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Coughs wracked his slim frame, doubling Silco over, his handkerchief over his mouth. It was getting worse. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this from Vander forever.
As the fit eased, there was a knock at the door to his office. Tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket, he ran a hand through his hair, straightening it.
“Yes?” he called. Vander pushed his way in, carefully holding a tray with a bowl of soup, a steaming mug of tea, and a decanter of what Silco knew must be brandy.
“You okay?” Vander asked just a touch too casually.
“Fine,” Silco replied smoothly as Vander set down the tray. He leaned over the bowl, taking a deep breath, feeling the steam sink in. “That smells wonderful.”
“ ‘s yer favorite.” Vander straightened up, fidgeting. Silco gave him a questioning look. “Benzo’s here,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. Silco smiled. It was adorable how a man as huge as Vander was could try to be unobtrusive. “He’d be happy to see you.”
“It has been a while.” Silco smiled. “The Council has been keeping me busy.”
“Too busy, if you ask me,” Vander gruffed.
“And the Drop keeps you just as busy,” Silco reminded him. “It won’t be too much longer. Just a… a…” He felt a cough building, sudden and insistent. He just managed to get his handkerchief up to his mouth before it tore out of him, burning and tasting of copper. Vander moved next to him, rubbing his back in soothing circles.
“That cough ain’t gettin’ any better, Silk.”
“I’m fine. It’s fine.”
He felt Vander’s hand freeze against his back. Too late, he realized that he had lowered his handkerchief where Vander could see it. Silco clenched his hand, trying to shove the cloth into his pocket, but Vander grabbed his wrist and firmly plucked it from his grasp, staring at the red stain.
“Silco…”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“A sight worse, I imagine.” A pause. “You been lyin’ to me, Silco.”
“No! I just… I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Worry me?!”
“You worry, Vander.”
Vander grabbed the decanter from the tray and downed half of it in one gulp before handing the rest to Silco. “It’s not just a cold, is it?” he asked. Silco hesitated, and then shook his head. “So? What is it?”
Silco ran his fingers along the edge of his desk, swirled the liquid in the glass in his hand, straightened his clothes… but eventually he couldn’t stall any longer. “My lungs,” he said slowly. “I spent too much time in the Grey, it would seem.”
“The Grey? What were you doing that far down?”
Silco’s face twisted, his lips pulling into a snarl.
“Hiding.”
“From what?”
“What do you think?” Unconsciously he drew his fingers down the parallel lines of scars that ran down his cheek. Beside him, Vander took a deep breath.
“Okay… they gotta have… some medicine or something. The Grey was their problem!”
“Vander…”
“You’re a councilor now, they have to help you!”
“Vander!”
“Maybe one of those fancy Piltover hospitals! They can cure anything.”
“They’ve tried.” Silco reached out and grabbed Vander’s hands. “There’s nothing they can do.”
“They have to,” Vander repeated, his voice wavering, clinging to the words like a man drowning. “I can’t…”
“You can.” Silco gave his hands a squeeze. “We’ll talk later.” He turned back to the papers on the desk. “Leave the soup, please.”
***
Vander opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. With a tight nod he returned to the main room of the Last Drop. Benzo sat at the bar, a concerned look on his face.
“Told you, did he?”
“You already know, then?”
“Aye. A while ago.”
“Everyone know but me?”
“He’s scared, Vander. Couldn’t figure out how to tell you.”
Vander felt the world falling away as the unmistakable sound of a violent coughing fit drifted down to the two men waiting below.