possibly could. Sometimes he seemed to get more cheery when he was not feeling well, struggling to keep it from being obvious that he was under the weather.
Now Barry handed Greg a small crate. "The statue is in here," he said.
Greg blinked, accepting the parcel. "I'll see that it gets back," he said.
"And we'll go after Sean," Scott said. "Thanks, Greg." He jogged into the map room, followed by Elliott and Barry. Greg shook his head as he watched them go.
"It's good to have them back," he said to the Gumshoes. "It was getting lonely around here without them."
****
Sean retreated to his room as soon as Vic was secure in a holding cell. Two small clicks echoed through the space as he first shut his door and then locked it, slipping the bolt into place. He turned, slumping against the heavy wood. A sigh left his lips as he reached up, massaging his eyes and temples. Finally, he did not have to pretend all was well.
He had wanted to keep the facade going until he was alone. The last thing he had felt like doing was cracking jokes and singing nonsense. But he did not want the others to see how bad off he had really gotten.
He stumbled forward, coughing into his hand as he entered the bathroom and turned on the light. He grimaced as he stared at his reflection. "What happened to you?" he sardonically snarked. The guy looking back at him was flushed, his eyes bloodshot and glazed---not to mention sunken. He looked not unlike a zombie.
He groaned. Maybe if he rested for a while, he would feel better. He did not want to go to the infirmary. All those pokey proddy things would just put him in a worse mood. But most of all, the others would know something was terribly wrong. Sean never went to the infirmary of his own free will. Yet right now, even with the pokey proddy things, it was not sounding like such a bad idea. This felt worse than any case of anything he had ever come down with.
He turned on the water, soaping up his hands and then rinsing them before switching off just the hot tap. Cupping his hands under the faucet, he quickly filled them with the now-cool substance. Then he leaned over, splashing the water on his face. He frowned as he grasped the sides of the sink, the droplets trailing down his skin and landing on the white enamel. It had not helped; he still looked and felt as feverish as ever. And now he was just cold. He shivered, grabbing a towel and patting his face dry.
Now he turned away, bringing a hand over his face while using the other hand to feel along the wall and guide him back into the main room. He would just get to the bed and sleep. That was the best idea.
Yet deep down, he knew that was not going to help. This was not something he could sleep away.
He stumbled in the doorway, swaying forward. A gasp left his lips as he grabbed for the woodwork with both hands, struggling to regain his footing. Everything was shifting and twisting out of focus. He let go of the doorframe, taking a shaking step onto the carpet. But it was a fatal mistake. His body could not handle trying to move without assistance.
That was when he knew he was not going to make it to the bed.
****
Scott frowned as he and the others made their way upstairs to the agents' rooms.
"Sean sure must've got up here fast," he said as he reached the landing. "The guard said Sean all but threw Vic at him before hurrying away."
"He's feeling worse than he let on," Barry said. "He was acting strange before you and El even woke up on the flight."
"He was fine before that," Elliott said. "Whatever it was really came on him fast." He looked to the closed door as he and Barry followed Scott to the top of the steps. "Maybe we should check on him."
"He probably went right to bed," Scott said, crossing to the door. "Sean?" he called with a soft knock.
"If he's asleep, we shouldn't disturb him," Barry said. "He needs the rest."
Scott put his hand on the knob anyway. Then his eyes widened in surprise. "It's locked," he gasped. Had Sean just not wanted to be disturbed while he slept . . . or had he been trying to keep everyone out for some other reason?
"Sean!" he exclaimed, raising his voice.
Elliott came closer to the door. "I don't hear anything in there," he said, trying to swallow the growing worry in his heart.
Barry was torn. His first inclination was still to leave Sean alone. He had probably gone to sleep the instant he laid down. And he would not appreciate being woke up, if he had actually locked the door to prevent it. On the other hand, if Sean was so ill he was trying to keep them out, something would have to be drastically wrong. He had slept through a good deal of the flight, too, so unless he was seriously ill he would not still be tired.
"Sean, if you don't open this door, Barry's going to force it open," Scott called, pressing himself against the wood.
Elliott did likewise. "Still nothing," he reported, his voice grim. "Maybe he is just sleeping, but we need to find out!" He looked to Barry. "We could pick the lock, but it'd be faster for you to just get it open."
At last Barry nodded. Scott and Elliott stepped aside, allowing him to get at the door. The big man threw himself against it, causing the lock to groan. A second attack sent the door flying against the wall with a loud bang! Barry barely paid attention. Now he could see that Sean was not in bed at all. And alarm and horror gripped his soul.
"Sean!" Elliott cried, running in and crashing to his knees beside his oldest friend. Sean was sprawled on the carpet, his arms flung around him and his eyes closed. Elliott reached out, gently turning Sean onto his back. Sean fell into position, weakly groaning but otherwise not regaining consciousness.
Scott gasped. "I'll run down to the infirmary and get a doctor!" he said, his heart gathering speed as he turned and ran out the door.
Elliott nodded, though he hardly heard. He lifted Sean's wrist, checking his pulse rate. "It's going so fast," he breathed.
Barry knelt beside them, laying a strong hand on Sean's forehead. "He's burning up," he said, his eyes narrowing in concern.
And for the first time, Elliott noticed the tears in Sean's shirt. "What happened here?!" he exclaimed. He reached to examine the holes. Sean's undershirt was torn as well, and three parallel red marks were visible on his chest.
Barry stiffened. He had not realized the statue's claws had penetrated Sean's skin. Could that be what was wrong with him? There was no telling where that thing had been. What if the wounds were infected?
"Elliott, go talk with Greg and the laboratory," he directed. "We have to get that statue examined before it's sent back."
The brunet's eyes widened, realizing what Barry was thinking. "O-okay," he stammered. His legs wobbled as he got to his feet. If Sean had been infected by that cat, and the resulting illness had been building the entire length of the flight, what was going to happen to him? Would the infection have progressed too far to be stopped? No, he could not think that!
Barry bent over Sean as Elliott hurried out of the room. "Sean!" he said, his voice commanding. "Can you hear me?"
Sean's eyes fluttered and opened, but they were glazed and unseeing.
Barry gritted his teeth. "Sean, speak to me," he pleaded.
Sean's lips parted, but he did not have the strength to do more. His eyes slipped closed again.
Barry growled under his breath. Swallowing hard, he took Sean's hand to feel for his pulse. Elliott was right---it was racing. He bowed his head, clasping Sean's hand between his own as he prayed.
****
Elliott skidded to a halt as he arrived back in Greg's office, grabbing onto the edge of the desk to keep from flying across the smooth floor. Greg and the Gumshoes started and looked up, their eyes wide in astonishment. Elliott scarcely noticed, instead breathing a sigh of relief to see the crate sitting on the desk. Ignoring Greg's protests of disbelief, he grabbed hold of the wooden lid and pulled. It had to come off! It had to! But the nails were holding fast.
His eyes wild, he looked over Greg's desk for something that could help. But aside from a letter-opener, there was nothing even remotely useful or sharp. He grabbed it up, stabbing it into the lid and splintering the wood. With its assistance he pulled up enough of the planks to dig inside. Throwing the letter-opener to the desk, he pushed his hands through the jagged hole and withdrew fistfuls of packing peanuts. The colorful foam flew left and right as he carelessly threw it to get to the statue nestled in the center. Then a gleam of black caught his eye. He rocked back, letting the light shine through the opening. There it was, the right front paw raised with the claws extended.
He snatched the figurine out of the crate, his eyes flashing. It was impossible to control his furious thoughts at that moment. This thing had hurt Sean when he had been trying to save Vic the Slick. Of course, Vic was perfectly fine. And judging from the scene upstairs, Sean was growing worse by the minute.
"Elliott!"
Greg's voice finally penetrated. The short man jumped a mile, clutching the statue in his hands.
"Elliott, what are you doing?!" Greg sounded a bit cross. "I was going to pass it along to ACME Shippingnet in a few minutes."
"It can't go yet!" Elliott retorted with such vehemence that Greg recoiled. Then he sighed, seeing Greg's reaction. "I'm sorry," he apologized, regretting his outburst. "But we discovered that Sean got scratched by this thing. He's having a bad reaction to it, too."
Greg gulped. "You . . . you mean . . ."
"He didn't catch my allergies, and he also isn't coming down with a cold or the flu," Elliott said. "He may have been infected." He turned to leave the office. "I'm taking this to the laboratory so they can analyze it."
"O-of course," Greg said, still reeling from this news. "But El . . ."
Elliott glanced back, impatient worry in his eyes and his very stance. Greg lowered his voice.
"Is Sean . . . going to be okay?"
Elliott looked away. ". . . He has to be," he said at last. "We won't accept anything else." With that he ran back through the map room and into the corridor leading to the rest of ACME, leaving Greg staring after him.
****
The next hours were spent in agony. Scott, Elliott, and Barry paced back and forth in the infirmary waiting room, listening to the wall clock tick through the seconds. What was taking so long?! The doctors should have some idea of what fate had befallen Sean by now! The laboratory had not contacted them on the test results of the statue, either, which only made it look like something was very wrong with it. The longer it dragged on with no solution in sight, the more worrisome it became.
". . . Sean's probably awake by now," Scott said at last, stopping his pacing to weakly smile.
"And complaining to the doctors that he's fine and wants to go back to his room," Elliott added with a forced chuckle.
Barry said nothing, instead preferring to watch the other two try to make sense out of things. He did not have anything to offer to their attempts. He was too afraid that this was far, far worse than they had even imagined. And he could not bring himself to pretend everything would be alright. For Scott and Elliott, that was how they were coping with the same terrified feelings, but it was not Barry's way.
He had been berating himself ever since the discovery that Sean had been scratched by the purloined statue. Why hadn't he noticed or at least thought to find out whether Sean's shirt had been the only thing torn? Had Sean even known himself? Or had he known but said nothing, believing it was not anything to worry about? That would be so like him.
He came to attention as an exhausted doctor emerged, pulling down the protective mask covering the lower half of his face. The older man looked from Barry to Scott and Elliott, clearly knowing something but not knowing how to say it.
"Well?" Barry spoke, his voice carrying a warning that he did not want to be kept in the dark any longer.
"How is he?!" Elliott exclaimed.
"Is he awake?!" Scott echoed.
The physician held up his hands for silence. ". . . He's breathing on his own," he admitted, "and he's awake. But he's getting worse. We got the report from the lab---there's tiny openings at the tips of the statue's claws. When Sean was scratched, the substance inside the statue went into his bloodstream."
"Substance?!" Scott and Elliott cried in unison. Barry's eyes narrowed. No. . . .
"Poison." The doctor shook his head. "They broke the statue open to analyze it and see if they can come up with an antidote, but as it is . . . I'm afraid you'd all better start preparing yourselves for the worst. At the rate his condition is advancing, he isn't likely to last through the night. The poison's already been in his system for the better part of twenty-four hours."
Scott's stomach dropped, while Barry's twisted. With just a few words, their worlds were crumbling to pieces. Sean . . . Sean had been poisoned? While trying to help that creep, a life-threatening concoction had been forced into his body, with the very real possibility that there would not be a cure?
The conversation with Sean from the flight leaped to the forefront of Barry's mind. It had been an eerie foreshadowing. Sean had been relieved that he had not died trying to climb up and down that old balcony. Now he was sacrificing himself for Vic anyway.
Elliott's eyes flashed. This was too much to take in all at once. He would not accept that Sean was dying. He would not! They had to be able to find an antidote, and in time!
"We have to see him," he declared. "Where is he?!"
"You should see him," the doctor agreed. "He . . . he's been asking for all of you. And if you don't go now . . . you might not have another chance." He turned to lead them down the hall. "I'll take you to his room."
It was really just a short walk down the corridor, but for all of them it felt like a mile. Was Sean really as bad off as the doctor said---nearly on death's threshold? And if he was not, was he going to get that bad before things were over? . . . Would he make it through at all?
The physician led them through a set of double-doors and then down another hallway before at last stopping in front of a room at the very back. He opened the door slowly, his expression grim as he peered inside. Elliott swallowed. Did he think Sean would have passed on already?
But the doctor gave a quiet nod and looked to them. "He's still awake," he said, speaking in a low voice. "He seems to be accepting his fate, but try not to say anything to upset him."
Elliott was horrified as he stepped through the open door. Sean was resigning himself to death? That was not like him. The physician must be mistaken! Sean would be fighting, determined to stay alive. And he would keep kicking and screaming against Death until he was forcibly taken.
But the sight of their friend and leader laying in the bed made him stumble back in stunned shock. Sean's skin was somehow both flushed and pale at the same time. And not only that---its gaunt appearance made his cheekbones even more visible. The heart monitor was beeping at an abnormal quick speed, signaling the poison's strengthening hold. As he looked towards Elliott, however, the glazed eyes flickered with acknowledgment and he raised a hand just enough off the bed to gesture for the older man to come to him.
Elliott ran over now, Scott and Barry right behind him. The doctor shut the door, giving them their privacy. Elliott barely noticed as he gripped Sean's hand in his, uncontrollably shaking.
Sean gave a weak squeeze. "Hey, I'm not dead yet," he said. "Even though I know I must look it. . . ." His voice was weak too, scarcely distinguishable as it rasped from his throat. "I . . . I made the doctor tell me what was wrong. I needed to know. . . ."
Elliott shook his head. "Sean, you're going to be okay," he protested.
Scott nodded, gripping the bed railing as his knuckles went white. "They're going to make the antidote," he said.
Sean was silent. At first Barry thought he was gathering his energy, but as he spoke at last, the reason for the hesitation became clear.
". . . I might not be here by then." Sean looked to each of them in turn. "It's already been almost a day. And . . . I started feeling funny almost right after it happened. For me to go so far downhill so fast . . . it doesn't look good. Maybe a full twenty-four hours is the limit."
Usually Elliott was able to keep himself composed even in the most dire situations. But when a dear friend was in a state like this, and he could only stand by, helpless, and watch him suffer and die, it was too much to bear.
"You're not supposed to give up!" he cried, clutching his childhood friend's hand tighter. "You're supposed to keep fighting while we try to find a cure! . . ." He stared into Sean's glassy eyes, his own filled with indescribable pain. Sean could not leave them! He could not, especially not like this!
Sean looked back, regret and sorrow in his eyes. "Oh El. . . ." He brought his other arm up, shakily placing it around Elliott's trembling shoulders. "I'm not giving up, I promise. I am still fighting." He smirked, though it was tinged with sadness. "You know I'll kick that poison to Kingdom Come if I can." He drew Elliott down further, hugging his friend as best as he was able. But as he looked to Scott and Barry over the top of Elliott's head, the spark of sorrow grew more pronounced. "I just don't know . . . if ol' Sean's going to make it out of this one. . . ."
Elliott stiffened, even as he tried to hug Sean back. Suddenly his heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Barry clenched a fist. For Sean to ever say something like that, the problem was worse than even he had feared. He had known it would be serious, but he had never expected Sean to acknowledge the severity. He had thought Sean would laugh it off and say that he was going to show those doctors and the poison and everything else that he had been underestimated.
Scott was staring at Sean in disbelief. His mind was blank, frozen in the face of these unthinkable words. Sean really did believe he was dying.
Sean looked at them again, trying to smile. "Hey, say something," he pleaded. "I . . . I might not be able to fight off this sleepiness much longer. . . ."
Barry moved closer to the bed. ". . . I should have realized you'd been hurt," he said, the self-hatred evident in his tone. "I never even thought to check. . . ."
"How could you have known?" Sean retorted. "I didn't know, either. It wasn't bleeding. I thought I was okay. Who'd think three little scratches could do this?"
Elliott straightened up, his eyes filled with a fire that the others had only rarely seen from him. "And Vic walks away scot-free," he said. "After everything he's done, and how he's tried to kill Scott in the past, all that happens to him is that his stupid plaid jacket gets ripped!"
"It's not fair," Scott agreed, the same blaze burning in his heart.
"No, it isn't," Sean said, a bit of frustrated anger slipping into his voice. "But . . . that's life. And death, I guess." He shook his head. "I only have myself to blame. What is it they say---no good deed goes unpunished? That's me, risking life and limb to save a creep and being defeated by a little statue."
Barry reached over, gripping Sean's shoulder. "Don't forget what we talked about," he said, his voice filled with pained emotion.
Sean looked to him. "You can really say that, even in the face of this?" he said, incredulous. "I'm dying here."
Scott and Elliott looked to each other, puzzled. What had Sean and Barry discussed? Would they be let in on it at all? Or was it something private that they should leave to their friends' hearts?
Barry swallowed hard. ". . . I'll admit, part of me wishes you hadn't done anything," he said. "But at the same time, thinking of you . . . of any of us . . . deciding to leave Vic in trouble is just sickening."
"He'd leave us in an instant," Sean said. "In fact, I think he was going to cut the vine I was climbing up, before he realized that he was in trouble."
Elliott hissed. "I hate him," he said. "I hate him!"
Scott pulled his best friend close in a hug. "I hate him too," he admitted, the underlying anger seeping into his voice.
Elliott clutched the younger man. "And because we're suckers enough that we can't leave even him in trouble, we have to pay for it! Sean's paying for it!"
Sean let out a sad sigh. "Yeah . . . I am," he said. "But the rest of you really have it worse. My pain probably won't last too much longer and I'll be dead and gone. Still . . . no matter what happens to me, you three have to keep living. For you, the pain won't stop."
He looked to Scott as the heartbroken blond stared at him. "Scott . . . you've always been my unofficial second-in-command," he said. "If . . . if something happens to me, now or some other time, I want you to be the leader."
Scott's eyes widened. He did not want to think about that. And how could he ever take the position that Sean had held for so many years? It would twist his heart too much. But on the other hand . . . when it was what Sean wanted . . . how could Scott deny it? Sean was hoping to leave things in some semblance of order. If it would make him feel more at peace for Scott to accept, then Scott was determined to do so.
". . . You're still the leader now," Scott said, coming back to the side of the bed. "And . . ." A lump hopped into his throat. "Even if the time comes that it falls to me . . . I'll always think of you as the real leader. I . . . I'd just be holding the position open for you . . . so you could take it again sometime. . . ."
Sean smiled, a genuine, tired, yet touched smile instead of his usual grins and smirks. "Someday I would, too," he said. He reached for Scott, but Scott was already leaning down to hug him.
"You've always been such a screwball," Scott said, trying to smile back. "I didn't understand at first . . . but I did later. I'm proud that you've been our leader." He pulled back, looking into Sean's eyes. "I always will be."
"That goes for us, too," Elliott said. Barry nodded in complete agreement, still standing to the side.
"I hope so," Sean said, a bit of his joking facade surfacing again. But it faded. "A guy couldn't ask for a better bunch of friends."
He released Scott and looked to Barry. "Don't think I'm leaving you out of this glomping session," he said, gesturing for Barry to bend down.
Slowly Barry did. Sean hugged him too, raising up just enough to speak in his ear. "It's not your fault," he rasped. "Don't blame yourself."
And Barry held him closer, still berating himself even as he tried to curb his feelings.
Sean slumped back on the pillow, giving him a bleary look. "If you'd figured it out on the plane, what good would it have done us?" he said. He was worsening; his voice was starting to slur. "There wasn't a doctor on board."
"We could have landed somewhere else," Barry said, pulling back to stare at Sean's ill complexion. He was more flushed than ever. The fever was working desperately to overthrow the poison, but would he last long enough for the antidote to be ready? And would the antidote work at all? Or . . . was this really the last time they would ever talk to their beloved friend?
"ACME has the best doctors," Sean said with a faint smirk as his eyes began to close.
Elliott gave a weak cry, unable to stop himself.
Sean struggled to open his eyes again. "I'm still hanging on," he promised. "I'll fight until the sheet's pulled over my head. Heck, who says I have to stop then, either?"
But Elliott could not laugh. And as Sean slipped into unconsciousness, he cried out louder, anguished.
Scott hugged him close again, agony and pain in his own eyes. Then Barry came to them as well, embracing them both in his strong arms. All they could do now was pray for a miracle.