Hey guys! The only reason I'm updating twice in a week is because this two-part segment has been in the works for an embarassingly long time and this story has finally progressed to the point where I can add it to the official DCU timeline. Welcome to my passion project within my passion project. Emergency Contacts Part I + II are everything I love - angst, tenderness, sassy banter, genuine affection, and mismanaged emotions. This is easily one of my favorite pieces I've written to date and Mika is ready to sue me for everything I'm worth at this point.

Honestly shoutout to Mr. Shan for giving the vampires their very own strain of superflu because it's not a concept I would've come up with on my own.

Chapter 15: Emergency Contacts I - Mika

Mika was in tune with his body enough to know when something was wrong. He just wasn't proactive enough to do anything about it. Which was ironic considering he'd spent just about his entire life premeditating his next move. But focusing on self-care just didn't seem like a good use of his time, with everything else he had going on.

He started feeling a little feverish one night, towards the end of what had been a long and tedious meeting. He remedied it with a long soak in the bracing waters of the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl. It felt good in the moment, but when he got out of the water he felt worse. And even as the hours passed he just couldn't seem to warm up. He retired to his coffin early, piled under a mountain of blankets so thick he could hardly feel Gracie's tackle-hug. Much less hear Kurda's gentle scolding as he ushered her off to bed.

"You alright, Mika?" Came Kurda's voice a few minutes later, once Gracie had been tucked in.

"Tired. Long night." Mika mumbled from beneath his blanket stack, not moving or opening his eyes. He didn't know if Kurda even heard him, but there were no follow-up questions. And within seconds Mika was out cold.

He felt worse when he woke up. His body ached like he'd been fighting, and his head throbbed like he was hungover - despite not having drank a drop. And he was still so fucking cold. He knew it could only be one thing, but the tiny, irrational part of him thought maybe if he didn't acknowledge it, it wouldn't become real. The Vampire Flu could fuck off and go pick on someone who had time to be bedridden. Mika's sheer willpower got him out of bed for five more hours of productivity before his body finally gave up on him.

Kurda thought Mika seemed a little off the night before, but didn't give it any more thought than that. Mika's well-being was Mika's responsibility. Kurda had enough on his plate. Council was only six months away and Kurda was already preparing himself. He didn't have any major obligations for that particular night, so he devoted his evening to beginning a rough draft of his major talking points for the first official conference he'd be holding once council commenced. He set up a temporary work station in the Hall of Khledon Lurt, and packed Gracie's art supplies which never failed to keep her busy and quiet for hours.

About an hour in, Kurda was approached by a guard who was walking rather briskly.

"Good evening, Antony." Kurda greeted him amicably.

"Apologies for interrupting, General Smahlt. But you need to go see Sire Ver Leth right away."

"I thought he was in the sporting halls with Vanez all evening. What could he possibly need me for?" Kurda huffed as he began to pack up his work station.

"Well, he's been taken to the infirmary." Antony elaborated, shooting Kurda a slightly quizzical look as though surprised by his lack of concern. "He passed out during a training exercise in the Hall of Baker Wrent. Sire Skyle thought you'd want to know."

And that was about the last thing Kurda expected to hear.

"He what?! How did that happen? Is he alright?"

"I don't have any more details than that. Come with me."

We've long since established that Mika and Kurda aren't card-carrying members of each other's fan club. But nothing could've prepared Kurda for the level of emotion that spiked within him upon seeing Mika curled up on a cot in the infirmary. His face was grey, and even though he was wrapped in a thick blanket Kurda could see he was shivering. Paris was sitting on a chair next to him, looking mildly concerned, very sympathetic, and overall paternal.

"I know you like being the centre of attention, but this is a little extreme." Kurda blurted out as he approached. The medics looked alarmed, surprised to hear a General addressing a Prince so flippantly. Clearly they didn't know how this family dynamic worked. Paris let out a soft chuckle.

Mika sat up as Kurda approached, and his eyes widened in alarm when he spied Gracie. Paris placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Humans can't catch our flu. It's alright." Paris told him gently.

Vampire Flu.

Mika instantly relaxed at Paris's reassurance, but he still rolled his eyes at Kurda. Kurda was fully convinced Mika could straight-up die, and his lifeless corpse would still roll its eyes as soon as Kurda arrived at the funeral.

"You called him? Why'd you call him?" Mika groaned. Paris' face assumed a look that could only be described as exasperation.

"You are raising a child with General Smahlt, last I checked. I assumed you would want him to know you've fallen ill. Foolish me, I suppose." Said Paris drily.

"You could've sent him a memo. You didn't have to bring him here." Mika's voice was without its typical cutting undertone, though. He lay back down and closed his eyes.

"I must get back to the Hall of Princes." Said Paris softly. "Arrow should be done with his meeting soon, I am certain he will be down to visit you shortly. Sleep as much as you can, and stay warm. You don't want to be sidelined for Council."

"It's six months away." Mika mumbled into his pillow.

"This strain of flu takes no prisoners." Said Paris seriously. "Many a vampire has met an early demise because of it. Just because you have strength and youth at your advantage does not mean you can be complacent."

Eyes still closed, Mika grumbled something Kurda couldn't make out, but was most certainly a complaint.

"Yes, that's what I thought." Said Paris with very light vindication. "See you later. And be polite to the medics. They're under strict orders to tattle to me if you bully them."

Mika didn't respond. Paris took his leave - pausing only to tickle Gracie's chin as he walked past Kurda. She was totally focused on Mika, though. Kurda sat down in the seat Paris had vacated, and Gracie climbed onto the cot so she could snuggle into the cozy blankets beside Mika.

"Daddy sleep?" She chirped at full volume, directly into his eardrum. He flinched at the noise.

"It's an ongoing attempt." Mika told her softly.

"What's a temp?" She asked.

"Attempt." Kurda clarified. "It means he's trying to sleep, because he's not feeling well."

"Daddy sick?"

"Just a little cold. Nothing to worry about." Said Mika, to which Kurda arched an eyebrow.

"Gracie, why don't you draw a nice picture for him? I'll hang it up for you." Kurda suggested, pulling her art supplies from the bag he'd hastily re-packed when Antony came to fetch him.

"How you feeling?" Kurda inquired in an undertone, once Gracie was distracted.

"I feel spectacular, Kurda. Like you said, I'm only doing this for attention." Said Mika derisively. Kurda leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the edge of Mika's bed, earning a scathing glare.

"My mentor got the Vampire Flu, back when I was still a half-blood. He was down for months. He was in poor health to begin with, though." Kurda added quickly as Mika grimaced. "He smoked like a chimney, and he was way older than you. I think he milked it longer than necessary, if I'm being honest. He had too much fun lying around while I took care of him."

"Oh good. You've had practice." Said Mika, rolling his eyes.

"If you think I'm going to spend my days fluffing your pillows and spoon-feeding you, you're going to need to re-evaluate your life."

"If you think I'd let you spoon-feed me-" Mika's snide retort was cut short by a violent coughing spell. Kurda winced in sympathy.

"Can I get you anything?" He offered as Mika caught his breath. "And don't say-"

"Liquor."

"Literally anything else."

"Gods, you're boring." Mika panted. "Water, I guess."

There was a pitcher on the table across the room, and Kurda fetched him a cup. Mika sat up and drained it as though dying of thirst.

"Did that help?" Kurda asked.

"A little." Mika's body seemed to sway, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused as he stared down at the empty cup in his hands.

"You look dizzy."

"I'm fine."

"Lay back down, I'm going to grab one of the medics -"

A firm hand around Kurda's wrist stopped him from getting out of his chair.

"No." Said Mika emphatically, glaring death lasers into Kurda's soul. "No medics."

"Mika, this is the whole reason we have medics. Don't be absurd."

"There's no point. They've already given me every draught and remedy they have! I don't need them standing around watching me." There was such steely conviction in his eyes, Kurda didn't push the matter any further.

"Alright. You win for now. I won't get the medics."

Mika remained sitting upright for a few more minutes, nodding studiously as Gracie showed him her drawing. When Mika started to doze off, Kurda brought him a spare blanket from the infirmary cabinet before scooping Gracie up and promising they'd be back tomorrow.

WEEK 1:

For the first week, Kurda didn't spend much time in the infirmary. He only visited because he was Gracie's ride. But if you took Gracie out of the equation, there was no reason for Kurda to be there. They were co-parents, not partners. They were barely even friends, and that varied from day to day. Kurda had his own life, his own schedule. And Mika was a big boy. He didn't need to be coddled around the clock, nor did he want to be.

Besides, Arrow pretty much spent every non-working moment by Mika's side. On several occasions Kurda walked into the infirmary only to turn around and leave because the pair of them were fast asleep on the tiny cot, flaked out like a pair of newborn babies sharing one crib with abandoned paperwork scattered around. Kurda didn't know if he was secondhand embarrassed by how ridiculous they looked, or by how much he wished he had a friend as loyal as Arrow.

And then Arrow left. Vancha summoned him away from the mountain for backup on some mission. He hated to leave while Mika was incapacitated, but duty calls.

So it was Kurda that was summoned to wrestle Mika back into the infirmary upon being informed he'd "escaped" - to directly quote the very frazzled chief medic.

Kurda thought the chief was just being dramatic, surely Mika had just gone for a walk or something. Then he rounded the corner and saw Mika halfway down the corridor, leaning against the wall as he staggered determinedly towards the main access hallway.

"Are we really doing this?" Kurda sighed as he approached Mika. "I wish I could take a picture so you could see how depraved you look. Go back to bed before I order the guards to drag you. Don't test me - Paris said I was allowed."

"Get out of my way. I'm going to be late."

"Mika, I don't have time for this. Get back to your bed, and for the love of the gods, stop being miserable to the medics! They don't want you in their infirmary any more than you want to be there! The sooner you get some rest, the sooner you can get back to your life." Said Kurda firmly. He stood there blocking Mika's path, then gently grabbed him by the arm when he tried to pass. Mika was operating without his usual strength and speed, but he still mustered up the energy to wrench his arm away.

"It's just a bylaw meeting! I'll be fine! I don't need anyone's permission to go sit in a chair for an hour. Especially not yours." Mika snapped as he carried stubbornly on his way. Kurda sighed in exasperation and followed him.

"If it's just a bylaw meeting, surely it's not worth this. Look at you. You look like you're about to fall over and die." Kurda reasoned, his patience already wearing thin.

"I'd rather die here than in that fucking cot."

"Okay, tough guy." Kurda rolled his eyes and looped his arm firmly around Mika's. This gave him a better grip to gently steer Mika back in the other direction. He made sure to pull Mika away from the wall so he couldn't use it as leverage to launch a counterattack against Kurda's well-intentioned guidance. And once Mika no longer had the wall to hold him up, he had no choice but to lean his entire body weight against Kurda.

By the time Kurda deposited Mika back into the cot, he was coughing so badly he could barely swallow the cup of herbal draught the medics had left out for him.

"Tell me more about how fine that meeting would've gone for you. Go ahead. I'll wait." Said Kurda wryly as Mika lay gasping for air in a fetal position.

"I… hate… you…"

"I know you do. It's gonna be okay."

Mika didn't respond. Kurda sat with him a while longer. Eventually Mika fell asleep, and Kurda headed down to the meeting he was late for. He wasn't about to admit it was the same one Mika had been trying so valiantly to attend.

When Mika woke up hours later, there was an unopened bottle of fine whiskey and a small tray of fresh fruit sitting on his bedside table, with a neat, handwritten note beside it:

"Sire Ver Leth - Your absence is felt, and your guidance is missed. The time has come for you to step back and take care of yourself like you've taken care of us all these years. Even in death may you be triumphant - but not yet. Wishing you the swiftest of recoveries. Til then, we'll be here."

The back of the note was signed by all of the staff supervisors, the Generals currently in the mountain, and Paris too. But there was no mistaking Kurda's immaculate, calligraphy-adjacent handwriting on the front. It was all his doing.

Mika made a point to be more amenable next time Kurda dropped by.

WEEK 2:

The Get Well Soon card achieved its desired effect, and Mika chilled out. For a few days.

But time dragged on, and it seemed boredom was harder on him than the actual flu. And that was saying something, because the flu was hitting him like a freight train. He stopped trying to attend meetings, instead launching an earnest effort to work remotely. By way of Kurda taking detailed notes, reporting back to Mika, and then presenting Mika's feedback at the follow-up meeting.

Kurda didn't exactly mind; it was kind of like a little promotion. People actually listened to him when he was pretending to be Mika. So he'd use that momentum and launch his own talking points immediately after, before they had a chance to lose interest. But Mika was getting weaker by the day, and Kurda couldn't help but worry that Mika's desperate grasps at normalcy were only prolonging his suffering. Surely if he could just temporarily detach himself from the day-to-day proceedings of Vampire Mountain and truly rest, he'd bounce back that much quicker.

"You look awful." Said Kurda as he made himself comfortable in the chair beside the cot. He'd just arrived at the infirmary to provide the daily rundown, and he was armed with the heftiest stack of paperwork yet.

"Been on my death bed for two weeks and I still look better than you." Mika shot back. He was sitting up in bed, wearing a black hooded sweater and a blanket draped around his shoulders for extra warmth.

"You're not on your death bed. Don't be so dramatic. Give it another two weeks and you'll be back in the Hall of Princes being twice as insufferable to make up for lost time."

"Whatever. Did you bring the stuff?"

"Of course, but-"

"Let's see it." Mika didn't wait for an invitation, he delved into Kurda's bag and withdrew the bundle of note paper.

"Mika, are you sure this is the best thing for you right now?" Kurda ventured reluctantly.

Mika's face darkened, as Kurda knew it would.

"I'm sick, not dead. Might as well make myself useful."

"You literally just said you were on your death bed."

"Well, I'm not dead yet."

"And if you take care of yourself and get lots of rest, you probably won't be dead for at least five more centuries." Kurda reasoned, a little patronizingly. "Honestly I can picture you breaking the clan age record out of spite. I promise there's nothing in those notes worth stressing yourself out over. Why don't you just sit and relax? I could get you some tea."

Mika dead-eyed him with profound disdain. But his usual glare was tempered by how bloodshot his eyes were.

"I've been in this room for two fucking weeks, Kurda! I can't go to meetings, can't train, can't play with Gracie, can't even drink one fucking mug of ale with my friends. The highlight of my day is walking six feet to refill the water pitcher!" Mika growled, sitting up a little straighter as he dead-eyed Kurda who felt an inexplicable rush of guilt. "That's it. That's my entire life. I don't want your leaf juice. I just want to look at that stack of paper." Mika added. And for just a moment, he didn't look angry. He looked hurt.

Kurda sighed wearily, shaking his head. That was the first time it truly hit him that Mika wasn't just sick and bored. He was lonely, and it wasn't unreasonable to allow him a reprieve from all that. Even if his idea of a reprieve was vastly different than Kurda's.

"I'm sorry. I get it. I'm ready to go over the meeting notes whenever you are." Kurda replied, dropping the placating manner entirely. "Here's everything from the most recent bylaw follow-up, and if you want to look over the talking points from tomorrow's security conference I can get those too. Anything you need, just say the word."

That was it. Just like magic. The second Kurda stopped trying to tell him what he needed, some of the light returned to Mika's eyes. He literally exhaled in relief as Kurda passed him the notes.

But it didn't last. Mika held the pages a few feet from his face, and began to read. Kurda watched with concern as Mika blinked slowly several times, shook his head, then refocused. He stared at the page for a few moments, as though he was struggling to process the information.

"What's wrong? Can't read my writing?" Kurda asked, chuckling softly.

"It's fine. I'm fine." Mika blinked a few more times before refocusing on the page. But after another minute his face fell. He closed his eyes and shook his head, groaning in frustration. "Fuck… I can't. Room's spinning."

He threw the paper to the side and pressed his palms into his eyes. His breathing became heavy and ragged for a moment and Kurda grabbed the bucket in case it was needed. The moment passed without incident. But for Mika to drop the tough-as-nails facade for even a second, it had to have been bad.

"We can work around that." Said Kurda quietly. "Just close your eyes. I'll read you the summary. It'll be like you were there in person."

Kurda got up from the chair and walked over to the empty cot next to Mika's. With a bit of effort he slid it across the floor until the two small beds became one larger one, allowing enough room for Kurda to sit down without piercing Mika's invisible personal space bubble.

Mika didn't protest, so Kurda began to read. He used his point-form notes to essentially retell the entire meeting word-for-word. Mika chimed in periodically with a question or comment, but mostly he seemed content to just lie there and listen. It was strange for Kurda, being able to speak for so long without Mika interrupting him. When he stopped commenting altogether, Kurda wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

"Oh, I also proposed inviting a vampaneze delegation to Council. The idea was really well-received, actually." Kurda added with complete seriousness, to cap it all off.

That was how he knew Mika was awake; he immediately opened his eyes to stare balefully up at Kurda. Kurda sighed, not without sympathy.

"How you feeling now?" Kurda chuckled softly.

"Cold." Mika mumbled. The defeat in his voice made Kurda's heart sink just a little. He touched Mika's forehead, and didn't know what was more disturbing - the blazing heat or the fact that Mika didn't even have the energy to swat him away.

"You're actually really hot." Kurda reported grimly. Then he rolled his eyes, because for some reason that got a hazy smile out of Mika.

"Damn. At least bring me dinner first."

"Grow up. Your fever's getting worse. I'm getting a medic."

Mika tensed up immediately at that prospect.

"The fuck you are."

"Mika, this is serious."

"I don't want the medics."

"I know you hate when they hover, but…" Kurda's words died on his tongue, and he sighed. There was no point.

"But what?"

"Never mind."

On the bedside table sat a bowl containing cool water and a washcloth. Without thinking about it, Kurda retrieved the cloth and gently held it to Mika's forehead. He heard the words Mika wouldn't, or couldn't say out loud. Took a while, but he got there. There was comfort in familiarity. And all Mika wanted was a fragment of comfort. So just for tonight, whether either of them actually wanted it that way, Kurda accepted that he was Mika's safe place.

There was a spare blanket folded up at the foot of the bed; Kurda reached for it and pulled it over both of them as they sat side-by-side. The was drafty enough that he wanted a bit of warmth for himself. And Mika - still shivering violently - needed a second layer on top of what he already had.

"This is it. This is rock bottom." Mika sighed, much more disparagingly than Kurda felt he should've been capable of in his current state.

"Just pretend this is a fever dream. You're not my type anyway." Kurda retorted.

Mika cracked open one eye, because he couldn't let that slip past him without commenting.

"Do you have any idea how many offers I get during the Festival of the Undead? I'm everyone's type."

"And the fact that you think that, is exactly why you're not my type." Said Kurda decisively. Mika muttered something that sounded vaguely snarky, but he didn't have the strength to keep up the attitude any longer than that.

"If it makes you feel better, meetings haven't been running as smoothly without you." Kurda added, to change the subject.

"No?"

"Well, you know Paris. Absolute genius, but doesn't see a problem spending two hours discussing something you'd hash out in thirty minutes. I guess when you're 800 years old, nothing's really that urgent." Said Kurda, grimacing.

"Yeah. Sounds like him."

"And then there's Arrow who'd rather eat one of his stupid boomerangs than attend any meeting, about anything, ever. It's been a quiet couple of nights since he left." Kurda continued.

"Well, he didn't become a Prince to pursue his passion for bureaucracy." Said Mika reasonably.

Kurda hummed in agreement. Then he paused for a moment. He almost didn't say it, but he was pretty sure it was what Mika needed to hear right now:

"Don't get cocky, but apparently you're the glue holding this place together." Kurda offered at last.

"That can't be right."

"I didn't want to believe it either." Said Kurda.

Mika chuckled at that, but didn't reply. He didn't fall asleep, though. Kurda could tell by the way he was breathing; shallow and strained. So Kurda stayed right there on the bed, sponging Mika's forehead as the fever raged beneath his skin.

Kurda talked and talked, mostly about the upcoming renovations he'd be overseeing alongside Seba. He purposefully over-explained points he knew Mika would find boring or unnecessary in hopes that his droning would function as a lullaby. And when Kurda finally ran out of things to say, he smiled in relief as he realized Mika had finally drifted off to sleep.

WEEK 3:

Time had lost all meaning. Mika no longer knew night or day. Only a endless cycle of fitful sleep and suffering. The chills were relentless. Frequent coughing spells left him breathless and dizzy. His entire body ached - bone, muscle, head, throat, stomach, all of it. As long as the fever burned, the only coherent thought in his mind was make it fucking stop.

With Arrow still gone, Kurda's visits became more frequent. And with Mika getting worse by the day, Kurda stopped bringing Gracie with him. She had enough awareness to know something was wrong, but not enough to understand why Mika couldn't interact with her like he normally did. Kurda usually left her with Seba, who never failed to keep her distracted. This allowed Kurda extra time to focus on the other helpless baby in his life. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel - the medics had finally received a shipment of rare herbs that had been sought out on Paris's orders. Once mixed into liquid medicine, the herbs were Mika's best shot at a swift recovery.

But as Mika grew weaker, drinking and eating became excruciating tests of strength that he failed more often than not. And even more disheartening, his body didn't discriminate between nourishment and medication. Three times he attempted to drink the remedy, and three times his body punished him by vomiting to the point of dry heaving. The third failed attempt left him crying in pain and frustration.

Kurda had never witnessed him cry before. There'd been some near misses, but this was a first. It should've meant they were even - barely a month ago Kurda had spent an hour sobbing into Mika's shoulder after a harsh breakup. But that was the furthest thing from Mika's mind now.

"Get the fuck out, Smahlt." He croaked, desperation disguised as venom burning his throat as much as the vomit had. All it took was a few minutes of intense vulnerability to re-engage his default setting of defensive and revert to a last-name basis with his counterpart.

"I am not leaving you like this." He heard Kurda reply, steadfast and calm. Mika wasn't winning this fight. His last act of defiance was to swat away Kurda's hand, an olive branch of comfort that had been drifting hopefully towards Mika's shoulder. Finally, putting as much distance between them as the combined cots would allow, Mika rolled over and lay with his back to Kurda and hoped he'd take the hint.

Minutes passed. Hours, maybe. Mika remained curled up in the sea of bedding that was softer than anyone could expect for Vampire Mountain. Say what you want about the place, but the medical staff took their VIP patients seriously. (Although Kurda regularly joked that VIP actually stood for Very Incorrigible Princes).

Mika had never been one for praying, but he did place an informal request to disappear into the pillows that surrounded him. As a human he'd never felt connected to any alleged higher power. As a vampire, he felt obligated to at least try.

At bare minimum, the vampire gods could've done him a solid and sent Kurda packing. But they must've had other stuff going on that night because when Mika glanced over his shoulder, his unwanted companion hadn't moved.

"Why are you… still here? Shouldn't… at least one of us… be raising… our child?"

"She's with Seba. She's fine. Just rest for a minute, then give the medicine another try." Kurda ventured. He sounded tense.

"No… not doing that again." Mika muttered, closing his eyes defiantly and laying his head back into the pillows. Kurda sighed and shifted a little closer. When Kurda's palm found its way to his burning forehead, Mika dimly registered the stark temperature contrast between their skin.

"Gods, how does your fever keep getting worse? You're so dehydrated. You have to drink something. Preferably the medicine, but I'd settle for water or blood… hell, I'd let you have ale at this point."

Mika didn't say anything. Of course Kurda was right. But in his fever-addled mind, the short-term consequences of taking another drink were scarier than the long-term consequences of not drinking at all. Not to mention it was taking all of his limited energy just to draw oxygen into his lungs.

"Sit up for a while. You'll breathe easier." Kurda suggested after several minutes. Made sense in theory, but Mika didn't have enough faith in his body to consider it a viable option. Just the thought of opening his eyes was nauseating.

"I can't…"

"You can if you lean into me. I got you." Kurda carefully slipped his arm under Mika's shoulders and half-lifted him up into a sitting position. And Kurda was right. This was a welcome reprieve from the constant, looming sense of impending suffocation. Sure he was leaning into Kurda, but his lungs finally felt like they could expand again. It was a decent trade-off.

"There you go. Feel better?" Kurda murmured.

"Mmhm."

"Good."

They sat in silence for an indeterminable amount of time. Kurda gently sponged Mika's face until it was free of sweat beads and tear tracks, and Mika no longer had the ambition to push him away. And even though he could barely admit it to himself, it felt nice.

"Kurda?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you keep… coming back? Do you just like… watching me suffer?"

"Of course not."

"Then why?"

"Paris said I have to, because you bullied the medics so much they went on strike."

"Liar."

"I realize it's a complex thing for you to wrap your mind around, but you're my family. You're part of Gracie and that makes you part of me too." Kurda sighed defeatedly. "Even though you're an enormous pain in my ass who wouldn't do the same for me, I still need you in one piece. We're in this together."

Neither spoke for a long time.

"You're wrong." Mika mumbled at last.

"Oh, get over yourself. Everyone needs help sometimes."

"Not about that. I mean… if it was you… instead of me… I'd be here… holding you up."

Kurda's chest rose and fell slightly with a weary chuckle.

"Sure you would, Mika. Let's just hope we never have to test that theory."

"You… have no faith in me. Now I hope… you catch my flu… so I can prove it."

"You can't even take your medicine, yet you still have the energy to be difficult? You're nothing if not consistent." Kurda remarked drily.

Mika managed a shaky laugh, and regretted it immediately as another coughing-turned-dry-heaving spell rolled through his body. Kurda cringed sympathetically and stroked his back. There wasn't much else he could do. This time, Mika let him.

"You have to take the medicine. You'll feel so much better. I promise." Kurda pressed afterwards, a shade of desperation creeping into his tone.

"I tried."

"Try again."

"Don't you have… somewhere to be?"

"I have a dozen other things I could be doing right now. But unfortunately for my schedule, Gracie loves you. So if I have to spend my night forcing liquid down your throat to keep you alive a little longer, I'll do it for her."

Mika growled a series of expletives under his breath but remained leaning against Kurda for support.

"I have an idea. Take a sip, just a little one. So tiny your body won't even notice." Kurda offered after several moments of contemplation.

"Then what's… the point?"

"To humour me. Please try."

Mika shuddered as Kurda gently pushed the cup into his hand, already dreading the inevitable moment it all came back up. He'd have taken any Trial of Initiation over one more minute of this - except that spider one. At least those brought the kind of pain that made him feel stronger when it was all said and done. He raised the cup to his mouth; hand shaking so badly Kurda laid his fingers along the base to steady it.

"You ready?"

"No."

"Gods, you're either tough as nails or a bigger baby than Gracie. There's literally no in between."

"Fuck you."

"That's the spirit. Now drink."

By some twisted cosmic miracle, Kurda's idea worked exactly as he said it would. It took ages. But sure enough, drop by tiny drop, Mika slowly finished the entire cup without it threatening to come back up. He didn't feel any different after, but he could sense Kurda's relief once the cup was empty.

"You did it." Kurda croaked as he triumphantly put the cup back on the table. "Finally! You did great."

"Ale next." Mika mumbled, closing his eyes again and feeling his body begin to sway. And finally he let the nest of blankets and pillows reclaim him.

WEEK 4:

As the fourth week loomed over them, Kurda found himself wishing he could take back every moment where he'd rolled his eyes at Mika's endless stream of snide commentary and witty backtalk. By the fourth week Mika was slipping in and out of lucidity and if he did speak, the best case scenario was a semi-coherent sentence fragment.

There wasn't much Kurda could do besides offer reassurance that this wouldn't last forever. He spent hours sitting beside Mika, talking. Sometimes he talked about clan business. Other times he talked about what Gracie had been up to. Sometimes he just talked about nothing, while praying to catch even a glimpse of the dark but undeniable sparkle that had disappeared from Mika's eyes. He didn't even recognize the person lying there twisted up in sweat-soaked sheets, whimpering over and over he'd had enough, wanted out, I can't do this, Kurda.

Sitting in solidarity as a helpless spectator was gut-wrenching. In the darkest hours, Kurda could do nothing more than stroke his fevered forehead and whisper the same mantra until he feared the words would lose their meaning. You can. You will. You don't have a choice. I got you. I promise.

And when Mika finally fell asleep, Kurda broke down. hunched over on the foot of the bed, catching tears in his hands as he sobbed convulsively when it all became too much. Had Mika been awake, Kurda would've stepped out of the room. But Mika was so disoriented he didn't know where he was, much less that Kurda was there with him. So when Kurda allowed himself to shatter, he no longer cared that Mika was lying three feet away. He could've been on another planet for all the difference it made.

"Don't you dare leave us like this. Come back." Kurda choked out as he stared at Mika's lifeless form through swollen, burning eyes.

WEEK 5:

All Mika knew was cold. Even on the most gruelling trek through the wilderness to Vampire Mountain felt like a walk down a tropical beach compared to this. Last week, he'd been able to reach over and grab himself an extra blanket from the chest at the foot of his bed. That was no longer an option. He was powerless to do anything but lay there and shiver. Stuck in limbo between awake and asleep; exhausted but too uncomfortable to doze off. He dimly registered someone sitting down beside him and he didn't have to open his eyes to know it was Kurda.

"Sorry I'm late. You been up to anything exciting since yesterday?" Kurda chuckled softly. His voice sounded so much further away than it actually was.

"Help..." Mika heard himself murmur. He felt Kurda's hand on his cheek, warm and familiar.

"What now? Did the medics give you the itchy pillow case again?" Said Kurda patiently. "It's okay. I'm here. What do you need?"

"Blanket."

"You have three."

"More."

Kurda sighed, but it sounded more worried than exasperated. A moment later Mika felt Kurda tuck another blanket around him. He tried to relax his body, but the fourth blanket did nothing but increase the weight of the pile he was buried under. He wasn't any warmer and now he felt like he could barely breathe. And they don't tell stories or sing songs honouring vampires who died drowning in a sea of fucking blankets.

But he didn't have to articulate any of that, because Kurda knew immediately. Intense concern clouded his aquifer eyes as he quickly peeled the blanket away.

"You just can't win, can you?" Kurda murmured.

"I'm so cold." Even as the words fought their way from his trembling lips, Mika's eyes and throat burned with self-loathing all over again.

And when Kurda eased himself closer, lifting Mika's remaining blankets to slide under and join him there, it didn't even occur to Mika to protest. It no longer mattered that this was Kurda Fucking Smahlt, his one-time arch-nemesis for whom Mika still feigned dislike on principle half the time. All he knew was that he was cold, and Kurda was so incredibly warm.

Mika curled up into the newfound heat source before Kurda could even whisper, "Come here." The delirious hit of relief at the moment of physical contact was unlike anything Mika had ever known. When he rested his head on Kurda's chest, the smooth cotton of that sky-blue shirt felt like pure luxury against his clammy cheek. Mika's last recollection before finally passing out was Kurda's hands stroking his back with softness he didn't feel he deserved.

24 HOURS LATER:

Mika was slowly ascending from the abyss of a heavy sleep when he realized something felt different. He didn't even open his eyes for a minute or two as his senses came back. All he knew was that he was comfortable for the first time in over a month. The pain had softened to a manageable ache, and he felt like he was back in the driver's seat of his own brain.

Even without opening his eyes he knew he was still in the infirmary, in the same cot that now felt like it was fused to his body. But suddenly that lumpy slab felt plush, and the blankets and pillows so soft they could've been from a lavish hotel. And somehow all of the bedding was fresh and clean. Which was nothing short of miraculous, given the intensity and duration of the illness. Even the air itself felt fresher.

He felt something move on his left side, and finally opened his eyes. Kurda was there, on the other side of the two cots he'd pushed together to form one large one. He was sitting half-upright with a leatherbound notebook in his hands. Mika had a hazy flashback to the moment he hit his final rock bottom and sought refuge in Kurda's arms. It felt more like a fever dream than anything else.

"…Kurda?" He barely recognized his own voice.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Kurda's face lit up with barely restrained euphoria. His voice cut through Mika's brain fog like music on a summer morning.

"Hey… what're you doing here?" Mika rasped. His throat still burned.

"I've been here all night. Hell, practically all week. You took a bad turn and I thought you could use some supervision." Kurda's voice was light and airy but he didn't entirely succeed in masking the strain in it.

"Fuck… how long did I sleep?"

"You'd been having a hard time sleeping because of all the chills. You sort of drifted in and out for a few days. Then yesterday you finally passed out, and you stayed out for almost a full day." Kurda explained as he reached over to the bedside table and poured a cup of water from the pitcher there. "At first I was relieved you were sleeping so soundly. Then I started wondering if you'd gone into a coma. But your fever broke a couple hours ago, so I guess I'm not getting rid of you that easily. Welcome back." Kurda summarized with a weary laugh.

Mika slowly began to sit up - the sight of the water made him realize how painfully thirsty he was. He couldn't remember the last thing he ingested but based on the way his throat felt, it must've been sand. Clearly it was lacking in nutritional value because he only got halfway up before blood rushed to his head and his vision went black. He swayed a little but Kurda's arm around his shoulders kept him steady.

"Hey. Take it easy." Kurda's reprimand sounded slightly distorted as Mika blinked rapidly and tried to re-orient himself. Then the moment passed. His vision returned and he was able to crack a gloating smile at Kurda's obvious alarm.

"I hope you haven't been sitting here worrying about me, Kurda. Because I legally couldn't let you live that down."

"Actually, I've been enjoying the peace and quiet. You're more agreeable when you're delirious." Kurda snorted, rolling his eyes. But his worn-out face was alight with relief as he smiled back, his arm still around Mika's shoulders. "How do you feel?" Kurda added earnestly.

"Better. Much better."

"Good. Paris warned us you'd probably go into a hard downward spiral before you started coming out of it, and he was right. What's the last thing you remember?"

Mika closed his eyes for a second and hesitantly tried to sift through some of that residual brain fog. He didn't like what he found.

I remember crying in your arms that I wanted to die. And I remember you begging me to come back.

"Uhh… I remember you reading Vanez's recruit intake reports to me at one point. And everything else is just a blur of sweating and throwing up." He told Kurda instead.

"Yeah, that about sums it up. Wasn't a productive time for you. It was somewhere around the third week when I finally realized you weren't faking it for attention. But as much of a nuisance as you are, it wasn't fun to watch." Said Kurda lightly. But his smile thinned and Mika felt a pang of guilt at how stressed Kurda still looked.

"Well, I'm okay now. And I'm sorry this became your problem." Said Mika, a little quieter.

Kurda squeezed his shoulder.

"I won't hold a grudge. Just don't let it happen again." Kurda replied, a hitch in his throat.

Mika took a deep breath, revelling in his newfound appreciation for a normal lung capacity. He reached up and looped his arm around Kurda's back. For a moment, they just sat.

"Could've sworn we had a baby at one point. Or was that a fever dream?" Mika inquired seriously at last.

"We had a baby. You were out for a really long time. She's in college now." Kurda replied with equal seriousness and a sparkle of amusement in his eye.

"Fuck you."

"Gracie's been with Paris and Seba. You know how they spoil her - they're worse than us. I tried bringing her to see you a few times, but she got scared and confused when she couldn't wake you up. It was easier on her to stay away. They've kept her well distracted and she's in good spirits."

"Thank you. You did the right thing. I miss her so much."

"She's missed you too. I'll go get her in a little while. Have a drink first, though. Last thing I need is you passing out, falling over, and cracking your skull open. Imagine surviving a gruelling battle with the Vampire Flu only to die on your way out of the hospital bed. At least you'd pass into legend. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"You're the worst." Mika smirked. But he gladly accepted the cup of water Kurda passed to him. Had water always tasted this good? He'd never take it for granted again.

When Kurda left and came back with Gracie, it took every bit of Mika's limited strength not to break down and sob as she crawled into his arms and hugged him with everything she had. Mika wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he reasonably could, and closed his eyes. He couldn't risk accidentally looking at Kurda right now, otherwise it'd be game over. Even with the astronomical effort he was channeling into self-restraint, he felt an unmistakable burn behind his eyelids.

Kurda and Gracie stayed all night. Kurda eventually had some food brought up from the kitchens, and Gracie showed off her brand new chess set, courtesy of the carpentry staff. Paris and Seba had been teaching her to play during their down time. Gracie didn't actually have the foggiest idea what she was doing, and Mika let her win seven games in a row. He couldn't say for sure if it was the best day of his life, but it felt like a contender.

Being prepared to die at a moment's notice is Vampire Honour Code 101. And Mika was a good vampire. Like any of his clanmates, he was conditioned to not fear death. And he didn't. What he feared was missing out. And he didn't want to miss even another second of this.

Follow-up question for the class: did Larten have a more severe case of the vampire flu, or is he just a worse patient than Mika?

'Emergency Contacts II: Kurda' is complete and will be up tomorrow. If you think I ruined Mika's life, wait til you see what I'm doing to Kurda.

- roxy