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Cold winds of Bilgewater finally got him. It was funny, almost. He spent so many years in this city, through rains and storms, through winter and summer, being drowned, and drained and everything else, but he never got ill. Never, until today.
He woke up in the early morning, too early for his liking, drained in sweat. His eyes were sore, burning unpleasantly, eyelids too heavy to open them properly. And it’s not talking about the aching in the whole body, brought with fever.
He, apparently, got cold. Great.
“Why are you wiggling so much?” grumbled Graves, lifting himself up beside him on now wet sheets.
“I think I got cold” Twisted Fate laughed, not even surprised by the coughing sound he made.
“This is why I said you to change after falling down in the sea, but noo, you know better than me”
“I would rather die from pneumonia than put your raggy shawl on my body, Malcolm. ” The latter just rolled his eyes before putting a calloused hand on Tobias’ forehead
“Mate, you’re hotter than overheated barrel!”
“Wow, thanks, Malcolm, I always knew you were such a romantic, just a poet...”
“Can you shut up for a second? I’m trying to help you”
“Shut up? It’s not what you ask me yesterday night-” Fate laughed again, before getting into the cough. Graves looked him dead in the eyes for a few seconds before sighing.
“Why am I still working with you?” He was out of the bed now, going around the room, thinking of something.
“Because I’m smart, witty, handsome and just great” T.F.’s eyes were following Graves’s movements like a shark follows a fish school. Slow and steady, lazily almost.
“And very humble. Lay down, I will go down the tavern to ask for soup. And maybe something like tea. If you try to get out of the bed I will shoot your legs off.”
“Fine. I will be there, waiting for you. Hope no angry Hooks are getting here to kill me while I’m so defenceless” He sighed theatrically, sitting up just a little, to look Graves in the eyes.
“Ha-ha, very funny. Now, be patient, I will be back soon” Graves closed the door, too loudly for newly added to Fate’s condition migraine. He blew a raspberry before sliding down the sheets, falling into the feverish nap.
He was back at this goddam mission. Graves running to the trap, and he’s unable to do anything, running like a coward he is. Then caleidoscope of failed saving attempts, years of loneliness before reunion. Reunion with Graves who wanted to kill him. Run through the city, futile attempts to talk sense into him, and then... And then Graves falling down to the bottom of the ocean. Falling down saving him. But as opposed to the real situation in this nightmare he can’t move or do anything, except watching Graves dies. And it’s slow, and it’s painful. And he can’t do anything.
“Tobias, Tobias, wake up”
He opened his eyes, sitting up jumpingly. Graves were right here, sitting on the edge of the bed, with a wooden bowl in on hand, while putting the other on Tobias’s shoulder. He had a soft look of concern on his face, not even hiding under their normal demeanour of banter and annoyance.
“I’m fine, just… nightmare” He is vulnerable, too vulnerable for a few painfully long seconds, before putting back his mask. “Is this… Is this a fish head soup? Stinks worse than you”
“Shut up and eat before I force it into you” Graves also put on his mask, but deep in his eyes there is concern and sadness. He wouldn’t pry anything out of his partner, he knows better than this. But he knows when something isn’t right.
“Wow, what a brute, force the food into me…” He couldn’t finish before Graves forces a spoonful of soup into his loud mouth.
“Eat, and then go back to sleep. I will be here”
Tobias opened up his eyes in shock. He didn’t ask for this, couldn’t dream of asking. But he wanted this. And Graves knew.
He should talk back, tease him or banter a little, but…
“Thanks”