makinglies | Just the sniffles

Entry tags:

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.]

[The playful smile doesn't leave Albert's face as he eats. Well, not right away at least. It's difficult to keep up a good attitude when you keep sneezing into your soup.

He finishes it off, but by the time he's done his face looks a little redder and his eyes won't focus entirely.]

Do you want some help cleaning?

[He can't let a cold keep him from helping out, after all.

[The look that crosses Jet's face can only be described as 'bitch please.']

No way, the only thing you're doing is going right back upstairs.

[He dries his hands, tosses Albert's bowl in the sink and walked over to the German's side. His Hand curled gently around his partner's wrist to tug him into standing and towards the stairs.]

Come on, I'll keep you company this time.

[He'd missed Albert's company over the day. It was one thing when the older man went to work, but it was something else when he was right there and Jet had to distance himself voluntarily.]

I'm not an invalid, it's just a cold.

[Definitely a grumble, but Jet fussing over him isn't nearly as irritating as it should be. In fact, it's nice and if Albert's face weren't hot already it would grow that way at the attention. He follows Jet's guidance, stumbling minimally since the stuffiness in his head has his coordination off.]

Are you certain? You won't be bored?

[He can't help but have a hopeful note in his questioning. Frankly, he feels somewhat better just with Jet at his side, even if they're not doing anything of import.]

[Jet's grip tightened in the hopes of stabilizing the other man a bit and led them back up the stairs to their bedroom.]

Nah, don't worry about it.

[He flashed a small smile at Albert and led them to the bed, only letting go so he could pull the blankets back for them.]

Besides, how else am I going to make sure you stay in bed this time?

Oh I see, you're just going to sit on me like you did this morning.

[He shoots a playful smirk at his partner and lets himself drop unsteadily into the sheets.]

I'm not sure it's a good idea. What if I'm contagious?

[He frowns a little at that. It's not a joke, what if he is contagious?]

[Albert is contagious, Jet had certainly caught a bad case of him.

He shrugs at that frown and only tugs Albert down to the bed with him, pulling the blankets up to their waists before pulling the older man close.

Jet tucks the silver head under his chin, making his own arm and shoulder the pillow while his arms curled in almost protectively like a blanket.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet and gentle, a light rumble over Albert's head.]

Then you can sit on me and shove food down my face when I'm sick with your weird cyborg plague. For now, get some sleep.

[Albert fits in Jet's arms without much preamble. There's very little readjusting of position at all. He knows where he fits in the younger man's embrace. Jet's shirt is cool against his too-warm face and the soft beating of the other man's heart is soothing.]

Mm. Your funeral.

[He already sounds as if he's dozing, though it's punctuated by a quiet cough and a clearing of his throat. Then Albert's arm is around Jet's waist, fitted comfortably right above his hip with fingers absently tracing the panel that peeks out from under Jet's shirt as the garment rides up a bit with how they're laying.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject