Author's note: Due to the length of chapters, and in a break from my usual update policy, this fic will be updated on a daily basis, as befitting the title.
DAY ONE…
Hawkeye kicked the door closed with his heel, juggling an armful of groceries as he did so. Their basic little motel room had, fortunately, furnished them with a modest kitchenette, which meant they could at least cook for themselves.
"Okay, I got bread, luncheon meats, dried pasta, pepperoni, tinned beans, coffee granules and that god-awful long-life milk stuff. It's all disgusting but it's got a shelf life of about a hundred years, so we could probably survive a nuclear winter if we have to." He looked up from his bundle, and stopped dead.
Trapper was hunched over on the bed, clutching his gut. His skin was pale and glistening, and he was clearly in some discomfort.
"You don't look so good." Hawkeye's usually jovial tone was grave, his brow knitted in concern.
Trapper glanced up at him. "Thanks. You really know how to flatter a guy. Would it kill ya to mince your words a little?"
"Actually, I was. You look like shit." Hawkeye dumped the groceries on the table and moved over to press a hand to Trapper's forehead.
"I'm fine." Trapper pushed him away.
"Bullshit. Hold still." Again, Hawkeye pressed his hand to Trapper's forehead, finding his skin cold and clammy. He said nothing, but sighed.
"What? Am I dying?"
"Have you eaten much this morning?"
"Oh, like what?" Trapper gestured to the kitchen, which Hawkeye had just dashed off to the store to fill. A pause, as he begrudgingly allowed himself to be cared for. "Had a candy bar in my jacket, but I couldn't finish it. My gut hurts."
"How did you sleep?"
"Lousy! Same as I have for the past week!"
Hawkeye huffed, but let Trapper's grumpiness go unchecked, for now. "I'm gonna call into work, let them know I won't be in for a few days."
"Oh, come on!"
"Hey!" Hawkeye's tone and raised finger showed he meant business. He checked his pocket for change and retrieved his room key from the nightstand. "I'll be right back. Just taking a stroll to the payphone."
This time, Trapper didn't argue. He just sat quietly on his bed, painfully aware that his hands were shaking.