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Elan Ceres (one of many (not to her)) does not get sick. (He's told her as much before.) As part of becoming an Enhanced Person, his immune system was cybernetically altered to help combat the side-effects of prolonged Permet activation. Of course, this provided benefits beyond facilitating the obligation to strap into the Gundam Pharact whenever the occasion called for it, but neither he nor she had any faith that this was anything other than a happy coincidence. Besides, he had told her, I can't afford to die from some stupid illness .
Norea Du Noc (one of one (as far as she's aware)) does not get sick. (Metaphorically speaking.) Sophie was always the one tending to the living, playing with the children under Dawn of Fold's wing, taking care of them when they were ill and the adults were busy. Norea preferred to make her company among the dead. It was much easier to take care of something that had no real needs to attend to. Much quieter, too. She knew first aid, of course; she could suture a wound or set a broken bone with her eyes closed. But Elan wasn't bleeding, and to her knowledge, all 206 (maybe more- who knows what else the butchers at Peil implanted into him) bones in his body were unharmed. As far as Norea was concerned, this was much worse.
For the first time in the three and a half years she had known him, Elan Ceres was, in fact, sick.
Simply put, Elan looked like shit. More descriptively put, he was in the worst condition she had ever seen. At some point in time a couple days prior, Elan had come down hard with an unknown ailment, leaving him bedridden. Today, however, he seemed to be leagues worse. His skin, already pale as it was, bordered on porcelain. His forehead was slick with sweat, like a brined oyster. Despite his repeated insistence that he was cold, he felt uncomfortably hot to the touch. He could barely walk without assistance.
Norea had quickly come to realize that her bedside manner was severely lacking. She'd done what she could, making sure Elan ate enough and drank enough and slept enough (enough as she guessed "enough" should be,) but to her, it didn't feel like… enough. Elan had taken care of her before, and it was sweet and considerate and endlessly patient, but receiving care felt just as alien to her as giving it. When you were living in a Dawn of Fold camp, you didn't exactly have the luxury of chicken noodle soup to help with your illness. It was a hard mentality to shake off.
The room was beginning to feel smaller to Norea.
For the time being, they had settled somewhere on the outskirts of Paris, renting a room in a mediocre hotel, where the coffee and the bagels at the breakfast bar were locked in eternal competition to see which was the stalest and most unappetizing. It was quiet enough for them to exist unbothered, while at the same time close enough to the (relative) security of a major Earthian economic hub. More importantly, the rent was cheap. There was a hospital a short drive away, but Elan dismissed the suggestion when Norea brought it up. It wasn't a matter of finances, he said. While they weren't exactly "residents" and certainly didn't have any travel insurance, they had more than enough money to get by, courtesy of a "severance package" from Elan Ceres (the original (not to her.)) She loathed the idea of thanking him, Elame (one of many increasingly childish and derisive nicknames her and Elan had come up with for him ( Elame, Eloser, Peelan, Smellan, Dweeblan… ,)) but the money was helpful. The real reason was Elan himself. Hospitals weren't exactly equipped to treat Enhanced Persons. Whatever aid they could provide would be about as helpful as taking an ibuprofen. Not exactly the news Norea wanted to hear. So, she sat in her room with a very sick Elan, and tried (unsuccessfully) to keep her thoughts from eating at her like fruit flies on stale hotel bagels.
"Norea," Elan groaned, "I think I'm going to die from some stupid illness."
"Don't say that," she replied curtly. She knew he was joking, of course, but there was some irrational part of her, deep down, that almost believed him. She wondered if there was a part of him like that, too. It didn't particularly help to think about, either way.
"Sorry." His voice was quiet, and Norea couldn't tell if it was from sheepishness, fatigue, or both.
"No, it's… it's okay." Normally, whenever Elan would crack a joke or make a conversational jab (playfully, nowadays ( how much things have changed over the years… )) Norea would be right there to respond in kind. But seeing him like this, it almost felt wrong to antagonize him, even in jest. So many thoughts were knocking around in her head that the impacts were dulling her neurons. The awkward silences were jet engines.
So, when Elan said "I need a bath" (he did,) Norea was halfway to the bathroom before her mouth had time to voice an acknowledgement.
Once the bath had begun to draw, Norea slumped against the side of the tub. The cool porcelain tiles felt like ice against her legs.
She didn't like how unsure this whole situation made her feel. Norea was used to being in control, or at least in the illusion of control. When she was behind the dashboard of the Lfrith Thorn (how long ago that seemed by now…,) she felt powerful. Capable. Even if she didn't have a plan, she could blast and kick and scratch and fight her way through a solution. But here, where the problem couldn't be solved with fists or guns or even words, she felt completely out of her depth.
Above all else, she didn't like seeing him like this- seeing someone so sharp and full of vigor reduced to such a sad little heap buried beneath a pile of blankets.
Uncomfortable memories began to gather in the corners of her psyche, like ghastly creatures waiting to pounce on wounded prey. She drowned them in the tub.
He's not actually dying. He wouldn't let that happen. You wouldn't let that happen.
She didn't know exactly when, but hot tears had begun to streak down her face. Part of her was grateful that the noise of the faucet obscured the choked sobs clawing their way out of her throat, but another part of her was ashamed of that gratefulness. They had spent years in each other's company at this point, and yet here she was, still too embarrassed to let him hear her cry for him.
By the time the bathtub was filled and the soap was swirled in, Norea's tears had abated. She rubbed furiously at her eyes, took a deep breath, and went to go help Elan in. She sat him down on the toilet, and once he was finished removing his underwear, she slung his arm over her shoulder, grabbed his waist, and guided him over to the bathtub.
Norea had seen Elan in the nude before (on occasion (it was dark.)) Still, this felt different. Maybe it was the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom. Maybe it was Elan's vulnerability- a different kind of vulnerability, one where giving himself to her was out of necessity and not desire. Maybe it was how clinical and procedural it all felt. Maybe it was all in her head. Nonetheless, she had to fight the urge to avert her gaze as she helped Elan lower himself into the bathtub. Once he was in a comfortable position, she immediately moved to perch atop the toilet with an almost childlike swiftness.
"Baths are fun," Elan said with a feeble splash of his hands. "I wish I got to take them as a kid, but… you know." Another splash, this one an implication.
"Yeah," Norea replied. "I know."
They were silent, then- Elan wordlessly washing himself as Norea stared off into a corner. Soft splashes of water, the occasional congested sniffle from Elan and the low drone of the bathroom light was the soundtrack to the whole affair.
Once Elan signaled he was done with a simple "okay," they repeated the procedure in reverse. Arm over the shoulder. Lift him up. Bring him over to the toilet (more slowly, this time (can't have him slipping.)) Towel. Drain the tub. Stare into it while he changed. Back into bed.
It was getting late outside. The corners of the room were getting darker. Norea had heard that ghosts live in corners. If Elan died ( shut up ( stop thinking about it ( too late, ))) she hoped he'd haunt a much more beautiful corner than any of these four.
She was sitting wordlessly on the edge of the bed. Her hands fisted uncontrollably at the sheets. Elan, taking notice of this, gently clasped one of his hands over hers, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin.
"Norea?" he asked. "Are you all right?"
Norea wanted to say yes, that everything was fine, but the tone in Elan's voice told her that he already knew the answer. His question was more of an invitation for her to open up about what they both already knew (not that she was doing a very good job of hiding her feelings (not that it mattered (he could always see through her.))) She might as well be honest.
"No," she said, the word catching in her throat.
Elan rolled to face her. "Come here."
Norea melted.
She slipped under the covers, embracing him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him as tightly as she could without crushing him. He was there, with her. She could feel him relax into her touch, could feel the flies in her mind dying with sharp pop s from the electricity of his presence.
"I'm sorry," she breathed into his chest, her voice trembling.
"For what?"
She was crying (now (again,)) wetting her skin and his with tears.
"I- I don't know- you're just so sick and there's nothing I can do and it scares me and I feel like I've been distant today when I shouldn't be and I wish I knew what to say or do to make you feel better but I don't and-" a quick, hitched breath- "please don't die on me."
His free hand gently carded through her short curls. They had just begun to grow back in after Norea had buzzed her hair a couple months earlier. It was a symbolic gesture, of moving on to a new phase in her life. She had never considered herself the type for such performative sentiments, but it felt right. A lot of things felt right as of late. Maybe that's why this ordeal had scared her so much. Maybe she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things hadn't always been perfect, of course. They had fought and argued plenty of times, and plenty of other times they did neither (which was worse,) but ultimately there was safety and security in one another. She didn't want to lose that.
"Norea."
She responded with a sniffle.
"You don't have to say or do anything to make me feel better. You being here, with me, is more than enough."
Another sniffle.
"I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never going anywhere without you."
A word, this time. "Okay."
She stared up at him from below. She had long since memorized every aspect of his face from every angle, and he was beautiful in every one, but through her tear-blurred vision and the way he breathed in through his mouth-
You look like a fish.
"I'm… flattered?" Elan said, and Norea flushed, realizing she had unconsciously given voice to her thoughts.
"No, I.. uh…" she fumbled, struggling to recover, "I like fish."
Elan laughed, and it was hoarse and strained and devolved into a coughing fit midway through, but it was the first time he had truly laughed in days.
Something about it must have been contagious, because Norea found herself laughing alongside him. She loved his laugh. She loved a lot of other things about him, too. This time, when she voiced her thoughts, it was intentional.
"I love you, Elan."
"I know, Norea. I love you too."
The moment was cut short by Elan yawning the biggest yawn Norea had seen in her entire life.
"I think that's a sign for me to get my beauty sleep," he said, weariness already slurring his voice.
"Lord knows you need it."
He smiled at this, a soft smile he reserved only for her, before reaching over to the lightswitch next to the bed.
"Goodnight, Norea."
"Goodnight, Elan."
The lights switched off.
Elan fell asleep almost immediately. Norea listened to the rise and fall of his breaths, ghosted over the bumps of his spine with her fingers. She allowed the warmth of his body to take her from concerned to comforted. When sleep finally came over her, she dreamed. It was a good dream.
As quickly as it came on, Elan's sickness disappeared. When he awoke, it was with bright eyes and an even brighter smile.
"Man, that sure was something, wasn't it?" he chirped. "Let's go out for breakfast!"
Norea could only respond with a cough. It seemed like Elan's laugh wasn't the only thing that was contagious.
Elan's smile faded. "Uh oh."
Norea Du Noc does, in fact, get sick.