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While they were eating breakfast, Zsasz was awfully quiet. He also looked a little off-colour, Roman had to admit. And he often cleared his throat, winced, and then snuffed. Ew. It made him suspicious. Victor never gets sick. So, that couldn't be it. Right?
"You're so fucking quiet. Do you not have anything worth saying about business, or anything else to update me on?"
Victor just shook his head.
"Ugh, whatever," Roman muttered and continued to eat his breakfast.
They had a full schedule that day, so if Victor really was sick, it would be fatal. Instead of asking, he just ignored it and hoped that maybe he was just unusually groggy.
Of course, much later that day in the late afternoon, they were just in the middle of a business meeting, when suddenly Zsasz fucking collapsed. One second he was alert as always and the next he couldn't keep his eyes open and was on the floor. It was outrageous!
Roman quickly wrapped up the meeting then and made everyone leave.
"Fuck's sake, Zsasz!", Roman muttered under his breath, as he crouched down to look at Victor, who was still lying on the floor, out cold.
He pressed two of his fingers against Victor's pulse point on his neck, just to check, and was relieved to find it still beating, rapidly even. Not entirely sure on how to proceed, Roman was debating if he should carry Zsasz, or if he should just drag him upstairs. He found that dragging him like he was some heavy sack instead of a human being wasn't appropriate, not for him, not for his loyal lapdog.
Sighing, Roman straightened back up and then bent his knees to pick Victor up bridal style. Never in his life had he thought he would be doing this; especially not with Zsasz, but here they fucking were. And fuck, Victor was heavy! Roman struggled to stay upright, while he carried him upstairs to their loft.
"Couldn't have fucking told me you were fucking sick, could you? Fucking prick," Roman huffed all the while.
Upstairs, he laid Victor down on their bed and undressed him, down to his underwear. Ew, he was so sweaty. Roman had already noticed that he was unusually warm, while he was carrying him. Did he have a fever? Probably. He shouldn't leave him in just his underwear then. The problem was that Victor didn't own any sleep clothes. He always slept either completely naked or just in his briefs.
Standing over him like that, he noticed that Victor had started shivering while he was thinking. Great. Roman had to admit that he was overwhelmed by this situation. Usually he was the one who came down with something, and then Victor would take care of him and call the doctor if it got really bad. He knew that even if Zsasz was short of dying, he couldn't call the doctor for him because he absolutely fucking hated that; and Roman respected that.
He decided to take care of the most urgent matter at hand, which was Victor's shivering. Roman turned around and went to his walk-in closet. There he pulled out one of his many silk pyjamas. He went back to the bed and made quick work of dressing Zsasz in his pyjama. It was a little big on him, but it would have to do. Then he spread the blanket over his partner, pulling it up to his chin and leaving him there, while he called his doctor and personal chef.
When he came back to the room, Victor was still... asleep. He would just have to say that he was asleep, it sounded less deathly. Fuck, he was actually fucking worried, wasn't he? Well, Zsasz really had that effect on him. No one else could make him feel worry and anxiety over their life, their well-being.
Roman had asked his doctor what to do and got a few instructions, which he was now determined to follow. His personal chef was also on his way back to the loft to make chicken soup. Roman didn't really believe in its help, but he might have been a little desperate.
The first thing he had to do was check Victor's temperature and then go from there. He measured 103°F, which was definitely a fever. Fuck. At least it wasn't doctor-worthy. He was told to measure regularly and try to get it down.
Roman dialed up his driver to send him out to get some medications for Victor.
While all that was happening, Roman filled a bowl with cold water and brought a cloth, which he soaked in the water and then put it on Victor's forehead, like he was instructed to do by his doctor. He really hoped it would help.
A couple of hours later, Zsasz finally stirred and opened his eyes. He went through five cold rags on his forehead and still burning up. Although the last time Roman took his temperature half an hour ago, he only read 102°F, which was definitely some progress. The medication had arrived by then, too, such as the chicken soup. Victor really had chosen the perfect timing to finally wake up.
Zsasz grumbled in the back of his throat as he turned his head to look at Roman, who sat next to him on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He looked down at him, smiling slightly.
"Welcome back to the living," he rasped, brushing a hand through Victor's short cropped hair.
"Sorry, Boss." Victor winced after he spoke.
"Don't. Although I'd have appreciated it if you had fucking told me, of course. Does your throat hurt?"
Zsasz nodded.
"Well, I have a ton of medication waiting for you. Some to lower your temperature, some to help your throat and so on. Whatever symptoms you might have, I probably have something for it, now. Anyway! I had the chef come back in and he made chicken soup, which is done now. So, you better eat that first. I've already read the packaging and the insert of each medicine and most of them shouldn't be taken on an empty stomach," Roman rambled on, as Victor blinked his way to full alertness.
"Am I wearing your pyjamas?" Victor asked after a few moments.
"Yes. You fucking peasant don't have any, which reminds me that I need to buy some for you, just in case - so I had to improvise and this was the best thing I could think of!"
"Thanks."
Roman made a noise in the back of his throat in response. Then he got out of bed. "I'll bring you the soup. You better fucking stay in bed, unless you need to use the bathroom, of course. Otherwise, stay the fuck where you are, 'kay?" Without waiting for a response, he went outside and to the kitchen.
When he came back, Zsasz had sat up, his back resting against the headboard. Roman put the tray, which was made for such purposes, over his lap.
"Obviously, it's hot. So. You know, don't just fucking shovel it in." Inwardly, Roman cringed at how fussy he was over Victor right now. He usually wasn't like that at all. Fuck. Then again, Victor usually didn't get sick.
Later, when Victor had taken some medication and was about to fall asleep again, it was already night. Roman had gotten himself ready for bed, determined to sleep in the guest bedroom, which used to be Victor's own a while ago. But when he was about to go, Zsasz made a pathetic little whine in the back of his throat. Roman turned back around to him and was met with the biggest puppy dog eyes and pouty lips he'd ever seen. Sure, Victor always looked like that when he wanted something from Roman, but something about the reddened nose, cheeks, sweaty forehead and glassy, watery eyes just made it that much more pronounced.
With a sigh, Roman got back to bed and under the covers with Victor. Despite him being all sweaty and disgusting and, well, sick, he let Zsasz cuddle into him.
"Thank you, Roman," Victor whispered and kissed his chest, where his head laid on.
"Just get better soon, 'kay, baby?"
Zsasz nodded and then his breathing evened out.
Roman was still anxious that Victor could wake up feeling even worse, or not at all, but he tried to focus on the other man's deep, even breaths that told him that he was alright and alive. His temperature had gone down by a lot already, the medication helped, the soup might fucking help, too. He just needed to be a little patient, he was sure. Then Victor would be back on his feet in no time.
With that thought, Roman finally drifted off to sleep, too.