Title: Reminding

Author: tarotgal

Fandom: Time Trax

Rating: G

Disclaimer: I don't own the concept or the characters, and certainly don't get any money for this. They're owned by... someone else. Possibly Harve Bennett... or possibly Lorimar Telepictures and Warner Brothers. I really don't know who owns the rights right now. But they're so not mine and I'm getting no money for this, I know that much.

Summary: While doing his normal job of retrieval, Darien picks up a bit of a cold and realizes he's going to be stuck with it a lot longer than he intended.

Note: This was Friday Fic #10

Reminding

     His feet hit the cold, wet pavement hard with each stride. His pace was fast, and his breathing and heartbeat even faster. The darkness hid his pursuit of the suspect down the street and into the alley. But even though the man could run faster than the normal present day man, Darien wasn't a star athlete and top officer for nothing. He overtook the man, grabbed him, and threw him down on the wet concrete.

     Breathing heavily, he pressed his credit card into the man's hand. There was a beep as the man's identity was confirmed. Leaning over the man, who looked scruffy and worried in a rumpled suit, Darien smiled. The rain came down on top of them, dripping from his hair and hitting his back. "Mr. Robert Icouver. You are being pursued because of prior convictions for embezzlement, three separate drug charges, and murder."

     "I didn't do anything!" the man protested, trying to push Darien off. But Darien held the man down. "Check my record. It's spotless."

Darien shook his head. "In this time, maybe, but not in the future. Added on that are escape from prison and resisting arrest tonight."

The man stopped struggling instantly, and his cold eyes grew wide with understanding. "I knew you looked familiar. I've heard stories about you."

Darien pocketed his credit card and raised his car alarm, pointing it at the fugitive beneath him. "The stories are all true. You can ask about me when you get back." He hit a button and the man glowed red. Darien scrambled off him as a high pitched tone hit his ears. The man's body exploded in a flash of light, and vanished once the light had died away.

Darien sighed and tucked his car alarm away as well. Still a little winded, but quite relieved for his work to be done for the night, he rose. "Place an ad for pick-up, Selma," he said, watching the spot where the man had disappeared as rain pelted down upon it. He coughed harshly into his shoulder and sniffed a few times.

     "Yes, Captain Lambert," came the soft, soothing voice from his pocket. "And may I make a suggestion, Captain?" Selma inquired ever so politely as usual.

     "Go ahead," he said, turning and walking, a bit hunched over, back to where he'd left his rental car as the rain continued to pour down.

     "You might want to head back to the motel immediately before your ailment worsens from the cold rain. I was able to sense the temperature of it when you had me out just a moment ago, and I believe it's to cause for your slightly lowered body temperature."

Darien rolled his eyes, glad she wasn't in visual mode and couldn't see him do that. "I'm on my way," he answered. Getting back to his motel room certainly sounded like a fine idea.

*

     "Here's what I don't understand," Darien said, once he'd closed the door to his motel room behind him and doubled checked that it was locked securely. "Why does my head hurt so much if it's just a cold?"

     "Would you like me to put on a visual presentation about sinus pressure and the common cold?"

Darien rolled his eyes again and coughed into a fist. Then he slipped off his jacket and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. He shivered in the cold motel room, and thought about putting the jacket back on again, but the idea of crawling into bed to get warm was admittedly more appealing. He was supposed to stay in Boston until he tracked down Icouver's future partner in crime, but he doubted very much he'd get any work done on the case until he got dry and warm and very much over his head cold. Preferably, that would be early tomorrow.

     "You need to change into dry clothes," Selma advised. He rolled his eyes again. "Captain, you are ill. You must take care of yourself or you will be unable to do your job."

     "It's just a head cold, Selma," he said with a shrug, though already wiggling out of his shirt and jeans. He scrubbed the back of his hand against his nose and then ran his hand through his dark brown hair, made darker by the rain. "I'll be all right. Though I'll be a lot better if you can just give me a map to the nearest pharmacy that carries Rhyhipnitol."

     There was a reminding sort of beep from his pocket, but he ignored it for the moment. An unfamiliar sensation was building in his nose. He'd sneezed only a few times in his life, but it seemed that this was going to be a new one of those times. His nose twitched and he put his hand against the wall to steady himself. If he recalled correctly, sneezing wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. His breathing raced away from his control, and his whole body tensed and readied itself. "ahhh-HIHSHHH!" He bent forward at the waist from the force of it. He straightened, rubbing the back of his hand against his nose again. The next beep in his pocket was not a welcoming one. He sighed... and sniffled. "Yes, yes, visual mode of course."

     The beautiful woman appeared before him, long black skirt, pleated white blouse, and her reddish brown hair pulled up into a neat bun. Just as he'd drawn her from the photo. He looked back at her, waiting. "Map, Selma?"

     She shook her head, hands folded neatly at her waist. "I am sorry, Captain. But the drug Rhyhipnitol has not yet been created."

     He pulled off his undershirt and slipped on grey sweats and his grey Westpoint sweatshirt. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I know it's primitive here, but surely they've got some sort of cure for the common cold. Unless my illness is fooling around with my memory, Rhyhipnitol was the first, right?"

Selma flickered as she nodded to confirm this. "Yes, Captain. But the medical experts of this century have not yet managed to synthesize it. They are still finding difficulty in dealing with all of the different forms of the virus."

Darien sat down on the edge of the bed, giving a bit of a shiver and rubbing his hand against his still pounding forehead. "Wait. You're telling me that there is no cure for this right now?"

     She seemed reluctant to give him such bad news, but nodded just the same.

     Looking rather concerned now, "You're telling me that I'm actually going to spend the next couple of days with an actual head cold?"

Selma flickered again. "Actually, Captain, the documented duration of a cold in this time period is five to seven days--"

     "A week?" he exclaimed angrily. The yelling did not do much for his throat, and he coughed again, loud and hard. "You're telling me it's possible I will be sick like this for an entire week?"

     "Yes, Captain." She nodded again.

     He groaned and shivered, then crossed his arms against his chest. Now that he realized he was stuck feeling like this, he was starting to notice the symptoms much more. His head not only ached but pounded with each movement and each breath. His nose felt stuffed and he could barely breathe through one side of it. His throat was raw, and the need to cough was upon him constantly. Almost as frequent was the feeling of needing to sneeze. He couldn't even remember a time when he'd sneezed more than once in a day. In fact, he couldn't remember sneezing more than once in five years. And now, this would be twice in five minutes. "hahSHIHH!" He snapped forward again, unable to control the movement of his body.

Selma flickered almost as though surprised.

     "I must look pretty bad doing that," said Darien, rubbing his hand against his nose as he recovered from the sneezes.

     "You do not look quite yourself," she said tactfully. "I do not believe I have ever witnessed you sneezing before."

Darien nodded. He was sure he hadn't sneezed since arriving in the 20^th century. "Well, something tells me that certainly will not be the last time." He sniffed hard, realizing his nose was starting to get so stuffed he couldn't breathe well out of it at all. "Are there any medicines at all that exist now that can help?" he asked. "I mean, what do people now take when they catch colds?"

Selma wore a thoughtful expression. "Scanning... ah, yes," she flashed him a reassuring smile, but it was the sort of smile that made Darien a bit uneasy. "There are a number of over the counter medicines that claim to relieve the symptoms of a cold fairly well. I have a number of commercials and ad campaigns on file for such products on file. Would you like me to play a selection of the most well rated ones for you?"

Darien looked at her skeptically. "Do any of them actually work?"

     "Compared to what you are used to?" Darien nodded. "Not very well, no."

Darien groaned and lay back against the bed. It bounced him up and down for a few seconds.

     "But they do seem to decrease the severity of the symptoms. And they're located in practically any grocery without needing a prescription."

     He coughed again, not bothering to cover his mouth this time. It wasn't as though Selma could catch anything from him, and he was sure this was going to be a very long week of suffering. "And why did you fail to inform me of them when I was just out and able to pick them up?"

     She looked at him straight on, and said pointedly. "You did not ask."

     He groaned and closed his eyes. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that." His nose twitched again, and both his head and feet came off the bed as he sneezed. "ahhSHHH! hahSCHHH!" He coughed from congestion and made a face as he rolled over onto his side. "Rebide be dot to sdeeze while od by back agaid," he snuffled. He pulled a hand beneath his sleeve and wiped his face with the cuff of the sweatshirt. Then Darien pulled the blanket he was lying on top of over him from behind, hugging it against his chest as he continued to sniffle. He cleared his throat and looked up at her, trying to think of something he could have her do to take his mind off how sick he was feeling.

     "I could pick up any of the local broadcast stations, or replay the latest basketball game," she offered. They had worked together so long that she seemed to be able to read his mind better than he could. Though that wasn't saying much as she had been programmed to serve him. "Perhaps I could display the file on Mr. Icouver's partner, Mr. Lewis? It's not as detailed as usual, but it could provide further insight."

Darien was watching her with glazed eyes. Her voice was always so soft and kind, exactly as he had pictured his mother sounding. And, yet, her eternal cheerfulness was starting to get annoying. Nothing she had suggested made him feel any better. He rolled over onto his back with a sigh and a cough to contemplate his situation. What he really wanted was to be back in a time where there was a cure for the common cold, or at least back in his own bed. His nose twitched, and his breath caught.

     "Captain Lambert, are you going to sneeze again?" she asked hastily, starting to recognize the look on his face just before he needed to sneeze.

     His jaw dropped uncontrollably, as though in a yawn. He nodded slowly, unable to answer.

     "Then you wished to be reminded to roll back onto your side."

     Realizing that he had, in fact, not wanted to sneeze on his back again for the force was too painful in the way it jerked his body and the spray against his face and body had been uncomfortable, he gladly rolled back onto his side. "hah-EHShhhh! ahhhShhhh! ahhhSHHHH!" he sneezed without restraint, shaking a bit but controlling himself a little better. He sniffed a few times and rubbed his nose into his sleeve. "I think I'm starting to get the hang of this," he said with a weak smile. Darien sighed again, closing his eyes.

     "Might I suggest retrieving the tissue box from the bathroom?" said Selma in her most helpful voice.

     His eyes still closed, his brow furrowed and eyes shut tighter. "Don't want to get up," he said. He turned his head into the pillow and coughed again. "Actually, I don't even want to move. I just want to sleep. Selma, could you get the lights?"

     All the lights in the motel room, which equated to two on either side of the bed and one in the bathroom area, went out. There was still a bright glow beside the bed as Selma stood there, watching Darien snuggle into the unfamiliar blankets. He looked uncomfortable, as the blanket was thin and rough and his runny nose kept requiring him to sniff. Still he tried to forget his cold by falling asleep. "Captain Lambert?" she said softly, hesitantly.

     He sighed, which caused him to cough. "Yes, Selma?" He opened one eye to look up at her.

     "Had you forgotten to end visual mode? I do require a few hours tonight to recharge." Darien coughed and winced at the pain in his throat the coughing had caused. "I thought I might need to remind you."

     "You do remind me," he said softly. Then, with another cough, he pushed himself up on an elbow to get a better look at her. "All my life I've been a student of history. Finding out about the people and places I'd never known. Learning the politics and maneuvers of what was once the United States. Loving the lifestyle, the culture. Wanting desperately to experience it. And for the first time since I traveled back here to get to see it firsthand, I really miss life in the 22^nd century. That's what you remind me of." He quickly turned his head and braced himself for the sneeze he felt was coming. "ehhh... hah-SHUHH! Sniff!" He was indeed getting better at sneezing. His body did not jerk helplessly even half as much as it had at first, which was a somewhat reassuring thought. He rubbed his cuff against his nose, and then looked back at Selma. "I feel awful, and I could really use the company and a familiar face. Could you stay in visual mode until after I fall asleep? Then you can recharge all you need to."

Selma nodded, looking down at him sympathetically. "I believe I could, Captain. And you should lie down and get some rest before your cold gets any worse."

     "Worse?" he said, looking worried as he lowered himself down against the bed again. He pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. "You mean this could actually get... worse? ahhhSHHHH! hahSCHHH!" He ran a hand through his waves of dark brown hair and rested his head on the pillow.

     "Goodnight, Captain Lambert," Selma whispered as he started to fall asleep. He gave her a smile before he drifted off. She stayed in visual mode for a little while longer, until she could tell by the sound of his breathing and his heart rate that he was indeed asleep. He was running a mild fever and looked worse than she could remember seeing him, even that time half a year ago when he had a concussion and passed out in the middle of a job... or when he broke his leg trying to rescue the young boy in the forest... or when he was bombarded by delta waves and traveled through time. Selma bent forward at the waist, touching her lips upon his forehead. She couldn't feel him, and he couldn't feel her, but it seemed the right thing to do just now. "Sweet dreams, Captain," she whispered, before slipping silently into standby mode, taking her comforting glow from the room.