In Search Of Home - One-Shots

Illness

In which Viktor has acquired a cold, is very miserable, and suffers a worried Vok'Rul. 

Set sometime after their stint at the school! 

***

Viktor felt like shit.

He woke up with a massive headache, a sore throat, and a nose that wouldn't work. He sniffled a few times, just to check, and yep, completely stuffed. Not a molecule of air to be had through that thing. 

"Ungh," he said out loud, and Jesus, he sounded like shit, too. 

He crawled out of the closet with effort, reaching miserably for his bowl of water. Why the fuck was it so fucking far away? He just wanted some water, damn it! 

Of course he'd get sick right after visiting a school, he thought grumpily. He grabbed the water dish carefully, trying not to use his broken arm that much. It still twinged here and there. When he drank, it didn't soothe his throat at all, and that's when he knew he was going to be in for a miserable next few days. 

He didn't even have cold medicine. Or aspirin. Dear God. 

Vok'Rul came in sometime later, chattering cheerfully at Viktor. He was loud, way too loud for Viktor's poor head. He bared his teeth unhappily at the alien. 

"Shut the fuck up, god damn," he grumbled, retreating back into his closet. He pulled his blanket over his head and tried to ignore the alien's calls. The bastard was persistent, he'd give him that, but Viktor was sick and just wanted sleep, and he was stubborn. Vok'Rul eventually left him alone, and Viktor fell into a fitful sleep. 

He woke several times, struggling to breathe. The cushy pet bed was a little too cushy. His face would sink into the soft sides and abruptly cut off his already limited access to air. Shifting around proved useless, because the entire thing was fuzzy and warm and soft and not what Viktor needed right now. 

Vok'Rul poked him awake, and Viktor was half-surprised to find himself sleeping on the floor. He grumbled at the alien wordlessly, groaning at the bright light overhead. Vok'Rul poked him again. 

"What?!" he shouted. Or tried to, at least. The word came out as a throaty squeak, and he dissolved into a coughing fit. He wished he had something to blow his nose with. He sniffed, hard. That made a horrid noise as well. 

Vok'Rul gaped at him for a moment before he started fumbling with his phone, typing with one hand and attempting to pet him with the other. Viktor grabbed it and held it away from his face. The alien wouldn't be deferred, however, and petted him whether he liked it or not.

Viktor made a grumpy noise in the back of his throat, but Vok'Rul just ignored him. Typical.

"Kohgrash," he said worriedly, speaking rapidly. His hand stopped petting him to press against his forehead instead. Only, he used the palm of his hand.

A little baffled that the alien was trying - and failing - to get his temperature, Viktor said, "You're supposed to use the back of your hand, dude."

He didn't even have a fever. It was just a cold - he hoped so, at least. If he had contracted some incurable alien disease after all he'd been through, he was going to have some not-so-kid-friendly things to say.

Vok'Rul called somebody unfamiliar, and Viktor watched dispassionately as he held the phone hologram right in front of his face. He sniffled harshly, peering at the alien on the twitchy hologram. They looked like a vet.

"Jesus, man, I'm fine," he croaked. "I'd kill for some soup, but I'll live. Just need sleep."

The vet hummed and spoke to Vok'Rul. His alien retracted his hand, which Viktor was glad for. Sick or not, he did not appreciate his bubble being popped.