“Dad?” Martin set the hot casserole down on the table before turning to face Emma, slipping off the mitts and tossing them on a counter.
“Yes, darling?” She looked troubled, glancing at the clock and then back at him.
“Baba’s late.” He was. Quite late in fact and Martin knew he was trying to finish up his grading before the holiday so he could spend it with them instead of countless essays, but he’d been fighting a rather nasty cold all week, one that had him reaching more frequently for his rescue inhaler. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by either his husband or his daughter.
“I’m sure he just got caught up at the university.” With the phone already in his hand, he got to watch the text notification flash across the screen.
Come down?
Well, that probably wasn’t good.
Iris was agitated and whining at the bottom step where Jon sat propped against the wall.
Definitely not good and Martin practically jumped the rest of the stairs in his haste to kneel before him. Panting, pale, clammy. Damn it, Jon.
“Ha...yati…”
“Don’t ‘Hayati’” me.” And he had the audacity to smirk. Iris pawed his pant leg. “It’s alright, girl. Daddy’s just a right fool.” To Jon, “did you use your inhaler? Did you even bring it to work?”
“Did.” He took a breath, tight and wheezing, painful if the way he closed his eyes against it meant anything.
“You need another dose.”
“Can’t.”
Damn. It. Jon.
While he managed to get him up the stairs without swooning, when Martin let go of him for just a moment to reach for his scarf it was apparently time enough for his cane to hit the floor as he went down, uncontrolled but slow enough for Iris to break his fall and already apologizing, words spaced oddly with his gasping.
“M...sorry.” Martin shook his head, leaning Jon against the door so he could loosen the clothing around his neck.
“I know, but if you could actually save your breath, love?” He followed Jon’s half lidded gaze behind him. “Emma, it’s alright.” She looked shaken and that was fair. It had been some time since an attack this bad and it had ended with a trip to A&E.
“All...right...Em.” Iris licked Jon’s face and Martin appreciated the support.
“The nebulizer, right, dad?” Emma was already jogging away, “I’ll set it up.”
“Jon, you should have gone to hospital. You’re cyanotic.” Martin spoke low, not wanting Emma to overhear, and cupped his chin, running his thumb along his bottom lip.
“Try.” Holding his exhausted gaze one second more, Martin pressed his lips to a blazing forehead and lifted him into his arms.
“I don’t know why I’m still surprised.”
Crisis averted, Jon was on his second treatment being babysat by Emma who was in the middle of a manicure and a story. Martin leaned over their garish couch and stroked his hand through Jon’s sweaty curls.
“You’re gross, darling.” But flushed a healthy, well healthier, pink. He’d be spending the better part of this week badgered into resting and stuck on their sofa during breathing treatments but he looked done in enough to enjoy some pampering.
And then so much scolding.
@celosiaa and that anon who dared mention the word nebulizer.
