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[noburden]

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[rosarianoath]

The washcloth feels like relief on his scalding hot skin, and he looks up at her blearily.

“You could,” he says. “I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

He’s tearing up.

“I don’t want to be weak like this.”

[noburden]

Just like that, her heart breaks for him. It's been some time since he's looked so miserable. He must feel worse.

"I'm here to take care of you. This won't be forever," she reminds him, wiping his neck. "You needn't worry about a thing. I'm very sorry you feel so awful, my love."

[rosarianoath]

He sighs at her touch, wishing he could be touched like that forever.

“I just don’t want to be like some sick dog that has to slink away to die,” he mutters, looking at her dead in the eyes. Why the fuck is he crying? “To spare you, if it grows worse.”

[noburden]

"You won't," she promises. He's being very dramatic. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Every time she does, he gets worse.

"This... that," she says, glancing to the toilet, "Was likely the worst of it."

[rosarianoath]

“If I could be so fortunate,” he says forlornly, sure that he’s leaving a river of sweat where his shoulders touch the wall. If there’s anything to be glad about beyond her presence, it’s that there’s nothing more to vomit. “I need you or I’ll surely perish.”

[noburden]

She gives him a small smile as she wipes him down, down to his hands to make sure he's gotten nothing on them.

"Oh, that's nothing new," she teases lightly.

[rosarianoath]

His gaze falls to her hands on his. His palms are clammy, his fingers limp.

“I’m glad to have made it 34 years without falling ill before you…

[noburden]

She wipes his hands, and when she reaches up to brush her fingers across his forehead, they're too cool for it to be anything but a touch of her magic bringing down the temperature.

"I'm happy to be here to take care of you, for all the times you've looked after me. For all the times you've had no one to look after you," she murmurs. Joshua was always the sick one, the weak one. There was no room for Clive.

[rosarianoath]

“Last time… I thought they’d just kill me,” he mumbles, letting his head fall fully against her forehead, into the cold of her palm.

[noburden]

He reeks, but she pets him, hoping to cool him down.

"As much as I'm sure you'd wish I'd do that to you now, I need you just as much as you need me," she tells him. "Once you feel strong enough, we'll get you back into bed."

With a bucket, perhaps.

[rosarianoath]

He lets his eyes flutter closed.

“I can try to get up,” he says. “For you.”

[noburden]

"Don't push yourself. We can sit here for a little while." There's no shame in it, despite the smell. She's glad he made it here rather than vomit in their bedroom.

[rosarianoath]

“My ass is falling asleep,” he mutters, a hand drifting up her thigh just to touch her in turn.

[noburden]

And they can't have that. Jill rests her hand atop his.

"Very well. I'll help you up."

She gets to her feet and offers him both hands. Usually, such an act is done in jest. A playful thing he humors her with, because he weighs that much more than her. But surely she can help a little.

"Slow and steady, Clive."

[rosarianoath]

Clive sits forward with some effort, getting his feet under him so he can try to stand. He’s surely not going to be lifted right from the ground, not by her.

He sure does need more help than he hopes, though, because when he gets up, his weight immediately sinks against her.

[noburden]

"Oh."

He's against her, heavy and moist. Jill doesn't enjoy it, but this is what being a good partner is, she supposes.

"To bed we go."

Baby steps.

[rosarianoath]

“Alright,” he breathes, through his mouth, since there isn’t a single gasp of air getting through his nose. He barely keeps upright, his sweaty side against hers, and the second they’re in reach of the bed, he sinks into it.

(His armpit drags against her shoulder obviously.)

[noburden]

Her own clothing feels damp. She's slogged through worse than her love's sick sweat, but it's still not great.

"Here," she says, going to the bag and pulling out a bottle with red liquid in it, condensation on it from the cooler in the store. She twists off the cap. "Drink this. It's sweet."

Fruit punch, or whatever.

[rosarianoath]

“What is it?” he asks, struggling to prop himself up against the headboard again. But he’s going to drink it anyway, and he takes an immediate swig of it.

[noburden]

"A different color of that drink Joshua had," Jill says. She got a few other bottles in different colors. The yellow one is alarming, but she was curious. "I have medicine, too."

The bag rattles as she pulls out a bottle of capsules, turning it over in her hands to read it.

"For fever, headache, congestion, sore throat..."

Sounds like him.

[rosarianoath]

He grimaces at the overwhelming sweetness of it, momentarily pursuing his lips against the mouth of the bottle. It burns sour on his throat.

“I don’t need medicine,” he coughs.

It’s guaranteed to taste even worse.

[noburden]

"You claim you are dying, and yet you don't need medicine," Jill hums, opening the bottle. She fiddles with the foil seal before popping it open, pulling out the cotton within, and tapping out a few pills onto her palm. "Just take these, Clive. Please."

She prays he can keep them down.

[rosarianoath]

He is dying and thus he does not want to spend the last bit of his life choking down whatever chemicals and foul-smelling concoctions they’ve hidden in those pills. Clive just gives them a suspicious eye.

“What’s in them? Would Tarja trust them?”

[noburden]

She can't pronounce some of the listed ingredients on the bottle.

"I've seen you eat things in the kitchen I set aside to toss. Take these," she says firmly, putting them in his hand. "Now isn't the time to be delicate."

[rosarianoath]

“That’s food,” he grumbles, taking them and giving them an unfocused look. He’s going to die miserable. He pops them in his mouth and chews before swallowing, and it’s bitter and nasty before before he follows it with the red swill.