#fever fic

“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.”

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.

Steve groaned as he pushed himself to his elbow. He’d stripped off his shirt sometime in the night, and still felt too warm as the covers fell away. His arm shook with the effort to sit, and was thankful when Eddie guided him the rest of the way to upright. Steve whined at the movement and effort, and only wanted to sleep.

Eddie pressed a kiss into Steve’s damp hair. “I know you’re tired, babe,” Eddie soothed as he watched the numbers climb on the thermometer. “We’ll get you some painkillers and then you can sleep, okay?”

Eddie ran a hand over Steve’s temple and down to his neck. Eddie reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. “Here, sip this. Slowly, okay? And then, take these.”  

Steve took the pills from Eddie and swallowed them with a wince, and managed half the glass of water before pulling away. He felt awful, and even the effort to drink felt like too much.  

“I’m not liking the look of this fever, Steve,” Eddie mumbled, biting his lip in worry. He pressed the back of his hand against Steve’s forehead, then reached for the thermometer. “Here, open up.”

“You jus’took it,” Steve mumbled around the thermometer under his tongue.

“I know,” Eddie worried. “But you look worse than you did an hour ago.” 

“Gee tanks,” Steve grumbled with the thermometer under his tongue. Steve let his head fall into Eddie’s chest as Eddie cuddled him closer.

“Well, the meds should kick in and help.” 

Steve pouted around the thermometer but nodded as the device beeped.

“100.5. You don’t do anything halfway, do ya, Harrington?”

“Mm-mm. N’m’glad you’re here,” Steve mumbled into Eddie’s shirt, shifting so his arms wrapped around Eddie’s waist as he leaned into his chest. The aching in his bones was heavy and it felt as if he was trapped in molasses. Steve was heavy on Eddie’s chest, the fever sapping his energy. 

“Course I’m here.”

“Didn’t wan’to keep you home.”

Eddie looked down at Steve on his chest.  “You didn’t want to keep me home?”

“Kieth’s a menace. N’you just started there.” Steve’s voice was a hoarse mumble.

Eddie stroked Steve’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you should be alone, though. Especially when you’re not feeling well.”

Steve whimpered and hugged Eddie closer. 

“Besides,” Eddie continued. “I can handle Kieth. Remember how he tried to tell me rings weren’t company policy?”

Steve let out a weak laugh. “Failed at that.”

“Exactly. And now I wear extra just to piss him off.” Eddie pressed another kiss to Steve’s head. “When did you start feeling like this?”

Steve shifted against Eddie’s chest. “Yesterday. Felt kinda…weird. N’hot.” Steve managed a weak shrug. “N’it’s summer.”

Eddie nodded. “And nothing else feels weird? Your stomach or anything?”

Steve shook his head and pulled out of Eddie’s arms. “Jus’ feels like I swallowed knives.” He fell back to the bed and turned to his side, trying to find a comfortable position. His limbs were heavy and even laying down, his head still pounded in his ears.

Eddie placed a loving hand on Steve’s bare shoulder and reached for the cool rag. “This fever has you burning up.”

Steve could only groan in response as he pushed off the rest of the blankets around his legs.

Eddie ran the rag over his temples and neck. The cool touch felt like a miracle and Steve let his eyes slip closed as his body cooled slightly.

Eddie continued his ministrations until Steve curled on his side and Eddie stroked the cloth over his cheeks.

Steve mumbled a word as he let sleep start to pull at his mind. “Stay?”

Eddie gave Steve’s shoulder a squeeze and he carefully climbed on the bed so he lay next to Steve. 

It took Steve a minute to turn over and into Eddie, snuggling up against the man’s side with his head back on Eddie’s chest. Steve hummed contentedly against Eddie, letting the rhythm of Edde’s breath be a lullaby. 

Eddie stayed with Steve until he fell asleep, occasionally carding his fingers through Steve’s sweaty brown hair.