Chapter Text
The fever wrapped Paul in a cloying blanket of heat, yet he felt freezing cold. His thoughts were slow and sluggish, melting like wax before having the chance to become anything coherent.
Should try and get up. Justin will fuss if I don’t.
That didn’t… feel right. The bed he lay on felt different than the one he slept in on Deneva. The soft humming of a ship made Paul realize he was wrong.
That’s right. Ship. Discovery. War.
The realization sends a spike of panic through his heart. Paul fights to open his eyes, and everything is blurry and dim. He sees his arm outstretched across to Hugh’s side of the bed, now empty. His eyes fall close, and his hand weakly grips the sheets.
No, no, it’s not… Hugh is alive. I know it. I know…
Memories and nightmares dance together in Paul’s aching head to the point he can’t tell them apart. He inhales with a shudder and exhales with a slight sob. He can’t take any more lonely mornings and even lonelier nights.
Please… please let him be alive. Please, I’m sorry. Bring him back. I’ll do better, I’ll be better. Just… please… I can’t…
Paul tries to breathe, but his lungs have become as leaden as his limbs. He shivers from the fever and encroaching panic that Hugh is still dead.
A hand touches his shoulder, and Paul sharply flinches. Who..? He can’t dredge up the strength to open his eyes or speak. The bed dips slightly, and Paul feels fingers ghost over his hair. Someone is talking; he’s sure of it but can’t make out their words.
Something soft, damp, and blessedly cool is laid across his forehead. It must be Tracy, Tilly, or Michael helping him.
Not Hugh. Can’t be Hugh. Hugh is gone.
The thought stabs his soul, and he shudders. Joints and muscles aching painfully at the motion. Someone is stroking his hair, and Paul swears it feels like Hugh’s touch, accompanied by softly spoken words in a gentle tone.
“’m here. It’s alri… ...ve a high fever. Need you to…”
Please stop, Paul pleads. The hallucination that Hugh is here comforting him is too much. A cruel trick of his fever-addled mind. A strong arm wraps around Paul’s shoulders, maneuvering him to sit up slightly. Paul weakly protests at being handled like this and slumps against a supportive shoulder. He’s so tired. Why can’t he be left alone?
He hears someone talk to him in a soft, coaxing tone. The rim of a glass touches his lips, and he steadily drinks the water pouring in. The cool liquid feels heavenly going down his parched throat. He’d drink the whole glass if someone didn’t take it away.
“…on’t want you to get sick.”
He’s already sick, so what does it matter? He’s gently laid back on the bed, and a blanket is tucked around his shoulders. Paul hears water slosh and drip. A cool, damp cloth is pressed to his cheeks and neck. The sweet but brief relief helps Paul relax and settle against the pillows. The bed shifts as someone lays down beside him, fingers carefully carding through his hair. Without thinking, Paul inches closer. He knows he should feel embarrassed for being so needy and openly seeking comfort.
“I’m here, love. I’m right here.”
Arms tenderly wrap around and hold him against a warm, broad chest. Not in a restraining way but cradling and loving. A faint mix of spice, sandalwood, and antiseptic fills his nose. A steady, rhythmic pulsing—heartbeat—beneath his lips. Paul reaches up and weakly grips the fabric-clad chest, fervently praying this is real. Soft kisses and gentle touches slowly soothe him to sleep.
*~*~*
Paul wakes again, minutes or hours later, he isn’t sure, feeling far better than the last time he was conscious. He shifts and quietly groans at the stiffness of his muscles.
A hand smooths back his hair, “Finally waking up, sweetheart?”
Paul blinks and looks up to see Hugh looking at him with love and relief. Paul smiles tiredly, “Hi.”
Hugh smiles back and lightly kisses him, “Hi yourself. How are you feeling?”
Paul lays his head back down on Hugh’s shoulder while Hugh gently rubs circles on Paul’s back. “I feel… better. Still kind of icky and tired, but better.”
Hugh hums and kisses Paul’s forehead. “You still have a slight fever, but I think the worst has passed. A day of bedrest should help you get over what’s left.”
Paul settled in Hugh’s arms then realized, “How did you know I was sick?”
They were taking things slow despite both of them wanting and willing to restart their relationship. Hugh hadn’t moved back in yet and while Paul dearly missed sharing a bed with Hugh, he was willing to wait until Hugh felt comfortable with sharing quarters again.
Hugh sheepishly huffed, “Reno messaged me saying you went home early ‘looking like a flushed corpse’ and told me to check on you to make sure you weren’t actually dead.”
Paul was going to have words with that nosy grease monkey. Hugh softly brushed his hand over Paul’s hair dispelling Paul’s irritation. “It’s a good thing I did. Your fever was pretty high last night and… I’m glad you’re okay now.”
Guiltily, Paul looks down at his hand still gripping Hugh’s shirt. “I’m sorry you had to spend the night taking care of me.”
Hugh’s hand moves from Paul’s hair to gently stroke his neck. “I’m not. I am sorry you felt awful, but I’m happy I could help you in some way.”
Paul swallows down the rush of love he feels. “Do you… need to leave yet?”
“Not quite. I asked Tracy to put me on-call today, need to make sure you actually stay in bed and rest.”
Paul hears the tease and smiles, “And you think the best way of doing that is by staying in bed with me?”
Hugh hugs him and kisses his hair, “If you don’t mind. I’ve… I’ve missed holding you like this in bed.”
“Not at all.” Paul frees one arm and wraps it around Hugh’s waist. Content and relieved this is real, Paul nuzzles Hugh’s sternum. The place where his heart beats strong and true, lulling Paul back to sleep.