#fever fic

[hotgrlcece]

prologue

part one

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[secretobsessionstuff]

I haven't written for these guys in quite a while. But gosh I will love them til the day I die.

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Madix’s stomach tried its hardest to digest the sludge of food that he had forced down his throat all that day. It wasn’t his fault—the nachos had such bubbly warm cheese that called his name, and the burger had caramelized onions that begged him to approach. Now all the grease and sugar coated his gut in a layer of grime. His tummy burbled sickeningly as it attempted to deal with the overwhelm that a day at the fair had caused.  

He staggered next to Dakota who seemed to be dealing with the food expertly. He had been a fool to think that he could keep up with his best friend. The man was a pro at putting away every dish they came across. 

Poutine, easy. Ice cream, no problem. He simply sighed contently after every bite that got Madix feeling more and more like a zombie. 

It was a struggle to pick up his feet, but he had to keep up, or else Riley and Blair would run off into the crowd, never to be seen again with their significant others. 

At least Dakota hung back with him, even if it was because he kept getting distracted by the food vendors and not because he noticed Madix’s deteriorated state. He jumped excitedly in line for a beaver tail. 

Madix swallowed thickly as he came to stand next to his friend. The Canadian treat gave off the sickly-sweet aroma of syrups and cheesecake. The people around them carried their oversized pastries that dripped with thick white frosting or a drizzling of rich chocolate. 

“I think I want the brownie one!” he said, pointing to the sign ahead. “It has Nutella on it! Do you want to split it with me?” 

Madix moaned and jammed his head into Dakota’s shoulder. “…. Ugh.” 

“Okay fine, jeez? How about the strawberry cheesecake?”

"Noooo..."

He gave his arm a jerk. “Why you sound so mopey, Maddy?” 

“Too much food…” he slurred out. His chest hitched with a hiccup. The nausea made all his muscles stiff. “I don’t feel good. How can you still be hungry?” 

“Classic mistake.” Dakota pulled his greenish friend into a side hug. “We’ve moved beyond our primitive needs. Hunger has nothing to do with it anymore. It’s all about the experience.” 

“Oh, I think I’m in for a doozy of an “experience” any minute now.” 

Dakota chuckled at first, but then quickly wondered how much Madix was joking. The boy next to him swayed with fatigue. His eyelids were droopy as if his full stomach were weighing every part of him down. Personally, he felt only the beginnings of fullness, but Madix was nearing the end of his limits it seemed. 

He took off his sunglasses, only then realizing how quickly the sun had set. The sky was now purple and pink, and Madix’s cheeks were grey. “You do look pale, buddy. Maybe take a break from the rides and food.” 

“Yeah, I think I have to. I’d like to sit down as well, but I don’t want to lose Riley and Blair.” 

Dakota waved this away. “I’ll text Blair that we stopped for a break. Look, we can sit under that tree, there’s a bench.” 

Dakota ate his pastry happily while next to him Madix wondered what was going on with his belly. He was full, but this level of nausea was intense. If he were at home, he’d most likely be on the bathroom floor by now. Here, he was not sure how far a walk the nearest bathroom was. Instead, he would focus on keeping the food down until he had time to digest. 

Dakota was not helping with the way he devoured the chocolate mess of dough and oil.  

“Ugh, Kota. I want to go home. I think I may actually throw up, but there’s a lot of people here.” He hugged his belly.

“You feel that bad?” The sudden development surprised him. “I’ve seen you eat way more."

“I don’t know why…” Madix burped and let out a nauseous moan. “I just feel really fucking sick.” He glanced at his friend with his glassy eyes. “Would you hurry up and eat that already. It’s dripping onto your hand.” 

Dakota licked the precarious drop of icing. “It’s messy, I’m sorry.” After three huge bites and finger licking, he finished the treat in time to see Madix shudder and gag. 

Madix suddenly stood up on shaky legs. This was bad. He could feel pressure growing in his throat. Rising. 

“Oh God, I can’t keep it down.” He tried to speak through the nausea and the hand that covered his mouth. “One second.” He wandered away from the main road, away from the bench where they sat, and beyond the fenced in grass. 

Dakota quickly followed his swaying friend. 

“Oookay, I guess we’re going on a little excursion.” He grimaced at the retch that tore up Madix’s throat. He grabbed his friend’s arm to steady him. “This is a good spot to let loose, Maddy. I’ve got you.” 

A shower of vomit came gushing from Madix’s mouth. It was orange and frothy. His poor belly squeezed in on itself tighter. Another mouthful of greasy mush added to the puddle at his feet. He felt the muscles in his back tense continuously as the heaves sent him forward. 

A groan of misery escaped him. 

Dakota kept a firm grip on his woozy friend. It was odd to see him so weak. Every gag pushed him around like a puppet dangling on a string. “Kneel here, Madix. You’re swaying a lot and I don’t like it.” 

“Don’t feel good,” he slurred. A hiccup made his chest jump and more slushy vomit splattered onto the grass. The sound gurgled in his throat. “Ugh, my belly. I’m so full.” 

Wave after wave came up from Madix’s upset belly. It was relentless and slow. Whenever he thought he was finished, the nausea shot back through his body. Droplets of sweat coated his forehead, dampening the strands of hair that hung in front of his eyes. 

Dakota brushed the hair off his forehead. It was not a hot night and yet still Madix was melting. “You’re so out it, man. I think you have a fever.” 

Madix nodded lazily. “Yeah probably. This is a lot.” He blinked quickly. “I can’t focus long enough to…to…do anything.” 

“You don’t have to do anything but sit. Wait until you feel better. Do you still need to puke?” 

“I think so.” He rubbed his stomach. “It’s like gurgling, my belly. This was not a good time to eat fair food.” 

“No kidding,” Dakota laughed, “I’ll jot that down: don’t go to fair with flu.”  

[multifandomfangirl93]

Back in bed- Buddie x reader

Summary: When your fever spikes, confusion and chaos ensues.

Warnings: none (I’m pretty sure)

🚨🚨🚨🚨

If you ask anyone at the fire house who the most stubborn person in your relationship is, most would say Buck. He’s strong willed and highly opinionated. He knows lots of random facts which makes it hard to convince him of being wrong about anything. He’s also the first one to run into danger. However, he is also the most loved of the firefam.

The real answer to who the most stubborn person in your relationship with Buck and Eddie is actually you. Your pretty low key at work. You were trained to not have all eyes on you all the time in your former profession in the FBI. You traded in your gun and badge for a helmet and shield 5 years ago and haven’t looked back.

You are a completely different person behind closed doors with Buck and Eddie. Your stubbornness and the need to be right can rival Buck’s any day, which is what drew him to you. You are the queen of the house and you will be treated as such, according to Christopher anyways. You do a very good job of embracing that sentiment, especially when your sick.

🚨🚨🚨

“Gotta get to shift.” You grunt, wiggling in an attempt to get out of Buck’s embrace. As much as you normally love a good snuggle, both of you were too damn hot right now. Plus, you had work and you wanted to see your hot boyfriends.

You hear the man on top of you chuckle as he says, “Babe. Your inside thoughts are coming out. That’s the tell that your fever is spiking. No work for you.” The man says in a sing song voice which eerily reminds you of Evan.

“Lemme go.” You practically pant. “I-I have two very sexy firefighter boyfriends that will kick your butt.” You say, pushing the man’s chest hard as you begin to truly panic, tears streaming down your face.

Buck quickly released you, not wanting you to panic and make things worse. You flung yourself off the bed and basically fell into Eddie, who was rounding the corner to see what all the commotion was about. Eddie dropped the medicine bottles he had in his hands to keep you from falling. He tucked you close to his chest as he gave Buck a questioning look after catching the end of your statement.

“Ummm. Hi baby. I’m uh one of said boyfriends..” Eddie murmurs as he runs a soothing hand through your hair.

“Her temp is up.” Was all Buck supplied.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he rested his lips to your forehead. He sucked in a breath as the heat stung his lips. “Oh nena. Back to bed with you” Eddie breathed. “Buck, can you-“ the words died on his lips as he gasped, your full weight dropped into his arms. “Mierda!” Eddie exclaimed, adjusting so that he could pick you up bridal style and carry you back to bed. “Buck. Cool rags. Then get a bowl of cool water. We gotta cool her down but we can’t shock her system.” Eddie said, immediately going into medic mode.

Buck nodded as he ran to the hall closet to grab all the wash rags. Eddie laid you down and grabbed the thermometer, holding himself back from jamming it in your ear out of panic. He said a silently prayer as he waited for the beep. 103.6. You groaned at the feeling of cold air hitting your skin as Eddie started stripping you of his sweat pants and Buck’s LAFD tee shirt.

“Shhhh mi amor. Está bien. Estás bien.” Eddie soothed, not even noticing that he was speaking Spanish. Everyone laughs when Eddie switches languages when he’s upset, but you and Buck know it soothes him in a way.

“I got them!” Buck says, tossing a few to Eddie as he skids into the room and walks around to his side of the bed. Buck climbs in and immediately starts placing washcloths in places he knows they will be most effective. Buck almost stops when you whine, trying to get away from the cold, but Eddie quickly redirects him.

“She’s at 103.6. Whatever you do, do not pull these off unless we are changing them. We have to get her cooled down.” Eddie said, eyes wide and fixed on Buck as his hands continue to work, running a washcloth down your legs.

Buck gulps and continues working, letting tears flow as your whines become whimpers and your body starts shutting down. You’ve been sick for a couple days, but the fever skyrocketing is new. Your body was already tired, so this had to be the last straw.

Buck and Eddie watch as your body stills. Both men have their eyes trained to your chest, relieved as it keeps rising and falling rapidly. Once Buck leaves the room to get the bowl of cool water, Eddie sits down and takes your pulse. It’s tachy, but strong, so he’ll take that for now. Eddie watches you silently until Buck comes back in the room. Eddie can tell Buck is holding the tears in as best he can by the shake in his hands. Once the bowl of cool water is safely on the bedside table, Eddie pulls Buck into his arms.

“Conozco mi amor.” Eddie whispers, immediately feeling Buck’s body shake as he is wracked with sobs. “She’ll be okay. Breathe mi corazón.” Eddie soothes, kissing the top of Buck’s head.

“She-she didn’t.” Buck stops, taking a breath to slow his breathing down. “She th-thought. She thought I was gonna hurt her. She d-didn’t know Eds.” Buck said, tears streaming down his face as he looked into Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie’s face softened even more as he took Buck’s face into his hands, wiping the tears away with the pads of his thumbs before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Eddie knew that he needed to settle Buck before the poor man had a panic attack. Eddie is calm and collected. He methodically works to fix the problem and switches to medic mode. Buck, on the other hand, hasn’t seen the carnage Eddie has seen as a former army medic, so his soft heart breaks when any of you are in the slightest bit of discomfort. It’s one of the things Eddie loves most about him.

“It’s okay niño.” Eddie soothed, resting his forehead against Buck’s. “We just gotta get her fever down. Let’s change her cloths and go make her an electrolyte drink, okay?” Eddie suggested, hoping that if he gave Buck a task, the man would focus on helping and not get overwhelmed by the emotions of it all. They could have those later, but Eddie knew that you needed to be tended to more than his or Evan’s feelings.

Buck sniffled and nodded gently, brushing his nose against Eddie’s. The tip was cold, causing Eddie to scrunch his face and chuckle lightly. “Dios mío! And maybe get you a cup of hot chocolate. Your nose is freezing!” Eddie whisper yelled, smiling widely as Buck pulled back to give him a small smirk.

“Cold nose, warm heart.” Buck said, extracting himself from Eddie’s lap with a chuckle.

Eddie rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation. “Oye! That’s not even how the saying goes!” Eddie chuckled, shaking his head as he stood up and started collecting the wash cloths.

They worked in tandem. Eddie would pass Buck the now warm wash cloth to be resoaked in the cold water. Buck would soak the wash cloth, wring it out, and pass it along to Eddie to be replaced on your body. They worked in comfortable silence, watching your still form and praying that your body would cooperate so that they could avoid a trip to the hospital.

🚨🚨🚨

A few hour later, you are pretty wide awake. The house has calmed down from Christopher getting home from school and dinner being made, so you are sat on the couch, not wanting to be far from your boys. Eddie had managed to get you to eat some soup and take some meds while Buck was getting Chris, so now you were much more comfortable and coherent. You leaned into Eddie’s side as Buck bunches up on the other end of the couch, the emotions of the day draining him.

You notice the lack of warmth at your feet and peer over, watching Buck for a few moments. At first, you think he’s asleep, but then you see him trying to subtly wipe under his nose and under his eyes. You shift into a sitting position and lean forward slightly to see his face better. “Evan?” You ask, scooting closer and effectively redirecting Eddie’s attention from you, wondering if you needed something or something was wrong with you, to his other lover.

Buck pretends to be asleep, but you can see the tears glistening in the tv light. You reach back, pulling slightly at Eddie, as you move closer. You don’t want to alarm Eddie, but this isn’t like Buck.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” You whisper, voice barely there now. “You feel bad too?” You ask, reaching up to brush his curls to the side to feel his forehead, but he jerks away, causing you to reel back and settle into Eddie’s front as he peers over your shoulder.

“Wh—?” Eddie starts, then it dawns on him. “Oh. Evan..” Eddie mutters, shifting you to sit propped up against the couch cushions to move in front of Buck. “Hey. Shhhh.” Eddie murmurs, folding his arms around Buck and pulling him into his lap before shifting from the coffee table, where he was awkwardly crouched, to the spot he took Buck from.

You sit back and allow Eddie to comfort Buck. You can tell you missed something somewhere that Eddie is currently privy to. So, to feel like your helping, you scoot over to grab the tissues that Eddie was keeping for you and pulled a few out, offering them to Eddie for Buck.

Eddie smiles sadly at you, knowing you are completely in the dark. You didn’t know what happened. “Thanks baby. Evan is just a little upset about something from earlier.” Eddie starts, shifting to slot the tissues between himself and Buck as Buck continues to cling to Eddie, crying into the crook of his neck. “Before I start explaining, none of this is your fault.” Eddie prefaces, kissing the crown of Buck’s head before continuing. “When your fever spiked earlier, you were a bit confused. Buck was trying to keep you in bed so you wouldn’t hurt yourself trying to get to shift and, well, you were so out of it you didn’t recognize Evan and thought he was hurting you.” Eddie explained, clutching Buck tighter as the story being told caused more sobs to rattle both men.

You gasped, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. Eddie grabbed Buck’s water bottle and handed it to you over Buck’s head to help calm the fit. Once you were settled and breathing normally again, you scooted closer into their space and placed your hand on Buck’s back. “Baby. I-I’m sorry. I know you.” You started, kissing his shoulder. “I know you and I know you’d never hurt me.” You squeaked out, voice fading the more you talk.

Buck sat up, blowing his nose as you and Eddie took a side of his face, wiping his tears with the backs of your hand. “I-I h-hated the f-fear I p-put in your e-eyes.” Buck shuddered out, heart racing as he remembered the way you looked at him.

“She didn’t understand Buck.” Eddie said, rubbing his hands up and down Buck’s sides as you took Buck’s hand. “That looks wasn’t for you. We both trust you and love you more than you could comprehend. She thought you were someone else in her fevered brain.” Eddie explained, you nodding alone to preserve your voice.

“B-but she didn’t r-run from y-y-you.” Buck stuttered, wet baby blues staring into Eddie’s chocolate brown eyes.

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Ev. She was seconds away from passing out. She wasn’t going anywhere else!” Eddie soothed, knowing where that Buckley brain was going. Always the one to self sabotage.

“Oh.” Buck said, looking down at the tissues in his hands sheepishly. He lightly squeezed your hand as he tried to hide his face in Eddie’s neck once again.

Eddie laughed, plopping another kiss on the top of Buck’s head. “I get it though. It probably looked and felt different in the moment. Your okay mijo.” Eddie soothed, reaching over to pull you into his side as well. “Todo está bien.”

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

The Way You Care for Me (M, illness)

I'm shifting out of my comfort zone, aka writing the guys outside of the restaurant!!! A huge thank you and props to @ghostlychill who came up with this amazing prompt, on which this fic is based, and also gave me additional scene ideas. they're the real MVP of this fic.

In this, Greyson and Elijah are both sick and Elijah helps Greyson get to the doctor. It takes place before Greyson gets with Reed, but after Matt and Mark are together, just to place y'all in the timeline correctly. It's REAL whumpy for me, to the point where it's much more of a traditional sickfic or hurt/comfort fic than a snzfic. But I'll be honest, it's maybe my favorite fic I've written. I think I might try writing more outside the restaurant soon.

I'd love to hear any feedback, good, bad, or otherwise :) and if you have anything you'd like to see from these guys, as always feel free to send it. My inbox is always open.

CW: Male illness/snz, coughing, high fevers, contagion, passing out. 5.5K words under the cut

The Way You Care for Me

“Well, that escalated quickly.”

From across the prep table, Greyson shot his boss a dirty look before pulling a handful of tissues out of the box beside him. “I don’t wandt to talk about iiih – hhIGTZCH-ue!” He pitched forward into his hands, a soft groan escaping his throat. “’Least we’re closed the ndext two,” he muttered, tossing the tissues. Elijah pressed his lips together.

“Yeah, lucky you, sick as a dog for the only two days off in a row you’ve had since high school,” he said, prompting a stuffy laugh from the chef. “I thought you said it just felt like a cold yesterday?”

Greyson shrugged. “It did,” he said, shivering despite the kitchen heat and the sweatshirt – was that Elijah’s sweatshirt? – he had on over his chef’s coat. “I’mb sure it’s ndothing, Lij, just mby stupid body rebelling at the thought of time off.” He held his hands up as if to say, What can you do? “I’ll mbake it,” he finished, coughing.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay tonight?” Elijah asked, tapping his fingers nervously on the butcher block on the prep station. “I mean, there’s no Matt.”

No Matt or Mark, Elijah thought to himself, grim and foreboding. The two junior managers were celebrating their one-year anniversary this week, and as a surprise for the two of them, Greyson and Elijah had agreed to work double time for two days and close the restaurant for the other two to give Matt and Mark a full four-day-weekend together. Of course, as soon as Matt and Mark had waved their bosses goodbye from Elijah’s car – letting them borrow it to drive to the Jersey shore was the other half of the younger men’s gift – Greyson started coming down with whatever this shit was. Yesterday had been annoying, but fine; Greyson sneezed his way through his prep, hoarsely expoed throughout service, and promised he’d be fine for the next night. Now, though?

A sudden “HNGTSCHH-ue!” escaped Greyson’s lips before he could answer, a sneeze so harsh it made Elijah take two steps back.

“Dude,” he said, wincing while Greyson grabbed more tissues to clean himself up. As he watched Greyson blow his nose, he couldn’t help but press two fingers to the base of his own throat. The tiny pang he’d felt when he woke up this morning had not gone away with water, as he’d hoped, but had blossomed into a full sore throat. It burned brighter the longer Elijah watched Greyson cough, as though upon seeing how ill the chef was, his body had been given permission to start its own downward spiral. Finally, Greyson tossed the tissues, cleared his throat as well as he could.

“I’ll be finde,” Greyson growled. “Let’s just get through this fuckigg ndi- HRRTSHH-uhh!”

***

There was absolutely no way in hell Greyson was going to make it back to Brooklyn tonight.

The shift had gone about as well as Elijah expected; Greyson lost his voice halfway through the night, couldn’t stop sneezing long enough to garnish the plates, and eventually had to retire to the office to put his head between his knees to quell the dizzy spell he’d coughed himself into. Eventually, Elijah put Riley, his head server, in charge of watching the floor and went to the kitchen to expo while Greyson snored on the floor of the office.

Meanwhile, Elijah spent the evening well-and-truly coming down with Greyson’s disgusting illness. His head ached, his throat felt sticky and painful, and possibly most annoying, his breath kept hitching around a sneeze that – “Hh-! Hhh… hnnghh” – never quite came.

It had been, to put it mildly, a true fucking nightmare.

Now, at nearly one in the morning, Greyson was burning up with fever and high on cough medicine, glassy-eyed and chatty, spinning the office chair round and round like a kid. Beside him, Elijah was rapidly deteriorating.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lij, of course I’mb goigg hombe,” Greyson rasped, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “I’mb fine, it’s a cold, it’s ndot a big deal.”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand, “you are not fine. Did you somehow forget the last seven hours?” He grabbed Greyson’s chair then, stopping it in its tracks. “And stop fucking spinning you’re going to pahh – hh… pass… huh… passoutNGTSZH-oo! Huh-! HGTZCH-ue! Fuck, finally,” Elijah sighed into the sleeve of his shirt. From over his glasses, Elijah could see Greyson fold his arms.

“Bless you,” he said, accusatory. “You feeling okay?” Elijah rolled his eyes, painfully.

“Yes, Mama Greyson,” he said, sucking in through his nose and sitting up. “How do you plan on getting home, anyway? Isn’t an uber out there like a million dollars on a Saturday night?”

Greyson raised a confused eyebrow. “I’mb… what am I, Warren Buffett? Ndo I’mb ndot ubering, Elijah, I’mb taking the train.” Again, despite the worrying amount of cough syrup he’d ingested, Greyson dissolved into a painful-sounding coughing fit. Elijah bit his cheek to keep from snapping.

“Grey,” he said, massaging his throat. “You’re not taking the train an hour home when you have a fucking fever. Just – fuck – GTSCHH-uhh! NGTSZCH-ue! Snrf.” Elijah snatched a tissue from the box Greyson thunked next to him, wiping his nose before finishing. “Just stay with mbe,” he said, congestion finally seeping into his voice. At this, Greyson visibly perked up.

“Stay… you mbean stay at your apartment?” he asked. “Like sleep at your apartment?”

The look on Elijah’s face betrayed his every feeling. “I – yes, you fucking freak, like sleep at my apartment, why are you being weird?”

“You ndever let anyone stay over at your apartment,” Greyson said, pushing out of his chair and putting his winter coat over what was definitely Elijah’s sweatshirt. “Like, it’s a whole thigg Matt and Mark and I joke about, that ndo one is allowed at your place past seven p.m because you have sombe sort of weird bedtime ritual ndo one can see. Mby theory was you’re one of those people who sleeps in those who-goes-there-ass old-timey pajamas. The ones with a hat.”

Elijah blinked. “People stay at my apartment,” he said. Throwing the GM’s coat into his lap, Greyson scoffed.

“Yeah?” Greyson asked as Elijah slowly pushed up from his chair. “Whend?”

“I mean, it’s been awhile,” Elijah mused. Now that he thought about it – when was the last time he had someone stay at his place? Greyson had never asked or needed to stay with him; if he was gallivanting through the city after work, he was staying with whoever took him to bed. Mark lived practically next door to the restaurant, so he and Matt had never asked to stay even if all of them were out drinking. And the last time he’d had a date come to the house… well, if he was being honest, he couldn’t remember ever having a date stay the night at his apartment.

“That’s what I thought,” Greyson said, grabbing onto the back of Elijah’s chair to keep from falling over. “Oh – jesus, shit, hold on.” The chef closed his eyes, took as deep of a breath as his spasming lungs could handle. Slowly, he let the breath out, unfurled his fingers from the chair, and opened one eye. “Okay,” Greyson said, “mbaybe the train would be out of the question.”

Elijah bleated out a laugh. “You think?” he said, clapping Greyson on the shoulder. “C’mon, patient zero. Let’s get you to bed.”

***

As the winter night sky parted and made way for the blue-black light of morning, Elijah let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for hours. Okay, he said to himself, time to get him to fucking urgent care.

Despite his goofing-off, his quipping, his inability to be serious for five fucking seconds, the moment Greyson’s body collapsed into Elijah’s bed, he crashed harder than Elijah had ever seen anyone crash. The shivers he’d had at the restaurant turned to shaking that rattled the headboard against the wall so loudly, Elijah assumed his neighbors would come and bang on the door. His teeth chattered in his head hard enough to crack the enamel, and his eyes, in the brief moments they were open, were bloodshot to hell. Greyson’s fever – however high it was, Elijah could only guess since he wasn’t exactly the type of guy who kept a thermometer lying around – just would not budge.

Elijah tried everything he knew to help get his friend’s fever down. At first, he tried to get Greyson to feel comfortable, to feel warm – piling blankets on top of him, forcing wool socks and a coat on him in bed, the whole nine. When that didn’t seem to do anything except make his skin burn hotter, Elijah tried moving on to old reliable: medicine.

The issue here was Greyson was barely conscious, and even getting water into him was proving difficult. “Greyson,” Elijah whispered after an hour of trying and failing to get the other man to swallow some ibuprofen. “Please, man, just take it, I promise you’ll feel better.”

Greyson’s eyes flitted open for a few moments, and Elijah pressed the pills into his hand. “Please,” he repeated. The chef attempted a nod, put the pills in his mouth, and immediately coughed them onto the bed; he shook his head, grabbing at his throat as the coughing continued. Unfortunately, Elijah related deeply to what his friend was implying: his throat was too swollen to swallow pills. Elijah swallowed around the knives in his own throat. Nodded.

“Okay,” he said, handing Greyson a cup filled with water instead. “Okay, fair enough.” God, why didn’t he keep any fucking Nyquil on hand?

After that episode, Elijah came to his senses and pulled out his phone to google how to get a fever down. One of the websites – one that looked to be for mothers of small children, but whatever, he’d try anything at this point – mentioned a lukewarm or cool bath, which didn’t sound like a terrible idea, but ultimately Greyson was seemingly unable to move and with the five inches and thirty pounds he had on Elijah, no shot was he getting carried to the bath.

Ultimately, Elijah ended up pressing a cool washcloth to Greyson’s forehead from three a.m. onward, the night spreading endlessly around him. The sleepless, worrying hours of trying to care for Greyson were only made worse by the fact that Elijah felt like absolute fucking dog shit; his lungs constricted with angry, bubbling coughs every few moments, and breathing out his nose was, as of about five in the morning, an absolute no-go. Worse still, as Greyson sweat through his sheets, Elijah could feel the stifling heat of his own fever spreading itself behind his eyes. Whatever it was that Greyson had managed to pick up, it certainly didn’t fuck around.

At seven a.m., when the alarm Elijah had set on his phone notified him that the closest urgent care would be open in thirty minutes, Greyson, who’d finally settled into a true sleep about an hour before, gasped himself awake.

“’S timbe for work?” he slurred, attempting to sit up. Elijah coughed out a hoarse laugh.

“Ndot exactly, bud,” he said, clearing his throat. “C’mond, let mbe help you uhh – uh… up-NGTSZCHH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side to avoid sneezing directly in Greyson’s face as he pulled the chef to a sitting position. Greyson pressed his eyebrows together, reached out to place a hand on Elijah’s forehead.

“You have a fever,” he mused, as Elijah pulled a few tissues from the near-depleted box on the end table. “I thought you said you weren’t sick?”

“I lied,” Elijah said plainly, shoving the tissues into the pocket of his hoodie. “Let’s go, up and at ’em, we’re getting you to urgent care.”

“Wh -? Urgent care, what do you mbean? I’mb fine.” Greyson said as Elijah slowly helped him to his feet. Elijah laughed again, this time doubling over into his elbow to cough.

“Please don’t mbake mbe laugh,” Elijah said, helping Greyson into one of the winter coats he had hanging in his closet – Greyson’s coat had been sweat through multiple times over, and Elijah wasn’t about to brave the doctor’s office with the smell of fever sweat coating the two of them. It seemed, frankly, a little too on the nose.

“Ndot trying to be funny,” Greyson mumbled as he shakily put on the coat. “’S just a cold, Lij.” As he said it, Elijah could see his eyes starting to roll back in his head, felt his fever-warm body go limp – fuck.

“Grey!” Elijah yelled, jerking the chef back to a standing position. Greyson came back to quickly, collapsing into a barking fit of coughing that wouldn’t subside until Elijah sat him back on the bed. This is going to be harder than I thought. “Are you okay?” Elijah asked, Greyson’s arm still gripped in his hand. Shakily, Greyson nodded; clearly the near-fall was enough to scare him.

“Fuck,” Greyson moaned, pulling a hand down his face. “I haven’t felt this shitty in…. I don’t even kndow how long. Hh-! HRRSHHT! Fuckigg ow.” Greyson pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, his headache palpable even to Elijah. The GM sighed, rubbed his friend’s back.

“That’s why we’re goigg to urgent care,” he said. “This is clearly beyond mby scope of ability. I almbost took you to the ER last ndight.”

Greyson looked at Elijah as if he were completely deranged. “I appreciate you ndot bankrupting mbe over a fuckigg fever,” he said, some levity breathed back into the room. Elijah croaked out a chuckle. “But… I mbean yeah, okay, I guess it couldn’t hurt to go.”

At this, Elijah pat Greyson once on the back. “Good mban,” he said, once again helping the chef to his feet. Greyson squeezed his eyes shut as he stood, an attempt to not lose consciousness again.

“Ndot sure I’mb gonna mbake it down the elevator, you mbay have to carry mbe to the car,” he joked, an attempt to keep Elijah calm. At the word car, Elijah’s heart sunk.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, pressing a palm to his face. “The boys have the fuckigg car.” Greyson pressed his lips together, remembering. Matt and Mark were hundreds of miles away at the Jersey shore. With Elijah’s only mode of transportation. With Greyson sick as a fucking dog, and Elijah well on his way to being down just a bad. The fucking boys have the fucking car.

“Where’s the clinic,” Greyson said, his voice thin. Elijah looked down at his phone.

“Three miles away,” he said. “It’s… oh, fuck mbe I forgot about the fuckigg mbarathon this weekend.” He pressed a few buttons on his phone, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ubers are like a hundred and fifty bucks,” he murmured. Greyson groaned.

“Don’t tell mbe we have to take the fuckigg subway,” he said, eyes still closed. Elijah bit his cheek; their options were more than limited. Without a car, and with the possibility of an uber even picking the two of them up looking the way they did near-zero, their choices were basically train… or walk. A glance in Greyson’s direction proved that walking was simply not an option.

“Let’s try to get sombe ibuprofen in you,” he said, guiding Greyson towards the kitchen. “It’s gonnda be a long train ride.”

***

The fact that they made it to this god-forsaken clinic was nothing short of a complete fucking miracle.

Getting to the train was bad enough; after pumping Greyson with enough ibuprofen to kill an elephant, topped off with four shots of espresso to keep him awake enough to get to the subway, the two of them set out on their jaunt. Still, it took nearly thirty minutes for the two of them to walk three blocks to the subway station.

“Greyson,” Elijah said for what felt like the thousandth time, “we gotta pick up the pace, kid, you’re killigg mbe here.”

“I – HGTSCHHH-uhh! Snrk. I’mb goigg as fast as I possibly cand,” Greyson mumbled, wiping his running nose on the coat Elijah had lent him. If this nursing-home shuffle was as fast as he could go, Elijah mused, they’d be lucky to get there next fucking year. Pursing his lips, Elijah looped his arm through Greyson’s and started dragging. “Stop pulling,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his own forehead. “’M gonnda pass out if we go any faster.”

“Then pass out,” Elijah said, continuing to pull. “It’d take the same ambount of timbe for me to drag your lifeless corpse through the street. We ndeed to get theehh – holdon-NGTZCHH-ue! Hh-! Hhh…” Elijah held an elbow up to his face, trying to use the very few exposed rays of sunlight to coax out the second sneeze. It was in vain; Elijah let out a shaky breath, annoyed.

Beside him, Greyson regarded Elijah with bloodshot, half-lidded eyes. “Bless you,” he said, sniffling. Elijah returned his watery gaze with a venomous scowl.

“I should, like, sue you for givigg mbe this,” he said, arm still locked in his friend’s. “This is a fucked-up illndess to give to someone.”

Elijah couldn’t tell if Greyson was nodding, or if he momentarily lost consciousness, causing his head to bob. Either way, when he lifted his gaze to look Elijah in the eyes again, he was finally smiling. “Yeah,” he said, coughing away from his friend. “Yeah, I mbean, when you’re right, you’re right.”

By the time they reached the train, Elijah was completely spent. Greyson had been so dizzy for the last half of the walk that he’d pulled the hood of his coat over his eyes and pressed his face into Elijah’s shoulder while they trudged forward, adding what felt like a billion pounds to Elijah’s already-weighed-down-by-fever body. They had made it, though, down the stairs and into the train and – blessedly – into two seats that faced the outside. Finally, when the tinny voice canned in from above asked them to stand clear of the closing doors, please, Elijah dropped his head between his legs and let out a brutal fit of coughs.

“Y’okay?” Greyson asked from behind the hood with both hands shielding his eyes like a visor. When he finally caught his breath, Elijah slowly turned slowly towards the chef and gave an exhausted nod.

“Great,” he rasped. “Ndever better.”

Urgent care was five stops away – five of the longest fucking stops Elijah had ever endured. Each time the train jerked forward or ground to a halt, Greyson made a tiny, terrible whimper in discomfort, a noise that broke Elijah’s heart each time it escaped his lips. “You’re okay, kid,” Elijah muttered, rubbing his friend’s arm while he silently cursed himself for not just paying the two hundred dollars for a stupid uber. “Almbost there.”

After what felt like an eon, the train finally pulled into their station, and Elijah summoned all the strength he had left to hoist Greyson to his feet and pull him out the door. By the grace of whatever-the-fuck entity was watching this scene unfold, the clinic was the first thing he saw when they made their way up the stairs. Small mercies, he thought, dragging Greyson across the street and in through the double doors. Small fucking mercies.

***

“I take it you’re Mr. Abbott?”

As the nurse practitioner breezed through the door she smiled at Elijah, who was sitting in the chair immediately to her right. The GM swung his head around to look her in the eye – fuck, she was pretty. Figures, he thought, wiping under his nose.

“Uh, ndo, I’mb Mr. Morrison – uh, I’m Elijah. That’s the patient,” Elijah said, pointing at Greyson swinging his feet loopily on the exam table. The NP hummed, taking her seat on the stool next to the computer.

“My apologies,” she said, adjusting her mask so it was more secure over her nose and mouth – can’t blame her there, Elijah thought. “Mr. Abbott, I’m Emily. I’ll be helping you out today.”

“Ohh, you cand call mbe Greyson, Doctor Embily,” Greyson said, smiling sloppily. From his chair, Elijah’s face burned red – only Greyson would be able to flirt with a hundred-and-three-degree fever. The NP smiled.

“Just Emily is fine,” she said, her voice kind and cheerful. “Can you tell me a little bit about what’s going on with you?”

Greyson, still with a half-drunk smile pasted on his face, just shrugged. “I’mb good,” he said, before turning suddenly to cough into the collar of his jacket, long enough for Emily to wince and bring him a cup of water from the machine right outside the door of the exam room they were in. “Thangks,” Greyson rasped, sipping the water with his eyes closed. “D’you mbind if I, uh, lay down for a mbinute?”

The NP nodded, then stood in time with Elijah to help him lay Greyson on the crumpled paper. While Greyson fought back the dizziness, Emily the NP turned towards Elijah. “Maybe you could help us with the details?” she asked, smiling.

Elijah nodded, cleared his throat. Fought back a shiver – why the fuck do they keep these offices so fucking cold? “Yeah,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “Sure thiihh – hh..scusembe-NGTXCH-uhh!” Elijah attempted to stifle the sneeze into the sleeve of his sweatshirt, to no avail. Before he could even look around for one, Emily placed a tissue box on the chair next to Elijah, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Bless,” she said, simply. Elijah nodded, taking a tissue and wiping his nose to keep from seeming any grosser that he already was.

“Thangks, sorry,” he said, swallowing painfully. “Uh, yeah, I mbean he’s had a fever since… Friday, I thingk? Thursday ndight, mbaybe? And a cough, which has definitely gotten, uh, worse…” Again, Elijah held up a finger as though to say give me a minute, before turning away in hopes of a sneeze. This time, he wasn’t so lucky – it evaded him, and left in its place a crunchy, painful cough. On the exam bed, Greyson coughed in time with his boss. The NP raised her eyebrows.

“And… is there a reason you aren’t up on that exam table with him?” she asked, her voice light. Greyson croaked out a laugh, not opening his eyes. Ignoring the chef, Elijah attempted a smile.

“I’mb okay,” he promised, clearing his throat. “Anyway, last ndight the fever just got really intense, he was shakigg and couldn’t get mbedicine down and uh… yeah.” Elijah blinked, trying to clear his head. “Is that… does that help?”

Emily nodded, standing. “It does,” she said. “Let’s take a look and see what we can do.” She approached Greyson then, placing a hand on the bed. “Mr. Abbott? Is it okay if your husband and I help you up?”

At this, Greyson’s eyes flew open. “Mby what?” he asked, coughing out another laugh. A look of panic passed over Emily’s eyes, and she looked back at Elijah as if for confirmation. Elijah just rubbed his face with one hand, a modicum of embarrassment on his face.

“We’re, uh… he’s ndot mby husband,” he said, standing to help the NP lift Greyson to a seated position. “We’re busindess partners. Friends, y’kndow, and… business partners.”

“I keep askigg and askigg, and he keeps sayigg ‘ndo’,” Greyson said, a hand kept over one eye to keep from falling down or passing out as he sat up. He smiled at Emily, a charmer to the end, even when he was half-dead. “You’d thingk I’d kndow how to deal with the heartbreak by ndow, but it just ndever gets easier,” he said, turning once again to cough away from the other two. Emily flashed Elijah a confused look.

“He’s kidding,” Elijah promised, sniffling. “I’d say it’s the fever, but really this is just… how he is.”

Emily nodded slowly. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed anything,” she said, putting the earbuds of her stethoscope in her ears and placing the cold bell on Greyson’s chest. Coughing into his sleeve, Elijah lowered himself back into his seat.

“All good,” he said, voice mangled. “You wouldn’t be the first person to assumbe it.”

The NP worked quietly then, asking Greyson to breathe as she listened to his lungs, checking his throat and ears, swabbing his nose for a flu test and his tonsils for strep. By the time she was finished and the rapid tests were back, Greyson looked ready to pass out again.

“Alright, Mr. Abbott,” Emily said, breezing into the exam room with a clipboard in hand. “Good news and bad news; the good news is, you tested negative for strep. Bad news is you tested positive for Flu A, and based on how your lungs sound, I’d say you also have bronchitis. And most likely, a sinus infection.”

From his laid-out position on the bed, Greyson attempted a smile. “Yay?” he said, coughing into his hand. Emily laughed a little behind her mask.

“I’m going to prescribe you an antibiotic for the sinus infection; unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about the flu or the bronchitis, unless you’d like a steroid shot. Obviously get rest and lots of fluids, over the counter medicine is fine, too, you can take it with the antibiotic. Do you need a doctor’s note for work?”

Greyson smiled at Elijah from the bed. “Mmm, ndo pretty sure mby boss believes that I’mb sick,” he said. Elijah rolled his eyes, then pressed his hand deep into one of their sockets when pain spread behind them. Emily also turned to look at Elijah.

“Ah, yeah, I forgot. Business partners,” she said, swiveling the seat of her chair to face Elijah and scooting herself towards his seat. The GM’s heart thumped in time with his head as she approached. “As for you, Mr…?”

“Elijah is finde,” Elijah said, suppressing a cough by swallowing hard.

“Elijah,” Emily repeated. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

When was the last time a woman asked you that? Elijah thought to himself, nodding. Emily gently brought her hands to his face and pressed under his eyes and holy fucking shit, fucking ouch.

“Jesus,” Elijah said, reeling back before turning away from her to suddenly – “HRRTSH-ue! NGTSCHHH-uhh!” The NP’s eyes betrayed the smile behind her mask.

“Bless you,” she said, backing up to her computer. “That’s what I figured; listen, I don’t normally do two-for-one type stuff, but it’s pretty clear that you have what he has, so I’m going to go ahead and prescribe a round of antibiotics for you as well. Keep you from having to come back in a couple days.”

Elijah’s face flamed as he grabbed another tissue and quietly blew his nose. This woman was the first person he’d felt those adolescent butterflies for in – he didn’t even know how long, honestly – and of course he was laid out, barely able to talk and sneezing in her face. The universe has it out for me, I swear to god.

“Uh, okay,” Elijah said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thangk you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, typing into her computer. When she finished and turned back to the two ill men, she smiled with her eyes. “Is there anything else I can do for the two of you?”

“You could hit mbe with a blow dart and wake mbe up when this shit is gone,” Greyson said, coughing again. Elijah bit the inside of his cheek while the NP laughed.

“Outside my jurisdiction,” she said, standing. “My apologies. Well, if that’s all then I’ll let you two get home. Take care of yourselves, if things get worse don’t be afraid to come back in.” Emily opened the door, pulled her mask down to smile at the two of them. Fuck, this woman is gorgeous. “Feel better,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

***

“So, do you thingk you’re goigg to go by Mr. Doctor Embily?” Greyson asked, propping himself up on an elbow. “Or is that, like, too on-the-ndose?”

From under the warm washcloth he’d placed over his aching sinuses, Elijah snorted and threw his friend a playful middle finger. “You’re an asshole,” he muttered, pulling the blanket Greyson had moved when he shifted positions back over his torso. “That womban wouldn’t touch mbe with a ten-foot pole after the fuckigg performance we put on in there.”

“Mmmb, I don’t kndow about that,” Greyson mused plucking the washcloth off of Elijah’s face and placing it over his own. “Seemed like she thought you were cute.”

This time, Elijah was the one who sat up. “Yeah,” he said grabbing both his and Greyson’s cups of TheraFlu off the side table and pressing the chef’s cup into his hand. “Ndothing cuter than sombe guy nearly sneezing into your open eyes. Dringk your damn mbedicine.”

Greyson did as he was told, sifting through the arsenal of Doordashed medications the two men had laid out on the bed as he sipped. After they’d stumbled out of the urgent care Elijah, who’d held it together as well as was humanly possible the past thirty hours, hit a wall so hard he nearly dropped to his knees. Without saying anything, Greyson had pulled out his phone and ordered an eye-wateringly expensive uber to cart them the few miles back to Elijah’s apartment; in return, Elijah had sent for an equally expensive courier to pick them up a pharmacy’s worth of medication and the best soup that the upper west side had to offer. While they waited for everything to be delivered, the two shivering, coughing men curled into Elijah’s sweat-soaked bed, listening to the labored sounds of one another’s breathing until they both passed out.

Now, an hour later and finally medicated, Greyson seemed wont to talk, while Elijah felt himself slipping into a deeper rung of illness. His whole body ached; he could think of nothing but sleep. Still, Greyson continued to prod.

“I’mb being serious,” Greyson said, unwrapping a cough drop and popping it in his mouth. “Mbaybe you should go back and ask for her ndumber.”

Elijah, eyes laden with bags from a sleepless night, flushed and sweating and breathing through his mouth, looked at Greyson, deadpan. “Look mbe in the eye and tell mbe that’s a goooo – hh… snrf. A good ideahh – hhGTSCHHH-oo! HRRTSCH-uh!” He wrenched to the side just in time, groaning at the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Elijah saw Greyson wince.

“Well, obviously wait a few days,” he said, prompting Elijah to throw a pillow at him. The chef laughed, a soupy cough punctuating it.

“God, this is fuckigg mbiserable,” Elijah muttered, laying down again. “I can’t believe you worked yesterday feeling like this.”

Shrugging, Greyson placed his cup back on the side table and laid down as well. “I’mb mbade of different stuff, what can I say,” he joked. Elijah made a sound between a laugh and a snort before closing his eyes, the soft tendrils of sleep curling their fingers around his fevered mind. Moments before he dropped off, Elijah heard Greyson speak up again. “Hey, Lij?”

“Mmm?” Elijah muttered, sleep still right on the horizon. When Greyson didn’t immediately speak up, he opened one eye just a crack. Greyson, face pale and lips cracked, was looking right at him, clearly thinking of how to put whatever it was he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke up again.

“Thangk you,” Greyson said. “For takigg care of mbe.”

For a moment, Elijah just stared back, the sincerity of the sentiment setting him off-balance in a way he wasn’t expecting. Elijah rubbed his face to wake up enough to speak, nodded without letting his head leave the pillow. “’Course, Grey,” he said, attempting a weak smile. “That’s what friends are for.” He shrugged then, nonchalant, and closed his eyes once again. “I kndow you’d do the sambe for mbe.”

“Yeah,” Greyson said, voice soft. “I would.”

Right on the edge of sleep, Elijah allowed himself the last word. “Grey?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get mbe this sigck again, I will shoot you with a gun.”

For the first time in days, Greyson laughed in earnest. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “Ndight, Lij.”

“G’night,” Elijah mumbled before finally, blessedly, drifting into sleep.

[empresskaze]

Like I said I needed to write sick clingy feverish Viktor so here we are.

~~~~

Jayce didn't hear the bedroom door crack open, he didn't hear the clink of a crutch hitting the floor. Too engrossed in the work, he thought Viktor was sleeping soundly. He was wrong.

"Jaaaaaaayce." Viktor whines the middle part, snapping his partner's attention.

Turning in this chair, Jayce sees Viktor, hunched on his crutch but still using the wall to support him. Blanket drapped over his striped pajamas, Viktor does not look any better than when Jayce had last seen him not more than half an hour ago.

"V, babe, why are you out of bed?" Immediately on his feet, Jayce two-steps it over to his partner, one hand behind the back, cradling that always too thin body. The other placed gently on Viktor's forehead. Jayce hisses feeling the heat coming off.

"Cold." Viktor replies as he buries his head into the taller mans chest, skrinking in. Jayce fully believes Viktor is trying to hide within in, that brings a smile to his face.

"Come on, I'll help you back to bed." Jayce whispers as he carefully leads Viktor back down to the bedroom. It's slow, not surprising, even on his best days Viktor doesn't move quickly. Throw in a high fever and a snail could pass them. Not that it bothers Jayce, feeling Viktor lean on him for support makes his heart sing.

As Viktor lays down, Jayce again tucks the blankets in around him. His partner winces when the cool cloth is placed but Jayce gives him a gentle hush.

"I know, I know." He says as he strokes the sides of Viktor's face, trying hard not to see how dark the eye bags are nor how pale the sick man is. "Try to rest."

Viktor's hand clamps onto his for several minutes until it falls limp as his ragged breathing evens out. Jayce sits for a few more moments, softly pressing a kiss to Viktor's cheek.

Back at the desk, Jayce again returns to work. He monitors the bedroom door, hoping, praying, his poor partner stays asleep. With how much they've both been involved in lately, it wasn't a shock when Viktor began feeling poorly a few days ago.

Jayce, again falls into a rhythm, looking over blueprints, fixing calculations so Viktor won't need to once he's recovered. This time though he does hear the bedroom open. Sighing, he glances at the clock.

Not even half an hour.

"Jaaaaaayce."

His name is called even before Viktor comes into view. Already on his feet, Jayce again returns to Viktor's side, feeling that warm body melt against his.

"Okay this time, I'll stay, okay?" Jayce says as he looks down only to see a mop of dark hair nod. Smiling, he runs a hand through that beautiful hair.

In bed, Viktor clings against him as they lay, his entire body pressed against Jayce's frame. It feels nice, but Jayce can feel a faint shiver in Viktor even with the blanket over him.

"Hold on." Jayce says as he sits up, "Don't worry I'm not going anywhere, V, I promise." He reassures Viktor who begins to whine.

Grabbing another blanket, Jayce lays so Viktor can freely rest his head upon his chest. Tucking the blanket around Viktor gives off the illusion of a butterfly nestled securely in a crystalis. Hopefully soon Viktor will emerge from it feeling better. Until then Jayce will do whatever he can for his beloved partner.

Viktor hugs Jayce with everything he can, the beat of his heart slowly lulling him back to a peaceful sleep, knowing he won't be alone if he wakes again.

Jayce will always be there.

[tgreatd]

Just a cold - Another quote by Shen Yi

Shen Yi knew the day was going to be rough as soon as he woke up. His head throbbed, his throat felt scratchy, and his body ached all over. Yesterday’s work—chasing leads in the drizzle—had done its job. He fumbled for the medicine cabinet, downed a couple of cold pills, and pulled on his coat. Despite the pounding in his head, there was no time to rest. They had cases to solve, and he couldn’t afford to fall behind.

"Just a cold," Shen Yi muttered to himself as he grabbed his bag. He took the cab instead of riding the bike.

When he arrived at the station, Li Han was already waiting with a folder of witness statements.

"Morning, Shen Yi Laoshi," she greeted him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You don’t look so good."

"Uh…Just a cold. Already took medicine," Shen Yi replied, brushing off her concern. He took the file and started organizing his materials. His movements were noticeably slower than usual. He had three suspect sketches to finish—one based on the hazy evidence they’d collected the previous night. One from Li Han and the other one from an urgent case of a nearby precinct. 

Meanwhile, Du Cheng was busy interrogating suspects and questioning witnesses. Li Han had already informed him that Shen Yi is not feeling well. So he glanced over at Shen Yi occasionally, his brow furrowing deeper each time he noticed how pale Shen Yi looked.

By mid-morning, Shen Yi’s cold had worsened. He coughed into his sleeve, his breath hitching slightly as he tried to stifle it. His hand trembled faintly as he adjusted his sketchpad. Du Cheng noticed how he paused more often to rub his temples or press a hand to his forehead.

But his hands were tied as well. He could not let Shen Yi take a leave considering the severity of the cases they had to finalize. Well, if he can’t let him leave, he has to take care of him.

As the hours dragged on, Shen Yi’s condition became harder to ignore. His sneezes echoed through the otherwise quiet office, and he shivered visibly despite the warmth of the room. His normally steady lines on the sketchpad wavered, and he had to erase and redraw more frequently than usual.

Du Cheng knew Shen Yi would let himself collapse before he took a breather. Finally, during a brief break, he approached him.

"Shen Yi," Du Cheng said, crossing his arms as he stood by the desk. "You look like you’re about to keel over. Take a few minutes off."

Shen Yi didn’t look up. "It’s fine," he said, his voice hoarse. "We need this sketch. The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can catch him."

Du Cheng sighed as his eyes narrowed. "You can barely hold the pencil steady. When was the last time you ate something?"

Shen Yi hesitated, then mumbled, "Breakfast."

"Yeah? And what did you have?" Du Cheng pressed, his tone skeptical.

Shen Yi sighed, his exhaustion making it harder to mask his frustration. "Look, I’ll eat later, okay? I have to finish this first."

Du Cheng frowned. "Fine. Just don’t blame me if you pass out."

He left immediately and asked Li Han not to give the rest of the statements Shen Yi and ordered her to try and find some additional footage to find the suspect. 

By evening, Shen Yi’s exhaustion was painfully evident. His head drooped over the desk, and he blinked furiously to keep his eyes open. The pencil in his hand slipped occasionally, and he had to grip it tighter to regain control. His breathing had grown heavier, his chest rising and falling with more effort.

Du Cheng, who had just returned from speaking with another witness, came to check on Shen Yi. The younger man’s face was ghostly pale, his lips slightly parted as he struggled to catch his breath. For a moment, Du Cheng just watched him, his jaw tightening.

"Shen Yi," Du Cheng said sharply, walking over. "Stop. That’s enough."

Shen Yi shook his head weakly, his voice barely audible. "I’m close to finishing it."

"You’re close to collapsing," Du Cheng retorted, pulling the pencil out of Shen Yi’s hand. "How do you know this is accurate when you’re too sick to think straight?"

Shen Yi tried to protest, but his words were slurred. "I can’t let another... life be taken."

Du Cheng sighed heavily. He walked out of the room and returned minutes later with a cup of tea, a packet of biscuits, and cold medicine. "Here," he said, placing them on the desk. "Take a break. Eat something."

Shen Yi stared at the items, his tired eyes widening slightly. "I don’t—"

"Just shut up and eat," Du Cheng interrupted, his tone gruff. "I don’t want to hear excuses."

Shen Yi pouted a little before grabbing on to the tea slumping on the chair, relaxed. ‘The pout is new. He must be feeling super off.’ Du Cheng thinks.

Du Cheng was right. When he looked at the sketch after the break, he noticed that he had missed some details. By 11 PM, Shen Yi finally finished the sketch. As he stood to hand it to Du Cheng, his legs wobbled, and his vision blurred. He swayed, then stumbled forward. Du Cheng reacted instantly, catching him as his knees buckled.

"Shen Yi!" Du Cheng exclaimed, his voice tinged with panic. He pressed a hand to Shen Yi’s forehead and grimaced. "You’re burning up. Damn it, I knew this would happen."

Shen Yi mumbled something incoherent, his eyes half-lidded as he struggled to stay conscious. "My legs fell asleep…s nothing..."

"It’s not nothing," Du Cheng snapped. He eased Shen Yi into a chair, then grabbed the sketch. "Stay here. I’ll handle this and get you to a doctor."

Du Cheng handed the sketch to Jiang Feng, giving firm instructions to run a match immediately. When he returned, Shen Yi was slumped over the desk, his head resting on his arms. His breathing was shallow, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Come on," Du Cheng muttered, lifting Shen Yi to his feet. "We’re going."

“Home?”

“Hospital!”

Du Cheng drove Shen Yi to the nearest hospital. The doctor confirmed a high fever and prescribed rest, some meds, fluids, and assured that there’s nothing to worry about. Du Cheng thanked him curtly and helped Shen Yi back into the car.

At Shen Yi’s apartment, Du Cheng guided him inside, practically carrying him to the couch. "Sit here," Du Cheng said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. Shen Yi’s body felt unnaturally light, and his head lolled to the side as Du Cheng eased him down.

Du Cheng frowned, crouching to study Shen Yi’s pale face more closely. He touched his forehead, "Still burning up," he muttered under his breath. Without wasting time, he went into the kitchen, rummaging for a clean bowl to fill with cold water and grabbing a soft cloth. Returning quickly, he knelt beside Shen Yi and began dabbing his forehead and neck gently.

Shen Yi stirred slightly, his lips parting in a faint murmur. "Stop…fussing…too cold," he whined, his voice so weak it was barely audible.

"Who’s fussing?" Du Cheng shot back, his hands never stopping. "You’re the one who decided to play the hero while running a fever."

Shen Yi’s lashes fluttered briefly, but he didn’t argue further. His head tilted slightly into the touch of the cool cloth, a barely perceptible sign of relief washing over his strained features. Du Cheng noticed this and softened his movements further, muttering, "See? Not so bad."

He fetched a blanket and tucked it around Shen Yi, making sure he was warm but not stifled. Then, he prepared a glass of water and gently tilted it against Shen Yi’s lips. "Drink," he urged. "Small sips."

Shen Yi obeyed, though his hands trembled slightly when he tried to hold the glass. Du Cheng steadied him without a word, his brow furrowing as he watched Shen Yi’s delicacy up close. "Why do you always push yourself like this?" Du Cheng muttered, almost to himself. "You’re allergic to asking for help."

That was a statement. Shen Yi gave a faint smile, his voice rasping out, "Teamwork, right?"

Du Cheng huffed, half amused and half exasperated. “Teamwork works when one of us isn’t half-dead."

Over the next couple of hours, Du Cheng stayed close, rewetting the cloth and ensuring Shen Yi stayed hydrated. He even coaxed a few spoons of porridge into him when he stirred again. Shen Yi’s fever gradually began to drop, and the tension in his features eased, though he remained deeply fatigued.

Du Cheng fetched the damp towel, gently wiping Shen Yi’s face and arms for the last time. He then adjusted the blanket around him. Shen Yi stirred slightly, his lips parting in a faint murmur.

"Du Cheng... don’t fuss," Shen Yi whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Who’s fussing?" Du Cheng muttered again, his hands never stopping. 

When Shen Yi finally drifted into a deeper sleep, his breathing was steady, Du Cheng leaned back in relief. He ran a hand through his hair and let himself fall asleep on the couch next to Shen Yi’s bed.

Du Cheng woke to Xiao Xuan’s soft meowing. The cat had climbed onto his chest, pawing at him insistently. Groaning, Du Cheng sat up and checked on Shen Yi. The fever had finally broken, and his breathing was even.

"Shen Yi," Du Cheng called softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him gently. The younger man stirred, his brows knitting together before his eyes fluttered open, still glassy with exhaustion. For a moment, Shen Yi’s gaze was unfocused, and his lips parted as if to say something, but all that came out was a faint mumble.

"You awake?" Du Cheng asked, crouching to meet his eye level.

Shen Yi sat up, blinked a few times, his expression adorably dazed before rubbing his eyes from his paws palms. "You stayed? What time is it...?" he rasped, his voice scratchy from sleep.

"Morning," Du Cheng replied with a faint smirk. "Don’t push yourself. Fever’s down, but you look like a ragdoll that’s been through the wringer."

Shen Yi gave a weak huff, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "I don’t... look like a ragdoll."

Du Cheng raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh, no?" he teased, ruffling Shen Yi’s messy hair even messier to make a point, "Take a look in the mirror."

Shen Yi tried to bat Du Cheng’s hand away but missed, his movements sluggish. 

Du Cheng wasn’t sure why he did that. He gained his grumpy cop personality back on. "Alright, sit tight. I’ll get you food. Don’t try anything stupid while I’m gone."

As Du Cheng walked off, Shen Yi leaned back against the cushions, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

[minteacutiewrites]

Day 12: Sick Characters Breaking Point

Time to bully Malachi some more, because he sorely needs development. All my characters do really, but hey, we'll keep working on it lol. For now, it’s Malachi’s turn in the spotlight! I know this one's a day late, but oh well, it’s here, lol. So enjoy!

No actual sneezing in this one unfortunately hopefully I can make up for that in the next one. 😉 ⚠️Minor Do not Interact⚠️

Malachi could feel the low thrumm of a fever, buzzing underneath his skin. It was Friday, mid-lunch rush, and Malachi was barely holding it together. He was down a waiter with Tyler being sick. Food was coming out slower, guests were complaining, and it felt like too much. His head ached, and he could feel a low, feverish heat buzzing beneath his skin as he helped plate up another dish before sending it out. The heat of the kitchen made him sweat. His shirt was sticking to his oversensitive skin in a way that made him want to claw out of it. Malachi kept it together, relieved when the tickets started to slow down to a manageable pace. Signalling an end to the chaos that was the lunch hour rush, giving him a moment to breathe. As his heart rate came down, the kitchen seemed to tilt alarmingly in his vision. He grasped the edge of one of the counters, attempting to steady himself, closing his eyes until the spinning stopped. It eventually did, as he warily opened his eyes again. Malachi tried not to worry about it, figuring it was the heat of the kitchen getting to him, excusing himself for a moment to get a bit of fresh air. He thought about the last time he’d had a sip of water, alarmed to find that he couldn’t remember. Ducking into the office, Malachi pulled his water from his bag with shaky hands, sitting down as he took measured sips, trying not to upset his uneasy stomach. For the first time, he genuinely wasn’t sure if he was going to make it to the end of the day. His head snapped up when the knob on the door to the office turned as he did his best to straighten himself out. He let his body slump slightly when he realized that it was just Remi standing in the doorway. “Damn, I thought the guys in the back were kidding when they said you looked rough,” Remi commented, striding across the room to where Malachi was, concern etched into his expression. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Malachi protested, his voice cracking underneath the strain, giving way to the fact that he was lying. “Sure it isn’t.” Remi snorted, rolling his eyes as he knelt in front of the other man, glancing over him with a soft, unreadable expression on his face, which made Malachi’s face heat up in a way that wasn’t from the fever. He reached out, and Malachi flinched as Remi pressed the large palm of his hand to his forehead. Cringing lightly, surely at the uncomfortable warmth he found radiating off the lean man. “Maybe you should take a break. I can help with the kitchen plate food for a bit.” Remi told him, pulling his hand away. Malachi thought about it; he could physically feel his resolve start to crumble, but he was a stubborn man. “I couldn’t do that, we're down a waiter, you should be helping tables.” He protested. “We’re past the lunch rush, I think the front of the house will survive without me.” Remi rolled his eyes, pushing back against Malachi’s weak defense. Malachi grit his teeth, trying to come up with another excuse. “Look, things are slow now. Why don’t you take a break, use this time to work on the new menus?” Remi appealed, knowing this was something that was stressing the shorter man out. It’s at least keeping him stationary and busy. Malachi narrowed his gaze at him, knowing that this was exactly what Remi was doing, and normally, he wouldn’t be so easy to give in. But he’d reached his breaking point. “Fine, but the second things get busy, you’ll come get me.” Malachi fired back at Remi, who just chuckled, surprised that he had the energy to be so fussy. “Cross my heart,” Remi told him, drawing a cross over his heart. Malachi gave him a short nod before getting to the menus, as Remi got back out onto the floor.

[fuckin-sick-bih]

Burning Ice

Fandom: Marvel: Loki (TVA era specifically) Summary: Loki is feeling a little overworked and under the weather... and then he really takes a nose dive. Not to fear, the TVA's best agent is on the case! CW: s2 spoiler mentioned in passing but not discussed in depth mess (spray), handkerchief, fever, whump, negative self-talk, Jotun Loki, crying (I feel like I'm missing tags, let me know if I can do better!) Word Count: 2223 words MINORS DNI Author Note: Blue Loki makes an appearance... This is very much a fever fic with snz IMO so... do with that what you will. Translation: "Streð mik" means "fuck me" in Old Norse, according to my 5 minutes of internet searching.

Standing before the beverage machine, Loki rubbed scathingly at his temples, which quickly turned into a rub of tired eyes. With work at the TVA piling up, Loki began to feel significantly less and less God-like. He sniffed and turned the dial on the blasted machine for a cup of tea for something to soothe his aching throat. It had been like this since he woke up this morning.

Dry, aching, scratchy. He turned his head to suppress a slight cough into his shoulder as the drink machine sputtered out the last of his black tea. It was nothing like the luxurious herbal remedies of home, but it would have to do. He pushed back his long, dark hair from his face and turned to head back to his cubical with the cup in hand.

Loki eased back down into the desk chair with a little sigh through his mouth, not currently trusting his nose. It had been rather congested since this morning as well. He sipped at the tea, grimacing when it tasted like half-flavored leaf water and moved a few files to set down the cup.

The steam still coming off the cup had gotten his nose running, however, and with the runes blocking his magic now broken… He summoned a handkerchief in a small flash of green and instantly felt like he’d run a mile. A little gasp was punched out of him, and he slumped in his chair, clinging tight to that handkerchief he’d conjured. Delicate with green and gold embroidery.

“You doing magic over there? Thought we agreed that was for emergencies only?” said Mobius suddenly.

For a split second, Loki gathered the soft cloth into a tight fist to hide it from view as he glanced up only to find Mobius hadn’t bothered to poke his head over. He must have only noticed the flash of green from his magic. Perceptive, Loki would indeed give him that.

“Just a small charm, I assure you. Nothing nefarious. I just-” Loki abruptly cut his sentence short as he felt a burning tingle in his sinuses. No. This was absolutely not the time for this. It didn’t seem like his body cared much for his whims at the moment, however, as he sucked in a sudden and sharp hitch of breath. “J-huh-! H’TSHue!”

In an instant, the handkerchief flew to his face to try and catch the spray. “Pardon me,” He mumbled, giving a little sniff and wiping as he spotted Mobius now pop up like Rattatosk the squirrel.

As he balled up the handkerchief once more in his hand, Loki sniffled and reached for the still-steaming cup of tea. All the while, he could feel Mobius’ eyes on him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “I believe the phrase is take a picture; it’ll last longer.” He scoffs over the top of his cup before having another sip of the disappointing liquid.

“You’re sick,” Mobius says, blinking a few times at Loki, who stubbornly meets the agent’s gaze only to find… concern.

“I’m fine,” Loki assured him quickly and set down his cup to resume his lengthy dig into all the paperwork he had left to finish.

While Loki may not have been directly watching Mobius, he was privy to every movement of his coworker from the corner of his eye. The silver-haired man had moved out of his cubical to stand at the edge of Loki’s. “Like the time you were time slipping kind of fine?”

Now Mobius was leaning on his desk, invading Loki’s personal space in a sense, and the god reared his head back like a snake.

“It’s fine, Mobius.”

“’Cause you don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve been hit by a bus. No offense.”

An exhausted little sigh slipped out of Loki, who pinched the bridge of his nose. This time, Loki’s voice came out softer, with less defensive venom. “I’m alright, just tired, and want to finish this paperwork.”

Mobius was crossing his arms across his chest and frowning at him. “Alright,” He pats Loki’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze before turning to leave. “I’ll let you work on that.” As Mobius was about to round the corner out of sight, he called over his shoulder, “Be back in a little while!”

Loki blinked sluggishly at his coworker’s odd behavior, frankly too tired to think too hard about it. He sniffled again and grimaced at the sound of it now, rather glad to be alone after the wet snuffle.

The realization he was alone now was a somber one. Still, he was grateful in a way. Mobius didn’t have to be around to witness his misery.

His misery seemed only doomed to increase as the tickle in his nose reignited after a quick swipe with the handkerchief. “Hh’etchhue! Huh… hhh-! Ugh… Streð mik.” Loki swears under his breath, bringing the cloth to his quickly reddening nose. Even with the soft handkerchief he’d conjured, the steady sheen of mess around the rim of his nostrils demanded constant attention.

So much so he could barely work. And when he wasn’t working, he was sneezing or coughing into his handkerchief. It went on like that for a good hour or so.

Just as he could feel that tickle starting to swell in the depths of his nasal passages again, making his lungs stutter in their rhythm for a moment, he heard footsteps. Panic flares in Loki’s chest. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how little he’d gotten done, how poor the quality of his craft would Odin…

“Hey… Woah,” Mobius had a hand on his shoulder and was turning him in his seat. Mobius. Not Odin, like his mind had been screaming in fear.

Loki rattled out a hefty sigh of relief and sagged a little. “It’s just you…”

Mobius looked perplexed for a few seconds, a steaming travel cup in one hand and a bag tucked under his arm. “Yeah, just me, pal. You sure you’re feeling alright?” One of the agent's hands came up to feel Loki’s forehead. “That’s some fever. When were you gonna tell me you weren’t feeling great?”

A thick, almost gurgling snuffle comes from Loki, and he grimaces at himself before lifting the soft cloth to scrub at his itchy nose some more. “I wasd’t- oh for…” He gives his nose a quick, productive blow into the handkerchief and groans a little afterward. “I wasn’t planning on telling you… I thought I’d finish up here and ride this out somewhere quiet alone.”

The expression on Mobius’ face looked pained to Loki, though he struggled to piece together why at the moment. Different theories danced around in his mind until he realized Mobius was speaking to him. “- take you somewhere to eat this and lay down. How’s that sound?”

Loki gives a slight hum of acknowledgment to agree to whatever Mobius is saying. Trusting that whatever Mobius has in store for him is good news, Loki gets to his feet only to sway slightly. “Woah- I’m alright.” He says quickly, assuring Mobius, who had shot out a hand to rest on his lower back. “What did you say we were doing?”

They were already walking down hallways and making too many turns for Loki’s fevered brain to even begin to try and comprehend.

“Somewhere comfortable for you to rest a while,” Mobius answered him and patted his back a little. “And somewhere you can drink this tea and eat this nice soup I went and got you.” Soon enough, they entered into a comfortable enough-looking room that had a bed. It was similar enough to a plain bedroom with 70’s era-looking TVA technology.

Right away, Mobius went to set down the cup and bag of food before checking the room’s thermostat. “You Norse Gods like it warm, I guess? Or do you have like… an eternal summer?”

The innocent ignorance made Loki smile a little to himself as he moved further into the room, taking it all in curiously. “We have seasons on Asgard, but no… I like it a little colder.” He admits, nostrils suddenly twitching as that tickle rears its head again while his chest swells. “Hh-! Oh, come on, now? R-Realleh’Tshh! Ng’XtSHue! EgH’Tshiew! Huh…”

Loki had been sluggish, and his reaction too slow to cover entirely, misting the air in front of him with his sneezes. “I’m terribly sorry, Mobius.” 

 “Bless you, nothing to be sorry for. You’re sick.” Mobius waved a hand at him after having set the temperature for the room to be a bit cooler than average. “There. Maybe that’ll help that fever, too. Try the tea. Heard you coughing from down the hall.”

By now, Loki was easing onto the bed to sit and hesitantly reached out to peek into the travel cup. “Trusting you not to poison me.” He jested, raising the cup to Mobius before taking a sip and letting out a delighted groan when the tea tasted divine. Even with his nose practically stopped up, he could taste it. “Mobius, this is fantastic. Where did you get this?”

The agent rocked on his heels with his hands in his pockets, smiling slightly. “Secret little café I know of. The soup is from a place nearby. I’ve been trying to figure out your taste profile. You’re not necessarily a fancy guy, but you’re a quality guy, I think.” The smile on Mobius’ face is almost playful, and if Loki had the energy, he’d make it into a verbal sparring match.

“Perhaps I am. Thank you, Mobius. For all of this.” Loki murmurs quietly and sips at the tea some more, letting the delightfully herbal wave wash over and soothe his sore throat.

Mobius took his hands out of his pockets and sat on the edge of the bed beside Loki. “Y’know, for some reason, it never occurred to me that you could get sick… I just- I guess I just figured you couldn’t.” And the look on Mobius’ face could only be described as… remorseful.

Still, Loki struggled to understand why.

“I got sick rather a lot as a child, actually,” Loki says quietly, not even sure why he’s saying it. Something is making his tongue feel loose, and for a moment, he does wonder if Mobius poisoned him. “Strength is heavily prized where I come from. Strength, health, and physicality… in Asgard and Jotunheim. I was abandoned for being-” The tears welling in his eyes were against his will, and Loki could feel the tightness in his throat as he struggled to breathe through the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

A warm hand reaches out to rest on his thigh and squeezes gently. “For being sick…” Mobius finished quietly as he put the pieces together. It was only then Loki realized Mobius was probably one of the few who had ever bothered to look for Odin, gathering him up as a child on the Sacred Timeline.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” The agent asked him quietly, to which Loki gave a slow nod, sniffling against the renewed congestion that had only gotten worse with the tears now streaming down his cheeks.

A bitter little laugh escaped Loki, who tried to wipe away the tears from his cheeks, eyes red from crying, but perhaps also just a shade redder than that. “I’m quite the Jotun runt. So small I fit in with the average-sized Aesir or Midgardian. I mean I’m…” The tears began to redouble as Loki felt woozy, practically hysterical.

Then, all at once, he let the façade drop.

Pale skin drained of any color it had left to a blue hue, and the ridged and raised lines of Jotun markings appeared. Loki fixed a red-eyed gaze upon Mobius, who stared back with those increasingly painfully kind eyes. Part of Loki wanted nothing more than to lash out. To demand to know why he wasn’t recoiling.

“I’m pathetic…” he finished softly.

Mobius scooted closer to him on the bed and wrapped an arm around him, Loki finding himself sinking into that warmth with shocking ease. “If even Gods get sick, then I think we all deserve sick days, huh? How about it?” A warm hand rubbed slowly at his back, and Loki leaned further into Mobius. “I’m not going anywhere, Loki. Just rest. I’ve got you.”

Already, Mobius was gently extracting the travel cup from his limp blue fingers, and Loki was fading against his friend’s shoulder, feeling utterly exhausted and fevered. “Wake me if we get a case…” He mumbles softly. “I’ll be… fine.”

“Okay, Loki,” Mobius said soothingly, gently helping ease him back into the bed to lie underneath the blankets.

Still, a blue hand shot out to grip Mobius’ wrist tightly. “Don’t go?” He pleaded desperately, afraid he’d be left alone now that he was tucked in and settled.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going. I’m right here. Look.” Mobius kicked off his work shoes much like he’d slid off Loki’s and slid right into bed next to him. “See? Right here. By your side.” Their hands clasped together on top of Loki’s slowly rising and falling chest while the God of Mischief sniffled thickly.

“Thank you, Mobius.” And just like that, Loki’s eyes fluttered closed, and he was out like a snuffed torch.