#hils

Pangzi is perched on a large rock at the bottom of the cave-in. He's got his backpack strapped to his chest and is wrangling wires and explosives. When Xiaoge turns the corner, he frantically waves him closer.

"Help me get the charge in. There's a crack that's perfect, but it's full of pebbles and my stubby little fingers can't reach."

Pangzi's fingers are neither stubby nor little; he's got reassuringly big hands that cover large patches when he puts them against Xiaoge's chest or back. Being touched by Pangzi's hands is one of the nicest things Xiaoge knows, so he has to catch himself before he protests Pangzi's description. It's incorrect, but in a way that isn’t relevant right now.

He joins Pangzi on the rock. It's harder to get up there than it should be; his boot slips on rubble that's less stable than expected. Pangzi grabs his arm to pull him up, a strong grip around his forearm and Pangzi's solid muscle under his own fingers as he holds on to him.

He ends up on his knees, bracing himself against the pile-up. Meets Pangzi's eyes as he expects to be shown what exactly Pangzi wants his help with. Pangzi is just staring at him, though. His hand comes up, but instead of reaching for the rock wall, he moves it towards Xiaoge's face. Xiaoge startles back.

"Hold still." Pangzi's other hand settles in the back of Xiaoge's neck. He's holding him in place, which Xiaoge would normally disapprove of. But it's Pangzi, and Pangzi's large, reassuring touch, so it's relaxing more than anything.

He doesn't realize his eyes have slid half-shut until he feels Pangzi's other hand settle against his forehead. A small sound escapes him, wordless and drowned out by Pangzi hissing a breath through his teeth.

"Shit. Xiaoge! You're burning up."

He's really not. He doesn't normally feel temperature very strongly, but right now, he's too cold rather than too hot. It's because he's soaked to the bone; the chill of wet clothes is something even he is not impervious to.

He should tell Pangzi that. Instead, he just stays where he is, held safely between Pangzi's large hands. It's nice.

"Xiaoge?"

One of Pangzi's hands shifts. Fingers tap against his cheek, so he pries his eyes open. They keep closing on him. "Pangzi."

He is thankful to fate, or whatever else it is that decides the paths of his life, to have given him Pangzi as a road companion. There are very few people that can make him feel safe, just because he's very aware that the feeling of being safe tends to be an illusion. With Pangzi, it's genuine, though. If Pangzi says something is safe, it normally is.

It seems important all of a sudden that he express this. Pangzi should know how grateful Xiaoge is. It's not something he's ever put into words, though, so it's hard to grasp in a way he can share.

Besides, Pangzi seems distracted. He's searching Xiaoge's face. The hand in the back of Xiaoge's neck is solid, steady, but his other hand starts exploring along Xiaoge's neck and shoulders.

"Are you hurt?"

He narrows his eyes, unsure why he's being asked. They've not been in a fight since the mosquitoes.

"Come on, Xiaoge. Did they get you anywhere?"

They? Maybe Pangzi is talking about the mosquitoes, after all. Xiaoge starts to shake his head, then shrugs. There's a scratch on his thigh, from the stinger of a mosquito he subsequently skewered on his sword, but it's so small it's not worth mentioning. He still waves a hand in the direction of the tear in his jeans. Pangzi's hand moves there. His fingers brush against Xiaoge's thigh, and a jolt of pain runs through him.

"Shit." Pangzi sounds worried. He pulls his hand back, which Xiaoge appreciates. "This looks really bad, Xiaoge. Why didn’t you say anything?"

It's just a scratch. He doesn't get wound infection, and he's resistant to poisons, so there's no need to be careful about small injuries. He's not sure why Pangzi is so concerned. "Not bad." Pangzi's hand in the back of his neck still feels nice, but the rock under his knees is getting uncomfortable. He tilts his head at the wall. "Show me?"

"You—" Pangzi sounds offended, like he changed his mind about needing help and thinks Xiaoge shouldn’t be offering. It’s a little odd. He interrupts himself, though, lets out an explosive sigh. "We need to get you out of here, I guess. Can you reach in here, get the rubble out?"

Of course he can. The crack Pangzi points to is narrow and deep, small rock splinters catching under his fingernails as he cleans pebbles and dust out. He can’t get it all, is fishing for an elusive pebble in the back when Pangzi’s fingers wrap around his wrist. “That’s fine. I can work with that. Can you get down on your own?”

What a strange question. They’re not very far up, why shouldn’t he be able to climb down by himself? He starts to nod when suddenly, the rock underneath him tilts. There’s no noise, no rock grinding on rock, but the even surface shifts in a way that suggests an earthquake. He tries to grab the edge but can’t quite reach; it’s moving away from him. That shouldn’t be possible.

“Xiaoge? Shit. Tianzhen!”

Pangzi’s voice is head-splittingly loud. Xiaoge reaches out, tries to make him be quiet, but his hands are caught by Pangzi’s. Then there’s a firm grip on his shoulders, Pangzi’s solid chest pressing up against him as he sags sideways.

It’s not an earthquake. If it were, Pangzi would be getting tossed around as well. Before he can figure out what it is, though, he sinks deeper into Pangzi’s warmth and loses track of his surroundings.

------

When they come back to him, he’s still moving. His head propped on something soft and warm, he’s lying on a flat surface that’s vibrating underneath him. There’s the drone of an engine and, a second later, the feeling of fingers carding through his hair.

Wu Xie. He can smell him, his nose tucked into the heavy fabric of Wu Xie’s jacket. His head is resting in Wu Xie’s lap, Wu Xie’s fingers curled around his shoulder and his hand in his hair. The proximity is nice, but nothing else about the situation is. He’s shaking, uncontrollable shivers running through him, and he can feel pools of cold sweat between his shoulder blades, along his sides, and gathering under his hairline. The surface underneath him must be the floor of the van. It’s bouncing up and down in a way that’s making him nauseous.

He grasps Wu Xie’s wrist, tries to anchor himself, with little success. Wu Xie’s hand freezes.

“Xiaoge. Hey, Xiaoge, are you awake?”

Yes. He allows his head to loll back, winces at the surge of pain and nausea that runs through him at the movement. The roaring from the engine rings in his ears. “Safe?”

He seems to be compromised, which means he can’t protect Pangzi and Wu Xie as well as he normally would. This is the van, so it stands to reason that they’re safe, but it’s best to confirm.

Wu Xie’s eyes above him are very wide and dark. A touch against Xiaoge’s forehead sends a violent tremor through him. “Yes, we’re safe. Pangzi is driving us back. You were hurt, Xiaoge, do you remember?”

He doesn’t. He remembers fighting off the mosquitoes, but he didn’t get hurt. Except there’s a dull throbbing in his thigh, the deep, hollow pain of infected tissue. It makes no sense; it was just a small scratch.

He wraps his hand more tightly around Wu Xie’s wrist, allows his eyes to slide shut. The brightness from the van’s windows is hurting them.

“Xiaoge?”

“Fine.” His lips barely manage to form the word, they feel dried out and useless. “Wear off.”

Whatever this is, it will wear off. In the rare cases when something does affect him, the effect will wear off before long. There is no poison in the tomb raiding world that the Zhang family doesn’t know about or can’t fend off. He’ll just have to wait it out. As long as Wu Xie and Pangzi are safe, he can do that.

Wu Xie says something else, but it disappears in the continued droning of the engine.

------

“It’s not a poison.”

The voice is curt, dry, and unfamiliar in the sense that it’s neither Pangzi nor Wu Xie. Xiaoge keeps his eyes closed, stays very still, and listens.

“What do you mean?” This is Pangzi. “He looked pretty poisoned to me.”

“And if diagnosing disease were as simple as looking at the patient, you’d make a brilliant doctor. It’s not a poison, nor is it a venom. It’s a parasite.”

“Yikes.”

Pangzi sounds taken aback. Xiaoge is pretty sure they’re talking about him, which he’d like them to continue doing so he can find out what’s going on. He’s feeling more alert, the haze that had been wrapped around his brain gone for the moment. He’s pretty sure he’s in Wu Xie’s room in Wushanju—the blanket covering him is familiar, so is the pillow and the way it smells of Wu Xie’s hair. Pangzi is behind him near Wu Xie’s desk, together with the other person who’s been speaking. Xiaoge finally manages to place the voice; it’s Huo Daofu.

“Can we do something about it?” Wu Xie is here, too, apparently.

There’s the rustle of paper on the desk.

“It’s very treatable. Unfortunately, Zhang Qiling isn’t.”

“What’s that mean?”

Xiaoge would like to know that as well. On the whole, he doesn’t make himself any harder to treat than others; possibly less hard than Wu Xie. He just doesn’t need it very often.

“Zhang blood is notorious for eliminating foreign agents, remember? His body doesn’t know the difference between me injecting a cure and a snake injecting venom. Chances are high he’ll reject the treatment.”

“But there has to be something—”

Xiaoge knows the high-strung tension that’s snuck into Wu Xie’s voice well. He sits up, shakes off the last remnants of drowsiness. “I feel fine.”

“Shit!”

“Xiaoge!”

He didn’t mean to startle them, but Pangzi and Wu Xie both visibly jump. Huo Daofu has a better grasp on his body language, but Xiaoge can see his shoulders tense, as well. He tries to make himself look as alert as possible, which isn’t all that hard. He does feel much better. “It’s worn off.” As he knew it would.

Wu Xie comes over, sits on the edge of the bed. There’s a smile pulling on the corners of his mouth. “You look better.” His hand comes up to feel Xiaoge’s forehead, which Xiaoge allows. “Are you sure it’s all gone?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not.”

Huo Daofu speaks over him. He’s gotten up from behind the desk and come around it, is standing next to Pangzi with his arms crossed. Pangzi throws him a glare; so does Xiaoge. To his credit, Huo Daofu doesn’t seem particularly impressed.

“The infection is cyclic,” he says. “You feel better now, you’ll feel worse again soon. I can’t tell you when, because your physiology is processing this in a delightfully unpredictable way, but since you were affected initially, there’s no reason to believe the second cycle won’t affect you as well.”

Xiaoge thinks that through before he narrows his eyes. Sounds like a wild guess at best. “I don’t get sick.”

In the corner of his vision, he spots Wu Xie and Pangzi exchange a glance. Huo Daofu quirks his lips upwards. “Of course you don’t. Nobody in this house does, I’m well aware. You just keep calling me in because I’m such great company, right?”

He’s not going to grace that with a response. Apparently, Huo Daofu doesn’t need one. He picks up a pill bottle from the desk, shakes it to make the pills inside rattle around. “Two green and two blue ones today, one green and two blue ones tomorrow, and the remaining two blue ones on day three. There might still be some fever today, if there’s any more tomorrow or on day three, call me again and I’ll adjust the dosage.” He puts the bottle back down, throws him a pointed glance. “Try not to reject them.”

It’s not like he has any control over it. He doesn’t say so, mostly because Huo Daofu is already grabbing his bag and heading for the door. Xiaoge watches him go. He’s not at all sure he’s been given reason to trust Huo Daofu enough to take nameless medicine he’s prescribed.

“Xiaoge.” Wu Xie’s still on the side of the bed. “Are you really feeling better?”

He nods. His limbs are a bit stiff, and his thigh is sore, but it’s nothing that a bit of exercise won’t help him shake. He accidentally catches Pangzi’s eyes across the room.

“Wouldn’t hurt to take this stuff, though, right?” Pangzi picks up the bottle and comes over to hold it out. “If you really are better, you’ll continue to feel better. If there’s another cycle waiting, or whatever, this could stop it.”

Xiaoge takes it, peers inside. It’s got nine pills, exactly the number Huo Daofu counted out, green and blue. They look like they’d be uncomfortable to swallow.

“I’ll get you some water.” Wu Xie steps over to the sink by the door to fill up a glass. Xiaoge pokes a finger into the pill bottle, fishes out a green, oblong tablet.

“Two of those,” Pangzi says, “and two of the blue ones.”

Xiaoge throws him a dark look. He remembers what Huo Daofu said just fine. He’s still not sure there’s any reason to take medicine if he’s not feeling sick.

“Xiaoge.” Pangzi’s face crumples as he picks up on Xiaoge’s reluctance. “They’re not going to hurt you, right? Huo Daofu wouldn’t give you something that’d hurt you. And I don’t want you to pass out on me again, it was scary enough the first time.”

As if on cue, Wu Xie shows up with the water glass. He holds it out as he stands next to Pangzi, both of them looking at him with wide, concerned eyes.

“Please, Xiaoge,” Pangzi says. “I’m sure it’s safe.”

Well. Maybe it’s not Huo Daofu he needs to trust. He shakes the four pills out of the bottle, takes the water glass from Wu Xie, and swallows them down.

------

“Is he actually running a fever, or does he just feel slightly warm to the touch?”

Even through the phone, Xiaoge can hear Huo Daofu’s annoyance. Wu Xie’s got him on speaker as he’s pacing up and down next to the pool table. It's been a few hours since Huo Daofu left, and as the doctor predicted, Xiaoge started feeling worse again. Not nearly as bad as before, though, even if Wu Xie doesn't seem to quite believe that.

Xiaoge's on the sofa now, curled up under a blanket that Pangzi made appear from somewhere. Pangzi also brought tea, and has settled down next to him, a much more calming presence than Wu Xie and his nervous pacing.

“I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t serious, he’s—”

“What’s his temperature?”

“What?”

There’s a sigh through the phone. “Do you have a thermometer? If you do, please take his temperature.”

There are some unintelligible noises and Wu Xie’s footsteps moving away to the bathroom. Xiaoge narrows his eyes, and hears Pangzi snort next to him.

“He’s worried, Xiaoge. You were really out of it, it was scary.”

“I’m fine now.”

“You do feel a little warm.” Pangzi’s hand settles on his forehead. He squirms away, though only half-heartedly.

“Not bad.”

“I’ll give you that much. And Huo Daofu did say you might still run a slight fever today. But, well. Tianzhen’s worried.”

Wu Xie’s footsteps return. He passes the TV, a thin thermometer in hand. He’s got that pleading, wide-eyed look again, but Xiaoge keeps his lips sealed as Wu Xie guides the thermometer towards them.

“Xiaoge. Just let me—”

Xiaoge closes his lips more tightly, sneaks his hand out from under the blanket and holds it out for the phone. He has to waggle his fingers demandingly before Wu Xie relents and hands it over.

“Huo Daofu.”

“Still here,” comes the doctor’s tinny voice from the speaker. “I do have other things to do, you know?”

“Four pills today. Three tomorrow. Then two. Fever today is fine.”

“That’s what I said. Goodness, a patient who listens. I take it this means you’re running a light fever and are otherwise fine?”

Xiaoge takes a moment to listen to his body. He’s still feeling sore, his waning attention grappling with the nature show that Pangzi found them to watch, but if Wushanju were attacked right now, he’s pretty sure he could put up a decent defence. He nods once. “Yes.” Pauses, then adds, “Thank you.”

Huo Daofu’s reply is cut off as he hangs up. Wu Xie’s mouth forms a thin line as he takes the phone back, but he’s looking resigned more than angry.

“If you’re still running a fever tomorrow, I am making him come over. And I’m taking your temperature.”

That seems like an acceptable compromise. Xiaoge inclines his head before he reaches out and tugs on Wu Xie’s hand. “Sit.”

With a put-upon sigh, Wu Xie sits down on Xiaoge’s side where Pangzi isn’t. Eventually, he even manages to relax a little.