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Golfball leaned over her desk, a mess of sticky notes and hastily drawn blueprints below her. It had been days since her last breakthrough, but in her defense, she hadn’t really been feeling well. It started with a general sense of something being off and evolved into feeling worse as each day passed. She had hoped she wasn’t catching a cold, and although that was the most likely outcome, she ignored it in favor of her research. She was so close to figuring out how to turn waste into a usable alloy—something she could use as a building material for her future projects. Still, it was so hard to focus. She felt so terrible today. Nauseous, sweaty, almost feverish. Her head was throbbing. Just gotta get through this last part of the formula and…
Golfball squinted. She had lost her train of thought—what was she calculating again? Density…? She wobbled on her feet ever so slightly, the sensation of nausea keeping her from her math. Gotta focus. It wasn’t density, was it? Or was it…
“Golfball?” Tennis Ball’s voice startled her. She must have zoned out again.
Golfball turns to Tennis Ball, her back leaning against the desk for support. Her eyes were dull as she looked up at him, “Tennis Ball, you scared me. Did you end up, ah, getting the… the…” Golfball stumbled forward. Tennis Ball rushed to support her, allowing her to lean on him instead.
“Golfie? Hey, what’s wrong? Golfball?” Tennis Ball’s voice was full of concern. He knew she wasn't feeling well, but no amount of him telling her to rest the last few days worked. He glanced at her desk, noticing that she hadn’t bothered to drink the medicine he brought her this morning. He was a little mad at himself for not noticing it the last time he was in here.
Golfball, on the other hand, was fighting a battle against the sudden wave of dizziness she experienced.
“I’m fine,” she squeaked out, “Help me to my desk, we’re so close to—”
“Golfball, no. You’re not fine. You need rest; I told you. Why didn’t you take the medicine I brought you?”
“It induces…” Golfball struggled for the word, “drowsiness.”
Tennis Ball sighed. He wanted to say that was the point, but there really was no winning here. Golfball tried to push herself off of him and towards her desk, but Tennis Ball wrapped his leg around hers to stop her.
“There’s no reason we can’t do this tomorrow. Come on,” he began to drag her to her bedroom, “You’re going to bed.”
Under normal circumstances, Golfball would fight back against this, but the sickness sapped at her energy. She instead let herself be dragged, muttering her protests as the nausea threatened to make itself an external problem. Tennis Ball reached Golfball’s bed and pulled back the blanket with his mouth, gently plopping Golfball into her bed before covering her up.
“I’ll go get you some medicine and a cold washcloth,” he said, “I’ll be right back.”
Golfball, now alone in her room, sulked. She hated being incapacitated like this. She hated being dragged away from her work—literally or metaphorically—and she hated being sick. Resting was a useless waste of time. Once she was better, she’d develop something to eradicate illness forever. She ignored the little voice in the back of her mind telling her that would be impossible due to destroying the bacterial ecosystem as the world knew it. Tennis Ball returned, a small, worried smile on his face as he offered Golfball the medicine. She furrowed her brow but grabbed the cup anyway, staring down at it with a disgusted look.
“Come on, GB,” Tennis Ball leaned in, “Please?”
Golfball swallowed dryly. She also hated when he made that face.
“Fine,” she huffed, drinking the terrible tasting liquid. She made a disgusted face, but Tennis Ball looked happy, at least. He took the cup from her and then placed a cold, wet, washcloth on her forehead.
“Do you need anything else?”
“Did you find…” Golfball took a moment to press the cold rag into her aching temple, “the book we needed?”
Tennis Ball blinked at her awkwardly, “...I meant for your cold.”
“Oh. No.”
“Okay, well, I’ll be in my room if you need me. Get some rest, GB.”
With that, Tennis Ball shut off her bedroom light and left. Golfball heard his bedroom door shut a few moments later. She let herself fall onto the pillow behind her, weakly looking up at the ceiling. The dizziness had at least subsided while she was laying down, but everything else still bothered her. She shimmied the blanket off of her body, the fever making her feel too hot to keep it on. As she lay there for an unknown amount of time, she noted a strange sense of calmness in her core; the medicine was already making her sleepy.
Well, Golfball wasn’t ready to sleep yet. Her research called to her still. Surely TB wouldn’t mind if she just grabbed her notes and worked on them from bed? She slid out of bed, standing on wobbly legs. The dizziness came back as soon as her feet touched the ground and her stomach tightened, but she was determined to get her notes. The room began to spin as she took her first step. Golfball pressed on, eventually making it to her door and opening it as quietly as she could. As she approached her desk, her legs finally gave way and she fell. Golfball groaned on the ground. It took her a second to realize what happened. She rolled over, attempting to get back up, but her body wouldn’t listen to her. As she struggled, she began to lose focus on the room around her. Her body ached, things were blurry, and the room was spinning even while she was laying down. She could feel her eyes closing against her will, though she fought to keep them open.
A warm appendage curled around her back, lifting her up. Golfball blinked, squinting at the object lumbering over her. She could tell he was speaking to her, but she couldn’t make out the words. She opened her mouth to say something, but her body sank into the warmth around her. Golfball’s eyes fluttered closed and she went limp in Tennis Ball’s grasp.
Tennis Ball watched helplessly as Golfball lost consciousness. He could feel heat radiating off of her body. She was shivering at this point—oh God, how long has she been laying here? He told her to rest! Why does she never listen!?
“Golfie? Hey, Golfie, can you hear me?” He shook her gently. No response.
Now Tennis Ball felt like he was going to throw up. He steeled himself, anxiously putting Golfball on top of his head. Walking as steadily as he could, he went back to Golfball’s room and put her back on her bed. He picked up the washcloth she discarded on the floor and went to refresh it with colder water. Hurrying back to her side, he then squeezed a little bit of the water into her mouth, massaging under her ‘chin’ so she could swallow it. After that, he pressed the rag onto her forehead, keeping his leg there to hold it in place.
He wasn’t sure what else to do. Looking at Golfball, he could see that her breathing was steady. That made him feel a little better, at least. Moving his leg from her forehead to her body, he counted her heartbeats. Steady pulse, too. Good. That was good.
Tennis Ball sighed in relief; at least she had stable vitals. He left the room to go grab himself a chair. There was no way he was letting Golfball pull another stunt like that again. He didn’t even care if staying in the room with her got him sick, he just wanted her to be okay.
Golfball slowly became acutely aware of the sensations around her. She shifted, reveling in the softness of the space she was in. Her body still ached, but only dully. As she came to, she realized she was back in her bed, but had no memory of returning. Her eyes shot open and she sprang up. Looking to her right, her eyes met a very shocked Tennis Ball.
“What happened?”
“Wh—what happened? I found you laying on the floor! You passed out in the lab!”
Golfball shrunk back a little bit, “oh.”
“Seriously, Golfball, I told you to rest, and now look at what happened. I know you’re excited about your project, but do you have any idea how I felt finding you like that?”
Golfball looked down at her blanket. Tennis Ball didn’t raise his voice, but there was a stern undertone to his words. It wasn’t very often that he spoke to her like this, but whenever he did, it’s when she knew she really messed up.
“...No.”
Tennis Ball sighed, “I just—I care about you, Golfball. A lot. If you won’t take care of yourself for you, then do it for my peace of mind. Please.”
Golfball frowned, feeling a pang of guilt. She probably would’ve been very upset finding TB like that. She regretted doing that to him, “okay,” she looked up at him, “how long was I unconscious for, anyway?”
“A couple hours.”
“Hours!?” Golfball scrambled to her feet, “that’s so much lost time. We’re behind schedule and—”
Golfball stopped as she locked eyes with Tennis Ball. Hesitantly, she sat back down. He was right, she really didn’t consider his feelings often. She valued him so much; she should try to be better about it. It was just hard. Feelings were hard. Science was easy in comparison.
He smiled at her, “thank you. I’m gonna go make you something to eat. Stay here.”
Tennis Ball turned to leave. Normally, GB would have just let him walk out, but she cleared her throat.
“Thank you, Tennis Ball,” she said curtly, “for helping me.”
Tennis Ball looked back to Golfball, a special shine now noticeable in his eyes. He beamed at her happily, “you’re welcome, GB.”