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When you open your eyes, you whimper at the light. Every muscle in your body aches, and your head is pounding. Through the fog of fever, you try to figure out what woke you. God, you feel terrible. You try to sit up, but you honestly don't have the energy. Joyce wasn't lying, this virus going around is a bitch.
You hear a noise, and tense. That must be what woke you. But you're sure you locked the door - Hop gives you so much shit when you forget. Fresh sweat breaks out on your brow that has nothing to do with the fever. Fighting against dizziness, you try to reach for the baseball bat you keep under the bed.
"Whoa, baby." His voice is soft, and you turn with some difficulty, falling back onto the bed with the bat in your hand.
"Hop?"
"Yeah, sweetheart." He gently takes the bat from you and rests it in the corner. "I came over as soon as I got your message."
"I don't want you to get sick." You croak, as he sits down on the edge of the bed and touches the back of his hand to your brow, and then your cheek. "You were supposed to stay away."
"I know, you said." He presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. "But if you think I'm leaving you alone when you're like this, you're out of your fucking mind."
His hand and lips are so mercifully cool on your heated skin, you press into his touch.
"You're burning up, baby." He looks at you with real concern, "I'm going to get you cooled down, then you can go back to sleep, okay?"
You manage a nod, and he kisses your forehand again.
"That's my girl. I'll be right back."
Your eyes start to close again, and you fall into a half doze, before the feel of something cool landing on your forehead rouses you a little.
"It's okay, sweetheart. This will feel good, promise." He lays another cool, wet cloth on your chest above your sleep vest, and then lightly wraps two more around your wrists.
Even though the cold feels good on your skin, you're shivering from fever at the same time, and try to pull the blanket over yourself.
"Here, baby." He takes it from you and tucks it around you from the chest down, "I need you to take some medicine for me, then you can sleep."
You obediently swallow the pills he gives you with a few sips of water from the glass he holds to your lips. You're dimly aware that you should maybe be embarassed by your helplessness, but you feel too horrible to worry about that. Honestly, you could weep with relief that Hop's here and willing to take care of you.
You must have fallen asleep again, because when you wake it's dark, but you feel a little more human. You're no longer shivering, even though you still feel completely exhausted. You try to raise your head, and hear Hop's voice.
"Hey, baby." He's moved the easy chair from the living room to your bedroom, and is sat right beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Bit better." You tell him, the words rasping in your sore throat.
"Great. Think you could eat something?"
Your stomach somehow growls and rolls at the same time. "Not sure."
"Will you try?" His forehead is creased with worry, and he looks tired himself.
You nod a little, and he presses another kiss to your forehead.
"I'll be right back." He tells you.
He returns with some kind of chicken broth, which smells good enough to persuade you to eat quite a few mouthfuls before your stomach protests. He doesn't argue when you gesture the bowl away, but he does make you drink a glass of water, coaxing you gently when you try to give up half way through. You never would have guessed he had such capacity for patience.
"Well done, baby." He sets the empty glass aside. "You want to sleep again?"
"What time is it?" You realise you've lost track completely.
"Just before eight. You were out for a while."
"I just feel so tired." Your throat feels less sore after the broth and water though, which is a relief.
"Of course you do, you're sick. Sleep is what you need."
You grab for his hand, filled with a sudden fear. "Please don't leave me alone for the night."
"Are you crazy?" His frown deepens, "I would never leave you like this. Even if you didn't live out in the damn woods."
Hearing his familiar grumbling about the safety of your house is strangely comforting, and you manage a small smile as you snuggle back down into the bed. "Thank you for taking care of me." You murmur sleepily.
"You don't ever have to thank me, baby." You feel him press one more kiss to your forehead before sleep overtakes you again.
You wake in the night with a fever so high that you barely know where you are. Hop feeds you more drugs, puts more cold cloths on you, and eventually you fall back to sleep.
In the morning, you wake with a clear head. Your mouth feels like you've been eating sand, your muscles feel a little weak, but you no longer feel feverish. You turn your head on the pillow to see Hop, fast asleep in the easy chair next to your bed, wearing a pair of plaid pyjama pants and a Hawkins PD T-shirt, a blanket half covering him. You immediately feel guilty, but also kind of comforted. Knowing he's been here all night, right next to you if you needed him, that's pretty special.
"Hop?" You whisper.
His eyes open immediately, "What do you need, sweetheart? You okay?"
You reach for his hand, trying to reassure him. "I feel much better. Well, I think the fever's gone anyway."
He checks your forehead with the back of his hand. "Yeah, feels like it. That's good, baby."
"I can't believe you slept here all night."
"You asked me not to leave you. Not that I would've."
"I meant leave me alone in the house!" Your guilt redoubles.
He chuckles softly. "I know you did, but honestly, I needed to be near you. You were pretty out of it for a while there. I could only sleep if I knew a hundred percent I'd hear you if you woke up."
It does make sense, so you let at least a little of the guilt go. "Thank you."
"I told you, you don't ever have to thank me for taking care of you." He leans over and plants the softest of kisses on your lips. "I love you, remember?"
"I love you too."
"Now, how about a bath and something to eat, then you can get back in bed."
"Only if you come back to bed too."
He raises an eyebrow, "You're still sick, baby."
You blush, and then notice his slight smirk. "Very funny. You know I didn't mean that, I just..."
"You sleep best when I'm holding you." He states it as a matter of fact, and you certainly can't argue.
So Hop runs you a bath, and while you're enjoying the feel of warm water on your skin, washing away the sweats of your fever, he changes the bed linen and makes you some breakfast, as you discover when he helps you out of the tub and back to bed.
"Please?" You ask, sitting up against the headboard and holding back the blanket, and he climbs in next to you, immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulders.
"Eat." He gestures to the plate of toast on the nightstand. "There's tea in that mug, too."
You wouldn't have ever thought he'd be this good at playing nursemaid, but then with sudden clarity you think of his daughter, and your stomach rolls. Of course Hop knows about taking care of a sick person. There's no way you're going to mention it, but you snuggle closer to him as you eat your toast and sip your tea.
"I really am doing better," You reassure him, and you see his frown lighten just a little. "Joyce said it was kind of a twenty four hour thing."
"Yeah, seems to be." He agrees. "You were pretty damn sick there, though, baby."
"But you took care of me."
"Always." He kisses your forehead, and then your lips. "I gotta admit, I'm dead tired now though."
"Let's sleep for a while, then." You're still pretty exhausted yourself.
Hopper lays down with what sounds like a sigh of relief, and you cuddle into his side as he wraps his arms around you. His warmth, as always, is so comforting, as is the way he gently strokes his thumb back and forth over your skin as he holds you.
"I love you, Jim." You whisper, and he squeezes you a little tighter.
"Love you too, baby." His voice is already slurring with sleep, and you're glad. You let your own eyes drift closed, feeling safe in his arms.
You're not sure if it's the increased heat or Hopper's voice that wakes you a few hours later. When you look at his face, you realise it doesn't matter either way, and you know what he's going to say before he croaks out the words.
"Baby, I think I'm sick."