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Tea.
All he had to do was make tea. It would be easy, quick. He was feeling hungry, but could hardly stomach the idea of eating. So tea is what he settled on. It was a fine compromise. A wonderful one! That’s what he told himself as he made his way into an empty kitchen.
The utensil drawer screeched open as he fished around for a spoon. He winced at how it grated against his ears, but it always did that. Today was not an exception.
The spoon felt heavy in his hands, but he ignored it. He carefully craned his head and squinted at the cabinets. Was the kitchen always this bright?
That didn’t matter. He needed a mug. He just had to cross the kitchen. Easy enough.
He ignored how heavy his legs felt. How the room started to teeter. All he had to do was make tea. He made tea a million times before. Today was not exception.
“What do ya think yer doin’, elf?”
And just like that, his careful balancing act began to break down. All from the half-snarl, half-growl that came across the room. He nearly felt himself topple, but he caught himself. Forced a smile as he waved at the scowling Wolverine that leaned against the doorway. He would not be undone that easily. It was just tea after all.
“Making a cup of tea. Want some?” His voice sounded weak, practically pathetic. Why hadn’t he practiced before coming all the way down here? One can’t put on a proper show without preparation.
He straightened up, casually twirling the spoon between his fingers as he waved again. If he could not sound the part, he would certainly act it. Play it off as simply being groggy. Easy enough.
The spoon clattered to the floor. His fingers had been too slow, too clumsy, to keep up his act.
Sharp pain exploded in his right temple. To him, the clatter might as well had been a gong reverberating right next to him. He could not keep the groan from slipping out between his lips as his palm pressed against his head. A wave of nausea overcame him. Was that two Wolverines? When were there two of him? And why was the floor getting closer?
“Goddamnit, elf—“
That was the last thing he heard.
His eyes cracked open. It was dark, shades drawn shut to obscure the dwindling sunlight outside. He was starting up at the ceiling, an intricate piece of architecture of swirling wooden patterns. It made him dizzy.
He lolled his head to the side. That was more than enough to make the room sway. He screwed his eyes shut as his lips pressed into a fine line. His head pounded. His mouth felt dry. He need something to drink, anything.
He tried to sit up, but a rough yet firm hand was already on his shoulder, pushing him back down.
“No.”
Short. Gruff. Could be none other than Logan.
Kurt flashed a smile as he cracked his eyes open. In his blurry vision, he could make out Logan’s stout shape and his unmistakable scowl.
“G’morning, mein Freund.” Were his words slurring together?
“Christ,” Logan huffed under his breath. “What do ya want?”
“Outside of your fine company? I was going to get a glass of water,” Kurt started again, his voice slightly stronger. He tried to sit up but Logan’s hand kept him in place.
“You’re stayin’ put, dimwit.”
Ouch. That was a new one.
Kurt heard a click followed by a small beep and, in a low, gravely voice, heard Wolverine mutter, “Elf needs some water. Bring somethin’ salty up, too.”
Another beep, a deeper tone. A small pause and then a second beep. Kitty’s voice crackled on over a receiver. “On it! Be up in a jiffy.”
Another click and beep. “Thanks, pum’kin.”
Kurt blinked slowly, registering that Logan was holding something. Was that…a walkie-talkie? Today was proving to be quite the exception.
Logan seemed to register Kurt’s bewilderment. He practically snorted as he placed the walkie-talkie back on the beside table. “You think we’re leaving you alone after the stunt you pulled?”
“Stunts are my specialty,” Kurt flashed a smile.
“Knock it off.” Logan’s scowl only deepened at that. Kurt couldn’t help but match with a frown.
Uncharacteristically, he let out a huff, his body slackening against the mattress again. Logan’s hand remained where it was.
Even if he was mildly annoyed at being watched like a hawk, the weight on his shoulder was oddly comforting. The touch was enough to get his mind how much his head throbbed at even the slightest movement. It was warm, familiar. He tried not to revel in it, but the weight of its comfort far outweighed any attempt to ignore it or even be annoyed by it. He found his eyes growing heavy again as he slumped against his pillow.
The door creaked open. That was the last thing he caught before sleep took him again.