Everything Hurts and I'm Dying

Alan woke suddenly, urgently, with another coughing fit ripping through his body. He could hardly get a breath in before the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs again. His head thundered as his body was rattled about, muscles screaming in protest. It felt like it might never stop. Until it did, leaving him gasping for air. His arms shook with the effort of holding himself upright.

A cup appeared in front of him, steaming and sweet-smelling. He accepted it gratefully as it was raised to his lips, too tired to even bother attempting to hold it himself. As he sipped, an arm snaked around his shoulders, and he was finally able to take some of the strain off his arms. When he was done, he was gently lowered back onto his mountain of pillows.

With a sideways glance, he croaked, 'You shouldn't be in here.'

'Says who?'

'Says Virgil. And grandma. And everybody else, including me.' Alan swallowed against the burning in his throat. 'Seriously, dad, please just go. I don't want to make you sick.'

'Look,' Jeff said, slipping into the no-nonsense tone he usually reserved for incompetent businessmen, 'I know you're all worried about me. And you have a very good reason to be – I'm not blind. I'm well aware of how bad I looked those first few months home. Heck, I think I felt even worse than I looked, and we all know I had more than my fair share of illnesses. My immune system is still rebuilding itself. I get that. But I need you – all of you – to understand that you are my children. It is my job to take care of you and after eight years of being robbed of it I'll be damned if anything gets in the way of that. This whole quarantine-from-dad-at-the-slightest-sniffle routine has got to stop. Got it?'

Alan smirked. 'Cool speech. Practising for Scott and Virgil?'

'And your grandma.' Jeff grinned. 'How'd I do?'

'Very convincing,' Alan confirmed. 'It'll definitely work on the guys. You might have to tweak one or two lines for grandma though.'

'Oh yeah, she'll definitely be the tougher nut to crack,' Jeff replied. Moving carefully to avoid jostling his son too much, he settled in beside him. 'How're you feeling now?'

'Awful.'

'I bet. How's the stomach?'

Alan grimaced. His stomach was a… tender subject. A couple of weeks ago he'd managed to strain an abdominal muscle on a rescue. Virgil signed him off for three weeks – which, as crappy as he felt, actually wound up working in his favour. Unsure of what he wanted to do regarding college, Alan had decided to take a gap year; focusing on International Rescue and taking a few extra courses. His recovery period coincided with an exam he had to take for one of them, so it actually freed up a bit of time for him to study.

The exam had to be taken in person as opposed to online, which Alan had only ever done once or twice before. It was nerve-wracking, but it was worth it – Scott even took him out for dinner afterwards. Four days later, Virgil cleared him for duty again and Alan was more than ready to get back into the swing of it. Until the next morning when he woke up feeling like he'd been hit by a freight train. By the end of the day, Virgil had diagnosed him with a chest infection.

What did that have to do with his stomach then? Well, all that coughing that came with the infection quickly wore down his newly repaired muscles, and by day three they were completely shot again. As with most injuries, the best way to heal an abdominal muscle strain was with rest. That was kind of hard to do when your body was trying to expel your lungs through your windpipe.

Looking at his father with mournful eyes, Alan said, 'Would it be inappropriate to say that everything hurts and I feel like I'm dying.'

Jeff chuckled, coaxing him into taking a few more sips from the mug that had made a reappearance. 'No, I think that's fair. You sure have been having a rough time of it.'

'I guess. Could be worse though.'

'How so?'

'Dad –' Alan raised an eyebrow at him – 'it can always be worse.'

'True,' Jeff replied with a grin. 'That's very true.'

Alan wanted, more than anything, to keep the conversation going. Like his dad had said, they had eight years to make up for. But at that moment his brain decided that it was the perfect time to let out a face-cracking yawn – an action which, again, tugged at his abused abdominal muscle. So, the mega-yawn ended as kind of a whine.

'Oh, Allie.' His dad smoothed his hair out of his eyes. 'I think you need some more rest, bud. Do you need any more meds before I let you drift back off?'

'Depends. What time is it?' He yawned again.

'Just past four.'

'Ugh. No thank you then, I had some at one.'

'So not for another hour.' Jeff nodded. 'Got it. Is there anything else I can get you to make you more comfortable? Another drink? A heating pack – or maybe an ice one instead?'

With a shake of his head, he let his eyes drift shut. 'Just… could you, maybe, just stay with me?'

The bed shifted slowly, carefully beside him and his dad wriggled under the covers to join him. 'Always,' he replied.