Work Text:
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Gavin had been sick for nearly three days, growing steadily worse in his symptoms: from a mild cough and fever that seemed to start without warning one day at the medical examiner’s ‘office’ while discussing a recent homicide victim’s cause of death.
//
The autopsy room was not Ben’s favorite place in the whole world. It was cold and sterile and the smell of a corpse was not something that any fruit scented chemical could ever really mask. Ben hadn’t always worked homicide and he was still not entirely immune to the human revulsion toward death, though he could bury that reaction under a veneer of professional stoicism.
Gavin, on the other hand, never seemed to mind a dead body. He hovered near the medical examiner’s elbow as she began documenting the probable time and cause of death.
The medical examiner was explaining something about the victim’s last meal when Gavin skipped backward a few paces. Ben quirked an eyebrow at the kitten-sized sneeze that Gavin caught in the crook of his arm.
“The quicklime getting to you?” Ben asked.
The caustic substance covered the victim and the medical examiner had not yet had time to clean off the body before the detectives’ arrival. Which was partly Gavin’s fault because he’d been impatient to see the body and get started on the new case.
“No.” Gavin rubbed his face on his sleeve, coughed, and rested his forehead there for a moment before dropping his arm to dangle at his side, then crossing his arms over his chest in a way that looked like he was hugging himself.
The obviously self-soothing gesture sent up another alarm for Ben, but he didn’t say anything. Gavin was not going to admit to anything in front of the medical examiner. Besides, it was chilly in the autopsy room. Maybe the kid just had gotten a tickle in his throat.
“Okay...”
By the time they left the medical examiner’s building, Gavin was muffling coughs more frequently. Throughout the rest of the day, Ben noted the way Gavin’s head drooped every other moment, and how he took every opportunity to lean against a wall like his body simply weighed too much.
No, Ben admitted. He’s coming down with something. He really hoped it was just a 24 hour cold. The last time Gavin had the flu he seemed more inclined to believe he had contracted the Solanum virus than a summertime flu virus. Becoming a zombie was funny to Gavin’s fever addled brain, less funny to Captain Fowler who did not want his entire station coming down with whatever it was that Reed had picked up.
//
A few days later, whatever had started up at the autopsy room developed to a deep cough, body aches, and a fever that left Gavin unfocused and disoriented. Ben took Gavin to see Lorrie in case he’d picked something up from the medical examiner’s office and although she wouldn’t share Gavin’s private medical information with Ben, she did suggest that Gavin take a few days off from work.
Of course Gavin rejected the suggestion.
But after finding Gavin standing in the breakroom, miserably leaning into the freezer in a last ditch attempt to cool his fever, Ben finally snitched on him to the captain and brought Gavin back to the house and ordered him to stay put and get some sleep.
It was quite the clue as to how poorly Gavin was feeling that he obeyed—swore and slammed the car door in Ben’s face when he got dropped off at the house, and stood in the driveway like an abandoned waif until Ben was forced to park the car at the curb and walk him into the house
—but at least he listened.
Ben couldn’t focus on anything at work he was so worried that Gavin was wandering the streets or burning down the house. Or over-medicating himself. Ben had already learned that lesson the hard way. Gavin was now strictly forbidden to take any medications unsupervised. Ben had even locked up the medicine cabinet in his bathroom to keep Gavin from drinking the Tylenol again. Ben hoped with all his might that the kid was just sleeping, maybe watching one of his monster movies.
“Oh, Gavin,” Ben murmured when he returned from work that evening to see Gavin curled in the armchair with a work file over his face and a highlighter clutched in one hand. Ben leaned over the back of the chair and lifted the file. He was not expecting Gavin to be awake and scowling.
“What’re y’doin’?” Gavin’s green eyes were haunted by deep purple circles; he wasn’t getting enough sleep. Ever since he’d been sick, his already pitiful sleep schedule had disappeared almost entirely.
Ben was not going to count half-consciousness as sleep.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Ben set the folder on the side table and sat on the arm of the couch, out of Gavin’s personal space, but near enough so they could speak without straining Gavin’s voice, weak from coughing.
“Work,” Gavin said. He reached for the file, but gave up halfway there and let his arm dangle limply over the side of the chair, panting slightly from the exertion and with his eyes closed.
Ben returned the file only for Gavin to turn his face away and curl further into the chair. “That’s not a state of health.” Ben said as he put the folder back on the little side table only to have Gavin lunge and grab it, squirreling it away under his body where the creased paper crumpled under his weight. But the abrupt motion set off a round of coughing that grew progressively more hoarse and painful sounding; Gavin’s attempts to muffle it left him sounding small and sad as he kept his face pressed into the back of the chair.
Ben waited until Gavin had calmed then he asked, “Have you eaten?”
Gavin rolled over, waves of sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead, and stared at Ben with red-rimmed eyes. “I was,” he coughed, “working.”
“Yes, I know. You’re very dedicated.”
“Then give’it back.”
“Give...what back?”
More coughing. “My work.”
“You mean the case file?”
Gavin groaned impatiently into his arms that he folded over his face. He coughed some more and then went quiet, still with his face hidden. His breathing sounded stilted and shallow.
“You can work more later,” Ben finally broke the silence. “But I need to know if—
“Go’way.”
Ben wanted to give Gavin the privacy and quiet that he demanded, but he also needed to make sure Gavin was taking care of himself. “Have you taken medication?”
Cough. Cough....Peek at Ben.....Cough.
“Gavin.”
“’m Reed.”
“Reed, have you—
“No. Nothing. Just work. Ain’t that good nuff?”
“How about we prioritize your health?”
“Pri...tize,” Gavin mumbled. He lifted a hand, pointed at Ben, and then let his hand drop again.
Ben realized he wasn’t going to get any straight answers so he stood and began a scene investigation of his own house, checking the trash bins and fridge for any sign that Gavin had eaten, drank, or self-medicated. He found nothing. Alright, kid, he thought. Time to get you feeling better if it kills me. He hated imposing upon Gavin’s boundaries, but he obviously needed a little guidance.
--
Ben returned to the living room with an armful of clean sheets and a spray bottle of unscented antiviral, antibacterial disinfectant. He covered the couch in the sheets, and then tapped the back of the armchair where Gavin was watching him through fever-hazed eyes. “Move over, pal,” Ben said. “Shoo,” he added when Gavin scowled and pressed himself down into the armchair. “To the couch.” Ben continued to gently irritate Gavin until he finally moved to the couch just to escape the annoyance.
He lay there looking sullen and exhausted, arms folded over his chest, glaring weakly at Ben while Ben disinfected the chair. “Stay on the couch, if you don’t mind.” Ben softened the command when he saw Gavin looking ready to return to the chair.
“Why?”
“Because you’ll be more comfortable there.”
“Was confert’ble,” Gavin spoke between coughs, “in...chair.”
“You’ll breathe easier if you aren’t all balled up.”
“Phck.”
But Gavin’s coughing did settle down. Ben went into the kitchen to heat some broth. Gavin would probably reject it, but if he hadn’t eaten all day then maybe...
“Made you something to eat,”
“Don’t like it,” Gavin said without looking as he pushed away the offered mug. “Hate it.”
“It’s just broth, there’s hardly anything to hate—
“’m sleepin’.” Gavin squeezed his eyes shut only to open them a second later to glare at Ben.
“Just try half.”
“No.”
“One sip?”
“Don’t want. Warm animal...juice.”
Ben stared at the warm animal juice. “Fair enough.” He drank it himself, noting Gavin’s indignant expression as the liquid food disappeared. “I’ll heat up some apple juice.”
Gavin didn’t say anything and just continued to look miffed that Ben had drank the broth right in front of him. When Ben returned with a cup of warmed apple juice, Gavin rejected it, turning his head away as if the sight of the offering offended him.
“Gavin...” Ben set the drink on the side table, but had to rescue it when Gavin tried to swipe it off. Ben drank that one too and went into the kitchen to find something else.
Green tea?
No.
Fine. Drink.
Herbal tea?
No.
Fine. Drink.
By the fourth attempt, Ben caught onto the game when he saw the interest and barely hidden amusement in Gavin’s eyes when Ben drank the weedy-tasting tea and pulled a face at the off flavor. Gavin was playing a game with Ben.
The kid is bored out of his wits.
Gavin flicked a foot at Ben as if telling him to ‘go and try again.’ Ben shrugged and went to search the kitchen again. While he picked through his collection of powdered drinks, a thought came to him. He gathered a bunch of items into the laundry basket, including the electric kettle, cutting board, and a paring knife.
Gavin was dozing, eyes half-lidded, but he perked up with interest when he saw everything Ben had brought into the living room. Ben plugged in the kettle to start boiling water and then pushed the basket nearer to Gavin. “Let’s see you come up with something.”
Eyeing Ben with suspicion, Gavin tucked his hands under his body and curled one knee to his chest, withdrawing into a defensive posture. “Don’t need nothin’,” he murmured.
“I know but I thought we might come up with something that actually tastes good. Think of it like a case.” Ben set out an assortment of cups and mugs on the coffee table. “What combination will be the best?”
Gavin squinted at the ingredients and then pressed his palms over his eyes. Ben tinkered around with different flavors and teas while Gavin watched, once or twice pointing out different combinations, but he didn’t want to taste anything until he saw Ben stirring honey into a tall glass of warm water. He sat up, hair all bedhead and ruffled, and reached out for the glass, silently demanding it.
Ben handed it over and Gavin took a cautious sip, shook his head and handed it back before falling down on his side again to stare at the assortment of things sprawled over the coffee table.
Ben added more honey. “Try that.”
Gavin accepted it, and drank the entire thing. He tossed the glass at the table, forcing Ben to catch it before it broke. He coughed and lay back against the couch pillows. “This sucks.”
It was the closest verbal acknowledgement of being under the weather that Ben had yet to hear from him.
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “But it’s perfectly normal to get sick—
“I’m not sick.”
Ben unplugged the kettle and rolled the cord. “Gavin—
“Y’told the capt’n I was sick an’ he sent me away,” Gavin accused. “An’ y’left me so y’could do all the work yerself an’ leave me outta it.”
“Because you weren’t....aren’t feeling well—
“Doesn’t matter,” Gavin swallowed tightly and held his breath for a second before continuing. “Can still work.”
“I know,” Ben wanted to brush the hair away from where it dropped into Gavin’s eyes that were full of feverish emotion and a rare undisguised hurt. But Gavin would never tolerate that sort of physical contact. If anything, the attempt would only frustrate him further. It already said a lot that Gavin was still here and not run away to hide until he could come back without showing any vulnerability.
But,” Ben added when he realized Gavin was still waiting on the rest of his sentence, “but you don’t have to. You have some sick days earned and you should use them when you n—
Gavin growled and flung himself onto his other side, putting his back to Ben to stare at the back of the couch, and clamped his hands over his ears. “Go away.”
Ben finished cleaning up the living room and then dimmed the lights while he washed up the dishes in the kitchen. Afterward, he checked on Gavin, who’d actually fallen asleep in the meantime. An angry pout creased his lips and brow, irritated at the injustice of being sick even while he slept.
Ben, being extra careful and gentle, lightly tucked the sheets around Gavin so they wouldn’t slide to the floor by accident. “Get some rest,” he whispered. “And maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”
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