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It started with a shiver in Blythe’s bones, followed by achy muscles. She’d ignored it all that day, thinking she was just exhausted from being outdoors and riding all day, but by 4 in the morning, she was certain this was no mere exhaustion.
She curled up into a ball on her side of the bed, buried under the duvet, a thick quilt, and one of Don’s old station hoodies, but it still felt like she was stuck in a snow blizzard, even as it was sweltering outdoors.
July in Nashville would do that to you.
But this wasn’t just the heat, no. Her head pounded with a dull, rhythmic ache, and her throat felt like she’d swallowed a handful of glass for good measure.
She began to untangle herself from her blanket burrito, wanting to go and grab another layer, when she felt the mattress beside her shift.
Crap, she’d woken her husband up.
Don, who was conditioned to wake up at the drop of a hat or the beep of a pager, rolled over, trying to work out where his wife was escaping to in the middle of the night. He reached out in the dark, surprised that his hand brushed over the sleeve of a hoodie.
“Blythe?” he murmured, his voice still thick was sleep, concerned when he felt a fine tremble around his grip. Wide awake almost instantly after that, he sat up and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, pulling back almost instantaneously.
“Bly, you’re burning up, Jesus,” he said. He should have checked in with Blythe when he got home, but she looked so peaceful asleep, he hadn’t wanted to awaken her. He should have realised something was up.
“M’cold,” she countered, flopping back down onto the bed, pulling the blankets higher. Even that action made her chest ache.
“You’ve got a fever, and I don’t think it’s a mild one either,” he said softly, pushing the covers off him. “Stay put. I’ll be back in just a second.”
She barely heard him as she rolled once more in the bed. Don headed off to the kitchen, and when he returned, he set the thermometer, water, and cold washcloth onto the bedside table.
“Baby, I’m just going to check how bad it is, alright,” he told her, pulling the blanket from her face, waiting for the thermometer to give a reading. 103.2.
“Okay, that settles it,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, grabbing his phone.
“What are you doing?” Blythe asked, noting her husband’s concern, and the time that was flashing red – 4:21 AM, “Don, you have a shift in three hours. You need to go to bed, I’ll move…”
“You’ll do no such thing,” he told her, “because in about three seconds, our son will pick up the phone and I won’t be needed in.”
“Don, no,” she protested weakly, a bout of coughing interrupting her. She curled inward again, clutching at her chest, gladly accepting the meds and water from her husband, “It’s just the flu. The city of Nashville needs you.”
Don looked back at her, his expression softening as he watched his wife finish half the glass and flop back onto her back.
“The city of Nashville has plenty of first responders, but Blythe Hart only has one husband, sweetheart. You’re my only priority,” he informed her, redialling his son, glad when the young man finally picked up.
“Hey, Dad, is everything alright? You need me at the station earlier?”
“Yeah, Ryan, listen, I’m going to need to get a day off tomorrow, and before you ask, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s your mum. I just want to make sure she’s fine.”
“Give mum my best – I’ll swing by after shift. And don’t worry about the 113, I’ll handle it.”
He hugged up, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand, turning his full attention back to Blythe.
“Don, seriously, you know I could get you ill…” she mumbled as Don helped her back up again, handing her the glass again, letting her drain it.
“Don’t worry about me, Blythe, don’t worry. Let me just worry about you,” he said, draping the cool, damp washcloth across her forehand, a small smile dancing on his lips as he heard Blythe let out a soft sigh of relief, her eyes fluttering shut.
“That’s the stuff, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah, much better, thank you.”
“I can see my hoodies are being utilised well too,” he chuckled – he thought Blythe must have let them gather dust in the basement.
“They’re very cosy,” she got out, cracking an eye open, “I’m sorry I’ve already ruined your day – I know you hate not being at work.”
“I hate you being left home alone and sick more,” he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her fever-flushed cheek, “and so there’s absolutely nowhere else I would rather be, okay.”
“Now, you go ahead and close your eyes, I’ll go ahead and make you some of that tea you like, with a bit of honey and lemon. How does that sound hun?”
“Heavenly,” she pointed out, “if I fall asleep… wake me, okay?”
“You know I will,” Don told her, humming gently as he cleared up everything he had brought into the room and went into the kitchen, brewing tea for Blythe, and coffee for himself – there was no chance he would be going back to bed, not when his body was already prepared to be up and about. He might as well just stay up and keep an eye on Blythe, lest she made a turn for the worse.
Ten minutes later, he walked back in, worried that Blythe hadn’t managed to fall asleep.
“Here you go,” he said, making himself comfortable beside her, quickly downing his coffee as she slowly sipped on her tea.
About half an hour later, Blythe was finally done with her cup, and she attempted to make herself comfortable again, snuggling back down, flashing a weak smile at Don.
“Don’t let me keep you up,” she asked him, but he just knowingly nodded, staring at her until she finally fell into her exhaustion.