The first sensation he felt as he
drifted upward from the cool peacefulness of sleep was the very
persistent feeling that any second now he was going to throw up.
Scrunching his eyes closed even tighter, Vash drowsily reviewed his
options. Get up and try to find a private, or at least semi-private,
place to deal with this little issue or puke right here and have to
move his bedroll somewhere else afterward. Or worse, puke right on
the bedroll and end his sleeping in comfort for at least a night or
two.
He'd just decided that moving now would probably be the less
strenuous of the two in the long run when the urge passed, and he
sighed in relief. Sending up a silent thank you to whoever might be
listening, Vash rolled over, carefully so as not to jostle his newly
appeased stomach, and was somewhat bemused to find he wasn't in his
bedroll at all, but an actual bed.
Must've drunk more than I thought, he decided sleepily, mentally
reviewing his current bodily status. Uncomfortably sweaty, check,
mouth tasting like a can of old shoe polish, check. Headache,
backache, body ache, hell, even his hair felt like it hurt...that
would be a check too. The basic symptoms of staying out way too late
and drinking way, way too much.
Except he usually remembered at least where he'd been when the
drinking took place. Sure, he'd never had a stomach for alcohol,
despite a century or so of drinking binges, but even then he had an
eidetic memory for the smallest details, handy at times but usually
more trouble than it was worth.
So why didn't he remember the bar he'd been drinking at? Or leaving
the bar? Or, while he was on the subject, anything else?
Blinking tiredly, Vash sat up as concern briefly overrode his desire
for sleep, and immediately winced as the sudden burst of daylight
sent an icepick sharp surge of pain right through the middle of his
forehead.
He slapped a hand against his forehead, too hard, and nearly howled
as a fresh stab of pain shot through his head. Would have howled if
he hadn't been afraid that hearing any loud noise might make his
brain throb its way out through his skull onto the sheets.
"Easy there."
Biting back whimpers of pain, Vash couldn't even look in the
direction of that voice, but in the end he didn't have to. It came
to him, along with the cool roughness of a damp washcloth on his
face. He pressed against it gratefully, finally giving voice to the
groan he'd been suppressing.
"Had us worried there for a little while," Nicholas D. Wolfwood said
mildly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he washed Vash's face with
surprising care.
Feeling a little less like he was hovering right at death's door,
Vash didn't even try to understand that at first. "Worried?" he
murmured, turning his head hopefully towards the cool touch of the
cloth like a puppy begging for another pat.
Obligingly, Wolfwood washed the other side of his face, gently
wiping away sweat and taking with it a little of the queasy feeling.
"Worried, yeah." The cloth slid a little lower, shifting to soothe
the overheated skin at the nape of Vash's neck. "One day you're just
as fine and lively as ever, and the next you were burning with fever
and ranting a bunch of junk that didn't make any sense."
Vash's eyes snapped open and he pulled back in sheer surprise.
Fever? Ranting? "I was sick?" he blurted out, immediately
feeling stupid.
"That's usually what a fever means," Wolfwood said dryly. The bed
shifted slightly as he got to his feet, walking across the room and
into what Vash assumed was the bathroom.
Now that he no longer felt like tiny men were setting off explosives
in his forehead, Vash managed to sit up a little further, peering
around the rented room. Small, fairly clean despite the slight musty
smell that was so typical in these cheap rooms, there was a feeble
trickle of sunlight coming in from the one dirty window and Vash
marveled briefly that such an innocent thing could have caused him
such pain.
He could hear Wolfwood rummaging around for a minute before he
reappeared, carrying a slender glass thermometer and a dark brown
bottle of the type that usually contained medicine. Before he could
protest, the priest popped the thermometer into his mouth, holding
it steady until Vash got the idea to hold onto it himself.
"There. Let's see if you can keep your mouth shut for five minutes,"
Wolfwood said, smirking, and Vash almost blew it immediately, just
managing to hold in his indignant protest. He settled for a dirty
look and Wolfwood simply grinned on innocently as he wandered over
to a rickety table in the middle of the room and retrieved a
battered coffee cup.
Sipping his coffee silently, Nicholas leaned against the table,
waiting, and Vash was all but fidgeting off the bed by the time five
minutes was up.
Plucking the thermometer free, Wolfwood studied it a moment before
tossing it aside in disgust. "Damn thing must be broken. If your
temp was really that high we'd be getting ready to bury you."
Frowning, he pressed the flat of his palm against Vash's forehead.
"You don't feel as hot as you did before, anyway."
Flinching away from the touch, Vash cursed himself silently for not
realizing how the thermometer would work on him. "I don't get sick,"
he said sullenly, even as his stomach lurched at the bitter smell of
coffee wafting from the mug.
"Everyone gets sick, Vash, even you," Nicholas said lightly. "After
all, you're only human."
There was something in that tone, a hint of something...sarcasm,
perhaps? Before he could really dwell on the thought, abruptly Vash
realized he was wearing his pajamas instead of his regular clothes.
He knew of exactly one other person who was in the room who must
have put them on him and, oddly embarrassed, he blushed, tugging
weakly at the cuffs as if he could pull them down even further.
"I think I like you better when you're sick," Wolfwood said, amused.
"You're as clear as glass. Yeah, I changed your clothes, but don't
worry. I didn't look at any of the naughty bits." The priest gave
him a sly glance. "Not for too long, anyway."
Laughing softly as Vash turned an even darker shade of crimson, he
opened the medicine bottle and poured a large spoonful of bright red
liquid. "Now, the old sawbones I found said you need to take all
this stuff or you might relapse. Open up."
Vash looked at it suspiciously and wrinkled his nose. "I don't want
it, I feel fine."
"You need it and you do not feel fine. I can tell just by looking at
you." Vash kept his mouth stubbornly closed and Wolfwood sighed
irritably. "How did I get stuck with the likes of you? Stop acting
like a child and drink this!" Defiant aqua eyes stared back at him,
flashing with annoyance but Vash's mouth remained firmly closed.
Wolfwood pursed his lips, considering. "All
right, then."
He set the bottle and the spoon carefully aside and Vash grinned
smugly, mouth still tightly shut...until surprisingly soft lips
settled over his own, nothing more than delicate, chaste pressure.
Automatically, Vash opened his mouth, not even knowing what he was
going to say but the chance for words was immediately lost as the
innocent kiss became anything but, Wolfwood's tongue sliding into
his mouth to nudge against his own.
Hesitantly, almost shyly, Vash responded to the gentle caress,
letting his own tongue softly touch Wolfwood's, and oh, it had been
so long, so very, very long since he'd had even this much intimacy
from another living creature. He felt the priest's hands slip into
his hair and the kiss turned into something surer, less cautious as
his mouth was explored eagerly, almost bruising pressure before
Wolfwood suddenly jerked back and away.
Blinking, nearly panting, Vash managed to stammer out, "Why did
you...erk!" He gagged as Wolfwood shoved the spoon in his mouth, the
medicine tasting just as disgusting as he'd known it would. It was
either swallow it or spit it out all over the sheets and, grimly,
Vash took the less humiliating option.
"See, that wasn't so bad," said Wolfwood, beaming as he watched Vash
sputter and curse.
"Sure it isn't bad when you don't have to taste it!"
"You are such a baby." Wolfwood rolled his eyes and abruptly Vash
found himself caught in his second unexpected kiss of the day. Much
shorter than the first one, just a quick swipe of the tongue and
Wolfwood pulled back, considering.
"It's not exactly up there with donuts, I admit, but it doesn't
taste that bad." He stood up, stretching and seemingly oblivious to
Vash's stunned face. "Well, I'm going to see if I can't find
something you can eat. Soup sound OK?"
Vash nodded dumbly, his thought process still seemed to be a little
short-circuited, or at least refocused to someplace a little below
his waist.
He blinked when Wolfwood tapped him on the nose lightly, saying,
"Don't go anywhere," as he walked towards the door.
Like he could walk anywhere now?
He found his tongue again before the priest could leave, blurting
out a thought that had occurred to him earlier just before the door
shut. "Wolfwood, you said earlier, when I had that fever, that I was
ranting. I didn't...I didn't say anything...I mean...I didn't say
anything bad, did I?"
Nothing shy in him this time, but a sense of almost painful
vulnerability twisted in his stomach, reminiscent of his earlier
nausea as Wolfwood hesitated, his hand still on the doorknob. "Nah,"
he said easily from behind the door, "And you can call me Nick, you
know, Mr. Stampede. I usually insist when I've licked someone's
tonsils that they call me by my first name."
Vash felt his cheeks warm again. "Yeah, well, whatever happened to
the vows of celibacy?" Vash muttered. "What kind of churchman are
you, anyway?"
"You ask me that a lot," came the soft reply, "Why not let me worry
about the state of my soul. You have enough to worry about."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Vash to stare mutely at
the silent, pitted wood as he wondered what the hell that meant
before deciding his head still hurt too much for complicated
thinking and he rolled back over, pulling the blanket over his head
to block out the unyielding cruelty of the sunlight.
-finis-
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