#wick week

Autumn was the start of flu season.

This fact was not on Vincent’s mind, nor was it a part of his plans. He was the most powerful member of the High Table – the proper health concerns for a man of his station were assassination attempts and gunfights. But it was on Chidi’s mind.

He was watching Vincent carefully across the long, walnut conference table surrounded by diplomats from the Ruska Roma. This was dragging on, and Vincent’s initial playfulness had worn away to exhaustion despite the fact that it was only 10 o’clock in the morning. He was still offering a cold, impassable smile, but Chidi could see that it didn’t touch his eyes and that he had to keep straightening up to maintain his usually perfect posture. What worried him most was Vincent’s voice, which sounded unnaturally rough. Chidi had asked about it in the morning. “Est-ce que vous allez bien, Marquis? Vous sentez-vous à la hauteur de vos reunions? [Are you quite well, Marquis? Do you feel up to your meetings?]”

“Oui,” had been the only reply. And then, a little later, “Il fait froid ici, c'est tout. [It’s cold in here, that’s all.]” And he barked at a servant to start the fireplace.

He was sick, almost definitely, and it was starting to drive Chidi mad with the desire to support him. He could move closer to him inconspicuously enough, standing behind the Marquis, but then he wouldn’t be able to see his face. And he was trying to catch his eye. Should they wrap things up early?

Finally, a glance. Not accompanied by a smile, or any movement, just a long, sad stare answering Chidi’s concern. So Vincent was in distress, but didn’t want anything done about it. An inhale inflated Chidi’s chest with wild emotion and he turned his eyes to the leaves dancing outside the window. He’s fine. He’s fine. Stay calm.

It was a grey, blustery day, with the clouds overhead threatening an October storm. When the interminable meeting finally ended and the Marquis took the guests on a tour of the grounds, Chidi made sure he was wearing his black overcoat. The brief moment of contact when Chidi held it out and Vincent slid his arms into it was a consolation to both of them. And the sight of him wearing it afterwards was quite a consolation to Chidi - watching him move, graceful and confident as a dancer. But he was slower than usual, it was undeniable. Worry followed Chidi all the way from the pavilions to the hedge maze.

It was a good thing he had a coat on. Heavy, icy raindrops started to fall halfway through their walk and they were forced to end the visit early – but not before Vincent had been soaked.

He was shivering terribly when they went back inside, just the two of them huddled together in the coatroom. “Cette pluie terriblement sombre... Pourquoi aujourd'hui, de tous les jours? [This dreadfully gloomy rain… Why today, of all days?]” he demanded, through chattering teeth. Chidi pulled off the wet overcoat but the rush of warm air didn’t seem to be enough to help.

Chidi rubbed along his arms, trying to warm him, and felt heat already breathing off his skin. In alarm, he put a hand to Vincent’s forehead and felt heat there too. “Monsieur, je pense que vous devriez aller vous coucher. Vous êtes malade. [Sir, I think you should go to bed. You’re ill.]”

“Et tu es incroyablement difficile aujourd’hui ! Qu’est-ce qui t’a pris ? Je me suis réveillé un peu mal en point, mais je vais bien, je – [And you’re unbearably fussy today! What’s gotten into you? I woke up a little out of sorts, but I’m fine, I – ]” He tried to stifle as sneeze and failed.

Chidi nodded and handed him a handkerchief. “Comme vous le dites, Marquis. Sortons au moins de ces vêtements mouillés. [As you say, Marquis. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes, at least.]”

He was too chilled to protest that, and they made their way up to his chambers. Chidi waited outside his boudoir only to see him emerge in pajamas and throw himself onto the bed. It seemed he had surrendered. He lay face down for a full minute without saying anything. There was only the rain drumming against the windows.

His muffled voice finally came from the pillow. “C'est tellement pathétique. [This is so pathetic.]”

Chidi took a seat on the edge of the bed beside him. “Je ne pense pas. Et de toute façon, personne n’a besoin de savoir que vous êtes malade, sauf vous et moi. La table haute permet à un homme comme vous de travailler selon ses propres conditions sans se poser de questions. [I don’t think so. And anyway, no one needs to know you’re sick except you and I. The High Table allows a man like yourself to work on his own terms without asking questions.]” No answer. “Je suis tellement contente que tu prennes soin de toi. J'ai été inquiet pour toi toute la matinée, tu sais. Tu es de loin la chose la plus précieuse dans ce palais, et – [I’m just so glad you’re taking care of yourself. I was worried about you all morning, you know. You are by far the most precious thing in this palace, and - ]”

Still with his face buried, he interrupted. “Arrêt. S'il te plaît, je suis trop émotif en ce moment, et tu es tellement… tu es tellement putain… [Stop. Please, I’m too emotional right now, and you’re so…you’re so damn…]” Chidi could almost see him blushing.

He smiled and lay a hand on Vincent’s back, silently. He could feel his muscles still shivering. Gently, Chidi lifted the blankets over him and gave him a slight nudge. “Allez-vous lever la tête, monsieur ? Vous… avez besoin de respirer de l'air. [Are you going to lift your head up, sir? You…do need to breathe air.]”

Vincent huffed and rolled over onto his back, exposing watery eyes that glared at the ceiling, away from Chidi. “Bien. Es-tu heureux maintenant? [Fine. Are you happy now?]”

Chidi had no thoughts for himself at the moment. “Etes-vous à l'aise? [Are you comfortable?]”

“Bien sûr, je ne suis pas à l'aise. J'ai froid. J'ai mal à la gorge. J’ai la tête qui bat. Tout me fait tellement mal. [Of course I’m not comfortable. I’m cold. My throat is sore. My head is pounding. Everything aches so much.]” He sniffed and Chidi wasn’t so sure it was from congestion.

He kissed Vincent’s forehead, stroked his hair, and went briefly into the hallway to ask for soup and cough drops.

When he came back, Vincent’s glare into the ceiling had turned absolutely hollow and started leaking tears. He seemed startled when the door opened and wiped hurriedly at his face.

“Pourquoi es-tu de retour? Je pensais que tu partais. Vous tomberez malade aussi. [Why are you back? I thought you were leaving. You’ll get sick too.]”

“Quoi? Non, je m'en fiche. Je ne vous laisserai pas seul quand vous ne vous sentirez pas bien, monsieur. Je suis désolé, j'aurais dû te dire où j'allais. [What? No, I don’t care about that. I won’t leave you alone when you’re not well, sir. I’m sorry, I should have told you where I was going.]” He took up his post at Vincent’s side again, holding his hand this time. “Je viens de commander quelque chose pour ta gorge. [I just ordered something for your throat.]”

“…Oh.” He stared at their entwined hands, looking very much at risk of crying again.

“Bouger un peu ? J'aimerais vous tenir compagnie, si vous me le permettez. [Move over a little? I’d like to keep you company, if I may.]”

Without speaking, he slid sideways and Chidi climbed under the covers next to him, hugging him from behind. Vincent rested his arm over Chidi’s to clasp his hand and snuggled into the embrace, sighing. “Bien. Ce n'est pas si mal. [Well. This isn’t so bad.]”

“Bien, monsieur. Très bien. [Good, sir. Very good.]” Chidi’s heart felt like it was going to melt from the relief of finally holding him.