For a man who was supposedly out for his blood, the Bachelor Dankovsky was remarkably accommodating and easy to work with. In fact, he sent so many letters updating Artemiy on his progress regarding a cure for the sand plague that the Haruspex hardly knew when the man could have time to run any experiments. It was nearing the end of another long day of checking on the children of the town, running errands, and gathering stalks of twyre for his own experiments when Artemiy realised that for the first time since he had met the man, Dankovsky had not sent a message all day. Instincts twinging, Artemiy gathered his latest attempt at a panacea along with several other medicines and made his way up to the Stone Yard.
Ms Yahn let him into the Stillwater with a small shrug, saying she hadn't heard from the Bachelor all day, but that the samovar of tea and small tray of bread she had left outside his door in the morning as usual had been gone when she had checked a few hours later. Where she was getting enough food to share, while the whole of the town seemed to be starving, was a question Artemiy did not feel like pursuing at the moment. Instead, he nodded his thanks and ascended the stairs to knock at the door to Dankovsky's room. There was no reply at first so Artemiy knocked again and, when he still received no response, he entered with a growing sense of unease.
"Oynon?" He called softly, in case the man was asleep.
There was a rasping cough from the direction of the bed, and then Dankovsky's voice, weak and rough. "Haruspex… leave. You should not be here…"
Concern replaced his caution, and Artemiy shut the door gently before rounding the corner. "Oynon, what is it? Are you ill?"
"Obviously," the Bachelor grumbled, only a fraction of his usual bite in the word. "Which is why you should go. My samples are contaminated and the town cannot afford for us both to be sick at this juncture."
Even saying that much seemed to take the doctor a good amount of effort, punctuated as it was by shivers and the occasional cough. Artemiy looked him over briefly, but none of the visible signs of the plague showed themselves on Dankovsky's skin. It seemed as though the man had simply contracted a cold, likely from running around in the unseasonable rain that had fallen over the town. Artemiy sighed and set his bag on Dankovsky's desk, fishing out some antibiotics and a bottle of water and making his way back to the bed. With little fanfare, he dropped a couple of pills onto the blankets and uncorked the bottle.
"Take these, oynon," Artemiy urged, pouring some water into the teacup that sat abandoned nearby, "and then I will see if your hostess will grant me the use of her kitchen. You look as though you could do with more tea and a hot meal, and I think I have enough supplies for some soup."
The Bachelor swallowed the medicine between cautious sips, clutching the cup in both hands as he eyed Artemiy strangely. After a long silence - in which the Haruspex returned to his bag to pull out another bottle of water, a few tins of vegetables, and some meat he had traded for at the Abattoir earlier in the day, intending to cook it for his own dinner - Dankovsky spoke again, voice smoother for having drunk the water, but still sounding fairly weak. "Why are you doing this, Burakh?"
The frank confusion in the Bachelor's voice stopped Artemiy before he could round the corner to the stairs, and he glanced back at the bed-bound doctor, flushed and shivering despite being piled with blankets. They stared at each other a heartbeat longer before the Haruspex smiled. "Because I care for the health of everyone in this town, oynon. Now," he continued briskly, ignoring the stunned look that spread over the doctor's face, "you should drink more water if you can. I will return as soon as the food is ready."
Without further delay, Artemiy collected the tea-urn and slipped down the stairs, explaining the situation to a faintly concerned Ms Yahn. Despite his assurances that it was not the sand plague that affected Dankovsky she all but fled, indicating that she would seek other accomodations for the night but giving him free reign over her kitchen. Artemiy sighed after her, unsurprised and yet disappointed in her irrational fear, and set to making a meal for the doctor and himself.
Tea brewed and soup made, Artemiy debated for only a short while before deciding to simply bring the whole tureen up. When he returned - first with the samovar and fresh mugs and then again with the pot, bowls and utensils balanced atop the steaming lid - Dankovsky was in much the same position as the Haruspex had left him in: huddled under his blankets looking rather pale and miserable. The nightstand became their table as Artemiy poured their drinks and ladelled out a generous helping of soup for each of them. The Bachelor seemed to debate with himself for a moment, curled around his scalding cup of tea, soup bowl balanced in his lap, before gesturing vaguely towards the desk with his head.
"There should be a small loaf of bread and a lemon in my bag," he offered hesitantly, "though I cannot guarantee they're not infected with whatever ails me."
"I'll take my chances," the Haruspex replied, lips ticking upwards as he went to retrieve the offered provisions.
They ate in relative silence, Dankovsky seemingly concentrating solely on consuming as much of the hot meal as he could bear while Artemiy's thoughts drifted from the plague, to the doctor's help in creating its cure, and finally simply to the doctor himself. The man was intriguing, standoffish to most and definitely focussed on his goals, but always willing (and often eager) to chat about the steppe and its traditions with the Haruspex. Artemiy couldn't deny that a good part of his willingness to play nurse was due to wanting to get to know the Bachelor better… not to mention the deep, twisting unease that overtook him when he thought of Dankovsky falling to sickness of any kind.
When the soup was little more than brothy dregs, conversation grew idly between leisurely sips of tea, winding from the plague and their chances of defeating it, to the town itself, and finally to more personal topics. When even that wound down, they sat with the last cups in companionable silence once more until Artemiy noticed the Bachelor was drifting off to sleep, mug tilting precariously. With a huff of exasperation, the Haruspex rescued it from Dankovsky's loosened grasp, urging him to shuffle down the bed until he lay more comfortably and tucking the blankets up around his chin. When he moved to clear away the remains of their dinner however, Artemiy found himself halted by a surprisingly firm grip on his arm.
"Oynon..?"
Dankovsky's eyes were little more than deep brown slits above fever-flushed cheeks, but they were focussed unerringly upon Artemiy's own. The Bachelor licked his lips, fingers loosening slightly only to stroke across the thin skin of Artemiy's wrist. "Are you…" he started, hesitated, then resumed. "Will you return?"
The Haruspex stared, stunned at the bold question, before softening. He turned his wrist to grasp Dankovsky's hand in his own, placing it gently back on the bed with a little pat. "Of course. With luck, your fever will break in the night, and you should not be alone when it does."
Immediately, the Bachelor relaxed, a line of tension falling from him that Artemiy had hardly noticed was present. "Good… good."
Artemiy lingered a moment longer, wondering at the heat that spread in his chest, then gathered their dishes and retreated down the stairs. He washed them slowly, acknowledging the action as the stalling tactic it was even as he used the time to examine his feelings for the man upstairs. Finally there was nothing left to clean and he steeled himself to reenter the Bachelor's room, body already aching at the thought of a night spent dozing in the doctor's well worn desk chair.
Dankovsky was shifting fitfully when the Haruspex returned to his bedside and Artemiy huffed in exasperation. With barely a thought, he carded a hand through the doctor's hair, noting the way the Bachelor seemed to calm at his touch. Brushing aside his reservations, Artemiy leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Dankovsky's forehead.
"Sleep well, oynon," he murmured fondly, settling back into the armchair and letting his hand rest along the back of the doctor's, smiling as Dankovsky's fingers twitched and curled around his own. "I'll be here when you wake."