Treasure Planet-Collection of stories from the voyage to Treasure Planet

Just a Cold (Pt.2)

Jim woke later to the smell of food next to him. He tiredly opened his eyes and yawned, seeing Silver next to him, setting a steaming bowl on the nightstand. He tried to sit up, but his weakened arms simply couldn't support him and he fell back onto the pillows. The cyborg noticed and turned to ease the boy up to a more comfortable sitting position, placing a pillow behind him. The teenager yawned again, rolling his shoulders as he did so. "How long have I been asleep?" He asked. "Ah, only an hour or two lad. Certainly not enough if ye want ta get rid o' that cold of yours," Silver replied, carefully passing the bowl to Jim, laying it on his lap. "What's this?" He questioned, sniffing the soup in the bowl, only to realize he couldn't smell anything. "Don't know ta be honest Jimbo. One o' the other crew-mates made it," the cyborg responded, picking up his own dish.

"Was it Scroop? Because he totally would have poisoned mine if he made it," Jim said, cautiously stirring the substance around. Silver laughed. "I get yer way o' speakin' lad, but I know it wasn't him. The blighter couldn't make a meal ta save his hide," he chuckled, blowing on his soup to cool it. "I'll wager it was Longbourne, this is somet'ing more to his liking anyhow." The teen looked back at his dinner, slowly holding up a spoonful of whatever was in there. It was thick and kind-of orange with red flakes in it, almost foamy in texture. He took a bite, but couldn't taste anything. 'Joys of being ill,' he thought to himself, swallowing and feeling a comfortable warmth flood in him. They both continued eating until they'd had their fill, Jim finishing sooner with more left in his bowl, not having much of an appetite. Before Silver knew it, the lad was back to sleep again, and the cook followed suit.

Silver woke to groaning next to him. He straightened in his chair and saw Jim grabbing at the covers, pulling and twisting at them, still asleep, face even redder than earlier. The cyborg laid his organic hand on the boy's head and felt it burning. "Easy there lad, calm down," he murmured, grabbing Jim's hands with his own. Morph flew over nervously, carrying the thermometer. "T'anks Morphy," he said, quickly scanning the boy's head with it, sighing when he saw a 103.4 appear. "Must be havin' flashes," he spoke quietly, pulling the heavier covers off the teen who was now beginning to toss his head back and forth. Jim was now breathing heavily in pain, clawing at the remaining sheets still covering him. Silver looked over the medicine bottle. "Blast it all," he mumbled angrily, realizing he hadn't given the lad enough of the toxin earlier. "Won't be able ta give him another dosage till mornin'." 

Jim started to murmur in his sleep, and if it weren't as quiet as it was in the ward, Silver might not have caught it. "Not...I did it...was secure...checked..." was what he could hear, watching as beads of sweat adorned the boy's face and neck, eyebrows scrunched together in pain. "Jimbo, peace lad, settle down," Silver coaxed worriedly, gently grabbing his arms and holding them onto the bed. Using his mechanical hand, he grabbed the rag that had fallen to the floor and dipped it into the water bucket again and started wiping up the moisture gathering on the boy's neck and face, then re-wet it and draped it over his forehead. Minutes later, the red hue finally started to die down on Jim's face, and he began to relax. Silver sighed. "What are we goin' to do with ye, lad?" He murmured. 

Jim woke hours later when morning was just beginning to break. His head was throbbing and his muscles ached. He sat himself up and looked around for a moment, spotting Silver snoring on the chair next to him, Morph on his shoulder. He sighed, sitting quietly and began rubbing his temple. It hurt terribly. He sat there in silence for what he guessed to be fifteen minutes before a bout of coughing woke the cyborg. "Oh, Jimbo. Yer up already?" He asked tiredly. Jim nodded, still coughing into his elbow. "Here lad," the cook said, passing a glass of water. The boy started sipping it, and the wheezing gradually stopped. His throat felt like razors had been taken to it. "Sorry I woke you," the teen said in a raspy voice. "Ah, don't worry 'bout it," Silver replied. "It be me job to take care o' ye." Jim thanked him, sniffling.