Chapter Text
"You would have been well days ago if you actually rested," Alhaitham says.
Kaveh lets out a chesty, shuddering series of coughs into a handkerchief. "I am literally in bed as we speak," he replies in the hoarse whisper that is all he has left of his voice.
"You're working," Alhaitham replies, unimpressed. "Your precise location does not change the fact that you are designing a medical facility rather than getting adequate sleep-"
Kaveh interrupts by coughing again.
"-or actually visiting a medical facility," Alhaitham continues when the fit has ended.
"It's just a cold," Kaveh rasps, bending over his sketchbook again.
"You have been ill for eight days," Alhaitham says, pressing a hand against Kaveh's forehead. "You have been running a fever for four of them. Your condition has showed no signs of improvement at any point during the duration; in fact, you have worsened at every turn." He sighs. "Your fever wasn't this high yesterday."
"Your hands are just cold," Kaveh mumbles, leaning hard into the touch in a way that he would never permit himself if he was well enough to notice. "They're always cold." His eyelids flutter and shut.
"If they're always cold, then the change is on your end," Alhaitham points out. He doesn't move his hand--this is at least closer to resting than anything else Kaveh has done this morning. "You won't recover if you don't rest. Mehrak's records say you slept less than five hours out of the last twenty-four. That would not be sufficient even if you were entirely healthy."
"Mm." Kaveh sighs. "Chest hurts when I lay down. And the coughing keeps waking me up." As if to prove his point, he twitches away to cough into the handkerchief again. Afterward, he balls it up and tosses it onto his bedside table.
"Kaveh," Alhaitham says. "You need medical attention." This should be extremely obvious, but Kaveh's fever is high enough that he may genuinely need simple fact spelled out for him. "A doctor could prescribe medication to clear your lungs, bring your temperature down, and relieve your muscle aches, so that you can rest. They may even be able to fight the infection directly."
"I'm busy," Kaveh mumbles. "Need to finish this."
Alhaitham reaches over and takes the sketchbook from Kaveh's lap. He studies the page. "You're still at the same stage you were yesterday," he says. "You have drawn precisely two lines since last night."
Kaveh snatches the sketchbook back. "But..."
Alhaitham sighs. "Kaveh."
"What?"
"I am concerned you have contracted something serious," Alhaitham says. "And I am not willing to allow things to continue this way. Either we will make a trip to Bimarstan or I will send for Tighnari. Which would you prefer?"
Kaveh scowls. "It's really not-" He grabs a fresh handkerchief and hacks into it, entire body shaking with the sheer violence of it. It takes nearly a full minute to taper off, and he's left gasping and trembling in its wake.
"Bimarstan or Tighnari," Alhaitham repeats. "Choose or I will choose for you."
"Alhaitham..." Kaveh croaks.
Alhaitham looks Kaveh straight in the eyes. "Kaveh," he says. "I am worried about you."
Kaveh stares for a few moments. He sighs, which sets him off coughing again, though it's nowhere near as catastrophic as the fit he just finished. "Bimarstan," he rasps, turning away petulantly. "And that was grossly unfair."
"What exactly is unfair about expressing concern?" Alhaitham asks.
"You know exactly what I mean," Kaveh whispers. It's not easy to make out his expression at this angle, but it looks like he might be pouting. "Go away. I have to get dressed."
"No one will care if you don't look your best while seeing a doctor, Kaveh."
"I will care," Kaveh says. "And it's not as if I intend to dress for a banquet. Just something suitable for out of the house." He sets down his sketchbook and levers himself out of the bed, groaning as he braces himself against the wall. "Go." He sways in place.
Alhaitham sighs and leaves the room. With a fever that high and the weather damp and dreary, Kaveh will be cold. He'll want a cloak to wear along the way, certainly. Alhaitham's cloaks are all far warmer than anything Kaveh owns, so he goes to his own room for an extra. He dithers over bringing a blanket for the waiting room before deciding he can just lend Kaveh his own cloak if the need arises.
By the time he's made the decision and made his way out of the bedroom, Kaveh is out of his room, too, less than steady on his feet. He has some lacy, impractical shawl wrapped around his shoulders, which Alhaitham immediately yanks off.
"Hey-" Kaveh complains sharply, then is cut off by coughing. Alhaitham takes the opportunity to drape the fresh cloak over him.
Kaveh blinks as he recovers, rubbing the material between his fingers. "This is yours," he rasps.
"It's warm," Alhaitham replies. "Wear the hood. I don't care what it does to your hair. It's drizzling and you're already ill."
"You sound like the Auntie down the street," Kaveh says--but even as he says it, he's drawing the fabric over his head. "Let's go, then. I'm already tired."
Alhaitham grabs his own cloak off the hook and pushes Kaveh toward the door. "Go on, then."
---
It is not a shock in any way to hear that Kaveh has pneumonia.
Well, it is not a shock to Alhaitham. Kaveh seems entirely baffled by the news.
"I feel fine," Kaveh whispers, brows furrowed.
Alhaitham shoots him a look. "Fine," he repeats flatly.
"All right, all right, not fine," Kaveh replies. "But not- not that ill."
"However you may or may not feel, the fact is that you are very ill," the doctor says. Alhaitham knew he liked her. "We'll give you a few medications and have you breathe concentrated Anemo for an hour or so. After that, hopefully you'll be well enough to recover at home."
"Hopefully?" Kaveh asks, voice cracking.
"The most urgent need that a human being has is to breathe," the doctor says. "Suffocation kills in minutes. Long-term oxygen deprivation can cascade into the failure of other organs, including the brain. It is not safe for you to leave this facility until we are certain that your breath will not fail you."
Kaveh looks down. The cloak that Alhaitham wore here is draped over his lap, but his thoughts are more likely turned inward. He nods without saying anything else.
"I'll be back in a few minutes with your first round of medication and the Anemo mask," the doctor says, and leaves.
Kaveh runs his hands over the fabric of the cloak. "I suppose you were right to be worried."
Alhaitham does him the kindness of saying nothing to that.
Kaveh coughs a few times. The cough has been better while they've been here. Something about the environment is easier on his lungs. Alhaitham doesn't have the training to be certain of what it is.
"I have so much to do," Kaveh murmurs. "I don't have time for this."
"The needs of your body do not change depending on your desires," Alhaitham reminds him. He is once again generous in not mentioning that if Kaveh had acted according to this principle from the beginning, he would not be so ill now.
Kaveh sighs and coughs again. "I feel awful," he whispers, faintly enough that either the last dredges of his voice are gone or that he didn't mean to be heard at all.
Kaveh's core is steel, unyielding. The thing that makes him himself will not break. Has not broken, through everything.
But that core is wrapped in foil that tears the instant it is pierced. And even if a wound doesn't strike down to the core, it is still painful.
Alhaitham does not know how to be gentle, not really. But he can be careful. He has learned not to touch that foil without reason, even if Kaveh leaves it exposed.
And so he pretends he didn't hear. He lifts a book from his pocket and pretends to read, and watches Kaveh's hands as they run over the cloak.
The doctor returns a few minutes later with an entire cart. There is a shot glass of some viscous green fluid, a saucer with a few capsules inside, a tall glass of water--and an apparatus that Alhaitham has never seen before which must be the Anemo mask. It consists of a molded funnel-shaped piece that must go over the mouth, connected by a long piece of tubing that reaches to a box with a canister screwed into the side. When this situation has resolved, he will have to find a schematic.
A glance at Kaveh suggests that he is thinking similar thoughts. At least until his gaze flickers up to the shot glass of green fluid.
"Really?" Kaveh rasps.
"It's mint-flavored," the doctor says. "If that helps."
Kaveh holds a hand out. "Let me get it over with."
Alhaitham can smell the concoction once it gets closer to them. He cannot say with any certainty whether it contains mint, but he certainly doesn't smell it. The overwhelming majority of the scent is similar to petrichor, which is not unpleasant, but certainly not something he wants to put in his mouth.
Kaveh gulps it down and audibly gags. The doctor hands him the tall glass of water and he hastily drinks half of it.
"Don't drink all the water," the doctor says. "You need to take the capsules, too."
So Kaveh takes the capsules and drains the rest of the glass. He takes a few steadying breaths, then coughs into his elbow. "Ugh."
"Unfortunately, there's only so much we can do to improve the taste," the doctor tells him. "Now for the Anemo. Let's get you laying back..."
And so Kaveh is positioned so that he is on his back, but slightly inclined. The mask is set over his mouth and nose. A motor starts on the little box, and it glows softly with an Anemo-green light.
Kaveh blinks slowly. His shoulders start to relax.
"All right?" the doctor asks.
Kaveh nods. He tries to say something, but it comes out entirely garbled through the mask.
"I'll be back to check on you in an hour," the doctor says. "Try to stay relaxed and breathe deep, all right?"
Kaveh nods again.
The doctor leaves. Kaveh looks over at Alhaitham, as much as he can without dislodging the mask. He raises his eyebrows.
"Do as the doctor told you," Alhaitham says. He pretends to read again, watching Kaveh from the corner of his eye.
Kaveh sighs and closes his eyes. Within a few minutes, he seems to be sleeping.
Alhaitham does not know how to be gentle. But he can be careful. If he does not touch the foil, he cannot tear it with the claws he can't seem to retract.
But with Kaveh sleeping, resting peacefully for what must be the first time in days, Alhaitham can't quite resist. He sets his book aside and rests his hand over Kaveh's palm. Not quite holding his hand, but not quite not holding his hand.
It's warm.