Chapter Text
Twelve hours on a plane left anyone feeling like garbage.
At least, that’s what Layla kept telling herself as she leaned on the window of the taxi, her head swimming. She just needed to get home, to shower, and curl up in bed. If Marc was home too maybe she could convince him to join her, or get Steven to talk him into it.
A car on the road somewhere laid on its horn, making Layla’s head pound even as she squeezed her eyes shut. God she was tired.
The cab ride to Steven’s was normally so short, what was taking so long this time? If she didn’t get out of this damn car soon she was going to throw up on the floor and then no one was going to be happy. No, no she wasn’t going to be sick, she was fine and just overtired, this was just exhaustion and nothing more.
She managed to sip the last of the water from her travel-bottle at a red light, thoroughly ignoring how her hand shook and made her spill.
Just exhausted, she was fine.
The walk from the cab parked at the curb to the door to the apartment building seemed to stretch on forever, but maybe Layla was just getting dizzy. She was so close, a short elevator ride, a hallway, across the flat, and there was the bed waiting for her. One of the lights in the elevator had started buzzing since the last time she passed this way, and it served only to make her headache worse.
Thankfully, silence greeted her as she shuffled out of the elevator, bags beginning to feel like they were full of rocks and heavier than they had been when she packed. Layla kept one hand on the wall to steady herself as she walked slowly down the hall, internally hoping no one would come out to ask if she was alright. Even her knock on the flat’s door was weak, and she was just so, so tired.
She rested her head against the door frame, waiting, listening, and trying to breathe steady to keep the unstable feeling in her stomach from getting worse.
When no footsteps hurried to unlock the door, Layla groaned, digging a shaky hand into her pocket to fish out the spare key Steven had given her. (She ought to thank him, there’s no way she could pick the locks with her hands wobbling this badly) The sound of the first, and only, lock clicking was a beautiful sound, it promised rest.
Layla shouldered open the door, shuffling inside.
Everything was precisely where it was meant to be, and she had the flat to herself, at least for now. She dropped her bags, heavy, by the door and locked it behind her. Her jacket and shoes were abandoned halfway across the flat and Layla, with the last of her strength, collapsed into the bed with a bone-weary sigh. Her stomach turned in flip-flops as she settled onto the cool blanket, not even bothering to get under the sheets, far too tired and blurry to focus enough on that.
A few hours of rest, or even just ten minutes, would help with this instability, this wobble that infected every part of her.
With her head pounding, Layla fell asleep, curled up with her hands around her stomach.
Hours later, Steven arrived home, humming a song and carrying flowers. He couldn’t help breaking into a smile seeing Layla’s bags beside the doorway when he walked in, looking around to see where she was. Ah! In bed! Love must be positively exhausted after her flight.
Silent as possible, he crept into the kitchen and set the flowers into a waiting vase full of water. He couldn’t contain all of his excitement, and even Marc was trying to play it cool, but both of them were smiling like fools.
Layla was home! She was home!
He hung up his jacket and crept over, half expecting her to hear and wake up, after all she was a very light sleeper. But when she didn’t stir, Marc moved into the bed beside her, leaning down to kiss her forehead with the intent of a gentle and romantic awakening.
And yet, she felt very hot under his lips, and not in a good way.
Frowning, worried, Marc put the back of his hand to her forehead and felt his heart skip a bit. She was feverish, badly so, with flushed cheeks and sweat matting her curls to her forehead.
“Layla? Layla baby wake up…”
She stirred with a groan, rolling over slowly and blinking up at him, eyes unfocused. She smiled slightly, “Hey Marc…”
“Baby you’re burning up,” he mumbled, putting hid hand properly against her forehead.
“Huh? No I’m fine.” She tried to pull away, bracing her elbows against the bed to try and sit up, again ignoring how her shoulders trembled at the effort. Frowning deeper, Marc put a hand on her back and helped her to sit. “It’s just jetlag, I’ll, I’ll be fine.”
That was a lie.
Her head was spinning, she could feel herself quickly getting nauseous again, but she smiled anyway. “I should, I should unpack, and-”
Marc took her by her shoulders, firm but gentle. “Layla, stop, you’re sick. Let me handle that alright? You need to rest.”
“No, no I left my stuff-”
“And I know where it goes.” He moved to stand, helping her out of the bed, “Come on baby, let’s get you into something that isn’t so hot, okay?”
She nodded, leaning heavily on his hands as she stood with him, only for her knees to buckle under her and she fell into his chest with a groan. “Shit! Layla? Layla, are you okay?”
“Guess, I’m more tired than I thought,” she mumbled, fighting a full body shudder.
It wasn’t easy to get Layla into looser, cooler pajamas, she struggled to stay upright as the dizziness came in waves, but somehow they managed. Steven insisted on running to the freezer, getting out the ice packs meant for compressing sore muscles so he could tuck them around Layla’s neck and back to try and cool her down. “See love? Doesn’t that feel nice?”
Layla gave him a weak little smile, “Yeah, yeah thank you. I’ll, I’ll be fine in a bit, just-”
“No, none of that,” he interrupted with a playful smile. “We’ll let the mercury say when you’re ‘fine’, hm? Come on, open up.”
She pouted, opening her mouth and letting him slip the thermometer under her tongue. Steven kept his focus on the little readout, occasionally glancing up to meet Layla’s eyes. Of course he wouldn’t admit it, not when she needed someone to lean on, but seeing Layla of all people this weak and sick, well it was a bit frightening! Ever since they’d met, officially anyway, she had been this unstoppable force, and after becoming an avatar, she was almost a goddess in his eyes.
So, it was scary seeing her pale, shaky, and soaked with sweat.
You should’ve seen her after the wedding, Marc hummed as they waited for the readout. She might be able to take a drink like a champion, but the hangover was horrendous.
Steven gave the subtlest of little shrugs as he took the thermometer. “Why do you keep setting it to Fahrenheit, Marc, I don’t know what this means. But I’d wager, 102 is not a good temperature for a human body.”
She’s supposed to be 98.6, so yes, that’s not good.
“Quite a fever then…” He offered Layla a smile, “Guess that means I’m on nurse duty eh?”
“That’s not fair, I can handle a little fever,” Layla said softly, folding her arms in weak protest. “Steven I’ll be fine , I just need some medicine and a long sleep. This isn’t the first time I’ve been sick.”
“Oh! You’re absolutely right! Let me go grab you some!”
“Steven-”
But he was already hurrying off to see what they had stashed away. Layla groaned ever so quietly and dropped her head back on the shelves she was leaning against behind the bed. They didn’t need to take care of her, they had enough trouble and adding her to it was only going to cause problems. Honestly if she just slept some more it’d all be fine, the fever would break and she’d be right as rain by morning.
It was her job to take care of them , not the other way around.
And yet there was Steven, mixing up some kind of sports drink full of electrolytes for her, mumbling about how they didn’t have anything for fever but they could start by trying to get some fluids back in her system before she sweat it all out. He was determined to help her, and it would crush him to try and get him to stop.
So, obligingly, she sipped the sickly sweet drink and fought the immediate urge to retch that the strong flavors drew out of her. It brought back a memory, when she was young, when she’d gotten the flu and her mother’s strong perfume had almost made her sick. Layla squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the bottle and gritting her teeth, trying to ignore the way her mouth began to salivate, she was not about to be sick in their bed.
“Layla?”
She exhaled softly and opened her eyes. “Strong flavor, kiwi?”
“It was cheap,” Marc mumbled, putting a hand on her leg. “Do you need me to get a bucket? Anything?”
“No, no I’m-” Layla felt her throat seize and she covered her mouth, eyes going wide.
Shit.
They barely managed to grab the waste bin before what little she’d managed to sip, along with everything else left in her system, came back out. Marc held back her hair and rubbed soothing circles into her back, keeping his voice soft until it seemed the worst had passed.
“I’m sorry,” Layla grumbled, her body shuddering as she fought the feeling. “I’m sorry, I’ve ruined our plans, I-”
“Layla.”
She closed her mouth, too weak to protest as Marc took the bucket and moved it out of the way, taking her hands instead. Gently, as if afraid to break her, he brushed her curls out of her eyes. “Layla, stop that. Our plans can wait until you’re not sick anymore.”
“But Steven was looking forward to-”
“He doesn’t care. You’re not well right now, and that’s more important than a gallery or a movie or dinner or whatever else.” He cupped her cheek, hating how hot she felt under his touch, and his eyes softened. Even like this, even pale and sweaty and sick, Layla was beautiful, and he loved her so, so much. He would do anything to make her well. “You’ve taken care of me for so long, let me take care of you now, okay?”
The silence hung between them and eventually Layla let her head relax into Marc’s hand, all the fight going out of her. “Okay, okay…”
Marc smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’re going to be alright, we’ve got you.”
“Marc?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, we both do. Relax, try to sip some more, I’ll clean up a bit.”
She gave a weak nod, and settled back into the pillows, trusting him to take care of her, just like he said.
Half asleep for most of the evening, Layla listened quietly to her husband talking to himself, and she couldn’t help chuckling at the things she heard out of context while they cleaned up the things she left scattered around the flat. A little while later, Steven made her some white rice because “it’s easy on a sensitive stomach!” and she tried to eat a little while he rambled off facts to keep her mind off being sick. Eventually, she was leaning on his shoulder, being held until she fell asleep once more.