Title: Fever Dreams
Author: Grevola
Characters: Heero, Duo
Rating/Word Count: PG, 909 words
Archive: My LJ, gw500 and 1x2fans. Any one else, just ask.
Notes/Warnings: Inspired by the lovely hair pictures by the super talented ASIA! Fluffy, sappy boy-love. Un-betad.
For the record, I hate sick people. Well and truly hate it when people are ill. Colds don't bother me too much, but the really dangerous diseases make me feel so damn helpless. So I really should have slammed the door when Heero showed up on my stoop with a duffel and some kind of jungle fever. Instead I helped him inside and shuffled him off to bed while I made some tea and dug out the industrial sized bottle of hand sanitizer.
I'd gotten Heero to take some acetaminophen and a nap a couple hours ago, and now I was going to see if I could get him to eat some chicken soup. He was awake when I came in with the tray, but lucid was debatable. "How's it going Superman?" I asked.
"Nn. Food?" Well, let's hear it for mister monosyllable.
"Yeah, food," I said, as I set the tray down on the nightstand next to him, "When did you last drink something? I wanna take your temperature again." My braid slipped over my shoulder as I dug through the drawer for the thermometer.
"Half hour ago." He pulled himself up to a more sitting position, "I think. The blue cup?" He was squinting at the tray I had set down. With a suspicious lack of blue cup.
Have I mentioned that Heero hallucinates when he's feverish? That's why he came over- he's been known to imagine anything from doors in the middle of rooms to different numbers on the thermometer. Once he's feeling better he'll be pissy about it, but for now he just looks adorably confused.
"I'll take your word for it," I said, "Now open wide." He obediently let me slip the pen sized device into his mouth. A few seconds later it beeped. I took it from him and stepped closer to window to read the display. There was a snapping noise and a gasp from the bed.
I spun around, "Are you okay?!" Heero was sitting up, eyes wide as saucers, but there was nothing that seemed wrong.
Then I felt the brush of hair against the back of my knees and realized what had happened. My hair band has gotten caught on something when I was digging through the drawer and then snapped when I stepped away. I sighed and shook the rest of the braid out while I got back to reading the temperature. 39°C(1), still high.
"красивые..."(2) he whispered as I put away the thermometer and checked that the soup wasn't too hot. He was frowning slightly at the long wavy strands that were getting absolutely everywhere.
I frowned and straightened up, annoyed, "If you're gonna tell me I look like a girl..." but I stopped when I felt a tug on my hair. Great. Now the damn stuff was caught on something.
I turned and found Heero holding a handful of my hair close to his cheek. He seemed flushed, but probably that was just the fever. He rubbed his cheek gently against the hair, "You don't look like a girl." His voice was low and hoarse, "your hair is pretty."
I felt my own cheeks pink. "Hey..." my voice shook a bit, "That's the fever talking."
Heero shook his head, but he dropped the hair and picked up his bowl of soup. I ran out of the room like scalded cat.
He didn't mention the incident again that night, or the next morning. His fever stayed constant the whole time, not quite high enough to be really scary, but the meds weren't bringing it down either. So I was surprised when I went to check on him around three in the afternoon and he was standing by the window, absently stretching.
"The fever broke," He said. His voice was back to normal- completely with out inflection and slightly nasal.
"That's great," I knew I sounded skeptical, and he patiently let me feel his forehead and cheeks. They were a bit clammy from the sweating he'd been doing, but otherwise normal.
There was a brief tug on my braid, then a snap, and then my hair was unraveling for the second time in as many days. Heero, bold as brass, reached around me and helped it come completely undone. What the hell did he think he was doing?! I grabbed his wrists, and he stilled with his hands half cradling my face and half tangled in my hair.
"It wasn't a dream," he said at last, "your hair really is beautiful."
"I... you... wait, what?!" I was spluttering, and then I was rambling, "You're still sick. You've got to be. There's no way you just told me you like my hair. Like you like me. And there's no way..."
"Shhh..." Heero breathed, "Duo, I came to you when I felt most vulnerable. I think it's safe to say I quite like you."
I gulped, and trembled, and thought about running for it. But Heero had already pulled me against him and wrapped his arms around me. He was warm- not the inferno he'd been earlier, but warm like someone who's just woken up.
He kissed my forehead gently, "And it's good that I like you, because you're burning up."
I pulled away from him, glaring, but I already felt the tell-tale tickle in the back of my throat, "I swear Heero, if you've gotten me sick..."
He just smirked, "Then I'll have to take care of you."
END
(1)39°C is roughly 102°F.
(2) "Beautiful" in Russian, the wonderful Shevaleon corrected this for me. Lots of thanks! I love the idea of Heero speaking Russian.