i need somebody to pull me out [ closed ]

[comesfrompain]

Who: Brock Rumlow & Jefferson
Where: 5052
When: During the Plague.
What: Rumlow getting dadded and doted upon. He hates it.
Warnings: Description of illness symptoms.

[Amnesia aside, Rumlow doesn't remember the last time he'd been this sick. At first, it hadn't been so bad, pushing through to keep working because he wasn't gonna let something like a little nausea keep him down. But once he had to stop mid-set to make a quick retreat to the bathroom, Rumlow knew he was done. His guess is some kind of food poisoning, but for the life of him he can't think of what he might have eaten to cause it.

So he closes up and makes his way home, glad the gym ain't far from the house. He holes himself up in the bathroom for a hot minute, eventually coming out to go collapse in bed. Maybe once he's done shitting himself to death, he'll be better. When he wakes up the next day, there's no such luck. If anything, it's gotten worse and Rumlow barely manages to get downstairs to call one of the guys at the gym to tell them he's not making it in. Plastered against the kitchen wall by the phone as he tries to figure out what the fuck is wrong with him, Rumlow wonders if he's somehow been legitimately poisoned.

Has he been made? Did some anti-SHIELD organization infiltrate the town and ID him?

Peeling away, he feels heavy, like his limbs weigh more than they ought to. He makes it to the couch and leans against it for a second while he catches his breath. Christ, he thinks. It's like altitude sickness, except that makes about as much sense as tits on a bull. Eyes slipping closed, Rumlow allows himself to ooze over the back of the couch onto the cushions. He's just gonna stay here for a bit and recover his breath to make the trek back towards his bedroom.]

Comments

[royalpassport]

[ It's a good thing Jefferson hadn't even been planning on going to the tea shop today. Not because he's sick, no. Because everybody else is getting sick, and he doesn't want to go back to running the shop with just himself. So: days off for all his staff until this odd wave of food poisoning passes. And he realizes just how good an idea it was once he comes downstairs to find one of his housemates sprawled out on the couch in a position that can't possibly be comfortable.

First Kenzi, now Brock. What would the two of them do if they hadn't given Jefferson a place to live?

Jefferson heads over to the couch and leans over the back to look down at the other man, positively looming over Brock. ]

I take it you have what Kenzi has.

[comesfrompain]

[A groan that Rumlow wishes were longer comes from him. He can't even adequately express his dislike of the situation because he can't make a noise long enough before he starts feeling light-headed. Fuck this shit. He does manage to at least peer out of the corner of his eye up at Jefferson. So Kenzi's gotten worse too. Fantastic.

He should have guessed. Maybe it isn't poison then. Unless they targeted her because he's married to her. Fuck.

Rumlow reaches vaguely in Jefferson's direction. Maybe he'll help him up and drag his ass back to the bedroom. It gives him an odd twinge, relying on someone else for help, but he doesn't have much of a choice. With Kenzi down for the count, that dwindles his allies down to Jefferson. Rumlow guesses it's better than lying here like a useless lump.]

[royalpassport]

[ Just Jefferson? Oh, Rumlow, you need to build up your social circle if he's your only ally besides Kenzi. Still, at least he comes in handy at the moment, leaning down with a sigh as he grasps Rumlow's hand and helps him into a sitting position. That done, he walks around to stand in front of the couch and offers the other man a hand. ]

Aren't you being a bit dramatic? [ He's one to talk. But Jefferson offers a wry little smile, hoping things aren't so severe that he can't tease Brock a little. ] Let's get you back to bed.

[comesfrompain]

[Sitting upright is all right, Rumlow guesses, but his body still feels like it's on fire, all tingling and shit and his stomach might be trying to evacuate his body through one end or the other. He looks up to Jefferson, gaze unfocused, though he tries to sharpen it when he offers his hand.

Rumlow takes it, trying to keep his grip firm as he's hoisted upright. He casts Jefferson with a withering look, but predictably, it withers and appears more like he's just pouting.]

I think someone poisoned me. [Rumlow admits, though he's not sure why he's telling Jefferson.] Me and Kenzi.

[Having been largely holed up at home, he hasn't heard anything about the spread. That combined with the natural paranoia this place gives off and Rumlow is glad to find a seemingly odd conclusion. He probably just sounds crazy to Jefferson.]

[royalpassport]

[ It's okay, he won't laugh (too much) at that failed attempt at looking all tough and reproachful. Jefferson puts an arm around Rumlow, offering some support as he guides the other man back to the master bedroom. It's a good thing it's on the first floor, so that he doesn't have to try to haul the other man up some stairs or anything. ]

Why would somebody do that?

[ He asks in a mild tone, not skeptical, just questioning. It's not like Jefferson isn't used to things that sound crazy. His own mind is full of it. ]

[comesfrompain]

[Most of his ire is directed towards his condition rather than Jefferson. His limbs ache and he's got no idea why. It's damn worrisome. He leans heavily against Jefferson, and tries not to wince at the pain or the feeling in his head. They near the bed and Rumlow sighs as he's let down onto it, waiting until he catches his breath before he answers.]

'Cause of my job. [He rubs at his eyes and shakes his head as he flops back down onto his side.] Or something. I don't know.

[He reaches for Jefferson, intending to thank him with a pat on the shoulder, but it probably looks more like he's going for a hug.]

What else could be wrong with me? Ain't like any sickness I remember.

[royalpassport]

Your job? [ Jefferson furrows his brow in confusion, then lets out a little hum of amusement. ] If someone's out to get you, I don't think it's because of the gym. Besides....

[ Jefferson trails off, because... yeah, he's pretty sure Rumlow's reaching out for a hug? He really must not be taking this stomach bug well at all if he's reaching to Jefferson for comfort. Must be like those men who become utterly incapacitated when they catch a little cold. Okay, well...

Cue Jefferson leaning down to give Rumlow the most awkward hug in history. ]

There... there? It's going around, you know. A lot of people are sick.

[comesfrompain]

[Right. The gym. The cover life he feels like he knows almost as well as his life with SHIELD. Rumlow heaves a sigh at having to keep the two separate. It's not that he has this strong urge to tell Jefferson, it's just way too much effort to explain. Maybe when he's not dying. If he ever stops dying. He blinks as he tries to refocus his thoughts and say something that makes more sense.

He takes too long though, and Jefferson is coming towards him with his arms open. Rumlow gives him a look, and gives him the hug he's apparently wanting? It's totally awkward. But Jefferson smells good -- doesn't even make him nauseous. At least he doesn't do the awkward back pat.

Processing Jefferson's words as they split apart, Rumlow looks up at him with a momentarily blank expression. A lot of people? That means he wasn't poisoned! Or at least, he wasn't targeted. Maybe he's still poisoned. He nods at Jefferson and gives him a weak smile.]

That's good.

[royalpassport]

[ Jefferson would be very pleased to know that the smell of him doesn't make Rumlow sick! He is pretty picky about his cologne and his hair product and whatnot. He offers the other man a lopsided smile, then stands up straight again. ]

I'm not sure it's good, exactly. Maybe your poisoner is very sloppy. [ BUT SERIOUSLY. Jefferson glances over his shoulder for a moment. ] Perhaps I could make you some tea. And broth.

[comesfrompain]

[It's only after Jefferson repeats it that Rumlow realizes how that must have sounded. He puts a hand on his forehead, groaning as he rolls to his side, face burying in the pillow.]

Meant maybe 'm not the one bein' targeted. [He says, though most of his words are completely inaudible they're so muffled. He shifts to look at Jefferson at the mention of tea. He grimaces and then tries not to think about the awful cramping that his abdomen has been going through practically nonstop.] Prolly just puke it back up. 'Less you got some kinda magic tea.

[royalpassport]

No. No magic. [ Jefferson shrugs. ] Just ginger tea. I've always found it helpful. Just take it slowly. [ Though, perhaps if Brock is this sick, tea might be too much for him. ] Or I could bring you some ice to suck on. [ He just wants you to stay hydrated, man! ]

[comesfrompain]

[Curling into a smaller version of himself, Rumlow stares at Jefferson while he weighs the consequences of the two. Ginger's supposed to make your guts feel better, so he might as well try it. If he can't, then he guesses Jefferson can drink it. He needs more fluids anyway, and what's tea but leaf water?

He nods and reaches for a blanket to pull over himself. It doesn't really work because he's on top of them.]

Tea.

[royalpassport]

[ Brock is so pathetic right now, it's almost cute. Jefferson lets out a little sigh and leans over his housemate to start fussing with the bed sheets, pulling the parts Brock's not laying on down, then nudging him to try to get the other man to start lifting himself up a little, just enough for Jefferson to get the sheets free.

Then, he pulls the blanket over Rumlow. ]

Tea it is. Now I can finally repay you for helping me.

[ He starts to head for the kitchen, then pauses at the doorway and glances back at Brock. ]

Is there anything you need? I could bring some, uh. [ He snaps his fingers, trying to remember. ] The pink stuff.

[ PEPTO. ]

[comesfrompain]

[Once he's ensconced in the blankets, Rumlow sighs. He's far from content, but it's better than before. He hates how moving is an actual chore. For a guy like him, all about physical power, this is a goddamn nightmare. At least Jefferson's here to take care of him. Good choice to bring him home, he tells himself.]

Won't help.

[Rumlow says, he'd been chugging the shit yesterday. His mouth still tastes like pink. He hates it.]

Just the tea and some water.

[In case his body hates the tea.]

[royalpassport]

[ Jefferson nods and makes his way into the kitchen, setting a kettle on the stove to boil before he sets about with other tasks: moving a bottle of water from the fridge to the freezer (just to get it extra cold while he's preparing the tea), checking the pantry for things Brock might be able to keep down later. Saltines, broth...

With both of the Rumlows sick, he should probably take a trip to the store to stock up on these things... But that'll have to come later.

Once the tea's prepared and cooled enough to drink, Jefferson returns to the bedroom, carrying a tray with him. Tea, water, a plate of saltines just in case his stomach settles. Jefferson glances over Brock, to see if he's still awake, then sets everything down on the bedside table. ]

There... Need help sitting up?

[comesfrompain]

[While he waits, Rumlow sort of drifts. He's tired, and yet his brain won't stop thinking about everything. Whether this new information makes it less likely he's been poisoned, if there's maybe a really nasty disease going around instead, is there something in the water? Eventually, once Jefferson comes back upstairs, Rumlow casts him a grateful look. The saltines are a nice touch, and Rumlow hopes he can get them down. His stomach is angry from hunger too.

He unfurls himself and tries to sit up, but that pain shoots through his limbs again and he grits his teeth at the sensation. It's not paralytic, at least, but God, it's kind of like when your leg falls asleep and you just don't want to move it.]

If you want.

[He wants, Rumlow reminds himself. Why would Jefferson offer if not? He knows he's just trying to stay tough, but Christ. This weakness makes him feel so useless.]

[royalpassport]

[ Tsking under his breath, Jefferson leans down to help the other man into a sitting position, propping some pillows behind him as he does so. Just so Rumlow can lean back comfortably. It's strange, he finds, how naturally this is coming to him.

But he shoves that thought far from his head. ]

You really don't have to play tough right now, you know. The ship has sailed on that.

[comesfrompain]

[Rumlow gives Jefferson a look and rumbles, getting as comfortable as he can with his new pillow pile. He's not mad at Jefferson, really. It probably comes off that way though. He frowns and looks down, trying to control his irritability, but it's rough when his body feels like shit on top of not knowing what's wrong. It's more the second thing.]

Just pissed off I'm even stuck like this in the first place.

[Rumlow explains, figuring he owes it to Jefferson for even taking care of him in the first place. He's normally not this much of a pain when he's sick (though that happens like once in a blue moon). He's just mad that there's nothing he can do but basically lay around like a lump and sleep.]