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Day 12: Sniffles
They’re in deep hyperspace, at least three days from anywhere even at lightspeed, so it stands to reason that Cal picks this moment to get sick.
BD-1 spots it first, when Cal comes late to breakfast. He springs up from his charging port, chittering something in rapid binary that sails straight over Bode’s head (especially because his morning caf hasn’t kicked in yet). He finishes making his cup at the galley, thinking that he'll figure out if it's worth his attention in his own sweet time - rare is the morning when something isn’t sending the tiny little droid into a tizzy.
And then comes the thunk .
Bode knows the sound of a body hitting the deck; knows it so well, in fact, that he makes it to Cal’s side almost quick enough to catch him. As it happens, he stops the kid from clobbering himself on the edge of a table but isn't fast enough to prevent the harsh clang of his kneecaps hitting the plasteel floor.
Cal crumples into him and - Void above - whimpers .
“Woah-!” Bode jokes, but the teasing remark dissolves on his tongue when he sees the sheen of sweat on Cal’s forehead. Cal groans and rolls his head against Bode’s shoulder - shit, he can feel the heat of his skin even through his clothes. “Cal? Hey, talk to me.” He sits cross-legged on the floor, Cal half-draped across his lap in the most comfortable position he can manage at short notice. Cal whimpers again, but says nothing.
“Move aside a little, please.” Merrin kneels beside them in a fluid motion, a medical scanner in hand. Bode watches her expression darken as the results flicker across the small screen. Anxiety clenches in his gut.
“Is he gonna be alright?”
“He will recover,” Merrin says in her usual, precise way. “However, these readings estimate a moderately severe viral infection that will last a minimum of three days.”
“What sort of virus?”
“A common kind among humans, but rarely found in mixed company.” She frowns “I cannot imagine its provenance.”
“Pantora,” Bode tells her. “He found some drinking buddies when we were out there - spent half the night with them, if I remember. Must have been one of ‘em.”
“Understood.” Merrin disinfects the scanner and moves to stand. “He needs bedrest, fluids and some light sedatives for discomfort. I should be able to replicate the appropriate antiviral vaccine in a few hours, given the contents of our medical kit. In the meantime…”
“Get him back to his bunk, mop his brow and keep an eye on him?” Bode’s nursed Kata through enough colds - and had enough of them himself - to know the basic procedure. “No worries, Merrin. Can you get his legs?” He moves to accommodate, then frowns when Merrin hesitates. “What?”
“There is…” Merrin shifts minutely; a rare (and worrying) sign of discomfort. “This virus is common in humans, as I said, and Greez and myself are not human. Alongside diagnosis, the scanner warned that its impact on non-humans has been largely untested. There is therefore a non-zero risk that what he has might have a different impact on myself and on Greez due to our different physiology, so-”
She’s babbling. Merrin is babbling. Bode looks up at his stubborn, brilliant friend and realises what the problem is.
“You don’t want to get near him in case you react badly and we can’t treat you.”
“I-” Merrin bridles, then makes herself relax. “The Mantis is a skeleton crew and requires a minimum of two healthy individuals to pilot it safely. Given our current remote loc-”
“Human quarantine it is.” Bode cuts her off. “It’s okay, Merrin. It makes sense. I’ll take care of him. He can go in my room too - best to keep the engine room clear for you two.”
“I will bring you his bedding, regular meals and the medicines,” Merrin promises, her voice unusually soft. “You will keep us up to date at every opportunity?”
“Of course.”
“This is…kind of you.” Merrin is watching him with her far-too-perceptive eyes.
“It’s nothing.” Bode shrugs her off, refusing to interrogate what he is actually feeling right now. “Come on then, Scrapper.” He struggles to his feet and scoops Cal back into his arms, bridal-style. He’s short as fuck, but all muscle, so is much heavier than Bode had imagined. (Wait, he’s imagined this? He has . Damnit.) Bode distracts himself by fussing with making sure Cal’s head is tucked in safely against his shoulder. “Let's get you to bed.”
“Mmmno.” Cal stirs against him, pressing that scalding forehead against Bode’s shirt. “S’okay. M’okay.” He lolls again, muttering something else that Bode doesn’t catch.
“What was that?”
“S’okay. I'll be okay. Jus’leevme…” Cal’s eyes crack open and find Bode’s. They’re shining with something that might just be fever, or might even - shit - might even be tears.
“Leave you?” Bode murmurs, and even repeating the words make him ache. What kind of life has the kid had, where his instinct is to push people away at his weakest moments? “Ain’t gonna happen, Scrap. You’ll shut up and let us take care of you, hear?”
“Just…” Cal’s focus slips. He turns into Bode’s shoulder again and closes his eyes. “Jus…”
“He is raving,” Merrin says, and Bode remembers that, oh, things actually exist beyond the places Cal is touching him. “I shall go to the med kit immediately, and you should get Cal to bed.”
“Yes ma’am,” Bode jokes, trying to break through the complex things churning in his chest. He hefts Cal a little higher in his arms; any excuse to hide his burning cheeks. He’s been so careful to play the part of reluctant-friend-and-skilled-sidekick for the entirety of this mission, though the feelings beneath it are growing harder and harder to hide. It had started as protectiveness, and admiration, and then…
Then the kriffing thing had gotten far too far out of control.
It and the virus would have a lot in common, and not just the fact that they’re about to make Bode’s life exponentially more difficult over the next three days.
“Bode-” Greez starts, sounding concerned.
“I’ve got it,” Bode gruffs at him. “See you in three days.”
Bode carries Cal back to his room and lays Cal down on his bed. He fetches extra blankets and his supply of clean towels, turns the temperature up to something indulgently warm and makes sure the dehumidifying system is on max. Mid-way, there’s a knock on his door. When Bode opens it, Merrin is gone, but a neat bundle of Cal’s blankets, some holo-books and a pot of Bode’s favourite brand of caf (fresh brewed and in a thermos) are waiting outside. Bode brings them all inside and pauses at Cal’s bedside, jostling Cal ever so slightly so that he can check his face. Cal is asleep, breath wheezing through his softly parted lips. There are deep shadows under his eyes and his skin is sallow, almost green under the lights.
Even then, he is beautiful.
A lump rises in Bode’s throat (which had better be his fucking glands fighting off whatever shit the kid has). He shakes himself, steps back and settles himself on his easy chair. He flips open a holobook and tries to get comfortable. Cal is wheezing softly, and it is that sound that eventually lulls him into restfulness.
It’s a long three days.
The concoction that Merrin makes stabilises Cal almost immediately, but it leaves him weak and drained, spending most of his time twitching through fevered dreams. The holo-books go untouched beyond the first few chapters, as Bode finds himself just watching Cal for hours - the way expressions flicker across his face, the diminishing rattle in his breathing, the way he throws out an arm or a leg from the blankets when dreaming, only to start shivering moments later (until Bode tucks him back in). Bode starts across the room in the easy chair, then pulls the chair to Cal’s bedside, then gives up on it entirely and climbs into the bunk with him. It’s narrow, but enough for Bode to lie on his side, propped up on pillows, watching over Cal. Bode might be imagining it, but Cal always seems to sleep easier when he’s curled into Bode, his sweat-sheened brow burrowed against Bode’s chest, right above his heart.
And if Bode occasionally strokes his hair, soothing him when the dreams are bad? Well, then there’s no one to know, and he can always blame Cal’s fever later on.
At last, the fever breaks. Bode wakes in the easy chair on the morning of the third day to find Cal propped up in bed; his hair is plastered to his forehead, his skin is clammy, there’s sleepy dust crusting his long lashes and he smells like ass.
It’s the best sight he’s seen in years.
Cal hears him stir and turns, a weak smile lighting his face. There’s a good colour rising in his cheeks now, and his gaze is clear. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, tries again, closes it again, and finally murmurs, simply - “Thank you.”
A surge of something huge and unexamined rolls through Bode. His face burns and his skin itches. He gets to his feet, thrumming with the urge to run away from this, whatever this is. “S’fine,” he chokes out. “I’m gonna get out of your hair. I’ll tell Merr-” He’s standing too close to the bed - curse these kriffing tiny rooms - so Cal is able to catch his sleeve. The grip is weaker than a day-old rawka, but Bode couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.
“Don’t,” Cal rasps. He licks his lips, swallows, and tries again. “Stay a bit.”
“Is this the fever, talking, Scrapper?”
“No.” Cal looks up at him and those luminous eyes are clear for the first time in days. The fire in them makes Bode’s breath catch. “I want you.”
“And how would you have me, exactly?” Bode doesn’t realise he’s sitting down until the bed sags beneath him, and the side of his hip is pressing into Cal’s upper thigh.
“Well…” Cal’s eyes drop to Bode’s… to Bode’s mouth . He’s leaning in, sharp grin widening. He’s put a hand on Bode’s thigh. He’s -
Bode stops him with a firm hand on his sternum.
“Absolutely not.” Then, before hurt can bloom in Cal’s face, “I am not kissing that mouth yet, Scrapper, you smell like garbage.”
Cal stares at him for a full second, then something wicked spreads across his features. “Yet. You said yet.”
Bode rolls his eyes and cuffs Cal across the back of the head. Sickness be damned, the cocky shit deserves it. “Just get in the sonic, you hear? Void, you’re a piece of work.”
“But you like me.” Cal beams “You liiiiiiike me.”
Okay enough of that. Bode gets to his feet, grabs Cal by the scruff of the neck, and yanks him in for a hard kiss on his forehead. “Menace,” he huffs into that greasy, glorious hair that smells so much like Cal underneath all the sickness.
Then he strolls out, the hiss of the door almost (but not quite) hiding Cal’s thwarted whine.
Later, Merrin asks why he’s grinning. Bode tells her it’s because Cal has recovered. Only he, and a certain red-haired menace, truly appreciate the layers in that sentence.