ot4 - 46 (star)
Title: karma points
'Verse/characters: ot4 (nash and daniel)
Prompt: 46 - star
Word Count: 1233
Rating: g
Notes: this takes place after they all move to san francisco but before they move in together. at one point nash had a roommate, but he asked the guy to move out.
Daniel can think of a few things he'd rather be doing besides sitting on the bus with a large container of miso soup, a small container of wonton soup, a carton of orange juice, a box of Kleenex, and an assortment of OTC cold and flu meds, but sometimes when your best friend calls and needs you to play nursemaid, you put on your metaphorical candy-striper uniform and do it.
It doesn't help when said friend sounds particularly sick and pathetic over the phone, in as unforced a way as Daniel has ever heard.
("I'm dying of the flu and I live by myself and there's no one here to take care of me," Nash said, and Daniel had no answer to that except "It will take me an hour to get there, can you hang on that long".)
He pushes the buzzer when he gets to Nash's building, just to let the plague vector know he's there, and then lets himself in with his spare key. All he can smell is soup, a weird combination of chicken and miso. He wonders if anyone in the building has been suddenly seized by a hunger pang without knowing why.
Nash is curled up on the couch watching TV when Daniel lets himself into the apartment. He's wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a University of Michigan sweatshirt, and when he sits up his hair is flattened to one side of his head. He looks like he crawled backwards through a hedge even more so than usual, and Daniel would laugh except that Nash really does look unwell.
"You look terrible," Daniel says.
"Thank you, I love you too." Nash sneezes into his sleeve. Five times. "I should've asked you to bring me some Kleenex." He sounds hoarse and congested and tired.
"I got soup, more soup, oj, Nyquil - which you will drink if I have to force it down your throat - Tylenol Cold & Sinus, Sudafed, and" - Daniel digs into one of his bags and produces the box of tissues - "Kleenex."
"Gimme."
Daniel brings it over to the couch and then heads into the kitchen to pour some of the miso into an actual bowl, so Nash doesn't have to eat it from a styrofoam container. He can hear muffled flu noises from the other room.
Fifteen minutes later Nash has taken some Tylenol, drunk some orange juice, eaten some soup, told Daniel he's a star, and asked him to stay.
"Are you contagious?" Daniel asks. "Because I can't get sick. I don't have time."
"If you do I'll come over and take care of you. Assuming this doesn't kill me."
"You say that now."
Nash just sneezes. Daniel pats him on the head and then gets up to take the dishes into the kitchen. He briefly considers making some tea, but when he goes into the other room to ask, he notes that Nash is now lying across the couch again. Maybe later.
Nash sits up a little bit, Daniel sits down at the end of the couch, and Nash puts his head on Daniel's thigh.
"I'll pay you back," he says, settling deeper into the couch cushions in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. "For the, um, the soup. And Nyquil." He yawns. "Don't leave yet."
"I can't, you're lying on me." Daniel grins. He glances down and it looks as if Nash has pulled his arms into his sweatshirt sleeves. "Are you cold?"
"No. Sort of. No."
"Which is it?"
"No, not that cold. Just everything aches. My bones hurt," he adds mournfully.
"I know." Daniel brushes his fingers through Nash's hair. "Next year maybe you should get a flu shot." Nash just shrugs a shoulder.
The TV remote is handily sitting on the side table next to the couch, and Daniel takes advantage of it to turn the sound up and flip channels until he finds something he likes. Nash is quiet aside from the occasional sniffle. Every so often he shifts position restlessly. Daniel strokes his hair and watches TV and checks once in a while to see if he's still awake, and for about an hour he is.
Nash eventually falls asleep for almost an hour and a half, during which time he mumbles something Daniel can't understand - this is not a big deal, as Nash has always talked in his sleep - and when he wakes up, Daniel suggests he go to bed.
"Take some Nyquil first," he says.
"I hate you," Nash mutters.
"Of course you do. That's why I came over bearing soup and cold meds."
"No, that's what you do if you hate me." Nash pushes against the couch and Daniel until he's sitting up. He sneezes almost half-heartedly, following it up with a wet cough.
"That doesn't make any sense." Daniel stands up. "You want some orange juice to wash it down?"
"I guess. Sure."
So Daniel fetches the Nyquil and another glass of orange juice, makes Nash drink both, and half pulls him to his feet. Nash stumbles against him, grabs Daniel's arm to keep them both from falling over.
"Sorry," he says. "Head rush."
"You really have to go to bed," Daniel tells him.
"Now I really have to pee."
"You need help?" Daniel grins brightly. Nash rolls his eyes.
"You're funny. No."
Daniel takes the Nyquil and Tylenol and a glass of water into the bedroom and fluffs Nash's pillows, and eventually Nash comes out of the bathroom and crawls into bed.
"Can you turn the heat down?" he asks.
"The heat's not on," Daniel says.
"It's not? Oh."
"I left you the Tylenol and some water if you wake up in the middle of the night and want it. If you need me, I don't know, yell?" He switches off the light.
"Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't... you're not going home, are you?"
"Well, I was going to stay a little while to make sure you actually sleep."
"Don't go?"
"Is that a question that merits an answer?"
"It's a, a, my brain is dying, I don't know what it is. It's a... stay here. Overnight."
"I don't have a change of clothes and don't tell me I can wear your underwear."
Nash chuckles, or at least that's what it sounds like. It could just be the kind of noise that sick people make as they're falling asleep. "No. No underwear. Don't go."
He sounds pitiful and strangely young and Daniel remembers what Nash said on the phone - I live by myself and there's no one here to take care of me - and he knows that as independent as Nash can be, most of the time he really doesn't like being alone.
"Ok. I'll stay."
"You're a good person."
"I'm racking up karma points."
Nash just sneezes. Daniel carefully makes his way across the room - living on his own means Nash has almost no compunction about picking stuff up off the floor - and sits on the edge of the bed. He brushes Nash's hair back, feels his forehead. Nash's skin is hot with fever and damp with sweat. He nudges against Daniel's hand.
"Go to sleep," Daniel says.
Nash murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like "Yes, Mom". Daniel smiles to himself. He sits there until he's sure Nash is asleep, and then he sits there a little while longer, just because.
'Verse/characters: ot4 (nash and daniel)
Prompt: 46 - star
Word Count: 1233
Rating: g
Notes: this takes place after they all move to san francisco but before they move in together. at one point nash had a roommate, but he asked the guy to move out.
Daniel can think of a few things he'd rather be doing besides sitting on the bus with a large container of miso soup, a small container of wonton soup, a carton of orange juice, a box of Kleenex, and an assortment of OTC cold and flu meds, but sometimes when your best friend calls and needs you to play nursemaid, you put on your metaphorical candy-striper uniform and do it.
It doesn't help when said friend sounds particularly sick and pathetic over the phone, in as unforced a way as Daniel has ever heard.
("I'm dying of the flu and I live by myself and there's no one here to take care of me," Nash said, and Daniel had no answer to that except "It will take me an hour to get there, can you hang on that long".)
He pushes the buzzer when he gets to Nash's building, just to let the plague vector know he's there, and then lets himself in with his spare key. All he can smell is soup, a weird combination of chicken and miso. He wonders if anyone in the building has been suddenly seized by a hunger pang without knowing why.
Nash is curled up on the couch watching TV when Daniel lets himself into the apartment. He's wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a University of Michigan sweatshirt, and when he sits up his hair is flattened to one side of his head. He looks like he crawled backwards through a hedge even more so than usual, and Daniel would laugh except that Nash really does look unwell.
"You look terrible," Daniel says.
"Thank you, I love you too." Nash sneezes into his sleeve. Five times. "I should've asked you to bring me some Kleenex." He sounds hoarse and congested and tired.
"I got soup, more soup, oj, Nyquil - which you will drink if I have to force it down your throat - Tylenol Cold & Sinus, Sudafed, and" - Daniel digs into one of his bags and produces the box of tissues - "Kleenex."
"Gimme."
Daniel brings it over to the couch and then heads into the kitchen to pour some of the miso into an actual bowl, so Nash doesn't have to eat it from a styrofoam container. He can hear muffled flu noises from the other room.
Fifteen minutes later Nash has taken some Tylenol, drunk some orange juice, eaten some soup, told Daniel he's a star, and asked him to stay.
"Are you contagious?" Daniel asks. "Because I can't get sick. I don't have time."
"If you do I'll come over and take care of you. Assuming this doesn't kill me."
"You say that now."
Nash just sneezes. Daniel pats him on the head and then gets up to take the dishes into the kitchen. He briefly considers making some tea, but when he goes into the other room to ask, he notes that Nash is now lying across the couch again. Maybe later.
Nash sits up a little bit, Daniel sits down at the end of the couch, and Nash puts his head on Daniel's thigh.
"I'll pay you back," he says, settling deeper into the couch cushions in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. "For the, um, the soup. And Nyquil." He yawns. "Don't leave yet."
"I can't, you're lying on me." Daniel grins. He glances down and it looks as if Nash has pulled his arms into his sweatshirt sleeves. "Are you cold?"
"No. Sort of. No."
"Which is it?"
"No, not that cold. Just everything aches. My bones hurt," he adds mournfully.
"I know." Daniel brushes his fingers through Nash's hair. "Next year maybe you should get a flu shot." Nash just shrugs a shoulder.
The TV remote is handily sitting on the side table next to the couch, and Daniel takes advantage of it to turn the sound up and flip channels until he finds something he likes. Nash is quiet aside from the occasional sniffle. Every so often he shifts position restlessly. Daniel strokes his hair and watches TV and checks once in a while to see if he's still awake, and for about an hour he is.
Nash eventually falls asleep for almost an hour and a half, during which time he mumbles something Daniel can't understand - this is not a big deal, as Nash has always talked in his sleep - and when he wakes up, Daniel suggests he go to bed.
"Take some Nyquil first," he says.
"I hate you," Nash mutters.
"Of course you do. That's why I came over bearing soup and cold meds."
"No, that's what you do if you hate me." Nash pushes against the couch and Daniel until he's sitting up. He sneezes almost half-heartedly, following it up with a wet cough.
"That doesn't make any sense." Daniel stands up. "You want some orange juice to wash it down?"
"I guess. Sure."
So Daniel fetches the Nyquil and another glass of orange juice, makes Nash drink both, and half pulls him to his feet. Nash stumbles against him, grabs Daniel's arm to keep them both from falling over.
"Sorry," he says. "Head rush."
"You really have to go to bed," Daniel tells him.
"Now I really have to pee."
"You need help?" Daniel grins brightly. Nash rolls his eyes.
"You're funny. No."
Daniel takes the Nyquil and Tylenol and a glass of water into the bedroom and fluffs Nash's pillows, and eventually Nash comes out of the bathroom and crawls into bed.
"Can you turn the heat down?" he asks.
"The heat's not on," Daniel says.
"It's not? Oh."
"I left you the Tylenol and some water if you wake up in the middle of the night and want it. If you need me, I don't know, yell?" He switches off the light.
"Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't... you're not going home, are you?"
"Well, I was going to stay a little while to make sure you actually sleep."
"Don't go?"
"Is that a question that merits an answer?"
"It's a, a, my brain is dying, I don't know what it is. It's a... stay here. Overnight."
"I don't have a change of clothes and don't tell me I can wear your underwear."
Nash chuckles, or at least that's what it sounds like. It could just be the kind of noise that sick people make as they're falling asleep. "No. No underwear. Don't go."
He sounds pitiful and strangely young and Daniel remembers what Nash said on the phone - I live by myself and there's no one here to take care of me - and he knows that as independent as Nash can be, most of the time he really doesn't like being alone.
"Ok. I'll stay."
"You're a good person."
"I'm racking up karma points."
Nash just sneezes. Daniel carefully makes his way across the room - living on his own means Nash has almost no compunction about picking stuff up off the floor - and sits on the edge of the bed. He brushes Nash's hair back, feels his forehead. Nash's skin is hot with fever and damp with sweat. He nudges against Daniel's hand.
"Go to sleep," Daniel says.
Nash murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like "Yes, Mom". Daniel smiles to himself. He sits there until he's sure Nash is asleep, and then he sits there a little while longer, just because.