Chapter Text
Joe shifted his grip on Nicky’s waist to get a better grip on the barely conscious man. He could feel the heat rolling off Nicky through his sweat drenched clothes as he dragged him through the dark alleys desperately, sticking to the shadows and avoiding CCTVs.
“Just stay with me, Nicolo. We are almost there.”, Joe mumbled.
Unfortunately, for the old guards, they had quickly dispersed from London after Merrick to dissuade anyone who still sought the secrets of immortality and let the trail go cold. Nicky and Joe had found themselves on route from New York to a small safe house in rural Maine until Nicky woke up on the flight to New York with a blinding headache. His condition deteriorated consistently since they landed from London. Immortals did fall ill, both of them succumbed to many plagues and ailments, over their centuries together, only to wake up alive again. As much as Joe knew that Nicky succumbing to the sickness would let them hit restart, he was fearful after seeing Andy’s wound not heal.
Joe desperately tried to figure out a way to get them to find some medical help for Nicky but he could not take Nicky to a hospital, especially not after Merrick. He almost gave up and called Andy for an extraction when he picked up word on the street about a small clinic downtown that might give them shelter until he could figure out how to care for his partner.
Just as Joe was about to decide that this clinic was a mirage and he should not have lugged his ailing beloved in the cold, polluted elements of the seediest downtown streets he spotted a small board telling him that he had found the place he was looking for.
“We are here, Nicolo. OK? Just hold on.”
Joe looked at Nicolo, who was clearly incoherent and now sporting a worrying nosebleed from the exertion. Joe winced at the sight of the blood. No matter how many centuries they spilt blood in, Nicolo’s blood always made his insides churn with ice. Freezing fear seized Joe.
Joe burst through the front door into a narrow hallway, heaving his lover’s body as gently as possible.
“Help! He needs help!”
A short woman burst into the hallway, black hair flying out of a bun. She rushed to Nicolo’s side, helped Joe to lay him on the floor gently before taking his pulse and flashing a light into Nicolo’s eyes.
Nicolo groaned weakly, “Sono qui.” Mere seconds later, his eyes rolled back, finally completely unconscious.
Joe’s felt like his heart was trying to escape his chest, he had seen his beloved die innumerable times, but in such sickness, much fewer. He could only cradle Nicolo’s head on his lap and plead for him to wake up. The fatigue of the day vanished, they had faced centuries of torment and destitution for being sodomites. All that seemed to be strong enough to twist joe’s inside like knife of ice was Nicolo’s unconscious, red smeared face, drenched in fevered sweat.
“Nicolo, destati. Destati, per favoure.”, Joe pleaded to no avail, slowly stroking sweat soaked hair.
Nicolo’s chest moved with uneven and laboured breaths, blood still dripping from his nose, albeit much more slowly now.
The woman appeared again in the hallway, this time a gurney and oxygen cylinder in tow.
“Put him on the gurney!” She urged as she fit the mask on Nicolo.
Joe obliged quickly, lifting Nicolo’s weight almost subconsciously. The familiarity of his body oddly calming.
As soon as the soldier was settled on the tiny gurney, looking like a fallen angel, the small woman pushed him down the hallway, through the door she appeared from, Joe jogging anxiously behind her. She seemed to understand that there was no keeping them apart, quickly snapped at Joe to sanitise his hands and get to work, assisting her.