C'mon Get Down with the Sickness

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When Sokka had gone to bed, he'd thought he could work through the cough, through the sniffles, through the haze. He had thought sleep (which had rarely failed him before) would do the trick. For that matter, he'd even tried an odd combination of herbs his grandmother had once suggested, but by morning, it was obvious this was no ordinary cold

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Said bundle groaned, and it was a long and unhealthy sounding reaction. Sokka had burrowed a little deeper into his sleeping bag, intent on staving off the worst of the chills, but the sound of another voice stirred around the haze.

"--said you couldn', but I knew!" His voice came in and out, an awkward one-sided conversation, but he wriggled back to the surface thanks to it, raising his pointed finger far too late for the intended exclamation. He smacked his lips, feverish and dry. Certainly, this was a cold plus one (in that familiar vernacular) -- not ordinary at all.

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He waved off some imaginary insect buzzing around his head and quite nearly ended up smacking himself in the face. Whatever was going on in that fever-addled brain was disjointed and while it made little sense to Sokka, it probably made even less to Renne.

"Go on, go on," he urged the imaginary insect, eventually settling back to lay for a moment when he finished his shooing. A second later, he awoke with a start, legitimately greeting the waking world with open eyes. A shiver ran through him and Sokka groaned. "R-Renne? What's--" A hacking cough cut him off. When he caught his breath, he groaned against the ache in his chest. "Hey."

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The fire was welcoming and warm -- enough so that Sokka gravitated toward it in his feverish state, squirming and wriggling his sleeping bag closer and closer with each toss and turn. By the time he managed to open his eyes, Sokka was nearly on top of the flames.

He blinked through the onslaught of the light and he was sure he saw someone through the blurry heat-haze created by the fire. The figure shimmered, and while he couldn't say if it was an effect of the fire or his boiling brain, he knew someone was there.

Sokka groaned, unsure of his whereabouts or who might have joined him. The person looked familiar, but all he could see was a shape. Hopefully, he ventured to ask, "Dad...?"

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"Who--" Sokka wanted to ask, but his question was whisked away by a persistent cough, and by the time he finished, the urge to ask it was practically gone.

The young warrior pawed at the ground until he managed to sit up on an elbow, then pointed at his snow-covered supplies. Voice dry, he asked, "Will you-- will you bring water?"