Who: Leon & Revy What: Nurse Leon to the rescue When: Today Where: Revy's place Rating/Warnings: Grossness, some sap that may or may have not caused Revy to throw up or not Status: Complete!
For someone whose lungs were probably black charcoal and a liver that’d need a transplant in the next decade, Revy’s immune system had always been steely. Never one to be susceptible to common, everyday illnesses - she never had the chicken pox, never had the flu, the worst was a standard fuckin’ cold once a year, maybe once every other year?
Some shit like that. Anyway, point was, when she was coming down with something, it was easily noticeable. Lazing on the couch like a goddamn potato was the way she wanted to cure it, maybe pop in an over-the-counter pill to fend off the heat of the fever she felt. Relief didn’t come, the fucking label on the bottle lied.
“Fuck me,” she growled, snatching her phone from the coffee table. In the background was the television - some kind of bullshit she didn’t have to pay too much attention to - and her fingers worked against the screen to send a text. To Leon, since he had plans to come over anyway but she didn’t think she’d be that great of company unless he didn’t care if she flopped on him like a dead fish that felt like shit.
sick. you don’t have to come over but if you do, pick me up something stronger than tylenol.
Leon had been planning on going by Revy’s place after work anyway, but when he got her text it pretty much cemented it. He sent her a text, be by in thirty, picked up a bottle of brandy for what was ailing her, and headed straight to her place, still dressed in the black tie and white button down shirt he’d started wearing to work when he’d decided he was going to go for the sergeant's exam. Honestly, hanging around with sick people wasn’t always his favourite thing, but it wasn’t like he was opposed to the idea. Orcot’s rarely got sick, and he could make her a hot toddy, and maybe curl up on the couch and watch a movie or something.
“I brought liquor,” he said, letting himself into Revy’s unlocked apartment. “Thirsty?”
Hanging around people while she was sick didn’t sound like a stroll in the park either for her - mostly because having company around while you looked and felt like she was uncomfortable enough, but she guessed that, if anything, she could (romantically?) bully Leon into getting her something if needed. Less of her moving around, more of her being lazy. A fuckin’ win all around.
But lucky for her, his arrival and overall question was coming at a damn good time. “Hey,” she called out, but it sounded drowsy and distracted. Revy had her ass planted on the couch, head lowered, hair falling over her face like a dark, satiny curtain - she was rubbing her eyes like she’d been attempting to do away with exhaustion.
When she looked up, the tears of red coming from her eyes was as clear as day.
“Hey,” she repeated, frowning. “This might be pretty fucking obvious but this isn’t normal, is it?” Her fingers were damp with blood and down her cheeks were streaks, like she’d used someone’s insides for war paint or had stepped out of a horror movie.
Leon went to cupboards to prepare some tea and pull out some cups. Leon generally didn’t do the whole pampering thing, but Revy sounded rough and he was prepared to go the extra mile to make sure that she was comfortable. He had a coffee mug in his hand when he turned toward her, wondering what exactly wasn’t normal, though it fell from his grasp and broke on the counter when he caught sight of her face. His stomach dropped, and while he was normally able to keep his cool in stressful situations, his face clearly showed his panic.
“Oh shit,” he said, running to her side. He went to place his hands on either side of her face so that he could look into her eyes. “What the fuck did you catch?”
“Depends on what the fuck you gave me,” was her sardonic reply, but to be honest she didn’t exactly know the answer to his (more than valid) question? Revy wasn’t exactly panicked - not like it’d do shit - but she was well aware that bleeding from the eyes wasn’t an everyday symptom. Her cheeks were feverish against his palms. “I’m either fucked or the OC is fucking with me.”
Fair conclusions to make. When things become the definition of fucking weird, blame whatever goddamn sadistic cosmic force that made this place spin ‘round and ‘round. Getting sick out of the blue this sort of symptom, though, was definitely the definition of that.
It didn’t help that she had the sensation of something rising from the back of her throat, either - she could taste the iron already. Now there was a degree of panic in her body language with the way she gripped his arms and squirmed, mostly because the last thing she wanted to do was go exorcist all over him. “Sink or toilet. Sink or toilet.”
Meaning she needed help getting to either one so her insides could be spilled out for him to see.
At least she was still Revy, half insulting him even when she was bleeding from the fucking eyes. His lips almost twitched upward at it. “It had better be the fucking OC, because if you’ve got goddamn ebola…” The thought that if she had ebola, he probably shouldn’t be there didn’t even cross his mind. There was no way that he was going to leave her there to deal with it herself.
It took him a confused second to realize what Revy was yelling about, but as soon as he looped her arm around his neck and began to half-carry her to the sink, hoping to God he’d make it there before she threw up on him.
Leon made it - and it was good that he did, because the contents that had come up and had been poured into the sink was mostly blood. And the chocolate-vanilla pudding she’d eaten for breakfast since her appetite wasn’t being cooperative. Revy gave it a minute; some coughs, awkward stillness in case it happened again, but after the initial wave, it seemed to have settled.
Mostly.
Groan. “This blows literal chunks,” she scowled, tearing off some sheets of nearby paper towel to wipe her mouth. Her surroundings were dizzying, and she hesitated on doing any abrupt movements on the account of she’d probably faceplant into the kitchen tile. Or faceplant somewhere Leon’s body, which wasn’t the worst thing in the fucking world. “If this is OC bullshit, the network’s probably exploding.”
Leon gathered her hair with his hand, keeping it out of the sink, and gently rubbed her back with his other hand, fighting to keep his own bile down. He would have had a much harder time of it if the redness of it all didn’t chill his blood. Bleeding from the eyes was serious enough, but the thought of her bleeding internally nearly made his heart stop in his chest. “Right. The Network.” At least Revy was thinking straighter than he was about this. “C’mon. We need to get you to bed,” he said, bending slightly so he could carry her into her bedroom. “I’ll check the Network, but if there’s nothing on there I’m calling an ambulance.”
Revy, for once, didn’t possess the strength to protest against being carried off. Part of her doubted she’d make it to bed successfully even if she tried, and while she wasn’t all that excited to be a fucking mess of blood vomit and strange tears in front of Leon, it was better than enduring the unknown illness of gore alone.
“Yeah, yeah,” she submitted weakly, amber eyes outlined in scarlet. It tinted her vision a little, and Leon’s silhouette wasn’t exactly the most stable. Fuzzy at best, sometimes double, but if she blinked hard enough it seemed to even out. She brought her hand up to her face, trying to see if she could at least tell if she was feverish - she couldn’t, but her brain felt like it could melt out of her ears. “Dealing with gross shit, that’s part of the relationship thing, right?”
Once Leon got Revy to her bed, he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady himself. He brushed some sweaty hair out of her face. He really didn’t know what he would do with himself if Revy didn’t pull through this. “Yeah,” he said, feeling like he had a massive frog in his throat. “It’s part of the whole annoying package.” He fished his phone out of his pocket, and opened it up to the Network.
Scrolling through, he felt the knot in his stomach loosen, and he sighed in relief. “Kid who brought it in says it should pass in a day,” he said, the relief evident in his voice. He also claimed it carried through touch, but he kept that part of the post to himself. It was too late to do anything about it now.
Oh, thank fuck. For a second there she was really dreading that potential trip to the hospital, where in the end she got diagnosed with ebola, and then was destined to die bleeding everywhere on a goddam hospital bed. Talk about shitty way to end things.
“Am I supposed to treat this like some hangover?” The weakness, vomiting, not wanting to get up from where Leon had put her. Moving onto her side felt like a struggle enough, veins feeling like they were replaced with heavy sand, and warm streaks of blood slid down her face. “It’s not some contagious viral shit, is it?”
“The worst fucking hangover of all time,” he said, smiling lightly. “I’m going to get some supplies. Don’t move,” he said, neatly sidestepping her question, though he was pretty sure the last was totally unnecessary. It didn’t seem like Revy would be able to do much in the way of moving even if she wanted to. He went to the kitchen, prepared a bucket of water and a rag for a cold compress and to help clean the blood from her face, a bottle of water, and an empty garbage can for her to throw up into, and returned just a couple of minutes later.
He soaked the rag in the cool water, and then used it to wipe the blood from Revy’s cheeks. Of course, they hadn’t stopped bleeding, so maybe that was a complete waste of time.
Moving wasn’t going to be much of a thing even if she tried; the bed was comfortable enough as it was, and she was pretty sure standing would end with a Revy-shaped imprint on the floor. “Thanks,” she grumbled, and his lack of answer sort of went over her head at the moment. The mind wasn’t the sharpest tool to use right now. “I didn’t - er - didn’t mean to have you over to play fucking baby babysitter.”
The comment almost sounded antagonistic even with the weary voice, but she wasn’t done.
“But I’m glad you’re stuck with me to play fucking babysitter. In case this whole thing has me trippin’ balls with fever-induced hallucinations, or whatever.” Her fingers went to circle around his wrist. The grip was barely anything, though she was stubborn enough to hang on. “Don’t go too far.”
Even if Revy hadn’t wanted him there, Leon had no intentions of leaving anytime soon. Even if he had to call in to work tomorrow in order to stay with her (or because he was sick, which really didn’t seem unlikely) He pulled his wrist from her grip, but only so that he could twine his fingers with her own, and leaned down to kiss her sweaty brow. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her. “We’re in this together.”
Revy was nauseous again. If she weren’t feeling like a sickly sack of shit she’d blame it on the comment, but it was really the gory bile rising in the back of her throat. The roll to her side was swift, and her head went over the bucket so all that threatened to come out did; spit, phlegm, the leftover food. All until the ex-con was sure there was not a goddamn thing left.
“Being sappy makes me barf,” she raspily forced out, but had to sort of actually fucking laugh about it too. Deliriously. In a less feverish mindset, she’d appreciate the sentiment with more sobriety. “Fucking ass.”