Chapter Text
It starts, as so many things seem to, with Qifrey being absolutely miserable. It's not the ever present ache of his missing eye that used to follow him every waking second, nor the quiet underlying sense of dread that had never left him, cultivated by his own design to keep the silvertree roots at bay before the medics at the healing spire has cut him open and removed it with a precision no one thought possible. No, this was an entirely different sort of misery, one that was so mundane it bordered on comical in contrast to what he had endured.
Qifrey, quite plainly, is sick. The tiles of the bathroom dig into his knees even through the fabric of his robes, half kneeling half sitting on the floor as he is, the void toilet in front of him.
It couldn't have been something he'd eaten - no one else seemed to be suffering the same way he is, and they'd all shared dinner last night, which meant that he could at the very least rule out food poisoning. A stomach bug, then, he figured, nausea rising again. Though the onset had been sudden and there had been no previous symptoms like a fever, he dearly hoped that no one else had caught it already. The last time Olly had dragged home a nasty cold from one of his clients, the second one person had even remotely recovered, the next had been struck. Qifrey had held out the longest, only to be hit the hardest and had been forced to take more time off of teaching than he'd have liked.
The sound of knuckles gently but insistently thrumming against the wooden door pulls him out of his memories, startling him enough that his stomach decides to lose the last of this morning’s breakfast.
“You okay there, Qifrey?” Olruggio's rough voice is muffled by the door, yet the concern in it is evident. With how suddenly Qifrey had run off in the middle of doing the dishes, it's no wonder his partner is worried for him.
Warmth fills his chest at the thought. His partner. He'd never thought that'd be a real possibility, barely even let himself dream about it lest the fantasy become too gentle, too comforting to bear. Now though, almost two years since what his apprentices had dubbed his “deforestation” once the initial shock, fear, and subsequent relief had worn off, it's not just possible, but entirely, completely, real.
“Yes,” Qifrey answers finally and, surprisingly, it’s true. Since the nausea has passed, he feels fine, no worse than he did before he fled the kitchen save for the ache in his knees. He gets to his feet, a little wobbly from the uncomfortable position he'd been in, and opens the door.
The same concern that had tinged Olruggio's voice is etched onto his face, though the sight of Qifrey, appearing mostly alright, softens the tensions in his brow.
“Really, it's nothing to worry about,” Qifrey assures him. He knows that if allowed, Olruggio would drop anything and everything to fret over him, commission deadlines be damned. And while he'd gotten better at allowing himself to be cared for, causing his partner unnecessary concern isn't something he enjoys. Not with everything he'd already put him through.
The guilt of it still gnaws at him at times, a heavy ache in his chest during particularly tender moments, overwhelming him during the worst nights, even, or maybe especially, when he's held so caringly and gently in his partner's arms. Time had softened the pain of it, spread the nightmares thinner, lessened the hours he spent crying and fretting and apologizing. And right now, under Olruggio's attentive gaze, he only feels warmth at the care and love afforded to him despite all of his sins.
“That didn't sound like nothing,” Olruggio responds, raising an eyebrow. Ah, right. His vagueness had always been a cause for concern, hadn't it? A hard habit to shake.
“Truthfully, I fear I might be coming down with something,” Qifrey admits. “But I feel fine for now, so maybe this was the extent of it.”
Appearing relieved that the answer is something so mundane, Olruggio nods. “Gotta take it easy, then. And if it gets any worse, you're on bed rest.”
There's a finality in his voice that Qifrey knows he won't be able to argue with even if he wanted to. He still despises being idle for too long, especially if it's not by his own choice. But he knows Olruggio is right- and that his partner wouldn't hesitate to play dirty to get him to rest either. Namely, employing the help of the four teenage apprentices who are still far too good at giving him puppy eyes he simply can't say no to. He's aware that he spoils them too much, but they're good girls. After everything, they deserve to be spoiled a little. And besides, they've never used their power of persuasion for evil, unless one considers making their master take breaks and asking for field trips, their favorite dinners or colorful new spells to be devious.
“I promise,” Qifrey agrees easily. “Though I hope this might just have been a one-off occurrence.”
And while Olruggio had been satisfied with his answer, Qifrey had not been correct on this front. Despite the fact that he never ended up running a fever or developing any other symptoms, the nausea persisted every morning like clockwork. He'd been ordered to rest which had lasted all of two days when it had become apparent that it really was only this peculiar ailment that seemed to bother him.
“I know some people simply have trouble eating in the morning, maybe it's that?” Agott had pondered one morning after Qifrey had to excuse himself from an early morning lesson once more.
“Yeah, maybe your stomach's still sleepy!” Tetia had added, nodding sagely.
“Master Qifrey is getting old,” Richeh had agreed, very seriously from where she'd been lying on the floor. Qifrey had pretended not to hear that one. He's not even 35 mind you! He hadn't been able to stop a smile from forming anyway before continuing the lesson.
Though the nausea remained and the summer heat brought a new wave of exhaustion for Qifrey, things simply continued as before. He stops eating breakfast, so at least the mornings become a little easier with nothing to throw up, and opts for heartier lunches and dinners instead. It works well, even if he's sure everyone is starting to be a little sick of braised meat for dinner. Except Richeh, who'd be more than happy to just eat a large portion of meat and her government (read: Qifrey) mandated share of vegetables of her choice for every meal, the others seem a little less enthusiastic about it with every passing day.
It can't really be that bad, can it? They just… have a lot of it still, he’d gone a little overboard during his last shopping trip to Kahln and Qifrey's been in the mood for it. A lot, actually. Maybe Richeh is rubbing off on him. The girls are seated at the table currently, waiting for the same dinner they'd had for days. None of them had complained so far, but Qifrey does make a mental note to provide an alternative tomorrow and keep the rest as leftovers.
Agott and Coco are huddled together, a palm quire in front of and a heated debate between them. They must be working on something new, Qifrey muses, excited for them to show him once they feel it's ready. Tetia had stopped being able to swing her legs comfortably while sitting on the chair now that the girls had all grown quite a bit, and had instead taken to rocking her chair back and forth no matter how many times he'd asked her not to.
Not even falling backwards, chair included, had stopped the habit. Getting her to stop crying had been a herculean task, especially once she'd seen the blood around her. Qifrey still remembers how pale Olruggio had looked when he'd come downstairs from their room to check on the commotion before nearly being toppled over by Coco and Richeh running to get bandages and water to clean the wound.
Agott had stayed and distracted Tetia with various little light spells in the shape of cute animals until she'd been patched up. They'd still had to take her to the healing spire afterwards, and at least she'd ceased the rocking for a few weeks before it restarted, albeit with slightly more restraint.
Right now, she finally stops when Qifrey sets the closed pot down on the table before turning to Richeh. “Would you be a dear and tell Olly dinner is ready?”
“Yes, but if he's asleep that's his problem,” Richeh responds, getting up.
“Of course.” Olly sleeps like a log most days when he actually does sleep, and unless it's an emergency there's no amount of pestering that can make him get up in less than an hour after the initial attempt.
A few minutes later though Richeh appears with Olruggio in tow, ink smears on his face where he likely had been resting his head on his hands.
“Richeh caught him before he could be stupid and fall asleep at his desk again.”
Olruggio groans. “Just because it's true doesn't mean you have to say it.”
“That bad?” Qifrey asks with a sympathetic smile, and Olruggio shakes his head.
“Just tedious. Some rich prick’s throwing a huge party, and of course it's gotta be special, you see. Wouldn't have agreed to it if it wasn't for how much he's willing to pay, but hell.”
“What does he want?” Coco asks, eyes sparkling, always curious and eager to hear about any and every new spell she can get her grubby little hands on. Agott isn't far behind her in interest however, perking up at Coco’s question. Curiously, despite not being hunched over the same palm quire anymore, the girls had not moved apart even an inch.
Qifrey smiles as Olruggio launches into an explanation that features far too many almost-curse-words and has the girls bombard him with questions of why and what and how. The warm chatter around him feels wonderful, even with how tired he's beginning to feel. It's not so late yet, but maybe Richeh had been onto something when she'd called him old.
Well, no matter. For now, he reminds them all that there will be time for spells later and reaches out to uncover the pot, letting the full aroma of the meat fill the room and-
Qifrey chokes. Has the meat gone bad? It doesn’t look strange, not on the surface, and no one else seems to smell anything. Instead, they're staring at him in confusion and Qifrey only now realizes that his face must be showing his reaction pretty clearly.
“Qifrey, what's wrong?” Olruggio immediately asks, alarmed.
“Nothing, I- I think maybe the seals on the pot broke?”
“Huh? Why's that?”
Qifrey's eyebrows furrow. “The meat smells off, doesn't it?”
“Smells fine to me.” Olruggio shrugs and reaches out to grab some. Before Qifrey can intervene, he takes a large bite, chewing thoughtfully.
“Tastes fine too. Are you sure you're okay?”
“Yes, yes I'm fine. I think maybe I simply have had my fill of this,” he muses, a little apologetic, knowing he'd been the reason the menu had been so samey the last few days.
“And for a fact, I have a hunch that at least some of you feel the same, don't you?” He smiles knowingly.
“Richeh doesn't,” Richeh says around a mouthful of food. When had she even grabbed some? But where Richeh seems happy to continue with this indefinitely, the other girls nod solemnly.
“Sorry, Master Qifrey,” Coco says shyly with a small smile, never wanting to hurt anyone's feelings. “We love your cooking, but-”
“But it has been braised meat for days now,” Agott finishes for her, and Tetia nods in agreement.
“Then how about we see what we can whip up with that's already in the kitchen? Since it's far too late for any shopping trips,” Qifrey offers, and the three girls immediately spring into action, running to the pantry.
Qifrey follows them and pretends not to notice Olruggio's concerned eyes on his back.
“You’ve been acting strange,” is the first thing Olruggio says to Qifrey when they retire to their room after dinner, contraptions and blueprints on his work desk forgotten for the moment.
Two years ago, he would have deflected, responded with something vague before changing the topic. Now, however, he simply sits down on their bed with a sigh, feeling the mattress give under his weight as he discards his robe and begins to remove his turtleneck and the binding fabric beneath. Briefly, he wonders if he’d fastened the garment too tightly this morning, a tender ache in his chest that only finds a tiny amount of relief when he changes into one of Olruggio’s loose shirts.
His partner is still waiting for him to say something, patient, refusing to push and scare Qifrey off from sharing what plagues him.
“I know,” he simply says after a while, voice quiet and soft. “But not on purpose, I promise, dear.” He pauses briefly, waiting for Olruggio to settle down on the bed next to him. Scarred, calloused fingers wrap around his own hand, gentle despite their roughness from years of tireless work. “Truth be told, I don’t know what’s wrong, either. Perhaps the heat is getting to me more this year- it’s been awfully hot and humid, hasn’t it?”
It’s a flimsy grasp at an explanation, and Olruggio doesn’t seem convinced. Neither is Qifrey.
“Maybe I should cut down on lessons outside, work in some more cooling spells around the house,” he prattles on, searching for at least something to do about all of this, even if he doubts it will help.
“Maybe you should go to the healing spire,” Olruggio interjects, voice careful and soft, knowing far too well that Qifrey prefers not to go there, or anywhere near the Great Hall, for that matter, not if he can help it. “Or to the hospital in Kahln, at least. Healing spire might be the better option though.”
“Why?” Qifrey asks, a little confused. But he knows Olruggio is probably right, especially with how long this has been going on.
“It’s just…” He seems to be struggling for words, his thumb rubbing along the back of Qifrey’s hand. “They know your. Y’know. Medical history. Better than the people in Kahln. If it’s anything to do with the tree, they’d be quicker on the uptake.”
There’s fear bleeding through his words as he speaks them, and Qifrey’s heart aches. Of course, of course Olruggio would worry that the blasted tree seed had somehow taken root again, no matter how thoroughly it had been cut out. The thought isn’t foreign to Qifrey either, it still plagues his dreams at times, the horrifying anxiety that everything he’s worked so hard for, all the gentle comfort he’s finally allowed himself to accept could be ripped from him again at any moment. However-
“I don’t think it’s that,” Qifrey says softly, moving closer to Olruggio until he can rest their foreheads together. “I have lived with it long enough to know how it feels, and so far, I have not felt any symptoms of it return.”
He’s unsure how much his reassurance truly helps to calm Olruggio’s mind, brows still drawn together in concern as he lifts Qifrey’s hand to his lips, placing gentle kisses on each knuckle.
“You’d tell if ye did, yeah?” he asks, voice quiet and gentle.
“I would,” Qifrey responds, just as softly. And it’s the truth. He’s not ready to give this up again, to be drawn into that cycle of agony once more if he can help it, and this time he’d not keep it from his best friend, his lover, his partner in life. “Though hopefully, it won’t ever come to that again,” he adds with a small smile.
“Don’t jinx it,” Olruggio huffs, but his face appears calmer now. “Still, I’d prefer if you’d get it checked out. Just in case. Maybe they got something for whatever is bothering you.”
“I suppose I must. And I suppose the girls are old enough to be left to their own devices for a few hours.” He doesn’t even need to ask whether Olruggio would accompany him- of course he would. Where Qifrey went, Olruggio followed, a fact that was as certain as the rise of the sun with every new dawn.
“Aye, that they are,” Olruggio agrees. “And old enough to fix whatever mess they make out of the house themselves.”
Qifrey can’t help but snicker. “That last clean-up really did a number on your back, didn’t it?”
“Are you calling me old?!” Olruggio gasps, mock-affront in his voice.
“No, love, I think the girls do that enough.”
“You little-” Olruggio lunges for Qifrey as he laughs, whole-hearted and loud. Qifrey doesn’t even pretend to dodge, content letting his partner drag him into the sheets with him, both of them laughing as they tumble down.
For a while, they simply lay there, Olruggio half on top of Qifrey, legs tangled, stealing kisses and giggling breathlessly before Olruggio breaks the comfortable silence. “I still need to get changed,” he grumbles, words coming out slow and languid. Contrary to his words, he rearranges them so that he’s laying on his back, Qifrey’s head pillowed on his chest. Qifrey makes a noise of agreement, yet he doesn’t bother getting back up either. He’s so warm and comfortable like this, the other’s arms wrapped around him loosely. His own eye threatens to fall shut. Maybe they both haven’t been getting enough sleep lately, maybe everything else can wait for now.
He shuffles a little, pushing himself further against Olruggio as if trying to meld them together, nestling tighter into his embrace. Above him, Olruggio has already begun snoring, his chest rising and falling with each breath and Qifrey simply lays there, content, listening to his partner’s gentle heartbeat until sleep claims him too.