Rose's Sickfic Plague Pit

[thethirteenthchild]

I'm sick so I'm giving my characters my wretched cold. Specific characters available upon request. Intended to be very low effort. Starters in the comments!

Comments

Dahlia

[thethirteenthchild]

For Radar

[thethirteenthchild]

It's very uncommon for Dahlia to be properly sick. The closest she normally comes is displaying symptoms of anemia when she hasn't "eaten" in a while, but such instances are deliberate choices that she can prepare for. Her immune system is otherwise built like a tank.

But every so often, a bad cold goes around, and Dahlia finds herself immobilized by it.

She is currently laid up in bed, a fortress of blankets and pillows, barely distinguishable from a corpse.

[incomingchoppers]

"Hey," says Radar softly as he nudges open the door with one foot. "I got your lunch."

Fussing's kinda the job when you're a MASH clerk, and until the cold catches him, too, he's been handling this like a shift in post-op. (Only with more cuddling.) He sets a tray by the bed that's got a whole array of stuff on it. "We got soup, tea, some toast -- oh, the tea's already got honey and ginger and lemon in it -- and I refilled your hot water bottle while I was at it. Any of that sound good?"

[thethirteenthchild]

With a groan, Dahlia peels herself away from her horrid chrysalis to sit up, sweat pinning her hair to her skin. "Honestly, nothing sounds good right now, but I know it'll help..."

A clean handkerchief is pulled from a small stack of folded ones. Dahlia has since abandoned the pretty ones she usually carries and instead reached for squares of plain or ugly fabric lucky to have a hem at all. She turns away from Radar to blow her nose, then grabs the toast, starting to nibble at the corner.

"Thank you for this," Dahlia says for the hundredth time.

[incomingchoppers]

"Of course," he says -- and even though he's also saying it for the hundredth time, he sounds no less gently astonished.

As she un-cocoons, Radar fluffs a couple of the pillows and straightens the blanket so she's more comfortable. "Any changes in how you're feeling?"

[thethirteenthchild]

"If you'd asked me while I was lying down, I would have said I felt better, but now that I'm upright, I really do not." She lets out a hollow laugh. "I think my fever might be breaking, though. I don't feel as shaky and I don't get so many cold chills."

[incomingchoppers]

"Oh," he sighs. "My poor girl."

He presses a light kiss to her temple, taking the opportunity to check her forehead while he's there. "Yeah, you don't feel so warm anymore. That's good. But you're still kinda hot."

An embarrassed beat as he realizes what he just said.

"Runnin' kinda hot I mean."

[thethirteenthchild]

Hot being used to mean sexy is something that offworlders brought to Pumpkin Hollow, so at first, Dahlia thinks nothing of it either. It's only when Radar himself brings attention to the matter that Dahlia notices at all.

A grin cracks her pallid face and she lets out a hoarse, rattling laugh. "I know what you meant, love," she teases. "Though honestly, I think you'd find a way to compliment me in just about any state at this point. People probably think I've put some kind of spell on you."

[incomingchoppers]

Radar shrugs, easygoing and earnest. "Well it's easy when you're so pretty and smart."

(You're not beating the charges, Radar.)

"Anybody who thinks you had to trick me just hasn't spent enough time around you."

Capochin

[staybizzy]

For Hector

[staybizzy]

"ACHOO!"

The abrupt sound rings out through the office, followed by an annoyed, quieter, "Cripes." There is a pile of tissues in Capochin's waste bin next to his desk, his coffee shockingly untouched as he miserably hunches over his paperwork.

Someone should tell him to take a break.

[carefulinspekshun]

The latest sneeze, and the first one of the day Hector's been here for since his short trip out for errands, gets a look of surprise as Hector comes into the office with his own cup of coffee. He'd gotten a reassurance that this was just "allergies, probably", but considering how the level of tissues in that bin are only getting higher, he's not exactly convinced.

"Yew feelin' okay, Cappy?" Hector asks, giving him a skeptical brow and a worried little frown. "Yew're lookin'... a lil' rough."

[staybizzy]

Capochin looks up from his work, baggy-eyed and weary, a deep blue flush burning through the fur on his cheeks.

"What?" He asks slightly too loudly, despite Hector speaking at a reasonable volume. His ears are clearly congested enough that it's making it hard to hear.

[carefulinspekshun]

Well, that just about cuts it. Between his volume and a better look at him, it's clear that a spring cold's gotten hold of him. Just like he used to do when they were younger, Capochin's trying to muscle through it like nothing's wrong.

And, just like Hector always used to, hands find his hips, and that doting sort of frustration rises to his face.

"Awright, yep, yew're sick. Pen down, mister," he starts, stepping over. He's not exactly good at taking care of other people--- he's barely good at taking care of himself--- but he's been fussed over while sick enough times to have a decent idea of how this ought to go. "It's rest n' rec-of-her-ee for yew today, c'mon."

[staybizzy]

"What? No, I'm fine! It's just a lil' hay fever, Hector, it goes away when them cobdamn flowering trees quit bloomin'! C'mon, I'm busy!" Capochin tries in vain to shoo Hector away, trying to get back to writing.

[carefulinspekshun]

"Yeah, yew say dat every year, and yew know what happens? Couple days later, yew're too sick to move, 'cause yew woiked yewrself too hard!" Hector isn't deterred by the swatting, moving to press the back of his hand to Capochin's forehead, then the side of his face. "Cripes, yew're burnin' up, too! Yew're off-duty today. Boss's orders. Don't make me pick yew up to get yew away from dat desk."

[staybizzy]

"Don't you dare!"

Anya

[cantstandthenoise]

For Curly

[cantstandthenoise]

Working at a clinic, picking up something from a patient during cold season is a little bit inevitable, no matter how well Anya and Artemy try to keep things sanitized. So when Curly returns from his day aboard Mipha's Grace, it will be to the unusual sight of Anya not only home, but still in bed, apparently not having moved since he left for the morning. The only change in her position is that she's grabbed her sending stone, a sharp hunk of moonstone on a chain, evidently to call out of work. The chain is still looped around her hand as she snoozes away, snoring loudly the way she only does when she's terribly congested.

Curly to the Rescue

[changehurts]

The knock on Anya's door is ginger and unmet, and with the spare key he'd been given some weeks ago, Grant lets himself inside. He comes with bag-in-hand; vegetables and stock and whatever teabags live in the furthest corners of his cabinets. A lackluster care package, maybe. But never lacking in intent.

Setting his things down, he crosses the living room on careful feet. Enters the bedroom and can't help but chuckle at what sounds like a grizzly bear snoozing the day away. Poor thing. Must be a bad one.

Curly sits on the foot of her bed. It depresses under his weight.

"Hey, Anya. You alive?"

[cantstandthenoise]

"UuuuuUUUuuuuuugghHHHhhhHhhhhhhhh." A very detailed response. "Curly... I think I'm a gonner. Save yourself..."

[changehurts]

A grin splits his features. "Not on my watch. I'm playing doctor today, didn't you know? I don't have the fancy jacket or stethoscope," He reaches out a bear-paw hand to sweep her bangs from her forehead. Awfully hot. A cool rag should do the trick. "But I think I've got the spirit. Picked up a couple things from my Ma."

Peeling away from the poor woman's bedside, he fetches a rag to wet, fills a pot with vegetable stock and water and sets it to boiling.

"You think it's work that got'cha sick?"

[cantstandthenoise]

"I'm not sure," Anya says, sighing and rolling onto her back. "We see sick people every day, but also we clean well and wear masks. I think it's just flu season... Coulda got it from anywhere."

[changehurts]

A deep hum vibrates Curly's throat. "Whatever it is, it won't last for long."

He joins Anya at the edge of the bed and lays the cool cloth across her forehead. "You eat anything yet today? I've got broth on the stove. If you can make it onto your feet, I could use some supervision cutting the veggies. I'll pull up a chair for you. Hell, I'll even carry you over to it."

[cantstandthenoise]

"I'll make a poor supervisor," Anya grumbles. "But it might be good moral support for both of us. I think I can make it to the chair."