Chapter Text
Jonathan Sims hates being sick.
Nobody likes being sick but he really hates it. He has to lie in his bed all day and try to entertain himself with television or a book all while he can’t even breathe from his nose.
The part he hates about it the most is that he has to miss work because of it. Normally he would go in anyways but his eyes are so blurry and this pounding headache would surely hinder his ability to be productive.
What didn’t help matters is that his heater had busted last week, it’s probably what got him sick in the first place and despite his multiple calls to his landlord it hadn’t been fixed yet, so he’s stuck shivering beneath a pile of blankets.
He was miserably bored, especially because he had left his favorite book about microorganisms at work, he was halfway through it too!
He had tried to text Sasha about it but it seemed that she was busy, Tim was out for the day, and he couldn’t bother his boss with something so small. So that left Martin.
It’s not like he hated him (much), he just thought his work was lackluster, but Jon found that he didn’t particularly like his lack of academia. He worked at The Magnus Institute! It was a place for scholars but for some reason he acted as if he was completely unqualified.
So as an act of desperation he dialed his number, after a few rings there was a response.
“Hey Jon! I heard you were out sick, are you alright?” The archivist couldn’t help but relax at the sound of his soft voice.
“Hello, Martin. I’m fine, I assure you; I was just calling to ask if you would bring me a book I left in my office. It’s in the top left drawer with the tape recorder..”
Martin was glad to hear from Jon, it’s not like he had been out for weeks but for some reason when he got his text saying he was sick he had immediately thought it was Prentiss.
It was nice to hear him again, even through a phone.
“Okay! I can do that, is there anything else you want or just the book?”
“Yes actually, would you bring me statement #0032408 and #9720406?”
He couldn’t help but let out a disapproving sigh, he’s started noticing a theme of his dear archivist trying to work while sick.
“I would not. You’re sick, you should take some time to rest instead of burying yourself in work.”
“It’s fine. I won’t die trying to research about some old man’s hallucinations.” Martin stuffed back a lecture about self care and instead pinched his brow.
“Fine. But try to take it easy, okay?”
“…Alright. Thank you, Martin.”
He hung up. He really just wanted him to take care of himself, or at least accept some help from others! It felt like every time he had a concern about him he would brush it off, even when he was dizzy from his absurdly low iron or working until collapse it seemed he didn’t care for his health one bit.
Despite this he went to retrieve what had been requested. He searched through the mess of papers for what felt like an eternity before digging the book out of a dusty drawer.
Walking to the archivist’s flat, his eyes wandered to a small convenience store, not being able to help himself he slipped inside to grab up some supplies for soup and tea.
Once there he knocked on the door, hearing shuffling inside before the door swung open. Jon was shivering despite being wrapped up in a thick duvet, his hair was messy and his eyes puffy.
“Hey! I brought the statements you wanted, and the book. Oh! A-And some soup and tea, if you would let me in to make it.”
“Ah- Thank you but that’s not necessary, I can make it myself.” Almost instinctively he reached out to grab the papers only to be met with them being pulled away.
Martin looked the archivist shaped pile of blankets up and down, severely doubting that it would be possible for him to even stand for that long. “Can you?”
“…Point taken; Be warned my heater is broken so it’s quite chilly.”
He frowned at the comment as he followed Jon into the flat. Trying to hide his worry about if it was even safe for Jon to stay there or if it would make him worse.
To distract himself he busied himself with making tea, searching through cabinets to find the kettle.
Meanwhile the archivist stumbled back over to his nest of blankets on the couch, nestling back into the warmth.
Martin continuously glanced over to the person shaped lump in the living room, try as he might to focus on anything else
Jon could’ve swore it had only been a few seconds, yet there was already soup in his hands and two cups of tea on the table. He didn’t even realize that the warm presence beside him watching nature documentaries wasn’t a fever driven hallucination until now.
The soup warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt for a while, be it emotional isolation or his broken heater; all he knew was that his chest was warm.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and instinctively lurched back, only to calm as he realized who it was.
“You alright? You’re uh- kinda spacing out on me…”he resisted the urge to brush the stray hairs out of the archivist’s face.
“Ah- Sorry, what did you need?” He asked, rubbing his face against his palm in a weak attempt to wake himself up.
Martin tried his damn hardest to hide how soft his expression was getting, but he looked so cute like this that it made his chest ache, god he really wishes he wasn’t his boss. “I’ve uh- I was a-asking if you wanted some more soup?”
Did he? He was ashamed for needing to think about such a simple question but in this state it was extremely hard to tell what his body wanted. “No. No, I don’t think so. Could I have my book instead?”
The book was quickly passed over to him, but as he opened it the words blurred together. Even when his eyes focused the words they meant nothing to him; his brain wasn’t processing the information.
He tried to resist the pull of sleep, he had guests over for christ’s sake. Albeit it was the one person in the world who would probably kiss him on the forehead and tuck him into bed if he asked.
A soft coo was heard above him and he finally realized his head had slumped against his book. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head
Luckily he didn’t have to as Martin did it for him, lifting his chin before gently taking his book from his hands. The contact left quickly, but after what felt like an eternity a pair of warm arms began lifting him up.
“Cmon love, let’s get you to bed.” He heard faintly, his consciousness fading too much to be flustered at being called love.
Martin placed Jon onto his bed, pulling the blankets over him as he struggled to pull his eyes away from his face.
“You’re going to be the death of me…” He muttered, pushing his hair out of his face before rubbing his eyes.
He placed a hand on the archivist’s shoulder, shaking him gently. When his eyes opened he spoke softly: “Hey… There you are, I’m gonna go home okay? The soup will be in the fridge and I’ll go ahead-“
He was cut off as Jon suddenly grasped onto his arm. “Don’t leave…” he murmured softly, his hands trembling as he tugged his arm towards him.
“I- Jon, I need to-“ He got cut off yet again by a broken whine. “It’s so cold…”
The racing of his heart pounded in his ears as he tried not to go into cardiac arrest there and then.
“I can stay for another hour, I’ll be in the living room.” He whispered, a thumb brushing across the soft skin of the archivist’s cheek.
The archivist seemed pleased with this compromise and he finally released his grip on Martin’s arm.
Martin stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He sat on the couch for a moment, but he was so tired.
He hadn’t been able to get much sleep recently, so he couldn’t help but let himself drift off, and if he woke up later than he should’ve and had to rush out the door in an attempt to still get his errands done than only he would be a witness to that.
The next morning Jon woke up, a cold sweat soaking into his clothes and onto his sheets made him groan. He looked to the side only to see a glass of water and a bottle of flu medicine perched atop his nightstand.
He didn’t remember putting them there but then again he didn’t remember anything from yesterday. He took a long sip of water, the overflow spilling down his chin in a way he didn’t care to clean up.
Getting up with far more effort than it usually would have taken, he saw something taped to his door. He stumbled over and squinted at the piece of paper.
“Had to leave, sorry! Soup is in the fridge along with the tea. Make sure to take your medicine and drink lots of water! XOXO -M.B”
He tried to deny it for a second but he only knows one man that would be both tolerant enough of him to make him soup and that would leave “XOXO” on a note to his boss.
Of course Martin had came over, it made so much sense but he couldn’t help but flush with shame at the realization.
He stepped out into his living room and the only evidence that he was ever there was the soup and tea in the fridge.
And a soft jumper left on his couch….