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Leon toes off his shoes and hangs his keys and jacket by the door, muffling a jaw-cracking yawn into his fist. God, he misses the days where he could stay up this late and hardly feel it. Catching up with Sherry was well worth the late hour, though. As he makes his way through the house, planning to go straight to bed, he picks up on a familiar sound against the background noise of the TV. He stops, pinches the bridge of his nose, and lets out a long breath as he switches direction to the living room instead.
That’s where he finds the source of the noise. Chris breathes through his open mouth, snoring loud enough to wake the dead as he slumbers away on the couch. A black and white knit blanket—a housewarming gift from Claire years ago—is wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl while another blanket is tucked around his legs. Sitting but slumped over, his chin digs into his sternum in a way that looks painful.
Leon sighs and murmurs, “I told you not to wait up for me,” despite knowing Chris can’t hear him. Between the lamp in the corner and the TV screen, there’s plenty of light for Leon to pick a careful path through the scattered crumpled tissues that didn’t quite make it into the wastebasket. Once he reaches the couch, he sits down next to Chris and takes a moment to look him over. His snoring is worse than normal, probably due to the congestion in his sinuses, and his nose is red and irritated. It’s hard to tell in the rapidly changing light from the TV, but Leon doesn’t think he’s any paler than he’s been looking all day.
“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Leon teases with a hand on Chris’s shoulder. A gentle shake is enough to rouse him, bleary eyes squinting in the light. Chris opens his mouth to speak, but the sound that comes out barely qualifies as his voice, little more than a low, rasping croak that breaks off into a slew of coughs. Leon waits it out patiently, mindlessly rubbing circles into Chris’s shoulder blade and scolding without any real irritation, “You should be in bed.”
Chris clears his throat and shakes his head, meeting Leon’s eyes with a sheepish grin. “Wasn’t gonna go to bed without you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Too cold. Missed you.” He leans into Leon’s warmth gratefully, practically nuzzling against his neck.
“Yeah, alright, I don’t need to get sick too,” Leon scolds playfully. Still, he doesn’t make a move to push Chris away and even settles in a little himself, fighting off another yawn. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed. And you’re not sleeping out here any longer. You know it messes up your back,” Leon says.
Chris huffs, but it’s a muscle memory response; he’s already feeling the adverse effects from his impromptu nap and their quality mattress sounds like heaven right now. With a groan, he drags himself to his feet, letting the blankets fall off him. Leon catches his elbow to steady him when he gets dizzy, vision spotting for a few seconds. “’M fine, stood up too fast,” he mutters half-heartedly.
Leon just chuckles and shakes his head, turning off the TV as they leave the room. “Whatever you say, big guy,” he replies, hovering close by, just in case.
They both change into sleep shorts and old t-shirts. Chris collapses into bed as soon as he’s dressed, groaning in pure bliss as his back sinks into the bed. “This was such a good investment,” he sighs, eyes closed.
“We’re old men now, we need it,” Leon calls from the open bathroom. Chris hears him brush his teeth and piss before the light abruptly disappears past his eyelids. Light footsteps pad their way to the other side of the bed, Leon’s phone gets placed on the nightstand to charge, and he finally joins Chris, pulling the covers over both of them.
Leon curls up against Chris’s side, placing his hand on his chest and letting it rise and fall with the man’s breaths. Chris wraps an arm around Leon in return, fingers tangling automatically in the hair at the nape of his neck. In the quiet darkness, there’s a peacefulness they’re still growing used to.
“I love you,” Leon whispers, but Chris is already asleep, snoring quietly. Leon huffs a soft laugh to himself and closes his eyes, relaxing completely in their little bubble of domesticity.
He feels like he’s blinking awake seconds later, Chris’s movements jarring him from sleep. Coughing, Chris slips out from under Leon’s hand to sit up. Leon flicks on the lamp on his nightstand, squinting in the light, and gets up to get a glass of water from the kitchen. When he comes back, Chris is blowing his nose and still coughing here and there. He accepts the water with a grateful nod and Leon crosses the foot of the bed to sit on his side once more.
“You need anything else, babe?” Leon asks, soothing Chris with slow strokes up and down his back.
Chris shakes his head. “It’s just a cold. It’ll go away on its own.” He drains the entire glass in a few sips, clears his throat, and starts to settle back into bed.
Leon turns the lamp off with a frown, saying, “That doesn’t mean you can’t treat it. You’ve been sick for, what, almost two weeks now?”
“I barely even know what day it is, Leon.”
“That’s not helping your case.”
“Look,” Chris sighs, “I used to get sick all the time as a kid; you can ask Claire. After I had my tonsils taken out, it got a lot better, but nowadays, if I do get sick, it’s pretty rough. It’s just a really shitty cold, but it’ll pass. I promise.” His tired smile doesn’t quite inspire confidence in Leon, but he supposes Chris knows his immune system best.
“Okay,” Leon acquiesces hesitantly. “If you say so.” The two of them get comfortable again, this time on their sides, Leon’s arm holding Chris’s back flush against his own chest. He can feel Chris lean back into him as he relaxes; they don’t lie like this often, which makes it that much more rewarding when Chris melts into Leon’s grasp without hesitation.
Chris dozes off again quickly, but Leon is kept awake by an unfortunately familiar buzzing in his veins, fingers twitching at nothing. The restlessness stems from the anxiety of helplessness, a feeling he’s been trying to avoid since Raccoon City. For all his training, knowledge, and experience, he can’t keep his husband from getting sick. He knows it’s not a big deal—he’s not spiraling, not yet—but he wishes he could do more, and it frustrates him to no end that he can’t. And sure, he might be a little paranoid about viruses in general at this point, but who could blame him?
Chris can handle the common cold, Leon reminds himself, closing his eyes and forcing his muscles to relax. Normal people survive having colds. Normal people get sick sometimes and that’s fine. They’re fine. He’s fine. Everything’s fine.
…
The next morning, Chris has a fever.
“Babe, it’s a hundred and one point two fever. It’s fine. I’m fine. I can handle getting up—”
“A doctor’s visit isn’t gonna hurt anything. Or what about Rebecca? We could call Rebecca—”
“I don’t need to see anyone, Leon. This is my body doing what it’s supposed to—” Chris gets cut off by his own wheezing coughs, a different sound than the day before. They drag out long enough to rattle in his chest, which is the part that’s really freaking Leon out.
“I’m pretty sure your body’s not supposed to sound like that,” Leon snarks, but despite the argument, he’s at Chris’s side on the edge of the bed, supporting his back with one hand while his other holds the thermometer that started the whole thing. “Would you at least consider taking the damn Tylenol?”
Trying and failing to stifle the tickle in his throat that won’t leave him alone, Chris shakes his head. “Don’t need to,” he chokes out stubbornly. He swallows painfully, struggling to keep from coughing even more. He’d ask Leon to pass him the glass of water from the night before, but he’s too busy scrutinizing Leon’s words to tell if he’s genuinely angry with him or not. His breath catches in his throat, setting him off anew, and he’s too busy hacking into his arm to see Leon’s expression change from fury to worry in seconds flat.
“Jesus, hun, breathe.” Leon’s voice abruptly changes tone as Chris goes longer and longer without a proper inhale. He reaches out to Leon, closing his hand around air like he wants something, so Leon hands him his water only for Chris to shove it back towards him. “Babe, I don’t know what you need,” Leon frets. The only other new thing taking residence on Chris’s nightstand is a half-empty box of tissues. As soon as one is in Chris’s hand, he brings it to his face and spits, gags, and spits again.
Exhausted, Chris drops back down onto his pillows with his eyes closed, catching his breath loudly through his mouth. Leon spots tear streaks running down his face from his eyes watering, but his gaze quickly focuses on the crumpled tissue still clenched in one fist. Looking closer, he notices a faint reddish streak in the yellow-green phlegm Chris spat up. “Chris?” Leon asks in a small voice. “I think you should see this.”
Craning his neck, Chris squints at the tissue until he sees the reason for concern. “Oh,” he breathes weakly. His head falls back as he wheezes unsteadily. “Yeah, okay.”
“Jesus Christ,” Leon swears aloud, snapping into action. It takes about fifteen minutes to get both of them dressed—and Chris extra bundled up for the brisk winter weather—and into the car with a travel pack of tissues and bottled water. Chris coughs off and on while Leon drives a little faster than usual. By sheer luck, they were able to get an appointment that morning due to a last-minute cancellation, but it’s a short window to make it in time.
Chris goes through a physical examination and a barrage of questions, answers honestly about his smoking even though he’d rather not. He’s cut down a lot since retiring from fieldwork, but he still smokes on rough nights, after nightmares or when his PTSD gets the better of him. Leon never once shamed him for it, having his own ongoing battle with alcohol. They run a few tests to rule things out, then they’re stuck waiting for a brief period. Throughout the whole appointment, Leon’s there at his side up until they finally get a diagnosis.
Viral bronchitis, which means no antibiotics; or in other words, the infection just has to run its course and the best they can do is treat the symptoms in the meantime. It’s not what they want to hear, but it’s an answer nonetheless. They’re told to watch for any more blood, but small amounts aren’t uncommon. The only thing the doctor prescribes is a corticosteroid to help with the inflammation, likely more severe due to Chris’s history of smoking.
Leon stops by a pharmacy before they go back home to pick up the prescription, some over-the-counter cough suppressants, and anything else he thinks could be useful. Chris rolls his eyes fondly at the size of the bag he walks out with, his smile breaking through when Leon gets in the car with a proud look to show off what he bought. When they get home, Leon wastes no time getting Chris settled on the couch with medication, water bottles, and tissues all within arms’ reach. Chris barely has the chance to thank him before he’s running off into the kitchen to make them chicken noodle soup for lunch.
After that, they pass the time watching movies, dozing off and on throughout the afternoon. If Chris needs anything at all, Leon’s on it. He tries to keep an optimistic face, but Chris can sense the anxiety welling beneath the surface. If he wasn’t so spent from being sick, he’d sit and hold Leon, run his hands over his body and through his hair until he was too relaxed to hold his own head up, something that usually helps settle both of them. It works out really well that Chris is a very tactile person and Leon is best grounded by physical touch. This time, however, Chris isn’t in much of a position to be taking care of Leon.
As Chris tosses another phlegm-coated tissue into the trash, Leon adjusts his position so Chris can lean back into his side comfortably as he catches his breath. When he scratches his nails lightly against the back of Chris’s neck, he feels the satisfied hum it produces, interrupted by another fit of harsh coughs. All Leon can do is talk Chris through it, murmuring words of comfort while he holds him. The good news is that he’s coughing up all the stuff making him sick. The bad news is, well, there’s a considerable amount of stuff to cough up.
“You wanna try to get some sleep?” Leon asks as Chris sighs tiredly into his shoulder.
“Don’t think I can,” Chris rasps. “Can’t keep from—“cough, cough”—coughing for long enough.” He looks and sounds exhausted, more worn out than Leon’s seen him in a while. It makes his heart clench in sympathy. He runs his fingers past Chris’s temple, through the grey streaks coming in along the sides. Some of the tension bleeds out from Chris’s expression, coming as close to content as he can manage for the time being.
“We could try that cough suppressant I got,” Leon suggests, continuing his delicate touches along Chris’s scalp. “Or I could get the shower going, make us our own little sauna for you to breathe in some steam for a bit.”
Chris whines, pressing his face further into Leon, “I refuse to stand any longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Leon chuckles. “It could be a hot bath instead. Might help you relax too.” He’s all too aware of the tense way Chris has been holding himself, probably from the sore muscles in his ribs. Every spasm of coughs leaves him leaning more and more of his weight into Leon’s side.
Chris grunts in acknowledgement but makes no move to get up. It takes a little bit of encouragement on Leon’s part to convince him to at least try the idea, then he has to forcefully detach himself from Chris so he can start running the water. Chris drags his feet when Leon calls for him, bringing his tissues and water with him.
Leaning against the open doorframe, Chris is hit with the wall of warmth emanating from their sunken bathtub. Leon crouches on the top step, bent over to check the water’s temperature one more time. Deeming it appropriate, he beckons Chris over.
He takes the tissues and water so Chris can strip, settling them off to the side. When Chris steps up towards him, he has an uncomfortable look on his face, something akin to shyness. Leon can’t tell if his cheeks are reddening from the heat or this uncharacteristic hesitance. “Babe? You alright?”
“Are you…not joining me?”
Leon’s concerned frown drops away, replaced by a fond look reserved only for Chris. “I can if you want me to.” When Chris just nods, Leon quickly makes a pile of his clothes next to Chris’s and steps back up to the tub. Chris still hasn’t moved, so Leon climbs in first, lowering himself slowly into the near-scalding water with a hiss. It only takes a few moments for him to adjust to the temperature, letting the heat seep all the way to his bones. With his arms along the edges of the tub, he motions for Chris to get in with a tilt of his head.
Moving delicately for a man of his size, Chris gets in just as carefully, settling back against Leon’s chest with his legs extended as far as they can go. Both pairs of knees poke up out of the water, but the cool air on their exposed skin balances out the steamy temperature nicely.
Leon smiles softly as Chris sinks against him with enough weight to press him backwards into the wall of the tub. Chris groans lowly, relaxing his muscles gradually. His head lolls into the crook of Leon’s neck, as loose and lax as the rest of his body, his breaths passing over the hollow of Leon’s throat. “Mmm,” Chris hums, and Leon feels the vibrations buzz pleasantly through his own skin. “’S good. Really nice.”
“Certainly doesn’t hurt anything,” Leon murmurs, pressing his lips to Chris’s forehead and wrapping his arms around his waist. His eyes slip shut of their own accord and he exhales heavily. They sit in silence for a few minutes longer, floating between sleep and wakefulness as their breaths grow deeper, unconsciously mirroring each other. They drift for so long that it startles both of them when Chris twitches forward by his chest, a poorly stifled cough forcing its way out.
Leon sighs, one hand coming up through the water to rub circles into Chris’s sternum, “I know it sucks, sweetheart, but you gotta let it out.” Chris groans straight into a long coughing fit, one that doesn’t seem to let up for more than a minute at a time before starting up again. Leon notices Chris wrapping his own arm around his ribs like he’s in pain and winces in sympathy. All he can do is let Chris lean back against him to catch his breath when he can, trying to provide what little comfort he can offer, whether through his words or his touch.
At some point, it gets noticeably worse, Chris coughing so hard he nearly knees himself in the face as he bends double from the forcefulness of the movement. Leon can feel the harsh sounds vibrating through his back, rattling Chris’s frame like nothing he’s ever seen before. Once he starts gagging, Leon slips out of the tub from behind him to grab the trash can, pushing it into Chris’s hands to catch the saliva and phlegm he’s convulsively spitting up. Crouched on the top steps and dripping wet, Leon puts his hands on Chris’s shoulders out of desperation more than anything. Feeling him shake under his own two hands doesn’t make him feel any better, but it’s better than doing nothing.
When Chris finally, finally stops coughing, Leon takes away the trash can and tucks his husband’s head into the crook of his neck without a word. At that angle, he can hear the weak, pained sounds following each breath as Chris all but crumples against him. They don’t speak; Chris doesn’t have the capacity to and Leon can’t get anything out past the lump in his throat.
He pulls the plug after a few minutes of that, unable to listen to Chris’s wheezing any longer. Chris is shaky and unsteady when he helps him out of the tub and gets him dried off. Leon walks him to their bed, not entirely convinced that Chris would make the trip by himself without stumbling into something. He even offers to help Chris get dressed, but is refused. After Leon cleans up their mess in the bathroom, he returns to find Chris in the process of pulling up sweatpants over his boxers, a wrinkled t-shirt already covering his chest. As soon as the elastic waistband is over his hips, Chris falls back onto the mattress, coughing weakly.
Also dressed, Leon sits on the edge of the bed next to his husband, looking him over. Still exhausted, still paler than he should be; not any worse, but certainly not better either. “You think you could eat something before you sleep? About time for dinner,” Leon says, swallowing hard and hoping his voice doesn’t waver. Chris shakes his head, chest heaving to catch up. “Can you—” Chris clears his throat and rasps, “I’ll take the cough syrup now, if you—”
“Yeah, of course,” Leon answers quickly. “Be right back.” He gives Chris’s hand a reassuring squeeze before he disappears to get the medicine from the kitchen counter where he’d left it earlier. He brings back the water and tissues as well to find Chris slowly tucking himself in on his side of the bed. His movements are lethargic, painstakingly deliberate like he can’t afford to waste his energy on a misstep. Leon dumps the supplies haphazardly on the nightstand when he sees Chris struggling to get the corner of the comforter free from where it’s tucked around the mattress.
“You know, you really don’t have to make the bed every morning, especially when you’re sick,” Leon says teasingly. It comes out softer than intended; Chris just gives up once he realizes Leon’s there, allowing him to arrange the covers as Chris’s eyelids droop.
“I know,” Chris whispers hoarsely. Even those two words are enough to bring on a brief spasm of fast-paced coughs. Leon strokes his hair through it, subtly laying the inside of his wrist over Chris’s forehead as he comes down.
“Hey, don’t talk for a bit. Give your throat a rest.” Leon’s hand comes down to prod at Chris’s lymph nodes under his jaw and he finds them swollen and warm. “I think the hot water made your temperature worse. How bad does your throat hurt, from one to ten?” Chris furrows his eyebrows and considers for a moment, then holds up one hand with an open palm. He looks like he can barely keep his eyes open and his hand falls flat on the bed seconds later.
“Don’t fall asleep just yet, babe. I brought that cough stuff for you to take. Then you can sleep as long as you need.” Leon pours the medication into the tiny plastic cup and is surprised when Chris doesn’t reach for it, instead allowing Leon to tip it back for him. He coughs a few times, probably from the awful taste, but soon settles comfortably with his eyes closed.
Leon watches him sleep, keeping a silent vigil with only his thoughts to keep him company.
…
Chris comes to feeling groggy and disoriented, blinking in the darkness. In addition to the pressure in his chest that he’s become quite familiar with, there’s something heavy pinning down his hips and his wrists, someone else’s legs entangled with his own—
“Chris? You with me?”
“Ge’off,” he wheezes urgently. Leon doesn’t budge, and the thought crosses Chris’s mind that they’ve been in this position before when one of them gets too wrapped up in a nightmare and starts thrashing around. But he doesn’t remember any nightmares, doesn’t even remember dreaming. All he knows is that whatever his body was doing in his sleep didn’t do his illness any favors and he’d rather not cough all over his husband and infect him too.
“Are you sure you’re—” Leon must see something in his expression that clues him in, cutting himself off in order to pull Chris upright by his armpits so they’re chest-to-chest, Leon still perched in Chris’s lap.
Chris directs his coughing over Leon’s shoulder as best he can, but he can’t keep from curling into himself as he goes longer and longer without a full breath. Leon tries to force him back up, but it’s a losing battle. Eventually, he settles for Chris’s forehead pressing into his collarbone so he’s facing down, anything he coughs up aimed at their laps.
Thankfully, he doesn’t cough up enough to start gagging like he has been—probably been laying down for so long that all the mucus and shit settled too deeply in his lungs. But God, did it fucking hurt. He’s still reeling from the pain and breathlessness when Leon tries to lay him down. He blames the fever and nightmare and everything else making him feel miserable on the pitiful sound he makes, a soft, barely there sob deep in his throat. Of course, Leon hears it and freezes, giving Chris the perfect opportunity to shove his face into his husband’s chest.
Leon’s hand stutters into motion along Chris’s spine, trailing up and down his back with his fingertips. With his other hand, he holds Chris closer, adjusting his head so Chris doesn’t have to break his neck to duck under it. “You’re okay, baby. You’re alright, just a nightmare. I’ve got you. You’re safe here, I promise.”
Chris shudders, expelling anxious energy he didn’t realize he had. Leon coaxes a deep breath out of him, then another, and another until he’s nearly falling asleep in his arms. When Leon shifts them, he raises his head blearily, unable to make out Leon’s features in the dark. “What happened?” he rasps, barely audible.
Leon answers a question with a question. “Can I lay you back down?” When Chris nods, Leon carefully lowers him to the mattress, then climbs off of him to sit at his side. He combs his fingers through Chris’s hair, making it even harder for him to stay awake, as he explains, “You keep having nightmares, but you’re not really coherent when I wake you up. That’s the first time all night you’ve recognized me.”
Chris forces his eyes open a little longer to whisper, “Sorry.” With his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark, he can make out the sad smile that creases Leon’s face, the deep shadows under his eyes. “No need. I’m just worried your fever’s gone up. You mind if I check?”
“’S fine.” Chris can’t make his mouth move correctly through the haze settling over him like a fog, his words coming out in a jumble of sounds rather than words. He feels the mattress shift as Leon’s weight disappears and he floats, barely awake, until the weight returns. “Open up.” The thermometer sits uncomfortably under his tongue until Leon pulls it back out and makes a disapproving sound. Eyes closed, Chris murmurs a soft, “Sorry,” without really thinking about it.
Leon laughs quietly, returning his hand to card those thin fingers through Chris’s hair. “It’s not your fault you’re sick, idiot. Stop apologizing.”
Chris barely keeps from repeating himself a third time on instinct. He shifts, trying to lie on his side, but the movement kicks up the shit in his airways, or maybe it’s the change in gravity’s pull. Either way, when he starts coughing hard enough that it feels like his ribcage is shaking, familiar arms drag him up so he doesn’t choke. His spine presses back into a warm body, but he can’t focus on Leon’s reassuring tone in his ear. The pain takes over most of his thought processing abilities, makes his eyes water and his temples throb in time with his heartbeat. It drags on for what feels like hours but must only be minutes, maybe even seconds.
Catching his breath afterwards is just as bad; he can hear the high-pitched wheeze accompanying each gasp and it feels like his lungs are scraping against his ribs. Leon’s voice breaks off suddenly, his forehead pressed against the back of Chris’s head. Leaning most of his weight back into Leon, he can’t tell if he’s the only one shaking anymore.
It feels like Chris blinks and he’s lying down once more, Leon’s concerned expression staring down at him. A damp washcloth is passed over his face, wiping away tears, saliva, and sweat. His head pounds distantly, like there’s a layer of cotton separating his brain from his skull. Leon’s voice drifts over him, saying, “Just get some more rest, babe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He drifts away with Leon’s words.
…
Waking up is slower this time. His body aches, from his joints to his head, but the worst is his chest and throat. He’s barely blinking awake when his breath catches and he coughs, taking him by surprise. It sends sharp, stabbing pains into his chest, but it’s over quickly. Chris groans, peeling open his eyelids to realize it’s late morning and Leon isn’t in bed with him. He doesn’t even hear footsteps from the rest of the house. Turning over to Leon’s side of the bed, he finds a sticky note on the pillow.
DSO called me in as an expert for an emergency debrief. Plaga might be back into play. Don’t know when I’ll get back. Meds are on the nightstand with water, heating pad, and breakfast. I love you and I hope you’re feeling better.
A little heart accompanies his signature at the bottom and, despite the situation, Chris smiles. It’s just like his husband to make sure his needs are met, even if he’s not physically present.
Turning over to the opposite side of the bed, Chris finds everything Leon promised and more on the nightstand. Breakfast consists of orange juice, coffee that’s only a little cold, a granola bar, and a banana. There’s even a small pocketknife next to the banana, as if Leon wasn’t sure if Chris would be well enough to peel it himself. It’s endearing, if a little insulting to his strength.
The cough syrup and his prescribed steroids are there, as well as some over the counter painkillers and cough drops. The promised heating pad is plugged into the adjacent wall and off, but there if he needs it. With a frown, he notices the TV remote from the living room is there as well, and when he looks around the room, he realizes that Leon went so far as to bring the TV set from the living room all the way to the bedroom so that Chris could keep himself entertained.
It's almost too much for Chris’s sentimental side to handle.
After he takes his pills, hoping they’ll help with the fogginess in his head, he sends Leon a text to confirm he got his message, as well as to thank him in no shortage of words. He thinks it’s sappier than either of them tends to be most of the time, but to be fair, Chris isn’t down and out like this most of the time. If anything, he was used to being Leon’s caretaker, what with the man’s self-sacrificial tendencies and slighter frame getting him into trouble more often than not. Since retiring from fieldwork, caretaking involved managing chronic pains and old injuries, shit that was finally catching up to them. This was…different.
The morning passes slowly. Chris feels almost delirious, a permanent fatigue in his body and a cloudy sense of reality taking up residence in his brain. His awareness of time comes and goes, unable to even focus on the TV for long enough to follow the plot. Even with his recent dose of medications, there’s a heavy weight on his chest and a hitch to his breathing that has him coughing frequently, although in shorter spurts than the day before. He drifts in and out of restless sleep, waking up often in a cold sweat or tangled in the blankets. He feels worse as the day goes on without word from Leon. Maybe if he can just get some more sleep…
…
Yawning, Leon is struck with a sense of déjà vu as he shrugs off his leather jacket and leaves his boots at the door before beelining for the bedroom. The light from the TV illuminates the vaguely human-shaped lump of blankets and pillows on the bed. Leon spots the messy head of dark brown hair, some strands sticking straight up, but his face is covered by—
“Have you been hoarding my favorite hoodie in our own bed this whole time?” Leon sits on the blankets cautiously, guessing where his husband’s limbs may or may not be. Chris’s answering grumble doesn’t make it beyond the fabric pulled up past his mouth, squinting at Leon like a disgruntled cat woken from its nap. Leon’s smirk softens. “Is it helping?”
Chris nods, face pressed into the hoodie in question, and Leon can see the blush creeping up his cheeks as his eyes close. It still surprises—and enamors—him how bashful Chris can be when it comes to their relationship. It’s an entirely different side of the retired soldier that hardly anyone except Leon gets to witness for themselves.
He kisses Chris’s forehead, not so subtly checking his temperature as he lingers there, then pulls back and says, “I’m sorry I got back so late. Emergency debrief turned into a scientific discussion that I didn’t really belong in but no one let me leave until it was over.”
Chris frowns and pulls his phone out of somewhere within his nest of blankets to stare hard at the screen. He seems surprised to see how late it is, despite the fact that it’s been several hours since the sun set. “Didn’t even notice,” he rasps in a gravelly tone.
Leon frowns, not liking that answer or how it sounded. That’s when he notices the untouched food on the nightstand. All of it, the three different drinks and the two food items, both still unopened, look just the same as he left them this morning. His exhaustion—and concern—double. “Not hungry this morning?”
At that, Chris looks even more confused. “Oh. I…must’ve forgotten.” He looks ready to say more, but a brief coughing spell interrupts him. He looks small in the giant pile of blankets he’s wrapped himself in, some tossed aside by his feet but tucked up near his shoulders or vice versa, like he couldn’t reach a comfortable temperature. The reddish flush in his cheeks hasn’t gone away either. All signs point to…
Leon rests his head in his hands for a few breaths, drawing up whatever energy he has left after hardly sleeping the night before. Looks like it’ll be the same story tonight.
“Open.” They can’t even get a temperature reading the first time because Chris starts coughing again. Leon passes him the glass of water, the only cup that he thinks might have been touched, and Chris drinks like he’s been starving for it. “Jesus, hey, slow down!” Leon takes the glass away before Chris can make himself sick.
Chris whines at him, a hurt sound that makes Leon feel like he just kicked a fucking puppy or something. “Chris, babe, you haven’t drank anything all day. If you chug this, you’ll just throw it back up,” he tries to explain gently.
Glassy brown eyes stare back at him pleadingly and Leon deflates. “Let me check your temperature and then you can have another drink. Deal?” When Chris nods, they finally get the thermometer settled long enough for a reading. After Leon pulls it out, Chris slumps against his shoulder, taking him by surprise. He steadies him with one arm, holding the thermometer up to his face with the other.
“Fuck.”
Chris coughs a couple times trying to say something, presumably to ask what his temperature is. Leon takes a deep breath before he starts moving things with his free hand, still holding Chris with his other. “It’s almost a hundred and three. Which would explain why you’ve been so confused and sent me a text in gibberish this morning,” he trails off. He pinches the bridge of his nose and continues, “Fuck, I never should’ve left today. I should’ve gotten out of it somehow, I should’ve—”
His spiral of self-deprecation is interrupted by Chris jerking at his side. He turns to see Chris practically holding his breath to keep from coughing, but the twitch in his chest betrays him. The next one breaks his façade, a spasm of wet, hacking coughs set loose and out of control.
“Fuck, Chris—” Leon drops the pills back onto the nightstand in favor of steadying Chris with both hands, sitting at his side to support him better. It sounds like each cough is punched out of his lungs, wracking his frame with the force. He can hear the rattle in Chris’s chest at the end of his breaths, accompanied by pained, heaving gasps.
“C’mon, babe. Breathe, just calm down. You’re okay, I’m right here. It’s okay, you’re okay, I promise,” Leon says in a rush, panic bleeding into his voice despite his best attempts to cover it up. Chris leans harder against him, sounding acutely miserable, and all Leon can do is keep talking, keep his arms around him, keep waiting.
It ends suddenly, the coughing building up to a fever pitch until Chris retches abruptly, throwing up a thin line of bile and saliva that puddles on the topmost blanket. “Oh, honey,” Leon soothes, feeling Chris’s shoulders shake from something more than the illness. “It’s okay. I can clean it up, it’s fine.”
Chris shakes his head, hiding his face in Leon’s shoulder and getting all sorts of bodily fluids on Leon’s button-up. He doesn’t mind; he’s much more concerned about whatever Chris is trying to tell him through his gasps and sobs. It hurts enough to hear him breaking down like this, but he doesn’t even understand why. “Hey, I need you to calm down for me, sweetheart. Can you do that? Don’t talk, just try to breathe. Catch your breath. Take as long as you need.”
Immediately, Chris shakes his head harder, cries even harder. Leon shushes him again, but Chris is determined to get his point across, whatever it is. “’M s-sorr-orr-y.”
“Hun, I already told you. Don’t worry about it, I can clean it up. I just need you to calm down so we can try to make you feel better—”
“No! ‘M s-sick and i-it’s mak-ing you up-s-set!”
“Oh, Chris.” Leon presses his lips to Chris’s forehead, holds them there for a few seconds as he slowly rocks them together. He sighs and says, “Babe, I’m only upset because you feel miserable and I can’t fix it. I just want you to feel better. It’s not your fault that you’re sick. You hear me? It’s not your fault, baby.” Chris sobs louder at that and Leon holds him closer. “I know you think you have to have everything together all the time, but you don’t,” he whispers. “We’ve talked about this, remember? You don’t get to carry all that by yourself anymore. Not when I’m around.”
He's not sure how Chris’s guilt complex got triggered, but he knows well enough how to manage it. While Leon had entered their relationship aware of his emotional baggage, Chris had kept his own tucked away for years and years. Because of that, when it finally saw the light of day in Leon’s presence, it was a hell of an incident. Leon realized that Chris had a whole side of his personality he kept hidden away, compartmentalizing all the losses he’s experienced in a box that burst open under enough pressure. It’s something they’re aware of now, that Chris tries to be better about, but Leon knows it’s something that will likely always be there, simmering beneath the surface. And when it comes up to feed, he’ll be there to put it back to rest, every time.
Leon sits on the edge of the bed until his ass goes numb, simply holding and rocking Chris until he’s out of tears and only shaking a little. “Hey, big guy,” he murmurs against Chris’s ruffled hair. “How about I move you out to the couch for a bit? I’ll clean up in here, get your meds ready for the night, and maybe we can do a bath to get that fever back down before you go to sleep. That sound okay?”
Chris nods lethargically and Leon slips out of the bed with care, avoiding the mess. He scoops Chris into his arms, carrying him bridal style out to the dark living room. Muscle memory gets them to the couch without tripping over anything. Chris seems too exhausted to fight against Leon leaving him there, practically out cold by the time Leon gets him tucked in. Although he’s running on fumes, he dutifully removes the soiled bedding to wash, organizes the meds Chris needs for the night, and gets some things ready for a lukewarm bath, if Chris will tolerate it. He doesn’t want to make him upset all over again, but it could really help the both of them.
Chris takes the medication without question, barely aware of his surroundings with how tired he is. He even agrees to the bath easily enough, but asks Leon to be in there with him again, and who is Leon to refuse such a simple request? While Chris grumbles and complains at first, exhaustion overtakes him and he’s soon dozing off in Leon’s arms. That’s the first time in the past 24 hours that Leon feels a sense of peace, enough to let him relax until he almost drifts off as well. By the time both of them make it into bed, it’s nearly midnight. They’re both out in minutes.
…
Leon wakes to the sound of muffled coughing and follows it, stumbling a few times, to the closed bathroom door. “Babe? You okay in there?” His voice is still low and husky from sleep, but loud enough to get through to Chris, who answers in an even raspier tone, “I’m fine, just had to piss.” A few more coughs follow, and although they don’t sound nearly as painful as before they went to sleep, Leon leans against the wall next to the door to wait.
He’s nearly fallen asleep standing up in the few moments it takes for Chris to come out. Once his eyes adjust to the darkness better, he can make out Chris’s disapproving face staring back at him. “What?”
Chris scoffs and shakes his head. “And you say I’m the stubborn one. C’mon, back to bed.” He takes Leon’s hand and walks them back to the bed, letting go just long enough for them to get comfortable before searching it out once more. Through half-lidded eyes, Leon catches Chris smiling at him, one of those lovestruck, stupid happy smiles they usually make fun of couples in movies for. “What?” he mutters, fighting the pull of sleep a little longer.
“I love you.”
Chris still has that stupid smile on his face. If he’s not careful, his face will get stuck like that, or at least that’s what his mother used to say.
“I’m pretty sure that’s an old wives’ tale.”
Oh. Brain-to-mouth filter isn’t quite functioning at full capacity. “Love you,” Leon slurs, barely hanging on to the edge of consciousness.
“I know. Now go back to sleep. Gotta recharge your filter.”
Hours later, when they both wake up at an acceptable hour, Leon doesn’t even remember the exchange. Chris holds it close to his heart, knowing that Leon would be there for him even half-asleep and barely coherent. He doesn’t know if it’s more out of habit or instinct, but it’s way too romantic and intimate for Leon to handle on top of everything else right now. Something to discuss some other day, he supposes.
“I feel way better than I did last night,” Chris insists over coffee and toast.
Leon, with deep bags under his eyes and stark lines creasing his forehead, remains unaffected. “That’s great, but unless the world is actively burning down, I’m not leaving you alone today.” He’s on his second cup of coffee and still hasn’t stopped yawning since they got up. Chris isn’t asking him to go running across the country in this state, but the man could use a nap and refuses to so much as blink if Chris is out of his sight.
“I’m just saying I don’t think I’m gonna keel over anytime soon. If you need to get anything done, take some time for yourself, I think I’ll be alright.” Chris watches Leon’s face carefully, trying to keep his own expression neutral.
Leon wrinkles his nose at him, brows drawn together. He looks at Chris like he’s an idiot. “Didn’t have anything planned except staying here with you.” He yawns again, giving his head a soft shake to wake himself up. His bangs hang over his face, adding to the shadows under his eyes. He’s the picture of sleep deprivation and Chris can’t do anything about it. Not knowingly, at least.
When Chris moves to get up, taking his dishes with him, Leon snatches them away and pushes him back into his chair. “I got it, don’t get up.” Coffee abandoned, he starts unloading the dishwasher in order to add their first dirty dishes of the day.
“I’m sick, not an invalid,” Chris argues, getting to his feet and joining his husband. Leon gives him a weak glare and huffs, but says nothing, just hands Chris the clean dishes to organize and put away. They work in comfortable silence until the dishwasher is emptied and refilled, Leon’s half-full mug of coffee the only thing left on the dining room table. While he picks it up and drains the rest of it in one go, Chris finds that familiar tickling in his throat sneaking up on him.
He grabs one of the clean glasses they just took out of the dishwasher and starts filling it from the sink faucet since it’s closer than the fridge as he coughs into his fist. Trying to gulp down water in between proves to be a challenge and maybe a bad idea, but he manages to soothe the scratchy feeling in his throat without choking and sighs in relief. Chris can feel a presence at his back but doesn’t turn around, just leans into it. As he expects, Leon wraps an arm around his waist, settling his hand on his hipbone and rubbing his thumb over the waistband of his shorts. “Back to bed, let’s go.”
Chris accepts willingly, letting Leon sway them back and forth for a moment longer and soaking in the attention even as Leon opens the dishwasher one more time to put his mug in, not letting go of Chris as he does. Chapped lips surrounded by stubbled skin meet his cheek as Leon holds him still to kiss him.
They walk together, practically attached at the hip, back to their bedroom. Chris drops into bed immediately while Leon makes sure the curtains are blocking out the sunlight creeping over the horizon. Chris feels him sit on the edge of the mattress but can’t be bothered to open his eyes. He’s suddenly more tired than he realized, lulled into a near-dozing state just by being in bed. Maybe it won’t be so hard to get Leon to sleep after all.
He reaches out clumsily and grabs Leon by the wrist before he can even think about getting up. “Stay with me?”
Leon’s features lose some of their tension as he smiles and answers, “Of course,” and kisses the top of Chris’s head. He wriggles under the covers with Chris, letting the older man octopus his limbs around Leon’s body to his heart’s desire. Of course, once Chris has made himself comfortable, glowing with satisfaction at his success, that irritating sensation in the back of his throat returns.
Clearing his throat brings on a wheezing cough, less wet and phlegmy than it’s been for the past few days, but just as bad. He’s too entangled with Leon to move anywhere, which Leon seems to accept rather quickly, focused on holding Chris where the man is laying partially on top of him so he can rub Chris’s back until the coughing subsides.
Chris groans, turning his head to the side so he can breathe a little easier. “I fucking hate being sick.”
“I know.” Leon’s still rubbing his back in long strokes and the slow rhythm is almost enough to put him to sleep. “I could go get—”
“No,” Chris rasps. “We’re staying here and napping until we can’t sleep anymore. I don’t need anything else. Just you.” His voice starts to slur towards the end, exhaustion creeping on him suddenly. He thinks he’s gotten through the worst of the illness, but that means his body’s used up most of its resources fighting off the virus. Now, there’s not much else for him to do but nap, and so help him, if Leon doesn’t stay put-
Leon sighs, shifting himself to adjust the covers once again. “Fine. But I’m setting an alarm at one for your next dose of those steroids, just to be safe.” He cracks a grin as he feels Chris weakly pump his fist against Leon’s chest, where his arm rests. He says something, but it’s too muffled for Leon to make out. “Huh, babe?”
“G’night, babe,” Chris murmurs, looking up at Leon with his eyes barely open. “Love you.” Without waiting for a response, he heaves a deep, content sigh and nuzzles his face into Leon’s side.
Leon relaxes under Chris’s comforting weight and lets his eyes close, which they’ve been fighting to do all morning. “Love you too.”
…
When Chris wakes up, it’s to the sound of Leon snoring. It’s something that rarely happens, only if he’s deeply, deeply asleep, and that’s usually the case when he’s been working himself too hard and he finally drops. It makes Chris’s heart clench, knowing how badly his husband needed this. The last thing he wants to do is ruin it, but Leon’s been borderline force-feeding water down Chris’s throat and it all has to go somewhere.
Carefully, he peels himself away from Leon, watching for any sign of him waking. It’s an indication of how deeply he’s passed out that he doesn’t stir, barely even twitches as Chris gets out of bed. Surprisingly, he actually feels well-rested for the first time in days, maybe even the last couple of weeks, so after he relieves himself, he brings his laptop back to bed with him. He sits next to Leon and sifts through his overflowing email for an hour or so.
It's almost noon when Leon twitches awake abruptly. Slightly out of breath, his hand searches for Chris’s, and he sighs as the contact dissolves whatever remains of the nightmare. Chris stops watching the action movie he’d been only somewhat paying attention to and moves his arm, allowing Leon to lay his head against Chris’s chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat combined with the slow back-and-forth motion of Chris’s hand along Leon’s spine has him melting. It’s almost enough for him to doze off until a reminder suddenly sparks to life in his mind.
“Your meds—”
“Aren’t due for another hour,” Chris reassures him. “Relax. We both needed the rest.”
Leon frowns and lifts his head to look Chris in the eyes. “I’m fine.”
Chris sighs and pulls Leon back against his chest, holding him in place. “Babe, you were snoring almost as loud as me.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You do when you haven’t been sleeping enough.”
Leon doesn’t answer for a moment, knowing he’s been caught. “You’ve…never been this sick before. I didn’t want to leave you alone any longer than I had to after—you weren’t thinking straight and you could’ve hurt yourself or—”
“Hey,” Chris interrupts gently, carding his fingers through Leon’s hair. It’s a little greasy, another thing Leon clearly hasn’t been keeping up with. “I know. I’m not upset. It’s actually pretty nice to know my husband would drop everything to take care of me.” He leaves a chaste kiss on Leon’s forehead before adding, “But, burning yourself out in the process doesn’t help either of us.”
Under his chin, he can feel Leon’s bangs flutter as the man blows out a sharp breath. “I know. I didn’t do it on purpose or anything; things just kind of…got away from me, I guess.” He presses his face into Chris’s t-shirt like he can hide in the folds of the fabric.
“What do you say we take a shower together, make lunch, and just take the rest of the day as it comes?” Chris coughs a few times when he’s done speaking, but his smile hasn’t gone anywhere. The flush in his cheeks isn’t from fever; he must be looking forward to that shower. Leon’s gaze lingers on his face before he smirks and rolls onto Chris to kiss him on the mouth.
Spluttering, Chris breaks away and exclaims, “You’ll get sick!”
Leon just shrugs and rolls the rest of the way off the bed. “Pretty sure if I was gonna catch it, I would’ve been sick by now.” He takes off his shirt in one smooth motion, baring a figure that’s still quite fit for his age, but no longer as sharply cut as it once was. The softer parts are Chris’s favorite to hold onto. “You gonna come wash my hair for me or what?”
“Oh, I see how it is.” Chris gets up slower, but without any dizziness, and counts it as a win. He peels off his own shirt, revealing thick muscles protected by more fat than he’d allowed himself to have for decades. Leon’s told him that it makes him particularly good for cuddling. “Get a haircut if washing your hair is such a pain!”
Meeting Leon in the bathroom, he’s immediately thwacked with a towel thrown at his face. “Thanks,” he says, muffled, pulling it off his head to see Leon already naked behind the frosted glass of the shower.
“Hurry up, old man!” Leon calls teasingly. The steam filling the room feels pleasant against Chris’s bare skin and he basks in it for a moment before joining Leon under the near-scalding spray of water. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Chris backs out of the showerhead’s path abruptly, staring at the reddened skin across Leon’s shoulder blades. “Too hot, Leon! I don’t know how you stand it,” he mutters under his breath. With no small amount of grumbling, Leon turns the heat down to a bearable temperature and Chris sidles up next to him.
“We should do this more often.” There’s a mischievous glint in Leon’s eyes.
“No. No, I’m still sick. Shower sex isn’t even practical and it’s never worked for us and this shower isn’t even big enough—”
Leon’s mouth on his shuts him up pretty quickly.
…
“Chris?”
“What the fuck?”
The next morning, when Leon croaks miserably as soon as they wake up, Chris almost doesn’t recognize his husband’s voice with how hoarse it is.
“Chris,” Leon whines, clearing his throat to no avail. “Chris, I’m—” He coughs and it sounds alarmingly similar to how Chris has sounded for the past week or so.
“Oh, fuck. This is gonna be a long week.”