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Hans was not someone who got sick often. In fact, the last time he had been ill was when he was five years old. Despite his lean build and otherwise unremarkable appearance, he had always taken pride in his remarkably strong immune system.
Until that fateful day arrived. The day he was supposed to be free. The day he would finally break free from Aldo’s watch.
It was a beautiful morning. The air was cold yet gently warm at the same time, wrapping itself around the island and heralding the promise of spring. A thin mist clung to the windowpanes, and birdsong echoed faintly across Nantucket. Hans groaned softly as he stirred awake like a hibernating bear, stretching his arms and straightening joints stiff from a long night’s sleep. He stumbled down from the bedroom toward the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a loosely draped robe.
He glanced around the kitchen, mildly surprised by the absence of the American. Aldo never missed his morning coffee; not once, no matter how rushed he was. Strange, Hans thought, before remembering Aldo’s brief mention of visiting a friend somewhere on the island and staying over. Right; Hans had been feeling slightly unwell the day before and hadn’t paid much attention to the Apache’s words.
All the better, really. He had no desire to see that gruff face on their last day together.
Pleased by the thought, Hans set about making himself breakfast. A few slices of bread with eggs and cold cuts, topped with butter and cheese; simple but satisfying. And finally, a strong cup of coffee to complete the meal. Yet no matter how appealing the food looked, he found himself unable to swallow it, let alone finish. His nose wouldn’t stop running, his body burned as if sitting atop a stove, and the raw ache in his throat made chewing unbearable. His thoughts grew hazy.
Was this perfect morning really going to be ruined by an early-season flu?
Refusing to accept that possibility, Hans hurried off in search of a thermometer; though he wasn’t entirely sure where he had last put it. The living room, the bedroom, even his study; there was no sign of that thing anywhere. He returned to the kitchen, defeated, unsure of what to do. With virtually no experience dealing with illness, he felt more lost than ever.
That was when he remembered the landline phone.
Calling a doctor was certainly an option, but the problem was that he didn’t know any local physicians on the island. The only number he had was Aldo’s, scribbled on a sticky note stuck to the side of the refrigerator. Reluctantly, Hans ran his fingers over the rotary dial and pressed each number carefully. He waited. And waited; until a crackling sound came through the line.
“Yeah?” The familiar, thick-accented voice answered. Still just as curt as ever.
“Just wonder if you mind coming home earlier than planned?” Hans asked hoarsely, clearing his throat afterward.
“Somethin' wrong?”
“I think I caught a cold.” A pause settled between them before Aldo spoke again.
“When'd it start?”
“This morning. I’m not entirely certain…” Hans sniffed. “Come back as soon as you can, can't you? I'm not sure I can keep this head stable for more than five minutes after that.”
“…Right.” The line went dead.
Hans slumped forward onto the table, unwilling to do anything other than rest his head there. He wondered how long this would last as he reached for a glass of water, drinking as much as he could to chase away the dizziness and discomfort. Dragging his aching body back to the bedroom, he collapsed onto the warm bed, seeking comfort in its familiar softness. His eyelids slowly fell shut, pulling him into a restless sleep.
Time passed more quickly while he slept.
When Hans stirred again, he found himself neatly tucked beneath the blanket. On the bedside table to his right sat a packet of painkillers and a warm compress. He blinked several times, his mouth unbearably dry for reasons he couldn’t place, his stomach growling from skipping breakfast. Outside, the sky had darkened. His bedroom door was left slightly ajar.
Aldo was back.
Thank God; apparently, that man still had a shred of humanity left. The scent of chicken stew drifted in through the open doorway. Aldo was cooking something, and Hans found himself more eager than he’d expected.
One step, then another, and the American’s tall frame appeared in the doorway.
“How are ya feelin'?”
“Not very good. I’m surprised you actually came back.”
“And I’m surprised you you even made it to the bed.”
Hans rolled his eyes irritably. “What are you making?”
“Chicken soup. Figured it couldn’t hurt.”
“Oh my, look who knows how to cook,” the Austrian teased, smiling in that familiar way of his. “You’re acting strange today..”
“Yeah, yeah. Sit up and eat the damn soup”
“You think I have the strength for that heavy job?”
“What do you mean?”
Hans sat up slightly and mischievously pointed at his lips.
Aldo’s eyes widened, his brows knitting together. “Nope. Not happenin’ ”
“Oh come on..” Hans pleaded, clearly desperate to be fed.
“Don't start beggin'. Haven’t you grown past that age already?”
“Sometimes I still have my needs,” Hans said lightly, “especially in my current state.”
Aldo shot him an annoyed look before letting out a sigh. “Alright...One spoon only.”
“Thank you dearly” Hans said brightly.
Aldo scooped up a spoonful of soup and silently offered it to the sick man. A contented sigh escaped Hans. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been taken care of like this, but he treasured every moment of it. Before long, one spoonful turned into two, then three, until the bowl was empty save for a few strands of green onion; Hans had never been fond of those.
“Ya full?”
“Very much. You’re surprisingly considerate, Apache.”
“Oh shut it..”
Aldo picked up the warm compress and placed it against Hans’s forehead. The touch was unexpectedly gentle. Hans relaxed, his body growing heavy again. Sleep tugged at him.
“Get some sleep. Don’t forget to take your meds 'kay?” Aldo said, his voice no longer as rough as before. He stood up, preparing to leave
“Wait..” Hans suddenly called out.
“Hm?”
“You’re leaving tomorrow, right? I know we’re not exactly close, but… could you at least sleep with me tonight?”
“Somethin' wrong?”
“No, not really..I just don’t like sleeping alone when I’m sick.”
Aldo studied him for a moment before returning to the bedside. “Do not move,” he warned as he settled beneath the covers beside the Austrian.
Hans smiled softly, reassured; even knowing they would part ways in the morning. He slowly shifted closer to the larger man’s warmth, burying his face against the solid hollow of Aldo’s neck, inhaling the scent of cigarette smoke; Lucky Strike, Aldo’s favorite brand. Hans smirked to himself
Though he disliked being pressed against by others, Aldo still draped an arm around Hans’s shoulders, gazing at the tired face with an unfamiliar tenderness. The scene felt strangely familiar. Every time Hans couldn’t sleep, he would beg to share the bed. They usually kept their distance, clearly dividing the space; but this time was different.
“So, who were those friends you mentioned?”
“Who?” Aldo raised an eyebrow.
“The ones you were staying with.”
“Ohh.. Just a few old dudes from the army. They invited me over to celebrate their kid's birthday.”
“You’re more well-connected than I thought, Raine,” Hans smirked.
“Nothin' special. Just social obligations.”
Aldo snorted, staring at the face he had sworn he would never forgive with a gaze far purer than it had any right to be. His fingers threaded through the slightly messy dirty blonde hair, stroking it gently. Hans still used his shampoo; how annoying. He did it on purpose, no doubt.
Aldo wasn’t sure where their relationship would lead, but he wanted to keep in touch with this arrogant, infuriating former colonel. There was something about Hans that lingered in his soul; a traitor, an unpredictable man he had once despised with every fiber of his being, now clinging to Aldo’s care like a lost dog.
The image was ridiculous and pathetic.
He cupped Hans’s cheek for a long moment before murmuring, “Good night,” pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Guten Nacht,” came the quiet German reply.