20 20- Hot Stuff

"Ryan, tell me what's wrong." Scott tried to keep his voice gentle, but he felt some anxiety creep in anyway.

"Don' feel gud... M'tummy... buh'is 'kay."

"Your stomach doesn't feel good? Did you throw up?'

"Couple times...yeah..."

"Are you running a fever?"

"I'don know..."

"Do you feel warm?"

"I's cold..."

"You're cold?"

"Yeah..." He paused. There was the sound of blankets rustling. "Cuddle Buhg...?"

"Yes?"

Ryan's voice was so pitiful it tugged at the heartstrings. "Can I geh' sum Gatorade too... Ah'll pay yu back, promise..."

"Of course I'll get you some Gatorade too. What flavor do you want?"

"Yellow meibe..."

"Understood. I'm leaving work now. I'll be by your place as soon as I run to the pharmacy." Scott packed up the last of his things and was already leaving his office.

"I'cn wait... m'sorry... 'know yur busy..."

"If you're as bad off as you sound then no, you can't wait. It'll be okay. Let your front desk know you're expecting a visitor. I'll see you in a bit."

"'m'kay... m'sorry... See you inna bit..."

Scott took a moment to swing into the clinical manager's office to inform them he was leaving early. His colleague Dr. Bromsfeld tried to stop him on the way out to discuss a patient's request to change prescriptions, but Scott very calmly and very quietly informed him he just had an emergency come up, and left.

He got in his car and sped off to the nearest drug store. Ryan sounded completely miserable on the phone. Had he been sick all day? Why did he only just now call? At the pharmacy Scott filled a cart with two bottles of Pepto-Bismol, a case of lemon-lime Gatorade, a bottle of ibuprofen, a box of adhesive cold compresses, and as an afterthought, a thermometer, just in case. He debated on getting more, but without having seen Ryan's condition, he didn't know what his boyfriend would need. Truth be told, he'd probably buy half the store if he thought he needed to.

He decided the best thing to do was to ask the cashier for some extra bags. If Ryan was truly as bad as he sounded, well then he would just have to take Ryan back to his place. Omega apartment complexes didn't allow for overnight visitors, and he should have anything they would need at home already. Worst case scenario, a hospital trip would be in order. Either way, mess containment was essential.

When Scott was sick, Ryan cooked for him and kept him company. To be honest, Scott was stressing about it a bit. Was it a stomach bug? Or maybe food poisoning? How much was Ryan going to let Scott take care of him? He could be kinda stubborn sometimes. The thought of HOW he would handle this bothered him over the entire rest of the drive to Ryan's apartment building.

Scott found a visitor's parking space close to the door. All his purchases had gone in the trunk, so instead of unloading it all, he took the medicine, thermometer, and a bottle of Gatorade. If Ryan was going to be okay on his own, Scott could always unload the rest of it later and if not, it was one less trip to make.

Ryan had said that security in this building was tight for non-tenants, but Scott didn't realize how tight that could be. Thankfully, Ryan was well enough that he was able to inform the front desk staff that he was expecting a visitor, but the checkpoint was thorough enough as it was. They checked his ID, checked his bag, and used a metal detector wand. It pinged on the needle for the dose of emergency suppressant he kept in his pocket, an Otoforin alternative he started carrying after he'd done Ryan's blood work. Scott wanted to be impressed, but honestly, he was just getting impatient. Finally, they let him into the rest of the building.

Scott rode the elevator to the second floor. Ryan's unit was supposed to be the very last one on the right. Scott noticed several very obvious security cameras in the hallway, no doubt it was someone's job to watch the coming and going of all the visitors. Scott stopped in front of Ryan's door. The nameplate had "Ryan Neel" written on it neatly in blue sharpie, complete with flower doodles, and a tiny rainbow.

Scott knocked gently. "Ryan? It's me! I got the stuff you wanted!"

When there was no response, Scott knocked a little harder. "You awake?"

Scott could hear shuffling behind the door and the rattling of a lock being opened. The door eased open. Ryan stood there in a pair boxers and an oversized t-shirt, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was barefoot. His hair had been pulled back, but strands had come loose and stuck to the sweat on his face. His skin was pale and his eyes had dark circles around them. It was the first time Scott had seen him without his collar.

He gave Scott a small smile. "Sorry I bohthrd yu a' wurk... Wha'd I owe you...?" He moved to take the shopping bag.

"Oh. No. You. Don't." He held the bag out of Ryan's reach. "Let me in. We're taking your temperature right now."

"But I don' hava..."

"I bought you one. Now, come on."

Scott spun Ryan around by the shoulders and walked him into the apartment. It was Scott's first time seeing it, and he would have marveled at how someone could live in a space so small, but there was a more pressing issue at the moment. He guided Ryan over to the bed. "Sit," he commanded, using a little downward force to get his point across.

Ryan obeyed. "Sorry," he murmured.

Scott put the bag on the only other free surface in the room, the tiny "kitchen" counter. He noticed he shirt he'd lent Ryan last week occupied the counter as well, laundered and neatly folded. His parents' empty tupperware was on top of it. He dug the thermometer out and put a slipcover on it. On the television, CSI reruns were playing. It was an odd counterpoint. He turned back to Ryan. "Open." His tone was firm.

Once again, Ryan complied, and put the thermometer under his tongue. Scott was being different from the way he usually was. Was he mad? Part of Ryan wanted to watch the numbers on the thermometer keep going up, but the other part knew it had to keep an eye on Scott. An angry alpha was bad news, no matter the situation…

The thermometer beeped. Triple digits flashed on its tiny screen. Scott took it from Ryan's mouth to check the reading, his lips pressed to a thin line. Ryan watched his every movement, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Scott raised his hand up and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing loudly. Ryan flinched away. Scott was definitely mad. How could he not be mad?

"I'msorry...Plhease don' be mad at me..." Ryan was practically trembling.

"I'm not mad at you? Why would I be-?" Was he scared? In an instant, Scott was crouched down in front of Ryan, with his hands on his boyfriend's knees. "Babe, why do you think I'd be mad? It's not your fault you're sick."

Ryan didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. Well, he did, but it didn't feel like it made much sense. Or, maybe it did? He couldn't tell anymore. He was supposed to be able to handle things on his own after all. He should be able to take care of himself. He shouldn't have to bother others for a moment of weakness. Scott cupped Ryan's clammy face with his hand. Ryan leaned in to it, closing his eyes. Right, why should Scott be mad?

"Yur hands' nice'n cold... Feels gud..."

Scott rubbed Ryan's cheek with his thumb. "You're running a pretty bad fever. I'm going to give you some meds, then I'm taking you back to my place, okay?"

"M'kay..."

Ryan didn't want Scott to take his gloriously cool hand away, but he knew he had to. Scott dosed out the Pepto-Bismol first. Ryan gratefully downed the thick liquid, grimacing slightly at the taste. Next was the ibuprofen. Scott took the cap of the Gatorade bottle and handed it over along with two pills.

"Two? Ish usuly jus one..."

"Take both. Doctor's orders."

Ryan took the pills without any further complaint. Doctor's orders, after all. Scott sat next to him on the bed and began rubbing his back. Ryan sipped at his drink.

"Okay Hot Stuff, check up time. You've got to tell me what's wrong so I can help. How long have you been feeling bad?"

"Hot Stuff...?" Ryan chuckled weakly. "Thassa new one…"

"I could call you Mr. 102.5, but Hot Stuff has a better ring to it. Now, fess up."

"Since las night..."

"Last night? Babe, why didn't you call me sooner?" It came out almost as a placating whine.

"Embarrassd... Thought I coul handl it... Din' think it'd get s'bad..."

"Why would you be embarrassed to tell me you were sick? You've seen me sick."

"'Cause I'd, uh... It wus..." Ryan mumbled the rest of his sentence, staring at the floor.

"You what?" Scott moved his ear closer to catch what Ryan said

Ryan mumbled his answer again.

"You gotta speak up, Honey."

"The runs...! N'kay...?!" Ryan whipped his head around to look at Scott, his voice brittle. "I had t'shits! It's embarrassin... But it goht wurs... Ahn I started pukin'... Ahn my head hurs... Ahn my tummy hurs... Ahn I havn' slept... Ahn... Ahn I...," his voice got small, "I goht scared... I din't know wha else to do..." If he wasn't so dehydrated, there would be tears in his eyes. His lower lip quivered. "I evn tried t'call Mick... Buh his phone wus off..."

"I'll tell you what you need to do: just leave it all to me." Scott hugged Ryan's shoulders tightly. It hurt a little to know he wasn't the first person Ryan went to for help. "You should never be embarrassed to ask me for help. I'm your boyfriend, aren't I? And better yet, I went through med school just like all those other doctors out there. You'd have to try harder than that to gross me out. I don't care what you have coming out of you where, or even when. If you need help, I'm going to do everything I can, okay?"

Ryan made a small noise of assent, barely nodding his head.

"Good." Scott kissed Ryan's hair. "Now, this is very important, are you hurting anywhere? Does anything inside hurt?"

"No... Jus my head... Ahn nausea... Some cramps..."

"Okay, lay on your back for me."

Ryan did as he was told. Lying down, it was easy to see how bloated he was. Scott started probing Ryan gently through his shirt.

Scott hummed thoughtfully. "Eat anything strange yesterday?"

"Halfa samwich frm my works' deli... Was passt the sellby date a 'lil buh I wus sooo hungry... Tastd off, so I din't finsh it... Not hungry no more..." Ryan moaned and pushed Scott's hands away. "Plese stohp... Makin' it wurs..."

"That's a solid case for food poisoning if I've ever heard one."

Ryan moaned again in response, rubbing his abused abdomen.

"Don't worry Hot Stuff, just tell me where you keep your clothes. I'll make up an overnight bag for you and take you back to my place, okay?"