Work Text:
It had been a while since Grace had to monitor Simon. A few months ago, he helped the man get back on his feet and recover from… the black box? The blood ocean? He never pressed for exacts and Simon recovered easily enough that it wasn't an issue.
But now there was an issue.
It was a moderately slow morning for him. He was lazily glancing over his lesson plans for his eridians, already leaving his seat when Armando swiveled in close proximity. Grace side-stepped the android and grabbed his notepad. "Hey, not so quick or I'll run into you next time."
"Alert regarding the health of-" In a lower pitch, "Simon."
Grace froze, the plans to get his shoes on suddenly vanishing from his mind. His eyes traced around before he demanded, "Don't leave me hanging. Give me a report or something."
"Simon," it said in that weird tone it always did, "Has a temperature elevated by 1.3."
The man exhaled, shaking his head as he put on his boots. "Human temperatures are allowed to fluctuate a bit." In the back of his mind, he felt like he was informing a student why they could work at a 'fever' of 99.2. He casually raised an eyebrow at Armando, as if it could see him in the same way. "Why are you reporting this- does he typically run warm? Does he have other symptoms?"
"Unknown information."
He returned his attention to tying his shoes. "What temperature did he jump up from?"
"310.3."
Oh crap. "In Kelvin?! I don't even know Celsius!" He sprang to his feet and grabbed his coat. "Look, I love SI units, but you know I'm a stupid American-" The last few words were mumbled in a furious attempt to put his stubborn coat on, his elbow somehow struggling to bend at the right angle. When he finally got it on, he spat out, "Get me Fahrenheit conversions!"
"One moment, please stand b- Information ready!"
He stared at Armando, his hands frantic, "Out with it!"
"Simon's temperature jumped by 2.2 degrees Fahrenheit. His average temperature recording is 98.9 degrees Fahrenheit."
While Grace felt like Armando was repeating the unit as salt in the American wound, he prioritized doing the math and, "Okay, okay-" This was fine! If he could save Earth and the sun, he could totally do some basic first aid for a guy just a bit above a fever, right?
Right?!
His head darted around as he tapped his pockets, welp- either he had everything or he didn't! He ran out the door, yelling towards his home, "Thanks, Armando. I'll be back!" The door slammed behind him and his boots clashed against the gravel, small pebbles flying out as he made his way to the house in the distance. (Dammit, why did he give Simon personal space instead of making them neighbors?!)
Look, everything was fine. When he was finally in front of Simon's doorstep, he took a long, even breath. Okay, cool, now or never. He knocked three times on the door and waited. And waited.
Perhaps there was a social courtesy rule for how long to wait, but he took it upon himself to knock again, repeating the pattern and daring to call out, "Simon? It's me." He wanted to be helpful, "Ryland- Dr. Ryland Grace. I'm coming by to check in."
Did he sound desperate? He hoped he didn't, but no matter what he thought, he kept waiting by the door for something to happen. Grace ran his hand along the doorknob- no, he couldn't just enter.
(Simon was unresponsive because he tripped hours ago. His head collided with the sharp edge of a counter as he fell, leaving his skull to bleed while he was unconscious-)
Grace held onto the doorknob, his face soured with a mix of reluctance and guilt. The metal was cold along his fingertips as he stood there.
Well… Simon never said he couldn't let himself in. It had been long enough without a response anyway.
His hand slowly turned along the doorknob, gliding as he opened the door. He waited there, potentially for a reprimand. But of course, there was only quietness from the house once more, so he finally pushed open the door with a long, creaky sound coming after it. Creaky enough to belong in a horror movie.
"Haha, such a funny universe…" The rest of the muttered quip went dry on his tongue. He settled for continuing to move forward, the metal softly clicking behind him as he squinted in the low light of the home. The house was decently organized- or perhaps Grace just had very low standards, considering his always messy and active workspace.
He followed the building's schematic in his mind and reached the room designated as the bedroom. The door was ajar, so Grace barely hesitated before he knocked it open, peeking his head in to see Simon lying on the bed.
His shoulders dropped. A good sign.
He silently crept into the room, keeping a slightly respectful distance and unrelenting eyes to at least observe that Simon's chest was still rising and falling. His breathing seemed normal, perhaps a hint of congestion behind the exhales, but he was resting soundly. His black hair was messily spread across his forehead and the pillows, while on the other hand, the blanket was only covering half of his body, leaving one of his legs and some of his torso to be comforted only by the empty air.
It seemed ironic that as soon as he noticed the exposed areas, Simon started shivering. A faint tremor, causing the man to shift in bed with vague discomfort written on his face.
The poor thing. Grace didn't hesitate to go into the nearby kitchen and pour a glass of cool water. He made his way back into the bedroom, ready to wake the man as he put the cup on the bedside. "Simon?"
His voice was barely above a whisper. He waited a few moments before trying again, at a volume level resembling most conversations, "Simon?"
Only gentle and caring, his fingers brushed aside the strands of hair stuck in Simon's face, noting the warmth hovering on top of the man's skin. "Hey, Simon. You need to wake up." If not for the water, then at least a chance to record the other symptoms.
Simon made a small sound, his eyes barely opening. He slurred out, "An angel?"
Oh- ahaha, Grace certainly hoped his companion was in good enough health to avoid an early trip to the heavens. He swallowed thickly, an awkward laugh almost bubbling out of his throat. "No."
Simon shifted in the bed, but only a cough managed to tumble out of his weakened body. It at least sounded surface level, which was suitable for an illness beginning to start. Grace took it upon himself to get the water on the bedside and pass it to the man. Simon easily grabbed it and downed the entire thing, even choking towards the end of it.
"Easy there, go slow." Grace rubbed his back. "I can get more water for you."
Simon's onyx eyes hazily found his savior. "I…" His voice was still rough, Grace wondered if it hurt to speak. "I want you."
Grace blinked. "I can stay." He accepted the empty glass. "Are you hungry?"
"Mnhh." Simon was half-asleep again, not even looking at him. Perhaps it was a general fatigue or brain fog, but it didn't make it any easier to witness. He made a note to ask some of the scientist eridians how far they had developed the synthesis of acetaminophen.
But for the time being, he just claimed, "I'll whip up something easy to eat. I'll be back soon, okay? Get some rest." He moved a step away, just for Simon's hand to catch along his sleeve.
"No," the man hoarsely requested. "You're… supposed to stay."
Grace hesitated, his gaze switching between Simon's grip on his coat and the way the man looked at him. It wasn't how they would typically see each other; Simon's dim eyes were lost and locked onto Grace like the teacher was all he had left.
So Grace couldn't help it as some of his resolve crumbled. "I'll be back before you know it."
Simon opened his mouth to speak again, just for another cough to burn through his lungs and throat. Despite the intrusion, his grip tightened on Grace's sleeve.
Grace sighed and at least moved closer. "It'll help to sit up. C'mon, lean-" He adjusted the pillows, mostly having to move Simon's body to get decent progress in helping him prop his head up. "There, that will help a-" Simon pulled at the front of his shirt and tugged him onto the bed, forcing the man to admit an "Oumph-" as his chest collided with Simon's.
"Nmmmmn," Simon succinctly noted, holding Grace as close as he could and burying his head into Grace's nape. "Mine."
…So Simon was sick enough to confuse him with someone else. Okay. "Not right now," he soothed. "You need some food."
Simon whined, his hand forming a ball in the back of Grace's coat. "You'd be too far," he murmured. "Stay." Before Grace could even come up with how to object, the man quietly insisted, "Please."
After a moment of reflection, Grace dared to let Simon hold him. At least to pacify the man enough to answer: "Does anything hurt? Your head? Throat?"
He slowly shook his head. "Not now."
"But it did earlier?"
"Not… now that you're here."
Grace kept his lips pursed for a moment. "What do you mean by that?" Perhaps it was how his body was oriented; it likely could have provided pressure to remedy some pain?
Simon exhaled into his skin, his breath warm. "You make everything better."