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The sun starts to get low outside the window, and the world outside starts to slow down. Leon returns home, eager to see Claire. Despite the fact that they work together, their schedules were a bit unpredictable. She was off today, while he got called in.
He's grateful she was off, as he knows she hasn't been feeling very well. And he worried about her all day. There was a few moments where he considered calling her, but knowing that he shouldn't.
As he opens the apartment door, he expects to find her on the other side. Instead, he finds a dark living room. The only light source is the ebbing light of the sun peeking through the curtains. His heart squeezes with concern.
Normally, at this hour, when she's off—Claire is typically in living room cooking up a small meal before returning to her room to do some work…from home. In her office. Normally there's at least one light on.
He feels a bit silly for being concerned, he knows she knows how to handle herself, but he can't help it. She's his wife. He loves her more than anything else in his life. He doesn't know what he'd do if there was something wrong with her.
"Baby?" He calls out, flicking on the lights. "I'm home."
There's no response. The house is eerily quiet.
"Angel?" He tries once more, setting his keys down on the kitchen island.
When he still doesn't receive a response, he starts to make his way towards the bedroom. The door is shut, and he tries a knock at it. When there's still no response, he opens the door. Finding the room inside to be pitch dark. "Claire?" He starts softly, his ears alert for any sound. He hears a soft, pained groan coming from the bed.
He turns on the light beside the bed. And, he's shocked to find her curled up in bed. Her face is sweaty and pale, and she's writhing around in bed. He takes a seat next to her, pressing his forearm to her forehead. She's burning up.
"Wake up, baby," he coaxes, moving his hand to gently caress her cheek. "Come on."
She takes a moment before she finally stirs. Her eyes feel heavy as she cracks them open.
"Hey…there you are," he offers a small smile. "You're looking a bit rough. How're you feeling?"
"Like shit," she groans, leaning into the touch. "My whole body hurts, I can't get warm, I keep coughing, my head is pounding, and I've got so much congestion."
He frowns. "I'm sorry, do you need me to take you to the urgent care near our place? They're still open for another couple of hours."
She shakes her head. "No, not yet. I don't think I could get out of bed just now anyways. My joints are aching something fierce. In the morning maybe. Sorry, I was looking forward to spending time with you when you got off of work."
"It's not your fault," he sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of her head, before standing. "I'm gonna go get a thermometer to check your temperature. Then, I'll get a cool wash cloth and some Tylenol. Are you hungry for anything? Thirsty?"
"No," she murmurs. "I'm a little queasy, I don't think I could eat anything right now. But, maybe later. Thank you, sweetheart."
"Of course," he nods. Then, turns and goes to grab the thermometer, wash cloth, and Tylenol. He returns a few moments later. First, he takes her temperature. The thermometer reads about 100.5 degrees. He makes a note mentally to check it again later to see if it's gone down any. Then, he dabs her face to wipe away the sweat, before placing it on her forehead. Finally, he opens up the Tylenol bottle, and grabs a few pills, before closing it and setting it on the bedside table. He grabs the water bottle that was already on the bedside table, opens it, and hands her the pills. She opens her mouth, and tosses them back with a bit of water. Taking a few gulps before setting the bottle aside too.
She snuggles back under the covers, shuddering. "I hate to kick you out, but maybe you should sleep on the couch tonight so you don't get sick."
He snorts in disbelief. "You must be out of your mind if you think I'm sleeping on the couch. I don't give a damn if I get sick, I'm not leaving your side. You don't feel well, and you are not getting out of this bed unless you have to."
She rolls her eyes. "You're so stubborn."
"So are you," he kicks off his shoes. "I'm going to lay next to you, and we're going to watch a little TV until you either fall asleep, or get hungry. And you will tell me if you need anything, ok?"
"Yes, yes," she gives a resigned sigh. She acts dismissive but she's grateful for his help.
He changes into his sleep clothes, and slides into bed next to her. Grabbing the remote from his bedside table, and turning the TV on. Then, he scoots close to her, and wraps an arm around her, pulling her against him.
"What do you want to watch?" He asks, flipping through the channels.
"You know that animal channel we love to watch so much? Or I do, anyways," she glances at him out of the corner of her eye.
He flips to the channel wordlessly, then adjusts the volume before setting the remote back down. She rests a hand against his chest, his fingers curling into his shirt as she curls up against him. "Thanks, sweetie."
"Like I said, just let me know if you need anything. And I do mean anything, ok? Even if it is a pizza from a place that's halfway across town," he chuckles. "I'd do anything for you, you know that."
"I do, and you know I'd do anything for you," she hums. "It's one of the reasons I love you so much. Your big heart, amongst…other big things."
He laughs softly. "And what 'other big things' would that be?"
"Your biceps," she deadpans, raising a brow. "What else did you think I was talking about?"
"You're such a tease sometimes," he sighs, though he's being completely unserious.
"Yeah, I know. My poor baby isn't getting his ego stroked, however shall we live?"
"When you're better so help me…"
"What? You'll punish me? We both know I'm the one in charge, honey. You'd be the one getting a punishment," she points out, kissing his cheek. "Seriously, don't get too big for your britches."
"Yes ma'am," he mutters, the tips of his ears reddening. She's right, he knows she's right. "It doesn't hurt to pretend sometimes."
"Yes, just as long as it is just pretending. If not, I'll-"
"Yes, I know. 'Put me over your knee before I can even say your name' I've heard it before," his voice cracks, a petulant pout on his face. "You never let me have any fun."
"I let you have plenty of fun," she guffaws. "You're just too big of a brat sometimes to realize it. Now, let's watch our show together. My throat hurts, and I'd rather not keep talking."
He grumbles, but shuts up instantly. Then turns his gaze towards the television. His fingers brush gently over her shoulder, moving in small circles.
He can feel her relax against him, and can see her eyes fluttering. Despite her posturing, she's quickly crashing, and he can tell. "You can rest, baby. You don't have to stay up," he whispers.
"'m not tired," she protests, though her body is displaying otherwise. "Just wanna watch my show."
"Mhm," he can see her head bobbing out of the corner of his eye. "Don't lie to me."
"Mh…" she mumbles, her grip loosens on his shirt. A soft exhale escaping her as her body continues to drift off.
When he's sure she's asleep, he presses a kiss to her head, and turns the TV off. "Rest well, sweetheart. I'll be right here."
She sleeps semi-peacefully for a few hours, and so does he. When he awakens, he finds her to be no longer in his arms.
"Claire?" He starts quietly. When he gets no response he tries a bit louder.
He pushes himself out of bed with a soft huff. Making his way out of the bedroom and looking for her. The lights in the house are still off, the only light on is coming from…the bathroom.
He heads over to the bathroom, and knocks on the door. Yet again, he receives no response. He opens the door slowly. Despite the fact that they're married, he stills wants to mind her privacy.
The light in the room is blinding compared to the dim room he was just in. He squints, looking around the room. He finds her in the bathtub—her eyes shut, and her clothes off. She's still pale as a sheet, and shivering.
"Baby," he takes a few steps in, and kneels by her side. "Hey, c'mon, this isn't the place to sleep."
He presses a hand to her forehead, and curses quietly. "Fuck, you're scalding."
"Angel," he jostles her gently. When she stirs, he lets out a breath of relief. "There you are. Look at me, ok?"
She blinks owlishly at him, whimpering quietly. "Sorry."
"For what?" He brushes a hand over her cheek. "There's no reason to be sorry."
"For…worrying you," she grits out, attempting to sit up. Her limbs feel like jelly, so it just ends up with her slipping back in the water. "I was so cold…couldn't get warm. So I figured a bath would help. And, I just…was so tired. It's stupid, I'm sorry."
"It's ok, honey," he assures. "I'm gonna get you out of the bath, and get you dressed, ok? Then we're going to the hospital."
She shakes her head. "No, no hospital. Seriously. Not yet. You know I can't…not after everything."
He sighs, going to drain the water. Once he's got that started, he moves to pick her up. He grabs a towel first, then hefts her out of the water. He wraps the towel around her and lifts her into his arms. "Fine, no hospital. But, if your temperature doesn't come down by tomorrow, we're going. I will be with you the whole time, I promise. I'll even call into work for the both of us."
"I love you," she murmurs, burying her face against his chest. "I appreciate you."
"I love you too," he answers, carrying her towards the bedroom. He sets her down on the bed, and dries her off a bit with the towel. Then, he grabs some clothes from the dresser, and gently dresses her. She's a bit sensitive to touch, he notices. Wincing with even the slightest touch to her skin.
He tosses the towel, and her dirty clothes in the hamper, and helps her get comfortable in the bed again. "I'm going to bring you some of your favorite soup, and a cold pack. Then, we're going to lay back in bed and take it easy. Is there anything else you want? Any medicine or anything?"
"Some more Tylenol probably, it's been long enough. And some saltines with the soup," she requests—grabbing his hand briefly, and squeezes it before she releases it. "Thanks, baby."
He gives a small nod in acknowledgment before turning to go make her some soup, and grab some medication for her. She reaches for the remote, and uses it to turn the TV on. She feels half-alive currently. Her head feels like it's stuffed full of cotton, and throbbing. Her chest hurts, and her throat, and she's feeling a bit queasy. She just wants to stop feeling so bad, and wants for Leon to not end up feeling bad.
He takes roughly ten minutes. Taking the time to heat up some soup, grab some saltines, and bring her some more medicine. He carries it back into the room, balancing the bowl in one hand, and the packet of saltines in another. He sets down the bowl and crackers on the bedside table, and moves to help her sit up a bit. Then, he sits beside her, and grabs the bowl once more. "Think you can hold the bowl?"
"I can try," she reaches out to hold the bowl. Despite the fact that her hands are trembling, she can still hold it.
She takes a few sips of soup, letting out a pleased hum as the warm liquid hits her throat. It's her favorite: a beef and vegetable stew. It's something she had made and frozen for further use a couple months ago, and hasn't had the chance to use until now. She's grateful it's as delcious as she remembers.
"Not too heavy?" He asks, resting a hand on her thigh, rubbing over her leg tentatively. "Is it warm enough?"
"Yeah, thanks," she mumbles, downing another spoonful of soup. "You didn't have to, baby."
"Just want you to feel better," he frowns. "I know you're having a hard time. But, I'm here."
She eats most of the bowl, but can't eat much else past that. He takes it from her, and sets it and the saltines aside. He hands her the medicine, and the cup of water from the bedside table, and watches as she tosses the medicine back, and takes a few gulps of water.
With that done, she places the cup back on the table, and lays back against the pillows. He takes the bowl, and saltines, and exits the room. Washing up the bowl, and putting the saltines away. Then, he returns to the room, and slides into bed next to her. He draws her up against him once more.
They sit together, not talking for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the TV on and the occasional cough from her.
"How long have you been feeling sick?"
"Couple of days, maybe," she sniffles. "Why?"
"Just concerned, and curious," he mutters. "You should've told me."
"Maybe. But, would you have told me?"
"…probably not. I see your point. I'm still worried about you, though," he traces small circles on her shoulder.
"I know. I'm sorry. I don't like making you worry about me."
"I'm your husband, I'm going to worry about you. You remember our vows, yes?"
"Mhm," she presses a small kiss to his cheek. "Of course I do. I still don't like worrying you."
"And I don't like worrying you. Guess we're two peas, huh?" He chuckles softly. "You know, our fifth anniversary is coming up soon. Do you know what you want to do?"
"I don't really want to do anything special, just being with you is enough. I do, however, want you to cook that pasta I like so much," she answers. "Is there anything you want?"
"Just you," he shakes his head. "I'll make that pasta for you, and whatever else you want. And, I'll do the dishes and clean the apartment. Sound good?"
"Sounds perfect," she hums in agreement. "My dream man. You actually know how to do house chores, and you don't complain about them. You beat about three-fourths of the population. Plus, you know how to cook. I think the only thing you're not good at is driving."
"I am just fine at driving," he protests with a huff. "I haven't wrecked a vehicle in five years…that I own anyways."
"You keep telling yourself that, love," she snorts. "It is a miracle your license hasn't been revoked. You're an absolute hazard on the road."
"Whatever," he grumbles. "Laugh it up."
"I'm just teasing you," she presses another kiss to his jaw. "I love you. So much. Even your faults. And silly little quirks."
"Silly little quirks?"
"Yeah, those stupid little dad jokes, or one-liners you whip out occasionally. Or the way you've had the same hairstyle for as long as I've known you. Or the way you insist on not liking my animal channel, but you know the name of all my favorite sharks," she says, a tender smile on her face despite herself. "I love the way you scrunch up your nose when you laugh, like truly laugh. I love the way you work so hard to pretend you don't need other people, but when you get around me you turn into this mushy mess that hangs on to my every word. I love all the scars on you, and every little mole and freckle. I love how you keep persevering despite the odds. I love you so much. Every part of you, and will continue to love you for years."
"Baby…" his breath catches in his chest. A lump growing in his throat. "What's got you all sentimental, huh?"
"I don't know," she chokes out a sound that's half laugh, half sob. "Fuck, where did the tears come from?"
She reaches a hand up, and wipes at it her eyes, sniffling quietly. "Just thinking about you, and how much you've grown and changed as a person. And everything else about you just…I don't know what I'd do without you. I don't know where I'd be. Thinking about our anniversary coming up is just making me think back a bit, I guess."
"Don't work yourself up too much, ok? Crying is probably only going to make you feel worse," he reaches up with his free hand, swiping at a stray tear from her cheek. "I…don't know where I'd be without you either. You're the one thing that's kept me sane throughout everything. I worry so much about you because I never want to lose you. The thought…it terrifies me." He admits softly, his voice cracking. "You're everything to me."
"Dammit, don't cry. If you cry, I'm going to cry even harder, and then we'll both be messes," she blubbers, palming at her eyes.
He laughs awkwardly, resting his forehead against hers. "Sorry. You started it."
"I know," she shakes her head in amusement. Her breathing shaky and hoarse. "We can be mushy and shit when I feel a bit better."
"Yes ma'am," he murmurs, his eyes falling shut for a moment. He nuzzles his nose against hers, basking in her warmth.
"You're so handsome," she whispers, toying with his hair. "So wonderful."
"Says you, gorgeous," he mumbles, his cheeks reddening. "Like a goddamn walking angel."
"Sweet talker."
"Mhm. Can be as sweet as molasses if it makes you happy," he lets out a small noise of agreement. "I don't even care if I get sick from you. Being around you, trying my best to make you feel better? It makes up for any of that."
His eyes flutter open, his gaze half-lidded as he looks at her. A tiny, yet playful pout on his face. "Besides, if I can't kiss you, then I don't know what I'll do with myself."
She gently smacks his chest, scoffing. "You are such a dork sometimes." She pauses, before amending herself. "…most of the time."
"So says you," he wrinkles his nose. "I'm not the one who knows the difference between a lemon shark and a tiger shark."
"I never claimed I wasn't a dork, thank you very much," she points out. "We both are. Just in different ways. Sue me for not wanting you to get sick when we both have to work constantly. The DSO will lose their mind if their golden boy doesn't show up."
"I'm not their golden boy," he argues.
"You are. You absolutely are. That's one of the main reasons why they love me partnering up with you is because I'm expendable, you're not. As long as I'm there to make sure you make it out and the mission gets finished, that's all they care about," she sighs. "I know you're a bit thick-headed, but I thought you would at least know that."
"No…" he scowls. "That's bullshit. I should have a word with them. You're just a valuable of an agent as I am."
"Sweetie, it won't change anything. It's just how they are. And I'm okay with that. You are more important, to me too. So, no, I don't want you getting sick from me. Plus, you're a bit of a baby when you get sick."
"I am not!"
"You are. All men are when they get sick for some reason. My brother is a big baby when he gets sick, it's rather hilarious actually," she moves to rest her head back against his chest.
A deep exhaustion is starting to set in, and she finds her eyes falling shut without her say so. "Trust me, I'd love to kiss you on the mouth. But, I shouldn't. And I won't. Not yet." She continues, her words slurring together. "We should both get some rest."
"Ok," he mumbles, reaching out to dim the lights a bit. Once they're dimmed, he snuggles back against her side, and holds her closer. He can see that her breathing has softened again, and she's practically lax in his arms. His heart melts at the utmost trust she has in him, especially to drift off so quickly.
"I love you, baby. I hope you get better soon. I won't leave your side," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Rest well."
Nothing more than a small grumble escapes her. He joins her in sleep soon after, not caring what the consequences of his actions are. Just caring that she's in his arms, and resting despite how she feels. Knowing that no matter what, he won't leave her side.