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His body aches, his throat is sore, and there's a dull pounding behind his eyes. Light sharpens the pain. More than once he'd buried his face under a pillow to hide from light, but, inevitably, resurfaced for fresh air.
For the last several hours he'd been freezing cold. Hermione had piled every blanket in the house on him and still he shivered. It wasn't until she left in search of her little heating blanket that his body switched and turned so hot he would have sworn he was in a sauna. He'd kicked off all the covers. Now they lay draped over the foot of the bed, half on the floor.
And then, in a flash, he turned cold again.
Cool air splashes over his sweat slicked skin like waves of icy water. He shivers and reaches out, blindly grasping for absent blankets now beyond his reach thanks to his own flailing. He gives up a moment later, crosses his arms over his chest, and draws up his knees.
“..uhhh,” he whines in frustration, eyes closed as he lies on his side with his back to the door.
Hermione must not be in the room because she doesn't answer, and for that he's grateful. He didn't actually want her to hear him. He just wanted to vent a little.
He'd made it a full workshift before succumbing to the flu. In that time he'd arrested a burglar, a murderer, and a man who methodically earned the trust of pensioners only to steal away their life savings. Three cases closed. Then he'd gone dizzy in Drake's office and his own Sergeant had sent him home.
“Baby,” Hermione coos as she enters their bedroom. “What happened to the covers? They're on the floor.”
She sounds genuinely concerned, but there's a hint of amusement in her voice.
He's never been this sick around her before. A cold, maybe, but not knocked out of commission for days, which is what Jackson said would likely happen.
For all her care and sympathies, Hermione seems to enjoy seeing him vulnerable.
“Did my big boy get too warm?”
Without opening an eye he knows she's smiling.
“Uhh,” he groans at her playful endearment.
“Aww. But you're shivering now,” she says, her voice genuinely sweet. “Want me to pull up the covers?”
“…please, baby,” he whispers, his voice rough.
“Alright. But, first, open up.”
He cracks open an eyelid to peek up at her. Instead of an electric blanket she's holding a thermometer. He closes his eye, parts his lips, and obediently takes the thermometer when she slips it into his mouth.
“Under your tongue, Mr Reid,” she reminds him.
The glass feels cool. It clinks against his teeth as he shivers and he reminds himself not to clench his jaw.
“Mmf,” he grunts and wraps his arms tighter around his middle.
There's a rustling of fabric and then the weight of the blankets settles over his body. It's comforting. He peeks up at her again, watching as she pulls them over his shoulder, up to his chin, and ensures his whole body is covered.
The mattress dips as she sits beside him. She looks down at him a moment, then raises her hand and gently slips her fingers into his hair to pull it away from his forehead.
Her touch lulls the throbbing ache in his head. He closes his eyes in relief and silently begs her not to stop.
“Let me see,” she says as she pulls the thermometer from his mouth. “101.” She tuts and shakes her head.
His mind feels mushy. He blinks up at her, eyes burning from the fever, and frowns.
She sets the thermometer on the bedside table and rises.
“I couldn't find the electric blanket,” she says with a sigh. She walks around the bed and out of his view. “I might have lent it to Janet. I'll ring her tomorrow and ask.”
“Mm,” he grunts.
Never in his life has Edmund felt this cold. The waves of icy shivers are unrelenting. He clenches his jaw and tries to curl up tighter, but even bundled with his own body heat trapped under the thick layer of blankets, he cannot warm up. He had been hoping the electric blanket would give him some relief. He turns his head to press his face into the pillow, draws a shaky breath, and shudders.
Behind him, the bed dips again. There's a blast of cool air as the covers are lifted off his back and then replaced. He groans, but doesn't look over his shoulder to investigate.
“Sorry, baby,” she murmurs.
“..s'okay.”
She must be tired. He knows she had a long day. She's always so busy. Early to bed for the both of them, then, he supposes.
But she doesn't turn her lamp off. Instead, the mattress shifts and then, quite suddenly, he feels the soft, warm, lovely swells of her naked breasts press against his back. It is such a shock of heat from the chills strumming through his body that he gasps. She scoots closer. Carefully, she curls herself around him, cocooning his large frame in the natural warmth of her body. Her slender fingers slip over his ribcage, under his arms, and through his chest hair to rest above his heart. Then she squeezes him, hugs him close, and presses her cheek to the nape of his neck.
It is like magic. Her warmth spreads over his body like a soft ray of warm sunlight. The trembles fade. His breathing evens. His body relaxes. His throat is still sore, his body still aches, but he is no longer so icy cold.
He opens his eyes. “Oh.”
“Shh, baby,” she whispers against his skin. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be better.”
“Jackson said it's the flu.”
“I suspect the American is right.”
“I don't want you to catch it.”
“Baby, we live together. If one of us catches something, the other is bound to as well.”
“But-”
“And if I do, then you can care for me.”
Fondly, he smiles. He wriggles against her, wanting to feel her against his skin as he settles into the mattress. Then he lifts her hand to his lips and places a tender kiss to her palm.
“Yes, my love,” he breathes against her hand.
When he falls asleep, her fingers are playing in his chest hair, rubbing tiny circles across his skin.