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“Graham… Graham? Graham… C’mon, son, I need you to wake up.” Graham can vaguely feel something shaking him. Part of him wonders if it’s an earthquake, or if he’s dreaming, or if that foggy voice in the distance is significant.
Everything feel hot, so hot that he wants to take off the clothes sticking to he body, but he can barely move except to shiver. It hurts. His whole body hurts. And it’s so hot.
“Shh, it’s alright… Focus on my voice, Graham. I need you to drink something, you’re burning up.” Groaning, Graham manages to open one eyes before scrunching it shut and hissing at the pain caused by the light.
Whatever was shaking him before stops, and there’s the deafening sound of the curtain being pulled across. In his pounding head, it sounds like a jet engine. A heavy weight lands on his shoulder, and gently squeezes.
“Can you sit up? It’s alright, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Another arm eases under him, gently lifting him up, and Graham whine as cold air hits where the duvet rolls off. The bed shifts, dipping with weight, and then Graham is pulled into a lap and safely encased in a warm hug.
Some part of his foggy, heavy brain links the rich, smoky oud wood scent to his father.
“D-Dad…?” One arm remains tucked around his waist, keeping him from flopping backwards or onto the floor. A gentle hand strokes through his hair soothingly.
“You got it. Feeling a little more awake now?” Groaning, Graham presses his flushed face into Charlie’s shoulder, taking comfort from the cool material against his burning, feverish face.
“Yeah.. Not- Not g-good, though...” Charlie’s hand pauses in Graham’s hair, moving instead to his forehead. The back of Charlie’s hand rests there for a while, and Graham can’t help but shiver.
“That’s one hell of a fever. If it doesn’t come down within half an hour, I’m taking you to hospital.”
“Noooo…” The weak protest has Charlie give a gentle chuckle. Graham has always hated going to hospital. He still went when he had to, but it was with much hesitation, anxiety, and bitter sadness.
“Yes, Graham. I wouldn’t make you unless it was serious.” Another whine, all Graham can muster in the moment. And then, there’s something super cold pressing against his lips.
Water.
Sweet, refreshing, water.
Graham manages to weakly lift a hand up to try and take the glass, but it drops back down quickly. Reluctantly, he gives up and just lets Charlie control the flow of water, which feels agonisingly slow in the wake of how much he needs it.
“There we go. That’s it, son. You’ll be feeling better in no time, once you’ve got some medicine in you and taken a nap.” The glass is taken away and Graham sighs as he feels the cool water take over that horrible, scratchy feeling in the back of his throat, and dull the burning in his chest.
Medicine the flavour of old shoes and expired oranges is swallowed down quickly, Charlie huffing in amusement at the face of disgust his son pulls. Slowly, feeling a little better, Graham manages to open his eyes.
His vision is blurry, and the light still hurts even with the curtain pulled. He recognises the blue of Charlie’s uniform first.
“I’m keeping you from your job…”
“No, no you’re not. Don’t think like that. I choose to be here. You are more important to me than an hour or two of work.”
“... I am?” The expression that flickers across Charlie’s face is hurt, but Graham misses it in his feverish state. He doesn’t miss the tight hug he’s pulled into though.
“Of course you are! You’re my son! My kid, my family, my- Oh, Graham, how could my job possibly be any more important than you? Than any of you?”
“We’re not children anymore… ‘Cept Cody…” Another tight squeeze. A gentle kiss to the forehead.
“All four of you will always be my babies. Individual, independent adults, but my babies all the same.” Charlie stands up, lifting Graham with ease. He turns around, and gently lays him back in bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin.
“Get some sleep. I’ll bring you some toast in half an hour, see if we need to go to hospital or not.” Already mostly asleep, Graham mumbles an okay and then lets the feeling of falling overtake him, dragging him into a dreamless sleep. A cold towel wrapped around some ice is pressed on his forehead, but he doesn’t even stir.
Charlie casts a look back at him before he closes the door to Graham’s room. Stressfully, he runs his fingers through his fringe.
Finding Graham like that had been scary.
When his son hadn’t come down to breakfast like usual, Charlie had come upstairs to check on him. Nothing had seemed amiss until he pulled back the curtain and saw how flushed Graham was.
Face red and beads of sweat dripping to his pillow, shuddered breaths and shivering despite the thick, winter duvet…
It had reminded him of his wife.
She’d been prone to sickness a lot, and there had been more close calls than he dared to think about. Doctors had said there was a chance Graham would take after her in that respects, having been premature and sickly.
This was the second time it had been this bad.
Sliding down the wall and rubbing at his face with both hands, Charlie breaths out shakily.
“He’s okay… He’s okay… He’s going to be okay.” Gathering strength, Charlie collects a rucksack from the airing cupboard. He takes it down to the laundry room first, putting in a pair of Graham’s washed pyjamas from the ‘needs to be ironed’ pile, and a few pairs of underwear.
Then, he heads to the kitchen. A full flask of water is put into one of the side pockets, whilst the main compartment is filled with Graham’s favourite sweets, a tub of fruit salad, and a plain butter-only sandwich.
He adds the gamecube Graham left on charge in the lounge, and zips it up. That should do for an emergency bag incase they have to rush to A&E.
“Chief Burns? Is that you up there?” Chase’s voice floats through from the firepole hole, and Charlie walks over to slide down it. He’d asked Chase to keep in contact with the others, and update him on any changes.
“What’s happening, Chase?” Taking in Chief Burns’ frazzled appearance, Chase casts a concerned glance to where Boulder is miserably putting together some kind of contraption. He hadn’t taken the news of Graham’s condition very well.
“We have an update from Heatwave. It seems Doc Greene has accidentally created a substance that can burn through any material - including living metal - incredible slowly.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Chief Burn sighs.
“Do I even want to know how he figured that out?”
“... Let us be grateful that Blades has medical training.” Charlie drags his hand down his face.
“Any other updates?”
“Negative. Only an additional note that the team would like to know Graham’s condition.” At this point, Boulder looks over at them and subtly shuffles closer.
“Yes, how is Graham? Is he okay?” Chief Burn scrunches up his face a little before frowning.
“He’s not… Okay, per se, but I’ll check on him again in ten minutes and see if he’s feeling better.” Boulder’s expression melts into concern.
“And if he’s not…?”
“Chase and I will take him to hospital.” Boulder’s spark constricts painfully, like someone had squeezed it. That’s his partner, his friend, laying in bed sick and on the verge of hospitalization. That dreadful thought must have shown on his faceplate, because all of a sudden, Chase had a servo on each of his shoulders and Chief Burns had a comforting hand pressed to his treads.
“It’s alright, Boulder. It’s okay. That’s not likely to happen. He’s had some medicine, so there’s a good chance he’ll be okay.”
“Graham will be perfectly healthy again soon. I’m sure you will be the first to know after Chief Burns.” Taking deep vents, Boulder tries to calm his swirling spark.
“I- Okay… Okay, he’ll be… Yeah, okay. It’s just…” He trails off, and Chase removes one servo from his shoulder, squeezing his reassuring with the other one. He can probably feel the shake of Boulder’s plating.
“Just?” Yellow optics briefly flick to Chief Burns as he asked the question, and then Boulder sits down, speaking quietly.
“Graham said he was afraid of getting ill again. Something about close calls?” Chief Burns closes his eyes for a moment, as if willing away a painful memory. He swallows, then reopens them. They’re watery, which doesn’t bode well.
“Yeah. When he was 8. It was- It was frightening. For the whole family, though Cody wasn’t born yet. Kade had gone to wake him up so they could walk to school together, and came downstairs screaming that Graham wouldn’t wake up.” Charlie takes a deep breath to compose himself before continuing.
“My wife, she- She got sick a lot. So she knew immediately that it was serious. We tried everything to bring his temperature down - Ice anywhere a medical book suggested, a cold shower, ice in the bath… None of it worked. He could barely lift his head, weak as a kitten.” The memory shakes him a little and Charlie has to pace back and forth until his breathing is back under control.
“I called the school in sick for Dani and Kade and then all of us went to the hospital. It was a close call. Any later and-” A choked sob cuts Charlie off. His own.
Just thinking about that day was enough to make him anxious, make him cry, make him shake.
And now it was potentially happening again.
He could lose his son.
He could lose his son to the same illness that stole his wife.
“Slowly, Chief Burns. Breathe in… And out… In… And Out…” Focusing on Chase’s instruction rather than the lingering PTSD that he should probably start discussing with his therapist again, Charlie manages to bring himself back to the present, Hands clasped over his lower face and a couple of escape tears rolling down his cheeks.
He wipes them away quickly.
Not just for himself, but because his reaction seems to be sending Boulder into distress. He’s not the only one worried about Graham.
“I need to go and check on him. Keep me posted on Heatwave’s situation.”
“Affirmative, Sir.” Charlie starts back up the stairs, only stopping in the kitchen to grab a fresh glass of water and some very lightly toasted toast. It’s closer to bread, but still crunchy.
He nudges Graham’s door open with his shoulder. Quietly, he creeps in and presses the back of his hand to the back of Graham’s neck. It’s a lot cooler than before. Still a fever, but no longer dangerous.
A sigh of relief leaves Charlie in one fell swoop, taking the strength from him as it dows. He grabs the chair from Graham’s study desk, sinking into it next to the bed. Leaning over, he brushes Graham’s wet fringe from the damp cloth.
“You scared me there for a minute, son.”
“Sorry.” The unexpected response surprises him. Graham’s lips twitch up into a smile and one green eye peels open.
(Green eyes like his mother, the only one of the kids to inherit them.)
“I feel better now. A lot better, actually.” Charlie sighs in relief again, smaller this time.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. But you’re on strict bed rest, you hear me?”
“... Yes, Dad…” His voice might be hoarse enough to cover his tone, but Charlie knows his son. He raises a thick eyebrow and gives him a flat expression.
“Strict bed rest. Not at your desk, not making some bizarre contraption, not even doing any calculation. Bed. Rest.” Graham groans a little - the impish workaholic - but his body sags back into the mattress.
“Fine. I can still read?” Charlie huffs, giving Graham’s nose a soft tweak.
“Fiction only. Give that big brain of yours a break, for once.” Graham chuckles at the affection, though he’s taking over by rigorous coughing. Charlie slides his hand up and down his back to help him.
Graham lies there with rasping breaths for a moment, and gestures pleadingly for the glass of water. Confident that Graham is strong enough to hold it himself, Charlie hands it to him once he’s sat up against the headboard.
“Not too big a gulp.” Graham nods, taking mouthfuls larger than a sip but not enough to be a gulp. Just enough to soothe his sore throat. He finishes off half the glass before he sits back in relief, the cloth on his forehead dropping off.
It unravels to reveal a bag of water, ice that’s long been melted by Graham’s fever and the passage of time.
“Here, let me go and refill that.” As Graham passes it over, he spots the plate of toast.
“... Any chance that’s for me?” His stomach growls in response and his cheeks flush darker as he shyly grins.
“I’m a little hungry.” Laughing, Charlie passes it over and pats Graham’s shoulder.
“Eat up, Graham. And don’t you ever scare me like that again, okay?”
“No promises.” With a soft smile, Charlie goes to swap the melted ice out with some not-melted ice. He stops by the firepole hole. Immediately, there’s two anxious faceplates looking up at him.
“He’s okay~. Awake, aware, and actually eating something. He’ll be fine, Boulder. Chase, we’ll be joining the others shortly.”
“Oh, thank goodness!”
“Affirmative, Sir. I am pleased to hear of Graham’s health.” With a hearty thumbs up, Charlie returns to fetching the ice. His eyes catch on the emergency rucksack, but he decides to leave it as it is for now.
Illnesses were strange in that someone could almost be better and then take a turn for the worse. Best to have the emergency hospital set ready to go if it was needed again. Hopefully not.
Charlie refills the bag of ice, grabbing a banana too in case Graham is still hungry. A glance at his watch reveals he’s almost a full hour late to work. But he doesn’t care.
His son is so much more important to him than any job could ever be.
Even if Graham is disobeying his ‘strict bed rest’ rule almost immediately.
“Graham.”
“Oh, shoot. I thought you’d be longer than that.
“Back into bed, now!”
“Aww...”