Chapter Text
John Randall considered himself a good bodyguard. The CIA hadn't used him in that capacity very often, but every time they did, it had been a success. John hadn't had an asset die under his watch yet, and he'd be damned if Harold Crane was going to be the first.
"You're overreacting," came Harold's voice from the hospital bed.
John ignored him, continuing to stand at attention. Jack Salazar, Harold's other CPO, was standing guard outside the door. There wasn't a lot of risk here, an upscale hospital in Bangkok's central business district, but John wasn't taking any chances. It was due to this caution (an overabundance of it, Harold had made himself very clear) that John had insisted that they visit the hospital.
It had been John who had noticed something... off about Harold's movements the day before. And John who insisted that Harold have some tests run. The bodyguard knew what Harold's body was capable of, had spent more time watching the other man than was probably strictly appropriate. But it was due to this close observation that John knew what a 2 on the pain scale looked like (a 5 for anyone else, but a good day for Harold).
"I'm only a bit tired," John's recalcitrant charge insisted. But it was to no avail. John had pulled rank, so Harold was getting tested, and that was that.
---
"You have dengue fever, Mr. Crane." The doctor announced, looking up from the chart.
Harold held in a sigh. He could feel Mr. Randall stiffen up at his bedside, his spine becoming almost comically straight.
"We caught it early, and you should be fine after resting for a couple of weeks." The doctor went on, holding out a prescription for Harold that Mr. Randall smoothly intercepted.
Rude.
The doctor was momentarily confused, then redirected attention to John.
"Make sure he gets some rest and drinks plenty of fluids. Don't let him take any blood thinners. The fever will start in a few days, maybe tomorrow. If he starts feeling nauseated, vomiting, or he can't eat after the fever breaks, you bring Mr. Crane back here, all right?"
John nodded gravely, his expression as serious as the plague. This time, Harold didn't bother holding in his sigh.
---
Aside from technological solutions to the world's problems, IFT had started pursuing medical solutions as well. To wit, IFT bought Virtanen Industries, after its stock had tanked due to a scandal involving previous management.
One of Harold's temporary duties to the struggling company involved the release of a vaccine in tropical and subtropical areas. A leftover project from the old management, Ingram had kept it, because it had looked promising. Mere weeks after that decision, a clerical error had almost resulted in the vaccine being improperly administered to an entire country's youth population.
"It's supposed to be administered only after the child has been infected and recovered from the virus, you see." Harold explained on the plane to Thailand. "Each incidence of infection with the virus poses greater risk of death or injury to the patient, so the vaccine really is useful..."
"It's just not for everyone," Salazar responded.
John kept quiet, listening. His personal opinion on the matter was that this excursion wasn't the result of a clerical error. Someone high up the chain in Virtanen had been trying to boost end of quarter sales, at the cost of children's lives. Not too surprising.
He also thought that Harold didn't have to handle this in person. Surely an email or a phone call would have sufficed? But here they were, on a public airplane John hadn't even been able to search thoroughly.
At least Salazar was happy. Despite frequent trips on Harold's private plane, he was excited, because he'd never flown on first class before.
---
"Don't be too hard on yourself, buddy." Jack said as he sat. "Not even you could have protected the boss from a fly."
"A mosquito," Harold called weakly from the bed.
From his place beside Jack on the suite's living room couch, a muscle ticked on Randall's jaw. Jack had been with the two of them long enough to know that this meant the older man was unhappy. Probably because Mr. Crane was being persnickety (a word Jack had learned from the man himself).
A persnickety Crane could mean a lot of things, but right now it probably meant he wasn't feeling too good. And from what the doctor had said, it would get worse before it got better.
As soon as the doctor had given them the go ahead, Randall had booked a nearby hotel room (as well as the rest of the rooms in that hallway) and sequestered Mr. Crane inside. The boss was only allowed to get up if it involved the bathroom. Randall even rationed his laptop time.
(If Jack thought that the other CPO was taking some satisfaction from being a complete dictator, and that the boss didn't have to play along but was doing so anyway, well, he kept that to himself.)
"I'm sure he's going to be fine. That's what the doctor said, yeah?" Jack patted Randall on the shoulder before getting up to walk Bear.
---
'The thing about going on-premises to deliver a solution,' Harold decided, 'Was that you always left with more problems than you had when you came in.'
The trip was only meant to be a quick one. Harold's presence was more of a nod to what might have happened, not because there was any need. But once there, it was impossible for him not to notice that they was no integrated national system for keeping track of health services.
He could set up the beginnings of it in the capital city, and send for reinforcements from IFT to continue once he'd laid down the groundwork, but even just this would take him a couple of weeks.
It was monsoon season, too. In a tropical country where some government buildings had no air conditioning; Harold worried for the welfare of his suits.
To let in the cool night air, he opened a window. Below him was a fountain that had long since stopped functioning, still waters reflecting the light from the window.
---
By the fifth day, even Jack was feeling the stress, all levity from the situation gone. Mr. Crane had gone from persnickety to snippy, then finally silent, but for a few groans of discomfort. It was terrifying. Between the three of them, he provided the most conversation. Mr. Crane would talk about anything and everything, managing to make things like Pi and hotels seem interesting.
Some days, Jack thought that he had missed a calling as a teacher.
Today, Jack just wished he'd get better.
Randall was starting looking a bit crazy around the eyes. He'd hardly left Mr. Crane's side, only doing so to go to the bathroom.
Even Bear wasn't immune to the atmosphere, spending most of his time at the foot of Mr. Crane's bed. Jack would take him to a nearby park to do his business and to stretch, but the dog would get antsy before long, eager to return to his master.
---
Eventually, Randall called for professional medical help. The best nurses and caregivers money could buy, and all the equipment they might think they might need. The hotel had allowed it, which Jack thought was surprising.
But maybe not.
It wasn't a big hotel, wasn't one of the international chains. The charmingly named Nesting Ground had simply contacted the owner and obtained his permission to turn the corner suit into a temporary hospital room.
Randall called the the nurses and such on the eighth day, and they didn't even make it to the ninth. Jack understood why. Even from outside the bedroom, in the suite's living room, he could hear the sounds of distress Mr. Crane made whenever the medical staff touched him. He could only imagine how much worse it was for Randall, who remained in the room as everything was done, and was in love with their charge besides.
By the end of the day, Randall had paid them in full, the whole two weeks, and told them not to come back. Before they left, he asked them to explain, in detail, what had to be done.
---
The bedroom had remained mostly silent after that. Having been informed of the sick person occupying the corner suite (and paying the hotel an exorbitant amount of money to do so), the kitchen staff began sending up trays of food for all of them, even Bear.
No doubt they were hoping for an equally exorbitant tip, but Jack thought that was nice of them nonetheless.
Jack's duties had basically been reduced to checking the perimeter (unobtrusively, as if he were merely stretching his legs), and taking care of Bear. Randall would periodically come out for a bite to eat with Jack, talk for a bit, but would return to Mr. Crane's side before long.
---
It was day seventeen when Mr. Crane was considered well enough for Bear and Jack's company. A smiling Randall exited the bedroom and told Jack to keep the boss company while he went downstairs to ask the kitchen staff for some eggs benedict.
Jack didn’t even know what that was, but he was happy to see that Mr. Crane was eating solid foods again. He was also happy to see Randall at ease for the first time in weeks. Smiling made him look way younger.
Mr. Crane looked better, too. He'd lost some weight, but he was definitely in better health. Jack knew because he had made the mistake of walking into the bedroom a few days ago, only to see Randall wiping down Mr. Crane's limp, almost lifeless form.
It had been jarring. The boss had been wearing a thin shirt, more than what the pirates had left him with, but Jack hadn't walked in without knocking again.
"It's good to have you back, Mr. Crane."
"It's good to be back, Mr. Salazar."
---
Nathan flew out to see Harold before he was completely better. Harold thought it was completely unnecessary, but he appreciated it all the same. And understood the impulse. Harold's perception of time and, well, everything had been compromised while he was sick, so it felt like he'd only seen Nathan days ago, not weeks. But Harold knew that such a long period of radio silence had worried his friend very much.
Nathan's presence, as well as the veritable army of IFT employees he'd brought, made short work of the system Harold was building. Before long, Harold was free to return to the United States, which he did. One day, he thought he might return with Mr. Randall and Mr. Salazar. To see some of the sights, absorb some of the culture. Not right now, but maybe someday.