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Linka did her best to ignore the soft tapping at her door. She was hovering on the edge of sleep and was doing her best to fall.
"You asleep?"
"Of course not," she answered grumpily, opening one eye to see Wheeler's anxious face peering down at her. "How could anyone sleep with you stopping by every five minutes?"
"It's been an hour," he said, sounding a little hurt. "I brought you some juice." He set a glass of juice down on her bedside table.
She looked at it for a moment and felt her anger gradually fade. "Thank you," she said, rolling over onto her back. Her sheets twisted around her legs, but she was too exhausted to fix them or kick them away. She could still feel the uncomfortable stickiness of fever and sweat on her skin.
"You look awful," Wheeler commented helpfully, sinking down onto the edge of her bed. "Feeling any better?"
She shot him a look that prompted him to give her a meek smile and a small shrug of his shoulders.
"Need anything?" he asked.
She glanced at the juice and shook her head. "Nyet, I am just tired."
"Okay." He fidgeted for moment. She watched him twist his Planeteer ring around his finger.
"You look pale," she said suddenly, noting his waxy complexion and the shadows under his eyes. "I told you to stay away – now you will get sick as well." She frowned, feeling annoyed with him. She'd done her best to repel his constant hovering, but he'd ignored her complaints – as always – and now he'd be struck down with the same horrific fever she'd been battling.
He just gave her the crooked little grin that always managed to infuriate her and send her weak at the same time. He shrugged again. "I don't care."
"Well you should," she snapped, wincing as her voice broke and a ribbon of fire trailed down her throat. "We cannot afford so much time off if we all get sick."
He laughed. "Jeez, relax, Linka. Everyone gets sick occasionally. You so much as sneeze and you turn into a grouch." He grinned at her again.
"Well you turn into a baby when you are ill," she argued feebly, rolling onto her side again. "Go away. I was almost asleep before you came in. Now it will take me forever."
"Sure you don't need anything else?"
She sighed and looked up at him tiredly. "I am sure. I just need to sleep."
"Okay." He reached over tentatively and stroked a sweat-dampened curl away from her temple. He let the backs of his fingers brush her cheek. "Your fever isn't as bad," he commented softly.
"I mean it, Yankee, let me get some sleep!" she barked, glaring at him and forcing away the gentle shivers his touch had sent down her spine.
He rolled his eyes and grinned again. "Fine. I'll come back later."
"Of course you will," she grumbled, nestling into her pillow. "You are at my door every five minutes." She closed her eyes and heard her door gently snick shut. She fell deeper into her pillow, relaxing her muscles now that he had gone.
She cracked one eye open just to make sure he really had disappeared. She was suddenly sorry she had been so insistent that he leave her alone. He had spent much of the night hovering nearby as she had thrashed and mumbled her way through the height of her fever. She wasn't sure if the memory of him holding compresses on her forehead was a dream or not.
"Wheeler," she called pitifully, "Come back."
Her door opened almost immediately and she realised he'd been standing just outside. She started to glare at him again before she remembered her guilt. She gave him a small smile instead.
"I did not mean to be so angry with you," she said.
"You never really mean it," he answered smugly, giving her a wide grin. He sank back onto the edge of her bed. "Drink your juice."
"It will hurt," she answered pathetically, listening to the way her voice scraped and whispered over the rough fire in her throat.
"Don't be a baby." He held the glass of juice towards her and she propped herself up onto her elbows to drink it, wincing as it slid down her burning throat.
She set the glass down again and looked up at him, feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable. "Were you with me last night?" she asked, praying he wouldn't turn her innocent phrasing into something with innuendo and double-entendre.
"When you were sweating and moaning? Yes." He grinned cheekily and she punched him on the arm as hard as she could. He laughed and shook his head. "Lie down." He pushed her back gently, his hand on her shoulder. He felt cool and firm and she realised her temperature was still uncomfortably high.
She flopped back into her pillows, defeated and tired. "I hate being sick," she mumbled.
"We all hate you being sick too," Wheeler answered. "You're even touchier than usual."
"I am not," she answered angrily.
He grinned, as though she had just proved him correct. "Get some sleep."
"I have been trying," she answered in frustration. She kicked her sheets down and felt the effort spin dizzy waves through her. "I am hot."
Wheeler rested a cool hand across her forehead. "Not as bad as you were," he answered. "Not that great, though. I'll get you some aspirin."
She waited impatiently for his return, not sure if she wanted him by her side for comfort or because it made her feel better to snap at him and let some of her frustrations out. Sometimes she knew her comments hurt him, but he seemed extra forgiving if she was sick, and she tended to take advantage of it. At the same time, she was not immune to her guilt from being so short with him when all he was trying to do was help. He was obviously tired and worried about her – and she was giving him little thanks for taking such care of her.
She obediently swallowed the aspirin her handed to her and stretched back onto her mattress, which felt hot and damp from the long hours her body had been tossing about on it. She wished she could sleep.
Wheeler was fidgeting again.
She gave a tired sigh and turned to him. "Wheeler?"
"Hm?" He looked back at her.
"I have not been very nice to you," she admitted.
"I won't take it personally," he answered airily. "Just hurry up and get better."
"Even when I am better I am not very nice to you."
He paused for a moment. "Yes you are," he answered. "We argue, but that doesn't mean you're not nice to me." He gave her another bright smile of confidence.
She smiled back at him tiredly. "I suppose."
He reached over and brushed her hair back again, and this time her only response was to close her eyes and sigh with comfort.
"I don't like you being sick," he murmured after a moment. His thumb cruised softly along one of her eyebrows.
"I know," she mumbled, finally feeling close to sleep again. "I am grumpy."
"You are grumpy," he agreed quietly, "But that's not what I meant. It's not right, watching you act tired and unwell. I don't like it."
She reached blindly for his hand, her arm falling against his knee. He took her fingers and laced them firmly through his own.
"You were with me last night," she murmured, still not remembering anything clearly, but knowing with absolutely certainty that he had been there beside her.
"Yeah," he answered. "You owe me."
"I owe you for a lot of things," she said after a moment, guilt in her voice. "You take care of me a lot."
"You're hardly ever sick," he answered, sounding confused. His hand slid down and pressed against her warm cheek as though he were checking for evidence of a rising fever.
"Not just sickness," she answered, keeping her eyes closed. It was easier that way. "You cheer me up. You try to please me and make me happy. I do not often do the same."
"You wear those cute little shorts," he answered. "That's thanks enough."
"Bozhe moy," she breathed, feeling herself edge closer to sleep. "You are an idiot."
He chuckled and combed his fingers through her hair. "Be nice," he reminded her.
She nodded and squeezed his hand. "Stay with me until I am asleep?" she asked softly. She was almost there. She didn't want him to move and wake her up again.
Excuses, excuses.
"I'll stay," he answered. There was a smug tone in his voice that led her to believe he knew more about what she was thinking than she did.
She nestled into her pillow, one hand still enfolded in his, his fingers still trailing softly over her brow and through her hair.
Sometimes it wasn't so bad, being sick.
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