Work Text:
“Darren?” Chris calls, knocking on the door to his trailer. “You decent?”
He doesn't get any response aside from what sounds like groaning. Undeterred, Chris opens the door and steps inside. He's immediately met with a wall of ice-cold air. It's absolutely freezing in Darren's trailer. Shivering, he makes his way towards the lump of blankets on the couch that he assumes contains Darren.
“Hey sleepyhead,” he tries again. He sits on the edge of the couch and grips Darren's shoulder. He tries to pull down the blankets so he can see Darren a little better, but Darren whines and tugs the blanket back over his head like a teenager on the first day of school.
“Maybe if you didn't keep the thermostat in your trailer at twelve degrees, you wouldn't be so cold,” Chris scolds him fondly.
“What are you talking about?” It's so hot,” Darren groans, his voice muffled through several layers of fleece.
Chris frowns. “No, it really, really isn't. Are you sick?”
“No,” Darren moans. “I can't be sick, I'm supposed to be filming a solo right now.”
Chris rolls his eyes, knowing that just because Darren shouldn't be sick doesn't mean he isn't. He tends to have a real knack for getting deathly ill at inopportune moments, probably because he's stubborn as fuck when it comes to his health and is lucky if he gets four hours of sleep a night. Neither tendencies are very good for his immune system.
I'm coming in,” Chris warns and then slowly peels the blankets off of Darren until he can see him properly. Darren's eyes are glassy and his hair is plastered to his forehead with what Chris assumes is sweat, since he hasn't gotten his hair gelled to death to be Blaine just yet. Before Chris even touches him, he knows Darren's got a fever.
He feels Darren's forehead and each of his cheeks in turn with the back of his hand, wincing at how hot he is. “Jesus Darren,” he breathes, “what are you even doing on set? You should be home in bed.”
“Told you, I've got to film a solo today.” Before Daren can say more, he breaks off into a harsh, barking cough that has Chris cringing.
“You can film it another day. Everyone has had to rearrange their shooting schedule at least once because they were sick. It happens. Ryan and everyone else will understand,” Chris reassures.
“I've never had to do that before,” Darren says and Chris isn't sure if it's a point of pride or stupidity. Possibly both.
“Well then, today's your lucky day,” Chris shrugs helplessly. “Do you want me to go tell them so you don't have to move?”
“No,” Darren's voice is quiet but firm. “I'm already here. I'm not going to break my attendance record for this. I can handle it.”
“This isn't elementary school, Darren. There are no perfect attendance certificates given out at the end of the school year banquet.”
“Still... I've made it this far.”
Chris sighs, knowing just how stubborn Darren can be when he gets stuck on something. “Fine, give me one good reason why you want to do this performance today with a high fever rather than going home with me right now and getting in bed?”
“Because if I knock this performance out really quickly today, I won't have to come in and film at all tomorrow which means I'll have a three day weekend to rest and actually get healthy for once,” Darren explains, sounding so, so tired.
Chris shakes his head. He has to admit it's a better reason that he'd expected but he's still torn. “One of these days you aren't going to be able to push your way through a performance or concert or event and you're going to really hurt yourself.”
“I know,” Darren's voice is so small and weary. “Today's not going to be that day though, okay?”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Chris nods once, twice, then stands. Darren reaches out a hand for Chris to help him up but he just shakes his head. “No, stay there for now. I'm going to go get a golf cart.”
“Bless you,” Darren groans, letting his head fall back against the couch pillows.
Chris is almost at the door to Darren's trailer when a thought occurs to him. “Do you have a medicine cabinet or first aid stash anywhere in here?” No response. “Darren!” he calls more loudly this time.
“Hmm, what's that?” Darren slurs.
“Where do you keep your medicine?” he asks again.
“I...think there's some stuff in the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom? I have no idea what though. My mom was the one who insisted I get a first aid kit after she visited me on set so that's all her.” By the end of the explanation, Chris can tell that Darren's getting out of breath and then he's coughing painfully into the crook of his elbow.
“Ugh, that cough sounds awful, Darren,” Chris grimaces.
“Oh yeah? Because it feels just delightful,” Darren croaks.
“I'm sure...” Chris roots around in the cabinet, finally pulling out a small white first aid kit. Thankfully, there are several packets of Tylenol in there. Chris snags a bottle of water out of the mini fridge on his way back to Darren.
“Sit up for a second,” he urges. But Darren makes no attempt to move; instead he just whimpers and presses his face into the couch. “C'mon, you can do it,” Chris encourages, tugging Darren to a semi-upright position. “Take these,” he directs, pressing the packet of Tylenol into Darren's hand. “Then drink that,” he gestures towards the bottle of water. “Try to drink the whole thing, okay? You're sweating like crazy and I don't want you to get dehydrated.”
“Okay,” Darren nods obediently and tears open the Tylenol.
“I'll be back in a sec.”'
Chris sits in the golf cart outside the wardrobe trailer while Darren gets into costume. He hopes for once it'll be something simple and easy to get in and out of. It would be nice if there could be at least one thing about today that isn't actively making Darren worse. But knowing their luck, he won't be shocked if Darren comes back out in skinny jeans, a turtleneck, and a parka.
Darren trudges out of the trailer a couple minutes later in form-fitting black jeans, motorcycle boots, a white undershirt, and a studded leather jacket. It's so far off from Darren's usual costumes of tight polos in primary colors with bowties and cropped pants that it takes Chris a second to get over the shock of it. Darren looks hot, there's absolutely no denying that. Any other day, Chris would take the time to shamelessly ogle him in the costume or maybe even sneak off to some dark corner of the set to more fully appreciate just how good he looks. But Darren looks so thoroughly miserable that Chris' first instinct is to hug him rather than fuck him.
“I was not expecting your wardrobe to look anything like that,” Chris says as he helps Darren back into the golf cart. “What's the number you are doing?”
“Don't Stop Me Now.”
“Ohh, Freddie Mercury, I see,” Chris nods. “You look great,” he can't help but add.
“I've even got the hat,” Darren adds, weakly holding up the studded leather hat he has in his lap.
“Nice,” Chris smiles. “How are you feeling? Has the Tylenol kicked in yet?”
“Don't think so,” Darren groans, putting his head on Chris' shoulder as he backs up the golf cart to head to the soundstage. Chris can feel the heat radiating off Darren's body through the t-shirt he's wearing.
“This costume is like a furnace. I feel like I'm in an oven right now,” Darren whimpers. “Shit, sorry I'm probably getting makeup all over your shirt. I swear they put it on with a spackle today because I keep sweating through it.” Darren reluctantly starts to lift his head.
“It's okay, don't worry about it. Just stay there if you're comfortable,” Chris murmurs. “It's only a t-shirt. I've got hundreds.”
“Thanks,” Darren nuzzles Chris' shoulder. “My throat is killing me.”
“Yeah, you sound hoarse.” Chris thinks for a second. The set has always been a breeding ground for various viruses and infections that are being passed on from actor to actor. It's the nature of the business, he guesses, especially with the long hours and tight quarters they keep. “Were you around Jenna much last week?” Chris asks.
“Yeah, we filmed a bunch of scenes last Thursday and Friday. Why?”
“Because she had strep throat. She had to go the doctor over the weekend and get put on antibiotics and the whole nine yards,” Chris explains. “I bet you caught it from her.”
“Probably,” Darren sighs.
“You know what that means?” Chris asks.
“A round trip to the doctor tomorrow?” Darren groans.
“Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner,” Chris tries to joke although his heart aches for Darren. He's been there, they've all been there at one point or another. Singing and dancing and pretending to be, well... gleeful when you're sick is its own special kind of hell.
“Chriiiiis, don't wanna,” Darren whines.
“I know, but you're going. Or you could stop being a stubborn asshole and actually let me call the concierge doctor that the studio hooked us up with that makes house calls. This is exactly the kind of scenario he's set up to handle.”
“I just feel like a douchebag doing that. Like 'yes hello, I'm too famous and important to go to an actual doctor's office with the rest of the plebeians,' you know? It's a slippery slope.” Darren turns his head away from Chris so he can cough again and Chris has to throw an arm around his waist to keep him from falling out of the golf cart.
“Jesus Darren, careful,” he gasps. He waits until Darren stops coughing and helps him sit back up. He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around his waist, worried he might fall or pass out otherwise. “You okay?” he finally asks when Darren doesn't say anything.
“Mhm,” Darren murmurs. “Just got kinda dizzy for a second.”
“Will you let me call the doctor for you? He might even be able to see you tonight. That way you wouldn't have to even leave your bed all weekend if you didn't want to. Okay?”
“My bed?” is all Darren says.
“Would you prefer my bed instead?” Chris smiles.
“Yeah, it's more comfortable. Plus, it has you in it which is always a bonus.”
“Okay, my bed is it. On one condition: you let me call that doctor and have him come examine you tonight or tomorrow?” Chris says, playing the only bargaining chip he has left.
“Deal,” Darren acquiesces. He drops his head to Chris' shoulder again and they pass the rest of the drive to the soundstage in silence.
Chris watches Darren's progress from the hallway outside the choir room. If he hadn't known just how sick he'd been minutes earlier, he never would have guessed that anything was wrong with him. He's lip syncing and performing with ease and accompanying himself on the piano to boot.
In between takes, the cracks start to show a bit more. Usually Darren is a bundle of energy on set, launching lively conversations with the other cast members or crew five seconds after they yell cut. But today when it's time for the cameras and lighting to reset, Darren just puts his head down on the piano and doesn't move or say a word until it's time to call action again.
Chris is tempted to go into the room to check on him and convince him to drink some more water but he resists the urge. He knows that the cast would jump at the chance to fuss over Darren if they knew how ill he really was. But Chris also understands, perhaps better than anyone, that sometimes when you need to pretend you're healthy to get through a shoot, the last thing on earth you want is other people playing mother hen and feeling sorry for you. It's just a reminder of how shitty you feel and yet another thing you have to plaster over when you're acting in a scene. So Chris stays out of the way, but his eyes never leave Darren.
“Okay guys, let's get through this one more time and then I think we'll have it,” he hears the AD call. He sees Darren's shoulders slump forward in obvious relief. Darren takes a deep breath and then sits up straight, squaring his shoulders in a posture that is so obviously Blaine and not Darren. Chris has done what feel like millions of scenes with Darren and has had numerous opportunities to appreciate his acting up close and personal. But it's sort of fascinating to watch his process from afar and with the additional level of difficulty being sick provides, it's pretty damn impressive.
They get through the number with minimal fuss. Darren is great, as usual, but Chris can tell he's really pushing and he doubts he'll have anything left in the tank afterwards.
“Okay, great job everyone. That's a wrap for tonight. Check your call sheets for your arrival times tomorrow,” Joaquin calls out to the room.
The newbies break out into a spontaneous round of applause that Chris assumes is for Darren. He's not really paying attention though, because he's completely zoomed in on Darren. He's slumped on the piano bench, not moving an inch, and Chris is starting to get really worried. He's glad that the concierge doctor was available to come to the house tonight, because Darren clearly needs it.
“Darren?” Chris calls his name as he slides a hand through his hair. Normally he would be a lot more discreet, preferring to keep the PDA to their trailers as much as possible. But right now he doesn't really give a shit what anyone else notices or thinks, he just wants (no, needs really) for Darren to be okay.
“Chris?” Darren slurs, turning his head to look up at him. “You're here.” He seems surprised.
“Of course I'm here,” Chris slides his hand over Darren's forehead, wincing at the insane amount of heat radiating off him. “You didn't think I was going to leave you to get yourself home in this state, did you?”
“Wasn't sure,” he mumbles. “I know you have a writing deadline coming up.”
“Eh, I've still got a week,” he waves off the concern. “I work best under pressure anyways. It's the procrastinator's way.”
“Glad you're here,” Darren slurs with considerable effort. If Chris didn't know better, he'd think Darren was drunk.
“You ready to go home?” he asks.
“Yes please,” Darren whispers. He still makes no move to get up and his stillness is really starting to worry Chris.
“Am I going to have to carry you?” Chris asks, trying to keep his voice light.
“No,” Darren says and manages to push himself into a semi-upright position. The piano keys clang discordantly as he uses them for leverage. “It's so hot,” he whines. “I'm so hot.”
“Why don't we take the jacket off?" Chris suggests. “That'll probably help a little.”
Darren nods but doesn't try to take it off, so Chris reaches for him. The leather is sticking to Darren's damp skin, so it takes both hands and at least thirty seconds to peel it off of him enough that Darren can shimmy the rest of the way of it. Underneath the jacket, Darren's white undershirt is drenched in sweat and completely transparent. “Oh honey,” Chris sighs. Darren's skin erupts in goosebumps almost immediately and he shivers.
“Okay, we need to get you home now,” he says with a bit more urgency. “Seriously, do you think you can walk? Tell me the truth because I really don't want you to pass out.”
“I can walk,” Darren rasps out. “Just help me up?”
Chris nods and loops one of Darren's arms over his shoulder. He lifts him to a standing position, doing most of the work. Once Darren gets his feet under him, he starts to sway slightly, so Chris takes his free arm and wraps it around Darren's waist. “You okay?” he asks again. “Just a few steps, we only have to get you to the golf cart, alright?”
Darren doesn't respond but Chris can feel him nodding into his shoulder so he takes a deep breath and they slowly make their way out of the choir room and down the hall. It takes them over a minute to make it the forty or so steps to the golf cart and by that point, Chris is carrying most of Darren's weight and he's breathing hard.
At last, they reach their destination and Darren collapses into the seat next to Chris. His eyes are shut and his face is whiter than Chris has ever seen it before, aside from two bright red spots of color, one on each cheek. “Are you still with me, Dare?” he asks.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just really tired.” After a second he forces his eyes open so he can look at Chris. “I'm not dying, calm down.”
“Umm, you can't see what you look like right now, hon, or you'd share my concern. You look like you're on death's door,” Chris worries aloud.
“People don't die of strep throat nowadays, Chris. This isn't Oregon Trail. I don't have cholera. Chill.”
Chris can't help but smile. If Darren's feeling well enough to sass him, that's hopefully a good sign. He's still worried, but Chris knows he'll feel a lot better once Darren's home in bed and has seen the doctor.
“Do you have anything that you absolutely must get out of your trailer before we go home?” Chris asks as he swings the golf cart out towards the back of the lot where their trailers are parked.
“My phone... and my laptop probably,” Darren mumbles.
“I don't know why you'd need your laptop this weekend when the only thing you are supposed to be doing is resting.”
“Was gonna tinker with the lyrics for my album some more...”
“I don't know, that sounds an awful lot like working to me,” Chris gently scolds. “We'll have to see if you earn your laptop privileges back.”
“And what do I have to do to earn that?” Darren drags his eyes open and gives Chris a lewd look.
“Oh my god, that's not what I meant, you big perv. You think I'm going to have sex with you when you are a walking petri dish?” Chris laughs.
“I may be a walking petri dish right now, but I'm your walking petri dish,” Darren pouts.
“That's true,” Chris smiles. He brushes his hand over Darren's forehead, sweeping away a curl that's come loose from the gel.
“So what do I have to do to get laptop privileges back?” Darren asks, letting his eyes slide shut as Chris continues to play with his hair. “Since it sounds like I won't be able to charm my way into laptop privileges by getting in your pants.”
“Uhh let's see: how about by resting and drinking lots of fluids and taking your medicines like a big boy?” Chris says teasingly. He's only sort of kidding.
“So basically I just have to do everything you say?” Darren chuckles. “How is that any different from usual?”
“It's not, really. And you love it when I'm in charge, let's be honest.”
“I do,” Darren smiles. “Can I get a head start on that list by taking a nap now?” he asks. “I'm so fucking exhausted.”
“I think that would be an excellent idea,” Chris agrees. He pulls the cart to a stop halfway between his trailer and Darren's, since he needs to make brief pit stops at both. “Stay here, I'll be right back, okay?” He drops a kiss to Darren's forehead and then stands, hurrying inside to gather their things.
By the time he gets back from both trailers, Darren is completely out and snoring softly. Chris can tell how stuffed up he is by his noisy breathing. He makes a mental note to add VapoRub to his shopping list, laughing a little as he remembers the very awkward scene Darren and Jenna had filmed with VapoRub just a few days prior. Yet another one of those moments of life imitating art on the set that seem to come more and more frequently as the seasons progress. Chris isn't sure if it's lazy writing on Ryan's part or a genius move, as often the behind the scenes drama on set is even more juicy and compelling than what's in their scripts.
Darren's still out cold when Chris pulls up to his SUV. He considers waking him up to move him to the car but he looks so peaceful that Chris hates to disturb him, knowing how hard Darren often finds it to fall asleep. He loads his and Darren's bags into the back seat of his car first. Then he unlocks the front passenger seat and props it open. He goes back to the golf cart and scoops up Darren in his arms, surprised when Darren doesn't stir at all with the movement. He must be exhausted, Chris thinks, wondering just how little sleep he'd been running on for the past week.
Chris deposits Darren in the front seat and leans over him to try to fasten his seat belt. It's a struggle due to the awkward angle and the way Darren's slumped completely boneless in the seat. He practically cheers when he finally hears the buckle snap. He starts to crawl out of the seat when he's surprised by Darren grabbing his arm, trying to hold him close.
“Chris?” Darren calls hoarsely.
“Yeah honey, I'm here.”
“Don't leave.” He clings to Chris' arm with surprising strength.
“I'm not, baby. We're going home, remember?” Chris cups Darren's cheek, confirming his suspicions that Darren's fever is going nowhere but up.
“You're coming too?” Darren slurs, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Of course I am. We're going to my house, after all.”
“Oh,” Darren sighs. “That's good.” He nods absentmindedly, more to himself than anyone else. Chris can't be certain, but it doesn't seem like Darren is even really awake.
“Can I have my arm back so I can drive us home now?” he asks gently. Darren nods again but doesn't say anything. Chris tugs his arm away and thankfully Darren doesn't resist this time. He hops down out of the seat and carefully shuts the car door behind him, not wanting to wake Darren.
He makes it out of the Paramount lot and is just swinging onto the highway when he's startled by Darren grabbing his hand from where it had been resting on the center console.
“Hey,” he whispers, looking over at Darren.
Darren's eyes are still closed but he squeezes Chris' hand a little. “Thank you,” he sighs.
“For what?”
“Just being you. I like you,” he mumbles.
“Well, I love you,” Chris laughs.
“Show off,” Darren pretends to grumble. And then after a second he adds, “Love you too. Wake me up when we get home?”
“Shhh, sleep,” Chris commands.
So he does.
End Note: Thanks for reading! If you would like to share this fic on Tumblr, please do so by reblogging the original post which can be found here.