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He’s holed up in his room, feverishly sleeping off an awful bout of flu, when the window bursts open.
Reflexes kick in and he finds himself shakily pointing his emergency gun at the intruder - Johnny, it turns out, who's looking equal parts relieved and bewildered.
"The fuck do you think you're doing," he rasps. His throat is fucking killing him, his mouth dry as the Oriental desert. He can't figure out what time it is or how long he was asleep. He snuck away from the Etoiles Noires’ last operation as soon as things were under control, intending to come back here and rest for an hour or two before going back to debrief, but apparently, it's been more than that, if Johnny's resorted to breaking and entering. He knows he's absolutely not welcome here.
"You disappeared two days ago,” Johnny confirms, “and missed all the rendez-vous since." He exaggerates the accent, as usual, though his voice is anything but amused. "I thought you'd been caught or something. Dead."
"Not dead," he replies, dropping the gun. He's sweating all over just from holding it up.
"You don't look far off," Johnny says. "You okay? When's the last time you ate?"
"Fuck off. I don't need to be checked on."
Johnny makes a doubtful sound and steps further into the flat, broken glass crunching under his boots. Great. Another expense for Zéro's accountants to quibble about.
A coughing fit shakes through him, exhausting his last shred of strength, and he lets himself fall back onto his soaked pillow. His eyes are shutting no matter how hard he tries to keep them open. Johnny's still - somewhere, doing something, and he really can't be in here unsupervised, but...
~~
"Hey," Johnny says, sometime later. It's dark and Johnny’s barely a shadowy outline on the edge of the mattress. How long has he been alone in here? Fucking hell.
"Come on, drink this," Johnny says, holding out a mug. It's hot to the touch and smells - pretty good, actually.
"What is it?"
"I called Katie to come by and drop off some of our soup," Johnny says. "It's been going around, this thing. Sammy and JJ had it last week, you probably caught it from them. You know you have, like, no food in this place? And also no bowls. Or spoons."
His head is spinning, but he manages to sit up most of the way as Johnny rambles on. His middle is uncomfortable as hell; he's still wearing the tights, which is less than ideal. At least he remembered to take off Sadia's hair, and the leather dress, before he passed out. Those are definitely not meant to be slept in.
The soup is one of the better packets, the chicken flavouring actually resembling something edible. He takes a few careful sips – still burning his tongue a little – before he hands it back.
"Drink this too." Johnny takes the soup cup out of his hands and replaces it with an open bottle of hydro-juice.
He drinks it down, feeling Johnny's eyes on him the whole time.
"More soup?" Johnny asks, but he doesn't think he can eat anymore. The soup has brought up a fresh wave of sweat and he's suddenly freezing.
"Okay, here.” Johnny helps him back under the covers and then gets up and walks away with the cups. Pathetic gratitude and need try to rise to the surface of his mind, but he clamps down on them. He manages to wriggle out of the tights and curls up into a ball to try and get warm again.
When Johnny's back he's got the extra blanket that's usually stashed in the wardrobe, and something wet that feels heavenly on overheated skin. A cleansing face wipe, he realizes, being dragged slow and careful across his face. Johnny's taking off the remains of Sadia's makeup.
“‘S weird but I never seem to get sick,” he’s saying, not really like he’s even talking to anyone but himself as he swipes along eyes, brows, cheeks in smooth motions. “Always end up taking care of everyone else, but it’s okay, you know? I mean, it makes sense, really, I don’t mind.” He sounds almost defensive, as if he’s anticipating an argument.
He should throw Johnny out. He doesn't need help, and he certainly doesn't need Johnny Rockfort poking around his flat while he's unconscious. And, wait, did Johnny say he called someone over, earlier?? Even better. The more people know about this place, the more dangerous. He's probably going to have to move now.
Johnny must decide it’s enough cleaning – it’s not like he can see, dark as it is in the flat. It does feel better. He stomps on another spark of thankfulness. It’s unusual, that’s all. He's just not used to being - cared for. Cared about. He needs to get a grip.
He grabs Johnny's wrist, intending to - he doesn't know what. Make a point to Johnny that he's not needed, not welcome. Make him leave. But he feels overheated now, and Johnny's skin is cool against his own, too cool to let go of. He tugs, bringing Johnny's bare arm down onto the mattress and pressing his cheek against it. Johnny's not wearing his uniform. He really should always be wearing his uniform, not just when Sadia's with him. They all should. They still have no discipline.
"You should go," he slurs, rubbing his forehead against the miraculously soft inside of Johnny's elbow. It’s smooth as ice and feels just as good.
"Uh huh, sure," Johnny chuckles.
"You owe me. Window," he manages. Johnny doesn't answer, clambering over him without taking his arm back, making himself the big spoon. It’s impossible to resist burrowing back into it. Everything is heavy; the blanket, Johnny, his own head, eyelids, tongue and chest.
"Shouldn't have come," he murmurs into Johnny's skin. "Don't get any ideas. Dangerous."
"Shh. Don't worry about me, just sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
~~
The End