Work Text:
We’re about halfway through Battle Brief when the nausea creeps up on me.
It’s like the room turns a few notches warmer, Devera’s voice growing slightly foggier in my ears as she lectures about a battle that took place at Sumerton twenty years earlier. I force myself to keep writing despite the painful locking of my stomach, the letters growing sloppier on the page as I focus on keeping them straight.
It doesn’t get better. Within a few minutes, I’m forced to shut my eyes, my pen stilling in my hand.
“Violet?” Rhiannon whispers to my right. “Are you okay?”
I give a tight nod. “Just nauseous. I’m good.” The words are barely more than a breath as they leave my lips. I feel Liam shift his weight in his chair, towards me, but he doesn’t say anything.
"Violence."
I internally sigh, knowing that Xaden’s eyes are practically boring into the back of my skull without having to turn. I’m fine.
My forehead breaks out into a sweat. My fingers are clammy, still grasped tightly around my pen. We have maybe ten minutes left in class— I can make it through that much, at least. I work to open my eyes, fighting against the urge to shut them again at the bright cracks of light, suddenly painful in a way they hadn’t been at the start of class. Devera is still lecturing, although she’s switched to talking about how they’d organized cadets in the battle. I hope Rhiannon’s taking good notes, because I’ll need to borrow them later.
"Are you sick?" I can’t tell if he sounds concerned, or just intrigued.
"Something like that." My eyes are open now, and I focus them on Devera as my stomach roils again. I will not throw up. I will not throw up.
"Please don’t vomit in class."
"Working on it, asshole." My teeth feel like they start to bare on instinct, even though Xaden is behind me and won’t be able to see. My stomach swirls.
The silence doesn’t last long. "Do you have training after class?"
"I don’t think so." I have to pause to think about it. "Actually, fuck, yes, it’s a Tuesday. Fuck."
"Are you going to make it there?" His tone is, as always, unreadable.
"I can do it." The ache turns stabbing and I nearly jolt away from the edge of my desk, as if avoiding the soft press of it against my abdomen will ease this spiraling pain. "Now fuck off."
I focus on keeping my eyes somewhere above Devera’s head, feigning focus while mostly keeping the pain off my face in a practiced way. It’s starting to creep up my neck and into my head, and I grimace at the knowledge that this will quickly become a migraine. The next voice in my head is Tairn’s.
"You won’t be making it to training, Silver One."
I sigh, although I know he’s telling the truth. I" can’t afford to miss." I’m still not able to keep my seat, but I like to think that the weight training with Imogen is actually beginning to help— clamping my thighs onto Tairn’s back for hours is becoming less of challenge, although they immediately lose their grip the minute he does anything other than fly steadily and straight ahead.
The room seems to swirl.
"It is not a choice. You need to rest." His voice leaves no room for compromise. I sigh, but don’t respond.
Somehow, miraculously, I make it to the end of the lecture, though the screech of chairs and slamming of bags makes my head hurt more. It takes everything in me not to cradle my face in my hands and try to block out the light and the sound. Despite my efforts, I let out an involuntary whimper and Rhiannon turns to me immediately. “Vi?”
“I’m okay.” The words are like an instinct. “Just not feeling well.”
Liam reaches forward and starts to sweep my notebook and pen into my bag. I open my mouth to interject, tell him he really doesn’t need to do that (although I’m incredibly grateful to not have to bend down to grab my bag) when a shadow looms over us. I glance up, hesitantly, although I know what’s going to be there. Who’s going to be there, more accurately. At least he waited until the room was mostly empty.
Xaden has his arms folded across his chest. “Sorrengail.”
My lips purse. “Riorson.”
We haven’t spoken since the kiss. Apparently, this is what it takes to get him to notice me— nearly-debilitating stomach pain and a rapidly approaching migraine. It’s almost embarrassing. How many people in this building need to know that I’m about to be ill?
"As many as need to in order to secure your safety," Tairn lectures.
Apparently, all Xaden wants to do is stand ominously over me and not actually say anything else. He turns his gaze to Liam. “Can you get her to the Healers Quadrant?”
“No.” I interrupt immediately. “I don’t need to see a healer. I’ll be fine.”
“You always say that, Violet,” Rhiannon says. “I don’t want it to seem like I don’t believe you, but you’re looking green.” The back of her cool hand presses against my forehead. “No fever, but you’re really clammy.”
“This happens sometimes,” I tell her. “It’s part of my... thing. My joints thing. I just get nauseous sometimes.” I squeeze my eyes shut as bile rises up my throat and I force it down.
“You really don’t look good, Vi.” Now it’s Liam’s hand, comfortingly placed on my shoulder.
Xaden’s voice is nearly a growl. “Get her to a healer, get her to her room, I don’t care. I don’t want to see you at training tonight, Sorrengail.”
The shadows retreat, but I feel him linger at the back of the room. Rhiannon and Liam help me to my feet and I try to ignore the embarrassment of needing physical support to stand from a desk. The pain is enough to keep me hunched over.
“I don’t need a healer,” I insist again. “Just a hot water bottle. I think I have some painkiller in my room.”
I can see the hesitance on both of their faces, but to my immense relief, we head towards the dormitories instead of the Healer’s Quadrant. Xaden is nowhere to be seen. Rhiannon keeps a steadying hand on my back as we move slowly down the hall. I grit my teeth against the nausea, but power through.
“Riorson seemed grumpier than usual,” Rhiannon says quietly when we make it a far enough distance.
“He’s always grumpy,” I breathe out.
“When it comes to keeping you alive, I can’t blame him,” Liam laughs. He has my bag slung over one arm, his own on the other. “It’s basically impossible.”
“I’ve seemed to manage just fine for eighteen years.” My words are strained. We’ve finally reached my door and I unlock it, pulling Liam and Rhiannon through with me. Seemingly within moments, I’m sitting on my bed, curling both arms around my stomach.
“I’ll get a hot water bottle,” Rhiannon offers. “Do you need anything else?”
“I’m fine.” Mostly, I want to be alone right now. I don’t like the idea of throwing up in front of other people, but it needs to happen soon. My room is thankfully dimmer than the hallway, although not by much, and the lurching pain behind my eyes seems to lessen.
The door shuts behind Rhi, and then it’s just me and Liam. I can’t help but whimper softly again. “Do you want to lay down?” His voice is gentle.
I nod, and nearly slump to the side, my eyes still firmly closed. I grasp around on the bed for a pillow and pull it firmly under my head, although the position makes my neck quickly ache and I shove it away again. There’s no position that I can find that will ease this.
“Where’s your painkiller?”
“Um.” I have to think about it. “Desk drawer. Should be a tiny vial.”
I hear the sliding of wood on wood, and then the sound of Liam rummaging through my stuff. “Is it this? It’s sort of brownish?”
I wince. “Amber, yes.”
He snorts. “Okay, amber. Can you take it on an empty stomach?”
“I ate.”
“Ate enough?”
Part of me—the part of me that’s hurting—wants to be snarky, to say something to Liam about his mother hen act. The other part of me, something soft and deep inside my lungs, is aching to let him continue. It’s been so long since I’ve felt cared for in this way.
“Yes. Please give it to me.” I stretch a hand out and wave it in the air impatiently. Liam laughs again, and the cool vial presses into my hand. There’s a tentative knock at the door as I uncap it and tip the slightly spicy, slightly sweet contents down my throat.
The relief is almost immediate. The pain isn’t all gone, but the sick swirling of the room slows just a little. I hear Liam fumble with the door knob.
“Um, Violet? Rhiannon can’t get through unless you pull her through.”
I groan, but lethargy is already overtaking my limbs. “Can’t you pass the bottle through the wards?”
There’s a moment of silence, followed by a surprised “oh.” Moments later, the vial is being taken out of my palm and replaced by something warm, which I press instantly to my stomach, hissing at the instantaneous way it soothes.
“Thank you both,” I whisper. “I just want to sleep, now. I’m okay.”
“Okay,” Liam says. “We’ll see you later.” His bag rustles as he hoists it back onto his shoulders.
“Feel better, Vi. I’ll come back to check on you after training, okay?” Rhiannon’s voice is soothing, and I feel like I could use it as a lullaby. I tuck tighter into the mattress as the door swings shut behind them.
When I wake what must be hours later, I’m shivering. The cramps are back with a vengeance, and my head pounds with pain. I’m going to throw up.
In moments, I’m lurching half out of the bed and towards my wastebasket, dragging it towards me as I heave. The contents of my lunch spill out of me, and I grimace, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand when I’ve finished.
I know I should try and make it back to the bed, but the floor is chilled against my body and it’s almost helping. I press my sweaty cheek to the stone and sigh in relief. My body temperature is fluctuating— hot one minute, cold the next. My mouth fills with saliva, and I surge onto my elbows to heave again.
When I wake for the second time, I’m still on the frigid floor. The pain has eased, but barely. One of my hands wraps pathetically around the curved edge of the wastebasket, nearly clutching it to my chest.
I’m not sure what woke me, until I hear it again.
"Violence. Are you awake?"
Xaden Riorson is outside of my door.
Panic consumes me, although it’s hard to do move. He can’t see me like this.
"I’m coming in."
I don’t answer him, more focused on trying to force myself off the floor. One of my elbows locks and I slide back down, everything around me spinning even in the dim evening light of my room.
"I hope you’re decent." The door knob turns. I groan, giving up and curling tighter into a ball like if I squeeze myself small enough, he won’t see me.
I hear him swear. “Violet?”
In seconds, he’s beside me. I cover my eyes with an arm, refusing to look at him while in this vulnerable position.
"Let him help," Tairn growls.
"He could be here to harm," I say, although I know it isn’t true.
“I know you’re awake.” Xaden’s tone is clipped.
I don’t move my arm. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you on the floor?”
“Was comfier than my bed. Colder.” I nuzzle my cheek into the cool stone, as if to prove my point, but it’s not providing me much comfort anymore. I’m vaguely aware that I’m shivering.
Xaden’s hand grasps my shoulder, broad and warm, and it takes everything in me not to let loose an embarrassing sound. Everything aches. My whole body is sore, now, presumably from however long I’ve been on the ground, and my head still pounds.
“Violence.”
“Mm.”
“What do you need?”
“Nothing from you.” I tuck my face back into my knees, supremely aware how embarrassing my position must look to him.
“I brought soup.” That surprises me. I crack an eye open to look past Xaden’s boots and sure enough, there’s a steaming bowl hovering by the door on a pillow of shadows.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I grimace as another cramp rips through me.
Xaden sighs, as if irritated. “I’m going to get you off the floor, okay?”
Before I can even protest, his strong hands are sliding under my shoulder and my hips, bracing my head against his check and neck as he lifts me into the air. He feels like a furnace. Selfishly, I wish the embrace would last, but he wastes no time in depositing me onto my mattress. The cold creeps back in.
I’m vaguely aware of the clatter of the bowl seemingly setting itself on my nightstand. “Are you going to vomit again?”
“I think I’m done,” I answer honestly. My throat is hoarse. “It’s mostly just my head now. And the cramps.”
And the soreness all over my body, seeping deep into my bones, a creaky and tired ache that I refuse to tell Xaden about. I’ll sleep it off.
For the first time since he’s arrived, I meet Xaden’s eyes. They’re not harsh, like I’d expected. Something soft dances in them, something like concern. It’s gone as soon as he blinks.
“Do you want to try to eat something?”
My stomach both growls and twinges with pain. I grimace. “What are you even doing here, Xaden?”
His voice is quiet as he lifts the bowl from the nightstand. “Rhiannon got knocked out during training.” He motions for me to move over and I do, groaning quietly.
“Is she okay?” Fear slots through me.
“She’s fine. Spending the night in the infirmary, so someone else had to make sure you didn’t die in here.”
Xaden settles himself on the edge of my bed. I try hard not to let my curled body slide towards his weight on the mattress, tensing everywhere until it hurts.
“Am I feeding you, or can you do it yourself?”
“Fuck you,” I say, shoving myself up against the pillows. “Give me that.” I practically rip the bowl from his waiting hands, and a little soup sloshes into my lap. I grimace, and ignore Xaden’s laughing eyes as I shakily lift the spoon to my mouth. It’s salty and warm and soothes my throat as it goes down. I try not to close my eyes in relief.
“You can go now.” I can hear the harshness in my tone. I don’t care. We haven’t been this close since we kissed, since he pressed me up against the wall and slid his hands up my thighs. I suppress the memory of the feel of his hair twisting through my fingers as I spoon another mouthful of soup.
Xaden doesn’t say anything, still studying me. I can feel the barest warmth of his thigh next to my bent knee. He hasn’t looked at me like this since we kissed, either. I refuse to avert my gaze, even when I miss my mouth a little bit with the spoon and a drop of soup trickles down my lip.
Faster than lightning, Xaden’s thumb is there, wiping it away. If it weren’t for the shooting pain in my neck, I would’ve jerked back in shock. He regards his thumb curiously, as if he’s as surprised as I am at the action, before he pops it into his mouth and licks the drop away.
The image is sinful. I look down.
I finish the bowl. “There. All done.” I push it into his hands.
My stomach, now full, is starting to churn again. He needs to leave before I throw up what I just consumed. The migraine is starting to ramp up again, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Violence.” There’s a hesitation in his voice. “What can I do?”
"Silver One, let him assist." Tairn’s voice is foreboding.
"Don't you have better things to do than listen to this?"
"Maybe I wouldn’t be so involved," he retorts, "if you were at all capable of shielding me out right now. Let the wingleader assist you before you ruin his clothes with the contents of your stomach."
"Like you wouldn’t be entertained by that," I snap back, but he’s right. My stomach is fully cramping up again. I whimper. “I need the wastebasket.”
I don’t see the shadows whip it towards the bed, but it’s across the room one second and in Xaden’s hands the next. I rip it out of his grasp and start to heave.
I shouldn’t have eaten. It’s made it immensely more painful, and tears start leaking involuntarily out of my eyes. To my surprise, I feel Xaden’s hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles up and down my spine until I finish.
I wipe my mouth, but the tears won’t stop. I’m gripping the rim of the basket so tightly that my knuckles protest. Xaden eases the basket out of my hold when I’m done. He’s much closer to me now, one of his shoulders half tucked behind me. The addictive scent of him floods my senses, and it brings me some relief.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I wish you didn’t see that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being sick.” His voice is grim, but his hand returns to my back, and I fight back another whimper at how incredible it feels. The other, inexplicably, finds my face and wipes away my tears.
When the tears are gone, his fingers pause on my jaw, and his thumb rubs my cheek soothingly. It’s painfully familiar, reminiscent of the night we haven’t yet discussed.
“What can I get you?”
My eyes are still squeezed shut, the pressure in my head like a dagger. “I think I have more painkiller in my drawer. Enough time has passed, so I think it’s okay if I take a little more.”
Shivers wrack my body as Xaden stands, crossing my room in broad strides before digging shamelessly through my desk. While Liam, earlier, had been fumbling through it, it takes Xaden little to no time to find what he’s looking for before he’s back at my side, uncapping the vial for me and holding it to my mouth. It’s not really necessary, but I part my lips gratefully and let him tip it down my throat. There’s something unreadable in his face— something raw, maybe like hunger but not quite.
I move to lay back down and Xaden’s hand shifts to my lower back, assisting me. I curl into my pillow. He gets up again, and I feel a brief pang of loss at the thought that he might be leaving (despite verbally insisting that he should), but he only moves to the end of my bed. My unasked question is immediately answered as I feel a tug on my ankle.
He’s removing my boots. I hadn’t even realized I hadn’t gotten them off when I made it to the room earlier. It reminds me of a different night, of the time he’d laced those boots for me, when I’d been so scared and he’d been a port in the storm no matter how much I didn’t want him to be.
Xaden is painfully gentle as he eases the boots off my feet and then pulls the covers up to my neck. I squint at him from the pillow, watching the ripple of his muscles as he folds his arms over his chest, running his eyes over me.
“Are you cold?” I shake my head no, but my teeth are nearly chattering.
"Don’t lie to me."
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.
"You’re shaking like a leaf."
“The painkiller’s going to knock me out in a second, anyways. It doesn’t matter if I’m cold. Wait— what are you doing?”
Xaden is unlacing his own boots.
“Move over.”
“What?” My voice, although rough and raw, is shocked.
"You heard me." Xaden lifts the cover and flaps his hand at me. Unless you want to freeze to death.
I"’m not going to freeze to death." Although I still feel indignant, I shuffle slightly over and Xaden slips under the blanket and wraps an arm around me, pulling me to his chest. His arm is firm, but not tight enough that it would hurt my sensitive muscles, and I am so immensely grateful.
In for a penny, out for a pound. I might as well indulge while I can, which is the thought that has me wrapping an arm around Xaden’s solid middle and resting my face on his chest. He’s so warm. It alleviates my shivers instantly, bringing me a sort of comfort that I haven’t felt in months.
“How do you feel now, Violence?” Xaden’s voice is little more than a murmur.
Although I don’t want to ask, I know something he can do that will help. “It’s still too bright,” I whisper. “The room is too bright. It’s hurting my head.”
In a heartbeat, the room is nearly pitch black. Xaden’s flooded the mage lights with shadows, and I let out an exhale at the immediate respite. I shut my eyes and snuggle closer to him, relishing the feel of his hand curling over my shoulder.
"Thank you," I say, although I didn’t want to have to thank Xaden for anything. "Don’t think that this gets us out of the conversation I know you’re avoiding."
Xaden snorts. "Don’t worry, Violet. You never let me get away with anything."
I smile, slightly, my eyes finally drifting shut as peace settles over me. The cramping in my stomach has eased, and Xaden is here, although I refuse to think about how he won’t be in the morning.
As I float off to sleep, I feel the faintest brush of his lips against my temple.