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boysbellyrubs · 3 days

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'Fine This Morning'

Another detective fic is here!! This time I was lightly inspired by a prompt of a character feeling fine in the morning and suddenly coming down with something. it's semi-long, so I hope you enjoy :))

Jack laid his jacket over his chair, placed his coffee on the desk and sat across from Harry.

“Morning.” It was barely morning anymore, but, force of habit.

Harry looked up from his desk, “Good morning. Where have you been?” He sat back from his work, folding his arms to give Jack a funny look.

“The morgue,” He pulled out a pen, clicking the end a few times before writing a quick reminder to write up the findings from said morgue trip. Jack took a sip of coffee, “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing, nothing. Thought you’d be somewhere more interesting.” Harry slumped back into his seat. Jack could see he was just pretending to write, his pen hovering just above the paper. Jack chuckled,

“Looking for gossip?” He asked. Harry’s cheeks reddened at being caught. He immediately got back into his work, hunching over to block his face. Jack really laughed now, “Don’t go all shy on me.” He joked, now leaning forward to get his own work done.

While they worked, all types of people filed into the department. Jack couldn’t help but overhear a family that had lost their young boy over the weekend, desperately asking for some help. He looked up, noticing the mother crying and the father absolutely ripping into one of the younger detectives. It was causing a bit of a ruckus. He looked over to Harry, giving him a nod.

Walking over to the couple, the mother noticed their approach. She latched onto Jack, “Please, sir, can you help us?” She shook him about, surprisingly strong. It left him feeling a little unbalanced. She cried out again. Jack put his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her off him.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but you need to calm down. You too, sir.” The father turned to face him, anger painted across his features. He looked down at Harry then to Jack,

“You’re detectives aren’t you? Can’t you help us?” He jabbed a finger at Harry’s chest. Jack stepped in front to avoid further confrontation. The couple noticed his stern expression and seemed to back off, remembering just who they were talking to.

Jack took a step back, “Now, if we can all calm down-”

“Calm down?!” The father was riled again, “Just who do you think you are? We lost our son and no one is helping us.” He took a step at Jack. Suddenly, Jack felt a bit claustrophobic. He had no idea what this man could do, and with his grief and anger, he figured it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Why do you need detectives?” Harry asked.

A moment of indecision came across the man’s face. His eyes bore into Jack’s and moved to Harry, seemingly debating whether or not to back down. Jack tried to keep his back straight and his feet planted. The man stepped back and Jack felt a weight come off his chest. A shallow breath fell from his mouth. The father held onto his wife, giving their attention to Harry.

“We think it was murder. He always hung around a bad crowd, we think one of them killed him.” Names were exchanged, and Harry took them over to his desk. Jack watched as they left, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t understand why that moment had caused such panic in him. His hands were clammy and his head was unsteady.

Jack trudged back to his desk. Falling into his chair, he pushed his hair back and shut his eyes. He could vaguely make out the conversation across from him, but he didn’t really care. The couple were probably just paranoid. It wasn’t a very nice thing to think, but with how he was feeling, he didn’t want to do nice. He planted his elbow on the desk, looking down at the report he was nearly finished with before the interruption. With a final few sentences, he signed off on it and filed it away with the rest of the case reports.

Without a word, he waved the file to Lawrence and left to put it in storage. The case was completely solved, with a simple explanation of drug overdose on the victim. He was walking back to his desk when a wave of vertigo hit him. Without intending to, he caught himself heavily with the wall. His eyes were clamped shut. Jack tried to breathe.

“Hey, Woods. Too hard on the booze last night?” Detective Watson strolled past, her own case file in hand. She nudged him in the arm.

Jack looked at her. She didn’t even seem to notice his distress, “Yeah, you could say that.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply and kept walking. Every step he took shook up his brain. Jack felt increasingly sick the closer he got to his desk. The couple were still there, but looked to be successfully calmed. Harry gave him a quick glance before he finished up his conversation with the couple. They thanked him profusely, but as they were leaving, gave Jack a glare. He didn’t care. He wasn’t here to please everyone.

“I told them I’d look at the file but I don’t think I’m going to find anything. Sounds like the kid was just unlucky,” Harry stuck a note on his computer screen, probably their phone number, and looked back at Jack.

Harry had just opened his mouth to say something more when the Chief came over to their desk. He had a thundercloud above his head.

“You two, we got an urgent case downtown. Just got the call, it’s fresh. You got it?” With the Chief glaring at them, Jack and Harry collected their things and set off. They took Jack’s car and got to the scene around ten minutes later. They were met with the usual hubbub as they stepped out of the car. Jack swore he felt his feet skid on the concrete, but they were perfectly stationary. He ignored it, flashing his badge to the police officers in front of the yellow tape. The body was lying face up in the middle of the footpath, eyes wide. There was an obvious stab wound in his stomach.

Harry crouched down, “Well, at least we know how they died.” He did a quick survey of the area around the body, but found no weapon.

Jack stood back, the sight getting to him. He stepped around the body and looked into the bushes and rubbish bins. No weapon there either. He tried to keep his head and body moving together to avoid any more vertigo, which probably made him look like a robot. With Harry covering the immediate area, Jack set off to go take a look around some of the alleys.

Out of sight from everyone, he allowed himself a few moments to breathe. Everything was just getting worse as time passed. His hands were perpetually sweating, his head was pounding and every little movement made the world violently tilt, and to make everything just a little worse, he was beginning to feel nauseated. He was feeling fine that morning. No headache, no dizziness, no nothing. After the incident with that couple, everything just went downhill.

He doubted that they had passed something onto him. No sickness would ever work that quickly. Jack found himself lost in thought when a scrape of a boot caught his attention. Suddenly, his brain was on overdrive and he carefully slid his gun out of its holster, bringing it up in front of him. He took quiet steps, calculating where the noise had come from. The obvious guess was from behind the big dumpster so he rounded his gun past there first. No one.

He kept moving further down the alley when the noise happened again. But from right behind him. Jack spun, assaulted by vertigo, but he kept his cool. In front of him was a young man, around mid-20s with a knife gripped tightly in his left hand.

“Drop the knife.” Jack said plainly. No use in yelling just yet.

The man’s body stuttered a bit. Like he was fighting with some invisible force that told him to put the knife down. He readjusted his grip on the weapon, “And what if I don’t?” He taunted, taking a step towards Jack.

“I’ll shoot you down. Then you’d go straight into a jail cell. You wouldn’t want that,” Jack tried to keep his words strong. He still hadn’t recovered from the spin earlier. He desperately tried to keep his arms out and stable, “Put it down.” He emphasised.

There was about five seconds of nothing, and then the man lunged forward with the knife. He was sloppy and Jack managed to dodge him. He went flying past him, so Jack turned around and shot him twice in the leg, enough to make him drop and cry out. He ran over to him, holding the gun now at his head, “What did I say? Now sit still while the others come.”

Jack stood back, knowing the perp wouldn’t get anywhere. He stumbled back into the dumpster, his back roughly smacking into the cold metal. He shivered. Now with the adrenaline slowly leaving his body, he felt every ounce of illness and symptom like never before. He put his hand to his head, stifling back a groan as that little movement caused a fresh wave of nausea to splash against his insides.

He heard rather than saw other police officers entering the alley, all with their own guns raised.

“Over here,” Jack mumbled, vaguely pointing to the man. He heard the thump of boots run past him and then the jingle of handcuffs.

Jack had to move. The smell of rubbish wafting up from the bin was making everything worse. With all the strength he had left, he exited the alley, squinting at the burn of the setting sun. Thank god his day was nearly over, he desperately needed to puke and preferably in his own home. The suspect was kicking and screaming as he got walked out to the ambulance, blood steadily dripping down from his right leg. He gave Jack a beady eyed glare, spitting at his feet. Jack was used to it.

Detective Lawrence came up behind him, patting him on the shoulder. It caused Jack’s centre of gravity to shift, “Good one, Woods. How’d ya know he was back there?”

“Lucky guess.” He muttered. Jack politely shook off Harry’s hand, stumbling his way over to the car. He would deal with the rest of this bullshit tomorrow. He was about five seconds away from either passing out or vomiting.

Thankfully, he was somehow able to hold it all down for him to get back to the station, gather his things, say goodbye to Harry and drive home. Now that he was home though, the feeling that he felt after shooting the man in the alley was back but increased by tenfold. Every little movement caused a sickly burp to shoot up his throat, and his head to quite literally spin. He hobbled over to his bathroom, hand running along the wall, and practically fell in front of his toilet.

He spat thick saliva, “Ohh, god.” He moaned out. This was the worst thing he had ever felt in a while. His belly angrily whined at him, forcing a strained hiccup and a burp to come tumbling out of his mouth. He just needed to puke, then he would be fine. Everything was curdled in his stomach. Jack spit again, the saliva dangling off his lips.

He breathed deep through his nose, burps filtering up through his throat. Before he could even get a chance to realise what was happening, a gag tore its way up his throat and out came a thick wave of vomit. He retched again, head spinning. He very quickly realised he was going to fall over and plonked his hands heavily onto the tile. With his body stable, his belly had free rein to do whatever it needed and his cheeks puffed up to spew out another mouthful of vomit.

Jack coughed on that one, groaning as he was given absolutely no time to breathe as another gag brought another wave. His stomach contracted and heaved.

“Fuck m’ life,” He groaned, “Jesus.” His words slurred together much like the mess in his belly. Jack felt like actual garbage. He burped again and it stung his throat. However, he felt like he wasn’t about to puke again, so he gathered all of his strength and sat back from the toilet. All he wanted was his bed and sleep, just to forget about the agony of the day. His stomach was aching, and his head was reeling, nothing seemed to want to stay still when he looked at it. He moaned again, wondering how the hell he was going to actually get into bed.

With a deep breath, he pushed himself off the floor and clung tightly onto the bathroom sink. He stared at his reflection, disgusted by the pale cheeks and dark circles. Jack splashed some water onto his face, swishing some around his mouth for good measure, and made the journey to his room. Finally getting into bed felt heavenly. He simply laid on his side, breathing softly and curling around a pillow.

The day played through his mind like a DVD. The couple, the storage room, the crime scene, the man with the knife. And the fact that he had somehow gotten sick between it all. His morning was normal, his routine had no deviations. What kind of bug from Hell had he caught? It made his head spin thinking about it. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, whining a bit. He felt his body relax deeper and sleep slowly sunk her claws into him. His phone was on his bedside table, ready to call in sick tomorrow.

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#quite proud of this one ngl #jack #harry #oc's #emeto #stomach ache #belly kink #stomach flu #emetophilia #vomiting #dizziness #burping #sickfic

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