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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[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.]

Yeah, yeah. Doubt some bug'd manage that much.

[Jet's hands came to rest against Albert's back and in his hair, petting the strands absently. It wasn't something he usually did, but it was comforting when Albert did it to him, so he figured he'd try it.

It was oddly soothing to the blond as well.

The touch sends a bit of a shiver down his spine, but he doesn't react beyond that, focusing instead on the rate of Albert's breathing and listening for when its pace would tell him his 'patient' was sleeping.]

[Another soft hum comes from Albert as his eyes drop closed and he snuggles a bit more into Jet's arms. He's not usually quite so keen on contact when sleeping, not this closely anyway. He'll cuddle, certainly, but once it's time to sleep he generally finds it more comfortable to have a little space. Not so, today. Instead Albert finds it easier to doze with Jet so close, fingers threading through his hair in a constant reminder that his partner is here and wants to take care of him. He needs that reminder sometimes, when he feels like he's always the one to be taking care of Jet.

His breathing slows, his fingers gradually stop their tracing, and soon enough Albert is snoring softly with his nose pressed against Jet's neck.]

[Jet smiled to himself as he listened and felt his partner drift off to sleep.

Gently, so as not to wake him up, he pressed his cheek against the soft silver hair that his hand was still stroking in a show of affection he was generally hesitant to display; with Albert asleep, it was easier.

He hadn't felt tired when he'd covered them with the blankets and gotten settled, but as time went by, he found the warmth and generally even sounds of his partner were making his eyelids heavier and, eventually, he gave in to a light doze himself.]

[He dreams. It's not often that he dreams, but something about being sick, of being curled up in Jet's arms triggers it. They're neither good no bad, just strange. Surreal landscapes, color dripping into vivid pools of light, like luminescent paint all dotting a flat landscape. He could reach out a brush and paint with them, paint the flat sky into brilliant colors. And he does. His arm is a brush, after all. He uses it to streak the air with light and color, vivid hues in intricate patterns and flow, all born from a hand meant to create and not destroy.

Perhaps it is a good dream, if surreal.

Unfortunately it's not to last. He coughs himself awake, a deep bronchial sound that's wet around the edges, and once he is awake he finds his entire body aches. Every remaining muscle, even under the metal plating. The entire effect isn't particularly painful, just on the whole entirely uncomfortable and Albert groans as he roll closer into Jet, as if that embrace can shield him from his own illness.]

[Jet didn't drift so far as to dream and any trace of sleep was erased by the sound of Albert coughing. It was concerning how bad the cough seemed and when Albert curled closer, Jet's arms tightened around him, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his partner's back.

Jet wracked his brain for another solution, something else that helped with this kind of thing that he'd just forgotten. Finally, it occurred to him, it was way down deep in memories he tried not to think about anymore, but he could remember a time when things didn't suck and his dad had gotten sick.

He didn't linger on the memory or any others that cropped up with it, choosing to pour his focus back on Albert. He pulled away a little so he could see the other man's face, though his arms didn't drop their protective hold. "Hey, Al...you know, a hot shower or bath or something might help. What do you say?"

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