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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 2 years

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Can’t fight a fever like that

Summary: One shot. Sick/comfort/care fic. Marc has a fever and the system struggles with how to deal with it.

Warning: Fever. And then it's soft.

Word Count: 3499

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Everything hurt.

Marc could feel his muscles aching all the way from his head down to his big toe. Even his joints felt a dull constant pain as if he needed to pop them just to make them settle right, yet no matter how he squirmed the ache was still there.

Movement was a different pain. His skin felt hot and over sensitized. Any pressure or texture against him felt like fire. He would have stripped and kicked his sheets off if not for the wave of chills that rippled through him at random.

He was hot. He was on fire. And he couldn’t get warm. Shivering and shaking only reminded him how much everything hurt.

If only he could sleep. Just sleep it off. He could close his sore eyelids and give his dry and throbbing eyes a rest from the blaring light. Maybe then his ears would stop feeling like they were stuffed with cotton that somehow amplified every little sound. Tapping from some leaky faucet that was boring a hole into his brain. An idle engine outside that just kept thrumming and thrumming and thrumming down into his very chest and soul.

He squirmed in his sheets, arms sliding over the raspy linen that had once been perfectly fine but now felt like sandpaper.

Sweat beaded his forehead and ran into his burning eyes. He wanted to roll over and shove his head into his pillow but any position beside being on his back was wrong. It was all wrong. He thrashed in his sheets and felt his hair tangle and plaster to his forehead.

He was sick and he was in the middle of a sensory overload with nothing to do but lay there and struggle not to have the ultimate melt down. It would feel good. No one was here to witness it. He was safe in his own home. He could kick the sheets off and thrash around while crying and throwing things. Oh how he wanted to take that stupid clock with the too bright glowing letters and throw it across the room…

But the effort that would take when he could hardly sit up and reach for the ice water he had somehow managed to put next to his bed in a rare and amazing moment of forethought.

He sipped the water through a straw, feeling the cold liquid hit his too hot mouth like a goddess bringing rains to a desert. He nearly did start to cry as he continued to sip. He had to take such small sips. His throat felt swollen and raw, threatening to reject the precious cool liquid. He had to trick it into accepting it by taking the smallest sips, letting it trickle down into his fiery pit of a stomach.

Relief hit him as his internal fire was momentarily quenched. Sliding back down into the bed, he smiled to himself. “Take that you stupid fever.”

Oh, but the fever was coy and just as he felt maybe he could find some comfort, the chills set in again. As if to say “Alright, you want to be cool?”

His whole body seized up as he shivered involuntarily, bringing the pain and hyper sensory back to the front in full force.

Somehow he managed to slip in and out of sleep. It would feel like hours of fitful sleep was on him until he opened his eyes and stared at the clock. It had been half an hour and it was only one A.M.

He curled up into a little ball and gave in. At least the fitful dreams were an escape from his burning flesh and inability to find comfort in any way.

But this time the dreams did not come. The fever had one last game to play as it slithered inside his mind, stretching out his thoughts and warping any sense of reality that he tried to cling to.

The light of the clock is the moon. He reached for it. Come to me, Marc. Let me wrap you in my garments of old. Let me take you from this desert.

He woke to find himself clutching the alarm clock in his outstretched arms. He felt the buttons on top and deliriously pressed the long flat snooze button. No Khonshu. I can’t go out like this. I look terrible.

He shoved the clock away and stared at his hands. An image came to mind. Something he could touch that would feel wonderful, even in this hyper state.

It was golden and glittered with such an amazing pattern. Like scales or chain-mail. Yet it looked smooth and sleek as it hugged something so soft and firm and round.

“Layla…” He held up his hand as if he could summon her by thought alone. The Scarlet Scarab outfit. Every piece of it looked so wonderful. So beautiful on her. It highlighted and complimented her own natural coloration and felt so easy to look out. No bright and taunting colors like some heroes. He could look at her for hours in this… He wanted to study her. To sit down and stare at the cloth at her waist. It looked so soft and light. To touch the stretchy fabric that clung to her thighs.. It looked cool and he wanted to know if it had a touch to it. Was it smooth? Was it lightly bumpy? Would he be able to feel each pattern? Or would he simply feel her soft body give under his fingers as he slid his hands up to the leather belt….

“Why didn’t I touch it?” He groaned and let his hands fall back. “Stupid suit.” He had clung to her and only felt the rough and heavy gloves of the suit. How he wished he could have taken the armor off and just felt her. Then he could know… Know what it felt like… Know what his fingers would feel… Know relief from this hell of rough bed sheets and itchy pajamas.

Marc?

“Layla… Commer a sec. I just wanna… I gotta know…”

Marc.

“Is it smooth? It looks so smooth.”

Marc!

He jolted awake, eyelids fluttering. “Hm. What? What is it?”

“Marc let me take over. You’re miserable.” Steven appeared in his now melted glass of ice water.

Melted like me. “I’m a puddle of condensation.” Marc smiled.

“Marc, give me the body.” Steven’s face frowned at him.

“No. I got this.” Marc attempted to roll over and only managed to slide his legs under the sheets enough to remind himself that he hated everything right now. “Ugh.”

“You do not ‘got this’. You just likened yourself to condensation. Give me the body.” Steven reached.

“No… It’s my fever. You don’t want this…” Marc fought back with surprising strength considering he wasn’t even sure he was seeing straight. Steven didn’t deserve to feel like this. It was miserable. Marc had felt worse. He could handle this. Steven had never even been sick before!

“Give me the body! Marc! Let go!” Steven struggled and felt a brief moment of pain as their headache bloomed from the effort.

“It’s mine. My fever. You can’t handle this. I got it fair and square.” Marc grinned as he lay back in a painful victory. “No fever for you.”

Steven glared. “Alright. Fine. You want to play hard ball?”

Marc looked at the glass with what he hoped was an expression that conveyed his victory. He grimaced and winced. “What’re you gonna do? Drink tea and eat horrible English food to chase it away? You just gonna lay here miserable and sad and going ‘Oh Marc you were right this is terrible. Take the body Marc take it back!’” He made pitiful little English sounds and coughed with the effort.

Steven jutted his jaw out. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that and that you’re delirious with fever.”

Marc chuckled softly, which turned to a pained moan as the headache only worsened when the muscles around his jaw tensed.

“You asked for it.” Steven shrugged. “JAKE!”

“No no wait! It's mine! I’m fine-” Marc fell to the back as relief washed over him. He slipped down in pure bliss as the pain washed away and at last he could rest with only the smallest of guilt lingering. He would apologize to Steven later.

Jake lay there a moment, assessing the body and trying to figure out where Marc had gone wrong. “Ah. Idiota.” He tensed as he rolled out of bed. The stiffness was unreal and he staggered on his feet as he waited for the world to stop spinning.

It was a slow stumble to the kitchen to refill the glass of water. A painful struggle as he forced his painful finger joints to grip the bottle of Tylenol. He took two easily then stumbled back to his bed.

“He didn’t take anything?” Steven sounded utterly disappointed. “He was just going to lay there miserable until it passed?”

Jake lay back with his eyes closed against the pounding headache that reminded him of fists beating him about the temple. “Si. He is always like this. Miserable until the fever breaks. Thinks it is the only way to ride it out.”

“Why?” Steven was appalled as he watched Jake flinch and tense as he lay perfectly still on the bed as if he could somehow force the body into cooperation just as he could force Marc out of the driver’s seat.

“I think he likes it.” Jake shrugged. “The pain. The loss of control. Self punishment perhaps. I have it now. We will recover. You can go back now.” He lifted a hand to wave Steven away, only managing to force it up a little as his fingers limply twitched.

Steven frowned. “And you’re going to just what? Force it into submission? It’s a fever, Jake. You can’t control everything.”

“I’m fine.” He gritted his teeth as the body started to shiver violently and Jake refused to pull up the blanket. “All in the mind. I’m not cold. It wants me to think I am cold. I know this trick. I will pull up the blankets and then be miserable and hot and sweaty.”

Jake smiled to himself. He was not falling for this. He had fought many illnesses before. He could remember the chicken pox. Marc had been insufferable sitting there pitifully itching and crying and making it worse. Jake had shown that illness though. He had sat there perfectly still and stubborn. He had not given into the urge to itch. He was stronger than that.

“Are you seriously going to brute force your way through this?” Steven stared as Jake grimaced and held perfectly still. The tension alone was sure to cause pain once he fully relaxed.

“I will win. I always win. I have to win. No one is there to take care of us.” Jake shuddered and clenched his jaw tighter. “I have to do it. She was never there. There was no soup or kind words or care. I had to do this. I had to save Marc because they would not!”

“Save?” Steven sighed. “Jake, it’s just the flu. This isn’t something you fight. This isn’t some hidden enemy that you have to pull Marc away from. You have to use a different method. You have to rest. You have to let the body just be.”

Jake attempted to sit up as if trying to face Steven. “You think I am not strong enough? You think I haven’t done this many times before?”

Steven jutted his chin out and nodded to himself. “Alright. That’s it. You two are going to get a serious talking to when this is over.”

Jake wasn’t expecting it. Not from Steven. He was so focused on what he assumed was some sort of threat lurking in the corner that he was caught totally off guard when Steven yanked front from him.

Jake made a move to take the body back but was already worn out. He slowly relaxed back as Steven struggled to his feet.

Steven staggered around the apartment. It all felt terrible. Each step was a struggle of pain and balance. But he couldn’t just lay there feeling so uncomfortable. “Comfort…” Steven reasoned. “We need to be comfortable.”

He gathered a few things and tossed them to the bed. “Comfort…” His quickly worn out mind latched on to anything even remotely comforting.

He grabbed the phone from his desk and dialed. “Hey love, sorry to bother you so late…”

–

“Seriously, you’ve never had this before?” Layla set a tray down across Steven’s lap.

“I can’t recall ever being sick.” Steven shrugged, though it was weak and painful. “I mean it makes sense… Why would she care for us when we’re sick when she wouldn’t even care for us when we were healthy?”

He had several pillows fluffed up behind him to help him sit up and a shawl draped across his shoulders to fight off the chills or easily remove when he got too hot.

Layla sighed and gently brushed the sweat from his forehead with a cool washcloth. “Drink.” She pointed to the hot cup of tea before him. “My father used to make this for me when I was sick. Honey, Lemon, and Ginger. Very simple but so soothing.”

Steven blew on the cup as he held it in his hands, feeling the radiating heat soothe his sore finger joints. He took a sip and felt the instant relief on his sore throat.

With each sip, he slowly coaxed out the one that needed this the most.

Jake blinked down at the cup in his hands. He looked up at Layla as she reached up and again wiped his forehead. It was nice… The horrible sweaty feeling he hated so much was wiped away with the cool and gentle touch.

He sipped the tea and found it to be such a wonderful mix of sweet and heat and tangy. Drinking it in, he relaxed back, letting his stiff back sink into the pillows. “Hermosa…”

“See? Not so bad to relax, hm?” She smiled at him and watched him slowly relax his shoulders and neck. Each sip seemed to relax him until he looked so small in the fortress of pillows Steven had built up.

Irritated at first with Steven’s plea for someone to just come and take care of them at this hour of the night, she suddenly understood as she looked at them now.

He looked so fragile there, surrounded by items of attempted comfort. Things Steven had desperately pulled close as he tried to figure out what it was he needed. What would help chase away the fever dreams and painful aches.

Every pillow and blanket was piled around them. He had changed into the softest and loosest pajamas he owned and he had even grabbed a Taweret plush that he had gotten for a laugh, tucking it in at his side to use as an armrest and something to cling to.

“Do you think you can hold down anything?” She had made a few stops at the first open stores she had come across as she trekked to the flat in the dark.

Jake looked up at Layla, considering the question. “Food?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Your body is using up so much energy to fight for you. You need to give it what it needs so it can fight properly.”

Jake considered this and nodded his approval. The body was fighting for him. He didn’t need to do anything but give it what it needed. “Food might be nice…” He shifted back into the pillows and pulled the shawl closer around his shoulders as a light chill washed over him.

“It will take a little time. Do you have a stuffy head at all?” She got up and moved to the kitchen, quietly pulling out some cooking supplies to heat something up.

Jake shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“Hmm.” She set something on the stove then moved to get something out of her bag. She opened a jar and scooped out something that looked oily.

Jake frowned. “What is that?”

“Relax. You won’t even notice it.” She pushed his loose collar down gently and rubbed the ointment over his chest and collar bone. Her touch was slow and delicate as she moved her hand in small circles, rubbing in the ointment. It soothed his sore muscles and even her radiating heat was hardly noticed as he closed his eyes, letting his mind follow her fingers.

She pressed a little harder as she rubbed his shoulders and the back of his neck, feeling the tight muscles start to give as she worked them over gently.

Jake took a slow breath and felt his sinuses suddenly open as air at last worked past a blockage he hadn’t even known was there. He inhaled deeply and felt the body suddenly seem to release all the tension it had been storing with each shiver.

Layla got up as Jake drifted into a relaxed slumber. His face was relaxed and she marveled at how there was no way to tell who was behind the wheel in this state. Did they all dream together? Did they share this moment or did they each dream their own piece?

She went back to the kitchen to continue to prep the food, checking on him now and then to make sure his dreams stayed soft.

Marc woke some time later, feeling more human than before, but still horribly weak. He helplessly flailed as he struggled to pull at the blankets that had become tangled around him. Was that a plush? He must still be delirious.

“Good morning.” Layla looked up from her spot on the couch, setting aside one of Steven’s books. “How are you feeling?”

Marc groaned and kicked at his blankets. “Layla?” He looked around in confusion. “What’s wrong? Why are you here? What’s that smell?”

Something smelled wonderful and earthy. He was surprised he could smell at all as he inhaled deeply. His stomach growled loudly and he flopped back in the bed again.

Layla got up and moved over to him, fluffing his pillows and helping him to sit up before offering him a drink of water. “You are sick. Someone needed to come care for you. You are lucky I love you, Marc. Did you think I wouldn’t want to care for you?”

Marc sipped the water, using it as an excuse not to answer. “Just a fever.” He shrugged and brushed his hair back. He was surprised to find his face clean.

“Hm. It doesn’t matter Marc. You should let me decide if I’m going to help you or not.” She gave him a look then moved to the kitchen. There was a brief clattering then she returned with a bowl of lentil soup. “My parents used to make this for me when I had a cold.”

He looked down at the bowl to find a smooth yet hearty bowl of soup. He could smell the spices there that made him think of his time in Egypt. Warm and comforting it reminded him of home. Not of the hell that he had grown up in, that was not home. But of his home with Layla. Of her cooking this for him their first winter together as she cheerfully told him to eat up and warm his bones.

Marc took a spoon full and let himself remember her sitting across from him at the table, her face nervous as he tried her soup for the first time. Her smile as he took another bite and sung his praises. He had not had it since… A regret that now he realized could be easily remedied.

Each bite made him feel stronger and more like maybe everything before had been just a dream.

Once finished he sat back and watched her clear the tray back to the kitchen. He smiled as he relaxed back. He could still feel the remains of the fever, but the fight was over. They had won together.

“Thank you… For coming.” Marc looked away.

“Of course. It’s what people do when they love one another. They take care of each other.” She smiled back at him. “And they let people take care of them.”

Marc nodded and closed his eyes as he let his mind wander. “Hey Layla?”

“Hm?” She moved to sit back on the couch with her book.

“Do you still have that outfit from Cairo?”

“Outfit? Which one?” She gave him a puzzled look.

“The suit. The one from Taweret.” Marc pulled the shawl over his shoulders and nestled in, feeling the plush of the hippo goddess at his side.

“Why?” Layla blinked in surprise. “I’m sure if I asked she’d be more than thrilled to lend it to me again…”

“I bet it feels nice…” Marc drifted back to sleep, a grin on his face.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Layla El Faouly #Sick fic #fever #Someone take care of these idiots #Jake you can't fight a fever like that #Guess who wrote this in three hours with a fever!#I might want to touch the suit #it looks so cool #Gonna try to sleep now #I want soup

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