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Peter stuck around for the duration of Elias' illness, mollifying himself with various justifications: that it was all part of his grand plan, that he was gaining Elias' trust, that he was serving his patron. When the cognitive dissonance got too loud, he sat on the balcony and fed passers-by to the Lonely.
Peter's initial delight at seeing Elias laid low wore off quickly and, despite whatever affection lurked deep in his chest, the close quarters were starting to chafe.
He really should have fled at the first tickle in his throat, the first phantom ache in his joints, but, like a fool, he didn't. Just a bit longer, he told himself, a gambler at the table, only a bit longer and then I'll go.
But he stayed.
He cursed himself for it, when he woke in the night coughing and gasping like a man half-drowned.
"Well, well, well," Elias said with undisguised epicaricacy, appearing in the doorway. "No good deed goes unpunished, eh?"
Peter wiped his watering eyes and tried not to glare. Of course Elias was watching. "I suppose you'll want me out, then?" he said. Not that it mattered. He had little doubt that Elias would watch him no matter where he went.
"Not at all," Elias said, touching his chest in a show of fake goodwill. His fingers glided over the silk of his pajama shirt. "Certain Institute employees have already started a rumor that I've died. The longer I stay away, the funnier it will be when I come back."
"That kind of thing is more my style, don't you think?" Peter asked. He settled back on the couch, pulling the blankets over his shoulders.
"Perhaps you're rubbing off on me." Elias sniffed and ran his gaze down the length of Peter's body. "Now are you quite finished or do I need to fetch you some medicine so you don't keep me up all night with that racket?"
Peter leaned into the next round of coughing, almost enjoying the way they scraped against his chest. Elias flinched. Peter smiled at him. "Does that answer your question?"
For once lost for words, Elias only muttered something that sounded dangerously close to ' you're an ass' and strode to the kitchen, where Peter had set up a base of operations.
"Thank you, love," Peter called after him. Despite himself, a rush of fondness flooded his chest at the sound of Elias dropping a bottle of pills and cursing under his breath. If Peter had to be sick, at least it would be someplace relatively safe. And he could even use his position to get under Elias' skin.
"Here." Elias stomped back in and thrust his fist at Peter, dropping two pills into his open palm.
"Oh, Elias, thank you," Peter gushed, reveling in the way Elias' cheeks darkened. "But could I have some water as well?"
"You can't dry swallow them?" Elias demanded.
Peter shook his head, and Elias turned on his heel. Peter listened to the banging of the cupboard doors, the rush of the faucet. He waited until Elias was back in front of him, holding out the glass, to say, "Oh, how silly of me. I meant to ask for ice in it. Would you, please?"
Elias gave a controlled exhale through his nose, his lips pale. "And then you'll let me go back to sleep?"
"I'm not keeping you awake, am I?" Peter asked with faux-innocence.
"Forget it," Elias said. "There's your water. Take it or leave it." He marched back to his bedroom, and Peter made a point of coughing pitifully into his sleeve up until the door slammed shut. Elias must, Peter reflected as he swallowed down the pills, still be feeling a bit under the weather. He usually kept his temper on a tighter leash.
Ah, well.
Peter's head throbbed. He rubbed his temples and rearranged himself under the covers. Maybe tomorrow he could convince Elias to share his bed.
-
As it turned out, when morning came, Peter was in no such mood to badger Elias. He could feel the fever in him like a physical thing, the way it squeezed his joints and clouded his mind. His throat stung with every swallow and his head ached whenever he dared move it too quickly.
"Feeling any better?" In the light of morning, Elias was much more like himself. He smirked down at Peter and the smug satisfaction nearly radiated off him in waves, compounded by the fake pity in his voice.
"No," Peter said.
"No?" Elias repeated, his whole posture changing in a show of concern. He was overselling it, but Peter was too exhausted to tell him so. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that."
"Mm," was all Peter had the energy to say. He muffled a string of ribcage-rattling coughs into the blankets and sighed
"Oh," said Elias, apparently realizing something. Peter didn't care. He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the cacophony of aches and discomforts plaguing him. The spine-tingling sensation of the Eye on him certainly didn't help.
Abruptly, abstractly, he remembered how a feverish Elias had briefly lost control of his powers. Would he, too, revert back to such juvenile tendencies? Admittedly, the idea of accidentally throwing Elias into the Lonely was pretty funny, though the idea of a subsequent rescue was less so.
"Sit up." Elias' voice cut through the fog in Peter's head.
"No."
"Don't be a brat when I'm trying to help you."
That got Peter's attention. He opened his eyes and sat up, wincing at the way it made his head spin. He'd never been prone to seasickness, but the slow rocking of the room made his stomach twist all the same. "Help me?"
And there Elias stood, one hand curled shut, presumably around another dosage of medicine, and the other white-knuckling the edge of a saucer on which stood an ornate teacup. He raised his eyebrows at Peter as if to say ' yes, you idiot ' and jerked his chin upwards. "Mm."
"Oh, Elias ." Peter blinked hard, trying to get his eyes to tear up. "How thoughtful. I always knew you really cared about me."
Elias' lip curled. "Just take it."
"Alright, alright." Peter accepted the pills and swallowed them down with a mouthful of hot tea. It was scalding, still nearly boiling, and would have had a mortal man's mouth searing and blistering within seconds. Peter took another sip. "What's this?"
"Lapsang souchong," Elias said. "It--" He stopped.
"Go on."
"It's one of my favorites." Elias sniffed and seemed suddenly fascinated by his cuff buttons.
Something warm bloomed in Peter's chest, something that had nothing at all to do with the temperature of tea. He suddenly ached to disappear. He would board the Tundra and vanish for another 20 years or so, and cleanse himself of this desire for-- "Elias?"
"Hm?"
Peter swallowed hard. "I want your bed."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm the sick one now. Seems only fair, doesn't it?"
Elias scoffed and moved to straighten his tie, seeming to have forgotten he wasn't wearing one. "I think not."
If Peter had been feeling better, he would have sunk into the Lonely right then and there and walked to Elias' bedroom to claim the bed. Instead, he only sipped his tea and sighed. "Oh, very well."
They slipped into silence, then, an awkward one. Peter drank his tea while Elias stood over him, still as one of the Stranger's mannequins (which is to say, moving only when he thought Peter wasn't looking). In his periphery, Peter could just make out the rise and fall of Elias' chest under his crisp, white button down.
In the silence, Peter's head swam and spun and the muscles in his legs ached. He sighed through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head rest against the couch cushions. A fog was rolling in.
"Peter?" Elias' voice grated against his eardrums and rattled around inside his skull.
"Shhh."
"Don't spill tea on y-- my nice sofa."
"Take it."
Elias lifted the cup and saucer from Peter's hands. They made an unpleasant clink against the hardwood coffee table.
Silence.
Peter shuddered and shivered and fought the urge to scrub at his skin with his fingernails. The world loomed large, too loud and too close. If he could only sleep --!
"Well, if you're going to be dramatic about it," Elias said.
It took too long for the words to make sense. Peter frowned and played them over and over again in his head until the meaning finally sunk in. He opened his eyes. "Oh?"
"I suppose I could share my bed with you."
Peter would have liked to have teased Elias then. His skin tingled. "How nice."
"Get up, then."
Right. Peter tried to moor himself, somehow, as his thoughts spun lazy circles in head. His lower back ached. Everything ached, really, but his lower back flared up suddenly as though to remind him exactly why he'd asked to move to the bed. With a groan, Peter swung his legs over the side of the couch and sat up.
He blinked and Elias manifested under his arm. Peter tried not to lean on him too much as he stood, but soon found he didn't have much of a choice.
"You're on fire," Elias muttered.
They staggered to the bed and Peter collapsed onto it, privately satisfied with the way the bulk of his body made the wooden frame groan.
"Well," said Elias, a little out of breath. "Can I help your Majesty with anything else?"
"Yes," Peter breathed, and stifled a few coughs behind his lips.
"What is it?"
Peter didn't answer with words, instead opting to roll over, grab Elias' waist, and pull him onto the bed.
"Peter!" Elias shouted, thrashing against Peter's chest. "Do you know how much this shirt cost?"
"Don't care." Peter moved Elias into 'little spoon' position and snuggled up closer to him. Despite his stuffy nose, he could just make out the scent of Elias' hair pomade.
"I may smother you," Elias said stiffly. "I could do it, you know, just take one of the pillows and--"
"Sh." Peter pressed his forehead to the back of Elias' neck. "Sleep now. You can threaten me when I'm better."
"I will," Elias said, but he did relax in Peter's arms.
The fog of sleep soon rolled over Peter's mind. As he felt himself slipping away, he could have sworn he heard Elias whisper, "Feel better soon."
Then he was under.