Chapter Text
“How are you feeling?”
Norton swerved around the door to Naib’s room. One of his hands clutched a steaming mug. The other turned the handle shut behind him.
Perched at the edge of his unmade bed, Naib rolled his shoulders back. “Fine. Better. Is that for me?”
“…Yeah.”
Norton lowered the cup into Naib’s open hands. The steam that crept up to his cheeks had a strong, earthy scent.
Naib wrinkled his nose. “Where’s the sugar?”
“…In the cup.”
“How many teaspoons?”
“Two.”
“Needs more.”
“Two is enough.”
“Bring me the sugar.”
“Get it yourself.”
“I thought you didn’t want me wandering around sick.”
“I’m not getting you more sugar. There’s enough in there. Try it again.”
Naib begrudgingly sniffed it again.
Outside, the wind howled like a wild animal, conjuring up clouds of snow which flew past the thin glass window and shielded their vision of the forest beyond. Winter had never seemed so inhospitable, especially to a sick man confined to his small and drafty bedroom. Norton, on the other hand, was doing better than he should have been. He was a pest during the day, following Naib around and urging him back to bedrest. He seemed exempt from getting sick, although they’d been sleeping together since the start– and long before that.
“All right, happy?”
The empty mug came down with a thump upon the desk. With that out of the way, Naib started for the door. The next time he turned, he found himself faced with the most disapproving scowl he’d seen all year.
“What?”
Norton scowled at him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’ll go wherever I want to go.”
Naib’s eyes flitted back and forth, from Norton’s imposing figure to the door beside him.
“Don’t. Just rest.”
“I've been resting," Naib snapped. "I want some air. I’m sick of being stuck in here. And anyway, you’ll get sick too if you stay here with me. Why do you keep coming back? It’s annoying.”
He pinched his lips together once the words had slipped out. Norton's expression seemed to fall a little.
“If I’m getting sick, there’s no avoiding it now.”
“…That’s your fault for staying over.”
“I didn’t know you were sick. And it’s too late anyway, so what does it matter? Get back in bed.”
Naib clenched his jaw. Norton had never imposed so much on him before.
“Don't order me around.”
He quickly fastened his boots, then jumped to his feet, shoving past Norton’s half-hearted grasp on his way out the door.
Hardly a minute went by before he heard a second set of footsteps stalking along behind him.
“What are you going to do when you can barely walk straight?” Norton called after him.
“Am I not walking straight?” Naib didn't turn, but rather straightened himself as he went. He could do better than that. He attended to each step, keeping an even pace, a steady stride, and with his gaze fixed straight ahead, aside from the bags under his eyes, he imagined himself the picture of health and vitality. Whether the Prospector in pursuit of him thought so too, it didn't matter.
Soon enough, Norton had caught up to him looking quite the opposite of well. His eye bags were just as bad-- though, when were they not? His sunken features did little to reveal the youth he still had left in him, and yet Norton was still inexplicably and irritably handsome with all his unflattering shadows and scars. Naib gave a light snort. He was about to make another snide comment when Norton stopped him in his tracks by throwing a palm up to his forehead.
He held his breath. If his fever was back, he’d never hear the end of it.
After a few seconds, Norton retracted his hand with an even more disgruntled look.
Naib smirked up at him. “See?”
“It’ll come back,” Norton muttered. “I give it a few hours.”
“I’ll bet you it takes until nightfall to return. If it returns at all.”
“If I’m right, you owe me a favor.”
“Same for you. I’ll make it count.”
Naib snatched up Norton’s hand, gave it a firm shake, then started on ahead of him. As annoying as he'd been these last few days, the sound of Norton's footsteps close behind him was still a quiet comfort. If only he'd back off a little... Rather than rest, what Naib knew he needed now, more than anything else, was a solid, hearty meal.
Exactly two hours later, Naib’s head began to spin.
He’d since finished his very late lunch, tidied up with Norton’s help, then found himself lingering with him at the kitchen table, fighting off Demi Bourbon’s alcoholic ‘cold-cures.’ The first wave of dizziness had been easy enough to keep from showing on his face, but when the next left him nauseous, Naib fought the urge to crumple. He leaned forward, supporting his weight against the table with his elbows. He was fine, he told himself. It would pass.
He felt Norton’s eyes on him. Behind closed lips, Naib grit his teeth.
“Come on, Naib, just try a small glass. I’m tellin’ ya, works wonders.” Demi slapped a hand down on his shoulder, then gave it a playful rub. Beside him, Norton’s expression visibly hardened. What was he so irritated about? Naib squinted back at him.
“All right, let me try it." When he glanced back at Demi, her eyes lit up like stars.
“Yes!" She cheered. “You got it! I’ll make it just right for ya.” She twirled towards the stove and pulled a few things from the cabinets: honey, spices, an unlabeled bottle... Then, lemons from the fruit bowl.
Meanwhile, Norton was looking at him like he’d lost his mind. Naib nudged him lightly under the table as he leaned into his space.
“You’re trying it with me.”
“...No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
While Demi went on working, they bickered quietly, paying little attention to her preparations. By the time she’d headed back to them with the drink in hand, Naib's leg had discreetly kicked its way between Norton's shins.
The drink came down in front of Naib with an enthusiastic thud. Behind him, Demi beamed. A sweet, citrusy smell wafted up to him when he peered into it.
“Give it a sec to cool, then you try it and tell me what’cha think.”
“Smells good,” Naib muttered. He bumped the toe of Norton’s boot with his heel, then felt the outside of his shoe being knocked back in light retaliation. The smile tempting its way onto his face faltered when another wave of nausea washed over him. Again, Naib hunched himself a little forward to stave it off, wrapping his bare hands around the warm mug in front of him. The wariness with which Norton watched him left him with the feeling that he'd already given himself away.
“What’s all this?”
The three of them turned to find the red-nosed Jose Baden sliding into the kitchen with a sway in his step.
“Making a Toddy for Subedar,” Demi hummed. “He’s not feelin’ too hot. You want one too?”
“Might as well,” Baden hummed. He flashed a grin at Naib, then lightly knocked his knuckles against his mug. “It’s Christmas. Drink up, and feel better.”
“Thanks.” The word came out of him without a shred of gratitude.
The two of them were rowdy as ever, chatting away as they approached the stove. Naib was grateful, even, to have Demi's attention elsewhere. With a quiet sigh, he turned to face Norton again and found him just a little closer than before. Naib blinked. Norton peered back at him. Slowly, Naib leaned a bit of his weight sideways, and their shoulders fell together. An arm came up behind his back, snaking its way around the small of his waist.
Suddenly, the idea of getting back into bed with him didn’t sound too bad.
While the heavy drinkers in their group clumsily carried on their work beside the stove, Naib picked up the mug and gingerly sipped it. It was a touch too warm, but the taste of honey and lemon was soothing and smooth—at least until he swallowed it. The burn came like a smack in the gut after that, warming him abruptly as it went down.
“Whiskey?” Naib muttered.
“One helluva cure-all,” Jose shot back.
Norton muttered into his palm, “That’s not going to cure anything.”
Naib gave him another well-deserved nudge beneath the cover of the table. He slid the mug towards him before Norton could retaliate. “Here, it’s delicious. Maybe it’ll fix your attitude.”
The face he made after one sip made his point rather clearly.
“It’s too strong.”
“For you?” Naib cocked a brow.
Norton ignored him. “You trying to get him drunk? He needs rest, not booze.”
“Oh, Nortie, you’re so sweet. Look, he’s worried about you.”
Norton made a face like someone had pinched him. He let go of Naib’s waist and folded his arms on the table. "If I can keep him alive, that's good enough."
“If you’re worried, you can help me drink it, or else I’ll finish the rest myself.” Naib tried a smirk. Although his confidence had grown a little shaky since the nausea set in, the usual banter set his nerves at ease.
But Norton didn't take the bait. Naib watched him drop his chin into his palm as he stared back at him. “Drink it then.”
"It's boiling," Jose called. Demi trailed after him, leaving the two of them to their bitter staring. Fine– if this was the game he wanted to play, Naib swiped up the mug and put it to his lips, but by the second sip in, Norton snatched it back to finish it himself.
“Idiot."
“Stop it. You're mothering me.”
“If you knew how to take care of yourself, I wouldn’t have to.”
“Oh yeah? You know what I’m feeling? Because I feel fine, asshole.” The legs of his chair scraped the floor abruptly as he stood.
“You’re sweating, dumbass. You look like shit.”
“Fuck off, I’m fine. You don’t want to lose the bet, so you’re putting this shit on me...”
Norton pursued him, nearly knocking his chair over entirely. “I already won. Get it through your head. You’re sick.”
“Forget it, I’m leaving.”
“Where are you going?”
“None of your business.”
He stalked out of the kitchen and Norton went after him, leaving a bewildered Demi and Jose to their inevitable gossip.