~The Shy and The Stubborn~ (the santa clause)

Chapter 26: imported panadol

When the blanket was abruptly tugged off of Justice's sleeping body is when her eyes shot open immediately.

After some convincing, Bernard had agreed to let her stay the night so that she could keep an eye on him. He had been looking worse and worse throughout the evening, but even then he insisted that she sleep in his bed rather than the couch like she had initially suggested. He was still as a log for the most part, occasionally shifting as one normally would.

Though now, in the dead of night, there was certainly movement.

As soon as Justice felt cold air on her exposed legs she sat up abruptly, looking over to see Bernard darting almost recklessly out of the bedroom door. She had only been in her underwear and a shirt Bernard had loaned her, considering she hadn't been home to get her own pyjamas. She wasn't quite conscious, but she had a feeling she knew where he was going, as she jumped out of bed herself and quickly followed her, finding him in his bathroom like she thought she might.

The sound hit her before she saw him.

Retching. Violent, hollow heaving that echoed off the tiled walls, ragged and miserable. Justice's stomach twisted at the sound, instinct immediately overriding sleep. She padded into the bathroom and found Bernard kneeling by the toilet, one arm braced against the wall as he emptied what little he must have had left in his stomach.

"Oh Bernard," she sighed softly, crouching beside him and gathering his unruly curls away from his face to save them from the vomit, holding the bundle behind his head with one hand while the other rested between his shoulder blades, encouraging him to keep going until he felt better.

"You're okay," she murmured, her voice a quiet anchor in the chaos. "It's just the fever. Let it out."

Bernard didn't argue - couldn't. He let her touch ground him as another wave passed through him, and then another. By the time the nausea finally loosened its grip, he was trembling faintly, body sagging toward the cool porcelain in defeat.

Still gripping his hair gently, Justice reached for the toilet paper, gently ripping a few squares away from the roll before dabbing at the corners of his mouth, where the residual vomit and spittle shined faintly against his skin.

There was a beat of silence, then Justice chucked the bit of paper into the toilet.

"I don't think you're going to work tomorrow, love," Justice murmured softly.
"...no, I don't think so either," Bernard breathed, his voice all groggy and raspy from retching moments before.

Justice didn't say I told you so, though the look in her eyes said it for her - quiet, affectionate exasperation wrapped in worry. She reached for the towel on the nearby rail, dampened it under the cold tap, and gently pressed it to the back of his neck. Bernard let out a shaky breath at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed again.

"You're burning up," she murmured.
"I'm fine," he rasped, then after a pause: "...Lying."

Justice gave a small snort despite herself. "Yeah, I clocked that."

Bernard slumped further, as if the tiles beneath him were the only thing keeping him upright. He was utterly spent - body weak, fever-flushed, barely holding himself together. The man she knew - sharp-tongued, straight-backed, always five steps ahead - was barely there tonight, replaced by this quieter, humbler version who let himself be seen, really seen.

"...I'm gonna go get my phone and call Curtis, tell him you're not coming," she told him, standing up. "I won't be a minute, I promise."

Bernard gave a nod in acknowledgment, as he rested his arm on the toilet seat, and then his head against his arm, his eyes fluttering closed as Justice left the bathroom, back to the bedroom.