"Sorry, I have a clingy and feverish assassin on my lap. I'll call you back when I've convinced him that a cold does not mean that he is dying."

The message ends as it always does. Sometimes I hit replay. Other times I wait in the still, and watch the dust chase the light near the window, long after the chime has ended.

I stared down at him for a second and then rolled my eyes towards the ceiling.

“Yeah,” I said, into the phone. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“But you promised.” My little sister’s voice came through the speaker, a high pitched whine.

“Yeah, I know. Things got a little complicated over here, though. I don’t know if I’ll be back in time for the party.”

“You said that you were going to come. You promised.”

I groaned, letting the noise whistle through my nose. “Yeah, sweetheart, but something came up--”

“It’s for your job?”

“Yeah, it’s--”

“I hate your job.” I could imagine Lexi’s face: her eyebrows drawn low on her forehead, defiantly, her chin jutting out, lips pulled tight, nose in need of a tissue. I imagined her arngrily wiping away a betraying tear and then planting her hand firmly on her hip, the other gripping the phone tightly.

I groaned again. I looked down at Claye and tried not to feel trapped.

“Look, I can’t talk right now, sweetheart.” I tried again.

“Why not?” Her voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Your job again? What do you even do all day?”

I grimaced. “Sorry, I can’t talk right now--”

“Why not?” She repeated.

Hades, she was starting to get on my nerves.

“I, uh, something came up. An emergency,”

“More important than me?”

I fought the urge to scream, swallowing down the sound. “No, sweetheart, but someone needs my help.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“Someone important, alright?”

“Whatever. You promised, I thought you kept your promises.”

I gritted my teeth. My hand wandered down to Claye’s forehead. I brushed my fingers over his clammy skin--he had stopped sweating long ago. His skin was hotter than ever, the fever was rising. I brushed my fingers along his cheek and elicited no response from his cloudy eyes.

Come on, Claye, I thought. You can’t die on me now.

“Sorry,” I snapped, not feeling sorry at all, “I have clingy, feverish assassin on my lap. I’ll call you back when I can convince him that he’s not going to die of a cold.”

It was a lie.

But I wished with all my heart it was true.

I hung up the phone before Lexi could answer.

“Claye?” I whispered, leaning over and speaking into his ear.

No response.

“Claye?”

His gaze wouldn’t meet mine, they pointed, rigidly at the sky.

“Claye?” I said louder, this time. No response.

It was a second before I noticed that the night had become eerily silent. His ragged breaths no longer filled the air.

My heart seized.

″Claye!”

There was no answer. I had expected none.

Tears wouldn’t come. I felt empty. I couldn’t bring myself to look in his eyes again.

Trembling hands grasped my phone. I dialed Lexi’s number. The ringtone sounded haunting in the empty air.

“Hello?” Lexi said. “Change your mind, did you?”

I shut my eyes and felt like breaking.

“Y-yeah,” I whispered.

“You’re coming?”

“I think I can make it,”

Tears came just then, streaming down my face, silently.

“Really?”

“Yeah, plans got canceled.”

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Blaire grabbed the phone, after three rings, which wasn’t easy with Akuma’s head on her lap and arms around her stomach. She was in a half-laying, half- leaning position that wasn’t very comfortable.

“Hello?” Blaire asked, trying to not to bother Akuma, who was drifting somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, thanks to his cold.

“Yo! Blaire Bear!” The female voice on the other line greeted her cheerfully.

“Oh, hey Jasmine!” Blaire smiled, glad to hear from her friend. Especially since Blaire had been worried about them every since they first went on the mission. “The boys with you?”

“Yes. And no.” Jasmine said and Blaire sighed, knowing exactly what had happened.

“You lost them, didn’t you?” Blaire knew Jasmine knew what face she was making. Her “I’m Not Mad, I’m Just Extremly Disappointed and Mildly Irritated with You,” Face. And yes, it was trademarked.

”...Kind of?”

Silence from Blaire.

“Okay! I lost them, but it was an accident! Connor said he had to use the bathroom and Brady told me he wanted to see the horse down the road. Connor never came back and I looked away for a moment and Brady was gone!” Jasmine whined. Blaire knew exactly where this was going.

“Sorry, Jaz. You know I can’t help you, I’m busy.” Blaire sighed, shifting, make Akuma mutter something and curl into a tighter ball. Blaire slowly stroked his hair like he was a child, despite him being eighteen years old.

“Ohhhh, that’s right!” Jasmine chuckled and Blaire could just HEAR the smug smirk in her voice. “You’re taking care of your BOYFRIEND today!”

Blaire flushed, thankful Akuma was too delirious to tell and that Jasmine was halfway across the country so she couldn’t see.

“Shut up! We’re not quite there yet!” Blaire snapped.

“C’mon, Blaire Bear! You’ve practically been dating for a week, just ADMIT IT!”

“I’m sorry! I currently have a clingy and feverish assassin on my lap. I’ll call you back when I’ve convinced him that having a cold does not mean he’s dying.” Blaire snapped and quickly hung up on Jasmine’s laughter, her face and ears burning.

She looked down at the sleeping boy and smiled. She leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes. Maybe, once he woke up and felt better they could talk about it. Boyfriend? That sounded nice, she thought as she slowly fell asleep to Akuma’s breathing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Few Days Later

“ACCCCHOO!” Blaire sneezed, wrapped in her blanket. She had caught Akuma’s cold and she was miserable. There was a knock and Blaire looked up to see Akuma standing in the doorway, a bowl in his hand.

“Hey, sicky.” He chuckled, walking into the room. “I come bearing the gift of chicken noodle,”

“Good. It’s your fault I’m like this.” Blaire grumbled, sniffing as Akuma put the bowl down on her nightstand.

“Yeah, yeah. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of you?” Akuma asked, sitting down next to her. Blaire wasn’t sure if it was her fever or not, but her face seemed to get warmer. She’d never actually asked about that after Jamine called her, but she guessed they were together now. She liked that.

“A pretty lame one.” Blaire joked, nudging him with her shoulder. Then she looked at the soup and coughed. “Also, um... Is that soup...?”

Akuma laughed, picking up the bowl and handing it to her. “Yes. It’s my cooking. Don’t act like you don’t know that I know you love it.” Blaire was already eating, but she just rolled her eyes.

Akuma stood up and kissed her forehead, making Blaire almost choke on her soup in surprise. He smiled at her.

“Get well soon, babe.” Then he walked out and shut the door. Blaire set down her soup bowl and fell on her bed, staring at the canopy. One thought filled her head.

”My boyfriend is too good to me. Holy SHIT.” Blaire slowly smiled. But, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Just leave me here to die,” he groaned. “Save yourself! It’s too late for me, but you can still make it! Go! I’ll always love you!”

And with that, Jonas collapsed on the couch, sprawling out with his feet – still wearing muddy boots – on the pillows, and his head and shoulders on my lap. He winked at me and started to laugh, but it quickly turned into a hacking cough that made my reluctant grin turn into a wince.

“That’s the germs telling you to stop being a drama queen,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “The germs don’t get a say. They’re the ones killing me. Killing me all the way to death.”

His nose was running terribly. I leaned over and grabbed the box of tissues, nestling it between my hip and the couch cushion, in easy reach for my overdramatic patient. “You know, for a man who’s gotten shot, what is it, five, six times - ”

“Seven,” he corrected.

“ – Seven times, you’d think you’d be able to handle being sick.”

“Sickness is different,” he argued, his voice gravelly like sandpaper from all the coughing. “I can’t take out germs with a gun.” He sounded like he was pouting. I found myself wondering, not for the first time, why I put up with him. Oh, right, because you’re married to the idiot, I reminded myself, glancing at the gold band on my finger – a new addition only of the last two months.

Suddenly my cellphone, still in my back pocket, buzzed angrily. Someone was calling me. Sighing, I maneuvered so that I could get my hand around Jonas and to the phone. He groaned as I jostled him. “Shut up,” I said, lightly slapping him with my other hand. As I did so, I realized he was burning up, and felt a touch of guilt; maybe I should take him a little more seriously.

“This is how I die,” he moaned now, still staring at me with his big, dark eyes. “All those bullets, all the sketchy neighborhoods, all the dangerous clients, but noooo, this is how I go out! Not with a bang, but with a fever.”

“Shh,” I scolded him as I pulled out the phone. “It’s my mother.”

“That’s even worse. She thinks I’m an accountant,” he said grumpily. “I’m not an accountant.”

“I know you’re not. No accountant gets shot seven times and only goes to the hospital for three of those incidents. For that matter, no one sane does that,” I said, and then answered the call with a cheery, “Hi Mom! What’s up?”

“Hi, honey! I was just calling to see if you’re still coming tonight?”

Oh shit. I’d completely forgotten that Jonas and I were supposed to go out to dinner with my parents tonight. My dad had just gotten promoted, and it was a big deal. This dinner was for us and several of their closest friends. It meant the world to him. But in all the chaos of Jonas stumbling in an hour earlier from his last assignment coughing and sniffling, and promptly playing the role of world’s biggest drama queen, I’d completely forgotten.

I looked down at Jonas. This close to the phone, he could hear what my mom had said. Coughing violently again, he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Mom, I don’t think we can make it,” I said. “We feel terrible about bailing, but Jonas is sick - ”

“Dying,” he interrupted.

“ – pretty sick, actually, so we’d better miss out tonight,” I finished, glaring at Jonas. “Think he might’ve picked it up at work.”

“At work? He’s an accountant, for Christ’s sake, how sick can they be in the office? Can’t he just take some meds and suck it up?”

Jonas raised his eyebrows. “Still not an accountant, and I deal with more than she ever knows,” he said, his rough voice managing to sound bitter. “Seven bullet wounds! Not to mention the - ”

I ignored his protests but all the same, looked him over. He really did look bad. He’d be fine when all was said and done, but right now, well, this was bad. He was burning up, his voice was about six octaves deeper than usual, and he was constantly either blowing his nose or coughing. I tried to imagine bringing him to a formal dinner in this condition. Jonas was a force to be reckoned with when he was perfectly healthy. When sick? Forget it.

“Sorry, Mom,” I said firmly. “I don’t think we can make it. We’ll make it up to you soon. Maybe we can do a dinner next week?”

“Leah, what the hell?” She was flying into a rage. I braced myself. My mom had always had a short temper. “You know how important this to your father, and to me, but you’re choosing that accountant over your own family? I can’t believe you would - ”

“That man is my husband,” I said coolly, trying to keep calm. I was getting more frustrated by the second. Why, God, must I have to deal with Jonas being sick and my mother being, well, my mother, at the same time? What had I done to deserve this? This combination was quite possibly a circle of hell.

“I know he is, but even that is a decision I doubt! You know your father and I thought you could have done much better -”

Jonas, in my lap, snorted; it turned into a cough. “I see the light at the end of the tunnel,” he moaned. “But at least your parents won’t be there.”

“Look, Mom, that’s not even the matter at hand right now. The fact is, Jonas is very sick, and tonight just won’t - ”

“I can’t believe you, Leah! Such a disappointment to us. And now this accountant is getting in the way and encouraging this behavior - ”

“Still not an accountant,” Jonas interjected.

“ – absolutely ridiculous, we will have a serious talk about this, young lady - ”

Jonas grabbed my free hand in his and held it to his scorching, sweaty forehead. “Take care of me in my last hours on this earth,” he groaned, managing to wink at me before once again grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose, producing a noise not unlike an elephant.

“Was that him? He’s right there? Well, you should tell him that the two of you are unbelievable, and your father and I - ”

I couldn’t take it anymore. Between the screaming mother on the phone and the needy husband laying on me, I snapped. “Sorry, I have a clingy and feverish assassin on my lap. I’ll call you back when I’ve convinced him that a cold does not mean that he is dying,” I said sharply, and hung up.

After that outburst, Jonas and I sat in silence; he’d even ceased his sniffling. Finally, he reached up and stroked my face. “So, uh. Hell of a way to tell your mom what I really do for a living.”

I blushed. “I could’ve told her in worse ways.”

We pondered again, then he laughed. It turned into another long-winded cough; I patiently waited. When he was done, he choked out, “No, not really.”

I laughed too. “Okay, maybe not. But at least you don’t have to say you’re an accountant anymore.”

“A small victory emerges from being on my deathbed. Take that, germs.”

“Right, but like I told her, you’re not dying,” I corrected.

“I don’t know. I definitely feel closer to my life flashing before my eyes than I ever have after being shot any of the seven times.”

“I’ve never heard of an assassin dying from a bad cold,” I said.

“Ah, well, if we do our job right, you don’t hear about us much at all,” he said, smiling.

“I wish I’d never heard from you at all sometimes,” I told him.

“Nah, you don’t wish that. You love me,” he corrected. Then he promptly rolled off the couch, laying dramatically on the floor with a massive groan. “Now come on, save me, I’m dying. Save me from this illness that ails me and drains my life force, or else I will move on from this world.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re obnoxious when you’re healthy, but when you’re sick, you’re unbearable, you know that?”

Still facedown on the floor, he waved his hand dismissively. “Your mom’s said that for years, what else is new? Maybe if she knows I kill people for a living she’ll tread more carefully.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” I said flatly, knowing it was unlikely. “I’ll go get meds and a cool washcloth for you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he called from the floor. I smiled to myself and began walking to the bathroom. Suddenly, there was a loud crash, and I felt something fly past me, within inches of hitting me. I screamed and threw myself down, frantically looking around to see that a large rock had been thrown through our front window and landed just a foot away from me.

I heard gunshots; I realized that someone was shooting through the shattered window. Bullets danced overhead as I crawled along the floor and tucked myself behind a chair, cringing. Where was Jonas? If he was still laying there, he could be hit, and sure, he’d taken seven bullets, but not any while he was so exposed –

Suddenly, there he was. He was upright, still looking feverish and sweaty but much stronger, his eyes intense, grasping his favorite pistol in his hands. I watched as he positioned himself behind a wall near the window and shot quickly several times, then ducked back, then shot again.

Outside I heard a thump, and the firing ceased. Jonas had hit whoever was shooting at us. Not a surprise; he was the best shot I’d ever known. He went to look at the window, clearly saw something he was satisfied with, and nodded, pleased.

He turned back to me, still holding his pistol but directing it downwards, away from me. “Are you alright?” he asked urgently, his voice still raw and gravelly.

“I’m okay,” I said. “But – you – I thought you were on your deathbed. I thought you were dying.” My words were getting less shaky as I went along, more teasing. “ You said that it worse than all seven shots you’ve been hit with. You said you were going into the light.”

He smiled as he came over and sat beside me. “I also said that I can’t take out germs with a gun,” he said. “That guy, I could take out with a gun.”

“Uh-huh. Well, at least we know you can’t be that sick - ”

Jonas quickly slid down the wall, moving himself so that he was again laying with his head in my lap. I rolled my eyes, knowing what was coming.

“No, no, this clingy and feverish assassin is dying,” he said dramatically, his dark eyes twinkling with laughter. “Convince me otherwise.”