Helen Magnus (britishcharm) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-09-19 07:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, helen magnus, varric tethras |
"You're a hard woman to get chicken soup to."
Who: Helen and Varric
What: Helen has been hiding things.
When: Monday.
Where: Helen’s House.
Status: Complete!
Rating: Maybe PG-13. Warnings for a mostly behaved Varric and coughing up blood?
It had started simply enough, a nagging headache she had attributed to the dreams and too little sleep. But it had only gotten worse. By the next morning, everything else ached along with her head, and she assumed she must be coming down with something. The fever had only seemed to confirm her suspicions. Then she had truly gotten sick. Most of the fourth day was spent in her bathroom floor, hoping no one would choose to pay her an unexpected visit.
The fifth day had begun much like the last, settled near the toilet, cradling her head in her hands and trying not to cry. Standing on shaky legs, she splayed her fingers over the counter, staring at herself in the mirror. She looked hollow, like she hadn’t slept in days. And in reality, she hadn’t. Most nights, she slept only long enough to dream.
She did what she could to make herself presentable, trying to ignore the way her hands trembled. The coughing fit caught her by surprise just as she reached the doorway, stealing her breath. For several moments she hovered there, uncertain, staring blankly at her hand.
Turning back to the sink, she rinsed the blood away, scrubbing her hands until they flushed red. Forcing down her sudden terror, she moved into the kitchen on autopilot, setting the water to boil. It was a virus, nothing more. She would be fine in a day or two.
Varric had been somewhat busy, but despite that he was gradually getting the impression that Helen was hiding something from him. She couldn't always hide the sound of her voice or the coughing over the phone, so he presumed she was just sick, yet she had steadfastly refused to let him visit. He'd really had enough of that, and swung by with some chicken soup, a handwritten story and some other medication. Marching up the steps, he let himself in.
So absorbed in her task, she didn’t even register the door opening. Glancing down at her hands, she noticed they were shaking again, and she leaned forward, elbows on the counter as she rested her head against her palms.
Closing the door behind him, Varric stepped into the living room, looking around. Then he walked into the kitchen, put down his bags and folded his arms, "You're a hard woman to get chicken soup to."
She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice, slowly turning to face him while still leaning against the counter. Her smile, at least, was genuine.
"I asked you not to come."
"Since when have I ever listened to you where your health is concerned," Varric said, pulling out the chicken soup and placing it in front of her. His voice sounded amused, but his eyes were very serious.
She spent another minute studying him, finally murmuring a soft, "Thank you."
"What's wrong, Helen."
"It's nothing. I'm all right."
"You look like death warmed over," Varric replied. It looks like they were both going to be stubborn.
She hesitated, settling on a half-truth, trying to sound reassuring. "A headache. I'm fine. Really."
The result was something closer to exhausted, and she sighed, turning back toward her tea. It was easier to maintain distance with her back to him.
Varric walked around the counter and put a hand on her forehead, "Rabbit, you're burning up. You should be in bed." He didn't seem to think it was too serious yet.
She closed her eyes with a frustrated breath. “I have been.”
Varric chuckled, taking her arms and trying to steer her back towards her bedroom, "Get back into bed. I'll get your tea, and bring you soup, and you're going to rest. Enough trying to hide it, you're going to worry me sick."
She considered protesting, decided she didn’t have the energy. “You shouldn’t fuss,” she murmured instead, even as she followed his direction.
"I expect you to fuss when I get sick, and me to complain when I get sick," He intoned, guiding her back to her bed room, "Lets get you stripped back down...."
That earned him a look, but it also won a faint chuckle. “Are you suggesting I let you help?”
"Yes, yes I am." He grinned at her mischeviously.
"If you insist." Perhaps she had been wrong to push him away. Already, she felt calmer.
Varric helped her undress, then guided her into bed, "You rest. And eat that soup. I'll stay for a few hours, okay?"
She followed his instruction quietly, reaching for his hand once he'd settled her in bed.
"Thank you."
Varric smiled down at her, then retrieved her tea and the soup. He sat next to the bed to help her eat.
"You're too good to me."
"That's because you're too good for me." Varric decided to stop by in the morning with a thermometer, just to see how she was doing, and if her fever was dangerous.
"Then we're well matched. It seems we truly were meant for each other."
Varric nodded. He wondered what sort of magic Helen had cast over him, and found he didn't care.