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Chapter Text

“Meach! Open up!”

The side of Finau’s big fist connected with Mark Meachum’s door once again, finger of his other hand pressing the ring doorbell at the same time. 

He’d been standing there for 10 minutes. 

“Yo, Meachum!”

Just as he was stepping back to give himself kicking room, Mark pulled the door open. 

The low afternoon LA sun hitting him straight in the eyes, looked like it struck a physical blow, and he stumbled backwards, bringing a hand up to shield his right eye. 

“You alright?”

Meachum let a breath out through his mouth, corner turning up in a brief, tired smirk. 

“Hey, man, whoa,” Finau put a hand under his elbow to keep him upright. Brother was swaying. “Come on.” 

He led Mark over to the couch and lowered him down. He grunted. 

“Haven’t heard from you in a while. Wanted to see how the treatment was going…” 

Finau cast his eyes around Meachum’s place. There was trash everywhere, empty medicine bottles, dirty plates, fast food wrappers. Mark himself looked worse than he’d ever seen him. Eyes sunken, pale with a sheen of sweat over his face. He was dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie that had seen better days. Hair everywhere, greasy and unwashed. 

“Well,” he groaned, relaxing back and closing his eyes, “now you know.” 

Finau took a seat next to his buddy and softened his voice, “Why didn’t you call me, man?”

Meachum opened his eyes and peered at him, “Oh, come on. I’m doing fine.” 

“This doesn’t look fine, brother.” 

Mark scoffed and closed his eyes again, crossing his arms across his chest and succumbing to a full body shudder. 

Finau lowered his head, “You eating enough? Taking care of yourself?” 

“Haven’t got much of an appetite,” he mumbled, hand ghosting across his stomach. 

His heart was breaking. The guy barely had energy enough to get the door, let alone cook himself meals, clean the dishes, and have a damn shower. 

“Tell me what we’re dealing with, man.”

“I’m just tired,” Meachum put his head in his hand. 

“You look like you’ve got a fever,” he reached a hand out and Mark swatted him away. 

“Watch those hands.”

Finau frowned.

He dragged his hand down his face, “Treatment was yesterday. Next day’s normally the worst,” he sniffed, eyes closing involuntarily. He tipped forward a little too far, momentarily losing muscle rigidity. Finau grabbed him and guided him down to lie sideways on the couch. He slid a pillow under his head and lifted his legs up onto the cushion. He moaned in protest, obviously not unconscious yet. 

“Gimme five minutes,” Meachum slurred, eyes still closed. Then he was out like a light. 

Finau straightened up and put his hands on his hips, surveying the place, surveying the man in front of him. 

He was gonna need backup. 

…

Bell was at his desk, his eyes burning from staring at the screen so long. He was the last one in the office… again. But this is what it was all about, right? You didn’t get to be the first black deputy director of the FBI without putting in the hours. 

He was about to start investigating a new line of thinking when his phone buzzed on the desk, Finau’s name top of the screen. 

“Hey, big guy, what’s up?”

Finau sighed on the other end, “I need your help.”

Bell was already logging off his computer.

“It’s Meachum.”

…

“Hey, how is he?”  Bell asked, entering the dim house, a full brown paper grocery bag in each arm.

Finau grabbed a bag from him and closed the door behind him. 

“Doesn’t look good, man. I’m done cleaning up in here, but the rest of the place is bad. He had nothing in the fridge.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?” Bell’s eyes found Meachum on the couch.

“Pretty sure he’s got a fever. Not sure what else he’s been dealing with. He’s been sleeping since I got here.”

Bell and Finau took the groceries through to the kitchen and set the bags down on the bench.

“Heard from Oliveras?” Bell started unpacking one of the bags.

“Naw,” Finau shook his head, “Last I heard she was UC somewhere in Texas.”

“Damn,” Bell breathed, “Could have used her help right about now.”

“Yeah.”

When they were finished unpacking the groceries the guys walked back through to the living room.

“Should we get him to bed?” Bell asked, cocking an eyebrow at Finau. 

“Yeah, probably,” Finau sighed, “I want to change his sheets and clean up in there first though.”

Bell nodded, “Okay… I’ll hit the bathroom.”

Finau smiled, “I don’t know what you’re gonna find in there, bro.”

Bell pushed up his sleeves, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

…

“Meachum?”

“What the fuck?”

“Take it easy, man. How you feeling?”

“Like fucking hammered crap, how d’ya think?” Mark opened one eye and clocked Bell immediately, “Oh, hey, man.”

“How ya doing, Meachum?” Bell smiled sympathetically.

“Oh, no, I’m great. You know we should get the entire task force down here.”

“Come on, man,” Finau shook his head, helping Mark to sit up. 

“No, let’s invite everyone to come and take a look at the fucking dying man.”

“You’re not dying,” Bell commented. 

“Aren’t I?”

Meachum tried to struggle to his feet and Finau kept his hands on him, worried by the way he was swaying.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” Mark snapped, ripping his arm away. 

“Meachum, calm down,” Bell held his hands up in surrender but stepped closer, ready to catch him if he fell. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Alright, we’re not… wanna tell us what’s going on?”

Meachum slammed his eyes shut and pressed his knuckles into his right eye, “Sorry… sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“Hey,” Finau said, “it’s okay.”

Mark’s eyes were red and glassy with tears. 

“I, uh… I don’t feel so good.”

“Come on, man… can I -?”

Mark nodded, tight lipped. He was sweating now being upright, and white as a sheet. His skin was burning up and Finau could feel him trembling. 

Bell approached his other side, taking his arm.

“We’re here to help, okay? Just tell us what you need.”

“You wanna lay down?” Finau asked.

Mark shook his head carefully, “Gonna be sick I think.”

“Okay, let’s move.”

Bell and Finau practically dragged Meachum, tripping over his feet, to the bathroom where he collapsed over the toilet and heaved until each one sounded like a sob. 

“Ughh, holy fuck.” 

Finau put a hand against his back tentatively, not knowing now what would set him off. 

“Think you’re done?” He asked gently. 

Mark nodded, letting out a whimper. 

Bell and Finau helped him to his feet, pausing while he got his balance. 

Mark stopped in the doorway, looking into the bedroom, his eyes full of tears. 

“You guys… didn’t have to do this.”

“We know. You’re lucky to have us,” Finau grinned. 

Meachum pressed his fingers into his eyes. 

“Just get some rest. We’ll take care of it,” Bell said, hand on his back. 

The guys guided Mark back to his bed and sat him down. 

“You wanna at least change this hoodie, bro?” 

Mark coughed lightly, “I’m a fucking mess.” 

“You’re going through something,” Bell put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, man. You’re stronger than I am.”

Mark smirked, “Obviously.”

Finau and Bell helped him change his hoodie and sweatpants, not even suggesting taking a shower at this point. He could barely keep his eyes open. Luke was willing to let him sleep for a bit longer before trying to get some food into him and then maybe attempting to address his hygiene. 

Bell had gone back to the kitchen to cook some dinner and Finau dropped into the chair next to Meachum’s bed, running his eyes over his sleeping buddy. 

“Hey… I can stay,” Bell whispered, suddenly there, leaning on the door jam. “You’ve got kids, man.”

“Nah, bro,” Finau rubbed his eyes, “We’ve got history. I think I should be here with him.”

Bell gave a sad smile and returned to the kitchen. 

Finau settled down, clasping his hands in front of him and watched his buddy sleep, brow furrowed like even now, unconscious, in clean sweats and clean sheets, he was in extraordinary pain. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Bell had cooked up a bunch of chicken, broccoli and rice and packaged it up in the fridge. He’d also made a batch of pumpkin soup. All things that could just be stuck in the microwave, and weren’t too rich for Meachum’s unsettled stomach. 

It was late into the night by the time he left Finau, still sitting vigil at Meachum’s bedside. Luke was contemplating going and grabbing a nap on the couch but in the last hour Mark had started stirring uncomfortably. His face had paled and sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and neck. When a deep, troubling moan escaped his lips, Finau knew he wasn’t sleeping anymore. Eyes slammed together in agony, face grimacing. His lips parted as he panted, short, clipped, tense breaths. 

“Meachum, y’alright?” Finau leaned forward and put a hand on his buddy’s shoulder, feeling the heat through the blankets. 

“I need my pills.” Meach didn’t open his eyes. 

“Okay, where are they?”

“Should be on the coffee table.”

“Naw, man, I cleaned up in there already. All those were empty.”

“Fuck you. They weren’t empty,” one eye open now. 

“Meachum, they were tapped. I checked.”

“Argh,” he moaned, clutching his head, “Fuck, I need…”

“You have them anywhere else?”

“Bathroom cabinet maybe. Hurry.”

Finau made it to his bathroom cabinet in 3 strides, searching the cabinet. His fingers wrapped around an unmarked orange pill bottle, the only thing he could see besides the standard low level painkillers. 

“I found this one,” he said, showing it to Meachum, “It hasn’t got a label.”

“Nah, that doesn’t do shit.” 

Finau sighed, “Bro, I think I should take you to the hospital.”

“I’m not going to the hospital.” 

“Meach —”

“I was there four hours yesterday.”

“Well, what do you want to do? I don’t know how to help you.”

“I don’t want your fucking help!” Mark snapped and then winced at his own outburst, “I’m – shit, Finau, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.”

“I don't mean what I say sometimes. It just comes out.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re fine.” 

“I’m not though, am I?” 

“Are you hot? You want these blankets off?” Finau said, changing the subject. 

“No, it’s fucking cold, man,” Meachum winced again and reached a hand out to latch onto Finau’s sleeve, “Gah, my head…”

“Let me see what else I can find. Breathe, man.” 

Mark was curled into a tight ball, fingers digging into his scalp. 

“Meachum, breathe,” he slapped a hand on his shoulder, gripping him tightly. 

“Okay… I’m okay,” Meachum panted through tight lips. 

“Hang tight. I’ll be right back.” 

Finau collected the pill bottles he could find, a glass of water, a wet face cloth and an ice pack and brought them back to the bedroom. 

“Okay, bro. We’ve got Tylenol and Advil so you’re gonna have to take that for now. Should help with your fever at least.” 

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.” 

Luke helped him up onto an elbow and steadied him while he swallowed the pills. 

“If you’ve got a prescription Bell or I can go pick up some,” he offered, lying his buddy back down. 

“Yeah, okay. Later… just don’t —”

“I’m not going anywhere, man.” 

Finau lay the cloth on Mark's forehead and pressed the ice pack against the back of his neck. 

Meachum moaned, coughing a little. 

Finau watched him willing himself to settle, as if his pain could be controlled by will. 

“Here. Drink a little more,” Finau offered the glass. 

“Ugh, feel like I’m gonna hurl,” Meachum pushed the glass away, his other hand shielding his eyes from the small amount of light from the bedside lamp. 

Mark didn’t sleep. He was in too much pain for that. He tossed and groaned and clutched his head. Occasionally he would pant so hard Finau had to coach him through breathing slowly so he wouldn’t pass out. His fever climbed, his moments of coherency fleeting. He was drenched in sweat and pale as a ghost when he latched a hand around Finau’s wrist. 

“Thanks for being here,” his voice was husky and thick. 

Finau pressed the ice pack into the back of Mark's neck and he curled on his side, gripping the pillow. 

“Of course, brother.” 

“I don’t want to die alone.” 

Finau swallowed, strong hand finding Meachum’s shoulder under the blankets and squeezing perhaps a little too tight. He had to clear his throat to get any words to come out. 

“You’re not going to die at all. Not on my watch.” 

…

“I think you’re sick, man.”

Finau had been at Meachum’s place all night and now they were into the afternoon of the next day. Anything he’d eaten, any water he’d drunk, was thrown up shortly after. His temperature soared well above normal and refused to come down. He wasn’t holding down anything let alone a couple of Tylenol, and Finau was well and truly out of his depth. The pain was obviously excruciating and he couldn’t even walk to the bathroom unassisted. 

Meachum pulled the covers tighter over him and shivered, “I always spike a temp after treatment days.”

“Does it normally last this long?”

Mark shook his head. 

“Could be the flu or something. Your immune system is down like this. Anything else hurt?”

“Everything hurts.”

“You got one of those rapid antigen tests around?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’m gonna ring your doctor.” 

Meachum closed his eyes and winced as he swallowed. The lack of a protest made Finau wonder if he should be calling 911 instead. 

“Number’s on the fridge.”

Finau frowned and went to call the doctor. It rang for a while and Luke wondered if he would pick up at all, and then he finally answered jovially. 

“Dr Beltran? My name’s Luke Finau. I’m calling about Mark Meachum.” 

“Sure, Luke. What can I do for you?” 

“He’s really unwell right now. He’s had a fever for over 24 hours. He can’t keep water down, the migraine’s so intense he can’t sleep —-”

“Luke, listen. You need to bring him in now.” 

“What do you think’s going on with him? Is it possible he just has the flu or something?”

“Sure, that could be all it is but Mark's condition is very delicate right now, especially with where he is in the trial. He could have swelling or some kind of infection in his brain. Both of which are medical emergencies. Get him up to Dignity as soon as possible. I’ll evaluate him there. If it is just the flu we can treat him with antivirals and rehydrate him, but we need to rule out more serious complications.”

“He’s not going to come with me easily,” Finau breathed a laugh. 

“I don’t care how ornery he is. You bring him in.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, doctor.”

“Is he confused or having problems with his language and speech?”

“No, nothing like that. But he has been a little out of it with the fever.”

“Okay, I don’t think you need to call an ambulance, as long as you can get him here fairly quickly, alright?”

“Okay, we’re coming. See you soon, doc.”

Finau hung up and went back into Meachum’s bedroom, putting a steady hand on his shoulder.

“He says we have to go to the ER. Could be an infection in your brain.” 

Mark opened one eye and cleared his throat, “That sounds like something I don’t want.” 

“Yeah, we gotta go now, alright? Need me to carry you?”

“Over my dead body,” he mumbled and then chuckled into his pillow, “Which may be sooner rather than later.”

“It’s either I take you or I call an ambulance, bro. Your choice.” 

“Fuck,” Meachum slammed his eyes shut, “Gimme a hand then.”

Finau tried not to worry about the urgency with which Dr Beltram had told him to get to the hospital and the burning heat of Meachum’s skin, the waver in his walk and the way he leaned into him like he had no other choice, because he didn’t. 

The sun was hardly still up, heading towards the horizon, but Meachum could barely open his eyes against it. Finau had a hand shielding his face from the light as he led him down to his truck.

“Just keep your eyes closed. I got you, man.”

“Fuck, my head… Finau… I can’t take this.”

“I know, brother. Just a little further… I got you,” he repeated, because he needed him to know it, to understand it. 

When they got to the truck, Meachum curled further down on himself, leaning against the side of the vehicle, elbows up around his head. 

“God, it’s agony.”

“Come on. I need you to breathe, Meachum. You’re gonna be alright.”

He did his best to believe it.

Chapter Text

Meachum thought he’d gone blind. But blind wasn’t darkness like he had imagined. It wasn’t the absence of light, it was too much of it. Everything white, bright and stark in front of his eyes, and it hurt. Blindness shouldn’t hurt like this. It might have been his head actually, now that he thought about it. The pain was pinpointed behind his right eyeball, deep inside. Like a hot needle had been shoved right through to the back of his brain. But the whole not seeing any discernible shapes thing was concerning. It was worse than the haze he’d tried to see through to take down Volchek. Oh, so much worse. 

His whole body hurt and he’d never been so cold in all his life. Why wouldn’t they give him a blanket? Why were hospitals always freezing? He tried to swallow and was aware of the pain in his throat, tongue sticking in his mouth like a cotton ball. A spasm ripped through his stomach that made him gag but he had nothing left to come up. 

Someone was trying to pry his hands away from his head and he didn’t want that, tried to fight against them but they were persistent and he was as weak as he’d ever felt in his life. He couldn’t close his eyes any tighter if he’d tried. Blessedly a towel was pressed over his eyes in replacement of his arms and it dampened the whiteness. 

“Sharp scratch here.”

A bee sting in his elbow crease, and that was really the least of what hurt right now, but he still flinched. All the nerve endings in his body firing, sensitive and raw. Every pain was sharp, real and visceral.  

“Okay, Mark. Just giving you some pain relief and something for your stomach.” 

Thank God, he thought as he drifted away. 

…

The next time he came to, the pain in his head was down to a dull roar, and finally squinting his eyes open he realised he wasn’t in fact blind after all. Bonus. Also, he wasn’t dead. Double bonus. The lights above him had been blessedly dimmed. He could hear the steady beeping of his monitor and found himself in a mess of cords snaking down through the neck of his blue hospital gown. He only had a thin blanket covering his middle, arms and legs exposed to the cool hospital air conditioning. He wasn’t shivering anymore but he was sweating a lot, half the litre bag of saline hanging above him now soaked into the sheets around him. His stomach cramped and he moaned, bringing up a shaky hand to rub the salty beads from his forehead. 

“Hey,” Finau’s voice beside him, “how you doing?” 

His voice was muffled and when Meachum turned he was greeted by a masked face hovering high above him. 

He groaned in response, unable to find words yet. 

“Just take it easy, alright? Anything hurt?”

Yes. 

“I’ll get the nurse.” 

…

Bell rounded the corner and saw Finau standing in the corridor outside Meachum’s room, leaning against the wall.  

“Hey,” he called as he clasped Finau’s hand tightly, clapping him on the shoulder with the other. 

“How is he?”

Finau dragged a hand over his eyes and shook his head, “He thought he was dying.” 

“Jesus.”

“Yeah… they’ve finally given him enough drugs to get rid of his headache and are treating him with antivirals and a dose of antibiotics just in case.”

“Good. What about —?”

“Tumour’s the same. No swelling. They’re doing blood tests to check for infection and swabbed him for everything.” 

“Do we have to wear masks in there?”

“Yeah, they want us to. Just in case.” 

Bell nodded, “Alright, man. Take off. Get some sleep.” 

“Call me if he -”

“I will, alright? He’ll be okay. It’s good you got him here.”

“I, uh… I texted Blythe. Just to give him an update. I don’t know if I should have.”

“No,” Bell shook his head, “You did the right thing.”

“He’s not in a good way right now. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s really struggling.”

“I know. But he’ll get through it. He’s not one to roll over, you know.”

Finau huffed, corner of his mouth turning up, “You got that right.”

“Thanks for coming. I didn’t want to leave him alone. He’s been a little out of it.” 

“Of course. Anytime, man.” 

Bell squeezed Finau’s shoulder and offered him a smile as he left. He turned to the doorway into Meachum’s room, noting the precautions sign on the door and a trolley with gloves, and masks on top. He donned the PPE that the sign recommended and knocked on the door before opening it. 

Meachum looked bad. He’d had this tumour growing the entire time Bell had known him but he’d never looked at him and thought he looked unwell. Now, he looked like someone you should worry about. He could understand why Finau was so concerned. 

He looked like he was sleeping, or maybe he was just pretending to be asleep. Bell sat down in the chair at his side and kept his voice low. 

“I’m here if you need me, man.” 

He settled in and waited. 

…

Dr Beltran tapped on the doorframe and walked in with a chart tucked under his arm. Mask in place but his eyes showed the smile underneath. 

“Hey Mark. How are you feeling?” 

Meachum rolled his head to the side to look at him. 

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

“I’ve looked at the scans and your bloods and swabs results. There’s no infection and no swelling in your brain but you tested positive for influenza A.” 

“That’s it?” Meachum groaned. 

“The flu can knock you around a lot, especially when you’re immunocompromised. Your white cell count is low and you’re a little anaemic. The persistent fever and vomiting also dehydrated you which has put your electrolytes out a touch. Nothing extreme but enough to make you feel pretty lousy.” 

“So not dying?” 

Julio huffed a laugh and looked at his shoes, “Not today, sir.” 

Meachum made an okay sign with his hand and winked, arm flopping back down at his side. 

“Can I get out of here then, Julio?”

“Look, we’re happy to keep you if you’d rather have some support. Unless your friend —“

“I’ll take him home, doctor.”

“I don’t mean just drop him off. I won’t discharge him if he’s going to be left alone tonight.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know,” Bell put his hand up, “He’s not going home alone. We’ll stay with him as long as he needs.” 

“Okay,” Julio nodded, “Well, I’d like to finish that fluid bag and give you another dose of the antivirals before you’re discharged. We need to make sure your temperature has reduced as well. The intensity of your headache I’d put down to a combination of dehydration and fever. It’s a delicate balance right now. We need to keep all these plates spinning and not let one fall.” 

Meachum closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers against his forehead. 

“You alright?” Bell asked, eyeing him. 

“Can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“You’ve had a lot of very strong painkillers. Try and get some sleep for now,” Julio nodded, “I’ll get the paperwork done up and pharmacy to dispense your discharge medication.”

“Thanks, doc,” Meachum sighed. 

“Of course,” Julio left the room and Meachum let his eyes close. He didn’t want to see Bell's face studying him. 

“You don’t have to stay with me.”

“You don’t have a choice, brother.”

Meachum swallowed and gave up on fighting. 

“Get some sleep.” 

…

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bell called, racing around to the passenger side as Meachum fell out of the car, legs buckling beneath him, “Easy, Meach. Take it easy.” 

“I’m good.” 

“You’re not. Let me help you,” Bell threw Mark's arm over his shoulders and took his weight, “Don’t be such an asshole.” 

“Ugh, fuck you,” Meachum groaned.

They struggled up the path to the porch and Bell supported him up the stairs. Mark handed the keys to Bell and leaned against the wall, breath catching in his throat and erupting in a cough that rattled his chest.

“Jesus,” he croaked, noticing Bell wasn’t wearing a mask anymore, “What happened to your…?” He waved a hand in front of his face. 

“I’d already spent enough time with you yesterday, bro. I think the damage is done,” he shrugged, unlocking the front door, “Besides, I got my shot.”

“Yeah, well, fucking so did I.”

“Yeah, but you’re… it’s different.”

Meachum smiled wryly and nodded, heading straight to the couch. 

“I’m gonna heat you up some soup. Finau’s gonna head over later.”

Mark felt tears prickle in his eyes and he wasn’t confident enough that he could speak right now without breaking down. He was still swimming in a cocktail of painkillers. He was tired of feeling like this. Like he was barely hanging on, fighting against a body and brain that was failing him. But mostly he was just tired. 

A hand on his knee woke him and Bell was crouched down in front of him, bowl of pumpkin soup in his hand, steam curling off it, and a concern in his eye that Meachum would rather not have seen. He would never be used to someone giving a shit. 

“You can go back to sleep but I think you should eat something first.”

He was blinking tears out of his eyes as he took the bowl and Bell’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed. An acknowledgment of his fragile state without asking him if he was okay because he was pretty fucking far from okay and everyone knew it. 

Bell let him eat in silence, finally leaning over and taking the bowl from him when he nearly dropped it, eyes now drifting closed with alarming frequency. 

“Let me help you —“

“I got it.” It came out with more heat than he’d meant and he’d been doing that a lot lately. 

Bell backed off and he got to his feet and headed to the bedroom. He probably needed a shower. He couldn’t remember the last time he had and that was concerning, but he didn’t have it in him. Besides the painkiller hangover he was starting to feel really unwell. Throat inexplicably sore and a weird tight breathlessness in his chest. As if a massive inoperable brain tumour wasn’t enough, he had to go and get the flu too. 

“I’ll be out here, man. Let me know if you need something.” 

Meachum couldn’t muster a response. He pulled his hoodie off over his head, crashed face first on top of the covers and let sweet unconsciousness claim him.