A/N: Part 5 of coffeeshop AU. Maleval Week, day 4: Sick Day and Cooking for the other.
Ginger Tea
Robin eyes Diaval, feeling terrified for his friend.
Diaval is lumbering around, his eyes half opened. There is a red tinge to his paler than usual skin. His movements are slow and heavy and he looks like he is about to collapse any moment.
His hands are trembling as he wipes the table. It feels like his hand would snap into two. He has messed up a few orders and Robin is really worried that he would pass out.
"Go home," he tries to command the dark haired man.
"I'm fine," Diaval's speech is slurred.
Diaval won't listen to him.
Robin doesn't have any other choice now.
He makes sure that Diaval isn't look, snatches his phone and dials for the only person Diaval is powerless against.
She arrives exactly five minutes later, just like she said over the phone.
Her heels clicks on the floor and her green eyes are sharp and filled with anger.
"Hey Robin," she greets him with a nod. She spins to face Diaval before stalking towards him. Grabbing his collar, she drags him out of the coffee shop.
"M-Mallory?" he mumbles, before passing out in her arms.
"I leave you alone for a week and this happens," she sighs. She doesn't know how but she manages to drag him back to her house.
….
She dumps him on her bed, amazed by how strong she can be.
She stares at the mumbling man, her eyes softening. She can't make out what he is mumbling about but he seems to be in pain, pain that infiltrates the mind when he vulnerable.
She brushes his hair aside, shocked by how hot his forehead felt. He is scalding.
She runs to the shelves, finding an oral thermometer from the first aid kit and sticks it into his mouth.
She waits for it to beep. 102.5 degrees.
She huffs, feeling a little scared for Diaval.
She remembers what her mother used to do when Leah or her was sick. She runs to the kitchen, pulls out a basin, fills it with ice and water, and brings it back to Diaval.
She takes in a deep breath and unbuttons his shirt, her fingers brushing against the pale skin. She remembers every inch of it, how it felt pressed against hers. She remembers the scars that she desperately wants to ask about but fails to summon the courage. She touches the faint bite marks that she left and guilt twists her stomach.
She had ran out and disappeared for a week. She can't imagine what it was like for Diaval. She is so selfish, so very selfish.
But this isn't the time to think about this.
Taking a towel, she soaks it in the ice water and wrings it, removing the excess water.
Carefully, she wipes his body, running the towel up and down his heated skin.
He continues to mumble in his sleep.
He sounds so scared.
Her heart breaks at the sight of his fear.
"Shh," she whispers, gently patting his hair. "I'm here. You're safe."
She whispers comforting words into his ears, hoping to calm him down.
And his mumblings slowly cease.
She presses a kiss onto his lips, her hands caressing his face.
She leaves him on the bed, with a towel on his forehead.
He will be hungry when he wakes up, won't he?
…..
His head is pounding painfully when he wakes up.
He frowns. This isn't his room.
In fact…
The tall black bookshelves filled with books. The simple dark brown desk with a stack of papers on it. A picture of a forest hanging on the wall.
Mallory?
He pulls himself up and off the bed, still a little wobbling on his feet. The towel falls off his head. He waddles out and finds his way to the kitchen, desperate for a glass of water.
There is Mallory, with a bowl of chicken porridge and a cup of strong ginger tea.
"You're awake," she states.
"Yea."
"Robin called me."
"Thank you."
"You must be hungry," she gives him a flitting smile, the awkwardness in the room strong and heavy.
She ushers him to the dining table and sets the porridge and mug down before him.
"I've got aspirin. Take them when you have eaten," she suggests.
"Thank you." He eats the meal. The porridge is fragment and simply delicious. It is a simple dish, yet packed with mild flavours suitable for the ill. He is surprised by her ability to cook. She has always struck him as a take-out type of woman who has no idea how to cook.
It is evident that he actually doesn't really know her after all.
"It's delicious," he comments.
"Thank you. It's my mother's recipe. She made it for us when we were ill." There is a faint smile on her face.
They are silent again.
It has always been like this. They don't talk. They don't talk about their feelings, they don't talk about the problems, they don't see the elephant in the room.
They'd rather stick their heads in the sand and pretend that everything is all right.
"Ginger tea is good for reducing fever," she breaks the overwhelming silence.
He nods and takes a sip.
"I added lemon."
It is pathetic, really, how they are acting around each other, just like how strangers do.
She looks awkward, not knowing what to do, or to say.
"I wanted to bring you back to your apartment but I couldn't find your key and…"
"Yea. Thank you, for taking care of me," he cuts her off.
"It's what friends are for."
Is that what they are? Friends?
"I'd better go." A ghost of a smile flitters across his face. "Thank you, again."
"Are you able to…"
"Yea."
"Let me call you a cab."
"It's ok. I can take care of myself."
She looks slightly deflated, just slightly.
He turns to leave.
"Diaval. About last week…" she is the one who mentions that night.
"It did not happen, I get it," he is cold and harsh, his words cutting through her.
He is hurt, rightfully so.
And she watches him leave.
…..
He makes another cup of ginger tea when he gets back home.
He doesn't know how reliable his memory is, but he can still feel her lips on his.
He swallows an aspirin.
….
He is back working again the next day.
She comes in and they fall back into the same routine.
But they can never go back.