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It starts the day before Thanksgiving. They’ve been off shift for nearly eight hours, and Sylvie’s been holding out hope that the sore throat she’d woken up with and the achiness that’s settled in her bones, is merely a byproduct of little sleep and numerous calls. But now, as she and Matt walk through Whole Foods, she knows it’s a losing battle. They’ve been dating for almost six months, it’s their first Thanksgiving together as a couple, and of course she has to ruin it by being sick. Half of her wants to tough it out and stay quiet about how she feels, go over to the loft in the morning and spend the day with Stella and Severide, but the other half just wants to curl up in bed and sleep.
She lets Matt lead them down the aisle where all the chips are, looking for the ones they know Stella especially likes. As they come to a halt in front of the many bags, Sylvie leans into Matt’s shoulder, that general feeling of malaise washing over her. The flu has been making its rounds through the firehouse, but both she and Matt have been taking extra precaution in avoiding it- even though they both rarely catch things anyway.
“We should get a couple different kinds I guess, I think a few of the others said they were going to drop by later on.”
“Mmm, good idea.”
Her words must come out as slow as she feels, and suddenly a strong arm is wrapping around her waist, and Matt’s staring at her with worry in his eyes.
“…you okay?”
Sylvie nods, giving him a small smile. She really doesn’t feel too awful, but she knows it won’t be long until she does, with how suddenly unwell she’s feeling, and how fast the flu can hit.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“ Sylvie . I’m serious. What’s wrong? No lies, remember?”
And okay, damn him for being able to see right through her. It’s not that she wants to lie, but she was hoping on at least making it out of the store before admitting it. Sighing, her left hand rubs across her face.
“Guess I’m just feeling a little off, is all.”
The Captain’s brow furrows more, eyes doing a three second sweep down her body as if he’s checking for injuries. Sylvie’s heart melts a little at that. He pulls her closer and presses a kiss to her golden hair.
“Do you want to head back to the truck while I pay?”
“No, we’re done after this anyway. I really am okay Matt.” She keeps her voice reassuring, which seems to deflate her boyfriend, who nods but keeps her close the rest of the trip.
It’s not until they’re both in his old truck, heat blasting to combat the cold 42 degree weather outside, that he shifts in his seat to look at her. Sylvie’s whole body feels heavier than ten minutes prior, and her shoulders and back are starting to ache dully.
“Okay, what’s up honey? You’re not feeling well?” He looks so concerned that she instinctively holds his hand across the middle console.
“Not really. I felt fine earlier, but it’s all just hitting me really fast.”
His unoccupied hand moves and suddenly the back of it is resting against her forehead. It feels nice, especially as he moves it down to her cheek. Up until ten seconds ago she’d not even entertained the thought she might have a fever. It would definitely explain why she feels chilled and gross.
“New plan. I know we were supposed to go grab the other stuff Sev needed from Target, but he can suck it up and go himself. I think it’s time we get you home and in bed. You feel a little warm.”
Sylvie nods, deciding it’s not worth it to argue. If she’s being honest, she doesn’t even want to- getting in bed sounds like heaven right now. Matt starts pulling out of the parking spot, squeezing her hand when she lets her eyes droop shut. While he drives, she drifts, letting the low sound of music and the truck rumbling pull her into the limbo between being awake and asleep. Eleven minutes later she’s being woken up, a hand on her shoulder.
“Syl, it’s time to wake up. We’re home.”
Blinking, the paramedic straightens herself up, stretching a little. They’re in front of her building, and Matt’s holding out his hand now, all the bags of groceries in his other. She thinks she could carry a few, but is grateful he doesn’t offer any. By the time they’re walking into the cozy apartment, lemon wallpaper and blue couch greeting them, she’s ready to raise a white flag and surrender. She’s definitely caught the flu, and she definitely wants to do nothing more than crawl under her covers.
“Go get changed and lay down. I’m going to be there in just a second, I just need to put this stuff away.” Matt leans down and presses a kiss to her hairline, and Sylvie’s fairly certain he’s checking her temperature again, when his lips linger.
Tiredly, Sylvie heads to the bedroom and pulls off her clothing, tossing the items onto the floor in a little pile in the corner. Her mind supplies that she must be sick if she’s not even taking ten steps to put them in the hamper near her closet. For the briefest second, she considers just getting in bed naked, but then forces herself to get into her sleep shorts and, in a moment of neediness, she snags one of her boyfriend's older t-shirts he keeps in one of the drawers she’d given him last month.
Five minutes later, she hears Matt walk in, her eyes shut and face gracefully smushed into her pillow.
“Sunshine, I need you to stay awake just a little longer. I need you to open up and keep this under your tongue okay?”
She does as asked, opening her mouth. She feels plastic slip under the right side of her tongue, and she clumsily takes hold of the thermometer as she listens to Matt shuffling around. When the shrill beep sounds, her eyes crack open as she pulls the instrument out. The small screen is lit up red, and the numbers read ‘100.9’. What a great first Thanksgiving together, she thinks morosely.
“Mind telling me what it is?” Sylvie watches as Matt changes into sweatpants and a plain green t-shirt, picking up both his and her dirty clothes, dropping them into the hamper casually. It’s domestic and, even sick, the paramedic feels herself smile at the gesture.
“100.9. Not terrible.”
“Still a fever,” Matt replies, getting into the left side of the bed. She curls up close, her face finding Matt’s shoulder again, pressing her cheek against it. He runs a hand through her hair gently. “I’ll text Sev and let him know you have the plague,” he teases.
“I ruined Thanksgiving.” Her voice is a half whine, but she can’t find it in herself to care. Matt snorts next to her.
“No, you didn’t. Thanksgiving this year will be quiet and slow. We’ll spend all day together, just us. Really, I don’t mind it at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love Kidd and Sev, and I hate that you’re sick. But getting to spend time with you alone is always nice too. Even if all I’ll be doing is watching you while you sleep.”
“Not creepy at all,” she mumbles back, feeling sleep tug at her.
“Go to sleep, sunshine. I’ll wake you later for meds if you want them. Rest now.”
+ + +
Matt wakes up feeling disoriented. The light that’s been filtering through the window earlier is gone, replaced with darkness apart from the few street lamps in the distance. Shifting, everything slides into place at once. He’s suddenly acutely aware of how terribly his whole body aches, and how sore his throat is. He’s freezing, but there’s an intense warmth against his left side, and then the Captain remembers the reason he’s in bed in the first place- Sylvie.
Looking over, he sees she’s still asleep. Raising his arm (surprised with how much energy it takes), he sees it’s 11:07 at night, six hours past when they got in bed. He feels like he could sleep another seven and still be exhausted. The urge to pee finally gets him up, and he moves to the bathroom feeling a little like Bambi on ice. It doesn’t cross his mind until he’s washing his hands that he’s sick too. God, he hasn’t been sick since he and Gabby were together.
Slowly, he makes his way into the kitchen, finding two glasses and filling them with water. He’s not stupid, he knows they need to stay hydrated. An ED trip on Thanksgiving is the last thing he wants. Matt goes to the bedroom and turns the light next to Sylvie’s bed on, and after a few seconds his girlfriend whines, face scrunching up.
“Syl, wake up baby. Need t’drink water.” His voice is raspy, and even after he clears it he can tell it’s not made a difference. The blonde woman finally turns to face him, shakily sitting up. His heart aches, taking in her pale complexion and pink-dusted cheeks. She looks younger.
“Let’s get your temp first.” Yep . Voice is definitely shot. He can hear it’s distorted from his swollen throat too. She takes the thermometer from him, about to put it under her tongue when she starts coughing, one arm raising weakly to block her mouth. Matt rubs her back as the coughing fit tapers off, and then the thermometer is turned on.
101.6. Matt grimaces at the number, and Sylvie shrugs.
“It’s not high, or dangerous….you okay?” The paramedic looks at him with concern, and Matt swallows. He’s always had a hard time admitting when something is wrong, and deep down he knows it stems from his father and childhood. But this is Sylvie asking, not Gregory Casey. She won’t tell him he’s being a pansy and to toughen up, that only little fairy boys complain about feeling sick.
“Not feeling so great myself.” Matt admits, getting back under the covers when a shiver runs down his spine. As he settles, Sylvie’s holding up the thermometer for him. Normally, he’d be cringing at the mere idea of sharing a thermometer with anyone, but, again, it’s Sylvie . They’re sharing the same germs anyway. He opens his mouth and goes to grab the white plastic, but his girlfriend beats him to it, slipping it under his tongue for him. It’s oddly intimate. He shuts his mouth around it and waits, hating the way it feels.
101.5. This time, Sylvie grimaces.
They both take sips of water, and the liquid settles uncomfortably in Matt’s stomach. That's one thing he’s always hated about himself, his tendency to get nauseous no matter what kind of illness he has. Sylvie runs a hand through his hair when she’s set her water back down.
“Have you told Severide we’re not coming?” Her words get interrupted half way through with a few coughs she holds in. Matt gives her a look, not wanting to sound like a parent having to tell their child not to hold coughs in.
“No, probably should though.” Fumbling around, Matt finds his phone under a pillow and unlocks it, clicking on his best friend's name in the recently called list. It rings three times.
“Hey man, what’s up?”
“Uhh…Sylvie and I can’t make it tomorrow, we’re not feeling so hot.” A shiver runs through him and he clenches his jaw.
“ Damn , that sucks. I’m sorry dude, it was probably Herrmann who gave it to you,” the older man jokes, and Matt nods, forgetting he can’t see him. “No worries about tomorrow. We’ll get together when you’re not feeling like shit. Let us know if you need anything okay?”
“Yeah, thanks Sev. Hope you and Kidd have a good time.”
They finish and hang up. When Matt looks over, Sylvie’s asleep again. He can barely move far enough over to turn her lamp off, but manages, and soon he’s asleep too.
+ + +
Someone is banging on the door. Sylvie let’s out a low groan, her whole body feeling like it’s been hit by a semi. She knows this isn’t even the peak of being sick, she knows it’s 24-48 hours after showing symptoms that they’re at their worst. She’s not looking forward to tonight. It’s nearing ten am, and one glance confirms Matt’s still asleep, skin unnaturally pale and cheeks flushed, dark circles under his eyes. She’s certain she looks no better. The paramedic is pulled out of her thoughts at more banging.
Weak and feeling more than a little unsteady, Sylvie trudges to her front door, opening it with little idea of who it could be. Maybe a neighbor? Instead of Ms.Fitzgerald, she’s greeted by Severide and Stella, both holding bags.
“…what’re you guys doing here?” Sylvie realizes it’s taken her longer than usual to comprehend the scene before her. She’s too tired to care.
“Good morning,” Severide smirks, but it’s very quickly replaced with worry. Stella moves past Sylvie and into the apartment to set the bags down.
“Sorry, they’re getting heavy,” she explains, setting them on the counter.
“How’re you feeling? You look..” Severide walks in too, giving the bags to Stella so he can guide Sylvie to the couch. He trails his sentence off when his fiancé makes a noise and gives him a glare. “You look like you feel awful.”
She lets herself be sat down, thankful for the man who she now thinks of as a close friend and brother.
“Honestly I feel like shit. Why’re you here?” She asks again, still confused. Her brain feels foggy, and her eyes slip shut again. A hand is placed on her cheek and she leans into it. Any adrenaline that she’s had from someone suddenly waking her up is gone. Instead, exhaustion is flooding back in.
“Me and Stella know you guys. We know you probably haven’t eaten since yesterday. Plus it’s Thanksgiving. We brought stuff so Stella can make that chicken and dumpling soup that’s amazing. We also brought popsicles, I remember you saying you liked those when you’re sick.” The last sentence is spoken a little shyly, and Sylvie can’t help the smile that appears on her face.
“Thank you guys…seriously.” She feels stupid that she's forgotten it's Thanksgiving. "We don't deserve you."
Sylvie shivers, curling up against one of her throw pillows. Seconds later, the blanket that’s draped across the back of her couch is spread over her, and Severide pats her shoulder.
“Mind if I put on the parade?”
“Mm, go’head.”
The television is turned on and the volume goes from loud to soft as the Lieutenant puts on the Macy’s Day Thanksgiving Parade. She can hear Stella rummaging around the kitchen, no doubt trying to remember where everything is from when she stayed the couple of weeks with her when she and Severide had fought.
“Damn, you look like shit man.”
Sylvie pries her eyes open to see her boyfriend looking utterly confused and unwell.
“Severide? What-“
“Stell and I thought you two could use some babysitting. Plus you need food or you’ll never get better.”
Matt blinks but doesn’t say anything else, instead just sits on the couch and leans his head back. Sylvie scoots closer, ends up with her head in his lap and within minutes they’re both asleep.