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If Neela is tired, she can't imagine how exhausted Coop must be- doesn't have to, because it's displayed clearly in his appearance. He's still hunched over the bin, skin a sickly pale, lips and chin slick with saliva. Where usually she'd be able to run her hands through perfect curls, she finds only sweat-damp hair that clings to his forehead.
“Easy.” she says gently, rubbing his back as he spits, trembling. “Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths.”
He swallows convulsively, then turns to her, eyes bright with fever and desperation. Wet with tears. “ P-please, just- just kn-knock me out.”
Neela's heart breaks. He never asks for sedatives. The feeling of going under without any control is one that she knows he hates, because despite them only dating for a few months or so he's already refused them during a couple of bad asthma attacks. Him practically begging for them now is not a great sign.
She brushes back the hair from his forehead and kisses the skin there, warm as it is. “Alright, babe. Okay. Let me page Pratt, and he can give you something strong. You want more nausea meds as well?”
His fingers are still clasped around the bin, so it's hardly a surprise when he nods.
It doesn't take long for Pratt to attend to them- despite what he might say, he has a major soft spot for Coop, and the only explanation for his constant checking in today can be the kind of friendship he claims not to believe in.
“Everything okay?”
He takes in the sight- Coop’s head resting on Neela’s shoulder, his entire body trembling with each breath- and shoots the two of them a sympathetic look.
“He’s been vomiting again.” Neela explains while Coop lists against her, eyelids half mast. Her hand moves up unconsciously to stroke his hair again. “So we need some more cyclizine. He’d also like some pretty strong sedatives.”
Pratt frowns. “You want to be sedated, Coop?”
He's met with an exhausted nod.
“Alright, man. I’ll go prep the needles- Neela, page me if he changes his mind while I'm gone.”
Pratt departs, and though the wait is in reality only a few minutes, it feels like hours. The truth is that Neela doesn't quite know what to do. She hasn't seen Coop sick like this before.
Sure, she's witnessed asthma attacks, but there's something… different… about this. At least with an asthma attack, there's the knowledge that eventually things will pass. With this? It's a little harder to say. It's probably just the flu, but what if it's not? What if it's a different virus, and he's stuck feeling this way for a week? What if-
“Okay- we still on, Coop?”
It's Pratt, and he's rolled up his sleeves, and pulled a trolley of syringe equipment with him towards the bed. Neela looks down to her shoulder and sees Coop nod again.
“Great. Let me see that arm, man, and you'll be out in no time, I promise. Just let me give you the cyclizine first.”
Weakly, Coop extends an arm towards Pratt. It was the one without any tubes in, but it's the closest, and it's clear that Coop couldn't care less about bruising another arm in the pursuit of relief. Neela shifts forward to wrap her own arms about his middle, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck before rising again.
She watches Pratt flick the end of the needle, then insert the cannula into Coop’s arm with one smooth, practised motion.
“Good job.” He murmurs to his patient, almost reflexively, while he applies the clear dressing and makes sure everything is taped down. “Alright, first comes the cyclizine.”
The first syringe slips into the cannula, and in a few seconds it’s fully discharged and tossed aside into the sharps bin. That's when Pratt grabs the other syringe, dosing it up from a bottle clearly labelled ‘valium’.
“This one’ll knock you right out, man, I promise. It's strong stuff.”
Neela’s mind briefly flashes back to his first asthma attack, when she'd given him enough epinephrine to kill him if they hadn't reversed the effects. Right before the cardioversion, Abby had asked Coop if he wanted valium and he'd refused. At that point, he'd been on the brink of death.
Does he feel even worse now?
Pratt positions the syringe’s needle into the cannula. Slowly pushes the plunger down.
“There we are. Sweet dreams, Coop.”
The syringe isn't even empty when Neela feels Coop begin to grow lax against her. She holds him close, still stroking his hair even as his head drifts back onto her chest.
“That's it, sweetheart. You're doing great. Sleep well, okay?”
She watches his eyelids flutter closed, his weight sinking fully against her. He's utterly limp now.
“Night night, Coop.”
Slowly, she lowers him back onto the bed. Pratt removes the syringe and gently moves the limp arm with the cannula beneath the covers, and Neela tucks the blanket in the rest of the way.
For the first time all day, he looks peaceful. Resting.
She leans down to press another kiss to his forehead, then sits back while her hand resumes the stroking motions of before.
“That should keep him down for a few hours at least.” Pratt says quietly. “Let me know if you need another dose, okay?”
Neela nods, eyes unmoving from Coop's sleeping form. “I will. Thanks, Dr Pratt.”
“No problem. Hopefully he'll feel better soon. Poor guy can't catch a break.”