Work Text:
George couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this ill. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this ill, not since the onset of the Problem at least. He knew he should’ve paid more attention to himself — picked up on the signs sooner — but also blamed his inability to do so on the illness in question. He’d heard ‘flu’ thrown around by Lucy once or twice, and that seemed to be the general consensus for now.
It had just come on so quickly.
The buzzing under his skin had increased tenfold to accompany the headache that had set in before he went to bed. That really should’ve been as good an indicator as any, but George found himself brushing it off with an explanation that escaped him the moment it had formed. It wasn’t uncommon to find him in the kitchen making tea at three in the morning, and he assumed that was why he’d made his way downstairs. Tea usually helped things like this; it only made sense.
George opened his eyes slowly, forcing his gaze up to meet his own reflection in the kitchen window as he gripped the edge of the counter for balance. He raised an unsteady hand to rub away the prickling goosebumps on one of his bare arms and found himself regretting for once his choice of only sleeping in a t-shirt and boxers. He didn’t remember the house ever being this cold before they moved back in, but that could easily be a side-effect of the fact that it had recently been rebuilt.
What had he come into the kitchen for again?
Oh, right. Tea. Obviously. Tea usually helped things like this.
He cracked his neck, then his knuckles — briefly, so he could continue to lean against the counter — before he stretched out the hand that wasn’t keeping him upright towards the cupboard, letting the door swing open so his mug could fly into his grip. It hit his palm a little harder than usual and George was forced to shift his weight to stay steady, cursing under his breath at the miscalculation. It was rare that he was tired enough to mess up the tea routine.
The mug landed on the table behind him without incident, and George used the usual process to send his tea bag towards it as he opened the top of the kettle with a flick of his wrist to fill it up so it could boil.
He paused for a breather, screwing his eyes shut as the usually reassuring sound of the kettle only exacerbated his headache further. He just about managed to recover enough to open them again a few moments later, just in time for his gaze to land on the hoodie that Lockwood had left behind on one of the chairs. George raised a hand to summon it towards himself before slowly and methodically pulling it on, even as the buzzing under his skin intensified.
It would take another minute for the kettle to finish. He could wait in the sitting room until it was more bearable.
George wrapped Lockwood’s hoodie around himself even more to ward off the cold as he shuffled over to the other room and collapsed onto the sofa. Just for a minute, until the kettle was done. Just for a minute, and then could go back to what he was doing.
What was he doing again?
Oh, right. Tea. Obviously. Tea usually helped things like this.
George sank further down the sofa as his eyes fluttered shut.
• • 𝚿 • •
Sunlight was streaming through the windows by the time George woke up, and it instantly reignited the headache that the few moments of half-asleep haze had let him forget about. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and grimaced before retrieving his glasses from where they’d fallen onto the floor at some point. He vaguely remembered coming downstairs but couldn’t quite pinpoint why he’d moved to sleep on the sofa rather than make tea, which usually would’ve helped.
George shivered a little as he sat up, zipping Lockwood’s hoodie as high as it would go as he shoved his hands into the pockets to warm them up. It took a second or two for him to work up to getting to his feet, but it was a slow morning so he cut himself a bit of slack. The room seemed to spin a little as he got up, but it cleared before he was completely upright so he just put it down as low blood sugar and a dire need for breakfast.
Speaking of Lockwood, he could hear his voice coming from the kitchen and it teased a soft smile onto his face. Anthony Lockwood, aka one of his partners, aka human furnace was the perfect solution to the cold house. He couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t occurred to him before.
He muddled into the kitchen to find Lucy and Lockwood leaning against the worktop next to each other. Despite the extra space around them, they always chose to stand with their shoulders pressed against each other, almost as if magnets attached them at the hip. Sometimes George slotted himself between them, others he fixed himself onto one end and sandwiched either Lucy or Lockwood in the middle.
Lucy caught sight of him first, her face lighting up in a fond grin. “Morning, Georgie. Sleep well?”
He managed a small shrug as he replied. “Just about. You?”
“Didn’t wake up last night, so I think it was decent,” she admitted before lifting an arm to beckon him over. “You going to say good morning properly or what?”
“Seconded,” Lockwood added with a grin. “Morning.”
“Morning.” George gave them both a tired smile as he made his way over to join them. As soon as he was close enough, Lockwood tugged him the rest of the way using the hoodie.
“Is this mine?” Lockwood’s eyebrow quirked upwards in amusement as he tugged lightly on the material.
“Not anymore it’s not,” George replied with a grin as he tucked himself under Lockwood’s arm and pressed his face against his t-shirt and let Lockwood’s natural warmth radiate through him. It calmed the buzzing just a little, but whether that was the heat or just Lockwood himself, George was yet to know. He felt the ghost of a light kiss over the crown of his head and smiled into Lockwood’s shirt contentedly.
Lucy closed the gap behind him to wrap her arms around the both of them and it wasn’t long before her chin was resting over his shoulder and she was pressing her lips softly against his temple.
She froze, pulling back slightly. “Georgie?”
He hummed and leaned closer to Lockwood’s warmth as he replied. “Luce?”
Her hands came back to him, gently teasing him out of Lockwood’s arms as she turned George to face her. Lucy rested the back of her hand against his forehead with a frown. “You’re hot.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve only just noticed?” Lockwood teased. “He’s a catch, haven’t you heard? George’s partners hit the jackpot with this one.”
George rolled his eyes fondly but he couldn’t help the heat that rose to his cheeks at the compliment.
Lucy reached blindly behind her to swat at Lockwood’s arm with her free hand. “That’s a given, but it’s also not what I meant. He’s burning up, Lockwood.” She turned her attention solely back to George as she rose onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his forehead gently before pulling away again. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just tired.” He leaned back against the edge of the kitchen table for support as she gave him a once over.
“Let’s let the thermometer be the judge of that, yeah?” Lucy suggested softly. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before spinning away to track it down.
A shiver ran through him and he disappeared further into Lockwood’s hoodie wearily. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him, aside from being absolutely knackered. George wasn’t sure how to react to the insinuation that he might be getting sick, because he didn’t get sick, so there was really nothing to worry about.
But now Lockwood had concern taking over his face, and he was slowly closing the distance between them as he raised his good hand to trail over George’s cheek. “You sure you’re feeling alright? You look a bit peaky.”
George couldn’t pay attention to the words out of his mouth, only the warmth that came from his touch as he leaned into it and closed his eyes. “You’re warm,” he murmured as one of his own hands came up to keep Lockwood’s in place.
“I know, mate,” Lockwood replied softly. “Comes with the territory. You know that.” He let his thumb brush over George’s cheek tenderly as his brow furrowed further. “I think you’re coming down with something. I can feel how warm you are right now.”
Someone else chose that moment to enter the kitchen. Not Lucy, someone new. Kit, he realised as he clocked the pattern of footsteps. She dropped herself into an available chair with a half-asleep yawn before greeting them. “Hey. What’s for breakfast?”
“Usual,” George replied slowly as he closed his eyes for a second to regather his strength. “I’ll get started.”
“George—” Lockwood protested carefully. “I don’t think you should be cooking right now.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just give me a second.” He raised a hand to telekinetically set the table, opening the cupboard and summoning the plates to the usual place settings. George closed his eyes for a moment, and the buzzing subsided briefly. There, that was better. Wasn’t it?
“George!” Kit’s panicked cry forced his eyes open.
Lockwood was still in front of him, eyes widening in horror as his attention shifted from something just to the left of George back to his face.
George tilted his head slightly, and the room seemed to slip a little. He caught sight of what Lockwood had been focused on, and he blinked. And blinked again.
One of the plates was suspended barely a couple of inches away from the side of his head. It shook in place for a moment before it settled on the counter of its own accord. No, Kit’s accord. George turned around slowly to confirm his suspicions, and sure enough she was leaning across the table with her arm outstretched.
Three appeared in the doorway, frowning as he took in the scene.
George wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. The headache was back with a vengeance and he closed his eyes as he leaned against the kitchen table. “That.. wasn’t supposed to happen?” he announced weakly, before all of his strength seemed to leave him. He could feel his arms shaking from the strain of supporting his own weight.
“Georgie?” Lockwood’s voice was laced with concern, and George knew it was written all over his face too, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Just give me… a minute. Metaphorical.” George managed to lift a hand in a so-so gesture as he amended his answer, listing sideways slightly. “Maybe two.”
Something else was shaking; he could hear glassware rattling where it stood behind the cupboard. He wasn’t panicking, he wasn’t scared, so there was no logical explanation for that to be happening.
“George, I need you to look at me,” Lucy murmured. He wasn’t sure when she’d come back, but she probably had the thermometer with her now. “I need you to open your eyes, Georgie. You’re not okay right now, and you need to see what you’re doing. Can you do that for me?”
“I’m fine,” he replied softly, but George opened his eyes all the same.
Oh.
Various pieces of cutlery and kitchen appliances were hovering in mid-air, spinning or slowly revolving in place as they suspended themselves in the air. The plate from before was tilting on its axis, and Lockwood had been forced to reach out and reclaim his mug of tea before it could empty its contents onto the worktop as it spun.
“Is that me?” George asked in confusion, his voice small.
Lucy managed a hesitant nod in reply. “Can you set it back down?”
“It can’t be me. I’m not doing anything…” he protested quietly as he turned around, still relying on the table to keep himself upright. “I’m not,” he insisted as he shook his head. “I’m not doing anything.”
“George,” Lockwood whispered his name as he reached for his arm. “Let us take care of you.”
“I’m fine!” George snapped, and everything that had been floating suddenly froze in place. “I just need… I just… I need…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I think I just need to…” He took a step forward and it was his turn to spin now; the room seemed to tilt on its axis as it slipped out of place—
Arms wrapped around him securely, catching him before he could hit the floor. Warmth surrounded him — Lockwood — and he curled into his embrace. That was all he needed. Warmth, and a cup of tea. Tea usually helped things like this.
The words “fever”, “bed,” and “water” caught his attention, but other than that he closed his eyes and let everything else fade as he pulled himself closer to the source of heat.
• • 𝚿 • •
When he opened his eyes, he was in his own bed. George stayed caught in the haze between sleeping and waking as he blinked lazily, before blindly reaching for his glasses. He attempted to summon them, but a book came towards him instead. It completely missed his outstretched hand and smacked him in the chest instead, knocking him back against the pillows with a groan.
He shoved it aside and forced himself up onto his elbows to squint at the rest of the room. The door was ajar slightly, and he closed it with a wave of his hand. It slammed louder than he had any intention of it being and he recoiled slightly as the sudden sound aggravated his still-present headache. George squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he replayed the last events he remembered.
Lucy coaxing his eyes open to show him that half the kitchen was floating.
Lockwood holding him in his arms as he eased him to the ground.
Kit letting out a panicked scream as he nearly accidentally took his own head off with a dinner plate.
(Not necessarily in that order; everything was a little hazy.)
A cough rattled his chest and burned his throat, and George withdrew into himself even further. The next one he choked out coincided with the sound of something flying into the wall on the other side of the room.
“Georgie?” Lockwood knocked lightly on the now closed door. “Can I come in?”
“No,” he just about managed to croak out. “Not safe.”
“I’m not worried about catching anything,” Lockwood promised. “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. Let us help you get better.”
“No.” George’s voice was firm this time. Well, about as firm as he could manage it.
If the events from downstairs proved anything, it was that his judgement was severely impaired. He refused to put anyone in danger just because he couldn’t shake off this… bug quickly enough. What if it had been Lockwood that nearly got hit by the plate? What if it had been Kit?
What if someone else got sick because of him?
Lucy joined Lockwood outside his door. “George, it’s okay. We just want to help you get better.”
“Don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was quiet as he drew the duvet up around himself and sank underneath it, shaking from the cold. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, a little louder but muffled by the duvet.
“George.” Lockwood’s voice cracked slightly. “Please let us in. We’re worried about you.”
But George couldn’t seem to focus on his words, and he rolled onto his side and burrowed under the covers as he gave in once more to the welcoming pull of sleep.
• • 𝚿 • •
He couldn’t get comfortable; sweat seemed to be dripping from every area of bare skin and the parts that weren’t exposed were clinging to his damp t-shirt uncomfortably. The buzzing had returned and George whimpered as curling into himself made no difference to the intensity of it.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Lucy soothed as she brushed his hair away from his clammy forehead. “It’s going to be fine, Georgie. We just have to get through the worst of it.”
Her hand was freezing. Compared to the warmth he’d been seeking god knows how long ago, when the tide turned the lack of it was more than welcome as he pushed the duvet away and leaned into her touch. “You shouldn't… You shouldn’t be here…” he mumbled, eyes fluttering closed again.
“We have survived worse than this, and we’ll get through this too,” she promised. “I’m not scared of a few flying cacti. Kit took them all out of here anyway.” Lucy coaxed him to sit up a little against the pillows. “Come on, you need some meds to help fight this.”
He blinked as the light practically attacked his eyes, cringing away from it and closer to the wall.
“Nope, come on.” Lucy nudged him lightly with a cold glass of water. She uncurled one of his hands and dropped two tablets into it before closing his fingers over them so he wouldn’t lose them in the bed. “Take this, you’ll feel better for it.”
George reluctantly complied as he forced the pills into his mouth, washing them down with some of the water. He turned his head to look at her slightly, but something behind Lucy caught his attention. He squinted at it, but without his glasses he could only make out the shape rather than the actual detail of the object. “Is that…”
She glanced over her shoulder before nodding. “Yeah. The door.”
The door that currently appeared to be propped up against the desk, rather than in its frame where it was supposed to be. “Did I do that?” he asked quietly.
Lucy shook her head. “Kit, actually. You slammed the door hard enough for it to get jammed, and we were figuring out a plan of action for it.” She dropped her gaze to her lap where she was perched on the edge of the bed. “You started to have a nightmare, and she tore it straight off its hinges to get to you.”
“I don’t remember that,” he mumbled.
“You were pretty out of it at the time,” she admitted softly. “You should have something to eat, Georgie. Even if you don’t feel like it, your body needs it. Lockwood should be up with the toast any minute now.”
He nodded and slid back down onto the bed. “‘kay. I’ll try.”
• • 𝚿 • •
He drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the day, and most of the night. More than once he woke up disorientated and crying out, delirious from the fever. One time he noticed a fresh bandage on Lucy’s hand, and the glass by his bedside had been replaced with a plastic one.
George could fill in his own blanks; the insinuation of what happened almost made him nauseous.
Kit flitted into his room a few times to check in, even though she wasn’t entirely sure how to help.
He didn’t see Lockwood all that much.
Three dropped by with slightly heated turkey sandwiches, but they ended up being left on the side to go cold as George went back to sleep.
Lucy was an ever-present force by his side, even going so far as to sleep in the office chair that she’d wheeled over to by his bedside.
George’s eyes cracked open slowly, lashes practically glueing them shut as they stuck to the sheen of sweat that covered his face. He turned his head to the side as soon as he clocked the fact that Lucy’s chair was empty, but he spotted her hovering in the doorway. If he squinted, he could just about make out the blurry shape of Lockwood with his arms wrapped around her.
“I want to help,” Lockwood whispered, pained. “I want to be here for him.”
“We’ll be fine,” Lucy promised him. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not safe for me to be around him! In what world is that okay?” he snapped, his voice completely raw. “Sorry. Sorry. Fuck, Luce. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she reassured him gently. “It’s okay.”
“No it’s not,” he insisted. “You’re just trying to help. You didn’t deserve that.”
“You’re stressed, we’re all stressed right now. It’s okay, I promise. George is going to be just fine.”
“I want to help,” he repeated. “I hate that I can’t help him.”
“I know.” Lucy pulled him down towards her as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I know you do.”
• • 𝚿 • •
George didn’t bring that up until Lucy was offering him more meds at two in the morning. Anyone could see she was struggling to keep her eyes open, but she pressed on anyway and took the cup from him once he was finished to set it on the side. As she eased him back against the pillows, Lucy reached for the damp washcloth from the cold bucket at her feet to wring it out and wipe his forehead with it.
“Where’s Lockwood?” George croaked.
“Asleep,” she replied automatically. He held her gaze for a moment until she broke eye contact, fiddling with her necklace. “On the landing. Beating himself up about not being able to help.”
“At least someone’s taken my advice and stayed away.” He sighed.
Lucy’s forehead creased as she frowned, watching him carefully. “You don’t think he’s—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “George, he’s sleeping outside your room not because he doesn’t want to get sick, but because he doesn’t want to make you worse.”
“That doesn’t…” George trailed off, frowning. “What?”
“He’s practically a walking radiator, isn’t he? It’s why you sought him out when you got chills?” she pointed out. “I’ve only managed to convince him not to check into a hotel until you’re better, because he’s convinced that his not noticing you getting ill contributed to making it worse. He was prepared to move out if it lowered the house by a few degrees and helped you get better.”
George groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Of course he’d find a way to blame himself. Lockwood, get in here.” His voice was raspy, so Lockwood didn’t hear it right away. George used the time to prop himself up slightly.
“Lockwood?” Lucy helped catch his attention. “Can you come here a second?”
There was a shuffling outside on the landing and he poked his head through the door, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Luce? Everything okay?” Lockwood caught sight of George, realising he was awake. “Georgie, hey. How are you feeling?” he asked sheepishly.
George rolled his eyes at him before replying. “Like shit, but it’s not your fault. You know that, right?”
Lockwood dropped his head, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I know I didn’t help.”
“No, what didn’t help was the fact that I tried to explain away each and every symptom as it appeared,” he replied firmly. “You’ve done nothing wrong, alright?”
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Hey, Lockwood?” George prompted, waiting for him to lift his head and look at him. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Georgie.” A small smile worked its way onto Lockwood’s face, and George declared that a victory.
“My boys,” Lucy sighed softly as she smiled at both of them. “We’re going to be alright.”
• • 𝚿 • •
George didn’t remember much of the third day he was ill. He remembered the buzzing holding him in a state that wasn’t quite asleep, but wasn’t quite awake either. He remembered Lucy delicately changing his t-shirt for one that was riddled with less sweat. He remembered someone — probably also Lucy — pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before a cold towel was placed there.
He remembered, unfortunately, Lucy begging him to wake up as his bed floated above the ground with him still in it.
He remembered catching sight of Lucy and Three painstakingly putting every book back onto the bookcase, but he couldn’t bring to mind how they’d made it to the floor in the first place.
George remembered bits and pieces of day three.
He really wished he didn’t.
• • 𝚿 • •
Even after his fever broke, Lockwood still kept his distance just to be on the safe side. Three delivered lunch in person, depositing the plate of turkey sandwiches into George’s lap before signing: Recover quickly. Backup family chef is an exhausting job.
George managed half of the sandwich, and he saved the other half for later.
The ache in his bones had subsided, along with the buzzing — which seemed to have peaked the previous day — and he felt comfortable risking spinning his ring (formerly Lockwood’s ring) above his hand absent-mindedly as he sat up against the pillows. When nothing spontaneously shattered, he knew he was on the mend.
His throat still burned from coughing, and his voice was as raspy as ever, but he managed to get to the bathroom without having to take a break mid-journey, and even succeeded in brushing his teeth before he retreated back to bed for the rest of the day.
Slowly, George regained his strength.
By the time he’d been fever-free for nearly twenty-four hours, he woke to Lockwood perched on the edge of his bed.
“Luce needed to sleep,” he explained as soon as he realised George was awake. “I offered to take over. I’m glad you’re getting better.”
“Me too,” George replied with a smile. “Missed you.”
“God, it was like torture,” Lockwood admitted, getting to his feet only to crouch next to the bed at the top end closer to him. “I hate seeing you in pain.”
George found Lockwood’s hand and tangled their fingers together. “Well the worst of it’s over now. I’m feeling better, I promise.”
“Good.” Lockwood pressed a kiss to the back of George’s hand. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight again for at least a week.”
“Only a week?” He feigned offence. “Not even two? I thought you loved me!”
Lockwood laughed, watching him fondly. “I suppose I could stretch it to two. Maybe three, if necessary.”
George flopped back against the pillows with a smile. “Three seems fair, I think. We better keep an eye on Luce, too. Just to make sure she’s not caught anything off me.”
“Of course,” he replied firmly. “We’ll catch it early if that happens. We know what signs to look for this time.” Lockwood brushed his thumb over the back of George’s hand. “You should keep resting though. Get some more of your strength back.” He got to his feet and leaned over to brush his lips over George’s forehead. “Yep, definitely not got a temperature,” he murmured, and George felt every word of it.
“Stay?” George whispered as he looked up at him.
“Course,” Lockwood promised, settling back into his spot at the end of the bed. “I’ll be here when you wake up. And the next time, and the next time, and the next. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Love you,” George told him softly as he gave in to sleep once more.
“Love you too, Georgie.”
• • 𝚿 • •
The fatigue lingered a little, but after a week George was comfortable making his way up and down the stairs again. He hovered in the kitchen doorway as Three flitted about to make omelettes, completely unaware of his single audience until George tapped him on the shoulder with a floating spatula, a fond grin on his face.
Three couldn’t help but offer him a relieved smile in return, but he didn’t extend it to letting George participate in the cooking. With a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder, he directed George to the nearest chair before he could reach for his apron.
Lockwood was the next to come downstairs, draping himself over George from behind at the first opportunity and peppering the side of his neck with half-asleep kisses. “Glad to have you back,” he whispered against George’s skin.
George closed his eyes and leaned into the contact before reaching an arm up to blindly ruffle Lockwood’s hair. “Good to be back,” he agreed.
Kit joined them next, grinning as she slid into the seat next to George. “Three says ‘get a room’, by the way.” Three turned round and scowled at her from his place by the counter, and Kit laughed. “Come off it, I could practically feel you thinking it.” She waved her hand to open the fridge and summon the juice to the table. As soon as she’d finished filling up her glass, she raised it in a half-toast in George’s direction. “I’ve missed making tea with you, G. It’s good to see you up and about again.”
He smiled back at her. “We’ll have to do it tonight to make up for lost time, won’t we? Oh, and thanks for the door.”
Kit’s eyes widened and her gaze dropped to the Thinking Cloth. “Sorry about that. Spur of the moment kind of thing, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” George replied gently. “But I wasn’t going to open it, and I know I needed the help. So thanks for making sure I couldn’t refuse it.”
Her grin returned and she nodded at him. “Anytime.”
Lucy yawned as she came downstairs to join them, but her eyes crinkled as she managed a tired but happy smile at the fact that George had made it down for breakfast. “Georgie.”
“Lucy,” he acknowledged her with a fond nod. “You feeling alright?”
“Never better,” she promised. “Although I just had an earful from Holly; she found out you were sick.”
Lockwood laughed as he unwound himself from around George to give Lucy a soft peck on the cheek good morning. “What did she say?”
“She was incredibly offended that we were aware she worked the infirmary and still didn’t call her for medical advice,” Lucy explained with a chuckle. “In hindsight, it probably would’ve been a good idea.”
“Didn’t her and Norrie take that trip to Bristol last week? They wouldn’t have been available anyway,” George pointed out.
Lucy shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts. I have a feeling they’d have cut it short if they knew at the time anyway.” She glanced over at Three, and George could tell she was talking to him directly. She rolled her eyes fondly at him and took a seat. “Food won’t be long.” She squeezed George’s shoulder lightly as she passed him to sit down.
George coming down with something wasn’t the first problem they faced after moving back into Portland Row, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
But just like this time, they would handle it.
Just like always, they would handle it.
The world kept turning, the kettle kept boiling; everything was as it should be.
And George couldn’t be happier.