I do not own Teen Wolf. This chapter is inspired by my own sick day, and how I wish that I had an Isaac to come nurse me back to health.
Allison Argent rarely gets sick. She is a healthy and robust girl, eats well, and exercises daily. But the recent stress due to the alphas finally takes it's toll on her body. This particular virus hits her like a freight train, hard and completely without warning.
The sunshine blaring against her bedroom shades seems far too bright. Her head is full of cotton, and her throat feels as if a Chinese ring dagger is pressed against her vocal cords. She recognizes the heaviness in her limbs as sickness, further confirmed as she sits up and her vision blinks in and out, like a clip of a movie. She slumps back down. There is no way that she is going to school, since she is positive that she has a fever.
She decides to try and sleep it off, because although she has the means to treat some of the symptoms, the medicine is downstairs. She is just as likely to fall and break her neck if she goes down there.
Allison falls into a restless slumber for forty minutes, than wakes with her fever raging, and every movement leaving her world spinning. She tears the sheets away from her chest and instantly feels less suffocated. She braves a walk to the upstairs bathroom to get a glass of water, than returns to her cocoon of blankets.
During her next phase of lucidity, she cradles her phone close to her and scrolls aimlessly through names.
She supposed that she wasn't thinking straight—that was the only explanation as to why she called Isaac. But then again, maybe there had been more clarity to her thought process than she wanted to believe, since her father was out of town on some sort of hunter business, Lydia was with Ethan, calling Scott to look after her was just weird, and Stiles… well, she would never even entertain that idea. The list of people that she could call was relatively small, and even so, she wasn't on death's door. She was just being a child about her discomfort.
She was more than a damsel in distress. She didn't need a boy to make her feel better, nor did she like to think of herself as high maintenance, but while miserably and curled up in bed, she just felt lonely. In her half-delirious state, her fingers find their way to the keyboard of her phone, seemingly on autopilot.
She regrets calling the second that he answers.
"Hello?" Isaac said hesitantly—he almost always has a questioning tone when dealing with Allison.
She swallows, trying to clear some of the cobwebs from her throat. "Hi."
There is silence on the other end, except for the sound of Isaac breathing through his nose. After nearly thirty second, Isaac finally breaks it.
"Allison?"
Now that she's called him, she had no idea what to say. Or how to say it.
"I'm here." She slurs slightly.
"You're not at school."
"Sick."
Silence again. Allison thinks that he's hung up as the pause extends for what feels like an eternity, but it could have been as short as a second. She is so disoriented that she has to consciously bring herself back into the conversation when Isaac speak again.
"Okay."
Then he hangs up for real, and Allison continues to clutch the phone in her hands, half-expecting him to call back with some sort of explanation…
Allison awakens to a light tapping on her window. She rotates her neck in time to see Isaac crawl cautiously through her open window, pushing the drapes aside.
"I knocked so you wouldn't jump me this time." He explains.
She squints at him due to her scratchy eyes. "You came." Her voice sounds like that woman in the commercial with the stoma in her neck due to prolonged smoking.
He shrugs, a common Isaac gesture, which generally meant that he was trying not to make a big deal out of something nice that he'd done for someone. He then closes the gap between the drapes again.
He smirks. "Nice sweater."
Allison looks down at the atrocity that she'd thrown on during one of her chills. It's a fuzzy white garment, reminiscent of a polar bear costume, that Lydia has tried to dispose of on more than one occasion. She was sure that she was a sight with her watery eyes, flushed face, and dark rings under her eyes—the fact that his only comment had been on her sweater had been kind on his part.
"Hey," Allison protests, "It's comfortable!"
"It looks like it's trying to eat you."
She reaches for the hem of the sweater and tugged it over her head in one smooth motion. She'd been too hot. Now she catches Isaac staring, and she notices that her tank top has ridden up her stomach. She pulls it back in place, and she thinks that she must be imagining disappointment flitting across Isaac's face. Despite the receding heat, she still feels short of breath.
"Better?" She says weakly, and he gives a tiny nod.
"Just lie down." He tells her, and a shiver runs through her, though she isn't sure if it's the chills again, or due to the tone of his voice—it's the same tone that he uses when they're embroiled in darkness, divesting each other of their clothes, both breathless. It is low, commanding, yet unsure at the same time, and Allison finds that this is her favorite combination.
She obliges, and they watch each other. Allison has found that Isaac says an awful lot with his eyes, if you know how to interpret what you see. They are roving over her, and she can see him noting his observations about her condition in his head. Isaac is similarly clinical when he examines injured animals at the clinic, where he'd gone to work under Deaton. But his mouth is slightly pinched with concern instead of his usual nervousness and anxiousness, which is reserved for people like Scott. Isaac only worries for his friends like that.
"Do you need anything?"
She shakes her head. Talking takes too much energy. She just wants to sleep and wake up healthy again…
Steam rises under her nostrils. She forces her eyes open, not even remembering having closed them. Isaac is standing by her bed, offering a hot cup of tea. She takes it with a small smile. He's even managed to hunt down the honey somewhere in their pantry, though she guesses it wasn't too difficult with a werewolf's sense of smell. Her strength fails her when she tries to set it down on her bedside table, and Isaac guides her hand with his.
"Are you feeling any better?" He asks.
She lets out a whine, which he chuckles at.
"I'll take that as a no. I think you're fever is going down, at least. I brought you some meds earlier." Isaac murmurs, checking her temperature with the back of his hand chastely.
"I don't remember." She admits with embarrassment. Judging by the natural light in her bedroom, it must be sometime around midday. Isaac had stayed with her for hours.
"I'm not surprised. You were pretty out of it. I guess that means you don't remember taking off all your clothes and trying to seduce me?"
"I didn't!" Allison says, horrified. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Relax. I'm just messing with you."
Allison glares, half in amusement, half in exasperation. "Don't you know it's cruel to tease a sick girl? I think your bedside manner could use some work, mister."
"If you're able to partake in our usual witty banter, you must be feeling better. Although you look exhausted."
"I am."
"Then sleep some more."
"If you say so, Doctor." Allison says with as much playfulness as she can muster, collapsing back onto the pillows. Isaac stands there for a few moments, an unreadable expression on his face. His hand is hanging by his side, just within her reach, and before she can change her mind or think twice about it, she reaches out from under the covers and brushes his fingers with hers. He looks down questioningly, but doesn't move away.
Allison holds his hand weakly, with a miniscule tug towards her. She lifts the covers wordlessly in invitation. Her cheeks pink, but the color is lost on her already flushed cheeks. She's just cold, that's the only reason that she craves Isaac's body heat. Any body would do, his was just convenient.
Or so she tells herself later.
She is enormously grateful that Isaac doesn't tease her about this momentary weakness. Instead, he is very quiet, but gentle as he maneuvers himself under the sheets next to her, the places that he nudges even warmer than her forehead. He treats her like fine china, as if expecting her to kick him out at any moment. Eventually, though, they settle together contentedly.
There is really no replacement for physical human comfort. She would question herself after her fever dissipated, berate herself for caving in and calling someone, especially Isaac. But for right now, she just wants to enjoy being held.
She feels weightless, yet grounded firmly at the same time. Even while her head is in the clouds, she is all too aware of Isaac's arm against her neck, and the steady beat of his heart against her ear. The metronome lulls her to sleep, and for the first time in many months, Allison sleeps like a baby.