(Untitled)

[lectorisalutem]

He hopped out of the carriage, wishing he'd already made vanjalist as he passed through its exhaust fumes. The masks were a status symbol, Gulliver understood, but how many vanjalists treated the sick at times like these? How many actually put the masks to use? Shielding his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his robes, he made for Guille and

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[sunsinge]

They were fetching a healer, they'd told him. He could barely speak, barely hold onto what they said long enough to understand it. They gave him wine the first day, water the second. By now he could barely swallow his own spit without retching it back up. His friends came and went, hovered around him and spoke in low tones. Amadius wondered if he was dying. He wondered if he cared.

At the shout in the hallway, his eyes fluttered open, glassy and heavily lidded. When his stare met pale blue, Amadius couldn't even bring himself to look disgusted. Of course. Gulliver would come crawling as soon as he learned he was doing badly, no matter how smugly he'd taunted him about catching ill days earlier. The thief pressed his dry lips together long enough to swallow, to wet his mouth, and croaked a quiet, "Liar." He'd healed him without any preparation before. Weakly, he rolled his head to the side and coughed, chest lurching. "Go then," he managed out in barely more than a whisper. His throat was raw from coughing, his tongue heavy in his mouth from whatever it was they'd given him.

[lectorisalutem]

It was hard to make out what Amadius was saying. Gulliver only caught 'liar', which caused him to avert his eyes. One of the roommates, the unfamiliar man, seemed to catch all of it. He elbowed Guille hard while glaring daggers at the adept.

"You can do more for him than the rest of us can," Guille said tersely, mirroring the stranger's stare. "It's too late to send for someone else." He nodded his head and shooed the rest of the men from the room before he made to leave. The adept closed his eyes, trying not to imagine their reproach. Amadius didn't want him to heal him. Amadius would rather die than have this. Only every time he tried to express that point, he stared at his boots instead.

As he passed, Guille said, "You were trained in this, weren't you?" and slammed the door behind him. Gulliver winced.

Furiously, Gulliver started to pull out his equipment. The basins, the bowls, the phials. He sliced the back of his own hand and let the blood dribble into a bowl before mixing a small batch of something that ought to work for Amadius.

He pressed the thin liquid to his patient's throat, massaging it in quickly. Almost panicked, Gulliver said, "Do you want treatment, yes or no? Without this, you'll die before anyone else can be sent for." He kept pressing the medicine in, hoping such a rushed effort could heal Amadius' throat enough to allow him to answer.

[sunsinge]

Gulliver's hand was shockingly warm against his throat, burning, and Amadius made a soft noise of pain and tilted his head back, teeth grit. The Adept meant to strangle him-- no. The fumes from whatever Gulliver was working into his skin reached him. He was massaging his throat, not strangling him. It hurt, but there was a growing warmth spreading beneath it, something soothing, something liquid.

Did he want treatment? Did he want to live? Amadius' dark eyes rolled to the side, stare glassy and distant on the far wall. Did he? Living would mean continuing this game of cat and mouse. Running. Hiding, from this man. If he died now, he would never become that creature he'd seen on the island... but he'd never become anything at all, either. Just another body burned in the wake of the flu, forgotten. "No--" he started weakly, then choked on his own bile and coughed fiercely, throat burning. His chest felt heavy, weighted down. Each breath he took was labored. This was Gulliver's fault, all of it. He'd have been back in their building if it weren't for him, healthy if it weren't for him, safe and untroubled. Consenting to die of a flu because this man couldn't be sure of the extent of his own obsessions... no. He couldn't give him the satisfaction, couldn't let himself end so pitifully.

"Yes," he rasped finally, shutting his eyes to avoid seeing the Adept's expression. "I won't--" He swallowed and coughed again. It felt like he was drowning. "I won't die for you."

[lectorisalutem]

No? The first response made Gulliver's breath catch in his throat. He reminded himself that it was only because of the blow his reputation would take if he lost a patient. Going to the window, pinching the bridge of his nose so hard his sinuses might cave in, the adept wondered if he'd begrudged Amadius too much by offering hm this choice.

But, with the second response he let his hand fall away. A moment later he was crouched beside the bed, readying his scalpel. 'I won't die for you' failed to resonate on any level with Gulliver, but the 'yes' left him honestly relieved and not simply because of his career.

"I never intended you to," he said, hoping that it would come out as scathing. However it came out, Amadius was too feverish to recognize tones. Or at least that was what the adept told himself. "Just relax. Everything will be well soon."

your turn to timewarp

[sunsinge]

Relaxing, he suspected, was the last thing he wanted to do. Every breath he took was a struggle; if he relaxed, he'd never take another one. His chest lurched and trembled, and in the end he forwent a response. Frightened, angry, he wanted to tell Gulliver to leave him, to treat him with contempt, but it was beyond him. All he could do for himself was keep breathing.

great scot!

[lectorisalutem]

It was significantly more difficult treating Amadius than it had Thomas, beyond the obvious reasons. Amadius' symptoms were further progressed, more resistant to the procedure. Gulliver spent the greater part of a whole day hovering over him, mixing and applying, then willing his eyes to stay open as he monitored Amadius' progress. It was almost as if, he thought on several occasions, his patient wasn't healing out of spite. But that was a horrible thing to assume. Amadius was fighting for his life just as much as the adept was, after all.

32 hours had passed since Gulliver had begun treatment. He was as healthy as a horse, considering the amounts of the medicine he'd absorbed, but exhausted. Dead asleep in a chair in the corner of the room, he'd waited until he was 90% positive Amadius would be alright for an hour or two without supervision. After all, he couldn't afford to make sleep-deprived mistakes if Amadius' condition suddenly took a nose dive. Snoring lightly, the adept's eyelids fluttered. He'd learned how to become a light sleeper- if Amadius so much as rolled over, he'd likely thrown himself out of the chair before he'd even woken up.

[sunsinge]

His eyes were open before he registered that he'd woken up, or even what he was seeing. Slowly, the ceiling came into focus. A clock ticked beside him on the bed. Outside a carriage rattled past, and the shadows it cast slid across the wall, then away. His chest felt lighter.

Amadius turned his head to the side against the pillow. His hair was greasy and sweat-damp still, and the feeling of it sliding against his cheek was enough to make him grimace. The sheets were damp as well, and stained here and there with dark blots. Blood, Amadius thought distantly. His eyes trailed past the sheets, to the man sitting slouched in the corner chair. Sleeping. And he'd taken the furthest possible place in the room to do it. Was it out of courtesy or disgust, Amadius wondered. Either way, the Adept had done as he'd promised. His illness was fast fading.

Slowly, he tried to ease himself up on his elbows, but felt the strength slipping out of his arms as soon as he'd managed an inch. He fell back against the pillow with a throaty cough, eyes fluttering shut again in a grimace.

[lectorisalutem]

Gulliver's eyes flew open and, true to form, he was on his feet before his mind could remind him where he even was. The room was wholly unfamiliar. Blinking quickly, he looked around it, wobbling a little, then settled his gaze on Amadius. For a long moment, he stared at him. Diya never slept. Sometimes he might lie down outside the blankets, but...

Reality caught up to the adept and he straightened his posture and robes. He crossed to Amadius' bedside, reaching out perfunctorily to touch two fingers to his patient's forearm. His recovery was going better than Gulliver had expected.

He cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

[sunsinge]

He opened his eyes blearily. Gulliver looked terrible, hollow around the eyes, but then again, Amadius considered wryly, for once he didn't look much better. The fingers to his arm no longer felt too hot or uncomfortable. He turned his head against the pillow to look at them, dark eyes narrowed.

"Better." Comparatively. His throat and lungs felt raw, sore, and the rest of him he barely felt at all. He slid one foot against the sheets just to be sure it was still there. "Still like shit," he managed out hoarsely.

[lectorisalutem]

"Well, that's to be expected." He'd almost died more times than Gulliver cared to count. Drawing his fingers away, he set about cleaning up his equipment. As he worked quickly, eager to get out of the room as soon as he could, he said, "I'll leave some of the topical behind. It'll only be effective for a day, day and a half perhaps, so be sure you apply it every two hours to your chest and throat." Gulliver began decanting the medicine into a jar. "And get plenty of rest. I recommend staying in bed, or at least in doors, for a week."

With the jar of salve on Amadius' nightstand and the adept's dirty equipment back in his medicine bag, he went to the door. "My bill should arrive in two weeks." There was no way that he could excuse all this work, write it off as 'Amadius' due.' But... he didn't want to charge for a process that could still prove to be a failure.

[sunsinge]

Bill? Amadius turned his head again, eyes narrowed. "Tell Guille that, not me," he replied with a hoarse laugh. Gulliver was mad if he thought he could foot an Adept's bill, even with the money he'd given him. "I didn't hire you."

He took a long, deep breath to fell the swell of his lungs, then immediately launched into a coughing fit. He could do it again, that was what mattered. No more feeling like he was drowning, being pressed down upon. It was startling how relieved he felt; he'd been more frightened of dying than even he had realized.

[lectorisalutem]

Gulliver turned, tipping his head to the side. "Guille said that you were willing to pay." The conversation during which Arthephius had been contracted was awkward. First, Guille had begged his help, then drawn upon the apparent familiarity between Gulliver and Amadius. Of course he'd pay, Guille had said. He asked for you. He knew you were the best. When the adept had given pause, Guille launched into a long speech on how Amadius knew his health was worth more than their particular differences. And, stupidly, Gulliver had believed him.

"Perhaps you ought to speak with Guille yourself. But the bill will come in two weeks," he mumbled.

[sunsinge]

Amadius ran his tongue over his teeth, eyes flicking over Gulliver, and said nothing. Ever since the Adept had paid him, his friends had gotten an inflated idea of how much he had in his purse, the source of which he never disclosed. Guille must have fallen for the same. The thief frowned and let his head roll back again, eyes slipping shut. So, he had two weeks to move away from Gulliver and his debts, or two weeks to pay him money he didn't have. Why did all of his problems revolve around this man?

"Alright," he rasped finally, eyes still closed. "If you're done, go. I'll speak to Guille."

[lectorisalutem]

"Alright."

He began bowing out of the room, his eyes on the legs of Amadius' bed. His symptoms, in all likelihood, wouldn't regress at this stage. He had nothing to worry about. Still, before closing the door behind him, Gulliver said beneath his breath, "May the work be completed."