makinglies | Just the sniffles

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Just the sniffles

[It's very rare that any of the cyborgs ever get sick. After all, when building an advanced super weapon you don't want it to succumb to disease. It's not unheard of, they do still have organic parts, but for as long as Albert had been a cyborg, he'd never once fallen ill.

Until today, that is.

It takes his eyes longer than usual to focus when he opens them in the morning, woken by Jet rolling out of bed. That in and of itself is his first clue, that Jet is up before him. The man may not sleep until noon as he used to but Albert's still usually a much earlier riser, or at least gets up at the same time. Yet here he is still huddled under the blankets while Jet brushes his teeth in his boxers, with absolutely no drive to leave the bed.

His vision is fuzzy, his head aches, and what little real skin he has is cold and clammy (a strange sensation when only roughly fifteen percent of your body is honest flesh) save for his face, which feels hot.

With a groan, Albert curls over with the comforter, his steel-gray hair barely visible peeking up from the bundle of blankets.]

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[He didn't think much of it when he first woke up, sometimes he and Albert got up at the same time and he figure this morning was just one of those. He didn't even really think about it when the other man didn't immediately start to get up shortly after the blond. It was when he'd finished brushing his teeth and washing his face and looked over to see only a lump burrowed beneath the comforter that he began to think something might be up.

Albert wasn't the type to sleep in, he preferred getting up early and making the most of the day--even if he needed to drink at least one cup of coffee to be at all productive--so Jet was certain it wasn't just a sudden bout of laziness over taking the older cyborg.

The lanky blond crawled back onto the bed and braced himself with a hand placed on the other side of Albert so he was hovering over the lump that was his boyfriend, while his free hand went to tug the covers away.]

Hey...I think you missed your cue here. The birds're chirping and you're acting like they're owls.

[Nevermind owls were birds, that wasn't the point, the point was that Albert wasn't acting himself and Jet was worried.]

[The blanket suddenly being torn away makes Albert flinch and he gropes it pull it back up again, looking rumpled with his shirt askew and exposing the seam where his plated and synth-flesh abdomen meets his hips. His face and what little can be seen of the flesh at his waist is flushed, looking strangely dissonant to the even paleness of the synthetic skin of his torso and arms.]

I don't feel well.

[His voice comes out raspy and painful, the tickle its use causes in his throat forcing a heavy cough from the other man, which he directs into the mattress instead of right in Jet's face. How conscientiousness.]

[Jet frowns, letting the blanket be replaced and waiting for the cough to subside before gently putting a hand to Albert's forehead. His frown deepened and his brow creased in concern as the hand slipped from brow to cheek.]

You're burning up, Al.

[Could they even get sick? Well,okay, he could remember getting sick a time or two before he'd been remodeled, but not since then and it was for the same reason Albert had never been sick--as far as he knew at least.

What did you even do for a sick cyborg that was more metal than flesh? Did soup and orange juice and all that other stuff help the same way?

He pushed the blanket closer in around the other man before returning to the bathroom. He soaked a washcloth in cold water, rung it out, and folded it before heading back to sit on Albert's side of the bed this time. Gently, he placed the cloth on his partner's heated forehead in the hope it would make him feel a little better.

He could remember how his mom would do the same to him whenever he had a fever, back when things were good and she was actually around.]

[The cool washcloth is met with a soft groan of relief and Albert worms a bit out of the covers just to feel more of the lazy ceiling fan circulate air through the wet towel and cool the rest of him just a little.]

I didn't know we could still get sick.

[He swallows painfully, grimacing at the itch still torturing his throat.]

Over half a century and now this happens.

[He groans and forces himself to sit up, holding the cloth to his head to keep it still, looking blearily at the clock.]

I have a meeting today...

Yeah, I didn't either...It'll probably pass soon.

[He thinks. He has no idea, it's just an idea. If it were him, he'd be certain it would with how fast his body processed things, but Albert was another story.

His musings vanished in the face of the other man sitting up.]

Whoa, hey.

[Both hands come to rest on Albert's shoulders and as Jet pushes gently but firmly against him to make him lay back down.]

No way am I letting you wander off like this now, what if it got worse? I'll call in for you, someone can take notes if it's even necessary, you just work on getting better.

[He shrugged--] Besides, I've got nothing planned today [--and then a small smile only tempered by an inherent level of concern flashed on his lips.] so I guess I'll just have to take care of you for once.

[He hoped Albert was willing to listen to reason...cause his next plan of attack was to just forcibly lay on the older man and make him stay still for a while.]

[He gives a supremely harassed look to the American leaning over him, not budging as he tries to push the broader German back into the pillows.]

It's just a cold, and I doubt they'll believe you. Who ever heard of a sick cybor-

[But he doesn't get to finish that sentence as another bout of coughing wracks through him, sending the washcloth dropping into the sheets. He brings his fist to his mouth, then spreads his fingers against his chest for a moment with a pained grunt once the spasm subsides.]

[Any gentle patience he might have been able to muster faded with that painful cough. It was a little under handed, but he used the distraction the cough provided to bodily shove Albert down and shift to sit on his legs. The smile was gone and replaced with a slightly miffed scowl.]

Don't fight me on this, Albert. If you won't listen to me, then I'll get Frannie in here and let her have a go.

[He could also call Geronimo and ask the other American to trap Albert in bed--as Jet was sure the German could toss him off if he really wanted to-- but he suspected the threat of Francoise would hold more impact.

[He falls back with a quiet oomph. It's not that he's feeling weak, just that his balance is somewhat off with the stuffiness in his head messing with his inner ear. He has half a mind to kick up and take his chances, but Jet's threat of sicking Francoise on him is a heavy one.]

That's a low blow, Sparrow.

[Jet's smile is back and this time it's mischievous and without remorse.]

Yeah, but it works. Sometimes you've just got to play dirty.

Are you going to behave now? I should get you some water, but I'm not gonna do that if you're gonna try and vanish on me.

I won't, you've won.

[He feels too poorly to make himself argue any more. He knows it's just a simple cold or the flu, something passing and not immediately dangerous, but rest is inviting and the bed is comfortable and...

Well, being pampered a little may not be so bad.]

Tea, if you please. Do you think you can handle the kettle?

[He raises an eyebrow playfully at the man sitting on his legs, already planning to call into work when he's free to move again.]

[The question earns Albert a scowl as the blond gets up off his legs and the bed.]

You're lucky you're sick. Yeah, I can handle making your gross grass water, just stay put.

[He huffs as he turns to leave, but it's half hearted and devoid of any real annoyance.
Once he's in the kitchen, he sets to boiling some water--the one thing he can do as long as he watches it like a hawk-- and goes for Albert's favorite kind of tea; he myth not like the stuff, but that didn't mean he didn't pay attention.]

You sound like a child when you say it like that!

[Another quiet grunt follows the call after Jet, Albert's voice cracking painfully. He resolves not to try and be loud again and reaches for his phone without sitting up.

It takes some explaining, but he finally convinces his superior officer that, yes, cyborgs can get sick and no, he can't just 'get a tune up' to fix it. It's borderline insulting and so as soon as he has the okay to stay home, Albert hangs up without preamble. He's not sure how it's possible, but the call leaves him feeling both more and less human.

With another grunt of effort, he slides out of bed to make sure Jet hasn't lit the kitchen on fire yet, bare metal feet making slight clinking sounds on the tile.]

Is there any honey left?

[Jet's just pouring the water when Albert speaks and he waits until the mug is full and the tea is steeping before switching his attention; he didn't want to mess anything up, that would ruin the point.

When he does give Albert his attention it's in the form of exasperation.]

Yeah and I was going to put some in the cup, but only to the guy who was supposed to stay in bed.

[His exasperation grows as a thought occurs to him.]

Did you come down here to make sure I didn't burn the water?

[For once, Albert takes pity on Jet and shakes his head ~~even if that was exactly the reason~~]

I was just coming to get the paper.

[He rounds the table to grab his prize, reaching behind Jet to get it and then giving a small squeeze to the man with his arm.]

Thank you.

[He indulges and nuzzles into Jet's neck for half a second before retreating back to bed like a good patient, newspaper tucked under one arm and coughing wafting down the stairs after a moment.]

[The affection cools his exasperation so that he's even smiling a bit as he removes the tea ball and adds a bit more honey than Albert probably would, but not as much as Jet himself would if he even drank the stuff.

As soon as it's all mixed, the blond went back to the room, snatching an extra blanket on his way, and brought the steaming mug to the side-table before spreading the blanket out across the bed.

He hadn't really done this before, the whole taking care of someone sick thing. Usually, if one of the team got sick, Frannie or Gilmore or someone else would take care of them and while both 'mother hens' were certainly available, Jet was right there already. Besides, he kind of liked the idea of being able to help Albert out like this. If he was successful, anyway; the moment it looked like he wasn't helping at all, he would have to seek out someone who actually knew what they were doing.

He thought back to his only real point of reference, trying to think of what else he could do, but short of making soup (something he definitely couldn't do himself) or giving Albert medicine (which he didn't even know if it would help, considering) he was coming up blank.

So he did the only other thing he could remember his mom doing for him that wasn't childish and mortifying to consider.

He stood on the German's side of the bed, arms loosely crossed in his uncertainty, and looked from paper to mug to pale eyes before speaking.]

What else can I do for you?

[What he'd like is selfish and so Albert merely shrugs and spreads the paper out across his lap before picking up the tea and blowing across its surface gently.]

You've already done more than enough.

[He smiles a little, clearing his throat to try and dislodge the frog.]

Thank you for the tea.

Yeah...you're welcome.

[He feels a bit at a loss for what to do but, ultimately, decides giving Albert some peace to rest is the best idea.

He goes to the dresser a moment, grabs his phone and transfers Albert's from there to the same side table the mug had found a home on before bending down and pressing a quick kiss to silver hair. The action causes a light pink flush to spread across his face, but he turns away and heads for the door, hoping to keep it hidden.]

Call me, if you think of anything, okay? Don't try and shout or come get me, just get some sleep.

I'll just be downstairs.

[He has to bite his tongue not to ask Jet to stay with him. How boring would that be for the more active cyborg? To just sit there while Albert reads the paper, finishes his tea, and takes a nap? Hardly even Albert's idea of a good time.

The kiss on his forehead brings a light flush to Albert's face too, though it's hard to tell with his mildly feverish complexion right now. Being taken care of is such a foreign concept anymore. He'd been on his own for years and even his relationship with Gilmore was a bit more doctor/patient or that of peers than not. He finds he likes it, especially right now with his body trying to fight off the virus and leaving him tired and a little clingy.]

Alright, I'll let you know. Thank you.

[He gave his 'patient' an hour of peace before growing restless with his lack of helping. Sickness was just as frustrating as injury, there wasn't much you could do but wait for time to do it's thing. But that didn't make that waiting any easier, he felt like there was something he should be doing to make Albert feel better, something more than giving him some peace and quiet to rest in.

It occurred to him later than he'd be comfortable admitting that, just because he couldn't cook didn't mean there weren't others he could look to for help. Chang was the group's cook, but Jet was looking for something a little closer to what he considered 'traditional,' so he turned to Francoise instead.

It only took a couple moment's faltering explanation to convince Frannie into helping him--thankfully with a limited amount of that knowing tone of hers--and she was at their door with the necessary ingredients. The Frenchwoman did most of the work while Jet watched, but he helped when he could by giving her things she needed and following simple directions when she gave them. Soon enough, the apartment filled with the smells of a chicken broth soup.]

[Albert only made it about two stories into the front section of the newspaper before his eyesight became bleary even with his reading glasses. He fell into a doze for about an hour, tossing fitfully and waking himself with coughing frequently. It's during one of these unfortunate awakenings that Albert catches the scent of food from the kitchen.

Feeling a mixture of ominous at Jet's use of the kitchen and appreciative that he would even try for Albert, the German creeps his way from bed to peek over the railing in the loft, relief showing on his face when he catches sight of two blonds instead of just the one.]

Good morning, Francoise.

[His voice still sounds crackly but it's deep and carries.]

[The stew was almost ready by the time Albert's voice drifts down to the pair. Jet sends a glare up at the man, but Francoise only smiled gently at him.]

Good afternoon, Albert. I must admit, I was surprised when Jet told me you were sick, but I'm glad it's just a cold. We're making some broth to help with your throat; would you like to have it down here or up there?

[Of course, when she said 'we' it was really just her, but she intended to give some of the credit to her culinary-challenged friend.

Said friend was currently getting bowl and spoon out, choosing to spare himself his self-consciousness by doing something else.]

Is it afternoon?

[Whoops. Maybe he'd slept longer than he'd intended. He makes his way downstairs, only pausing to cough into his hand once or twice.]

I'll be alright. Especially considering the food. This was your idea?

[He looks at Jet, giving a soft smile as he sits at the table. They're all three aware that most of the credit goes to Francoise considering Jet burns things by looking at them, but Francoise doesn't usually just drop by and cook. Jet must have called her.]

Yeah.

[He glances at Albert, his face coloring a bit more, before bringing the bowl over to the pot and giving it his rapt attention.]

Is it ready, Frannie?

[Francoise smiled knowingly but went over to the pot to stir it a bit. She dipped a spoon into the liquid and tasted it before nodding and turning off the stove.]

That should do it. I'll trust you to serve it for him, Chang wanted my help in his restaurant tonight, so I better get ready for that.

[She stood on her tip-toes to kiss Jet on the cheek and then went to Albert to lay a hand on his shoulder and kiss his cheek as well.]

I'll see you two later. Feel better, Albert.

[She smiled at them again and let herself out, living Jet to place a steaming bowl of her broth in front of the 'patient.']

I couldn't think of anything else, so I called Frannie...well, I hope it helps, anyway.

[After a goodbye to Francoise, Albert turns back to his meal but he doesn't dig in quite yet. Instead, he looks over the rim of the bowl at Jet with a somewhat mischievous grin, though his mood is a little dampened by the steam from the soup making his nose run.]

You didn't have to do that.

[It's not a reprimand, more a statement of acknowledgement at Jet trying to take care of him.]

You should show this side of yourself more often.

[Jet scoffed lightly, his arms crossing as he leaned against the counter.]

Of course not. 'Have to' wasn't why I did it.

Now shut up and eat your lunch.

[While he ignores that last comment and starts cleaning up.]

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