#sick tim

Tim sends him a miserable look before closing his eyes. “Not much better.” His hand reaches out and Kon takes it without thinking, he presses a kiss to his knuckles and holds it gently. “It’s still there, definitely not as bad as before but it’s not gone.”

Kon hums thoughtfully. “When did you last take some painkillers?”

He glances at the bedside table to find Tim’s water bottle almost empty and sees that there are no tablets left in the packet. He hears Tim take a deep breath and watches as he slowly shifts on the bed into a new position on his side rather than on his back as he had been.

Tim still hasn’t opened his eyes again and when he speaks its quiet and controlled, like he’s doing everything he could to not rattle his head. “What time is it?” When Kon tells him its four in the afternoon Tim pulls a face. “Uh, about four hours ago then. I took them around mid-day.”

Running his thumb along the skin of the back of Tim’s hands Kon hums, “then you’re due for some.” He lets go of Tim's hand and reaches for the flannel on his forehead to find it’s warm. “Let me grab you some more tablets and I’ll freshen this up for you and fill your bottle. Is there anything else you need while I’m here?”

Opening his eyes Tim blinks owlishly at him and shakes his head just slightly, the movement almost isn’t there but because he’s looking for it Kon sees it. Standing up Kon sends him a small smile and bends down to press a kiss to Tim’s forehead. Before Tim could react Kon is already leaving the room with the items in hand.

As he fills the water bottle and runs the flannel underneath cold water, he wonders what more he could do to try and help ease Tim’s headache. He hadn’t been in when Tim returned home after only being gone for a couple hours. When he came home and found Tim curled up in bed underneath a blanket in an endarked room Kon knew immediately what was going on. It happens occasionally, Tim would be struck with a bad headache, borderline migraine, and will have to go and lie down for the rest of the day to recover. That usually involves being in a quiet room and sleeping it off after taking some painkillers.

Kon does what he can to help ease Tim of the symptoms because unfortunately he can’t just get rid of it, all he can do is try and make Tim as comfortable as possible so he can quickly sleep it off and wake up feeling better.

Once he’s done his tasks he makes his way back into the bedroom and finds Tim in the same position as before, when he enters Tim is blinking at him watching him as he approaches and Kon smiles. Staying silent until he’s placed the items down on the bedside table, Kon reaches for Tim and gently coaxes him up a little so he can take the tablets easily, once that’s done and after he’s had a few more sips of water Kon helps him settle back down. Without thinking about it Kon starts fussing with the blanket and pillows in making sure his boyfriend is comfortable and covered completely.

Now sitting on the edge of the mattress next to Tim’s hip Kon watches Tim for a moment as he takes a breath and finally settles down, Kon sees his body relax but there’s still a little grimace on his face when he moves, it’s the only sign that the headache is still there and how Tim is waiting for painkillers to kick in. Reaching over to the bedside table Kon grabs the damp flannel and eases it onto Tim’s forehead, not letting go of it until he knows it won’t slip off.

Knowing there’s nothing left for him to do Kon starts getting off the mattress, speaking in a low voice so he doesn’t disturb Tim’s peace. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

Before he could leave he receives a quiet response. “Thank you, Kon. For everything. When I’m better I’ll make it up to you.”

“There's nothing to make up for Tim.” Kon tells him with a shake of his head in amusement. “Just focus on getting some sleep.”

“I thought as much.” Shivering and sweating, he looked absolutely godawful when Jon folded back the covers; sniffling and coughing and making pathetic little noises that Jon responded to sympathetically. “When’s the last time you had any medicine?” Tim shrugged with one shoulder, hair messy and sticking up in all directions, but he’d been sleeping for a little while and when Jon pressed the inside of one wrist against his blazing forehead he decided it had probably been long enough. He poured an electric glass of blue and handed Tim an open blister pack of pills, waiting until he’d downed both before tucking him back in and gently shushing his muttering.

Jon unpacked the rest of his supplies, leaving them where Tim would easily find them, now confident that he’d made the correct call before checking in on him one more time. Asleep and considerably less flushed, Jon felt alright leaving him, placing a note with instructions to call him should he need anything else underneath a glass of neon liquid and leaving the way he came.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Jon had been feeling out of sorts all weekend and coming into work certainly hadn't alleviated any symptoms. If anything, he felt worse and though Martin did what he could and made him tea and made him go home relatively on time, Tim was just angry; snapping at him when he blocked the narrow archive hallways, slow from still healing injuries and aches brought about by his cold and drawing attention to the fact that Jon was damaged goods. It wasn't a good feeling, especially when Sasha seemed to join in on the fun in her backhanded way. Or maybe not really at all? Maybe he was misinterpreting it, probably. They’d been so upset with him lately and his paranoia and he didn’t mean to, really he didn’t. Rather than think on it any longer, Jon let his head fall to his desk, closing his eyes against the thin line of hallway light because even that small amount was like looking into the depths of the sun.

Couldn’t record.

Couldn’t research.

Couldn’t ask anyone for help with either task.

Or for. Well. For help at all, really.

And he thought he might like a little help at the moment. Someone to bring him lunch knowing he wasn’t feeling well even though he wouldn’t be able to eat it. Checking in to see if he was set on medicine. Asking after him so he could deny feeling so poorly only for them to see past it and send him home.

He wished someone would just…see him.

He'd always had trouble accepting that his actions had consequences and learning those types of lessons never had been his strong suit.

Martin’s tea was the one bright spot in his day. He could and did look forward to that in the afternoon. Would just lay here until then. Waiting for a bit of perfectly steeped comfort. And he didn’t disappoint because if Martin was anything, he was reliable.

“Jon, you look dreadful.” Blessedly, the light was still off because Martin was smart like that, in the little ways that really mattered, and he was silhouetted against the door, blocking the beams just waiting to fall over him and dig the icepick deeper. When he opened his mouth to answer, nothing came out, lips forming around the shapes of the words he’d tried to say and quickly forgotten in mild surprise at how sore his throat was. He reached for the tea with trembling hands and when did that happen? Pulling it towards him across the desk and sipping from the rim without lifting it. Hot. Lovely. Full of honey and lemon and the noise he made was wholly unprofessional. Humming, he let his eyes close, taking another swallow. “I think you should go home early.” Large and cool against his skin, Jon leaned into the palm on his forehead. “Yeah, you’re burning up, you shouldn’t be here.” Sad at being scolded, Jon hid in his tea and Martin let him finish, pen scratching against a scrap of paper. “Can you make it on the train?” Probably? He made it here didn’t he?

“Y’yes, Martin.”

“Ah, there you are.”

“Thank you. For, for the tea.” Really.

“‘Course. Now, here.” He pressed the note into his hand, wrapping his scarf around his neck after he did so while Jon tried to parse the information. “You’re to stop off at the chemist, all right?” Jon nodded, the squiggles dancing in front of him and he knew Martin’s handwriting wasn’t that bad. “Give that to them, they’ll help you collect the medicine, alright?” A hand on his shoulder caught his attention. “Alright?” He nodded again. “I’d go with you, but, my mum.” And again. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own? I could ask Sasha or Tim--”

“No! No, no need to bother them. I’ll, I’ll be fine.” He could feel Martin looking him up and down, he could feel the weight of his disbelief.

“I’ll see you to the door.” Gently, he steered him through the archives, “I’ll be texting. You’ll be answering.” Nodding, he knew Martin was watching him as he set off towards the station.

By the time Jon staggered into the sitting room, he was ready to collapse. He was weighed down by several medications and the instructions on how to take them and he would make sure he took them. And drank water. Because Martin said and he’d been disappointing so many people lately that the thought of disappointing one more made tears sting the corners of his eyes. A buzzing woke him from where he’d fallen asleep on his couch.

Did you make it home? Oh. Yes. Martin did say. Jon stared at the screen before shoving himself up. He should take some medicine and go to bed. Bed, that sounded lovely. Laying down sounded lovely.

Yes, thank you, Martin.

Good, get some rest. DO NOT come in tomorrow.

Yes, Martin. He waited a few seconds before sending again, Thank you, Martin.

The next day passed in a blur of different medications, glasses and mugs of water, and shifting from bed, to couch, to overstuffed chair in his restlessness, sleeping hours wrapped up in each in between responding to Martin’s texts.

Martin was surprised, to say the least, at how well Jon was keeping in touch. He responded to each inquiry within a few hours, hopefully spending the time between resting, was taking medicine, and keeping himself hydrated. Martin was. Well, he was a little stunned, to be honest.

Got medicine. Even a glass of water. He’d included a blurry picture of said glass and it was so Not Jon, Martin’s laugh got away from him.

Doing fine, thank you, Martin. His standard response.

You don't have to keep checking on me. What Martin was sure was his guilty response.

I'm alright. There was more and more time in between these. More time, and fewer words, and worry settled heavy in his stomach.

tired Unnerving.

And then on Saturday, nothing at all.

Martin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong and when Jon didn’t text back, or pick up the phone when he called on repeat, he rang Tim.

“Martin.” No. There was no way he was going over there. He’d sooner chuck the key into an open drain and walk into the next fear ritual voluntarily than check on him.

“Tim, I, I can’t, or I would. Please. Please, you have a key and I just know he’s in a bad way.” He sighed. Martin’s voice was shaking on the other end of the line and Tim knew that if he could have been there for Jon, he'd be there already. "Just, just a quick look. To make sure--to make sure."

Make sure.

"Please, Tim."

"I. Fine. Fine. Five minutes, that's all I'm wasting on him."

All told, Jon didn't live more than a few stops away and Tim thrust his hands into his pockets angrily, hunching into the collar of his coat and swearing under his breath. Jon was fine. He was ignoring Martin because that's what he did to people. At the door he stood waiting before finally rapping his fist sharply against it.

"Oi! Jon!" A few seconds of silence and he was counting down his promised minutes. Cheating he supposed because he had yet to see him, but whatever. "Open up! It's Tim!" Who else would it be, you miserable, paranoid, overblown librarian. He'd have to use his key and even touching it made his stomach flip. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be far away from here and he couldn't even do that. But for Martin, he twisted the key in its matching lock, shoving into a chilly sitting room strewn with half-empty mugs and glasses of water littering each flat surface. "Jon?" No sign of him yet, he could have stepped out. Tim picked up his phone, balanced on the edge of a scratched and worn table. A string of missed calls and increasingly panicked messages ending finally in threats to send Tim I know you have a key Stoker. "Christ." He wasn't in bed, the small thing practically hidden beneath every blanket in the place and he pushed into the bath, flicking on the light like he'd suddenly appear and gawping like a fish when he did.

Curled up on the freezing tile, shivering fit to fly apart and soaked through with sweat, lay one ailing Jonathan Sims.

"Jon?" Ashen and struggling to breathe, he didn't respond until Tim kneeled and shook one bony shoulder and even then it took far too long for him to become anything other than barely aware. Face twisting up, Jon blinked, pulling in a labored lungful of air and gearing up to use it.

“T’Tim? How…?” Fucking hell, even with a foot out the door--

“Enough with the paranoia!" The flinch was like a physical blow and Jon began hacking unproductively into his folded elbow.

“S’sorry...din’t…” Breathless and trying hard to catch it. Flooded with guilt, Tim dragged a hand down his face. Here he was in his flat, miserable and ill and now Tim was here out of nowhere shouting at him? “Sorry. D’you n'need somethin'?” He’d always been small, a subject of much contention when things used to be good, but his voice, small and tired--he was barely there, skin and bone, burning away into nothing if the flush high in his cheeks meant anything. He was just sick. Hit hard with a bad flu and trying his best to manage it alone. And how did that make him even angrier? There was medicine scattered around and he even had an empty glass on the floor with him--he'd been trying and instead of just asking for some damn help!

"Do I--no!" Yelling at a half naked man lying on the floor. Nice Tim. What energy Jon had was gone, and he was back to gasping between words, confused.

"Then… I, I don't… What--" He heaved for another gulp of air, like he couldn't get enough.

Multiple types of meds, some with overlapping ingredients. Idiot had probably overdosed himself on the different kinds, too disoriented to keep careful track.

"Jon, how much did you take?" Tim grabbed him now, fingers digging painfully into his hot, hot skin.

"Dose… the, the dose."

"How much?" He demanded and Jon whimpered, ducking his head.

"I, I--" Shaking harder now and crying silently, huge tears rolled down his face. He was scared of him, afraid and pushing himself off the tile in an attempt to put more distance between them only succeeding in bouncing his temple off the tub. With a hoarse cry he curled into himself, and he'd hate the comparison, but like a dying spider. Hunched forward and protecting his no doubt aching head with gangly too thin limbs. "Instructions… M’Martin said. Said water an’ an’..."

Tim was terrible at this. Barging in, yelling and shouting. Jon probably didn't know which way was up, let alone how much medication he took trying to get through this by himself with his only connection being the phone he'd left on the table. Clearly, he hadn't been well enough to retrieve it.

Damn it, Jon.

"Let me see." Another squeak, wretched and sneaking from his throat. "Jon." Stern, not angry, scooching forward and he could see one red rimmed and wary eye peeking between his fingers and the curls escaping from their tie. "Lemme take a look." Gently and after a moment's more scrutiny he was allowed to touch, to guide his trembling hands away, brush back the tangles to examine the forming bruise. It didn't look too bad. Certainly no more than either of them had experienced before. What was bad was the heat under his palm, the tiny shivers, the way his chest stuttered trying to pull each breath into his body. “Okay, the floor isn’t the place for you.”

“S’sorry. I--” Cut off by another fit, this one harder than the last, and it left him winded, apologies forced out by halves. “Been d’dizzy…”

“You don’t need to apologize for being ill, Jon.”

“M’sorry.” Tim sighed, reaching for him again and hating the way he shrank away. But he supposed just minutes ago he was shaking him.

“S’alright, boss.” Relieved by the way the old nickname relaxed him, he hefted him up and Jon was like a new colt trying out his legs for the first time, hands fisted in Tim’s shirt, inhale, exhale, shallow and fast.

Safely deposited on the bedside, Tim handed him an oversized shirt from the half-open drawer, recognizing it as his own, left behind sometime before. It would have been big on Jon back when they worked in research but now. The fight to yank off the sweat soaked tee took it out of him, evidenced by the way Jon had just tossed it on the floor and now he was bare chested, ribs beginning to show, all scarred skin and exhausted shaking. Tim hated it; this man was a stranger and he shouldn't be. He slipped his shirt over his head, leaving him to figure out how to get his arms through the sleeves.

“Lay down.” He’d arranged the pillows to keep him up off his back while breathing was still a chore. “Text Martin.” Tim pressed the phone into his hand, stepping away and returning with a cold compress, smoothing it over his forehead and checking to make sure he’d fired off a message. It was short and poorly spelled, but Tim knew it would put Martin at ease, especially when he followed up in a moment or two.

And he sat at the other end of the bed. Feet up and legs laid beside Jon’s.

Watching.

Watched.

Until even half out of his mind, Jon had to ask.

"Y’you’re staying?" Eyes barely open and just above a whisper.

It happens occasionally and it’s something Kon finds both exasperating yet adorable only because the mood occurs when Tim is sick. His boyfriend has recently come down with a nasty head cold, most likely a result of getting drenched on a stake out at the end of the previous week. Before succumbing to it, Tim had tried to brush it off as nothing and continue as normal, it was only after he got himself into a situation he couldn’t get himself out of that he finally gave in and went on bed rest to let it run its course.

He’s been pretty needy since then and Kon honestly doesn’t mind. He’s rather liking how much Tim wants him around, even if it’s just to cuddle or to use him as a pillow and personal heater. Also it’s not often Tim lets himself be needy, his own personality of needing to be independent and self-sufficient stops himself from seeking that basic comfort, so seeing Tim so open about it makes a change.

Kon’s currently in a shop picking up some bits that might cheer Tim up a little as well as to help him get over the illness. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t be long, the Tower is only ten minutes or so away from this store.

Once he’s paid for the items he heads straight for the Tower afterwards. Within those couple minutes of being on the phone with Tim and leaving the store his boyfriend had messaged him five times, each one telling him to hurry up or simply sending him a frowning emoji.

Without any more delays Kon goes straight to Tim’s room once he arrives at the Tower. He lets himself in and is immediately greeted with the sight of a miserable looking Tim all bundled in blankets on his bed sat in the dark with his TV on.

As soon as he enters Tim's head snaps in his direction and Kon sees a weak smile appear on his face. He doesn’t know if it’s the darkness of the room, but Tim is looking worse than the last time he saw him. His skin appears to be paler, he has dark circles under his eyes, he’s slumped on the mattress like it’s eating him whole and overall just looks exhausted.

Kon shuts the door and approaches the bed, he bends forwards to press a kiss on Tim’s warm forehead and starts emptying the items he’s brought onto the mattress.

“I brought some stuff which I thought may help you recover a little quicker, as well as something which I thought may cheer you up.” Kon explains as Tim tiredly examines the contents. “Have you taken any medication or have had some water recently?”

When Tim shakes his head, Kon sighs softly having already guessed his answer. Digging through what he brought he brings out some medication for Tim to take along with a bottle of water.

“The medication will take a little bit to kick in. Are you hungry, I’ve brought some dry snacks you could have?”

Tim shakes his head again and sends Kon a miserable look. “I’ve been feeling nauseous for hours now. I retched earlier but nothing came up. This may be more than a head cold.”

Kon winces, feeling bad for Tim having to deal with it all. He may have a point about it being more than a head cold, a bad one at that, but then again Tim doesn’t have a spleen, his immune system is already weakened so this may have just escalated from that originally.

“We’ll keep an eye on it, if you’re not feeling any better tomorrow we’ll get you looked at just in case. Though you will have to try and eat something at some point, you’ll need the energy and the nutrients.”

Tim mumbles something incoherently and Kon could see how Tim is now fighting to stay awake. Knowing it won’t be long before he drops off to sleep, Kon clears the bed of the items and climbs inside the barricade of blankets Tim has made.

Together they get comfy underneath the blankets and stretch out on the bed. Tim is practically lying on him with his head just turned enough so that he could see the TV screen. Kon has an arm wrapped around his back in support and uses the other to brush a hand through Tim’s hair but not before picking up the remote and flicking through Tim’s Netflix account.

“What do you want to watch? Choose whatever you want, I don’t mind.”

Tim mumbles against his chest which has Kon rolling his eyes. Figuring that Tim won’t be contributing his decision anytime soon, Kon flicks over to the ‘watch again’ list on the screen.

“What about Star Trek?”

For a third time Tim makes an unintelligible sound but this time it was accompanied with a nod of the head. Taking that as enough of a confirmation Kon selects the programme and settles against the bed again, wrapping his arm back around Tim comfortably.