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It was barely 6 in the morning when Miller’s phone buzzed from her pocket. Suppressing a yawn into her fist, she blearily aimed for the green button and lifted her phone to her ear.
“Morning,” she greeted amiably, despite the fact that Alec Hardy calling her this early could mean nothing good.
“I’m not coming in today.”
She shifted her phone to her other side, tucking it in between her shoulder and ear and using her free hands to spread butter on toast. “What do you mean, ‘not coming in today’?”
“Did you hear me or didn’t you?”
A surge of anger flared in her chest, but she quelled it with a quick thought back to how awful he’d looked last night – pale (well, paler than usual), dark circles around his eyes, hands gripping his pen too tightly to hide how they were shaking. ‘Shit face’ indeed, she mused wryly, licking off her knife and tossing it into the sink.
“You alright?”
“Just don’t feel well. Fine.”
Buckling Fred into his high chair and placing applesauce on his tray, Miller frowned. She’d seen Alec deny there was anything wrong when he was shaking violently in his thick cotton coat, seen him attempting a smile when he was actively brushing tears from the corners of his eyes (key word: attempting), hell, once he’d even try to convince her he was fine while vomiting into a cardboard box left in the recycle of the newspaper shop. That had been an interesting night.
“So it’s a sick day, then?”
“If you like. Yeah, yeah.”
“You don’t take sick days.”
“Well, I just ha-“ he cut himself off abruptly and the speaker in Miller’s phone crackled softly as he swallowed audibly. “I’m busy currently, Miller,” he lied, horribly. “I’m not coming in today. Bye.”
The phone beeped as he hung up and she sighed. Sending a quick text to her supervising officer excusing herself for the day as well, she clicked it off and turned to face her son. “Well, Freddie. How d’you fancy going on a little trip to see Uncle Alec, hmm?”
-----
By the time she had collected Fred, the ingredients for a simple soup, a random assortment of medicines she could find her house, and an extra blanket (God knows what Alec kept in his house. Probably not enough blankets.), she was awake enough to be properly concerned. She couldn’t think of a single time since they’d met where he had willingly admitted that he didn’t feel well. Sure, she’d pried it out of him a few times – skillfully, she might add – but he had never volunteered it.
“Alright,” she said, unbuckling Fred from his car seat and lifting him into the arm that wasn’t holding her bag of supplies. “Want to ring the doorbell for me?” The toddler clapped gleefully, hitting the bell at least four times before Ellie successfully batted his hand away.
Within a few moments, she could hear muffled shuffling from within, and the rattling of a door unlocking. It opened, revealing Alec looking even worse than he had the night before.
“Good lord, Alec,” Ellie muttered, looking him up and down. “You look horrible.”
He failed to go for his typical sarcasm in response to those types of comments, instead leaning exhaustedly against the door frame. “Miller what the f-“ He glanced at the toddler in her arms, who was still cheerfully babbling about the doorbell. “Why are you here?” he amended, seeming too tired to even be properly annoyed.
“To look after you,” she stated. Under her breath, she added, “Which you clearly need.”
“I don’t!” he protested, weakly. Attempting to prove his point, he pushed himself off the doorframe and stood, unsupported, in the middle of the entrance. He flung his arms out like it was a show, and then hastily retracted one hand to place it gingerly over his stomach, swallowing desperately. “See I’m…” he tried to subtly lean back on the doorframe. “Fine. I’m fine.”
Miller raised an eyebrow. “Right. Let me in, please? Fred’s not the baby he used to be and my arm is getting rather tired.”
“I’m not-“ He cut himself off and sighed, stepping aside to let them in. “Hello, wee Fred.”
Fred lit up, clapping excitedly. “’Elo!”
With a tired smile, Alec stumbled back to his sofa, collapsing into it. Evidently, he had given up on trying to convince Miller of his health, which was wise of him, after all; she was already in his kitchen pulling various ingredients out of her bag and she wasn’t going to leave if the prime minister himself called her out.
“What’re you doin’?” he asked, looking as if he was trying to sink as deeply into the corner of his sofa as possible. His knees were tucked to his chest, his arms were wrapped around his middle, and he was pressed against the back cushion as if it might swallow him whole if he was lucky.
“Nothing yet,” she responded, cheery. “Feel up to some tea?”
Immediately, his eyes widened and he gagged weakly. Running a shaky hand through his hair and staring at the ceiling, he willed his body to obey his commands. “N-no,” he whispered, when he finally felt safe to open his mouth. “No.”
“Okay.” She dropped the now-empty bag onto the ground and offered Fred some blocks to play with, before sinking into the sofa beside Alec. “I’m gonna ask you some questions, just so I know how to help you feel better." She tried her hardest not to think about Joe these days, but he'd given her some basic medical instruction and at the moment, Alec was more important than her feelings about using his knowledge. "No need to feel embarrassed, yeah?”
He nodded, looking entirely unconvinced.
“Last time you ate?”
“Dunno. Yesterday. Lunch, maybe? Wasn’t hungry.”
“What did you eat?”
“Don’t remember. Went to some restaurant in town.”
“How are you feeling right now?”
He hummed noncommittally. “Stomach’s upset.”
“Gonna need you to be more specific than that, Alec.”
He whined wordlessly, seeming far more like a sickly child than the grumbling man who bossed her around most days. Part of her – a lot of her – was frustrated. She was only here to help, and he was doing nothing to cooperate. But, as it often did, her maternal instinct won out, remembering instances when Tom was ill – whiny, frustrating, miserable – and ultimately just wanting a bit of comfort and to feel better. Had Alec had anyone to care for him like this when he was ill as a child? She didn’t know for sure, but she suspected not.
“Alright, I’ll help you out. Just say yes or no, okay?”
He shrugged, shifting closer to her by the slightest fraction.
“Nauseous?”
“Yeah.”
“Stomach ache?”
“Kind of. Not as much.”
“Have you thrown up?”
“Once. Last night. This morning. I don’t know.”
“Any restroom problems?”
He shook his head, but an embarrassed red colored his ghost-white cheeks, and she didn’t believe him.
“Kept down water since last night, then?”
“Haven’t had any.”
At that, she stood, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with slightly cool water. She returned, handing it to him and noting how shaky his hands were. “Slow sips, Alec. You need to get some liquid in you.”
He took it, grimacing as he swallowed. Miller returned to the counter where she was cutting up vegetables for a soup (for later, she imagined. He was certainly not up for it right now.) and he continued taking slow sips from his glass. On his fifth sip, he paled suddenly, lurching forward and dropping the glass harshly onto the side table.
“Miller-“ he groaned, one hand frantically rubbing his stomach and the other clutching at his hair desperately. “Miller, ‘m gonna-“
“Oh, great,” she mumbled to herself, lighthearted but sarcastic. He was in no state to be walking across the house to his bathroom, much less to be sitting on the cold tile after tripping through the assorted papers and clothes he had on his floor. Instead, she snatched up the plastic garbage bin in the corner of the room and placed it in his hands, sitting next to him.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she comforted, placing her hand on his back soothingly. She was a detective, a mother of two boys, and previously married to a paramedic. She had long since become immune to things which disgusted most people. “I’m here, it’s alright.”
He leaned heavily against her, and she didn’t really think he was aware he was doing it but she allowed him anyways, lightly pulling him closer – reassuring him that it was okay but allowing him to pull away any moment he chose.
“Feel so…so sick,” he mumbled miserably into the garbage bin before promptly collapsing forward and vomiting into it.
“There we are, Alec, it’s alright.”
Fred toddled over, a concerned expression on his little face, and Ellie ruffled his hair, still with one arm around Hardy. “Don’t worry, Freddie. Uncle Alec just has a tummy ache, hmm? He’ll be feeling better in no time, we’re going to take good care of him.”
Satisfied, the toddler returned to his blocks and Ellie turned her attention back to Alec. He spit into the bin and leaned back, allowing her to take it from him and place it on the ground. She’d take care of it in a minute, but she couldn’t well leave Alec on his own. He fell onto her, tears leaking from his eyes and small, miserable noises escaping him.
“Want to rinse your mouth out?”
He nodded, silently, and she handed him the glass. When he was one, he collapsed against her again. “’M sorry,” he mumbled, trying to find the energy to lift himself up but failing. Ellie sank back against the sofa cushion and led Alec slowly to lay down, his head against her lap.
“Don’t be sorry for this, Alec, never.” She placed her hand on his stomach and he shifted slightly. “This okay?”
He nodded, tiredly.
Feeling a surge of unexpected affection, she used her other hand to card through his hair gently. “Go to sleep, Alec. Get some rest.”
Already half asleep, he whispered, “You g’na stay?”
“Yep. Right here. Not going anywhere.” Affectionately, she pretended to shake him without actually jostling his upset stomach. “Now go to sleep, you idiot, you’ll make yourself sicker if you don’t.”