Work Text:
Drastic situations required drastic measures. And it wasn't like Gwynn was sleeping, anyway. Her throat hurt, and the coughing fits wouldn't stop no matter how frantically she swallowed, and Ivor kept cracking the door open to check on her.
Before long, he'd probably come in and try to comfort her, like she was some child in need of soothing, and look at her with those big, sad eyes. And then she'd have to manage him, because he'd treat her like she was dying, and altogether overreact, so. Drastic measures.
Gwynn hauled herself out of bed, cracking open her curtains to let in some of the light from the streetlamp outside. And, picking up her pillows, she got to work.
Exerting herself did make the cough worse, but it was worth it when a particularly vicious fit had Ivor opening the door and then... pausing. "Um, Gwynn?"
She sighed, safe within the covered structure of blankets and pillows she'd engineered. She'd even made the entrance too small for him to get through, then covered it with a sheet. He wouldn't dare risk bringing the whole thing down on top of her.
Everything was nearly perfect, except that she was still sick, and her throat was still badly irritated, and she still had to cough. She swallowed hard, but it didn't help. Her throat itched insistently. She kept swallowing. The itch refused to abate.
"Gwynn?" Ivor whispered.
She buried her face in a blanket and started to cough, violent expulsions chafing her throat.
A click, and then a flood of yellow light through the cracks in her structure. Ivor must have turned on the hall light. "Gwynn?"
"What?" she snapped, glaring in the direction of his voice.
"Are you alright?"
Gwynn sighed from the depths of her soul, adjusting her comforter beneath her. A range of childhood stuffed animals made jumbled shapes in the small nest of blankets. She picked up a plush Substitute doll and held it to her chest. "I'm sick. I'm going to cough. It doesn't mean I'm dying."
"I didn't say you were dying," Ivor said, and then let out a breath like he was trying not to yawn.
"Go to bed," Gwynn said quickly.
Ivor ignored her, his knees hitting the ground with the muffled thud of bone on carpet. "Can I come in?"
Gwynn bristled, pressing the Substitute doll to her chest. "Only if you know the password."
"What's the password?" Ivor asked with a huff that might have been a laugh.
"If you don't know it, you can't come in," Gwynn said. She had to stifle a cough into the back of her hand after speaking. If only she'd thought to sneak the cough drops out of the kitchen before retreating to her bedroom. Or even a glass of water, really. Anything to soothe the vicious dry sting in her throat.
Ivor yawned again.
Gwynn squinted preemptively and turned on her phone, which promptly blasted her in the face with the light from its display. A little after 3:00 in the morning. "Go to bed, dummy."
Ivor ignored her. "Do you need anything? I think we still have cough syrup, but if we don't, I can run out—"
"I don't want you to do that," Gwynn said flatly, because Ivor had a special psychic barrier that repelled all forms of subtlety. "I want you to go to bed and leave me alone."
"Gwynn." Ivor sighed, which was followed by several muffled thumps. With an effort, Gwynn rolled forward and peeked out of the entrance and found him flat on his back in the hall, his knees bent and his hands over his eyes. "I don't want you to just sit there miserable all night."
"I won't," Gwynn said flatly. If he was running out of patience, well, good. This was a torment of his own making.
For a long moment, there was only silence. Gwynn closed her eyes, but the itch in her throat refused to abate, keeping her from sleep.
"It sounds like you're sitting there miserable," Ivor said finally.
Gwynn rolled her eyes. "So are you."
"You're right!" Ivor said. That, of all things, had gotten through to him? "Don't move." His footsteps took off down the hall.
Don't move. Right. As if there was anywhere to go. Gwynn let the Substitute doll go and rolled over. Breathing through her nose made her sinuses itch. Breathing through her mouth made her throat burn. No matter how tired she was, no matter how much her eyes ached and her head spun, the discomfort just kept dragging her back to wakefulness. That, and the knowledge that Ivor was up to something. He never listened! Why couldn't he just let it go?
Ivor never walked quietly, even when he was trying, so it wasn't a surprise when he showed up at her door again. But the sound of his knees hitting the floor again came with a violent stab of light from the hall— he'd lifted the blanket to reveal the entrance to Gwynn's cave. "Delivery?" he said tentatively, like he was afraid she might throw something at him.
"Ugghh..." With a few more inarticulate sounds, Gwynn used her foot to clear the plushies from a patch of carpet, withdrawing when Ivor reached into help.
"There's no password for couriers?" Ivor asked.
Gwynn just glared at him until he retreated.
In the new space, Ivor first slid in a cup and saucer, which spilled steam upward in a great cascade. Gwynn tried not to pounce on it. It would have been better if Ivor had just left her alone, but at least he'd made himself useful. Still, better not to prove him right. She held rigidly still, her hands curled into fists. Next came a box of throat lozenges, half-empty from the last time one of them had gotten sick. Then one of Ivor's horrible, dense protein bars, and a bag of gummy worms from the stash Ivor wasn't supposed to know about. After that, a glass of water and a brand new box of painkillers.
"I could have gotten all this myself," Gwynn said, refusing to feel too grateful. Yes, she'd wanted it, but she hadn't asked for it, and that was the key distinction. Ivor had just assumed, just forced it so she needed him. She wouldn't thank him for that.
"You shouldn't have to," Ivor said. "I'm right here."
"Well, I didn't need your help."
Ivor sighed. "Will you at least take something for your throat? I can't sleep when you're coughing like that."
So that's what this had all been about? Gwynn scoffed. "You couldn't have put on some music?"
"No, I mean— That's not what I meant." Ivor sighed again, some part of him hitting the wall or floor with a heavy thump. "I don't like to know you're suffering."
Right. Because she was small and tiny and helpless and needed big brother to come save her. Gwynn glared at the teacup, the itch in her throat flaring. Before she could change her mind, she picked up the teacup and took a sip. Honey melted over her tongue, the smooth heat immediately soothing away the violent prickle at the back of her mouth. Fatigue bloomed through her a moment later. "You checked all the boxes," she said, sleepy and heavy. "I'll take something. Go to sleep."
"You will?" Ivor said, suddenly sounding just as exhausted as Gwynn felt, or maybe he'd sounded that weary the whole time and she was only just now noticing.
"Mm-hm."
"Alright." A brief scrabbling sound, and then the hallway light clicked off. "Is there any chance you'll tell me the password?"
"Don't push it."
"Understood. Good night, Gwynn. Feel better soon."
Gwynn didn't answer.