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[ It startles him right out of the pleased lull that nip and the chasing kiss, the gradual undoing, had settled him into. Red, stark against pale skin— it takes Stephen a moment to remember that Silco's anticipating a reckoning.

So after a couple of wide-eyed seconds, he gets his wits back about him. Nods, gets an arm underneath himself to push up into something less comfortably sprawled so he can snatch a handkerchief from the air like a regular street magician, offering it to Silco without much thought for the image. ]

Okay.

[ He skips over disappointment altogether in the shift to care, pragmatism an easy switch to flick. The hand still at Silco's nape curls, silent comfort, thumb brushing the skin beneath his ear as Stephen's attention goes over to the table and its plates of cooling food. Later, he decides. Easy enough to deliver some leftovers to be tested by the suite's fellow inhabitant after Silco's as comfortable as it's going to be possible to be for the next while. ]

Let's get you back.

[ Silco sniffs sharply, presses this magical gift to his nose, annoyed by the betrayal of his body, eager to go lick his wounds in private. He climbs up out of Stephen's space with a lingering reluctance, and stands.

At the very least this does prove he's stopped, didn't use the cream before coming here even to give them just a little more time before this happened. ]

I'd like to see you again once I'm through this.

[ Almost businesslike, even if that isn't what he intends at all. ]

[ A blink - then a catch of air between teeth as he huffs a laugh. He's grateful for the clarity, for the confirmation of interest, but it only really helps to fuel his instincts. Even under current circumstances. ]

And here I thought this was going well.

[ Well enough to make that obvious. It's just a tease, prizing himself up from the chaise to join Silco, crowding in after him in spite of the blood and the man's pending descent into his own little hell to nudge his nose to his temple, press a kiss to the hill of a cheekbone where the skin will soon enough be more ravaged than it is now. ]

I look forward to it. [ Murmured while still close. ] Come on.

[ And he peels away, fingers already slipped into his sling ring, tearing a throughway to Silco's room out of his own. ]

[ It was as much a confirmation as it was a firm goodbye. Silco steps through into his room and turns: ]

Thank you for the evening.

[ Doesn't move until the portal is closed again. He'll keep the handkerchief, but a bloody nose is about the extent of what he wants Stephen to see. He can read the notes he left behind if he wants all the gory details.

Silco sets himself up a nest in the bathroom, and another on the bed, and moves between the two based on how many fluids are involved. The whole lovely dinner comes back up again, along with an inordinate amount of blood. He discards his nice clothes haphazardly, sweats and shivers in a cocoon of blankets. Weeps and laughs to himself until unconsciousness reaches up and draws him violently, deeply down, and then he talks in his sleep, writhing and whispering.

When he wakes, and sees Stephen, he's comforted for only a few seconds before he's seething: ]

Out!

[ Ragged, pulling sweat-soaked sheets around himself like a cocoon. ]

[ The bathroom is clean and its nest's sheets set outside the bedroom door for the staff to collect, Stephen caught on the walk back with a new batch ready to create some safe new fortress around the toilet when the hushed mutters of sleep stop. He doesn't notice. Not until the frantic shifting of sheets and mattress preclude a fully conscious voice and he stops in his tracks, caught.

The shout doesn't seem to put even a dent in his confidence. He doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish. Instead, he sets the sheets down on the edge of Silco's busy desk and crosses toward him, unperturbed by his obvious unwelcome. ]

Here.

[ He's pouring water from a full jug stationed at Silco's bedside. There's a bowl down there too, some clean glasses for if something goes awry when trying to take in fluids. He holds one out, half-filled, as if this were a morning after a night before and not - what it is. ]

[ It's lucky he brought more than one glass, then, because Silco takes the proffered water and then just throws it at him, beans it at his head in immediate escalation. Trying to emphasize that he's fucking serious and mostly coming off as deranged. ]

Leave.

[ The fact that Stephen has been here to look at him while he slept is humiliatingly awful. His good eye is red-rimmed and the bad is the worst it's ever been, like old scars are breeding new infection deep beneath the skin, everything hot and purple-yellow in the creases. And along with the illness comes the absolute torrent of emotions he usually keeps barred and gated, impotent anger at the top. ]

[ A twitch of his hand swats the glass from mid-air before it can hit home, everything costing enough here that it hits the ground with a dull thud and does not break. It doesn't spare him getting mildly drenched, but what was he really expecting?

He gets it. Were their roles reversed, he's not sure he'd appreciate the uninvited interruption of his private suffering either. But he's read the notes now. He's not going to leave him to rot through it by himself. ]

In a minute.

[ Maybe. Possibly not. Great wet stain over his chest and arm, hand lifting to wipe splattered water off of his face, he bends for a second attempt. This time doesn't bother with the jug, just lets water fill the glass from base to another half way. Doesn't offer it out quite far enough to snatch. Quick learner. ]

Drink.

[ Unfortunately he's chosen to get involved with the stupidly stubborn creature that Silco is, so not only does he not drink, after a baleful glare he actively rolls over in the other direction and pulls the blankets up past his ears, hunching into them childishly. He'd rather die of dehydration than submit to being looked after. Squeezes his eyes shut against a pounding headache, not willing to strain himself shouting a third time. ]

[ Deep breath in... long sigh out. Conscious that this is not a battle best won fresh, Stephen takes the smaller win of the tacit compliance of a sulk as cue to walk around the bed, set the water glass down on the side Silco's now facing, and return to his task. Figures it'll give Silco some time to either see to his body's need, adjust to Stephen's presence, fall back asleep, or nurture his for now impotent fury into a more calculated resistance on his return.

It takes him maybe five, ten minutes to set up a bundle of duvet, pillows, sheets in the bathroom and step back into the bedroom to see if he'll be greeted with a slightly reduced water level or another projectile flying at his face. ]

[ It's both: Silco drinks the water in desperate, thirsty gulps, presses the cool glass miserably to his eye socket, legs tucked under him on the bed — and then the moment he sees Strange is still here, throws the glass at him again. He doesn't really expect it to impact — he didn't really the first time. ]

You have no right — to be here.

[ Grasping around for something else to throw, deciding on his pillow. ]

Leave me alone.

[ This time the distance is too great and the man himself too weakened and too angry for his aim to stand a chance. It makes it most of the way, but Stephen need do nothing but let it thump to the floor, where this time thick crystal of the glass cracks but does not shatter. ]

You need that.

[ Speaking of his pillow, but if he throws it Stephen catches it on his walk further into the room, stopping far enough from the bed to not impose any further on the cornered man's territory than he already has. Holds onto it for now, for the same reason he hadn't made easy pickings of the glass a second time. ]

You were the one who wanted to make sure we were ready with treatment.

[ So here he is, resident physician, at your service. And maybe that's a slight twist of Silco's fierce run of suggestions for the clinic's preparations, but it's the best argument for his presence he has in a pinch. ]

Edited (hello an hour later edit hope this doesn't disrupt anything LMFDGF) 2025-01-30 14:33 (UTC)

For other people.

[ Silco is in no mood for this, but after the glass and the pillow he's out of things to throw, curse his minimalist living style. The argument is a sound and logical one, which irritates him further, has him curling in on himself, fingers spasming in the sheets.

His head throbs, and he's still thirsty, blood loss leaving him woozy and dehydrated. It would be a lie to spit that he can take care of himself: he hasn't, he can't. A sniff that's nearly a snarl. ]

Fine.

[ Spat jagged, giving up on protest, too sick to burn through his resources being angry. He's disgusted by his own filth and weakness, the loss of control of it all, and he hates having Stephen seeing him this way even as Stephen is, logically, one of the few people he can really trust with this. ]

[ It's one of few situations they've found themselves in so far where it doesn't necessarily gratify him to win. Silco isn't protesting solely out of stubbornness: he's distressed. There's no revelling in that. ]

Thank you.

[ Something to offset the surrender - make it a favor, or acknowledge the cost. No matter what it is, he does need his help, and now Silco's relented to accept it Stephen backs down on the attitude too, moving back across the room to him. Knee on the bed so he can settle the caught pillow behind him while he's hunched up in his frustration. When he next deigns to look at him, he'll find Stephen with another glass, more water.

There's no hesitation in offering it this time. ]

Go easy.

[ Silco takes it, holds it in both hands and sips it. ]

It's worse than last time. My curiosity now duly punished.

[ Bitter, like he thinks that's what Stephen probably thinks. That he did this to himself. His stomach roils, and he pushes down the nausea, eyes falling closed, teeth gritted. Miserable. ]

Silco.

[ A mild scolding. He's not here to relish in the consequences of his actions, especially not when they're doing him harm. Stephen's watchful as he sips, taking in deterioration, making diagnostic note of the state of him. ]

Will you let me look at your face?

[ Look at here meaning examine, not just perceive. He can do that perfectly well from where he is, but it doesn't look as it always has, something alive and working to worsen it under the skin. He wants ideally to touch, check, follow the old trails of Shimmer as he unlocks a fresh concern of magics colliding, reacting adversely deep down in the tissues. ]

[ Dully: ]

Yes.

[ Though to say he's not happy about it is an understatement.

The skin that makes up Silco's wound is complicated: an injury that would have simply healed to a scar over his brow and cheekbone if it hadn't been exposed to toxic run-off, chemical infection eating through his face. Singed had saved his sight with an early prototype of shimmer that had mutated his eye; the original injury had healed to deep fistulas of scarring. His regular dose of the purple-pink substance keeps his eye working, but in re-aging and worsening after ReSculpt the old scars have started to come open like a scurvy patient, letting infection slide her claws back in, and shimmer's magic has leapt upon this fresh tissue. All that to say: there's a lot going on in there, black goo and old scar tissue swollen up with fresh pus from his desperate immune system.

Silco sits still, breath quick and pupils dilated, as Stephen touches him. Lets him do whatever he needs to take the measure of it, flinching and sucking his teeth in turn, occasionally making an aborted gesture to grab or smack Stephen before he returns his fingers to twist against each other in his lap. ]

[ It's bad. Gentleness will only prolong things, so he opts for efficiency, chin taken in firm but careful hand. Face tilted, skin pinched and drawn taut under fingers bathed in a sanitising sheen of golden light. He finds the traces of magical rot, tests the depth of split skin, notes the hues of the body's responses to infections within - working quickly, conscious of the twitch and restraint of hands below.

When he lets him go, it's with a sweep of the thumb over his undamaged cheek, a small apology for hurt and indignity. ]

I'm going to get supplies. This needs flushing and protection, and I want samples of your infection. You'll need antibiotics. [ Clarity feels only right, given he's stolen the same. Expression tense with concern. ] I won't be long, but sleep if you can. I'll wake you when I need to.

[ A glance toward the bedside has another glass of water full and waiting as Stephen makes to stand, ready to go in search of what he needs. ]

Bathroom's fresh if you need it.

[ Stephen is all calm practicality against the fevered flush of him; Silco crumples back down into the bed in a confusing stew of feelings. He isn't used to being cared for, and his heart is beating high in his throat. Can't bring himself to say thank you, just huddles miserably back under the covers and enjoys the brief respite from being seen. At least until his stomach turns and he has to drag himself to the bathroom once more.

He does fall asleep again despite himself, and he's vulnerable with it when Stephen returns, sleepy-pliant and feverish, batting uselessly at his hands even as he drapes into his space. Drinks another glass of water hungrily, takes the sour pills he's given with deep mistrust. Getting easier as a patient the worse he feels, as his paranoid defensive instincts fall to the simple desire to have companionship in his final moments.

(Okay, he's not dying. But it feels like it.) ]

[ He's almost glad to find Silco flagging as time stretches on, weakened by his state and all the easier for it. Pills taken, Stephen moves on to administering what treatment he needs to: makes careful collections of the gunk in his wounds before flushing out the rest, patching him together with butterfly stitches and large dressings.

None of it's pleasant, but it's all better than the alternative. He murmurs to hold still in place of a sorry, whether or not his patient's moving at all.

When it's finished, when Silco's lost all seeming desire to be rid of him, Stephen shifts him upright long enough to toe off his own shoes, settle up against the headboard. Make of himself a better nook to curl into. His hands he cools, bids the magic already working to soothe his own pain to bring his skin's temperature down by a few degrees so he can cradle a cooling hand loosely against Silco's neck, luring him back down to settle against him. Come here he thinks but doesn't say out loud, to avoid inspiring Silco's stubborn refusal on principle. ]

[ He doesn't need to say it aloud. Silco tucks into his robes with a humiliated sniff, eye closed against the loveliness of the cool hand on his flushed skin. His wild and mercurial emotions tip hard in the other direction and he feels a lurch of deep affection, some misty feelings of undeservingness, all of which have him clinging close. Embodying the sea creatures he's so fond of with an octopus embrace.

He passes out completely again, immune system working overtime, though he'll likely be disgustingly leaky given his scar's intersection with his sinuses and tear ducts as well as the regular nosebleeds. Enjoy being slightly damp, Stephen. ]

[ Happily for both of them, the bedside manner that struggles during waking hours doesn't have to put as much work in for the rest of them. It makes it easy to quietly repeat the motions of carefully dabbing and mopping him up right up until Stephen himself feels sleep on the way, after which any growing pool of bodily emissions will just have to make themselves at home.

Fingers card through his hair until unconsciousness robs them of motion. They'll see each other in the morning - or whenever Silco's next dragged from sleep to make a run for the bathroom. ]

[ There's no further bathroom runs; this is the worst he's been, the scar's infection a particularly awful new symptoms, but he was careful with his dosage and the effects of the ReSculpt leaving his system decrease overnight. Silco is still run down when he awakens, sleep trying to coax him back to her healing arms. He slowly eases back from where he has Stephen in his clutches to find the glass of water left on the bedside, and those cold gulps refresh him all the way to wakefulness. He leans against the headboard with his legs bent, blanket around his hips, gaze on Stephen, who is still in his bed.

He could joke about it, Stephen overextending the typical duties of a physician. Or about the shared bodily fluids more typical of dates. But he doesn't. Instead, he puts his glass back aside and, far more coherently, slides in closer again. Solemn little man, sliding his hand up Stephen's chest, his neck, his jaw, his absurd cheekbones. A fond and fragile touch. Beneath all the bandages his expression is like a man watching his first sunset.

A soft hum. ]

Go back to sleep. I'm just going to shower.

[ Being clean always calms his mind — and the warm water is a luxury that he can indulge in without any ill effects. ]

[ He blinks awake when Silco moves, body confused by company, unhappy with the peeling away. He finds Silco better than he saw him last. More alert in spite of sleep. Reaching for the water at his own behest, a clarity in his gaze when he turns it back on Stephen that he couldn't have hoped for the night prior.

Then he's close again. Deliberate. Stephen's eyes slip closed around a sigh when the hand that soothes over him finds his face. He coaxes them open again only to succumb to the look settled on him, striding through the flourish of dozy butterflies waking in the pit of his stomach and covering that hand with his own, pressing lips soft to his palm.

Then he relents. Loose with rest, he subsides against the headboard, mouth a soft curve and eyes already floating shut again. His voice is warm and dosed with sleep as he issues an answering instruction. ]

Wake me when you're done. I'll fix you fresh dressings.

[ His hand is the last thing to accept the parting. A circlet for Silco's wrist until he's far enough away that Stephen would have to move from his spot to give chase. It drops and lets him go. ]

[ Silco doesn't, or not in the way Stephen means; he crawls back into bed clean and sweet after having some time under the falling water to process the sheer overwhelm of feeling about whatever is happening between them, something tender grown and watered embarrassingly, terrifyingly out of his control.

So he starts again on the monumental task that he was forced to abandon last night; though rather than undressing Stephen fully he's just looking to strip him a little looser, since he didn't do much more than take off his shoes to sleep. Silco feels along his bodies for places the fabric pulls tight and then explores for where the ease is, finding buckles and buttons and zips and undoing them, until Stephen is a dishevelment and Silco feels less guilty for pulling him in to snooze tangled a little more.

They'll probably be caught by Jinx at this rate, who has only been scarce because she saw the earlier withdrawals up close, who treats a locked door between them as simply a request for her to be sneaky in checking in. Silco doesn't let it bother him. If things keep going like they're going, it's something he'll have to start really considering. ]

[ He should protest. Fresh dressings are important, he's a doctor, it needs to get done... but he's languid with rest and with company, and Silco needs sleep too if he's to recover. Call it medicinal.

So he doesn't protest. Doesn't help a huge amount either beyond lifting an arm here, hitching his hips to make room for shifting fabric there. Lets Silco figure it out until everything's loose and he's drawn into a bundle of warm limbs, where he huffs out a breath and settles down, adjusts for comfort, turns his face against the threat of any later morning light. ]

Just five more minutes.

[ He murmurs, a joke, sleeprich and blurry around its edges. Content to indulge them both for much longer than that. ]

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cw: emeto

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