October 19
Roy woke in the middle of the night feeling as though his whole body was on fire. Kicking his blankets away fretfully, it occurred to him that a night in the middle of October really shouldn't be so uncomfortably warm. It had been raining the day before, and it had been cool and crisp outside when he'd gone to bed only a few hours ago. In fact, he could still feel the cool air from his open window wafting over his face.
Wait…then, why—?
As he lay there trying to puzzle it out, Roy was suddenly wracked by a violent bout of shivers. With a sinking heart, he realized that the problem wasn't the weather at all: he had a fever.
And for the first time in months, Roy felt terribly, miserably homesick.
Being ill was never fun, but being ill while far away from home felt so much worse. Roy couldn't help but long for the comfort and familiarity of his aunt's brusque, no-nonsense style of coddling.
"Don't be ridiculous," she'd once scolded him. "You're sick. And if ever you deserve special treatment it's when you have the chicken pox. Now, you lie down and rest, young man, but if you get bored, just you call and one of us will come and amuse you. All right? Good. So what would you like best to eat? You may have anything you want."
True to her word, Chris had allowed Roy to languish on her sofa eating strawberry ice cream and making outrageous demands on the girls for the duration of his illness. And of course, the girls had been only too happy to indulge his every whim, including building a blanket fort and reenacting scenes from their favorite radio programs and books.
Roy smiled faintly at the memory of damsel-in-distress Veronica 'swooning' into heroic Elinor's arms after having been 'rescued' from the villainous Violet, who'd lain a few feet away, 'vanquished' by a cardboard sword. The poignancy of the scene had been somewhat ruined when all three girls had burst into hysterical giggles, but it had definitely taken Roy's mind off of the horrible itching for a while.
Curling miserably beneath the blankets he'd discarded only moments before, Roy remembered that he was supposed to have another lecture on code-breaking tomorrow. After the playfair cipher he'd botched so badly, he couldn't miss it; Hawkeye-sensei would be livid. He'd just have to try to get some sleep and hope he felt better in the morning, he decided wearily.
He dozed off thinking about exams and cold remedies. It was a restless, fitful sort of sleep, and Roy drifted in and out of a series of vague, confusing, fever dreams about drowning in chamomile tea, being trapped in a maze with quilted walls, and running from horrible and faceless creatures though rainy, windswept fields. There were also strange intervals where cool hands touched his face, a sweet voice softly called his name, and another, deeper voice murmured things like: "Influenza, most likely, due to the sudden onset," and "The lungs sound clear...fever is much higher than I'd like though," and "Need to get this medicine into you, son," and "Shh, it's all right. Lie back down now; there's a good lad."
But Roy's head was throbbing so hard that he couldn't really listen properly, and the darkness of his dreams curled around the edges of his thoughts until it was too much to resist. He allowed the darkness to surround him; to pull him down deeper and deeper until he no longer cared what the voices were saying or what they wanted from him.
The next thing he was aware of was a damp, cooling sensation sweeping softly across his forehead.
"Mmnph," he mumbled, turning his head towards it without opening his eyes. The delicious coolness stopped abruptly, and he frowned, willing it to come back.
"Hi," said a soft, familiar voice. "How're you feeling?"
Who was that? Roy struggled to identify the voice, still feeling as though his head was stuffed full of molasses and cotton wool. Miss Riza, his brain finally supplied. Of course it was; how could he have forgotten her even for a moment? Were there too many women in his life if he couldn't pick each individual voice out from the others instantaneously?
It had only taken a moment to remember, though, so maybe it was all fine so long as he got there in the end…But Miss Riza had asked him a question, hadn't she?
"Horrible," he finally managed, keeping his eyes closed. "Head hurts, throat hurts…m' whole body hurts." Riza made a soft, sympathetic sound, and reapplied the cool, damp cloth to his forehead. Roy sighed in quiet gratitude.
"You've caught a rather nasty cold," Riza explained softly.
"Figures," Roy sighed. "So have I been asleep all day?"
"Yes, just about. Your fever finally seems to be going down, though." Oh right, the fever. That would explain why he still couldn't think straight.
"What time is it, anyway?" Roy asked. He cracked an eye open at last, only to find Miss Riza sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning over him with mild concern. She had a thermometer in her hand, and on the bedside table behind her, Roy could see a tray with dishes and a small bottle on it.
"Nearly nine o'clock in the evening, now," Riza replied. "Doctor James came by earlier and left some medicine. It's about time for your next dose; think you can sit up to drink it?" she asked.
Roy tried, but to his chagrin, he discovered that his body was too weak to obey his commands. Riza quickly slipped her slender arms around him to help. Once he was sitting up, she piled his pillows between his back and the headboard to prop him upright.
"Mm. Thanks," he mumbled, feeling oddly shy. Riza was either unaware of his discomfort, or she chose to ignore it. Instead she turned to fiddle with something on the tray behind her. When she turned back, she offered him a short tumbler half full of a syrupy concoction the color of red currant jelly.
"Here, drink this. It's supposed to help with the aches and the fever," she said. Roy accepted the glass doubtfully. Unfortunately, it didn't taste anywhere near as pretty as it looked, and he fought his gag reflex as he choked the contents down as quickly as possible.
"Ugh," he grimaced. "That was awful. You said the doc was here?" He slumped back against his pillows as Riza took the tumbler and handed him a taller glass, this one full of water.
"Mm-hm," she replied. "You didn't turn up for your lesson today, so Papa sent me to check on you. When I told him that you were feverish and incoherent, he got really worried and sent me to fetch the doctor. You don't remember?"
"Not really," he said, sipping at the water. Although if the doctor had been here, Roy's hazy recollections of cool hands and soft, medically knowledgeable voices suddenly made a lot more sense. Not entirely a dream, apparently. "I must have really been out of it."
"You were, yes," she replied. "You were…sort of moaning and shivering like mad, when I came in. I thought you were just having a nightmare at first, but when I tried to wake you, I realized that you were burning up."
"I was having some really weird dreams," he admitted. "But I thought I heard your voice at one point. I guess I was kinda drifting in and out the whole time."
"That's what made us worry," Riza said softly. "The fever was making you delirious; you didn't seem to recognize either of us. Doctor James had to give you the first dose of this medicine with an eyedropper."
Roy chewed his lip, feeling a little bit exposed. He hoped that he hadn't said or done anything too weird. He reached down to tug the blanket a bit higher, and abruptly realized that he was no longer wearing the same nightclothes he'd had on when he'd gone to bed the night before. Presumably he'd changed at some point during the day, but he was sure he'd have recalled doing that.
"When did I change…?" he wondered aloud. Riza flushed.
"Doctor James helped you with that part," she answered quickly. And then she smiled. "Even though you were still mostly unconscious, he said that part was easier than getting you to take the medicine." Roy choked out a startled chuckle. Riza twisted her hands nervously in her lap. "I hope you don't mind; I had to go through some of your things to find clean pajamas." He started to shake his head, but stopped when it throbbed dangerously.
"No, no, of course not. It's fine, I'm just…still a little confused, I guess," he said awkwardly.
How delirious had he been, to not notice that someone was pouring medicine down his throat and stripping off his sweat-soaked clothing? Riza was watching him solemnly. Her expression was far too serious for Roy's liking. Suddenly he felt like a jerk, making her worry about offending him or overstepping boundaries when she'd gone to all this trouble to take care of him.
"So, what's the prognosis? Am I gonna make it?" he joked weakly, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. She made a face and smacked the side of his leg lightly.
"Don't joke! I was really worried about you!" she admonished him. He smiled a little at the admission, although she was glaring daggers at him. "You should have told me that you were coming down with something!" she added, frowning.
"Didn't know that I was," he shrugged. "I've been a little sluggish the past couple days, but I haven't been congested or sniffling or anything…I just thought I was tired from staying up too late."
"Yes, well, that probably didn't help," she huffed, turning to fuss with the tray again. "But Doctor James said you've probably just got a mild case of influenza, and the medicine he left should help with the symptoms. You're not nauseous at all, are you?" She glanced at him over her shoulder. Roy considered for a moment, and then slowly shook his head.
"Nope. Just tired and sort of sore and achy all over." Riza nodded, looking relieved.
"Well, that's something. Here, you should try to eat some of this, while you can, even if you aren't very hungry. Doctor James said you should take the medicine he prescribed with food, if at all possible." She carefully placed the tray on his lap. While she shifted herself to the foot of his bed so she wouldn't be in the way, Roy turned his attention to the covered dish on the tray.
Garlic-and-onion scented steam rose from the bowl when he lifted the cover. Small chunks of onion and potato swam in the golden broth, which was liberally dotted with caraway seeds. Roy raised the spoon to his lips, aware that Riza was watching him apprehensively. As the first warm mouthful hit his tongue, he made a genuine, appreciative noise, relishing the slight flush on Riza's cheeks.
"This is really good. Thanks," he said, scooping up another spoonful. Even though he wasn't very hungry, he was aware that he hadn't eaten anything in over 24 hours, and he knew very well that his body needed fuel to fight off his illness.
"Miso soup probably would have been better, since it's so much lighter," she said, "but I haven't had a chance to get to the market." She kept her eyes firmly on the quilt at the foot of the bed, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. "So instead I made you the same soup my mom used to make whenever any of us were sick. Let me know if your stomach starts to bother you; I can get you something else—"
"No, this is perfect," Roy interrupted around another mouthful, and Riza beamed at him.
"I'm going to change out the water for your cold compress," she said, rising. "I'll be back in a bit. Eat as much as you think you can, all right?"
"Yes ma'am," he said, saluting with the empty spoon. She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when she left.
By the time Riza returned with a pitcher of cold water, Roy had finished his soup and wriggled back into a prone position under his coverlet. She bustled about, straightening his quilt, refilling his water glass, and placing a refreshed damp cloth on his forehead, all while Roy blinked blearily at her.
"I've been sleeping all day and I'm still exhausted," he grumbled. "I hate being sick." Riza made that soft, sympathetic noise in the back of her throat again.
"I know; it's awful. But you really should get some more sleep. I'll check on you again later, okay?" she said, gathering up the empty dishes on the tray. "Just call out if you need something in the night; I'll leave my door open so I can hear you. Is there anything you wanted now, before I go?" she asked.
Roy looked up at her with a negative response on his lips, and was suddenly struck by the role reversal.
Up until now, the lion's share of vulnerability had been on her side. He'd been the one hovering nearby doing his best to prove that he was friendly and non-threatening and trustworthy. And now here he was, totally dependent on Riza's kindness, trusting her to look after him while he lay there half-delirious and weaker than a kitten.
"I—no, there's nothing. Thanks," he said softly. She frowned slightly and narrowed her eyes.
"You were going to say something else," she stated shrewdly. "What is it?" Roy squirmed.
"It's just…I really appreciate this," he said, gesturing vaguely. "The medicine and the soup and everything. You looking after me," he finished, wondering whether the warmth he could feel on his face was from the fever or his embarrassment. Riza just smiled beatifically at him.
"That's what friends do, isn't it? Help each other when they're down?"
"Yeah, I suppose they do," he said, with a tired little chuckle. He let his eyelids drift closed again before he murmured: "In that case, I'm glad you're my friend, Riza."
He was never sure whether he imagined it or not, but he could have sworn he felt Riza's hand brush his hair back from his forehead as she replied.
"Me, too."
A.N. I am so sorry, this chapter took me way longer to complete than I intended...But we're getting closer to the end! I currently have two more chapters planned, along with a few "deleted scenes" and an omake...although that's certainly subject to change, lol. Anyway, thank you all so much for your patience, as well as the lovely reviews and follows and favorites! :D
xoxo Janie
*Random fun fact: the soup Riza made Roy is actually a recipe my grandmother pushes on me whenever I get sick. She claims it's a sure fire cure for the common cold, and while I have my doubts on that score, I can say that it always makes me feel better :)