Work Text:
Some Rooster and Hangman care.
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Rooster whistled lowly as Jake stumbled in an hour later. "Rough night?" He asked, smirking. Jake huffed as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Something like that," He replied. Rooster snorted. "Weren't it Javy's birthday?" He asked, frowning. Jake took a seat, sighing heavily. "Yup. Why'd you think he's not here today?" Rooster took a sip of his own coffee chuckling. "Idiot. Did he know we're doing strike tactics today?" He asked over his steaming mug. Jake gave a one-shouldered shrug. "He's 29 man, if he wants to be hungover for tactics, let him,"
Rooster frowned slightly. Jake wasn't usually that dismissive of his best pal, but upon further inspection of the aviator's unfocused eyes and tired expression, he came to the conclusion that Jake was hungover as well. He continued to nurse his coffee, smirking at the varying states of hungover-ness the others turned up in. Others being Fanboy and Payback.
Nat was already there nursing her coffee when Rooster arrived. Bob arrived about twenty minutes later, the only one currently sober, followed by Fanboy, Payback and Jake an hour later.
Rooster pulled out his phone, flicking through some messages from Mav.
16:49 - Mav: Can't make it, sos. Tell Javy happy birthday for me tho.
16:49 - Me: Worried you can't hold ure liquor old man?
16:49 - Mav: Ha ha. UR funny. Penny needs help with her boat, and Amelia's out.
16:50 - Me: 😏
16:50 - Mav: No.
16:51 - Me: Her "boat" you say.
16:51 - Mav: Bradley, I swear to god.
16:51 - Me: Just wear protection
16:52 - Mav: Kid, I changed your diapers and witnessed puberty. You really wanna be careful. I have lots of blackmail stored up.
16:52 - Me: Fine, fine. Whatever old man.
20:49 - Me: He said thanks.
"You lot don't look as bad as I thought," Came a voice from the doorway. Rooster tucked his phone away, flashing a smile. "I'm not, but they're struggling," He nodded. Maverick chuckled. "I resent that. I've been much worse," Nat grumbled. Jake stayed quiet, surprising for the Texan. He usually had a lot to say.
"Yeah, well, take some pills. Cyclone's changed the lesson today," Mav leaned against the door. Rooster frowned. "Why? What's happened?" He asked, placing his cup on the table. "You're doing tactics next week instead, it fits in better with the weather apparently." Mav shrugged. "You're doing strike manoeuvres today instead. So, grab your gear and suit up."
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"Sir... I don't think I can do the lesson today," Jake said. Admiral Bates continued writing. "And why might that be, prey tell?" Jake swallowed back the rise of bile in his throat. "I do not feel well enough to pilot a plane today, sir." He rubbed his hand across his sweaty forehead, exhaling shakily as his vision wavered. "Oh?" Bates stopped writing. Jake breathed deeply to combat rising nausea as he stared over the admiral's shoulder. "It has nothing to do with Mr Machado's birthday last night? He coincidentally also rang in sick today," Bates quizzed. Jake shook his head slightly, blinking at the sudden wave of dizziness. Bates hummed. "You'll have to get cleared by medical, Mr Seresin. I can only authorise absences when they are of the extreme,"
Jake blinked harshly to clear the fuzz away from his vision. "Yes sir," He said. Bates nodded and picked his pen up. "Dismissed," He said. Jake turned to leave when his legs turned to jelly and his vision tilted to the left. He grabbed the wall for support. "Seresin? Are you ok?" Bates asked. Jake shut his eyes tightly. "Yes sir... it was just a dizzy spell." He breathed out shakily. "I'll be ok in a minute... I just need to wait out the black dots," He took measured breaths in and out, waiting for the dots to subside. "Don't worry about medical, Seresin. Go home. I'll sign you off for today, and tomorrow. Get whatever is wrong with you checked out," He heard Bates say.
Jake hummed lowly, desperately praying for the sick feeling to go away.
Puking on the admiral's floor wouldn't look good.
"It's just a migraine, sir." He mustered out, straightening his back. "I get them from time to time." He continued. "Usually I get apt warning, so this is a surprise, I'll admit." He sighed. "I don't have migraines in your files, Seresin." Bates frowned. Jake nodded. "When I had the medical eval when I joined, they were deemed un-risky, so I was fine. I only have an episode maybe... once every six, maybe seven months, sir." He continued. Bates hummed. "They're usually not this bad either..." He mumbled. Bates tapped his pen. "I'll have to add it in, Seresin. This could affect your deployments, you know that? When your episode's finished, get in for another eval. We'll go from there,"
~
Jake didn't make it out of the building.
In fact, he barely made it to the communal sink before his minute breakfast decided to make a reappearance. He knew it was gross to use the sink, but it was either that or the ground. His vision wavered dangerously as he heaved pointlessly. At that point, death would be a sweet release.
He didn't even know what'd caused it! He hadn't drank, smoked, or been particularly stressed out. Hell, he was worse during the uranium bombing mission, yet, no migraine appeared.
Jake's right hand grabbed the counter tightly, keeping him upright as he continued leaning over. His left hand rubbed circles into his temple, desperately trying to fight off some of the pain long enough to get home.
He gagged over the sink again, rubbing away the tears that leaked from his eyes. "Jake? What the hell?" He shut his eyes tightly. "Fuck off, Bradshaw," He spat. The moustached man ignored him. "What the hell is wrong with you? I didn't think you were hungover?" He asked. Jake knuckled his temple again. "S'a migraine. Now leave me alone,"
He vomited in the sink again, stars flashing in his eyes. He felt a hand land on his shoulder, followed by his skin prickling painfully. He shrugged it off. "Don't touch me," He hissed. He sighed heavily. "Sorry... it's just that everything hurts," He said, feeling guilty. He opened his eyes to the sound of something clicking. The room was significantly darker than when he first stumbled in. "I know migraines hurt. Mine are only tension, but my mom used to get cluster ones." Rooster said. Jake hummed, clenching the side tighter as his vision blurred and his stomach churned. "Come on. I'll take you home."
~~~~~
Rooster took the day off (read, was asked to by Bates) to make sure Jake didn't die or something stupid. He took Jake home and camped on the couch for the night. Getting him into his bed had been an... ordeal. Jake wanted to be in comfy clothes but didn't have enough anything in his body to actually remove and replace the jeans and shirt he'd put on, leaving Rooster to.
He didn't remove his boxers, that was something the 30-year-old aviator would have to do himself.
They weren't that close.
Thankfully, Jake hadn't thrown up (at least not to Rooster's knowledge) for the rest of the evening, just sleeping in his room, blindfold on, and fan rotating.
Apparently, it helped.
When Rooster woke up the next morning, it was to somebody being sick. He groaned as he opened his eyes, squinting at the time. 04:38. He shoved his socks on and shuffled to the bathroom, sighing softly at the sight.
"Roo... I'm... I'm sorry, it's fine..." Jake mumbled from the floor. "Go to bed. I'm fine," Rooster rolled his eyes as the aviator leaned over to vomit into the toilet. "Yeah, that says otherwise," He gestured to the sight. "Let me grab you some crackers at least. You've gotta eat something," He frowned. "Ugh, food is the last thing I wanna think about..."
Rooster made his way out, shaking his head, trying to clear some of the exhaustion.
If he kept being sick and unable to keep anything down, Rooster would have to call 911 or someone. His thoughts ran away as he fetched some crackers and made his way back to the bathroom. The door was shut, so Rooster knocked on it. "Jake? You ok?" He called.
A painful retch answered his question. He opened the door slowly, wincing. Jake sat with his back against the sink cupboard holding his head in his hands and groaning softly. Rooster placed the crackers on the floor and wet a towel. "Here, put this on your head. It'll stop it hurting so much,"
Rooster had experienced the fun-graines one too many times and knew how to at least relieve some of the pain. Jake glanced up through red-rimmed eyes as he took the towel. "Thanks," He mumbled. Rooster hesitated in the doorway. "Well... um... I'll be in the living area," He said.
"Wait. Please don't go," Rooster paused. "Can you stay? I just... I don't wanna be alone right now," The usually cocky aviator whispered. Rooster nodded. "Sure," He said, taking a seat on the tiled floor. Jake eventually fell asleep against the side of the tub, prompting Rooster to grab his pillow and blanket. He may be a pilot, but there was no way he'd be able to drag the muscular 15-stone man to his bed.
The day passed with Rooster keeping his frenemy hydrated and fed enough to not drop dead, despite his best effort to expel the clearly harmful substances from his body. Jake's migraine cleared up the following day, taking the slight fever with it. Rooster cat napped on his couch again on the third night, despite being at work all day. Nobody was around for his mom when she had her migraines, nor for him, so... for some extra-terrestrial reason, he didn't want Jake going through it alone either.
But that night, he was exhausted and dozed by the tv. He didn't notice when a blanket was dropped on his sleeping form unceremoniously, with the tv and lights being turned off.
Or if he did, he didn't want to say anything.
"Thanks, buddy..." Jake mumbled softly as he shuffled to his own bed.
That... Rooster heard.