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Napping in the back of a van is a lot more uncomfortable than Narancia remembers.
Then again, he’s usually not confined to the van. Often, he falls asleep against Fugo’s shoulder or across Mista’s lap without really trying-- on away missions that require the usage of their getaway van, they all end up exhausted. But this time, it’s different, because he awoke outside the van upon feeling freezing hands against his face only to find that he’d collapsed from a fever he had no idea about.
Bucciarati had ordered him to stay in the van after that, much to his chagrin. So now he’s here, alone, achy with fever and the scrapes on him from falling on asphalt as he waits for the rest of his team to return. It’s an awfully unpleasant experience; he has no way to entertain himself, and no matter which way he turns he can’t seem to get any shuteye. Not to mention the way his vision swims and he’s uncomfortably hot for a spring day, skin sticky with a thin sheen of sweat.
If it were a couple years ago, he’d be able to fall asleep anywhere without a problem. But he’s gotten used to the comfort of a bed and the company of his team. It’s safe to say that Narancia’s been much more privileged these past few years than he was for the many years prior, and while he’s incredibly grateful, he misses the ability to pass out at will on any surface regardless of comfort. He blows out a long and frustrated exhale and forces himself upright, casting his gaze out the window.
Narancia hears the car door behind him unlock and nearly jumps out of his skin, head whipping around to see who’s there. It makes his vision blur and his head pulse for a moment. He groans lowly, rubbing at his eyes. Luckily, the person responsible isn’t an enemy; it’s just Bucciarati.
“Ah, you’re up,” Bucciarati smiles, slipping into the seat in front of Narancia and placing a plastic bag in the seat adjacent. “How are you feeling?”
“Cruddy,” Narancia admits. “I can’t sleep for nothin.’”
Bucciarati makes an expression of concern, humming his sympathy. “The others should wrap up soon, and then we’ll be able to go home.”
“I thought you were with them.”
Bucciarati shakes his head. “And left you completely alone? No, absolutely not.” He gestures down the road, “I told them to go on ahead and stopped by a convenience store on the corner to pick some things up for you.” Bucciarati reaches into the bag and pulls out a cold water bottle, holding it out to Narancia, who gratefully accepts it.
At first, he just presses his cheek to it, relieved by the cooling sensation. It’s been a while since he last got a fever, and back then, it was a lot rougher. The first few times he got sick after his near-death experience felt like equally near-death experiences, and he was terrified. Slowly, though, Narancia’s gotten more acquainted with the fact that humans get sick and survive without needing a hospital.
“Drinking it would help more than cuddling with it, Narancia,” Bucciarati chides, and Narancia huffs before uncapping the bottle and sipping slowly from it.
After taking a good few sips, the bottle is handed back to Bucciarati who places it beside the bag.
“Are you gonna stay here til’ the others get back?”
Bucciarati nods. “Is that an issue?”
“No,” Narancia shakes his head, as if that were a serious question. “I was gonna ask you to stay.”
“Why don’t you lay down and try and get some more rest? Maybe it will come easier if you aren’t alone.”
Narancia shakes his head, curling up against the side of the door. “I wanna lay on Mista. I cuddle with his thigh, usually.” He rests his cheek against the cool glass of the window with a sigh. “I miss my stuffed animals. They make being sick better.”
Bucciarati doesn’t answer right away, thinking for a moment. And then there’s the familiar sound of a zipper being unzipped, and Narancia turns to see Bucciarati reaching into the side of his thigh. His eyes widen; no matter how often he’s seen this happen, it always takes him by surprise when this happens without warning.
“What are you doin’?” He asks, watching as Bucciarati digs around in... the void.
Bucciarati puts up a finger, and the pinch in his brow recedes as he gets a hold of what he’s looking for. From the side of his thigh, he pulls out a large blue marlin that must be at least 4 feet long--every time Narancia thinks he’s done pulling at it, more of it emerges from the void in his leg. Once he finally gets the fish out of him, he hands it to Narancia with such care that one would think he was holding a human baby.
“You can use my fish, if you’d like,” is Bucciarati’s only explanation.
Narancia blinks, looking over the absolutely massive stuffed animal. It’s at least three times the size of all of the ones he has, and he’s quite honestly amazed. He takes it with the same care with which it was handed to him, and it’s surprisingly soft and pleasant to hug.
“Where did you get him? Does he have a name?!” Narancia looks up to Bucciarati, who smiles fondly at him.
“He was a gift when I was young. Be cautious with him for the ride home, alright? He’s old and fragile,” Bucciarati explains, and Narancia nods eagerly. “He’s unnamed. I haven’t found one that suits him.”
Narancia pets the marlin kindly and grins down at it. It’s honestly pretty cute for a giant semi-realistic fish plush. Meanwhile, Bucciarati hears the clamor of footsteps coming towards them through his open window, seeing the rest of the gang returning from the mission. They all look to be unharmed, if not a bit disheveled, so he assumes the mission went well. He slips out of the van to meet them, likely deciding who will be doing the driving back, and meanwhile, Narancia lays back down more comfortably with the fish in his arms, letting his eyes flutter closed.
When he opens them again, it’s in response to being tapped on the shoulder, and the first thing he sees is a familiar pattern of black and red. Mista must’ve picked him up to rest his head on his lap at some point while he was asleep.
“C’mon, buddy,” Mista ruffles Narancia’s hair, “we’re home. You can take your frickin'...giant fish inside with you.”
Narancia yawns and sits up, noticing that the rest of the squad is already out of the van. Mista opens his door and slides out, Narancia following suit with the marlin clutched in his hands with the caution Bucciarati had instructed him to have. He trudges inside, limbs feeling like lead, and despite the unpleasantness of having to walk upstairs Narancia is eager to get to his bed.
But first, he has to return the marlin. Even though he doesn’t really want to. It’s velvety and it smells like Bucciarati’s cologne, plus it’s the perfect size for cuddling with. In the back of his mind, Narancia imagines his Capo cuddling with a stuffed animal; it’s equally hilarious as it is hard to imagine. Bucciarati is taking the things he’d picked up from the store earlier out of the bag when Narancia manages to make it to the kitchen to, sadly, surrender the fish.
The taller man looks down, spotting Narancia’s overt reluctance, and seems to consider something. “You can hold onto him if you promise to take good care of him.”
“Really?!”
“Mhm,” Bucciarati hands Narancia the water bottle from earlier. “Take this with you, too. You have to stay hydrated and sweat out that fever. I’ll be checking up on you intermittently.”
Narancia agrees and takes the bottle, turning to make the treacherous journey upstairs and a few more feet down the hall.
“Wait, Narancia,” Bucciarati calls. Narancia looks towards him over his shoulder.
“Think about a name for him, alright? It’s about time he has one.”
Narancia, if he had the energy, would be bouncing off the walls with excitement--he gets to name Bucciarati’s fish? That’s such an honor! And with a little more pep in his step, Narancia makes his way upstairs, collapsing onto the bed with--Jimmy, no, Michael? Or maybe... Frank beside him. Okay, maybe he needs to work on his naming skills, but he will come up with a worthy name for the marlin-- Marley , maybe!
Narancia takes a determined swig of the water, committed to getting better as soon as possible so he can put all of his energy into thinking of a good name. And when he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the sea.