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Frank felt like he was dying.
He was laying sideways on his bed in the Argo II, clutching his old black bear plushie to his aching stomach. He'd run to the bathroom about five times in the last twenty minutes, but none of the trips had made his poor tummy feel any better. There was also a trashcan beside his bed in case his nausea turned into actual puke, which was starting to seem like a real possibility at this point.
Frank's lactose intolerance had bested him yet again. He tried so hard to avoid dairy, and would take his Lactaid pills if he was really craving pizza or something else with milk. But sometimes his efforts were all for nothing, like today.
They had magical plates from Camp Half-Blood on the ship, but sometimes Leo’s walking table, Buford, cooked for them. Frank didn’t really understand how that was possible when Buford didn’t have opposable thumbs — or any fingers at all — but he figured it was best not to argue. All Frank had eaten for dinner was a simple rice bowl with chicken and broccoli, figuring it was a safe choice. Only after eating did he find out that there was butter in the rice and on the broccoli.
Frank couldn't even be mad, because he couldn’t focus on anything else other than the way his bloated stomach was churning inside. He had been keeping mostly quiet up until that point, but he let a tiny groan escape into the pillow under his head. Gods, this was painful. He wished he was like any of his other friends, who could eat pizza, ice cream, cheese, yogurt, etc. on any given night without it giving them any issues whatsoever.
He heard the sounds of his bedroom door opening and closing, and peeked his head out of the mountain of blankets he’d piled on himself. His eyes widened when he saw Leo standing there.
Leo had been the last person Frank would've thought noticed that he wasn't feeling well. They didn't exactly get along super well. It was more a respectful toleration.
Frank glared weakly at Leo. “Do you need something?” he grumbled, his voice low. He didn't mean for it to come out harshly, but he also felt like he was two seconds away from throwing up on Leo's stupid toolbelt that he never took off. The guy probably slept in that damn thing.
Leo's eyes widened. “Oh,” he squeaked, and then cleared his throat. His voice was normal when he spoke again. “I mean, um…just came to check on ya. You didn't look great at dinner.”
Frank sighed and pressed his plushie into his tummy like it would somehow help. He guessed he shouldn't be such a jerk to Leo if he was doing a nice thing. “There was butter in my food and I didn't know, so.”
“Oh, shit, dude. Sorry, um…” Leo looked down to where Frank's stomach was. Even though Leo couldn’t see his body underneath all the blankets, Frank still felt uncomfortable. “Does it hurt a lot?”
Frank didn't like to make himself look weak. He already felt insecure about being the son of Mars most of the time, because he wasn't muscular or violent or handsome or any of the other things Mars was. But he was feeling so sick at the moment that he couldn't even think to lie. “Feels like I'm going to throw up and shit simultaneously.”
Leo’s face scrunched in concern. He paused for a moment before saying, “Be right back.” He headed out the door and shut it behind him.
Frank's stomach gurgled again, and he quickly peeled himself out of bed to once again run to the bathroom. Gods, this was literal torture. Frank didn’t know which sick god had invented lactose intolerance, but he wanted to punch them right in the face.
He trudged back to his room a few minutes later, still not feeling any better. He made himself safe and cozy underneath his blankets again and held onto his bear plushie. The door burst open then, scaring Frank half to death.
“Alright, big guy,” Leo said, walking in with a tray full of things. “Dr. Leo is in the house.”
Frank did not feel very safe with the self-proclaimed Dr. Leo as his caretaker, but he guessed he couldn't complain when there was no one else in here to help him. He sat up and leaned back against the pillows on his bed, keeping his bear plushie under the covers. This whole situation was embarrassing enough, he didn't need Leo making fun of the fact that he still slept with a stuffed animal.
Leo set the tray on the nightstand and rattled off the list of things he'd brought. “Got you some Gas-X and Pepto Bismol, plain dairy-free crackers, water, and then…shit, what's the word. Fuck, I can't remember it in English.” Leo snapped his fingers like it would help him remember. “Jengibre. It's like a weird-shaped root plant.”
Frank thought for a moment. “Uh…ginger?"
“Ginger!” Leo pointed a finger gun at Frank. “Sorry. My mamá always made ginger tea for me when I was feeling sick, but we mostly spoke in Spanish at home. I guess I don't use ginger often enough to remember it in English.” Leo hesitated. “Sorry, that didn't matter. Um, anyways — you want a little of everything?”
Frank frowned at the way Leo tried to brush it off. He wanted to tell Leo that it was okay to talk about his past, but then his stomach cramped again. “Um…the medicines with water, first. Are they safe to mix together…?”
Leo snorted. “Yeah, it’s fine. I looked it up for you, man. Don't worry, I'm not killing you today.”
“Tomorrow, then?” Frank muttered. The comment slipped out before he could think too much about it.
Surprisingly, Leo laughed. “Yeah, tomorrow. I need you to get over your lactose intolerance symptoms so we can be on an equal playing field.” He grinned and handed Frank two green pills with the cup of water.
Frank took the pills, swallowing back his comment that he would one-hundred-percent beat Leo in a fight. Leo handed him a small shot of neon pink liquid that smelled like bubblegum, rubber, and mint all at the same time.
Frank wrinkled his nose, but downed it anyway. He proceeded to chug the water just to try and get the weird chalky taste off his tongue.
“Good boy,” Leo seemed to say automatically as he took the empty cups. Frank startled, and Leo's eyes widened when he realized what he said. He slapped his free hand over his face, hiding the very faint pink tinge spreading across his cheeks.
“Sorry, I didn't mean that,” Leo said. “Don't know why I said it. Sometimes thoughts are just supposed to stay up here.” He tapped his head with a nervous laugh. “Um, anyway.” He quickly handed Frank the mug of ginger tea. “Just drink that.”
Frank was still bewildered (and blushing, but that was not the point), but he took the tea from Leo’s hands. Gods, Valdez was getting weirder by the day.
The tea was yummy, though. Frank’s grandma used to make him ginger tea when he had a cold, but hers also had red dates and honey. The one Leo made had slices of ginger and lemon floating in it, and it tasted really sweet. It warmed the inside of Frank’s throat and belly in a pleasant way, and he relaxed a little bit into the pillows behind him.
He remembered Leo was standing there, and looked up. Leo was standing with his arms crossed, rocking back and forth on his feet. His lip was pulled between his teeth as he watched Frank drink the tea.
Frank cleared his throat, realizing he hadn’t thanked Leo yet. “Thank you for helping me. I appreciate it a lot.”
“Oh! Uh, yeah, no problem.” Leo flashed him a smile, but Frank could still see anxiety in his eyes. “Sorry you got…dairyed or lactosed or whatever the right term is. I’ll tell Buford to cut back on the butter next time he cooks.”
Leo was surprisingly thoughtful. Frank had never really thought of him as anything more than a flaming-hot annoyance (flaming-hot as in he had fire powers, not that Frank thought he was…physically attractive. Obviously), but maybe some of Leo’s true colors were shining through tonight.
Frank watched Leo fiddle with his nimble fingers for a couple more minutes. “Do you have something else to say?” Frank asked, when Leo remained silent.
Leo’s hair started smoking, and Frank clenched the sheets in one of his fists nervously. Leo immediately ran a hand through his hair, getting rid of the sparks that had started to form.
“Sorry,” Leo apologized. “Obviously you don’t have to say yes to this, I get it’s kinda weird, I just thought…” He cringed. “My hands. I can make them warm or whatever. Maybe it would help your stomach feel better?”
It took Frank a couple seconds to realize what Leo was suggesting. “Like…a human heating pad.”
Leo smiled. “Sure.”
Frank shifted on the mattress. He wasn’t really keen on having a guy who could burst into flames at any point in his bed, and he definitely did not want Leo Valdez in his bed. But Frank’s stomach was still hurting something awful, and he was starting to think a human heating pad might not be too bad.
“You’re not going to…burst into flames or something, right?” Frank asked, setting the mug down on his nightstand.
Leo scoffed. “I can control it, man.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Your hair —”
“I can mostly control it.” Leo poked Frank’s arm. “Alright, move over, big guy.”
Frank hesitated, but finally relented and scooted over. Leo took off his shoes and climbed in bed next to Frank.
It felt weird to have Leo pressed against the right side of Frank's body. Leo smelled like a weird combination of cologne and engine grease, but it wasn’t as unpleasant as it sounded.
Leo turned onto his left side so that he could more comfortably put a hand on Frank’s stomach. Frank blushed immediately, wondering if this was a bad idea after all. He wasn’t exactly confident in his body or anything, and he felt even worse being against Leo, who was like the polar opposite of Frank’s body type.
Leo must have felt Frank’s body stiffen, because he pulled his hand away. “Uh, all good, man?”
Frank stared at the wall. He refused to look at Leo. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “You’re just, like… I mean, my body isn’t like yours.”
There was a couple seconds of silence. “What, are you worried I’ll judge you or something?” Leo asked. “You’re hot, if that’s what you’re worried about —”
Frank buried his burning face into a blanket, and Leo stopped talking. “Do not say that,” Frank said, his voice muffled by the fabric.
Leo chuckled. “I’m serious, though. Girls like a big, strong guy! Haven’t you ever heard that SZA SNL song? It’s cuffing season, and now we got a reason to get a big boy, give me a big boy!” Leo warbled, his voice horribly off-key.
Frank was still embarrassed, but he laughed into the blanket at Leo’s awful rendition of whatever song he was trying to sing. “Stop, oh my gods,” Frank said between giggles. “Coach Hedge is going to think someone’s dying and come in to check on us.”
“Eh, pretty sure he’s heard my late-night shower concerts before,” Leo said. “It’s fine.”
He laid back down and patted Frank’s tummy. Frank kept his blushing cheeks hidden in the blanket, not wanting to give Leo the satisfaction of knowing he was flustered.
It wasn’t because it was Leo, Frank told himself. The situation was just weirdly intimate. It didn’t help that Frank had never had someone lay with him in his bed before, let alone cuddle up to him.
Leo’s hand was nice and toasty on top of Frank’s t-shirt, warming up his belly and easing the dairy-induced cramps. It was difficult for Frank to fully calm down, but he made an honest attempt to relax.
A thought suddenly occurred to Frank, and he nervously glanced at the door. “Leo?”
“Uh-huh?” Leo’s voice sounded sleepy. “What’s goin’ on?”
Frank swallowed. “You’re not going to, like…tell anyone about this, right?”
Leo made an affirmative noise. His face was pressed into Frank’s shoulder, and he looked like he had no intentions of moving anytime soon. “Secret’s safe with me,” he mumbled. At least, that’s what Frank thought he said. His voice was pretty muffled by Frank’s t-shirt.
Frank felt a little better by Leo’s reassurance and closed his eyes. Frank tried to focus on the warmth Leo was providing rather than the dull ache in his tummy.
A few minutes later, Frank heard light snoring coming from Leo. He opened his eyes and looked down at Leo’s sleeping form. The guy looked peaceful for once, like his brain had finally stopped going one hundred and ten kilometers a minute. Frank carefully adjusted the blanket so it would better cover Leo and smirked when his hand brushed the toolbelt on Leo’s hip. The guy really did sleep in the damn thing.