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Tracey loved his work at the lab, but fieldwork with Gary was always a fun change of pace.
An outbreak of volbeat and illumise—extremely unusual to find in Kanto—had been reported near Cerulean City, and Tracey was eager for the chance to investigate and take notes on the rare bug-types. Which brought him deep into the forest south of Cerulean, the most likely place for bug pokémon to be hiding, Gary at his side.
Exciting as this was, Gary seemed oddly sluggish, barely keeping pace with Tracey.
Tracey stopped, fixing him with a worried look. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Gary said, flashing a smile before sticking his head in the hollow of a tree. “Nothing in here.”
“You’re going to get a poison sting to the face doing that,” Tracey said, pulling Gary out by the back of his shirt—which was already damp and sticky with sweat. “Why are you so sweaty?”
“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Gary replied, giving Tracey a playful jab in the ribs.
Tracey felt himself flush, but gave Gary a teasing grin. “I’m starting to think you like it, what with insisting on coming along with me on this trip in the middle of the summer.”
“Maybe I just like you,” Gary said. “Despite how sweaty and gross you get.”
“Sure, Gary,” Tracey replied evenly. Teasing Gary was too fun. “Keep telling yourself that. The sweat sure didn’t seem to bother you when you pounced on me last night.”
Gary turned crimson at that reminder.
Gary, I haven’t showered yet! Tracey had protested.
Don’t care, Gary had responded bluntly, his breath hot on Tracey’s throat. Need you now.
Tracey wouldn’t pretend he didn’t find it adorable how eager Gary was, but that sure didn’t mean gentle ribbing was off the table.
Gary opened his mouth as if to fire back a retort, then paled and slapped a hand over it with a curse, reminding Tracey how they’d ended up on this topic.
“Gary?” his amusement had immediately given way to concern. “Are you okay?"
Gary didn’t respond at first, preoccupied with taking deep breaths through his nose.
"Gary?" Tracey repeated, more urgently. "What's wrong?"
Gary made a choked noise. “Fuck, m‘onna—”
He doubled over and vomited.
A stab of sympathy piercing his heart, Tracey gently patted Gary’s back as he retched. “It’s okay, just get it out.”
Gary finally righted himself, panting, and leaned against Tracey with a miserable whine, all the bravado swiftly taken out of him.
Tracey wrapped an arm around his waist in support, gently rubbing the smooth plane of his stomach. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. You need to rest.”
Gary didn’t even pretend to bristle indignantly or reject the pity, just nodding weakly and allowing Tracey to guide him to the little cabin they’d rented for this expedition.
The walk back was longer and more difficult than it had been when they set out, with Gary unsteady on his feet, getting worse by the minute, and periodically making Tracey stop so he could dry-heave into a bush, but they made it. Gary was trembling, and Tracey was tempted to sweep him up and carry him the rest of the way to bed, but the movement would probably worsen his nausea. So they walked, Gary leaning heavily against Tracey.
“Steady, that’s it,” Tracey encouraged.
And finally, Gary flopped onto the bed, curling into himself.
Tracey should’ve brought the thermometer, but he hadn’t anticipated this—he and Gary both had good immune systems, good enough to not get sick in the middle of summer. But he rested the back of his hand on Gary’s forehead and nearly recoiled at the heat, and that told him enough. This was bad.
Unfortunately, it had taken a day’s travel from Cerulean City to even get them to where they were now, and in Gary’s condition, traveling back would take even longer. Arcanine would’ve made things much faster, were she not back home in Pallet recovering from a sprained paw.
Tracey would just have to do what he could. The first order of business was to cool Gary down as much as he could—even not knowing the number, that fever was clearly high, and it could be dangerous if it climbed any higher.
He really wanted to scold Gary for not just admitting he didn’t feel well before it got this bad, but now wasn’t the time. Instead, he moved the trash can to the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom to soak a washcloth.
What even was it Gary had managed to come down with? Had he picked up some virus on the way? He’d seemed fine the night before, as energetic as ever, only sleeping soundly after Tracey… tired him out, putting it politely. Had something they'd eaten give him food poisoning? That seemed unlikely, considering they'd mostly been eating the same things and Tracey felt fine (and his touchy digestive system definitely would've reacted first, probably twice as violently). Maybe it was just sheer exhaustion, or the heat getting to him?
Whatever it was, Tracey supposed it didn’t matter. All he could do for now was bring the cold cloth back to where Gary rested and sit beside him, running the cloth along his face and neck, and through his hair. Gary whined at first—he tended to get sensitive to touch when he was sick, any contact amplified on his fevered skin—but then sighed in relief.
“How’s that feel?” Tracey asked.
“Better,” Gary answered. “Please don’t stop, I’m so fuckin’ hot.”
“I know,” Tracey said. “I won’t. I’ll do whatever you need.”
He wished there were more he could do—the only medicine they had on hand was Gary’s migraine medication and some antacids, and the latter might help a little with the nausea, but that fever was what really had him worried.
He'd been working with Misty on teaching Marill to use ice beam, but they definitely didn't have the mastery of the move for it to be safe to use in close quarters. Unfortunate, considering how useful it'd be right now.
All he could do was try to bring it down with what he had, and hope it was enough.
Gary had only managed a fitful sleep that felt entirely too short before he was awake again, squirming to try and find a comfortable position when everything ached and he felt like he was being boiled alive.
He opened his eyes to the sight of Tracey and Marill at his side, Marill using a carefully controlled water gun attack on a washcloth. The little water-type handed the cloth to Tracey, and he accepted it with a thanks and a scratch between Marill's ears, then ran it along Gary's face again.
He flinched instinctively from the cold. It hurt, everything hurt. He wanted comfort but he knew Tracey's warm, gentle touch would feel like fire on his skin now, that the security of Tracey's arms would only make him hotter.
A miserable whine escaped him.
"Shh, I know," Tracey soothed. "I know you feel awful. But I'm here, moonbeam. I'll do everything I can for you."
Gary wished he could come up with something to say to that, some way to express how grateful he was that Tracey was there, but then his stomach twisted and saliva was pooling in his mouth.
Tracey reached down beside the bed to pick up a small trash can, holding it close to Gary right in time for him to vomit up bile. That he had nothing left in his system to bring up didn't matter, apparently, because he kept retching. It hurt, because of course it did, because everything hurt.
Once he finished, he curled into himself again, shutting his eyes tight before they could fill with tears. He choked back a sob.
"Hey…" Tracey's voice was impossibly soft. His hand found Gary's, stroking the heel of it with his thumb. "It's gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay. Want me to get you some antacids? I'm sorry we don't have anything more useful, but they'll at least help your stomach settle."
Gary would take anything at this point. "Please?"
Tracey gave Gary's hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. "I'll be right back with those."
And then Tracey was gone. Gary knew where he was going—he'd taken the antacids to the bathroom the night before, because he'd needed them after dinner and was embarrassed to take them in front of Gary for some reason. As if Gary didn't know perfectly well why they were as important to bring along as his migraine medication.
Whatever. Tracey's hangups about having a faulty digestive system were a problem for another day. Presently, Gary was just hoping his own digestive system would calm down and he wasn't about to start retching again.
Tracey quickly returned to Gary's side. He shook three antacid tablets into his hand, holding them out to Gary. Gary took all three without hesitation, and it was like eating chalk, but he'd take any relief he could get.
He swallowed, and when Tracey offered him a glass of water, he drank it—probably a little too desperately, once it hit him just how thirsty he was. He could feel it running down his face.
"Gary, please slow down," Tracey said, gently tugging it out of Gary's hands. "You're gonna make yourself sick again. It's not going anywhere."
Gary attempted a glare that probably wasn't half as intimidating as he hoped, and with a fond sigh, Tracey gave the water back. "Small sips this time. You know it'll just come right back up if you're not careful."
Giving Tracey another glare he was just as unimpressed by, Gary took as many careful sips as he could handle before handing it to Tracey.
Tracey put the glass and antacids on the nightstand. "Better?"
"A little." Gary flopped onto his back, spent and uncomfortably heavy. He burped into his fist, not even bothering to excuse himself. He was too tired for manners and too sick for Tracey to expect manners from him. He really hoped he wasn't going to puke again. Tracey was too nice to say I told you so, but he'd be thinking it.
Tracey's hand rested on his forehead and he flinched at the contact. Tracey frowned. "Your fever's still really high. Just try to rest as well as you can, okay?"
"Not like there's much else I can do," Gary replied dryly.
"The sarcasm's a good sign, at least," Tracey said, leaning down to kiss Gary's head. "I'll be right here if you need me."
As if Gary had ever doubted that.
It took all of Tracey's self control not to get up and pace until he wore a hole in the floor. There was little he could do for Gary right now besides stay put in case Gary needed him, which meant there was nothing he could do with his nervous energy.
Gary was asleep once again, snoring softly. He'd shivered hard and curled as close to Tracey as he could get, but Tracey was still reluctant to touch him. He'd known Gary for so long, but it was still difficult to tell how much was too much when he got like this. He still found himself hesitating.
He wanted to offer some semblance of comfort, but he definitely didn't want to risk disturbing a much-needed rest. Tentatively, he ran a hand through Gary's sweat-damp hair. Gary didn't squirm or make a noise of protest—that was something. He continued, keeping his movements small and gentle, carefully working out little tangles.
He was good with his hands—if there was one thing he could be sure of, it was that. Gary usually enjoyed his touch, and made that very clear, but when there were times he didn't… it was hard to know what to do instead. Between that and the lack of medicine, Tracey was pretty much helpless to solve this problem, and it sent a hot surge of frustration through him. His free hand curled into a fist nearly of its own volition.
"Ruri?" Marill had noticed, and gazed up at him with worried eyes.
"I'm fine, Marill," Tracey murmured. His nails dug into his palm and he focused on the twinge of pain, letting it ground him.
Marill did not look convinced. He put a gentle paw on Tracey's clenched fist, looking up at him disapprovingly.
Of course—Marill hated it when Tracey did that, had always hated every self-destructive impulse he had, no matter how small. And as absurd as it was to feel like he was being parented by the marill he'd raised from a timid azurill, Tracey couldn't be mad at his pokémon for caring. Not when Marill had been the first to care about him at all.
Marill took a deep breath, holding Tracey's gaze firmly until he did the same. He held his breath as he mentally counted to seven, then released it slowly. He did it again, unclenching his fist, and then again, focusing on the sensation of his other hand in Gary's soft, damp hair.
"Riru?" Marill asked gently.
"Yeah, that helped a little." Tracey still felt tense, was still frustratingly helpless when Gary needed him, but he felt a little less like exploding about it. It wouldn't accomplish anything anyway—he'd be of more use to Gary if he stayed calm.
And Gary would be fine, he reminded himself. It was easy to forget with Gary curled into himself, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, making the occasional pained noise in his sleep, but he was strong. He could fight this.
It still made Tracey's heart ache, though, not being able to make him feel better. If it were possible to take away Gary's misery and shoulder it himself instead, Tracey would in a heartbeat.
Hypotheticals didn't solve anything, but it wasn't like Tracey had much else right now.
But he did have Marill. He picked up the washcloth—it had heated up again—and didn't even have to ask for Marill to carefully use water gun on it.
"Thanks, Marill." It felt much cooler than he'd expected, but that wasn't a bad thing. He held it against Gary's forehead and Gary shuddered, making a clumsy attempt at batting it away, but relaxed a moment later.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
Several hours had passed, Tracey lapsing into an uneasy doze, when he jolted awake at the sound of a loud yelp.
Gary was on the floor a few feet away. With a rush of panic and guilt, Tracey was up and at his side in an instant. "Gary! What happened? Are you okay?"
"I fuckin' tripped," Gary said, sounding both grumpy and dazed. "Just needed more water… 'm too fuckin' hot…"
"I'll get it for you," Tracey said. He stood up, holding out a hand to help Gary up. Gary took it, and Tracey pulled him to his feet. "You should've asked me in the first place. You're in no condition to be anywhere but in bed."
"You were asleep," Gary replied as Tracey walked him back to bed, sounding like he thought Tracey was stupid. "Didn't wanna wake you up… you looked too cute."
"You should have anyway," Tracey admonished. "This fever's not gonna let up unless you rest."
With Gary settled in bed again, Marill handed him the cloth (kept diligently cool) and he rested it on Gary's forehead.
"Stay put," he said firmly. "I'll be right back."
"But Traceyyyyy," Gary whined. "What if I die before you get back? You're gonna come back and 'm gonna be a puddle."
"You won't," Tracey promised. "Marill will keep you as cool as he can, and I'll be back in just a second. You'll be fine."
Fear of melting apparently assuaged, Gary's eyes closed. Tracey gently brushed the hair out of his face, then grabbed the empty glass off the nightstand.
He was quick to take it to the nearest sink and fill it. It was probably a good sign that Gary was back to snark, flirting, and dramatics, but still… he couldn't let his guard down until that fever was gone.
He returned with the glass. Gary looked up at him and declared, "Forty-two seconds."
Tracey blinked in confusion. "What?"
"You said you'd be back in a second," Gary said. "You were wrong. I counted."
"Gary, I know you know what a figure of speech is." He helped Gary into a sitting position, then handed over the glass. "Small sips. You're clearly dehydrated, and making yourself vomit will only make it worse."
Gary pouted at him as if that unfortunate flaw of biology were somehow his fault, but sipped the water carefully regardless.
Once the glass was half-empty, he handed it back and lay down again, upper body in Tracey's lap. "Trace? C'n you pet my head?"
"Of course." Tracey ran a hand through Gary's hair, lightly scratching his scalp, and he pushed his head into the touch.
Relieved at that obvious show of approval, Tracey continued. Gary was radiating heat, but at least he could apparently tolerate contact again.
"'M scared, Trace," Gary said suddenly, so softly that Tracey barely heard him. His gaze was on Tracey, eyes glazed over with fever and wide with fear. "I feel so bad… am I gonna die?"
Tracey felt a rush of panic at that admission, but forced it down. "You're not gonna die," he soothed. "You'll be okay. Just breathe. I've got you, and Marill's gonna keep trying to cool you down, right, Marill?"
Marill nodded, looking a little tired (Tracey felt a pang of guilt—he was asking a lot of Marill, wasn't he?), but determined. "Riru!"
"See?" With his free hand, Tracey cupped Gary's cheek, thumbing away a bead of sweat. "We'll take care of you. Everything's gonna be fine."
Gary nodded weakly, eyes closing. Tracey watched the rise and fall of his chest—his breaths were deep and slow, deliberately so. He was still scared.
Tracey took his hand, giving it three quick squeezes, and felt him respond in kind.
"That's it," Tracey soothed. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay. If things get like, hospital serious, I'll find a way to get you there, promise, but for now… just rest."
"'Kay," Gary replied tiredly. "I trust you."
Marill was watching Gary, eyes full of concern, but then his ears pricked and his eyes brightened. Tracey knew his pokémon well enough to know that look—Marill had gotten an idea. And then Marill was leaping off the bed and running for the open window, using his tail to launch himself onto the windowsill. He hopped out onto the other side, out of sight.
That was… very unlike Marill.
"Gary, you're not gonna believe what just happened." Tracey could hardly believe it himself. What was Marill doing?
"What?"
"Marill just flung himself out the window."
"You're fucking with me," Gary accused sleepily. "'S not nice to fuck with a sick guy, Trace."
"I'm not," Tracey said. "See for yourself. Marill's not here."
Gary cracked an eye open. Confirming Marill was no longer there, he said, "Holy shit. Where'd he go?"
"I don't know," Tracey admitted. "He looked like he had a plan, though… I hope he doesn't run into any trouble out there."
Gary was too exhausted for even the suspense of where Marill had gone to keep him awake, and he'd fallen asleep again.
He woke up just in time for an excited, "Ririru!" followed by Tracey's voice, equally excited, saying, "Why didn't I think of that? Great idea, Marill!"
Opening his eyes, Gary took in the sight of Marill, little arms full of as many berries as they could carry (which, admittedly, wasn't many), and Tracey beaming proudly at his pokémon.
If he wasn't already so damn hot he practically felt like a puddle, that might've melted him.
"Gary?" Tracey's voice was unbelievably soft. "Do you think you could eat something?"
Gary wasn't particularly hungry, but he could handle a few berries. "I think so."
Tracey offered him a pecha berry—soft, sweet without being cloying, and famous for their detoxifying abilities. Gary ate it out of his hand, and couldn't hold back a squeak of surprise at how cold it was.
Huh. Gary hadn't thought Tracey was having a lot of success with training Marill on using ice beam, but he must've figured it out after all.
"Did you freeze these?" Tracey asked, sounding impressed. Marill squeaked an affirmative, and Tracey flashed another proud smile. "Incredible, Marill. Thank you so much."
Gary finished the pecha berry and managed to give Marill a weak smile himself. "Yeah, thanks, buddy."
Humble as his trainer, Marill squeaked modestly and offered Gary a rawst berry.
Gary shakily accepted it. Rationally he knew that human biology was less efficient than a pokémon's at metabolizing berries and their healing effects, but he could've sworn his body felt a little cooler—not like another round of chills, but a legitimately pleasant coolness—as he chewed the bitter fruit.
"Good, good," Tracey encouraged, hand running through Gary's hair as Gary swallowed and accepted another rawst berry. "I'm glad all those years of black coffee at least made it easier for you to handle these."
Gary snorted. Rawst berries could barely be called bitter compared to his go-to Sawsbucks order, and he liked his black coffee with seven espresso shots.
He'd have to treat himself to one of those when they headed back through Cerulean. He could get Tracey one of those fruity things with coconut milk too.
The caffeine would've been nice to have now, when his head felt so foggy. He'd get it iced so it wouldn't make him hotter. He'd tip the baristas generously enough that they wouldn't ask questions.
Marill offered him a sitrus berry. He accepted it, its sourness pleasantly stinging his tongue. Every halfway decent trainer knew what sitrus berries were best for—restoring strength.
Marill had found an impressive haul—his nose must've been almost as keen as his ears. And how well he knew what berries would be most effective might've been partly instinct, but…
"Your pokémon must be almost as big a nerd as you, Trace," Gary teased.
"We all work in a lab, Gary," Tracey pointed out with an amused smile. "Calling me a nerd is very pot, meet kettle of you."
"I work in the field more than the lab," Gary argued. "Because I'm a cool nerd. There's a difference."
Tracey rolled his eyes, expression more fond than annoyed. "Whatever you say, Gary."
Gary reached up to tap Tracey's nose affectionately. It was broad and adorable, just like the rest of him. "What you are is a cute nerd."
"Those berries must be working if you've got the energy to banter again," Tracey said. "They sure didn't improve your flirting, though."
"My flirting's good enough to win you over," Gary replied with a triumphant grin.
Tracey sighed fondly. "Okay, you got me there. Now take it easy, Casanova. You still need to rest."
Satisfied with his victory, Gary nodded. He took one more sitrus berry from Marill, then closed his eyes, savoring the berry's sourness and the feeling of Tracey's graceful fingers in his hair.
Tracey was focused on Gary—his fever broken, finally relaxed—when Marill launched himself onto the windowsill again. Instead of jumping out again, though, he lingered, quietly watching whatever he saw out there.
Then he turned around to meet Tracey's gaze across the room, little arms waving in excitement. "Ruri!"
"What is it, Marill?" Careful not to disturb Gary's rest, Tracey stood and headed for the window.
When he looked out, his breath caught in his throat.
And then he heard Gary's heavy, staggering footsteps. "Wha's goin' on?"
"Do you feel up for going outside?" Tracey asked.
Curiosity lit up Gary's gaze and he nodded. "Now I've really gotta know what's out there."
Not even bothering to put their shoes on, though Tracey did grab his sketchbook, they headed outside. (Marill hopped lightly out of the window; Tracey and Gary used the door.)
The night air was pleasantly cool for summer. The view was even more incredible outside, Tracey thought, and Gary's awestruck gasp confirmed he felt the same way.
The forest was aglow. Volbeat and illumise were everywhere, so caught up in their intricate dances they either didn't notice the presence of humans, or were unbothered about it. Tracey knew his responsibility as a researcher was to take notes, but for now he could only watch, enraptured. He looked up, and it was like there was another set of stars in the sky.
While it was mostly illumise leading volbeat, his gaze was drawn to a pair of volbeat dancing together, caught up only in each other. His gaze flicked from the pair to Gary, who seemed to have noticed them too—he was still a little pale and unsteady on his feet, but his eyes were shining and his smile was unbelievably soft.
He flashed a fond glance at Tracey, then nudged the sketchbook in Tracey's hands.
Of course. Tracey had to get sketches of this—partly because these outbreaks were so rare and documentation was important, and partly to commit the sight to memory.
He set his sights on the pair of volbeat first, before he could lose track of them and their joyful dance. His practiced hand worked in quick, precise movements. There were some things pencil and paper could never fully capture the beauty of, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.
After all, a lot of his sketchbooks were filled with drawings of Gary.
As he drew now, he was aware of his muse's gaze on him, brimming with love. What a relief to see Gary feeling better, looking more like his usual self.
Tracey wasn't sure if it was the relief, the way Gary was looking at him, or the marvelous phenomenon around them that had him starting to feel dizzy.