He wakes hours later in bed, still fuzzy on the small detail of how he’d gotten there. He finds himself changed into pajamas, carefully tucked under the blankets. His joints ache, and he can barely muster the energy to sit up as he coughs wetly into his sleeve. As the blankets shift, he shivers in the warmth of their bedroom. His ears are too stuffed for him to hear footsteps approaching from the hall.
“You’re awake.”
Sick as he was, he didn’t initially register the note of concern in her voice. He does feel the smooth ceramic of a mug pressed into his palms and the mattress shifting under her weight as she sits beside him. “Tea. Careful not to spill it.”
Roland isn’t aware of how his hands shake until she’s wrapped hers around them, gently bringing the cup to his lips. “There you are. Honey and lemon, my mother’s recipe when I was little. It will help the coughing.”
“Thanks,” his voice is a croak before he takes a deep drink from the mug, only just realizing how thirsty he is. As promised, the tea soothes the pain in his throat and eases the cough that tries to work its way from his lungs. She waits until he’s finished swallowing the drink, greedily spilling it onto the five o’clock shadow he’d neglected in the morning, before taking it back and running a finger across his chin where he’d spilled.
“Relax, Roland. It’s not going anywhere,” she scolds, uncharacteristically sharp. Absentmindedly she licks the spilt tea from her finger; the slow inhale is the only indication he'll have of her attempting to collect her frustrations. “There’s water too, if you’d rather.”
“Sorry.” He sits back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut against the headache. To his hazy mind, it feels like just a minute later that a cool washcloth comes to rest over his eyes and forehead; it’s actually been several.
He hears Riza clear her throat from above him. Into his right hand, she presses two tablets. “Aspirin. For the fever.”
Only half aware of the action, he mechanically swallows the pills he’s been given. He can feel strong fingers guiding him back onto the bed, and the washcloth is re-situated to have the cooler side against him. The blankets shift around him, tucking neatly against the chills that were growing worse. Beside him, the mattress shifts again, and he feels a cooler form press against his side. Beneath his chin, he feels the tickle of familiar yellow hair.
He’s almost entirely asleep when she presses a kiss against his cheek. “Get some sleep, love.”
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LOOK THERE'S MORE I actually have known where I've wanted this to go *for ages*
“You’re awake.”
Sick as he was, he didn’t initially register the note of concern in her voice. He does feel the smooth ceramic of a mug pressed into his palms and the mattress shifting under her weight as she sits beside him. “Tea. Careful not to spill it.”
Roland isn’t aware of how his hands shake until she’s wrapped hers around them, gently bringing the cup to his lips. “There you are. Honey and lemon, my mother’s recipe when I was little. It will help the coughing.”
“Thanks,” his voice is a croak before he takes a deep drink from the mug, only just realizing how thirsty he is. As promised, the tea soothes the pain in his throat and eases the cough that tries to work its way from his lungs. She waits until he’s finished swallowing the drink, greedily spilling it onto the five o’clock shadow he’d neglected in the morning, before taking it back and running a finger across his chin where he’d spilled.
“Relax, Roland. It’s not going anywhere,” she scolds, uncharacteristically sharp. Absentmindedly she licks the spilt tea from her finger; the slow inhale is the only indication he'll have of her attempting to collect her frustrations. “There’s water too, if you’d rather.”
“Sorry.” He sits back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut against the headache. To his hazy mind, it feels like just a minute later that a cool washcloth comes to rest over his eyes and forehead; it’s actually been several.
He hears Riza clear her throat from above him. Into his right hand, she presses two tablets. “Aspirin. For the fever.”
Only half aware of the action, he mechanically swallows the pills he’s been given. He can feel strong fingers guiding him back onto the bed, and the washcloth is re-situated to have the cooler side against him. The blankets shift around him, tucking neatly against the chills that were growing worse. Beside him, the mattress shifts again, and he feels a cooler form press against his side. Beneath his chin, he feels the tickle of familiar yellow hair.
He’s almost entirely asleep when she presses a kiss against his cheek. “Get some sleep, love.”