office to try to manhandle me into his arms. I passed him once in the hall—he
didn’t even look at me. I tried to pretend that it didn’t gut me.
And, as I heaved myself over the trash receptacle in the lab, I realized it was
my turn to be physically gutted, as well. I emptied the contents of my stomach and sat on the cold floor.
“You have it, don’t you?” Dr. Folsom called from across the room. Today
was her first day back, and although she looked quite haggard, she seemed
functional.
“Uh-huh,” I groaned, and I thought the act of speaking would incite the
vomiting again.
Degrees of Wrong
“I’ll help you to your quarters,” she said. I tried to peel myself from the floor.
I didn’t want to drain from her what little strength she’d accrued since getting
out of the bed.
She placed my arm around her shoulder for support, and together we
walked to the elevator. When we got to my room, she helped me undress and
pulled the covers over my simultaneously fevered and chilled body.
“I’ll be right back with the electrolytes. I’m putting a trash can beside your
bed. Try to make it in there. I’m going to reserve an IV for you just in case. Is there anything else you need before I leave?”
I shook my head and placed my fist under my chin to keep my teeth from
chattering.
When I awoke, the room was dark. I had to use the restroom but doubted
that in my pathetic state I could gain enough momentum to even throw my body
weight in that direction. I could see on the nightstand that Dr. Folsom had
returned at some point with the electrolytes.
I reached for them and groaned in agony as the weight of my outstretched
arm sent throbbing pain to its muscles. I tried to sit up but was too dizzy to lift my head. I plopped my hollow noggin back down on the pillow in defeat.
Suddenly, I found the energy and the need to spring from my pillow and
over the side of the bed. I vomited and vomited into the trash can. I vomited
until I was good and sick of vomiting. Then I vomited some more.
I hoped the morning would come soon, and Dr. Folsom would check on me
and help me to the bathroom. It was my last conscious thought.
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The false sunlight spilled into my room and hurt my eyes as I opened them.
My bladder had reached maximum capacity, and I fervently hoped that I hadn’t
missed Dr. Folsom already. My entire body ached, and although I was sweaty
from breaking a fever sometime in the night, it appeared I had acquired another
one. My teeth chattered nearly to the point of breaking in my mouth, and I curled into a ball to preserve my own body heat.
To my great relief, the door opened and Dr. Folsom strolled in. She looked
just a little better today than she had yesterday.
She sat on the bed and looked at the nightstand. “You didn’t even open
them,” she scolded. “You need those fluids, Elyse.”
“Uh-huh,” I told her.
“Do you think you might need an IV?”
“Uh-huh,” I told her.
“The only thing about an IV is that it will make it harder for you to use the
restroom. You will need to go more often, probably.”
“Uh-huh,” I told her.
“Do you need to go now?”
“Uh-huh.”
After I emptied the contents of my bladder in the toilet, and more than the
contents of my stomach in the shower, Dr. Folsom helped me change clothes and
climb back into bed. After she disinfected the shower, she changed my trash for
me. She tried to help me sip some of the clear pink liquids.
My next project, after I found the cure to the Black Death, would be to find a
way to make concentrated electrolytes taste drinkable. Until then though, I
would just have to hold my nose and man up.
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When I awoke again, the room was dark. She had administered the IV while
I slept and now I had bent my arm in a way that prohibited the flow. I stretched
it out, groaning as it throbbed with the lack of use.
“Elyse, love?” I heard Nicoli say. “What’s wrong? Do you need something?”
That was odd. I felt sure I was awake. If I felt this bad in my dreams, then I was in deep trouble when I eventually woke up. Still, I would take the aches and
pains in the dream, as long as I could hear the lilting sound of his voice too.
I felt a weight on the bed next to me and cool hands brushing aside the hair
plastered by sweat onto my face. The dream was lifelike.
“Elyse? Do you need something?”
I worked very hard to blink my eyes, to see him more clearly. I could make
out the magnificent outline of him, certainly, but his handsome features eluded
me. I groaned in frustration.
My hand flitted to my eyes, and I rubbed them ferociously. When I was done
assaulting them, his breathtaking face came into focus. His eyes were softened
with concern, and his mouth was set in an apprehensive frown.
“What do you need, love?” he asked gently.
“Restroom,” I blurted. I meant to say I need you to stop ignoring me, I need your arms around me and I need to go to the restroom. I guess my mouth just caught the latter part of the plea. Still, whole words were definitely an improvement.
In an instant, I was out of the bed and in the bathroom. The door shut softly
behind me, and the IV tubing was fed from under the door.
I stood there dazed, leaning against the sink for support. After an
indeterminable amount of time, I managed to relieve my bladder and heave
myself to the bathroom door. In a state of sheer panic, I thought he might have
left again and I knew I couldn’t make it back to the bed.
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I put all my weight on the door and pressed the access button. I spilled out
into my room but never met with the floor.
“Elyse.” He scooped me up. “What are you doing? Why didn’t you knock
when you were ready? I told you to knock, love.”
Had he? I didn’t remember. Certainly I would have remembered.
“Uh-uh,” I told him.
He chuckled into my hair as I pressed my face into the comfort of his chest.
“You are in no position to argue with me at present, Dr. Morgan.”
I felt myself being lowered onto the bed. The descent sent a wave of nausea
through me, and I stiffened in his arms with the dilemma. As soon as I could feel solid bed under me, I heaved over to the trash.
Was someone feeding me while I was unconscious? How could I have
anything left to throw up?
I mulled over the mystery as I drifted out of consciousness.
I looked over to see Dr. Folsom changing out the IV bags. My room was full
of the light of day.
“Hi,” I rasped.
Startled, she turned to me and smiled. She seemed fully recovered. It gave
me hope.
“Good morning,” she greeted. “Today is day four. Day four seems to be the
turning point. Congratulations.”
Day four? “Day four?”
“Yes, dear. You’ve been in and out for four days now. Nicoli is practically
beside himself. He’s been making a nuisance of himself, actual
ly.” I knew what
she meant. The admiral almost gave me acne with the stress of comforting him.
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However, given Nicoli’s complete withdrawal from my presence, I could
hardly believe that he had concerned himself overmuch.
“Ha. Nicoli isn’t speaking to me. He doesn’t like me anymore.” That hurt to
say out loud. I wasn’t sure if the pain in my stomach was from the admission, or
still from my illness.
She huffed. “At this point, dear, I think it would be a fair statement to say
you could have anything you wanted. He would melt like snow in the Maldives.
All you would have to do is ask.”
I laughed, and the act hurt my abdominal muscles. “You are wicked. Please
tell me you’re not speaking from experience. The poor admiral!”
“The poor admiral deserves every bit of it,” Nicoli drawled from the door.
“And so do I.”
Dr. Folsom made a repugnant face that indicated to me that she had been
busted, and badly. I giggled as she hastened out the door.
He strode in and sat on the bed. “Feeling better?”
“Immeasurably.”
“Good.”
He sat there for a long time, regarding me with that impassive expression of
his. “I don’t exactly know where to begin,” he said finally.
I tried to sit up, and he was on his feet, helping to adjust the pillows behind
me and tucking the covers underneath me. Satisfied that I was comfortable, he
sat back down.
“Should you be here?” I asked.
“Do you want me to go?”
I should have said yes, but I shook my head. “It’s just that…it may look
like…”
“Exactly what it is.” He grimaced.
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“What is ‘it’, exactly?”
“‘It’ is the fact that I can’t stay away from you. Even if I tried. Even if I tried very hard.”
“Seemed to be doing a pretty good job to me,” I muttered.
“This is coming from a woman who has spent the last four days in a near
coma. I’ve been sleeping in that chair over there.” He motioned to the only chair in the room. “It was uncomfortable, even for me.”
I laughed. I knew he could get comfortable anywhere, so his admission was
outrageous.
“So,” I began awkwardly. “Which part of what I told you upset you the
most? Which part made you forget that I was alive?” I hoped my voice didn’t
quaver.
“First of all, there is no forgetting you, Elyse Morgan. I was acutely, painfully aware of you the whole time. Secondly, the part that most upset me was…all of
it, I would have to say.” He raked his hand through his black hair. “What were
you thinking?”
“About what, specifically? About not listening to you in the first place when
you told me not to go? About my insistence that you stay out of the room during
the examination? About talking to him when I got there, after you specifically
told me not to? Or was it the part where I told him that I put air bubbles in his IV—?”
“All of it,” he reiterated. “Damn it, Elyse.”
“What happened?” I whispered. “Did he go to trial?” I hadn’t been filled in
on any of the consequences of my actions. Either Dr. Folsom wasn’t aware of the
outcome, or she just wouldn’t say. Nicoli hadn’t been speaking to me. The
admiral too seemed to be avoiding me like a hornets’ nest.
I had really outdone myself this time.
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“He’s still standing trial. In good health,” he added. “Lt. Weston was
arrested for murder, and unless he starts pointing the finger at Petropoulos, he’ll be convicted of it. Ironically, he is being held at the very same prison he used to preside over.”
I could see him visibly hesitate.
“And?” I said.
“In addition to the outcome of his trial, the United Nations is formally
charging Petropoulos with the murder of your parents and everyone who died as
a result of attending your father’s lecture. They may ask you to testify. I would prefer that you didn’t.”
I fought back the nausea. And the tears.
He was still holding something back. I nodded to him to continue. It seemed
I had missed out on much.
He didn’t try to hide his frustration. “We think there’s a mole on board. You
said Petropoulos admitted to arranging the meeting with you. We went back
through the communications records and couldn’t find anything. The only
communication from the Bellator to the prison or vice versa was the incoming distress call and the corresponding response. But everything had aligned so
conveniently for him that there is just no way he didn’t have inside assistance.
We haven’t been able to find anything incriminating. Yet.”
“So, that would mean…”
“They’re still on board.” His jaw flexed again, the way it had in the transport
pod after our visit to the prison.
I cringed. “I’ve more than tried your patience, Nicoli. I can see why you
would want to stay away from me. I’m a walking invitation for trouble. And I’ve
complicated your life by leaps and bounds.”
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He shook his head. “That’s not why I stayed away, Elyse. Oh sure, that’s
reason enough,” he teased, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. “But the fact is, I endangered your life. I should have seen that coming. You don’t know this man
like I do. You don’t know what he’s capable of. I felt that maybe my judgment
had been clouded…and the fact that he saw my attachment to…and his vendetta against my family…”
“But this wasn’t about you at all, Nicoli. It was about me. He wanted me.”
“He wanted you for a different reason at the time. But now he knows that
I…how I feel about…”
“But he’s in custody, Nicoli. What does it matter what he saw?”
“He’s been in custody six times before, love. And history tends to repeat
itself.”
I gasped, outraged.
“So,” he continued, taking my hand. “I thought I was protecting you by
staying away. That maybe he wouldn’t go after you again if he thought I
didn’t… But, since I’m obviously not capable of leaving you alone for hours at a time, I decided to form a new plan.”
“Which is?” I asked warily.
He shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
“So…you’re not going to be ignoring me anymore?” And could I get that in
writing?
He shook his head. “I should, but I won’t. Can’t. So, here I am, asking you to dinner.”
My stomach both churned and fluttered with the thought of having dinner
with him.
“Oh.” I clutched at the covers in that general area. “I don’t think that’s
possible right now, Nicoli.”
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He chuckled. “Not tonight, love. In two days, my brother will be porting
close to where our position will be at that point. It will be at least an hour in the transport pod from the ship, though. I was hoping you would
feel well enough
to meet him.”
“You want me to meet your brother?” I squeaked.
“Yes and no,” he said dryly. “I’m nervous for you to meet him, because of
his stupefying effect on women. I would hate to add to his medical file, love.” At this I giggled. “However,” he continued on, grinning at me, “he is still adamant
about marrying this mystery woman of his, so I think that you, and his nose,
should be safe.”
I laughed, further hurting my innards. “Ugh,” I groaned. When the pain
passed, I said, “I’m sure I’ll be feeling better by then.” And even if I wasn’t, I felt sure I could give a convincing performance of pristine health.
Nicoli stood and gently placed my hand on the bed. “I’ll go now and let you
get some rest. Well, some more rest.”
I did still feel a bit woozy.
When he reached the door, he turned. For a long moment, I thought he had
changed his mind altogether.
“Don’t even think about wearing that red dress.”
I shook my head that I would not, biting my lip to keep from smiling.
As I lay back down, I laughed—I would wear the white one just like it.
I smirked as I inspected myself in the mirror. Nicoli would be furious. With
that thought in mind, I slung the black bag containing my change of clothes over
my shoulder and left my quarters, dressed to dazzle.
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I paid scarce attention to my surroundings as I trotted down the hall and to
the elevator. I had little fear of running into anyone as I made my way to the
transport hall. Nicoli had conveniently ordered most of the officers and cadets to assemble on the other side of the ship for a surprise roll-call drill and trumped-up announcements.
The elevator released me into the hall, and I could already see Nicoli
standing at the end of it waiting for me. And frowning.
Delighted, I tried not to skip as I came closer to him. He was wearing black
slacks and an olive green, tightly fitted shirt which accentuated his muscles too well for me to expect a healthy pulse for the duration of his wearing it.
When I reached him he said, “I believe you have taken advantage of my
manly ignorance, Dr. Morgan. When I addressed the subject of the red dress, you
of course realized that I was speaking of it as a category in general, and not that garment specifically.”
Why yes, yes I had. “And what category is that, Captain Marek?”
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