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Roberto Diaz had already had, raised, and sent off his kids.
He saw them a few times a year, when they were going through things, needed help, or it was a holiday. He was okay with that. He never got enough time with his wife before they were born, and he was doing his best to enjoy every year he got with her without another soul in the house.
Which is why he was, not at all genuinely, almost wishing those kids had gotten caught in the explosion. Because they wouldn’t stop fucking calling him. He doesn’t even know how they got his number– probably Shani, he never should’ve let those brats meet.
It was a bit hard to keep them separate when all three of them were checking in on him in the hospital. They happened to cross paths, and they got talking about… well, he didn’t know. Some crap he didn’t understand. He’d been added to a group chat with them on his personal cell, and no matter how many times he left it they added him back.
So, he’d muted it, and they’d taken to calling him instead.
It was three in the morning.
He groaned, rolling away from Annie at his side, who woke just as quickly as he did at the sound, “This better not be another army call,” she muttered. He grunted in agreement.
The phone continued to ring. He picked it up, “Hello?”
“Robert!” Naomi’s voice sounded panicked on the other end. He forced himself to sit up, grunting at the twinge in his back, “Something’s wrong with Travis. Uh, I don’t know what, and I just– what if it’s–”
He put the phone to his chest, “I’ll be right back,” he leaned down to kiss his wife on the cheek, who looked at him with concern.
“Who is it? This isn’t another–?”
“No. No, it should be fine. Go back to sleep.”
She eyed him as he got to his feet, massaging his back when it shook with effort and pain. He slipped out into the hall and put the phone back to his ear, “and he’s–”
“Naomi. Naomi,” he interrupted, making his way to the living room to avoid waking his wife again, “Slow down. Take a breath, what’s going on?”
He heard her breathing on the other side, “I woke up, maybe half an hour ago, to Travis throwing up. When I went to check on him he was sweaty, and shaking, and it was dark but I could’ve sworn I saw–” her voice got tight, too choked to keep talking. He gave her a moment to collect herself, “What if it’s the fungus?”
“It’s not.” He sighed, slouching down onto the couch, “It’s been a month and a half. If it were the fungus it would’ve killed him by now.”
More silence on the other end, and then a sob, “Fuck,” she breathed.
He scoffed a sardonic laugh, “Yeah. Trust me, kid, I’ve been there. He’s just sick, alright?”
Robert still remembered when he got back to the states with Trini. The two of them had been quarantined for two full weeks. In that time, she’d gotten sick. He’d been beside himself with fear, convinced it was the fungus that’d just taken longer to gestate in her for one reason or another.
No matter how many times the guards and doctors told him she just had the flu, that she’d probably had it before they came in and symptoms were only just then presenting, he couldn’t stop shaking the entire time. He was locked in a room with her. He had a wife and child to get home to.
And she was his closest friend, the only one who understood everything he’d gone through at work.
She’d recovered nearly completely by the time they were let out of containment, and he’d followed her home to hold her and reassure himself she was alive. So, yeah. He understood.
“Is it–” She cut herself off, and once again he waited. “Is it weird if I ask you to come over?”
He looked up at the grandfather clock that had been his fathers, positioned by his front door and tick-tick-ticking through the night. He heaved a sigh, “No, it’s not weird,” he relented, “What’s your address?”
He scribbled down the apartment number and address on a notepad as she said it, “Sorry,” she said while he wrote, “I’m just… I don’t know. I’m fucking terrified, all the time. My daughter’s in the other room, sleeping soundly, and I can’t stop thinking he’s infected.”
He grunted, “I get it kid, trust me. I’ll be there in half an hour, give or take. You gonna be alright?” she didn’t respond. He waited long enough, before a crease forced its way between his brows, “Naomi.”
“I’ll be alright,” she managed, sounding like she’d started crying again, “Thanks.”
“No problem, kid. See you soon. Get your boyfriend some water– hell, get yourself some water, y’hear?” She let out a water laugh, “Bye, Naomi.”
“See you soon. And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he heard her soft laughter on the other side, before he hung up. Annie griped about him leaving in the middle of the night again, but accepted his kiss and made him promise to be safe while he packed a bag, reassuring her he’d be back soon.
He called Trini once he got on the road, the woman bound to already be awake. He didn’t quite know what she did when she wasn’t being dragged into social events by the kids they’d accidentally adopted via shared trauma, but it tended to lend her to being awake in the middle of the night.
“Robert? The hell you calling me at 3am for?” Her gruff voice answered.
“Booty call,” he drawled, successfully getting a snort out of her, “The kids are freaking out, I think Travis got sick or something. Naomi’s convinced he’s infected.”
Trini clicked her tongue, “Well, shit. You headed over there, then?”
“Yeah, just left. Thought I’d keep you updated, sometimes I think you care more about these brats than your own.” She scoffed. He could picture her taking a drag of a cigarette.
“I care about my brats plenty, they just don’t exactly care for me back,” she drawled, “Gotta put all this,” a pause, an inhale that was definitely a cigarette. How he still knew her so well after so long was beyond him, “maternal instinct somewhere, don’t I?”
He barked a laugh. Both of them knew she had next to no maternal instincts, not in a single bone of her body. She did her best, she was a mother in the loosest sense of the word, and it worked until her kids moved out and cut contact in one way or another.
My wife doesn’t want you around my kids, or I hate you, or any number of things were said to her. She liked to act like they slid off her back, water to a duck, but he knew better. Still, he let her joke about it. It helped her somewhere to pretend it didn’t bother her.
“Well, if all your overflowing maternal instinct needs somewhere to go, they’re both staying at Naomi’s apartment,” he reported, rattling off the address. He didn’t know whether she would be interested in coming– wasn’t even sure she was in town.
There was silence on the other line, then a simple, “Okay. Thanks for the update, Diaz.”
“No problem, Romano.”
Then she hung up, and he turned the radio onto a low volume, driving through the night.
…
The apartment complex he pulled up to wasn’t the worst he’d ever seen, but it wasn’t particularly nice either. It was afforded on the single income of a woman with a kid, who no longer had income save for the payout they’d gotten from the government to help with their recovery.
She buzzed him in without responding to the intercom, and he found that the halls inside were stained with the permanent stench of cigarette smoke, walls that needed to be stripped of their pain and given a fresh coat instead of just another layer piled over top of chips and holes.
The carpet was fraying at the edges, rough and stained, so well walked on it could’ve pretended to be hardwood. The elevator creaked and groaned, slow moving and jerky like it was threatening to fall at any point. But her apartment was on the third floor, and there was no world he could make it up that many stairs so soon after recovering from reigniting his injury.
He knocked on the door, and heard footsteps on the other side before it creaked open just an inch, held partially closed by a chain. On the floor, a little girl looked up at him with big eyes, “Who’re you?” she said. He stared down at her until Naomi’s voice exclaimed from further inside.
“Sarah, don’t answer the door!” She scolded, “You know better than that.”
Sarah. He hadn’t met the little girl yet, but she’d heard plenty about her. A little monster, but a sweetheart through and through– at least, that’s how Travis and Naomi described her.
Naomi pushed the door shut and pulled the chain, before letting him in fully, “Hey, Robert,” she greeted, breathless like she’d been running around since she’d hung up on him. She held Sarah on her hip now, who was watching him with curiosity and wonder blatant in her face.
“Where’s he at?” She took a breath, shutting and locking the door behind him while he toed off his shoes, taking in the abandoned sneakers and boots by the front door.
“Down here, he stopped throwing up about fifteen minutes ago, and crawled back into bed,” she lead him down a small, narrow hallway and to the doorway of a small bedroom. There was a queen sized bed pushed nearly up against the wall, and in it laid Travis Meacham, curled up and shaking partially under the covers.
It was dark, but his skin stood out starkly against the dark bed sheets, “Travis?” He called, nodding to Naomi. She slumped with relief, and fled, talking quietly to the little girl in her arms in a stern voice. There wasn’t a response from the pile of human on the bed, “Kid, how’re you feelin?”
He traversed the dirty clothes on the floor, and the blankets that must’ve been shoved off based on the heap they were in. Travis groaned, “Like shit,” he said, quiet enough that Robert had to strain to hear it.
He took a seat at the edge of the bed, and thanked his genetics for his decent night vision. He could see the sweat shining off his pale skin in the little amount of lighting their nightlight in the hall provided. His face was twisted up in pain, and the hand that was pressed over his eyes was shaking noticeably, “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Migraine,” Travis’ voice was raw, but louder now, despite the way his mouth twisted like it hurt to talk, “Didn’ mean t’ freak her out.”
Robert understood, then. He’d thought the kid had just gotten a cold, but seeing him like this a migraine made more sense. Sitting in the dark, cradling his head, talking quietly despite the way he usually filled a room with as much noise as possible.
He heaved a sigh, “Alright, have you taken anything?” Travis shook his head, a small movement that must’ve made something pinch because he let out a quiet noise of discomfort, “I’m gonna get you some pain meds, and a cold wash cloth, and a bucket. Then you’re gonna go back to sleep, sound good?”
Travis squinted his eyes open, finally, and stared up at him. Robert raised a brow, waiting for his response. When it came, it made him frown, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’re you…” he trailed off, face twisting and breath catching. Robert set a gentle hand on his shoulder to rub soothing circles into his skin, reminding him he wasn't alone. When the kids' pain subsided, he croaked out, “Why d'you care?”
Robert stilled, looking down at him. He knew Travis’ history, it wasn’t hard to put together even if he hadn’t been told about it. Sometimes the kid brought it up, talking about a history in crime, prison, and the navy like it wasn’t anything to care about.
He’d gathered he hadn’t seen much love growing up, or it was always conditional. Robert wasn’t ever a great people person, he and Trini had gotten the job they had for a reason, but he’d gathered that much. Travis wasn’t used to affection or care.
“Because someone’s got to, kid,” he gave him a gentle pat, then pulled away, “I’ll be back, y’hear?”
Travis continued to squint at him, mouth pulled into more of a confused frown than the pained one from before, but nodded. Robert found Naomi standing in the doorway, backlit by dim light.
He shut the door behind him, “Kid down for bed?” he asked her, going for the open door he could see a bathroom through.
She followed close behind him, turning the light on while he began to rifle through her cabinets, “Hopefully. Ibuprofens above the toilet.”
“Thanks. You feelin’ any better?” He switched cabinets, opening the out of place over the toilet cabinet she must’ve installed herself, because it was actually pretty nice. Maybe it was a recent addition. The bottom shelf was filled with medications and first aid supplies, and in the front sat a bottle of ibuprofen and acetaminophen.
“What? I’m fine. Travis is the one who–”
“You were freakin’ out on the phone, Naomi,” he cut her off, fighting with the child safety cap of the medication. His hands really weren’t what they used to be, “Here. Open this for me.”
She did so easily, “I wasn’t– I was just… worried. It’s fine. He’s fine. Right?”
“He’s totally fine. Kid’s got a migraine, that’s all. He’ll be out of it in a few days, tops.”
“No infection?”
“No infection.” He shut the cabinet, shuffling past her and turning the light off on his way out. He’d seen her kitchen, straight shot from the front door, and headed that way, “He’ll need water, medication, and food. Might be bedbound for a while.”
She took the lead in the kitchen, grabbing a small, thick plastic cup that looked like it belonged about twenty years in the past, “I… didn’t know he got migraines. He hasn’t had one. I get them, how did I not know?”
“Sometimes they look different from the outside.” He shrugged, “Your tap water safe to drink?”
“Oh. Yeah, but he doesn’t like it,” she pivoted to the fridge, pulling out a filtered pitcher, “He’ll drink it, but he went on this whole rant about how gross tap water was one time, so I got the pitcher.”
“Good choice, Kansas tap water tastes like shit,” he acknowledged, watching her fill the glass, rolling the two small orange pills around in his hand, “Maybe he’s been hidin’ them, seems like the type to do so. Or he just hasn’t gotten one.”
She sighed, kicking the fridge shut, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Can’t believe I freaked out over him getting a migraine.”
“It happens, we’ve all been there. First sign of trouble and your brain kicks off into fight or flight, I know how it is,” he reiterated, “Here, you go check on your kid, I’ll take these to Travis.”
“I can do it,” she insisted.
“I know you can. Now give it here.”
She stared at him in the dark of the hallway for a long moment, before slumping and handing over the water, “Fine. Thanks.”
“No problem, now go on. I guarantee she’s up and moving about again, if she’s anything like my brats were.” Naomi snorted.
Travis was in the same position when he got back, but he shifted at the sound of footsteps, “N’omi?” he muttered.
“Me again.”
“Oh,” Travis turned, as best as he could in his condition, and squinted up at him, “You came back?”
Robert set the cup and pills on the nightstand, “Sure did. Come on, time to sit up so you can take medication.” Travis groaned, curling in on himself further, “I know, I know. It sucks, but you gotta do it. Up you get.”
He pressed a hand to the kids back, until he finally moved and started jerkily shoving himself up. He moved in slow, pained movements, like every motion hurt to even consider. When he finally got sat up he sunk back against the bedframe with a pinched expression, labored breathing audible in the quiet room.
“There you go, good job,” he praised, “Need a second?”
Travis nodded, so he waited. Waited and listened to the hitched, pained breathing, watched him slowly untense his muscles and smooth out some of the wrinkles in his expression, “Okay,” he got out, swallowing thickly.
Robert didn’t let him take the cup, not with how badly his hand was shaking, instead giving him the pills and then carefully tilting the water for him so he didn’t choke. He threw the medication back with an obvious, practiced ease. The former Major didn’t doubt he could’ve taken them dry had he not been brought water.
“Thanks.” He sunk down until he was laid out in the trainwreck of a bed again, “What time s’it?”
He flicked his watch around, watched it tick to four in the morning, “Four. You should try to get some sleep.”
“Four?” He croaked, alarmed, “Shit, ‘m sorry, man. Didn’t wanna wake anybody up.”
“You didn’t, Naomi did,” he said, shrugging. He pushed himself up onto two feet with a grunt, back twinging, “Sleep, Travis. Holler if you need anything.” He got a belated noise of acknowledgement, and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
At the same time, Naomi slipped out of her daughters room, and the two of them made eye contact, “You’re sure he’s okay?”
“He is one-hundred-percent fine, save for the debilitating pain,” he clapped her on the shoulder on his way past toward her living room, “You might wanna sleep on the couch, looked like he was sweatin’ through his clothes.”
He settled in on her armchair, resigned to the pain he’d be in come morning. He wouldn’t leave these kids here to deal with something that terrified them, not on their own. Naomi didn’t even ask, she curled up on the couch and tried to drift off without another word.
He knew how much it bothered her, seeing someone she cared about like that hurting. Especially when she couldn’t help; couldn’t bring herself to even touch him. Her own mind turned on her in her partners time of need, and she had to be feeling the stress over it.
They had been through so much shit, so much younger than when he’d been through the same shit. Hell, what they went through was worse. They’d seen people die, people they knew, people they’d known for a while.
He slept restlessly, dozing in and out of awareness, his body never truly committing to rest.
Robert left the next afternoon, making sure Naomi felt comfortable staying with Travis and keeping him healthy. He didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to the hurting kid; he’d been sound asleep, thankfully.
Trini called him when he was on the road, asking detail after detail, never telling him where she was or why she hadn’t been able to come check herself– seeing as she obviously wanted to. He didn’t ask, he knew better by now.
(“Hey, Naoms,” Travis’ voice was still raw and tired. She jerked around to see him standing in the doorway to the hall, still damp with sweat but up and about, finally moving from his two days of only leaving bed to use the restroom.
“Travis!” She exclaimed, then curled in on herself when he winced, hand rising to his ear like he could bat away the sound, “Sorry. You’re up!”
“Sure am,” he offered a half smile. It dropped just as quick as it came around, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, you didn’t get a migraine on purpose, did you?” she raised a brow, “Are you feeling better, then?”
“A bit,” he offered. He looked down at himself, groaning, “I need to shower.”
“Give me ten minutes to finish this up, and I’ll meet you in there?”
She watched his smile return– genuine and soft, this time– and he nodded, “That’d be great. You’re the best.”
“And don’t you forget it. Did you take the meds on the bedside?”
Travis hesitated, then nodded, “I think so? Maybe…” he trailed off, “Everything’s kinda,” he gestured vaguely, “I dunno. I’ll see if they’re still there. See you in a few?”
“See you in a few.”)