Chapter Text
Robert sat listlessly at his desk, nursing a faint headache that throbbed behind his eyes, each pulse growing more insistent by the second. The office lights seemed too bright, the chatter around him too loud. He sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Chase glanced over from the neighboring cubicle. "You look like absolute shit," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Though that's not exactly breaking news."
"Thanks for the assessment," Robert muttered, his voice even rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, wincing at the sandpaper sensation.
"No, seriously," Chase leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You okay?”
Robert waved him off. "I'm fine. Just need some coffee or something." He reached for his mug, but the thought of drinking the bitter liquid made his stomach turn.
"You don't need coffee. You need a bed." Chase's eyebrows waggled suggestively. "For actual sleeping, you perv. Though I wouldn't judge the alternative."
"I'm fine," Robert insisted, but the words triggered a coughing fit that contradicted his statement. His chest ached with each hack.
"Yeah, you sound real fine." Chase reached over and pressed the back of his hand to Robert's forehead. "Jesus, you're burning up."
Robert jerked away from the touch. "It's nothing. Just a cold."
"A cold, my ass," Chase muttered. He clicked his tongue and swiveled in his chair, "Oi! Blazer!"
She peered across the room, eyebrows raised.
"Our boy Robert here is about to contaminate the entire office with whatever plague he's carrying. Think he needs the rest of the day off."
"I don't need—" Robert started to protest, but his words dissolved into another round of coughing.
She approached, concern creasing her brow as she took in Robert's glassy eyes and the flush high on his cheekbones. "Robert? Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm perfectly fine," Robert insisted, straightening in his chair despite the way it made his head swim. "Just a little headache. I've got a meeting with the team—"
"The team can wait," she said firmly, placing a cool hand against his forehead. The gentle touch made something flutter in his chest that had nothing to do with his cold. "You're burning up. You should be resting."
Robert tried one last time to resist, but his protest died in his throat when Beef nudged his nose against his shin, dark eyes peering up with unmistakable concern.
"Even he knows you're sick," Chase pointed out.
Robert sighed and pushed himself to his feet, immediately regretting the decision as the room tilted violently. His knees buckled, and he would have crashed to the floor if Blazer hadn't caught him, her arm sliding around his waist.
"Whoa there," she murmured, her face close enough that he could feel her warm breath against his cheek. "I've got you."
The scent of her perfume—something light and citrusy—momentarily cut through the congestion clogging his sinuses. Robert tried not to notice how perfectly she fit against him, or the slight blush that crept across her cheeks above her mask.
"Thanks," he managed, his voice barely more than a rasp.
Chase scooped Beef up, the little dog squirming to look back at Robert. "Don't worry about this guy. I'll take care of him tonight." He scratched behind Beef's ears. "You just focus on getting some sleep before you actually collapse."
"You don't have to—" Robert started, but Chase cut him off.
"You can barely stand. I ain’t letting him starve if you die tonight.”
Robert swallowed, his throat feeling like he'd gargled with glass. "Thanks," he said again, leaning more heavily against Blazer than he intended as another wave of dizziness washed over him.
"Come on," she said, adjusting her grip to support more of his weight. "Let's get you home."
The walk to the elevator felt like a marathon. Each step sent spikes of pain through Robert's skull, and the fluorescent lights overhead seemed to drill directly into his brain. By the time they reached the elevator, sweat had broken out across his forehead despite the chill that had settled into his bones.
Blazer pressed the button for the lobby, then turned to study his face with concern. "Do you need help getting home? I can call you a cab."
"You've done more than enough," Robert insisted, trying to straighten up and immediately regretting it as the elevator seemed to drop out from under him. He sagged against the wall. "I'll be fine."
Blazer pursed her lips, eyes narrowing as she took in his trembling legs and pallid complexion. "That's it. I'm taking you home."
"Really, I can—"
"Robert." The firmness in her voice surprised him. "You can barely stand. What if you pass out on the way?"
The elevator doors slid open to the lobby, and Robert shuffled forward, his legs feeling like they might give out any second. "I appreciate the concern, but—"
Before he could finish, Blazer had slipped one arm behind his knees and the other around his shoulders, lifting him effortlessly against her chest.
"What are you—" Robert sputtered, his fever-addled brain struggling to process what was happening.
"Taking you home," she said matter-of-factly, striding toward the exit.
"You can't be serious," Robert protested weakly, even as his head lolled against her shoulder, his body betraying just how exhausted he truly was.
She floated up from the ground, one fluid motion that belied the weight in her arms. Robert felt the strange sensation of weightlessness as his feet left the pavement.
Robert's stomach lurched as they rose higher, the ground falling away beneath them. He squeezed his eyes shut, partly from vertigo and partly from the headache. "This is humiliating," he rasped.
"Being carried by a beautiful woman? Most guys would pay good money for this experience." Her laugh vibrated through her chest and into his side.
The wind whipped around them as she picked up speed, her body warm against his despite the chill of the evening air. Robert cracked his eyes open, watching the city blur beneath them.
"Which building is yours?" she asked, slowing their flight as they approached his neighborhood.
Robert pointed weakly toward a weathered brick structure. "That one. Fifth floor."
She circled the building once, slowing as she approached his balcony. "This one?"
He nodded, immediately regretting the movement as pain lanced through his skull.
Blazer descended gracefully, touching down on the small concrete balcony with barely a sound. She shifted him in her arms to free one hand, sliding open the glass door that he'd never bothered to lock—who would break in five floors up?
The moment they entered his apartment, Robert felt her stiffen. Even through his fever haze, he could sense her taking in the barren space.
His "bedroom" consisted of a single plastic chair.
The walls were cracked, paint peeling in long strips that curled like dead leaves. A water stain spread across the ceiling like a dark thundercloud.
"Robert," Blazer said softly, still holding him against her chest. "Where's your bed?"
He gestured vaguely toward the plastic chair. "Right there."
"That's a plastic chair."
"It’s good motivation?" he offered weakly.
"You sleep in a plastic chair?" The horror in her voice was unmistakable.
"It's comfortable enough," he mumbled, though the persistent ache in his lower back argued otherwise.
Blazer carefully set him down on his feet, keeping one arm firmly around his waist as he swayed. Her eyes scanned the dismal room, taking in the cracks in the walls, the sad state of the kitchen, the complete lack of anything resembling a proper living space.
"Robert," she said his name again, softer this time. "How long have you been living like this?"
He shrugged, immediately wincing at the movement. "It's just temporary."
"How temporary?" she pressed, guiding him toward the chair.
"A few years," he admitted, avoiding her gaze.
"Jesus Christ," she breathed, helping him sink into the chair. Her hand lingered on his shoulder, thumb absently stroking against his collarbone. "You can't sleep here. Not like this."
"I've managed fine so far," he protested weakly.
She crouched down in front of him, her face level with his. Even through his fever, he could see the determination in her eyes. "You're sick. You need a proper bed, medicine, food—"
"I'm fine," he insisted, the words triggering another coughing fit that left him doubled over, lungs burning.
Blazer placed a cool hand against his cheek, tilting his face up to meet her gaze. "You're not fine. And I'm not leaving you here alone."
Robert collapsed into the chair, his body sagging as if his bones had suddenly turned to liquid. The room spun sickeningly around him, and he closed his eyes against the vertigo.
"This is ridiculous," Blazer muttered, pulling out her phone. Her fingers tapped rapidly across the screen. "I'm letting the office know I'm handling an emergency."
"Not an emergency," Robert protested weakly, his voice barely more than a rasp. "Just a cold."
She rolled her eyes, still typing. "I'm going to bring over a proper bed. You can't recover sleeping in... this." She gestured at the plastic chair with undisguised horror.
Robert attempted to sit up straighter, but the movement sent a spike of pain through his skull. "Don't—don't go to any trouble. I've slept in worse places."
"That's not the ringing endorsement you think it is." Blazer's expression softened as she looked at him, feverish and trembling. She bit her lower lip, clearly torn about leaving him alone even for a short time.
"I'll be fine," he insisted, waving her off with a hand that felt too heavy. "Just... need to close my eyes for a minute."
Blazer stepped closer, her cool palm coming to rest against his burning cheek. The simple touch sent an entirely different kind of heat coursing through him.
"You're burning up," she murmured, her face close enough that he could count her eyelashes. "I don't like leaving you like this."
Robert swallowed painfully. "I've survived this long on my own."
"That's what worries me," she said quietly, her thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. "I'll be back in twenty minutes, tops. Try not to die while I'm gone."
"No promises," he croaked, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
She hesitated a moment longer, then reluctantly stepped away. "Twenty minutes. Don't move from that chair."
"Where would I go?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at his pathetic apartment.
Blazer moved to the balcony, sliding the door open. The rush of cool evening air made Robert shiver violently. She glanced back at him, concern etched across her features. "Twenty minutes," she repeated, as if trying to convince herself it would be okay.
Then she was gone, launching herself into the darkening sky with effortless grace. She pulled the balcony door closed behind her, sealing out the wind.
Robert watched through the glass as she became a distant speck against the twilight, her form silhouetted briefly against the setting sun before disappearing between buildings.
The silence of the apartment settled around him like a heavy blanket. He looked around at the cracks, the water stains, the empty spaces where furniture should be.
"It's not that bad... is it?"
——
Invisigal trudged up the last flight of stairs, her lungs burning with each step. She paused on the landing, fumbling in her pocket for her inhaler.
"Shitty lungs," she muttered, taking a quick puff. The medicine opened her airways, but did nothing for the nervous flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with her condition.
She stood outside apartment 5C, smoothing her hair and adjusting the plastic bag hanging from her wrist. The weight of the groceries suddenly felt significant in her hand.
"This is totally normal," she whispered to herself. "Just checking on a coworker. A sick coworker. Nothing weird about that."
Except she'd never visited a coworker's home before. And she definitely hadn't sneaked into the employee database to find their address. And she absolutely hadn't spent forty-five minutes at the grocery store debating what kind of soup a man like Robert would prefer.
"Get it together," she hissed, raising her fist to knock.
Her knuckles had barely connected with the wood when she heard shuffling from inside. Something bumped against what sounded like a wall, followed by a muffled curse. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open.
"Oh shit," she whispered.
Robert looked worse than she'd imagined. His normally sharp eyes were glassy and unfocused, his skin pale except for two feverish spots of color high on his cheekbones. His hair stuck up in sweaty spikes, and he was wearing what appeared to be the same clothes from the office, now rumpled and damp with sweat.
"Invisigal?" His voice came out as a rasp. He blinked slowly, as if trying to determine if she was real. "What are you...?"
She forced a smirk, falling back on humor to mask her concern. "Wow, you look even worse in natural lighting. I didn't think that was possible."
Robert just stared at her, swaying slightly in the doorway. He opened his mouth to respond but only managed a grunt before another coughing fit overtook him.
"Okay, that's enough standing," she said, placing her palm against his chest and gently pushing him backward into the apartment. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
The smile dropped from her face as she took in the barren space.
"The fuck?" she muttered.
He stood there, eyes half closed, leaning weakly against the wall. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
"I..." She lifted the plastic bag. "I brought soup stuff. Well, soup ingredients. I mean, I was going to make soup anyway, for myself, but then I heard you were sick, so I thought—" She stopped herself, realizing she was rambling. "I thought you might be hungry."
Robert stared at her, then at the bag, confusion evident in his feverish eyes.
"Sit down before you fall down," she ordered, gesturing to the plastic chair.
He shuffled over and collapsed into it, his body folding in on itself like a marionette with cut strings. "You didn't have to come," he mumbled, his head drooping.
"Clearly I did." She set the bag on the counter and began unpacking groceries. "When was the last time you ate something?"
He squinted, as if the question required deep thought. "Yesterday? Maybe?"
"Jesus, Robert." She shook her head, pulling out chicken, carrots, celery, and noodles. "Do you even have a pot?"
"Under the sink," he said, pointing weakly. "It's... multipurpose."
She crouched down and found a single battered pot that looked like it had seen better days sometime during the last century. "This is depressing," she muttered, standing up with the pot in hand.
"Sorry to disappoint," Robert said, a hint of his usual sarcasm breaking through the fever haze.
"I'm not disappointed." She filled the pot with water and set it on the hot plate. "I'm concerned. This isn't living, Robert. This is... surviving."
He shrugged, then winced at the movement. "Same difference."
"It's really not." She began chopping vegetables with more force than necessary, the knife hitting the counter with sharp thwacks. "Why do you live like this? I’m sure the job pays well enough."
Robert's eyes drifted toward the window. "Being Mecha-Man was kinda expensive."
A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of the knife against the cutting board and the gentle bubbling of water beginning to heat.
"So," she said finally, desperate to lighten the mood. "Is this plastic throne the famous chair you're always complaining about hurting your back?"
Robert's lips twitched. "The very one."
"It's even more pathetic than I imagined." She tossed the vegetables into the pot, followed by the chicken. "No wonder you're always so grumpy."
"I'm not grumpy," he protested weakly. "I'm... focused."
"On being a pain in my ass?" She raised an eyebrow, stirring the pot.
"Someone has to keep you humble." A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. "Can't have you getting too cocky with all those superpowers."
"Says the man who can't even afford a bed." She sprinkled in some salt and pepper, then opened a small container of herbs she'd brought. "Though I guess that explains why you're always so eager to stay late at the office. Plastic chair versus office chair—tough choice."
"The office chair spins," Robert pointed out, his voice growing hoarser. "Major selling point."
She laughed, surprised by his attempt at humor despite feeling so awful. "You know what else is a major selling point? Actual furniture. Maybe a bed that doesn't give you scoliosis."
"Too expensive." He shrugged again, the movement setting off another round of coughing that left him doubled over, gasping for breath.
Invisigal abandoned the soup and crossed to him in two quick strides, crouching beside the chair. "Hey, easy," she murmured, her hand finding his back. She could feel the heat of his fever through his shirt, the tremors running through his body. "Deep breaths."
Robert struggled to comply, his breathing ragged. When the coughing finally subsided, he slumped forward, exhausted. "Sorry," he whispered.
——
Blonde Blazer descended from the darkening sky, a twin-sized bed frame tucked under one arm and a rolled mattress under the other. Her landing on the balcony was feather-light despite her burden. She reached for the sliding door handle, then froze as she caught sight of someone moving inside Robert's apartment.
Invisigal.
Blazer's eyes narrowed. What was she doing here?
She slid the door open with her foot, maneuvering the bed frame through the narrow opening first, then the mattress. The metal frame clanked against the door frame, and she winced at the noise.
"What are you doing here?" Blazer asked, dropping the bed frame to the floor with a metallic thud that made Robert flinch in his chair.
Invisigal didn't even look up from where she was stirring something that smelled tantalizingly of chicken and herbs. She merely raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the pot with her spoon. "Making soup. What does it look like?"
"I meant," Blazer said, setting the mattress down more gently, "why are you in Robert's apartment?"
"Same reason you apparently brought an entire bed," Invisigal replied, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "Someone had to take care of him."
The two women stared at each other, a silent current of tension crackling between them. Robert's ragged cough broke the standoff.
"Ladies," he rasped, attempting to push himself up from the chair and immediately swaying on his feet. "As flattering as this is, I don't need—"
"Sit down before you fall down," both women said in unison, then exchanged startled glances.
Blazer was at his side in an instant, one arm sliding around his waist to steady him. "Let's get you to a proper bed," she murmured, the warmth of her breath tickling his ear.
"I can walk," Robert protested, even as he leaned heavily against her.
"Sure you can," Blazer agreed, her tone making it clear she didn't believe him for a second. "But humor me."
She guided him toward the newly arrived bed, which sat in the middle of the floor like an island of comfort in the barren apartment. Robert's steps were unsteady, his body radiating heat through his damp clothes.
"You're soaked through with sweat," Blazer observed, her nose wrinkling slightly. "We need to get you into dry clothes."
"I'll check the soup," Invisigal said quickly, turning back to the hot plate. But Blazer didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on Robert.
"Closet's over there," Robert mumbled, gesturing vaguely toward a door on the far wall. "Though 'closet' might be overselling it."
Blazer helped him sit on the edge of the mattress, which she'd hastily placed on the bed frame without sheets. "Stay," she commanded, as if speaking to a dog. Robert responded with a weak glare that lacked any real heat.
She crossed to the closet and pulled it open, revealing a pitiful collection of clothing hanging on a tension rod. Three shirts, two pairs of pants, and what appeared to be his Mecha-Man suit. A small stack of folded t-shirts and underwear sat on the floor beneath.
"This is depressing," she muttered, selecting a faded t-shirt that looked soft from countless washes. She turned back to find Robert swaying where he sat, eyes half-closed.
"Arms up," she instructed, returning to stand between his knees.
"I can dress myself," he protested weakly, but made no move to take the shirt from her.
"Clearly," she said dryly, reaching for the buttons of his work shirt. Her fingers worked quickly, undoing each one to reveal more of his fever-flushed skin. "Have you taken anything for the fever yet?"
"He hasn't," Invisigal called from the kitchen area, not bothering to hide that she was watching them. "I checked. No medicine in the bathroom cabinet except some ancient aspirin that's probably from the last century."
"I'm fine," Robert insisted, shivering as Blazer pushed his shirt off his shoulders. The cool air hit his overheated skin, raising goosebumps along his arms.
"You keep using that word," Blazer said, helping him thread his arms through the t-shirt. "I do not think it means what you think it means."
She pulled the shirt down over his head, smoothing it over his chest with a touch she knew lingered just a fraction too long. "Now, do you need help with your pants, or can you manage those yourself?"
"I can manage," he said hoarsely.
"Pity," Invisigal murmured beneath her breath. "Soup's almost ready," Invisigal announced, her voice slightly higher than usual.
"Perfect timing," Blazer said, turning to dig through a plastic bag she'd brought along with the bed. "I've got sheets, Tylenol, and Gatorade." She pulled out a bottle of blue liquid. "Electrolytes. You're probably dehydrated."
"I'm—"
"If you say 'fine' one more time, I swear to God, Robert," Blazer warned, uncapping the Gatorade and pressing it into his hands. "Drink."
He took a reluctant sip, then a longer one as his body registered its desperate thirst. Half the bottle disappeared before he came up for air, gasping slightly.
"Easy," Blazer cautioned, her hand on his shoulder. "Not too fast."
She turned her attention to making the bed, efficiently shaking out sheets and tucking them around the mattress while Robert watched through half-lidded eyes.
"How long has it been since someone took care of you?" Blazer asked softly, smoothing a pillowcase over a pillow she'd brought.
Robert swallowed, the Gatorade suddenly bitter on his tongue. "A while," he admitted, his voice barely audible.
"Well, get used to it," Invisigal said, appearing at his side with a steaming bowl of soup. "Because you've got two stubborn women here who aren't leaving until you're better."
"Lucky me," Robert muttered, but the sarcasm fell flat as another coughing fit seized him, nearly causing him to spill the soup.
Invisigal deftly rescued the bowl, setting it aside as she rubbed his back. "Breathe through it," she instructed, her voice gentle. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."
When the coughing subsided, Robert found himself sandwiched between the two women, Blazer on his left and Invisigal on his right, both with their hands on him—Blazer's on his forehead checking his temperature, Invisigal's still making soothing circles on his back.
"This is ridiculous," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "I don't need two babysitters."
"Apparently you do," Blazer countered, pressing two Tylenol into his palm. "Since you were planning to sleep in a plastic chair with a 102-degree fever."
"It's not that bad," he protested weakly, but dutifully swallowed the pills with another swig of Gatorade.
"Bed. Now," Blazer ordered, standing and pulling back the freshly made sheets. "You need rest."
"And food," Invisigal added, retrieving the soup bowl. "Think you can eat a little?"
Robert looked between them, these two women who had invaded his pathetic apartment and were now tag-teaming his care with military precision. He should be annoyed. He should feel smothered.
"Maybe a few bites," he conceded, allowing Blazer to help him swing his legs onto the bed.
The sheets were cool against his overheated skin, the pillow soft beneath his aching head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so comfortable.
"This isn't necessary," he mumbled, even as his eyes drifted closed. "Really."
"Shut up and eat your soup," Invisigal said, perching on the edge of the bed and holding out a spoonful. Her voice was gentle despite the words, her free hand coming to rest on his knee through the blanket.
Robert opened his mouth to argue but found a spoon being slipped between his lips instead. The warm broth slid down his raw throat, the taste rich and comforting.
"Good?" Invisigal asked, already preparing another spoonful.
He nodded, too tired to maintain his protests. "S'good," he mumbled.
Blazer settled on his other side, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight. She reached out to brush damp hair from his forehead, her touch cool against his skin.
"You don't have to stay," Robert said, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. "Both of you. I'm sure you have better things to do."
They watched as he succumbed to exhaustion, his breathing gradually evening out into the deep rhythm of sleep. The tension in his face softened, making him look younger, almost vulnerable. Even in sleep, occasional tremors ran through his body, but he already looked slightly better with proper medicine and food in his system.
Invisigal set the half-empty soup bowl on the floor and adjusted the blanket over his chest. Her fingers lingered a moment too long, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
When she looked up, she found Blazer watching her, one eyebrow arched in silent question.
"What?" Invisigal whispered defensively.
"Nothing," Blazer whispered back, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Just wondering how you knew where he lived."
Heat crept up Invisigal's neck. "I have my ways."
"I'm sure you do." Blazer's smile widened. "Same ways that led you to bring homemade chicken soup to a man who—let me guess—you just happened to be thinking about?"
"He was sick," Invisigal hissed, careful to keep her voice low. "I was being a good colleague."
"Mmhmm." Blazer's eyes sparkled with amusement. "And I suppose you make soup for all your colleagues."
"I could ask you the same thing about beds," Invisigal countered, nodding toward the twin mattress. "Could be kinda intimate, don't you think? Buying a man a bed?"
Blazer shrugged, her casual gesture belied by the slight flush on her cheeks. "He was sleeping in a chair. A plastic chair."
"So you just happened to have a spare bed lying around?"
"I can fly," Blazer reminded her. "Ikea's only five minutes away when you don't have to deal with traffic and lanes."
They fell silent, the only sound in the apartment Robert's congested breathing and the occasional creak of the building settling.
"This place is depressing," Invisigal finally said, looking around at the barren apartment.
"Tell me about it." Blazer sighed, running her fingers through her blonde hair. "I knew he was living frugally, but this is..."
"Sad?"
"Beyond sad." Blazer's gaze lingered on the water stains spreading across the ceiling. "It's like he's punishing himself."
Invisigal nodded, her eyes drifting to the closet where she'd glimpsed the Mecha-Man suit hanging like a ghost.
"He wasn't even at fault for that," Blazer said, her voice taking on an edge.
"You know that's not how guilt works." Invisigal reached out absently, brushing a strand of hair from Robert's forehead.
Blazer watched the gentle gesture, her expression softening. "You really like him, don't you?"
Invisigal's hand froze. "What? No. I mean—he's fine. As a boss. A grumpy, sarcastic boss."
"Right." Blazer's tone made it clear she didn't believe a word. "That's why you're stroking his hair while he sleeps."
Invisigal snatched her hand back as if burned. "I was checking his temperature."
"With your fingertips? Very scientific."
"Oh, like you're one to talk," Invisigal shot back, keeping her voice to an angry whisper. "You literally carried him home in your arms. Like some sort of superhero romance novel cover."
"It was efficient," Blazer defended, though her cheeks darkened further. "He could barely walk."
"And the princess carry was the only option?"
"Would you have preferred a fireman's carry? Over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes?"
"I'm just saying," Invisigal smirked.
Blazer opened her mouth for a retort, then closed it, her eyes dropping to Robert's sleeping form. "He's a good man," she admitted, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
Invisigal smirked, leaning in closer to Blazer. "Want me to disappear for a bit?" she whispered, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Give you two some alone time?”
Blazer rolled her eyes, but couldn't quite hide the flush creeping up her neck. "Please. He's sick, not an opportunity."
"Didn't stop you from carrying him home like you were about to cross the threshold on your wedding night," Invisigal teased, her voice low enough not to disturb Robert's congested breathing. "Very romantic. Very... hands-on."
"Says the woman who just hand-fed him soup like a baby bird," Blazer shot back, her lips quirking upward. "What's next? Going to chew it for him too?"
Invisigal snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Don't kink-shame me. Maybe I like feeding helpless men."
"Oh, I'm sure you do," Blazer murmured, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Bet you've got a whole nurse fantasy worked out in that head of yours."
"And if I do?" Invisigal leaned back, stretching her arms above her head in a way that pulled her shirt tight across her chest. She didn't miss how Blazer's eyes flicked down for just a second. "At least I'm not the one who rushed out to buy him a bed. Talk about presumptuous. What's your endgame there? Hoping he'll be so grateful he'll let you break it in with him?"
Blazer's mouth pursed. "You're terrible."
"I prefer 'observant.'" Invisigal stood, stretching again with a little groan that sounded almost deliberately sensual. "Hungry? I made enough soup to feed an army. Or at least one feverish man and his two would-be nursemaids."
"Trying to fatten me up?" Blazer asked, arching one perfect eyebrow.
Invisigal let her eyes drift deliberately over Blazer's athletic form. "Trust me, you don't need fattening up. Some might say you're already..." she paused for effect, "...super."
"That was terrible," Blazer said, but she was smiling as she rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Robert. "But yes, I could eat. Been a long day of rescuing damsels in distress." She nodded toward Robert's sleeping form.
"Pretty sure he'd hate being called a damsel," Invisigal said, moving toward the kitchen area. She ladled soup into two mismatched mugs—apparently the only other dishes Robert owned besides the one bowl.
"Pretty sure that's why I said it," Blazer replied, accepting one of the mugs with a grateful nod. She took a sip and made an appreciative noise. "This is good. Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
Invisigal shrugged, leaning against the counter as she blew on her own soup. "My grandma. She always said food was medicine." She glanced over at Robert, something softer crossing her features. "And he looks like he needs all the medicine he can get."
"Among other things," Blazer murmured, her eyes taking in the barren apartment again. "Like furniture. And curtains. And maybe a will to live that extends beyond that plastic monstrosity he calls a chair."
"Hey," Invisigal nudged Blazer's shoulder with her own. "Don't trash talk the chair. That's his one true love. We're just the side pieces."
Blazer choked on her soup, coughing into her elbow. "You're the worst."
"Yet here you are, drinking my soup," Invisigal countered with a smug smile. "In his apartment. At night. Just the three of us." She wiggled her eyebrows again. "Cozy."
"You have a filthy mind," Blazer said, but there was no heat in it.
"One of my many charms." Invisigal took another sip of soup, watching Robert over the rim of her mug. "So, what's the plan? We taking shifts or...?"
"Worried about your virtue if we both stay the night?" Blazer teased.
"Bold of you to assume I have any virtue left to worry about," Invisigal fired back, her eyes gleaming with challenge. "But seriously, one of us should probably stay. In case his fever spikes or something."
"I can stay," they both said in unison, then stared at each other.
A moment of silence stretched between them, filled with something that wasn't quite tension but wasn't quite comfortable either.
"We could both stay," Blazer finally suggested, her voice casual in a way that felt deliberate. "Take turns keeping an eye on him."
Invisigal studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, that makes sense. Safety in numbers and all that."
"Exactly," Blazer agreed, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Safety."
"Though that bed's pretty small," Invisigal observed, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. "Hope you don't mind getting cozy."
Blazer's cheeks flushed pink, the color spreading down her neck. "That's not what I—I didn't mean we would—" She fumbled with her words, suddenly very interested in examining the contents of her soup mug.
"Relax, Blondie," Invisigal said, her grin widening as she watched Blazer squirm. "I don't bite. Unless you're into that sort of thing."
Blazer nearly choked on her soup again. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told." Invisigal set her mug down and glanced around the barren apartment. "But seriously, where are we sleeping? Because I'm not taking the chair. That would be—"
"Hypocritical," Blazer finished with a sigh. "I know."
"We could always share the bed," Invisigal suggested, her voice deliberately casual. "It's small, but we're both reasonably sized adults. And Robert's practically a stick figure, so he barely takes up any space."
"Three people in a twin bed?" Blazer arched an eyebrow. "That's not sleeping, that's a human sandwich."
"Don't knock it till you've tried it," Invisigal winked.
From the bed came a raspy groan, followed by the rustle of sheets. Robert shifted, his eyes fluttering half-open. He squinted at the two women, his gaze unfocused and glassy with fever.
"Am I having a wet dream?" he croaked, his voice even deeper than usual, rough with sleep and illness. His deadpan delivery made it impossible to tell if he was joking.
Invisigal burst out laughing, clapping her hand over her mouth too late to stifle the sound. "What was that, Robert?"
He blinked slowly, like an owl trying to process bright daylight. "Two women... in my apartment... talking about getting in my bed." He coughed weakly. "Definitely a fever dream. Or I died and this is hell. Sexy hell."
Blazer pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile. "You're not dead, and this isn't a dream. Though I'm flattered it's what your subconscious conjures up."
"My subconscious has good taste," Robert mumbled, his eyelids already drooping again. "But terrible timing. Dying here."
"You're not dying," Invisigal said, crossing to the bed and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. "Though you're still pretty hot."
"Thanks," he rasped. "You're not so bad yourself."
Invisigal's smirked.
"If you're angels," Robert slurred, "heaven's got better benefits than I expected."
Blazer snorted, then quickly composed her face into something more professional. "How are you feeling? Any better?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," he groaned. "Then the truck backed up and hit me again."
"Eloquent as ever," Invisigal said. "Think you could manage some more soup? Or maybe some water?"
Robert made a noncommittal noise, his eyes drifting closed again. "Maybe later. Too tired."
"Sleep is good," Blazer said softly, pulling the blanket higher over his chest. "The medicine should help with the fever."
"Don't leave," he mumbled, so quietly they almost missed it. His hand moved restlessly on the sheet, as if searching for something to hold onto.
Invisigal and Blazer exchanged surprised glances.
"We won't," Blazer promised, her voice gentler than Invisigal had ever heard it.
"Both staying," Invisigal added, reaching down to squeeze his hand. "Right here."
Robert made a sound that might have been acknowledgment before his breathing deepened again, sliding back into sleep.
The two women stood in silence for a moment, watching him.
"Well," Invisigal finally said, her voice hushed. "That was..."
"Unexpected," Blazer finished.
"I was going to say 'adorable,' but sure, let's go with unexpected." Invisigal smiled down at Robert, her thumb absently stroking the back of his hand. "Who knew little ol’ dad bod could be so..."
"Vulnerable?" Blazer suggested.
"I was thinking 'horny,' but vulnerable works too."
Blazer rolled her eyes. "You really do have a one-track mind."
"Says the woman who's been undressing him with her eyes since we got here."
"I have not been—" Blazer started to protest, then stopped when Invisigal raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Fine. Maybe a little. But can you blame me? The man's attractive, even when he looks like death warmed over."
"Especially when he looks like death warmed over," Invisigal corrected. "There's something about a strong man brought low by a cold that just..." She made a chef's kiss gesture.
"That's disturbing," Blazer said, but she was smiling.
"Don't kink-shame me," Invisigal repeated, finally releasing Robert's hand. "So, about sleeping arrangements..."
"I'll take the floor," Blazer offered, though she didn't sound thrilled about the prospect.
Invisigal looked pointedly at the stained, cracked linoleum. "On that? I don't think so. You'll catch something worse than whatever he has."
"Well, I'm not leaving him alone," Blazer said firmly.
"Neither am I," Invisigal matched her tone.
They stared at each other, a silent standoff that ended when Invisigal's lips twitched into a mischievous smile.
"You know," she said slowly, "there's a simple solution here."
"Which is?"
Invisigal gestured toward the bed. "We all get cozy. Robert in the middle—he needs the most care, after all—and us on either side. Like bookends."
"That's not a twin bed, it's barely a cot," Blazer protested. "We'd be practically on top of each other."
"And the problem with that is...?" Invisigal let the question hang in the air between them.
Blazer opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "It's unprofessional."
"We're in his apartment at night, making him soup and buying him furniture," Invisigal pointed out. "I think we sailed past 'professional' about three hours ago."
"Fair point," Blazer conceded. "But still—"
"Still nothing," Invisigal cut her off. "It's practical. We both stay close in case he needs something, we both get some rest, and nobody has to sleep on that biohazard of a floor."
Blazer looked torn, her eyes darting between the bed and Invisigal's face. "I don't even have anything to sleep in," she finally said, a weak last defense.
Invisigal's grin turned wicked. "Neither do I. Guess we'll just have to get creative."
Robert cracked open one eye, the world coming into focus just enough to make out two silhouettes still standing by his bed. Their voices had become a steady hum of banter that pierced through his fever-induced haze.
"For God's sake," he croaked, his voice like gravel but stronger than before, "if you two are going to keep flirting over my deathbed, at least have the decency to do it quietly."
"He lives," Invisigal declared dramatically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. "The miracle of modern medicine. Or maybe it was my soup."
"Definitely the soup," Robert muttered, pushing himself up slightly against the pillow. His head still throbbed, but the medicine had taken the edge off. "Nothing to do with the two of you standing there plotting how to squeeze into my beloved bed like sardines."
Blazer's cheeks flushed pink. "You heard that?"
"Hard not to," he replied. "You weren't exactly whispering. And my apartment isn't exactly spacious."
"Well, since you're awake," Invisigal said, sitting on the edge of the mattress, "Care to weigh in?"
Robert raised an eyebrow, the effect somewhat diminished by his fever-bright eyes and disheveled appearance. "Is there a third option where I get some actual sleep without being smothered by superpowered women?"
"Nope," Invisigal chirped, popping the 'p' with obvious delight. "Package deal. You get the soup, the medicine, and the slumber party."
"Lucky me," Robert deadpanned, but there was a softness around his eyes that betrayed him.
Blazer approached from the other side, her movements more hesitant than Invisigal's. "We can leave if you really want us to," she offered, though her expression suggested she'd rather not.
"Stay," he said, the word coming out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "If you want. But fair warning—I snore when I'm congested."
"Bold of you to assume that's a dealbreaker," Invisigal replied, already kicking off her shoes. “This'll be like a white noise machine."
"Charming comparison," Robert muttered, shifting to make room as Invisigal began to arrange herself on the mattress beside him.
"I'm just saying," she continued, wiggling to get comfortable, "a little snoring is amateur hour. Wake me up when you start sleep-talking about your deepest, darkest fantasies."
"I don't—" Robert began, but Blazer cut him off.
"Don't encourage her," she warned, still standing beside the bed. "She feeds on attention like some sort of vampire."
"Guilty as charged," Invisigal purred, patting the tiny sliver of mattress on Robert's other side. "Come on, Blondie. There's just enough room if you don't mind getting friendly."
Blazer hesitated, her eyes meeting Robert's. "Is this really okay? I can still take the floor."
Robert sighed, the sound rattling in his chest. "The floor in this place will probably give your weak immune systems tetanus. Just get in the damn bed before I change my mind and kick you both out."
"So grumpy," Invisigal teased, poking his side. "Even when you're being nice, you have to make it sound like you're doing us a favor."
"I am doing you a favor," Robert retorted, but there was no heat in it. "This bed is the height of luxury compared to that chair."
"The bar is on the floor," Blazer muttered, finally relenting and carefully lowering herself onto the mattress. The bed creaked ominously under their combined weight.
For a moment, they all lay rigid, hyperaware of each point of contact—Invisigal's hip pressed against Robert's left side, Blazer's shoulder touching his right. The twin mattress left no room for personal space, forcing them into an intimacy that none of them had anticipated.
"Well," Invisigal finally said, breaking the awkward silence, "this is cozy."
"That's one word for it," Blazer replied, shifting slightly and accidentally brushing her leg against Robert's. "Sorry," she murmured.
"S'fine," Robert mumbled, his voice already growing drowsy again. The warmth of their bodies on either side of him was oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a living blanket.
"You know," Invisigal mused, turning on her side to face Robert, "this reminds me of a very specific category of videos I've watched for... research purposes."
Robert snorted, the sound turning into a weak cough. "Everything reminds you of that."
"Not true," she protested, her breath warm against his neck. "Sometimes I think about food."
"Food and sex," Blazer added from his other side. "The Invisigal special."
"Don't act like you're any better," Invisigal shot back, reaching across Robert to poke Blazer's arm. "I've seen the way you look at him when you think no one's watching."
"Ladies," Robert interrupted, his voice rough but firm. "As fascinating as this conversation is, I'm still sick. And tired. And trapped between two women who apparently can't stop bickering for five minutes."
"He's right," Blazer conceded, settling back against the pillow. "We should let him rest."
"Fine," Invisigal agreed, though she made no move to put more space between herself and Robert. If anything, she seemed to snuggle closer. "But this conversation isn't over."
"It absolutely is," Robert muttered, his eyes closing again.
A comfortable silence fell over them, broken only by the sound of their breathing gradually synchronizing. Robert felt himself drifting, the dual warmth on either side of him more soothing than he cared to admit.
Just as he was about to slip into sleep, Invisigal's voice, soft and mischievous, pulled him back.
"So, Robert," she whispered, her lips close enough to his ear that he could feel the words as much as hear them, "do you always sleep with your hand there, or is that just for special occasions?"
Robert's eyes flickered open as he realized his hand had somehow come to rest on Blazer's hip. He started to jerk it away, but Blazer's hand covered his, keeping it in place.
"It's fine," she murmured, ears red and her voice heavy with approaching sleep. "You're warm."
"See?" Invisigal whispered, her smile audible in her voice. "She likes it."
"Will you shut up?" Robert hissed, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. "Some of us are trying to sleep."
"Mmm, so bossy," Invisigal teased, draping her arm across his chest. "Even when you're sick."
"Especially when I'm sick," he corrected, but made no move to dislodge her arm.
"Go to sleep," Blazer murmured, her thumb absently stroking the back of Robert's hand where it still rested on her hip. "Both of you."
"Yes, ma'am," Invisigal replied, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Sweet dreams, Robert. Try not to have any... exciting dreams with us right here."
"I hate you both," Robert mumbled, but the words were belied by the way he relaxed between them, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion.
"No, you don't," Invisigal whispered, pressing a feather-light kiss to his shoulder.
"I'm going to gag you if you don't shut up," Robert muttered, his voice a low rumble against Invisigal's ear. Despite his illness, there was a hint of that familiar gruffness that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
Blazer snorted from his other side. "Don't threaten her with a good time," she said. "She'd probably like that."
"It's probably her goal anyway," Robert replied, his eyelids growing heavier with each blink.
Invisigal opened her mouth to deliver what would undoubtedly be a witty, slightly inappropriate comeback, but before she could speak, Robert shifted beside her. His large hand moved with surprising quickness for someone so feverish, coming to rest directly over her lips.
The unexpected contact sent a jolt through her body. His palm was hot against her mouth, his fingers splayed across her cheek. She could smell the faint trace of soap on his skin, feel the slight roughness of calluses against her lips.
Invisigal's eyes widened, meeting Robert's fever-bright gaze. For a moment, she faltered. She could feel his pulse through his fingertips, slightly too rapid from the fever. Or perhaps from something else.
A slow grin spread across her face beneath his palm. She considered her options—nipping at his fingers, licking his palm, any number of responses that would send a mortal man into a flustered retreat.
Instead, she simply raised an eyebrow, the gesture conveying both challenge and acceptance. Robert's expression softened almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
"Finally," Blazer murmured from his other side, her voice already slipping into the cadence of sleep. "Peace and quiet."
Robert's hand remained where it was for a moment longer, the weight of it strangely comforting against Invisigal's lips. When he finally withdrew it, his fingers trailed along her cheek in what might have been an accidental caress.
"Behave," he whispered, the word barely audible.
Invisigal's grin widened. "No promises," she whispered back, but she settled more comfortably against his side, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder.
The three of them lay in silence, their breathing gradually synchronizing. Robert's chest rose and fell beneath Invisigal's arm, each breath slightly less labored than the one before. Blazer's soft exhales tickled his other shoulder, her body relaxed against his side.
Invisigal felt herself being pulled toward sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Robert's heartbeat beneath her ear. His arm had somehow found its way around her waist, his hand resting warm and heavy on her hip.
She should make a joke about it. Something suggestive about wandering hands or taking advantage of a sick man. But the words didn't come.
Instead, she found herself pressing closer, fitting herself more snugly against his side. His arm tightened around her in response, a reflexive gesture that made her heart flutter in a way she wasn't entirely comfortable examining.