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It is a truth universally acknowledged that Petey The Cat, who is in possession of a good immunity, would never get sick.
That is what Petey thought.
That is what Petey claimed.
That is something that Petey is horribly wrong about.
Even so, with the steady mountain of tissues building, Petey continued to deny that he is sick. He would scoff at the thought. That is, if the action alone would not send him into a coughing fit.
Instead, he lay on his bed, muttering that he just overdid it. He had a long and busy week with the kid and now his body is trying to catch up.
Aches and pains? Probably from the roughhousing. He really should stretch more. But that hunched position over his desk when he is designing is too easy to fall back into.
Sore throat? Probably from shout at Greg and Lil P to not roll in the dirt.
Runny nose? Must be hay fever.
Feeling sick? Must be caused by…. something.
It doesn’t matter. The kid is at school, and Petey needs to get better before their weekend plans. Time to get drugged up.
Legally speaking.
“80-HD!” Petey wheezed out.
Nothing.
“80-HD!” Petey cried out.
Still nothing.
Lying limply on the edge of the bed, Petey’s mind helpfully reminded himself that if he got the walkie-talkies like Lil Petey wanted, then he would not have to call out like this.
“Shut up.” Petey groaned to himself. Then, with the last sliver of strength, he cried out into the echoing building.
It was not long before the common sounds of flip-flops to barge into his room.
“Good you’re here.” Petey slumped back down. “I need you to go out and get something for me.”
80-HD saluted in reply. Petey feebly searched for a pen and paper before giving up entirely.
“Get me some water, chicken soup. The brand one not that cheap shite one. Tissues, pain killers. Any type will do. And flannels. Oh, and the orange blanket from the closet. Got that?”
80-HD screen light up with the pixilated list. Half of it not making sense. Like a flannel shirt and a chicken coop.
“No!” Petey moaned and smashed his face into the cushions.
“I think…” Petey started. “I think I am sick.” He turned to look to 80-HD. “So please get the stuff and cold medicine. Just anything that will help and make me feel better.”
With another salute, Petey was left alone.
He stared at the ceiling.
Him? Sick?
Unfortunately, yes.
It is not like he has never fallen sick before. He is not an idiot. He knows the immune system can only do so much. And Lil Petey going to kindergarten? It was inevitable. Little kids and their ‘sharing and caring’.
But his Mum’s illness started with a cough.
They don’t know what it was. They didn’t have the money, the right technology, or even time.
One minute she was here and the next minute. Gone.
She promised she would come home. He remembered that clear as day. He was sitting next to her. Reading one of her old favourites. He barely understood half the words and kept stumbling over them. It was one of those books that was written eons ago. But she insisted that it was lovely to hear Petey read. Although he was sure he butchered it.
She rubbed his head. Said it was lovely. That he is getting so much better. And how she can’t wait to see his new inventions at home. Or even hear more of his reading.
He did it because that is what she did for him. It helped him feel better at the time. That is what you do when a person is sick. Give them medicine, rub their head, and read to them, and once all better, go home.
She just never got a chance.
Petey spent any free time to try and brighten up their place. He painted flowers on the walls. He wasn’t allowed to. Landlords. But fuck them. His Mom is going to love it.
“I think you would have liked it, Mom,” Petey whispered. “I did sunflowers.”
He closed his eyes and went to sleep.
It came fitfully. That type of sleep where you wake up with a start, unsure if you slept for a few minutes or a couple of days.
Either way, when Petey woke up, he felt hot and sweaty and with an incredibly dry throat.
‘80-HD should be back now.’ Petey thought.
He struggled to sit up slightly to be prepared for that glorious, cold drink to parch his thirst.
With a clang and bang, 80-HD clambered in carrying a plastic bag and dumped it on poor Petey.
“Urck!” Looking up at the waiting robot, Petey gave a small thanks and then began to riffle through the items. Half of the stuff is useless. Why would he need crayons and paper?!
‘That robot spends too much time with the kid.’ Petey thought. ‘At least there is medicine and water.’
Wasting no time, Petey popped a couple of tablets and began to chug down the water. He raised an eyebrow at the robot still standing there with one arm behind its back. Thankfully, the robot seemed to notice Petey’s piqued curiosity and brought the item around and also dumped it on the bed.
There was a sound of surprised bark, then a whine as Petey spat out his water all over Dog Man.
“Wha-! Why did you bring Dog Man here?!” Petey shouted at 80-HD.
The robot replied by running out of the room. Probably to make a whole stop-motion film for a very simple answer.
“Why does a robot even need creative freedom?” Petey grumbled.
‘And why did the kid give him free will?’ He thought.
Turning back to look at the hybrid at the end of his bed, who looked confused, guilty, and worried in less than a second.
“You’re sick.” Greg signed.
“Nothing gets past you, supa cop.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just a cold.” Petey quickly snapped back. ‘Hopefully.’
“Don’t know why 80-HD brought you here, but you can leave. You got work, don’t you?” Petey continued to search through the bags, but there wasn’t much else to help him. With a sigh, he chucked the remaining items on the floor.
It seemed at first that Greg was actually listening to Petey with no complaint. That was a surprise.
They have been dating for a few months now, but Petey had quickly learnt that Greg's love language is invading personal space and never leaving them alone.
Petey has been learning to open up and accept Greg’s love. With the help of therapy, he has managed to start to help himself and let people in, but this is another thing that Petey has built a wall against. He didn’t want Greg to see him like this. Really, anyone but definitely not Greg. He knows he looks disgusting. Fleam is, surprisingly, not a good look. Weakness, in any way, is not a good look. Sure, his therapist has taught him that being weak is not bad, but a part of his brain is still not listening.
And Petey is really enjoying this relationship. He felt so loved. Greg easily gives it in bucketfuls. But will it dry up? His Dad showed that it does.
So, in order to make this relationship last as long as it can, Petey is determined to push Greg away at anything ugly about him. Shame that there is so much.
The hybrid quickly scuttled out.
With the medication running through his body and his thirst gone, Petey tried to settle down again to sleep.
It was horrible. The bed is a mess. His fur is in clumps, and he is hungry. That was the worst. He knows getting up and eating is good for him, but the kitchen is far, and then he has to do the process of the actual cooking bit. Yuck.
Being an adult sucks.
Using 80-HD did cross his mind, but Petey would rather not eat nuts and bolts. Again, why does 80-HD insist on using creative freedom in the kitchen?!
With a groan, Petey shuffled out of his bedroom, bundled up in the duvet, and into the kitchen.
Greg had not left. Nope. In fact, the hybrid seemed to be making a mess. No wait, at a closer look, the hybrid is cooking..? Actually cooking. With cutting vegetables and everything. Not slapping down a can.
“You’re cooking.” Petey lamely said.
“Nothing gets past you, Petey.” Greg signed, “Good timing, food is almost ready. I read that chicken soup is good for a cold.”
“What are you doing?”
“You just pointed it out. Cooking. Are you okay?”
Greg quickly scampered over to Petey and placed a hand on his forehead.
Petey quickly ducked away. “Yes, I am sic- unwell. We have established that.”
“Fever?”
“No, just a cold!”
The shout caused a coughing fit. One that had Greg lead Petey to the table to sit down and have a glass of water.
“I just mean, why are you still here and cooking?” Petey finally asked.
“Because I wanted to!” Greg grinned at Petey with his famous smile. That smile that fills his whole face and cascades into the room. Flooding everything with that warmth.
More love sent Petey’s way. How much is left?
Greg happily busied himself, as Petey stared mournfully at the soup, lost in his thoughts.
A quick bark brought Petey back.
“How is the soup?” Greg signed.
“Oh, er, I am just letting it cool,” Petey said. He took a mouthful. It was good! Not 5-star worthy, but something he needs. Warm and filling.
“How is it?”
“Edible,” Petey said, between bites.
The way Greg smiled, you would have thought Petey had written a sonnet raving on the ambrosia that Greg had obviously made.
After finishing the bowl and drinking more water after Greg’s insistence, Petey was wrapped up in the “sick” blanket and placed in front of the TV while Greg cleaned and changed his bedding.
He is warm, full, and feeling a bit better to give himself a quick clean, but that feeling was still lingering heavily in his stomach.
There was nothing on, but that didn’t stop him from flipping through the channels again and again in hopes that his taste would go down enough to accept some shite. Anything to focus on.
A wave of a hand was seen in the corner of his eye, then quick signs asking how he is feeling.
“Better,” Petey grumbled into the woven fabric. ‘Please just go.’ “Thank you for the food. You can go now.”
“You look awful.”
“….Thanks.”
“Sorry! Sorry!” Greg quickly signed. “I mean.” He wagged his fingers as he tried to think of the right signs that had the correct meaning. “You look more than sick. Like…worried or something.”
“I’m fine.” Petey snuggled back down into the blankets and stared blatantly back at the TV. “I just need to rest and then pick up Lil Petey later.”
Another wave and bark to call back Petey’s attention. It seemed that the mutt was not going to leave.
“What?”
“I don’t think you are well enough to have Lil P.” Greg kindly signed. “I can call Chief to have the little guy tonight. He loves to have him over again, and Lil P has been begging for a sleepover. Then I can care for you.”
“What? You don’t think I can care for my son?!”
“I do.” Greg calmly signed. “But you need to rest.”
“I am not weak.” Petey struggled to get up but was stopped by firm but kind hands.
“I know, but it would be best to relax to help your body get stronger.”
Sending Petey that warm, sweet smile again.
“Would you like some water?” Greg asked after receiving Petey’s silence.
A shake of the head.
“Painkillers?”
Another shake of the head.
“Food?”
Another with a frown included.
“Blanket?”
“No!” Petey rasped. “Why are you still here?”
“To look after you.” Greg simply signed. Ignoring Petey’s tone.
“But why?” Petey pressed through gritted teeth.
“Because I want to.”
“But I don’t know why!” Petey cried out, sending himself into a coughing fit.
Soon, a glass of water was pressed into his paws as Petey continued to cough. Tears brimmed in his eyes. He hacked up phlegm and bile. He tried to take gulps of water as Greg patted his back. He gently took the glass back once it subsided, as Petey slumped back onto the sofa.
Tears continued to well up in his eyes.
“I’m disgusting.” Petey croaked out.
Greg looked at Petey. The shattered feline, with matted fur and snot coming out of his nose, and shrugged.
He signed “Same.” He took one of Petey’s paws and kissed it. Smiling at Petey with unmasked love.
If Greg thought that action would reassure Petey, he was sorely wrong. The ex-villain burst into tears.
Wailing was heard all throughout the lab. Greg flailed about as he tried to quickly get tissues, or another blanket, or something! Anything that could help.
Grabbing a handful of tissues, Greg quickly slid back next to Petey and handed it over to let him dry his eyes and blow his nose. Seeing the snotty results, had Petey in fits of tears again. He felt awful, achy, and tired. And it all poured out.
“I’m sorry.” Petey wailed. “I didn’t know why I am like this.”
Greg didn’t sign. Instead pulled Petey onto his lap and held him close as he cried. Listening to Petey’s unfocused ramblings.
“I was so excited for our weekend plans! B-but now I’m sick a-and we can’t go and-” Petey cried out.
Greg rubbed Petey’s back and rocked them both. Petey hiccupped in his arms. Slowly, his tears ebbed away.
Petey’s face was held in Greg’s hand. He wiped away the tears and kissed Petey’s forehead.
“Why are you here?” Petey whispered. “I just ruin everything.”
“Because I care about you and I enjoy caring for you, just like when you look after me.”
Greg patted his stomach and licked his lips.
“Your brain may be saying otherwise, but I don’t want to leave you, Petey. Snot and all. Don’t worry about this weekend. We can do it another time. Right now, all I want to do, and I mean what I WANT is to be with you. Help nurse you back to health. You know. Give your medicine, rub your head, and watch a film with you while cuddling.”
Greg kissed his forehead once more.
“You are going to get sick, you know?”
" And you are so, so worth it, Petey.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside Petey. Past the fear, past the guilt, past the years of believing love was only to be earned by being useful or impressive. But so easily snatched away.
No one had ever said that to him before in such a long time.
Not since she….
His shoulders shook.
Greg simply opened his arms, and Petey went willingly.
He buried his face into Greg's shoulder, clinging to him with both paws as fresh sobs broke free.
Greg held him tighter.
"I didn't fall in love with the easy parts of you, Petey. I love you. All of you." Greg barked. It was not always easy to understand, but this Petey got it instantly. It was something similar to what his Mom said all those years ago.
For years, he had believed that love was something that could be spent. Every ugly truth, every weakness, every mistake was another handful taken from a bucket that would eventually run dry up.
Yet Greg had watched him sob until his eyes were red, cleaned up after him, fed him, changed his sheets, held him while he coughed hard enough to be sick, and somehow...
The bucket looked just as full.
Petey buried his face against Greg's neck.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice muffled by Greg's fur.
Greg froze. It was the first time Petey said that.
Greg squeezed him tighter and held up a hand for Petey to see. His thumb, index, and pinkie finger were held up. The sign “I love you.”
Petey snorted. Not the most romantic situation to confess their love, but it seemed very them.
With Chief contacted and the plan confirmed, the two settled down in a sea of blankets and pillows, with Petey’s favourite film on.
The sound of flip-flops disturbed the peace.
80-HD had entered the room. Holding an old film projector. Ignoring Petey’s protests, 80-HD set it up.
“What is he doing?”
“How should I know?!”
“You invented him.”
On the screen, a stop-motion animation of a clay Petey told a ping-pong ball 80-HD to go out and get him something to help him feel better. The next scene was of 80-HD going down the street and buying supplies when he sees Dog Man.
A thought bubble appeared of a sick Petey + Dog Man = happy Petey cuddling Greg on the sofa. Love hearts and stars appeared all around them.
With amazing action that was completely unnecessary and probably took way too long to make, ping-pong 80-HD grabbed the clay Dog Man and took him back to the lab.
Roll credits.
Greg gave a polite applause.
“Why did you make that?” Petey deadpan.
80-HD ran off to, once again, answer Petey’s question.
Greg smiled, shaking his head as the projector finally clicked to a stop.
Petey groaned, burying his face in the blankets.
"Lil Petey has created a menace."
Greg simply grinned, lay down, and opened his arms.
Petey hesitated for all of two seconds, thinking of 80-HD’s film, before shuffling across the sofa and curling into Greg's side.
‘Maybe this weekend we should tell Lil Petey that they are dating.’ Petey thought. ‘And have a family film night to celebrate. He will be so excited.’
But that is for the future Petey. Right now, he is going to enjoy the here and now. Greg has proved once again that he is not leaving anytime soon, and Petey wants to do the same.
Greg wrapped the blankets around them both, rubbing slow circles over Petey's back.
"Comfortable?" Greg signed.
"...Yeah."
The film played quietly in the background as they settled into a comfortable silence.
A few minutes later, Petey felt Greg's chest hitch.
"Hh..."
Petey glanced up.
"Hh... hih'TSCHOO!"
Greg blinked, rubbing his nose.
Petey raised an eyebrow.
"...Seriously?"