Title: Hacked Hotshot
Fandom: XIII The Series
Prompt: Side Effects
Warnings: Someone pukes. Swearing.
Summary: They're still searching for the program, which means he doesn't get a break.
It was a good thing they were all ready in a bathroom. After Jones reported back, Dylan groaned and rushed over to the first stall he saw before throwing up the last and only things he had in his stomach, energy drink and snacks that he had downed quickly. With the bout of nausea gone for the moment, he yanked his head up and flushed before leaning against the wall. He jumped when she came back and touched his shoulder. Trying to act casual, he whispered, “The toilet and I are having a private moment. If you would like to come back.”
She carefully kept herself from reacting. “Come on, Dylan,” Jones said, “We need to get you back to the Center.” He groaned again and heaved himself up before rinsing his mouth out and walking behind her. He had troubles keeping up with her, waving into walls and dragging his feet, and was glad the woman chose the elevator instead of forcing him down the stairs. Leaning up against the inner wall, he focused on the slight spasms that were still spreading around his muscles. His eyes also felt out of focus, the light slightly too bright and vision blurring a bit on him. The car stopped and he reached out to pull himself out and follow.
Churning in his stomach returned when they hit outside as sunlight bounced off of every surface and reflected back to his eyes. They barely made it to her car with his vision dancing around. Dylan took up the entire backseat, using his outer shirt as a pillow and a cover to keep light out. Something was almost allowing him to go to sleep, until the car stopped and another voice joined in. “Maybe you should have headed to the hospital, Jones,” Ryan commented.
“The immediate danger's past. His system's gotta metabolize the rest and he could do that here anyway,” she dismissed, “We don't have time.”
The door was opened and a blast of cold air disturbed the occupant. He moaned, curling up and trying to get away. “Come on, Dylan,” Ryan urged.
“No,” he pouted.
“Dylan,” she said, exasperated. He ignored the two until the other door was opened, and he was dragged out into the freezing air.
“Fuck,” he shouted, jumping up and dropping the shirt he was using for protection. The combination of light and sound triggered the headache that had built up for the last few minutes. That reignited his nausea and he dropped on the sidewalk before emptying his stomach again. This was bile and acid, burning his throat as he coughed it up and splattered on the sidewalk. “Fuck you guys, seriously.”
“You're welcome for us saving your life,” Ryan said, dragging him up and getting him inside the building. He kept his mouth shut, a smart comment not the thing waiting to come out. They managed him up to the lab again and sat him down in front of the computer he was using before. Dylan wanted to curl up somewhere, hide away like he did the last time he got sick. Just him heavily dosed up with streaming videos.
“Dylan, we need to know where the program is,” she pushed.
It took effort to keep his stomach from pitching again. “Jones, I can barely think,” he informed, “I've got a headache trying to go for migraine status, my stomach's trying to empty non-existent food and my vision's too bright, hurts and shaky to stare at code. Instead of being on the computer, I want to nap under it.”
Ryan had left during his small tirade, and came back with the sound of a pop can opening announcing what he had. “Drink this,” he ordered.
Dylan hesitantly took the can and sipped some of the liquid. He grimaced, but recognized the flavor of ginger soda and kept it up. Half gone, he managed to find his previous work again, hidden so that it looked like he had deleted it when he was forced off. “The last few times the computer was used,” he divulged, “It was in France, and it seems like it's converging on Paris.”
“Are you sure?”
“He's still traveling, but more than five points are in places around the city. Nothing from the same area.”
“Let's get to France,” Jones said, “Gerhardt's gonna use it again and we need to stop him. Good job, Dylan.” Ryan clapped his shoulder before the two left for the country and making sure there was an agent watching over him. Setting up an alarm for the computer, the hacker moved aside chairs and laid down next to the desk, falling asleep by the computer.