Hugs for the Sick
Frank “Doc” DuFresne x Reader
Content: Gender-Neutral Reader, Comfort, Care, Fluff, Nonsexual, Strong language, Fever-delirious reader
You’ve come down with some kind of illness, and Doc’s here to nurse you back to health. Spoiler alert: You survive.
The whole thing took you completely by surprise.
Yesterday you felt perfectly fine. You had “patrol,” made Caboose PB&J for lunch, took part in a small firefight with the Reds. At the closest approximation of 3AM on a planet that experienced eternal daylight, you and Tucker sipped expired fruit juice on the battlements together in the hopes of somehow getting drunk, and had another round of bullshit!philosophy hour while Church and Caboose took their turn sleeping. He made up something at one point that sounded vaguely nihilistic, to try and convince you to make out with him. You laughed harder at him than you had at anything in years.
The next morning though, you felt like absolute shit.
“I called your boyfriend,” Church said pitilessly. He was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.
“No!” You groaned. You were sitting up in your cot, dazed and bleary-eyed, with blankets pooled around your lap. Not too dazed however to forget that getting Doc involved could possibly kill you. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, here's the thing: I know he's utterly useless and infuriating, but I also know I'm sure as hell not nursing you back to health.”
“Yeah, fffffuuuuck that!” Tucker loudly agreed from the other room. The fickle, traitorous bastard.
“You don't even have to take care of me, though!” You pleaded. “I'm, I'm not even that bad! You can just... just have Caboose bring me a glass of water every hour, or something! I'll get plenty of rest, and I'll be all better in no time! No nursing necessary.”
Church forced out a brisk, humorless “ha.” Then, “Yeah no. Don't think so.”
You glowered at him, and flopped back down onto your cot with a huff. Instantly, your head swam from the quick movement, and you groaned pitifully.
“He should be here soon.”
You groaned again—louder this time—and rolled over to face away from Church and the doorway he stood in.
After a minute, you heard him step away from the doorway and leave. You kept your eyes trained on the featureless wall across from you as a muffled conversation started up in a nearby room.
You were too busy frowning, that you didn't notice yourself nod off.
You came to with a start. Strangely cold, and with no concept of time.
You'd managed to kick the blanket off of your cot while you were asleep. You tried to sit up and reclaim it, but a fit of dizziness forced you back onto your pillow.
Your head was fuzzy—like it was stuffed full of cotton. Thinking felt like slogging through water.
You rolled onto your stomach and tucked your arms under your body in the hopes that would warm you up some. After a few minutes, you drifted off again.
Your brain slowly swam back into consciousness along with the room around you. It was fuzzy at the edges, and it took you several seconds of confusion to recognize it as your own. The world felt strange—you felt strange. For a minute, you thought you could see a figure milling about in the doorway.
“Keep your distance, Caboose.”
You heard Church's stern voice coming from the other room. It sounded muffled and warped, like you were hearing it from underwater.
“You hear me? One sick idiot's enough. I don't wanna have to deal with two.”
You missed Caboose's response as you sank back into a warm, murky sleep.
At some point during that third nap, you had a fever dream. Over a dozen tiny, purple Churches climbed in through your window (even though your room had no windows, and was also underground). They cackled maniacally in concert, lifted you out of your bed, and attempted to carry you out the window. You tried to fight them, but you felt too weak and could hardly move.
When you woke up, Doc was picking your blanket up off the floor.
“... Frank?”
“Hi, sweetie.” Doc sounded distracted. He shook your blanket out, then carefully draped it over you.
“I had the weirdest dream just now...” You muttered dazedly.
“Really?” Doc answered pleasantly while tucking you in. Going slowly, so he didn't leave even the smallest part of you uncovered. “What about?” When he was finished, he patted your knee gently. You vaguely noticed he wasn't wearing his gauntlets right now.
You squinted at the ceiling, blinked, and tried to recall your dream. The more you focused on it, however, the quicker it seemed to escape you-- like sand slipping through your fingers. “I don't... remember.”
“That's fine. If you remember any of it later, I'd love to hear it.”
Without further preamble, Doc began scanning you.
Your eyes lazily followed the green glow as he passed it from your toes up to your head. When he made a thoughtful noise, your eyes flicked back to his helmet in curiosity.
“Hm... looks like your temperature's at 105.”
“What?!” Your presence of mind returned in a landslide. You shot up, and instantly regretted it as you were hit by a wave of pain and dizziness. Spots danced in your vision as you slumped back onto your pillow. You felt like you were going to throw up.
“... Or that could be your blood pressure...”
“Oh my god.” You whimpered. Your boyfriend was going to kill you.
Not seeming to hear you, Doc made another thoughtful noise. “Ah-- you know what, 105 isn't bad for either of them. I'm sure it's fine.” He laughed good-naturedly, setting his scanner aside to start tucking the edges of the newly disturbed blanket back under you.
You almost wanted to cry; but you were too tired, too feverish, and felt too done with life to bother. Instead, you let your body go limp, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
“Based on Church's description, you weren't this bad earlier...” Doc said thoughtfully.
After a moment, you made a soft, non-committal noise that sounded like agreement.
“Have you been staying hydrated?”
You slowly turned your head to look at him, and blinked.
“I'll take that as a 'no'.” Doc picked up his gauntlets from your bedside table. “Be back in a jiffy!”
You returned your gaze to the ceiling as he left the room. This was a terrible idea. Calling your boyfriend was a terrible idea. You loved him, but he was going to try to solve the problem by rubbing aloe vera on your neck, or sticking your feet in a bucket of... of... quinoa, and then your ridiculously high fever was going to kill you.
Distantly, you hoped that your funeral wouldn't be shit. You were there for Church's funeral, and Tex's funeral, and those funerals were shit-- and actually, come to think of it; didn't you, Tucker and Caboose leave Church's body to rot up on the cliffs originally? You hoped Church didn't remember that-- or didn't hold a grudge, at the very least.
Distantly; you realized you were screwed.
Doc returned while you were in the middle of a fever-fueled existential crisis.
“Alright-- I'm going to need you to sit up, if you can. I'll help.”
When his words registered, you propped yourself up on your elbows partway. He slipped one power-armored arm through the newly freed space, and delicately hoisted you up into a sitting position.
Your head swam at your new vantage. You felt something cold and metallic press against your lips, and realized Doc was holding a canteen up for you to drink from.
Gratefully, you parted your lips, and cool water poured in between them. It splashed down your sore throat, and soothed some of the swelling.
Doc waited for you to drink your fill. He closed the canteen and set it aside. “Feeling any better?”
You weakly raised one arm, and gave him a thumbs up. “Mmf.” You let your head loll onto his shoulder.
“Wonderful,” Doc said warmly. “Staying hydrated is always important, but the absolute best cure for an illness--” He trailed off as he wrapped both arms around you, and hugged you gently to his chest. “Is a hug.”
You frowned up at his visor in confusion. Wasn't he going to catch what you have?
Even under your scrutiny, Doc continued to hold you. He shucked the gauntlet off of one hand and petted his bare palm soothingly over the crown of your head.
Despite the relative uselessness of the gesture, Doc's power armor and dry palm both felt comfortably cool against your feverish skin. The petting as well felt surprisingly good, and your eyelids drooped closed more and more with each stroke of his hand. “Mmmmmm...” You hummed in pleasure.
Doc chuckled at that. “See? You feel better already.” He smoothed the sweat-damp hair off of your forehead, and kissed your brow. “I'm sorry your team doesn't have very good bedside manners. Now that I'm here, we'll have you back to normal in no time.”
Doc's calm, even tone comforted you. But there was still something bothering you. “... Won't you... get sick, too?” You muttered.
“Hm?...” Doc paused as what you said registered. Then a moment later, his hand continued its gentle petting. “Oh, there's no need to worry. Now that the symptoms are showing, you shouldn't be contagious anymore. Assuming, of course, you even were to begin with.”
You hummed in dazed thoughtfulness. Was that actually true? It was always hard to tell with him.
Doc pressed another kiss to your brow, then rested his cheek against the crown of your head. He rocked you gently. “... You should come with me this time, when I leave... it feels like I only ever get to spend time with you when you get hurt, and that happens way too much for my comfort.”
“... My team...” You muttered.
“They're not very nice. They don't take care of you at all. They just left you in here with no food or water all day and all night.”
You hummed softly.
“And there's no way they'll let me stay for too long... think it over, ok? If you ever want to be around someone who actually watches out for you. The offer's always open.”
You didn't want to think about it right now. But the thought of getting to be held like this all the time was appealing. The rocking, actually, was putting you into this weird hyper-calm state where your thoughts flowed by as a distant stream.
“... We could have a vegetable garden...” Doc began softly, after a little while. “Grow all kinds of things... maybe Donut would want to stay with us, too. He grew up on a farm. He'll know how to grow any kind of plant we want. That'd be nice, wouldn't it? Just the three of us?”
Doc's voice was so calming. You felt yourself drifting off as if he were reading you a bedtime story.
“Grow our own food, so we don't have to rely on rations and junk food from the city all the time. Give you all sorts of healthy things to eat...”
Doc's voice was steadily growing farther away.
“Keep you from getting sick... from getting hurt... won't be people arguing and yelling around you all the time...”
After a while, you couldn't tell what he was saying anymore. His voice devolved into a soft, pleasant, wordless murmur as sleep swallowed you up into heavy thoughtless oblivion.