Prompt fill for my darling Erik on tumblr, who sent me a lovely list of prompts to fill for Craig Brice, our mutual Trash Son™. (I used 'fever' and 'tactile' for this one.) Originally posted on AO3.

Tags/Warnings: sick!fic, male/male platonic relationship, hurt/comfort, mild language

The morning tones drop, forcing the six men awake. Brice blinks at the sunlight, groans, rolls over. A shiver wracks his body even though he can feel the stickiness of dried sweat covering his skin. He suppresses another groan. He cannot be sick. Certainly, he hasn't been feeling entirely well, but that's no reason to be sick. Sighing, he sits up, puts on his glasses, steps into his bunkers, sways a bit when he stands up. That is not good. If anyone notices, they say nothing, and Brice isn't quite sure if that's what he prefers.

He makes his way into the latrine, trying to avoid everyone else. I do not look particularly good, either. His hair is mussed not only from sleep but from sweat, sticks up in odd spots. His skin is flushed, especially in his face, his cheeks bright pink. There's even a shine of fever in his eyes.

"Hey, Brice, better get some coffee if ya- Jesus, kid…"

Bellingham approaches quickly, bunkers held up by one suspender, and Brice curses himself for not being able to stand up straight. He settles a hand on Brice's shoulder, swears quietly, says, "You're pretty warm… How ya feelin'?"

"I… I'm experiencing general sickness behavior… malaise, lethargy, sleepiness… cold sweats…"

"Think ya been pushin' yourself too hard lately, Brice. When was your last day off?"

"Umm… it was…" Brice forces himself to think through a wave of dizziness, "It was the 22nd."

"The 22nd? Jesus, Brice, it's the 3rd already! That's like a week and a half!"

"They needed someone to take the shifts. I was the only one-"

"Shut up, kid. Hey, do what ya gotta do and then get dressed. You're gonna stay with me the next couple days so I can keep an eye on ya."

"Bellingham, that's not nece-"

"I know it's not necessary, but I wanna do it, so let me do it, okay? C'mon, get ready to go…"

Bellingham simply tells the others that Brice doesn't feel well so he's giving him a ride home; he doesn't say whose home. Thankfully, Brice is always prepared with a travel bag, so Bellingham doesn't even need to swing by his apartment. Which is good for him, I suppose. I would try to stay there. Even though Bellingham only lives on the third floor, Brice is out of breath by the time he gets there, his muscles aching more than they should. Concern is evident in Bellingham's face.

"Here, Brice," he says, helping him to the couch, "you just sit here- actually, lay here. You need some more sleep… been runnin' yourself ragged…"

It's then that Bellingham does something not quite expected. He steps close and sweeps the hair off Brice's forehead, calloused fingers brushing his skin. He wears a soft smile.

"Get some sleep. You get comfy, and I'll go get a pillow and a blanket… and don't be shy or nothin'. I won't see nothin' I haven't seen before, and you need to be comfortable."

Brice blinks up at him from the couch, unsure of what exactly he meant. With a sigh, Bellingham tells him, "That means, strip down so your clothes don't get sweaty, 'cause you're gonna sweat pretty good. Now, do that while I get ya a blanket and pillow. Be right back."

Normally, this is something Brice would balk at, but he's feeling just unwell enough that he doesn't care. He slips off his shoes and shirt and carefully steps out of his pants, feeling a little awkward at sitting on his partner's couch in his underwear. It does feel better. The effort of climbing the stairs had raised his body temperature bit, and the cool air feels good on his skin. His whole body just aches. A headache is beginning to form behind his eyes. Dammit… Brice takes off his glasses and drops his head into his hands, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids.

"Shit, you feelin' worse, kid?"

"Yes," he replies truthfully, "My head is starting to hurt."

"Alright, well, here's the blanket and pillow, so you take these, and while you're settlin' in, I'm gonna grab ya a couple ibuprofen, okay?"

Brice places the pillow at the end of the couch away from the door, close to a recliner, and lays out the blanket so he can wrap it around himself without lying directly on Bellingham's couch. I would prefer not to sweat all over it. Bellingham returns with two pills and some water.

"Here ya go… take these and lay down for a bit. I'll be right here, Brice."

He drains the glass after swallowing the pills, almost more grateful for the cold water than the medicine, and he dutifully lays down. Brice is asleep in no time. It's still day when he wakes, blinking in the afternoon light. His mind is a bit fuzzy, so he just takes the time to enjoy the warmth of being wrapped in a blanket. He still feels bad, but he's pretty comfortable for the time being. My head feels better, at least. It's then that Brice becomes aware of something touching his head. The touch is soothing, and half asleep, he nuzzles up against it. There's a small huff of laughter above him, rough fingers rubbing at his scalp.

That's Bellingham. He's never noticed his partner being particularly tactile before. Their job requires a fair amount of touching when it comes to patients, but with his fellow firemen, Bellingham tends to relegate himself to simply squeezing someone's shoulder or a slap on the back. This action is unprecedented.

"You wakin' up there, pal?" Bellingham asks quietly, "Feelin' any better?"

"A little… still a bit fuzzy and achy," he mumbles, too tired to check how proper his speech is.

"That's to be expected. You're pretty warm still. Lemme get ya another glass of water. Is your head better? I can give ya more ibuprofen."

"My head's fine, but it might help the fever."

Bellingham returns quickly with another glass of water and two more pills in his big hand, and Brice carefully pushes himself up. The blanket falls away, cool air hitting his skin and making him shiver.

"You alright? Too cold?"

"I'll be alright in a moment…"

The shivering continues, though, no matter how he tries to stop it. Brice doesn't want Bellingham to worry about him so much. It makes him feel very childish to be fawned and fussed over, makes him feel like he's seen as weak, and with so many people who don't like him, that's the last thing he wants. But it does feel very nice… For the first time in his life, he feels like someone actually cares about him.

"Here, kid, I grabbed ya a t-shirt. It's a 'lil big, but it might help the shivers some."

"I-I can't. I don't want to ruin it," Brice replies.

"A 'lil sweat ain't gonna ruin it. Shit, it's just an ol' t-shirt. I can wash it. Look, I just want ya to be comfortable," Bellingham says, dropping into the chair, "Anything I can do to help you, I wanna do."

"Why?"

"Because you're my partner. Now, put on the t-shirt… please."

The 'please' is what gets him, and he finally accepts the proffered shirt, pulling it over his head. It's soft and worn, a faded dark green, smells like cheap detergent and nice aftershave. A wave of warmth unrelated to the fever rises up in his chest, spreads through his veins. No, he has never felt quite so loved before, and he isn't sure if he should be happy to feel it or sad he's never felt it before. Brice tries to feel happy, wraps himself in the blanket once more.

They spend the rest of the day in quiet companionship, really only speaking when Bellingham asks Brice how he's feeling. For dinner, Bellingham heats up a can of soup for Brice and makes himself a sandwich, despite Brice's protests he could make his own dinner.

"Kid, just lemme take care of ya, okay?" Bellingham finally says, "I want to. I want ya to feel like someone cares about ya, like you're not completely alone. Just-… Just shut up and lemme help, Craig."

His tone is light, but Brice half-flinches anyway, looking down at his lap. Brice's chest clenches. Yes, he thinks I'm weak. The couch dips as Bellingham sits beside him and slips an arm around his shoulders, tells him in a gentle voice, "Hey, I didn't mean to upset ya. You're just so damn mule-headed 'bout bein' alone and doin' stuff alone, I just can't always wrap my head around it. Like, it's mind-boggling to me that you won't ask for help, and I don't know why."

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't be sorry. You don't hafta be sorry, Brice. I'm just hopin' I can figure out why."

Brice still doesn't look up. I'm sorry I'm like this. Bellingham says nothing else, simply gets up to check the soup. If Bellingham can manage to figure out why Brice does anything, it will be a miracle because Brice certainly has no clue. He's simply thought it better to go through life with as few personal attachments as possible, even in the rare moment where someone has declared they'd like to be closer to him. It's just something he's always done, ever since he was a child, and in a perverse sort of way, he enjoys it. He's not beholden to anyone, doesn't have anyone who relies on him, doesn't worry he will disappoint anyone but himself.

But now I have Bellingham. He'd never expected to have a partner who would care about him like this. It's a bit disconcerting. Brice settles for eating his soup in silence, and he goes to sleep again after dinner, exhausted even more, though this sleep is an uneasy one. He's tormented by visions of fire, of some of the worst fires he's ever been to, and by victims he wasn't able to save. Reaching out, he wants to beg their forgiveness, wants to be given a second chance to save them, wants what he can never have. No… no, please… not him… There's Bellingham, half-burned and covered in blood, a disappointed look on his face, and he chastises Brice for all his failings. Brice feels the tears rolling down his face as he begs forgiveness, begs for another chance… begs for what he can't have.

"Wake up, kid. You'll never be good enough. Never. You're a freak who somehow managed to make it and no one knows how. I sure didn't want ya for a partner. C'mon, really, wake up-"

Brice comes to with a gasp, shooting upright, drenched in sweat and shivering. Bellingham is right there, hands on his shoulders, but he shrugs them off. I don't deserve this. Pushing him away, Brice tries to get to his feet and get away, stumbles, crashes to the floor. He's breathing hard, pulling in wheezing gasps he can't control. No! No, I don't want to do this here, not now! It's been so long since he's been like this.

"Shit! Brice, are you okay?" Bellingham says, dropping to the floor beside him, hands on his shoulders again, "Tell me what's wrong. What happened?"

"I- I can't-! I can't!"

"Okay, okay… shh, you're alright, kid…"

A big hand rests on his forehead, quickly replaced by a pair of lips. Why would he kiss me?

"Jesus, you're burnin' up, Craig. We need to cool you off, c'mon… on your feet…"

Brice is dead weight. He doesn't want to move, illogical as it is. I can't… He doesn't deserve Bellingham, not as a partner and not as a friend. Bellingham sighs, says, "Brice, c'mon, you hafta help me here. I don't wanna hafta carry you in there, but I will. Hey, you're breathin' easier, at least… alright, c'mon… let's go…"

He hauls Brice to his feet, and Brice's head starts swimming so much he has to lean heavily on Bellingham. Awful… I feel awful…

"Yeah, you look awful, too. C'mon, not too far."

Brice hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud, but it doesn't quite matter. He's too weak to care about much at the moment. Carefully, Bellingham sits him on the floor, sweeps a hand over his brow again, starts running water in the tub. A brief moment passes before Brice realizes what's going on. Panic roils up in his chest. Brice tries to scramble to his feet, but Bellingham grabs him and keeps him in place.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down-"

"No-! No, I can't, please-"

"Can't what? What's wrong?"

It's too much. It's too intimate. I don't deserve you and I'll never be able to repay you for what you're doing for me and I'm just absolutely fucking terrified-

He shakes his head, "I-I can't…"

Bellingham sighs quietly, concern etched in his face, gently squeezing Brice's shoulders.

"Look, if there was any other way to do this. I'd do it. I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, but I don't want you sufferin', either. Your temperature needs to come down, and this is just the best way to do it," he explains, thumbs rubbing over Brice's shoulders, "You know this. C'mon, you'll feel better, kid."

True. A fever can become dangerous if left unchecked. He is shivering again despite the sweat covering his skin, and he's tired, so very tired. Nodding his assent, he allows Bellingham to help him out of his clothes and into the tub. The water feels cold against his fevered body, causing him to suck in a sharp breath and immediately curl up. His shivers get even worse, creating little waves in the tub.

"I know it feels cold," Bellingham says, settling a damp washcloth on his forehead, "I promise it's warm. Water only feels cold 'cause you're so damn hot right now. Won't break the fever right away, but it'll help."

One of his big hands comes to rest on Brice's arm, just barely rubbing, and as much as Brice wants to balk at the intimacy of the situation, he finds himself enjoying it as much as he can. It's certainly odd, to be in such a vulnerable position around his partner, to be so sick and naked. Never really been naked in front of anyone like this. Bellingham's hand moves a little more, reaching over to rub Brice's back, slipping down to his shivering flank. The rough fingers are gentle and soothing in their touch as they try to wash off the dried sweat.

He's never been one for close relationships or intimate attachments, but this feels so good he's upset with himself for pushing people away. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. The walls he's worked so hard to construct and maintain are slowly crumbling, emotions threatening to get the better of him. His muscles are sore from so much shaking.

"Hey, kid, ya gotta relax. I know you feel cold, but ya gotta try to relax your body," Bellingham whispers.

Brice tries, he really does, but his body won't cooperate.

"I'm so tired," he mumbles.

"I know, I know… here, let's get ya outta the tub there and you can go back to bed, okay? Just gimme a second, I'll be right back-"

"No, don't go away," Brice whimpers, grabbing for his hand.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Bellingham squeezes his hand, "I just gotta grab somethin' from the next room for ya. I'll be right back."

His hand sweeps over Brice's hair, and he gets to his feet, leaving the bathroom but returning quickly with a towel and some clothes. He carefully helps Brice out of the tub, holding him under his arms and pulling him to his feet. Brice has to hold him close to stay upright, too exhausted to care about being in such an intimate position while naked. I just want to go back to sleep. Bellingham wraps the towel around him.

"I grabbed ya another t-shirt, somethin' dry so you'll be comfortable, and I remembered I bought a pack of underwear a couple weeks ago but accidentally bought the wrong size. Might fit you, at least… oh, and these sweats here have a tie, so you should be able to make 'em fit. Just gotta finish dryin' ya off…"

Even though his efficiency is clinical, Bellingham's touch is soft and intimate as he draws the towel over Brice's damp skin, even his legs and groin. Affection surges up in Brice's chest at the show of care, his lip trembling, tears welling in his eyes. He tries to keep his emotions down as he dresses, but he's so exhausted and achy he can't keep his walls up anymore. Back out on the couch, he curls up into a ball, sniffing loudly. Bellingham's right there by his side in an instant, asking, "What's wrong, the sniffles finally catch up- Hey, somethin's really wrong. Talk to me, kid. You hurtin'?"

Brice shakes his head, tears starting to fall, and after a moment, he chokes out, "I don't deserve all this… I don't deserve to have you do all this for me, Bob."

It feels good to call his partner by his given name, something he never does. Bellingham's expression is soft and confused.

"What? C'mon, that doesn't make any sense, of course-"

"I don't… What have I ever done to deserve you being so nice to me?"

"Kid-… Craig, you're my partner," he says, as if it's an obvious answer.

Brice just stares at him, and he sighs, shifts himself to face Brice, rests his hands on his shoulders.

"You're my partner, Craig. I don't know how else to say it… 'cept maybe to say that you're my friend, too. Sure, you're a 'lil odd and kinda closed off, but-"

"But I've tried to push you away."

"Why?"

Brice merely blinks again, so Bellingham asks, "Why did you try to push me away?"

"Because it's easier to stay alone," he answers thickly, "If I don't care about anyone, I-… I don't have to be afraid."

"Afraid? Afraid of what? C'mon, talk to me."

His hands slip down to Brice's biceps, rubbing gently, soothingly.

"I don't have to be afraid of losing them. It always happens. I-I start to care and then I get abandoned somehow. They either decide they don't like me anymore or-or they go away or they die… and I hate it, Bob. I hate it so much I never want to feel that way again. If there's no one, then there's no one to abandon me."

"But it's hard, isn't it? Bein' so alone all the time?"

Brice's lip trembles as he nods, his expression crumpling. It's too much.

"Yeah, it's no fun… I hate to tell ya, kid, but life's like that. People come and go all the time, whether we want 'em to or not, but that's no reason to shut down, to not let anybody else in. I can see where you'd wanna be selective, but ya can't keep everybody out forever… 'specially not your partner. I like ya too much, Craig."

"What?" he breathes.

"I like you. You're my friend and my partner, and I care about you. I want you to be happy. I mean, if you're happy alone, I'd leave ya alone… but I don't think you are."

Brice ducks his head, a low whine escaping his throat, and he's pulled into a strong hug. His emotions finally run over. A sob bursts past his lips. Bellingham cradles the back of Brice's head, holding him against the crook of his neck. Brice sobs weakly against him, hands clumsily fisted in Bellingham's shirt, body still shaking. It's too much. A big hand runs up and down Brice's back, fingers carding through his hair. He just keeps crying, unable to stop, unsure why he's even crying anymore.

"There ya go, kid… That's it, just get it all out… I got ya… I got ya, Craig…"

"I don't want to lose you," he whimpers, "I don't want you to go away."

"And I won't… I'll try not to, anyway. I know I can't make any promises just 'cause our line of work is pretty unpredictable… Honestly, though, if I've hung around six months, I can hang around a lot longer, and I plan to. I like ya, remember?"

"I remember. I like you, too."

His voice sounds childish, but the sentiment is true. He's the first person who's ever wanted to be close to me. I should tell him I love him. I do love him. Brice nestles more closely against Bellingham's side.

"Hey, you fallin' asleep on me, kid?"

"Yes," he sniffs.

"Alright, well, lemme get outta your way-"

"No… No, I want you to stay… if that's alright."

Bellingham gives a quiet huff of laughter, tells him, "Yeah, that's alright, Craig," and tightens his arm around him, keeping him close. Warm lips brush over his forehead, and Brice allows himself the comfort as he drifts off to sleep, just this once. It feels nice… very nice, indeed.