Color Blind

Chapter Four

AN: Come on, this takes place in the 90s. It's the law to have this song. It's Nirvana, with Smells Like Teen Spirit.

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Nancy considered ditching school and calling off work, but she remembered that rent was due in a few weeks and she wanted to pay a little extra for later. It was best to go. Ugh.

I do believe that I need more chocolate. And maybe a shower.

She squeezed a quick shower in and made hot chocolate before going to class. Janet-thank God for small favors-was absent today. Nancy would call her later. Maybe. Or maybe not. There was no law that said she had to.

Her luck had apparently run out because when she arrived at work, Dr. Call-Me-Tom Jones was there. He was also waiting for her, it looked like. Joy. She took a deep breath, lowered her head, and went in. Maybe if she pretended not to see him, he would go away. She could do this. Deep breaths.

Deep breaths, no eye contact, get straight to work. I can do it. If I puke, I have the flu.

She did not puke, and he did not go away.

"Hiya, Nancy."

"Dr. Jones."

"Call me Tom."

Fuck off.

She forced a smile and sat down. Whoever the morning girl was, she'd made a terrible mess of the system. Nancy repressed an eye roll. She had trained every single part-time secretary, and every single one of them screwed up in the morning. It wasn't that complicated!

"How're you doing?"

"Fine, thank you."

Breathe. Just breathe.

Call-Me-Tom finally left for the day and Nancy heaved a sigh of relief. Her heart was pounding and her vision was blurry. She wondered if she would faint.

A few minutes later, the fit had passed and she resumed work.

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Cole felt miserable. His head hurt, his stomach hated him, and his back was very, very sore. He hung his head over the toilet and puked again, marveling at how much came up. Considering he hadn't eaten and had barely drank anything, his stomach was finding an awful lot of stuff to kick out. He needed a fix.

He'd barely thought of that when his stomach heaved and he gagged. Nothing came up this time but a few spit bubbles.

He was too scared to leave the safety of the bathroom for long and he shuffled back down the hall for a blanket. It was freezing in here.

He'd scarcely lain down on the tiles when his stomach shuddered again. He puked-mostly spit again-and dropped back. The tiles were cold against his skin and he rolled over onto his blanket.

For reasons unknown to him, Nancy Hale's voice rang in his mind.

"Do you need anything? A drink, anything at all?"

He shook his head-big mistake-and wondered where that had come from. Maybe his fever was higher than he'd thought it was. He shoved the thought out of his mind and sought out a comfortable position that didn't crush his stomach.

God, he needed a fix. That would ease the vomiting, hopefully, Maybe Sean would be home soon. He'd do anything at this point.