#goes away- probably a few days I'm not sure. it fluctuates I can think two days and it be gone by tomorrow afternoon- anyways i'm rambling

[cosmic-ships]

I'm feeling off today so sorry if I'm not super active for the next couple days.

[peterrparrkerr]

Hit mad falls in love with target - read on ao3

*-*

Peter waved frantically at Tony when he walked into the lab, eyes glued to a computer screen.

"Tony, quick! Look!" He demanded, nearly vibrating in his chair.

Tony made his way over, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned over Peter's shoulder.

"Isn't it awesome?" The young man asked, waving his hands around.

"What am I looking at?" Tony asked.

"Its cancer," Peter said. He points to different colored lines in the graph, all jagged and fluctuating. "This is breast cancer, and this one is pancreatic, skin, lung."

Tony hums as Peter continues to list each colored line as a different form of cancer.

"I was able to isolate the individual cells from everything else, and- look, look!"

Peter snatches Tony by the shirt sleeve and tugs him from one monitor to the one on the other side of the lab. He taps his fingers on the screen, bouncing on his heels.

"These are the cells after being treated with non-radioactive therapy," Peter said, looking up at Tony. "The number of cancer cells is cut in half within a week!"

Peter then drags Tony across the lab again, babbling excitedly as he does so. "Do you know what this means? This means we can start human testing! And we can market the treatment for practically nothing!"

He shows Tony a live feed of the treatment in action from a TV monitor.

"Think about the possibilities," Peter grinned. "Anyone can get treated, no matter their financial standing. And the treatment isn't as harmful as chemo or radiation. It doesn't attack the body as a whole, it isolates the cancer cells and leaves the rest of the body alone.

"No more hair loss or side effects. And we could cut remission in half too," Peter said. "Just think, this time next year, we could start selling to hospitals all over the world."

Tony smiles down at the younger man. He had known within the first day of meeting Peter that he wouldn't be able to follow through. He's glad he hadn't.

"Have you told anybody else?" He asks casually.

"Ned knows," Peter said. "And Bruce, but they were here when it happened."

"Where are they now?"

Peter gives Tony a wry smile, still too excited about his treatment working.

"I sent them home a couple hours ago," he said. "We've all been awake for almost three days, so I'm sure they've gone to bed already."

"You should be in bed too, don't you think?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter waves him off, shaking his head as he goes to his work desk. "I'll sleep later," he said, pulling his lab coat off and draping it over the chair.

He's dressed in his usual outfit; comfortable pants and a button up.

"Plus, I knew you'd make your rounds around this time, and I wanted to tell you," Peter said with a grin, grabbing his personal items.

That was part of Tony's cover. A janitor for the building Peter worked for. Hes wearing a navy blue jump suit, though he's left the cart out in the hallway.

"I'll walk you to your car," Tony hums, leading the way out. When he'd first started this, he'd offered his company to get closer to Peter -to find his vulnerabilities.

Now though, he does it because he's protecting the young scientist.

He'd skipped out with 45 thousand dollars paid to kill the boy, but as the days had gone on, and Peter had grown comfortable with him, Tony realized he couldn't steal him from the world.

Peter was incredible. He worked tirelessly to find a cure for cancer. He's already created a new insulin for diabetes that he's made available to everyone for only $10 a month -something not many other medical professionals liked.

Peter was making enemies left and right, and Tony decided to make it his job to keep him breathing. If not for the rest of his life, then for as long as it takes for the young scientist to see an end to cancer.

The boy wasn't getting much in terms of money for his creations. In fact, from what Tony's come to learn, the boy doesn't own a car, and rents an apartment with his aunt. 

He sees enough to live paycheck to paycheck and this new treatment won't do much to better his life, but he's not concerned with money. He wants to make Healthcare more effective and affordable.

Tony's got morals. Enough of them to know when a hit is a bad investment. That didn't stop him from taking his payment anyway.

The two make it to the car park. Its dark, the overhead lights buzzing annoyingly. Its empty, save for a couple cars belonging to a few of the security guards, and the car Peter shares with his aunt.

It's an older model, grey paint chipping and metal beneath rusting near the wheels. Peter talks animatedly beside him, lands flailing in front of him.

Tony glances around them, scowling as he takes in the familiar cement structure.

"Wait," Tony says, just as Peter's pulling the keys from his pocket. They're a couple feet away from the car, and the hairs on Tony's arms and neck stand on end.

"What is it?" Peter asked curiously, reaching for the door handle.

It's just as Peter grips the handle that Tony sees the wire connected to the metal lock on the other side of the glass.

Tony is quick to react, grabbing Peter by the arms and wrenching him away from the door.

Peter yelps in surprise, but its cut out by the sound of a small explosion. Tony braces for the blast of air that knocks the two off their feet, and grits his teeth at the heat that follows.

Peter's pressed against the cement, Tony weighing down on him. His ears ring, but he quickly gets to his feet, unzipping his jumpsuit and grabbing the .9 mm from the waistband of his jeans.

The car is ablaze, crackle-popping and sizzling. Its just the cab thats on fire, but Tony knows its only a matter of seconds before the flames reach the engine and the fuel line.

Tony looks around him, trying to find the culprit -though he knows from experience that the man won't be here.

He grabs Peter by the armpits and pulls him to his feet. Blood smears against his forehead and jaw. His hands and arms are scraped up and Tony can tell his knees are busted too, but it doesn't look like anything damaging.

"We gotta go," Tony urges, already half dragging the younger back towards the building.

"You-you have a gun," Peter gapes, stumbling after Tony, arm in the older's hard grip. "Why do you have a gun?"

Tony reaches the door for the stairwell.

"I'm a hired gun," Tony said, glancing up, then down, gun following his eyeline before pushing Peter towards the stairs going up.

"I thought you were a janitor," Peter gasped, climbing the stairs and swaying. Tony places his free hand on Peter's lower back.

"Thats just a front," Tony confessed. "We got to get you out of here."

"Someone blew up my car," Peter said, panting as they continue up to the first floor. "Aunt May is gonna kill me."

"Not if Buck doesn't kill you first," Tony grunted, pulling Peter out of the stairwell and into the main lobby.

Tony's car is around the side of the building, but its open to attack. Tony can't keep Peter trapped inside the building though, so he risks it.

Their feet slap loudly on the asphalt as they run for the nondescript black SUV Tony had taken to driving.

He checks around the vehicle, under and inside before issuing Peter into the back seat.

Tires screech as Tony peels out of the parking lot.

"What- whats happening? Tony, what- why do-"

"Someones trying to kill you, Peter," Tony said, blowing past the guard tower at the exit of the parking lot.

"But why?" Peter asked dumbly, voice slurring slightly as more blood turns the side of his face crimson.

"I'll answer all your questions when we're safe," Tony promised, eyes frantically shifting from the area ahead of him to the rear view mirror.

Peter must really be feeling the effects of his head slamming into the concrete, because he doesn't protest.

"Lay down," Tony orders, merging into traffic and slowing down. "Lay low until I say."

Peter does -Tony thinks mostly because of his head injury. Tony relaxes a little, knowing the scientist won't be gunned down in the back seat.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe," Tony answered, keeping an eye behind him.

He doesn't see a tail, but he takes a round-about way to his safe house, just outside of Queens.

When they get to the small cabin, Tony checks the building before helping Peter inside.

"I think I have a concussion," Peter mumbles, swaying on his feet as Tony guides him to the kitchen chair.

"I don't doubt it," Tony agrees, setting his gun down on the table beside Peter's elbow before grabbing the first aid kit.

He pulls another chair over in front of the young scientist and opens the red box.

"Let me see your hands," Tony orders. Peter does, palms up. Tony begins to clean them and his arms.

"Tony," Peter says, breaking the silence. Tony doesn't say anything. He reaches up to clean the blood from the side of Peter's cheek.

"Is your name actually Tony?"

Tony makes eye contact before nodding.

"And you're a hired gun?" Peter asks, slightly breathless. "Like, like a hitman?"

"Yes," Tony answers, reaching the cut on Peter's hairline. Peter winces, but doesn't pull away.

"You kill people for a living?"

"Yes."

It takes Peter a couple seconds, but it seems to hit him. Hes bolting to his feet, the chair clattering behind him.

Tony leans back into the chair, watching as Peter begins to pace.

"What- Tony, you have to tell me whats going on," Peter demands, hand on his head. Tony knows from experience that pacing tends to help the scientist expell excess energy.

"I will," Tony nods. Peter continues his pacing. Back and forth beside the kitchen counter.

"Why- why are people trying to kill me?" He demanded. "Who blew up my car?"

Tony sets the paper towels down on the table, knowing Peter won't sit still for him to properly tend to him.

"The one who blew up your car is another hitman," Tony said. "Goes by the name Winter Soldier."

"You called him Buck," Peter said, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony, eyes narrowed.

"I did," Tony nodded. "Hitmen tend to run in the same circles, though we don't always like each other. Bucky was probably hired to finish the job."

"Finish the job," Peter repeated dumbly. "I'm the job?"

Tony nods, once more letting Peter process. He knew Peter would figure it out without Tony's help. He was smart.

"Finish the job means someone already tried to- to kill me," Peter said, panting as he continued to pace. The wound at his hairline is bleeding sluggishly, dripping down his temple and towards his jaw.

Peter wipes at it without thought, smearing blood against his cheek. He pauses to look down at his hand, fingers glistening in red.

He touches his forehead again, as if remembering he's still injured, then turns to Tony, accusation and fear in his Bambi brown eyes.

"You," he said softly, in disbelief. "You were hired to kill me, weren't you."

"I was," Tony nodded.

"But you haven't," Peter said. Tony can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. "And, and now whoever hired you hired the Winter Soldier."

Tony only nods. Peter takes a shuddering inhale and has to grip the counter with a bloody hand to stabilize himself.

"I'm- I'm- who- who would want to-to kill me?!"

"The payment was anonymous," Tony said. "Thats how it works. But whoever it is is threatened by you."

Peter looks at Tony incredulously. "Me? Why me? I'm the least threatening person -like- ever!"

"You've cost Big Pharma millions with your insulin," Tony said. "You've patented it, so they can't take it and upcharge the way they've been doing. And if your treatment for cancer is a success, you'd be costing them even more."

Peter takes a moment to process that before he nods. "Right, yeah. I knew I was going to make a lot of people mad about that, but. But I never expected anyone to actually try to kill me."

"Money is a powerful motive," Tony said, a little too much experience leaking into his tone.

Peter hears it, because he stops his pacing, shoulders dropping. Exhaustion seems to pull him towards the floor like an anvil tied to his spine.

He sways a little, and Tony's about to offer him the chair again, but he moves to it willingly. When he sits, their knees are barely touching, and he blinks dazedly at his bloody hand.

Tony grabs a clean rag and leans forward to clean up the blood from Peter's head. The younger lets him, still processing and no doubt sluggish from the concussion.

"Why didn't you?" Peter asked after Tony had taped gauze to his hairline. It was patchy and poorly done, but it would help.

"Why didn't I what," Tony hummed, using an alcoholic wet wipe to clean the remaining blood from Peter's hands. The boy winces at the burn to his scraped palms.

"Kill me," he said, swallowing thickly. "You had plenty of opportunity."

Tony sighed, setting the wipes down before leaning forward and looking Peter in the eye.

"Because I believe in the work you're doing," he said honestly. "And I'm going to make sure you finish it."

Peter blinks once, twice, before breaking eye contact and sighing, body eating to melt into the chair as the air leaves his lungs.

"Come on," Tony said, standing up and slipping the gun into the waistband of his pants. Then offering his hand. "This place is safe. Theres a bed you can sleep in."

"I shouldn't sleep with a concussion," Peter said weakly, taking Tony's offered hand anyway.

"Its mild, I'm sure you'll be fine," Tony mused, heading deeper into the cabin to the bedroom.

The bedroom isn't anything special. A twin bed in the corner, a four drawer dresser and a blackout curtain.

Peter climbs onto the bed, not bothering with the covers or taking his shoes off. Tony thinks its best he sleep with them on anyway, in case Bucky finds them.

Tony moves to leave, grabbing the handle, and Peter bolts upright again, eyes wide.

"You're okay," Tony promises. "I'll be right outside."

Peter gives the barest shake of his head. "Stay here, please," he says softly.

Tony nods, shutting the door and turning off the light before making his way to the side of the bed. Theres an old step stool there, and he sits down at the head of the bed.

Peter lays back down, body too tense to ever fall asleep. Tony keeps his ears attuned to any noise that could alert him to Bucky, or anyone else, gun sitting perfectly stop on his knee, finger off the trigger, but ready at a moments notice.

"Tony?"

"Yes, Peter."

Peter shuffles around, and Tony turns his head just in time to feel pillow soft lips connect with the corner of his mouth.

He can't help but smirk as Peter settles back down. "Thanks for not killing me."

Tony chuckles at that, leaning his head against the wall. "I may be a hitman, but I've got morals," he says into the dark room. "Besides, nobody likes cancer."

Peter laughs tiredly at that before reaching his hand out and grabbing Tony's. Their fingers interlock, and Tony doesn't really know which one of them initiated it.

"You're going to be okay," Tony continued. "I wont let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me."

"I know."

[n-blanca-archived]

↳ CLASS 1-A HC’S TO MAKE YOU SMILE (hopefully) 

A/N: i’ve been on class-1a brainrot (yes, all of them. collectively) for SO LONG and honestly? I love it here. romance is all good and dandy but FRIENDSHIP? good shit. 

on that note, these pairings are all platonic! just little things i like about their dynamics or things i think they’d do when they hang out :) feel free to see them as romantic though, not like i can stop you :P

p.s sorry for dipping??? for like months???

genre: fluff

warnings: minor situational angst

→ Denki & Izuku

❑ These two boys are the other’s hype-man, totally. Kaminari absolutely does not mind sitting through Izuku’s ravings about the fluctuating hero rankings, or even just the times where Izuku mutters on and on. 

❑ Kaminari’s been ignored enough times to know that it doesn’t feel good at all to want to talk to someone and for them to sheepishly tell you they’d long since stopped listening. Izuku does the same for Denki, no question. Sometimes Denki starts talking, and he doesn’t really...stop. 

❑ But Izuku finds it’s nice to hang out with the boy, and he doesn’t mind not contributing to the conversation when Denki looks so elated to see someone listening for once. 

❑ While I will forever be the number one advocate for Bakugou tutoring Denki and finding different studying strategies that work for Denki instead of giving up on him, I think Izuku’s just as likely to do that for kami! 

❑ It’s a frustrating first session, but once Izuku’s brian suggests that Kami might just need another method of studying, he takes that idea and runs with it. 

❑ The next week, kami goes to Izuku’s room a little afraid of the freckled boy rejecting him- but to his surprise, Izuku presents him with all types of new study methods, including colored index cards and a home-made sentence reader that covered the entire page except for one line at a time.

❑ (yes, he did tear up for a second.) 

❑ They end up going through that week's chapter in half the time it usually took Denki to get a subject, and they got to play video games afterward! 

→ Ochako & Katsuki

❑ While I don't think the boys in 1-A look down on the girls in the sense of "but they're girls so they are weaker :(" all that much- Katsuki was the first and only one really to make that clear. He didn't see her as something or someone to pity. She was an opponent and a damn capable one at that.

❑ So, yes. Maybe Ochako and Katsuki aren't exactly best friends who'd die for each other. But they’ve proven to each other that if there's someone who'll bring their all to a fight no matter the circumstance, it's each other.

❑ Ochako’s weariness when it came to Katsuki was short lived. It was kind of hard to be so...afraid of someone who treated you better than others seemed to coddle her when she told them she was a hero-in-training. 

❑ It starts small, too. At first it was just teaming up occasionally during class for spars. Then it was going to the gym after school with Katsuki and Eijirou. 

❑ Tiny little hang-outs like that then turn into joining the blonde on his morning runs every once in a while, and eventually Ochako found herself seeking out Bakugou every weekend, and the blonde seemed to be on the same mind-track, too. Every Sunday, when Ochako pulled open the front door, she spotted Katsuki, stretching out in the front lawn, waiting for her. 

❑ (and if they occasionally have breakfast together after their bi-weekly sunday training sessions, then that's their business.)

→ Shouto & Eijirou

❑ them hanging out wasn't really ever. Expected. Like, at all.

❑ but kirishima's shown that he has a knack for weird, almost hostile awkward boys with low friend counts

❑ so shouto fits right in

❑ really it starts when Kirishima finds Shouto in the common room, staring into space. Usually he'd leave him be, but it was weird to see the boy without his group of friends joining him

❑ in an effort to get to know shouto better, kiri offers to play a few rounds of super smash bros,,, and shouto just. blinks. at him. And kiri blinked back for a second before he realizes shouto didn't know what super smash bros was

❑ and of course, to kiri, that's absolute blasphemy

❑ so kiri abandons his trip to the kitchen in favor of sitting next to shouto on the couch, and teaching him how to play as many video games as they could fit in one night

❑ (the first time kiri sees shouto laugh, he can't help the way his face splits into a grin. Todoroki, while not mean, was someone who came off as cold most of the time, so to see him so relaxed made Eijirou feel warm.)

❑ somehow it becomes a regular thing-- shouto would come downstairs, and eventually Kirishima would show up. Sometimes they were both alone, sometimes they were surrounded by their friend groups. But every time without fail, Kirishima would take his place next to shouto, hand him the blue controller that he favored, and turned on the TV to select the first game they'd be playing

❑ (watching Shouto start to gain some of Kirishima's vernacular was also an interesting - read:hilarious - experience)

→ Mina & Yuga

❑break dancing buddies

❑ like. I'm not kidding these two have moves.

❑ well. Mina does, at least. Aoyama gets it pretty quickly but it took him a second to familiarize himself with how your body moves when your break dancing.

❑ aoyama's danced ballet most of his life, so dancing wasn't new to him

❑ but this particular type of dancing was new to him- so of course he reached out to mina after the UA festival

❑ mina, ever the angel, agreed!!!!! Dancing buddies!!!

❑ Mina's also loved dance for a good amount of time

❑ it started in middle school, and just carried into highschool. The idea of being to express yourself with your /body/ was exciting, plus you looked really cool while doing it too!

❑ so when she gets asked by Aoyama to teach him how to breakdance she's nervous, but completely giddy to be able to be someone else's intro to a hobby that was a big part of her life

❑ it's not an uncommon sight to see mina and Aoyama, in their workout clothes, working through moves Step by step with Mina's phone blasting some random song that was beat heavy

❑ (Aoyama would be an interesting extra add on to the bakusquad. Am I wrong? No 🚗)

→ Hanta & Tsuyu

❑ Sero never really interacted with tsuyu, not to say he didn't like her! she just wasn't in his social circle

❑ so to say he felt awkward when he found her in the corner of the library during free period- curled up and sniveling away - was an understatement

❑ still, he put down the fourth issue of a manga he was /really/ looking forward to catching up on, and sat next to her until she calmed down enough to tell him what's wrong

❑ turns out, winter always sucked and made her tired, which made her sad. Added on to the already existing amphibian instincts in her that hated loud noises or too many people, it could get really overwhelming for her

❑ Sero offered to let her into his room whever she wanted to hang out in the quiet, if she felt embarrassed to do so with her closer friends

❑ she seemed surprised, but quickly agreed.

❑ Sero wouldn't tell her, but he often felt the same in a sense. The only two people in his friend group who could be relatively quiet in more personal settings were Bakugou, ironically, and Kirishima. So he often found himself leaving group hang-outs just a little early, to destress in his quiet room.

❑ tsuyu hadn't expected him to stay with her, and especially not offer his room to her whenever she needed to get away. Still, she agreed, knowing she'd probably never take him up on his offer

❑ she was proven wrong three days later, when Ochako squealed about...something.

❑ tsuyu couldn't say for sure what the floaty girl was yelling about. Normally she was attentive, really! But her head was throbbing and she was on the verge of falling asleep then and there when Ochako burst into a loud yell of excitement, startling the frog-like girl

❑ so tsuyu gathered her stuff as quickly as her sluggish body allowed, rushed out a quick goodbye to her baffled friends and made her way to the dorms

❑ the elevator was a struggle, with the humming of the machinery almost lulling her to sleep. She made it out successfully, though due to her drowsiness and increasingly blurring vision, she realized just a little too late that she had wandered down the wrong hallway

❑ sero's name plate made her stutter in her tracks, but after a moment of deliberation that left her swaying on her feet, she knocked as strongly as she could on the thin door, hoping the lanky boy was in his room

❑ thankfully, he was, and he only offered her a small smile before ushering her into the room and guiding her to his bed. Tsuyu thinks she croaked out a tiny "thanks", but she couldn't really be sure

❑ she slept better in those 39 minutes than she had in weeks

❑ after that, tsuyu somehow got into the habit of wandering down the opposite hallway once she left the elevator, and most of the time Sero would open his door when she knocked, only giving her a smile before letting her wander to his bed or, more commonly, the pile of blankets and bean bags he had in a corner of his room.

❑ (she wouldn't admit it, and neither would he, but the times where they walked back to his dorm together once their free period began were their favorites. and the days where tsuyu wasn't so sleepy and they talked for the hour they had weren't so bad, either)

okokok i’m cutting it here since that last section was super long! who knew i had so much to say about hanta and tsuyu ,,,, 

anyway! this was super fun, so i’ll definitely be doing stuff like this more in the future. if you have two characters you’d particularly like to see, don’t be afraid to jump into my ask box! 

[citrinekay]

I've got a prompt! Sick Holden though, so I hope that's okay since you seem to be getting a lot of them... Holden's been throwing up all day, and Bill has to man-handle him to get him to shower, eat, drink, etc. (I'm not sure if Bill can physically carry Holden, but damn would that be so super sweet to read!)

Luckily this trope goes perfectly with their dynamic and I could probably write this scenario to infinity 😭 And this is fiction so if I want to make Bill carry Holden bridal-style NO ONE CAN STOP ME! Enjoy:

Flu season could not have attacked Holden at a worse time. He blames it on the soggy atmosphere in Oregon, the constant rain, the fluctuating temperatures. They’re supposed to be helping the local police with canvassing the morning he wakes up with a headache pounding through his temples and his stomach churning with nausea. He stumbles to the bathroom to dry heave into the toilet bowl, expelling remnants of previous night’s dinner and acidic bile. 

He’s still lying on the cool tile of the hotel bathroom when Bill knocks on his door. Holden shouts for him to come in, and presses both hands over his clammy cheeks. 

The door squeaks open, and Bill’s footsteps shuffle across the carpet. 

“Holden?”

“In here.” Holden calls, suppressing a groan. 

Bill comes around the corner to poke his head into the bathroom. Immediate concern washes across his expression when he sees Holden sprawled on his back in his underwear. 

“What happened?” Bill asks, rushing to his side. 

He kneels down to press the back of his hand to Holden’s forehead, searching for an elevated temperature. 

“I don’t know.” Holden whispers, pressing his eyes shut. “I felt fine yesterday.” 

“I think you have a fever.” Bill says, “How long have you been laying here?”

“Not long.” 

“Can you get up?”

Holden nods. His head spins as Bill clutches his hands, and pulls him upright. Holden pauses, lowering his head and squeezing his eyes shut against the loud ringing in his ears and the darkness infringing on the corners of his vision. 

“Are you going to be sick again?” Bill asks, worriedly.

Holden shakes his head, vehemently. It’s more of a command to himself than a reasonable affirmation. 

“Okay, come on.” Bill says. He slips one arm around Holden’s back, and the other under his legs. “Put your arm around my neck.”

“Bill, no. I can walk.”

“If you pass out, I’m going to have to carry you as dead weight.” Bill says, “Help me out here.”

Holden sighs heavily, and slips his arm around Bill’s neck. 

Bill climbs to his feet, hoisting Holden bridal style in his arms. Holden clings onto him with both arms, his stomach swaying despite the fact that he’s not trying to walk. 

The thought that Bill might have been right doesn’t cross his mind as Bill carries him out of the bathroom and back to the bed. He’s gotten through a bout of the flu on his own plenty of times before when he was single. Despite the fact that he doesn’t have to do everything on his own now, he still resents the idea of being dependent on Bill - especially for something as simple as walking. 

Holden quickly retrieves his arms from Bill’s neck as his backside meets the sheets. He leans back against the pillows, and presses his eyes shut. 

“I just need a minute.” Holden says, “I’ll be okay.”

“Holden, you have a fever. You can’t go to work like this.”

“But-”

“No.” Bill says, more firmly. “You want to get everyone else sick?”

Holden slips his eyes open to cast Bill a resigned frown. “No.”

“Then you’re staying here.” Bill says, “I’ll go downstairs and get you some eggs and toast from the continental breakfast. You need to eat something.”

Holden nods, unable to scrape together any further arguments. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Bill says, leaning down to drop a kiss on Holden’s forehead. 

After Bill leaves the room, Holden rolls over on his side and glares at the wallpaper in misery. He would rather tread through muddy crime scenes, talk to victim’s families, and spend twelve hours at a time down at the precinct than be forced to stay in bed with the flu. It’s the first time in a while that he’s been sick, and it had to happen while they were on consult. To be fair, they’re hardly ever not on consult these days, but maybe he would be more receptive of Bill’s care if they were at home where that type of affection belongs. 

When Bill returns with a plate of eggs and toast, he makes Holden sit up in the bed, and watches him eat the first half of the meal before announcing he’s going to head over to the precinct. 

“I might not be back until late.” Bill says, “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” 

“Yeah.” Holden says, “I’ll call and order carry out later if I feel like eating.”

Bill gets up to grab a bottle of water from the minifridge, and digs for the Ibuprofen in Holden’s suitcase.

Holden swallows down two tablets with a few sips of the water, and caps the bottle.” 

 “Drink all of that.” Bill says, waving his finger at the water bottle.“There’s more in the fridge. You need to stay hydrated.”

Holden sighs, and casts him an impertinent gaze. “Yes, daddy.”

Bill scowls. “I mean it.”

“Okay.” Holden says, sinking down against the pillows. “I got it. You should go to work.”

“Try to get some sleep.” Bill says, bending down to plant another kiss on his cheek. “I love you, baby.”

Holden scrunches his eyes shut, and grumbles, “I love you, too.”

He hates to be treated like a helpless child, but the moment that Bill is gone, he wishes for the reassuring touch on his fevered forehead just one more time. 

He falls back into restless sleep that’s dogged by disjointed dreams and rising body temperature. When he wakes up a few hours later, he’s slick with perspiration, and the bedsheets are clinging to his back. He staggers out of bed, struck by a fresh wave of nausea. 

After vomiting once more and laying on the bathroom floor for what feels like an hour, he crawls back to the bed, and climbs onto the other side of the mattress where the sheets aren’t soaked through by fevered sweating. 

He drinks down some water, and turns on the television in an attempt to distract himself from his discomfort. 

The day crawls by into languid agony. The fever seems to break around noon, but the lack of sweating doesn’t ease the sharp pain piercing his temples or the nausea hedging at his belly the second he tries to sit up. He fades in and out of sleep between re-runs of day time soap operas and weather reports, and when the five o’clock news rolls around with another dead body to add to the tally, he shuts the TV off completely.

 Dragging the pillow over his head, he smothers a frustrated groan. Despite how poorly he feels, he despises the thought of lying worthlessly in bed while another woman goes missing. 

Some time later, the telephone on the nightstands rings, interrupting yet another drifting nap. Pushing the pillow away from his face, and he blindly grabs for the phone and presses it to his ear. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me.” Bill says, “I’m about to leave the precinct. How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” Holden whispers. 

“Are you hungry? I can pick something up.”

“I puked up breakfast. I don’t think it’s worth it.” Holden says, uttering a weary sigh. 

“You gotta eat something, baby.”

“The thought of eating makes me sick.” Holden complains, “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay.” Bill says, “I’ll be back in a little.”

They hang up, and Holden buries his head in the pillows again. 

A little while later, Bill arrives with a plastic bag from the grocery store in tow. He tucks several water bottles in the fridge, and crosses the room to where Holden is cuddled under the sheets in the fetal position. 

Holden pushes the pillows away from his face as Bill’s weight settles on the edge of the bed. Bill’s fingers stroke his hair back from his forehead to feel his temperature again. 

“Fever broke.” Bill says, his brow furrowed in concentration. “That’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, we need to let housekeeping in tomorrow morning.” Holden says, “I’ve never sweated so much in my life.”

Bill chuckles, softly. “You think you can get up for a bath?”

“Are you saying I stink?”

“In the kindest way possible.” Bill says, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. 

“Ugh,” Holden groans, “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted to come back to after working for ten hours … bathing your sick as death partner and trying not to get puked on?”

“Yeah, it’s really sexy.” Bill says, unperturbed by Holden’s complaints. 

“Oh, yeah, this feels so sexy.” Holden says, “I’ve never felt sexier, in fact.”

“Come on,” Bill says, carefully dragging Holden upright from the sheets. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We can go over to my room.”

“Are you sure you want to sleep in the same bed as me tonight?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Bill says, slipping his arm around Holden’s waist. 

Holden’s legs tremble as Bill helps him out of the bed, and he loops his arm tighter around Bill’s neck. They shuffle slowly across the carpet to the bathroom. 

“Can you stand?” Bill asks. 

Holden clutches the edge of the sink counter, and squeezes his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness. He shakes his head. 

“Here, sit down.” Bill says, easing him down to the closed lid of the toilet seat. 

Holden crouches with his head cradled in his hands while Bill runs water into the bathtub, testing it with his fingertips to make sure it’s the right temperature. When the tub is filled, Holden strips out of his underwear, and grips Bill’s shoulder to steady himself. 

He sinks down into the water with a heavy sigh, and runs wet hands over his flushed cheeks. 

“Better?” Bill asks, softly, sitting down on the edge of the tub surround. 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Bill passes him each bottle of soap while Holden bathes slowly, making certain not to create any sudden movements that would disturb the careful equilibrium in his head. When he’s done, he leans back against the cool plaster, and shuts his eyes. 

The backs of Bill’s fingers stroke wet curls away from his temple and wander down his cheek. Holden turns his face into the caress, keeping his eyes shut over the relief swelling hotly against his eyelids. 

“You okay?” Bill asks, quietly, noting the tremble in Holden’s chin. 

Holden nods, carefully opening his eyes to glimpse Bill’s concerned gaze watching over him. “Yes.” 

They’re both quiet as Bill helps him out of the tub, and wraps the towel around his shoulders. Some of the dizziness has slacked off, but Holden allows his body to sway into Bill’s chest. When Bill’s hands instinctively curl around his waist to draw him closer, Holden nestles his forehead against his shoulder. 

“Thank you.” He whispers, his voice low and raspy. 

Bill holds him a little tighter, one hand patting Holden’s lower back. “It’s okay, Holden. This is what you do when you love someone.”

Holden sniffs, and nods against Bill’s shoulder. But he doesn’t know, and maybe no one has ever really loved him as much as Bill does. The thought clings to the back of Holden’s mind as Bill digs clean pajamas out of his suitcase, and helps him get dressed. 

He’s already feeling better by the time they walk over to Bill’s room where the bed is freshly made up and void of any hint of sickness. 

Bill puts him in bed, and goes to get a shower himself. When he comes back, he retrieves the saltine crackers he’d purchased at the store from the bag, and climbs into bed with Holden to coax him into eating a few. 

“Fine. I’ll eat them if you tell me about the case.” Holden says, snuggling down against the sheets. 

Bill props himself up on his elbow, casting Holden an exasperated gaze. 

Holden pops one of the crackers in his mouth, and chews deliberately. 

“Okay. Fine.” Bill says. 

He goes on to tell Holden about the progress they had made today, the new victim, and the witness statements they had taken. Somewhere around the boyfriend’s alibi, Holden feels himself drifting off again. This time, he isn’t agitated with fever, and he feels his limbs sinking heavily into the mattress. The last thing he recalls before drifting off entirely is Bill’s fingers wandering absently through his hair, and the sound of his voice, a low timbre, a cadence like a reassuring lullaby.