Finding Jaime

Pete POV
Jaime said he wasn't hungry, so I didn't push him to join us at the table. He was tired and frustrated, but I could see his mind working faster than his body could. Sleep was still important. He could still make new connections that way and let his body catch up.

After dinner, I went into the living room to check on Jaime and see if he was awake. I didn't want him to sleep too much, or he wouldn't sleep tonight. Although I'm sure Anya wouldn't mind the company.

His cheeks were red when I went to check on him. I felt his forehead, and he groaned.

"Meag, grab me a thermometer," I called out.

"What's going on?" she asked as she came into the living room with the thermometer. 

"I think Jaime's getting sick," I said. "Pretty sure he has a fever."

"Oh, no. Poor guy," Meagan said. "He just can't catch a break."

"His injuries affected more than just what needs to  heal, but how he heals," I said. "And his immune system is still trying to figure out what the hell happened."

I put the thermometer in Jaime's ear and pressed the button. 102 degrees. I sighed. 

"I'm going to call the doctor. It's 102, so he's fighting something off. I'd like to avoid the hospital. Maybe the doctor can come by and check him out and give him a prescription," I said, pulling up the doctor's contact information. 

"Hey, Doc," I said as he answered the phone. "Pete Wentz here, Jaime's dad. Right. He's been doing alright, but he's got a fever, and I was wondering if you could swing by and check on him so we can hopefully avoid a visit to the hospital."

I listened, gave him the address, and returned to Jaime's side. His eyes were open now. 

"Hey," I said quietly. The last time he'd had a fever, lights and sounds bothered him. 

"Wha?" he mumbled, frowning. "I d-dun..." 

He started. 

"H-h-h-uh...ur...t," he stuttered. 

"What hurts, Jaime?" I asked.

"A-ah...awl," he said. 

"Everything?" I asked to clarify. He nodded. 

"You have a fever. You must have some sort of infection. I called Dr. Draper, and he's on his way. He's going to check you out so maybe we can avoid a visit to the hospital, okay? Mom's got a cool cloth I can put on your head. Okay?"

"Uh...kay," he mumbled, falling back to sleep. 

I looked at my son lying on the couch in the same position I had put him in when we came inside. Despite the work he was doing in physio, he still couldn't move a lot on his own. And he could barely tell us when he wasn't feeling well. In a lot of ways it was like having a 16-year-old toddler. 

A little while later, the doorbell rang. 

"Pete? The doctor's here. And so is Anya," Meagan said, coming into the living room where I was sitting beside Jaime and trying to keep him cool. 

"Jaime, Dr. Draper's here," I said. He opened his eyes just a little bit.

"Hey there, Jaime. You dad says you're not feeling so great," the doctor said, coming up to Jaime and sitting beside me on the coffee table. 

"H-h-ur...t," Jaime groaned.  "A-a-wl."

"He's been saying that everything hurts," I said. 

"Alright," the doctor said, taking out a thermometer and putting on his stethoscope.