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Peter, Elias was delighted to see, was looking distinctly uncomfortable. His shoulders were tensed, his head ducked in a futile effort to make himself smaller and somehow less noticeable.
Elias took another sip of Prosecco and congratulated himself on a job well done. It had been pathetically easy to get Peter to turn up at the Magnus Institute holiday party. Really, all Elias had to do was convince Peter that Elias didn't want him there, and Peter would turn up just to watch him squirm. It had worked like a charm.
"So many people seem to want to meet you," Elias said, only half trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. If he was being honest, the Prosecco had gone to his head a bit, and they hadn't even been here that long. "I did tell you I didn't think you should come. I'm sure everyone will be talking about you for weeks." Even the light headache pounding in his temples wouldn't keep Elias from basking in Peter's discomfort. It was probably the Prosecco. He always did react badly to cheap wine.
Peter eyed him mistrustfully. "You don't seem to mind too much."
Elias actually laughed at this, and passed his glass over to Peter. "Oh, do try to lighten up and enjoy yourself."
Finally, the penny dropped. "You tricked me," Peter said plainly. He accepted the glass and finished its contents in one swallow. "You wanted me here. Why? Just to watch me suffer?"
"Not at all," Elias lied. "Believe it or not, I do enjoy your company, and I knew you wouldn't come if I asked you to outright."
"There are so many people," Peter said with audible disgust. "And they're all being so friendly with each other. God, I hate the holidays." He looked down at Elias, whose face was flushed. "Are you drunk, Elias?"
"Hardly," Elias said, another lie. His head was spinning. Under his jacket, he could feel his shirt sticking to his upper back with a fine sheen of sweat. The hotel ballroom he'd had Rosie rent was incredibly warm despite its size. "Why don't we go outside?"
"I don't forgive you," Peter muttered, but he let Elias lead him around the dance floor to one of the balconies.
He shut the sliding door behind them, and then they both turned and stared at each other with vastly differing degrees of coldness.
Perhaps unused to being scrutinized so severely, Elias broke first under Peter's frigid gaze. "Oh, come on, Peter. Don't be like that. I didn't invite you here just to make fun of you. I wanted you to come." His face was still flushed and he wasn't shivering despite the cold December air that made his breath come out in white puffs.
"Really," Peter said. He went to lean against the metal railing, but thought better of it. The wrought iron had gone icy cold. He rubbed his hands against the thick wool of his sweater and gazed out over the cityscape.
"Really," Elias said. He didn't say more.
Peter continued to stare out at the city. Surrounded by companionship, he pretended he could feel the intense loneliness of a lone traveler, someone who walked the city streets at night yet had no connections within.
The loneliness was part of why he could stand Elias. Elias never made him feel loved, just used. Peter revelled in the wanting, in the desire for something more that he knew would forever be denied to him. So he decided. For Elias, for the Lonely, he would endure.
"Fine."
"You'll stay?" Elias lit up, clearly delighted. He took one of Peter's hands in his own, and they were warm. "Excellent."
Peter tugged Elias closer to him because he knew it would annoy him. "When was the last time you felt anything other than smug satisfaction?" he asked, wrapping his arms around Elias.
"Don't, someone might see," Elias protested. He was warm despite the cold, and it was so easy to pull him close. He barely came up to Peter's collarbone and couldn't wrap his arms all the way around Peter's sturdy body. He was staring fixedly through the glass door.
"I thought you wanted me here," Peter teased. He shivered and pulled Elias in even closer. “Doesn’t everyone here think I’m your husband?”
"You're cold," Elias said. "Let's go in. I'm sure someone will have spiked the punch by now."
He slid the door open and stepped over the threshold.
"You don't think you've had enough?" Peter asked. Elias had never been a heavy drinker, and he was still pink-cheeked from the several glasses of Prosecco he'd had earlier. Then, just to annoy Elias, Peter added, "Little guys like you should take it slow."
Elias huffed and ran a hand over his perfectly-styled hair as though to slick it back. "I think I know my own limits, thank you very much."
They got drinks, avoiding conversation, and posted up against the wall, as all the tables were taken and Peter didn't want to share.
Elias clutched at his glass of water and leaned against the wall, absently studying the cable pattern of Peter's sweater.
He didn't look like he was sobering up at all, Peter reflected. His shoulder was pressed against the wall a little too hard to be casual and his pale cheeks were still aglow.
"Dizzy?" Peter asked with faux-innocence.
"A bit, actually," Elias mumbled, which wasn't like him. Peter barely heard him over the music.
Peter smirked. "Want to sit?"
"No." Elias downed half the glass of water in an instant and shivered. "That won't be necessary."
"What's the alcohol content of Prosecco, anyway?" Peter teased, feeling more relaxed than he had been. The punch had indeed been spiked. He was careful to just sip at it, the better to make fun of Elias for overindulging.
"12%," Elias answered. He frowned, looking perplexed. "I only had two glasses."
"Two and a half," Peter corrected. It wasn't often that he had anything to hold over Elias, and he was enjoying this immensely. "Tell me, do you have any special urge to do karaoke? Or dance on the table?"
"Shut up," Elias said, frowning. He took another sip of water and leaned harder into the wall.
"Why don't you introduce me to this new Archivist of yours?" Peter suggested, trying to get something out of Elias.
"Later."
Peter frowned. "Then why don't you eat something? The party's not going to be any fun if you're like this all night.” He shook his head. “I never would have pegged you as a melancholy drunk.”
"I do apologize," Elias said sarcastically.
"Really, sit down. I'll get you a roll or something."
"I'm not hungry."
"You'll feel better if you eat," Peter insisted.
The look Elias gave him was keen and full of mistrust. "What do you care if I feel better?"
"We're friends, aren't we?"
"That's certainly a word for it." Elias sighed and tried to straighten up, but kept most of his weight on the wall. "Where do you suggest I sit so you can fawn all over me, hm? I can't have my employees knowing too much about me."
"Of course," Peter said with sarcastic solemnity. "That's your job."
"Precisely."
"Look," Peter said, touching Elias' arm. "Just sit down and eat something. Stop acting like a child."
"Fine. But do watch your hands." Elias marched off to a table and set to work scaring off its other occupants. Peter watched him at it, then started filling up a plate with things he knew Elias didn't like.
When Peter returned Elias was sitting slumped, with his chin resting in his palm, the fingers tensed along the angle of his jaw. He didn't look any better, although it had already been some time since his last drink.
Peter didn't reflect on it too long. He slid the paper plate, piled high with sweets and baked goods, over to Elias.
Elias actually made a face. "I'm really not hungry."
"You really will feel better if you eat something," Peter said.
"And I'm telling you I don't want to," Elias snapped.
Peter noticed suddenly that he wasn't slurring his words, and hadn't been all evening. "Elias?"
" What ?"
"Have you considered that you might be sick?"
"I'm not going to be sick," Elias said, misunderstanding.
"No, no. That you're sick. I think you have a fever." Peter leaned over and cupped his hand on Elias' neck. It was warm, but then, it was a warm room. "Maybe we should leave."
"Ah," said Elias curtly, leaning away from Peter's touch. Then, "Damn." He shifted positions, putting his head in both his hands. "I don't even remember the last time I was sick."
"You'd better sit up," Peter said brightly. "People are starting to stare."
"They are not," Elias said, but he straightened up all the same. Sure enough, the group at the next table over was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "I can't leave early," he said.
"Why not?"
"It'll look bad." Elias took a few shallow breaths and set his jaw like he was in pain. "I'll have to stay."
"Will they be expecting a speech?" Peter wondered out loud, mostly for the joy of seeing Elias go pale with dread.
Elias did indeed blanch, turning almost gray under the low lights. His forehead was shiny with sweat. "I just won't this year. Nobody likes those speeches anyway. I mostly give them because people hate them."
"You need to go home," Peter said. "You look terrible." Now that he knew what the problem was, it was quite obvious. Though a persistent fever blush stained Elias' cheeks a drunken pink, the rest of his face was sickly white. His breathing was irregular and his brow was creased in evident pain. Peter imagined he had quite a headache but wasn't admitting it.
He also imagined that Elias knew he'd be better off at home, but was resisting for the simple, petty reason that it was Peter who'd suggested it.
"I'll be fine," Elias insisted.
"So you're just going to sit here," Peter said, "all night." He checked his watch. "It's only just now 10:00, and I can't imagine this will be over earlier than 3:00."
"Everyone usually starts clearing out around 1:00," Elias corrected him. He coughed lightly, experimentally.
"You didn't answer me," Peter said.
"About what?"
"Are you really just going to sit at this table for 3 hours?"
Elias regarded him coldly and coughed again, this time muffling the sound into his sleeve. "Perhaps."
"Do you want some coffee?" Peter asked suddenly.
"Yes," Elias said. He eyes the plate, piled high with pastries and all the things Peter knew he didn't care for. "Please don't do anything to it. I'll Know if you do."
Peter went off to get the coffee. He thought about adding sugar to Elias' just to spite him, but didn't, and came back carrying two mugs of perfectly ordinary coffee (black for Peter, splash of milk for Elias; he knew it by heart).
"Thank you, Peter," said Elias with something close to real sincerity.
Peter shrugged, uncomfortable. "Maybe it'll help with that cough."
The night dragged on. Peter, bored and uncomfortable, wanted to leave.
Sitting there watching Elias smolder with fever was not exactly fun, if only because he wasn't getting any sense of personal triumph out of it. Elias didn't seem to be getting any worse, and Peter was worried he wasn't going to get a grand "I told you so" moment. Still, he waited on the off chance that it might happen.
They hadn't bet on it exactly, but Peter felt the thrill of a wager all the same. In his mind, he had bet against Elias making it through the evening and he wanted to see what would happen. Since it wasn't a proper wager, Elias' humiliation would be prize enough. The only thing Peter had to lose was time, and he had plenty of that.
Elias smothered a cough into a cloth napkin. That, at least, he couldn't hide. The coughing fits were gradually becoming longer and more frequent.
"How are you feeling?" Peter asked.
Elias looked at him with malice. "If you ask me that again, I'm going to--"
"To what?" Peter challenged, beaming. "You wouldn't kill me, Elias, you like me too much."
"Try me," Elias said through gritted teeth.
They fell silent again.. Every so often, one of the more bold (or drunk) employees would happen across their table and make conversation with Elias. Peter found himself consistently amazed at Elias' ability to lie through his teeth and act like an ordinary man. He even came off a bit stupid, which was a truly great deceit.
When one such conversation ended, Elias slumped backwards in his chair and rubbed at his forehead.
"Headache?" Peter asked.
Elias looked at him sideways. "Would it make you happy if I said 'yes'?" he asked, sounding exhausted.
"You could ask for paracetamol," Peter suggested.
"I Know you don't have any."
"That's not what I meant." Peter smiled sedately. "I could go ask for you, if you like." He affected a saccharine, doting tone and expression and addressed an imaginary party guest, "'Excuse me, do you have any painkillers on you? I'm so worried about my dear Elias--'"
"Do shut up," Elias said. He coughed a little behind his lips and looked at the army of mugs and glasses surrounding him. Finding the most recent addition, a mug of chamomile Peter had recently brought him, he took a sip. "You put honey in this."
"For your throat. Do you want me to ask about painkillers or not?"
"No. You could sneak into the coat closet, if you were so inclined, and steal some from the red purse or the navy jacket in the back."
It was as close to asking for a favor as Elias would ever get, and it was good enough for Peter. Wondering idly if the Lonely disapproved of such frivolous manifestations of its power, Peter let himself disappear.
Finally, it came time to leave. The music stopped, the overhead lights came on, and Peter got to his feet with a bitter feeling of disappointment in his chest.
He'd babysat Elias all night with nothing to show for it.
"Shall I see you home?" he asked. "I can't imagine you'll want me to stay."
"I don't care either way," Elias said. He stood up and immediately had to grip the back of the chair to keep his balance as the color drained from his face.
In proper light, he looked awful . Peter realized with no small measure of delight that Elias felt much worse than he'd let on. "I'll take you home," he said.
With a small noise that Peter took as an approval, Elias released his white-knuckle grip on the chair and made slowly for the exit. The remaining employees were leaving in a trickle.
"Quite a lot of people are still here," Peter observed, surprised.
Elias didn't say anything.
They joined the throng in its slow crawl toward the doorway. Elias put his hand on Peter's back and bunched up his fingers in the fabric of Peter's sweater. He didn't seem to realize what he'd done, and had no expression whatsoever on his ashen face.
They reached the exit. Elias' grip went slack and he stumbled.
"Elias?" Peter said, reaching out for him. People turned to look. Elias took a staggering half-step forward and fainted.
"Elias!" Peter repeated. He caught Elias by the shoulders and lowered him to the ground.
They were right in the middle of the doorway, surrounded by people on all sides. There was absolutely no privacy to be had.
The wave of curiosity and concern from the crowd was almost physically repulsive to Peter. He shuddered under the weight of it.
Doing his best to ignore the murmuring from the crowd, Peter put his hand to Elias' cheek. He was burning up, of course. Even as Peter looked down at him, Elias' eyelids began to flutter. He sighed and opened his eyes. Momentarily confused, he looked at Peter, then at the ceiling.
Realizing what had happened, he closed his eyes again and pressed his lips into a thin, white line. "Shit."
Peter remained silent, his hand still pressed to Elias' fevered cheek. Behind him, someone was trying to get the crowd to back off.
"Help me up," Elias muttered, moving his lips as little as possible. Peter wordlessly held out his arm and hauled Elias to his feet.
"I'm quite alright," Elias was saying in response to a whole barrage of questions. "No, no, that won't be necessary. Yes, just a flu, I'm sure. Peter will see me home. Thank you."
And, clinging almost painfully to his arm, Elias dragged Peter across the lobby and out a side entrance, then collapsed heavily on the steps with his head in his hands.
"Don't stop here," Peter said, finally allowing himself to feel sorry for Elias now that he'd gotten a heavy dose of humiliation.
Elias let out a barrage of coughs in response, folding over nearly double. This too had gotten worse, the sound dry and crackling.
"You're really not feeling well, are you?" Peter asked, almost in a marveling tone.
"Just go if you're going to mock me," Elias said in an unusually thready voice. "I don't have to put up with this."
"Oh, Elias." Peter had gotten the upper hand so quickly it almost wasn't fun anymore. "Come on and let me take you home. They've got cabs waiting out front." He shivered and realized with irritation that he'd forgotten his jacket inside. Oh, well.
"Come on, up you get."
Elias stood up slowly and stood panting for a moment. Peter waited for him to recover then steered him to a taxi. This really wasn't fun anymore. He had never seen Elias so pliant, so agreeable, so…. So vulnerable .
Still, Peter reflected, leaning back after giving the driver Elias' address, he didn't want Elias to die. If word got out that he was ill, someone would most certainly come to finish him off.
So, Peter would have to stay with him until he was better.
"I'm the only one that gets to kill you," he said softly to Elias, who had gone slack against the door.
The driver looked up in alarm, but said nothing.
They reached Elias' building. In lieu of searching Elias for the keys, Peter phased in through the door and unlocked it from the inside.
Elias ignored him, crossed the threshold, and went immediately to bed.
The whole apartment had a cold, untouched feeling that made Peter feel immediately at ease. It was a welcome change from the cheerful atmosphere at the holiday party. Peter shut the door, locked it, and leaned back against it. He closed his eyes and breathed in the abject Loneliness of the apartment. Then he straightened and went to go get Elias.
If Peter was going to be looking after him, he could at least exact a bit of torment while he was there.
Although. He was certain nothing could ever be as satisfying as watching Elias faint in front of half his staff, with nothing and no one to blame but himself and his pride.
Peter sighed in satisfaction and flicked on the lightswitch.
"Go away," Elias said, not visible beneath the covers.
"You're not sleeping in that suit," Peter said cheerfully. "Let's get you changed!"
"I'm going to kill you," Elias said evenly. Peter tore off the duvet and grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him up. He took off Elias' suit jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.
His skin was still ablaze with fever heat and his skin was slick with sweat.
"I'm going to reach into your mind and pick out the worst thing that's ever happened to you," Elias was ranting, glassy-eyed, "And I'm going to show it to you in such vivid detail that the anguish kills you on the spot."
"Dear Elias," Peter smiled paternally at him. "Meeting you was the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Now take off your slacks."
Elias got to his feet and immediately had to lean back against the bed for balance. When he was standing there in nothing but his boxers, Peter turned away. "Now let's see, where do you keep your pajamas?"
"Peter," Elias said in a warning tone.
"Do it, then," Peter said placidly, digging through Elias' chest of drawers. "Really. I'd like to see you try. Ah! Here we are."
He turned around to find Elias glaring daggers at him. Then a flurry of coughs overtook him. The muscles in his chest and abdomen all jumped with the effort, highlighting the delicate curves of his ribcage.
"You're so scrawny," Peter said, dressing Elias with ease. "What are these, silk? They're nice."
"I really hate you," Elias said. His head was hanging, his eyes half-open, and Peter suspected that his locked knees were the only thing keeping him upright.
"To bed with you," Peter said.
Elias tucked himself back under the covers and closed his eyes.
"I'll be here when you wake. Shout if you need anything." Peter turned off the light and went out, knowing full well that Elias' pride wouldn't allow him to ask for a single thing.
"Peter?"
Peter woke in confusion, not realizing he had fallen asleep. He was sprawled out on Elias' couch (to the extent that a man of his size and stature could sprawl).
"Peter," Elias called again, gently. He coughed and Peter winced.
He got up slowly, yawning, and shuffled into Elias' bedroom. Elias was probably feeling better and about to threaten his life again. Boring. "What is it?"
Elias didn't answer, but Peter could hear his labored, wheezing breaths.
"Elias?" No reply. "I'm going to turn on the light." Again, no reply.
Peter flicked on the lightswitch and almost flinched at the sight. Elias was most certainly not feeling better. He had kicked off the covers and was lying on his back, sprawled out and breathing heavily. His face was an angry red all the way down to the neck and his eyes were glassy and distant.
"Hm," Peter said, more to himself than to Elias. "I knew the Eye wasn't going to let you die, but I didn't think it would allow you to suffer quite this much."
For all his faults, Peter did in fact possess and conscience, and he really wasn't enjoying the sight of Elias in distress like this.
"Obviously I can't take you to hospital," he said, looming over Elias. "Do you even have organs anymore? Or is it just eyes all the way down?"
Elias coughed and fought to draw breath. "I can't--" he tried to articulate. "I don’t--"
"Relax," Peter said. He smoothed back Elias' hair and let out a dismayed sigh at the heat radiating from Elias’ head. He really wasn't sure what to do, but he certainly had nothing to gain by leaving Elias here to suffer.
"Peter," Elias panted. "What's happening to me?"
"I know you've had a fever before," Peter said, consciously refusing to feel too sorry for him.
"Hurts…"
"I know." Peter put his hands on his hips and surveyed Elias on the bed. His carefully pomaded hair was a mess, his pajamas soaked in sweat. Yet his dark eyes somehow hadn't completely lost the sharp quality of Beholding. Even now they seemed to bore into Peter as though to pick him apart and take what it wanted from the pieces of his mind. It wasn't pleasant.
"How about I run you a bath?" Peter suggested.
"I don't-- I don't care what you do." Elias rolled over and winced, pressing his hand to his forehead. "Just make it stop."
Peter walked away to run the bath, then came back to get Elias. He bent down and slid his arms under Elias' back and knees, carrying him bridal style. Elias was so hot it was actually uncomfortable to be this close to him.
"What's your temperature?" Peter asked.
"41," Elias said. He was slack in Peter's arms, barely able to keep his head up.
"You know," Peter reflected. He set Elias down on the edge of the tub and started to undress him. "A normal person would be in deep shit right about now. But look at you. You can still talk. I bet you could even stand if you tried."
"Peter, " Elias shook his head. He let Peter strip him naked without even a shred of resistance, his chest rising and falling with frantic breaths. "Please."
"Mm." Peter manhandled Elias into the bath, bracing himself for impact.
Sure enough, Elias gave a cry and immediately began to shiver. "This isn't better , Peter."
Peter shrugged. "You were overheating. Let me take care of you a little."
"Take care of me how ?" Elias growled.
"I've asked you not to compel me," Peter said with forced evenness, shrugging off the weak stab in his psyche. "Besides, I thought you could just take that information?"
Elias' shoulders dropped. Stark naked and shaking, wet, with his pomaded hair all in his face, he looked so pathetic that Peter almost felt truly sorry for him. "I can't control it," he said in a shaky voice that threatened to break at any moment. "The woman upstairs purposefully broke up her daughter's marriage and there's someone walking by who committed a hit and run three years ago and is still terrified of getting caught, and you--"
"Enough," Peter said. Elias' voice was tremulous, pained. "Just let me wash all that stuff out of your hair."
Elias nodded, and Peter rolled up his sleeves and began to run his wet hands through Elias' hair. It was still stiff with product, and lightly scented. Elias stopped shivering and gave a deep, exhausted sigh.
"See?" Peter said. "Isn't this nice?" He reached for the shampoo and massaged it into Elias' scalp. He was still incredibly hot, but perhaps a little less than he had been before.
Elias seemed to want to speak but was overtaken by a coughing fit. His shoulders spasmed and leaned forward, coughing violently into open air. Peter rubbed his back until the fit was through, then continued running his hands through Elias' hair.
"Peter," Elias said, sounding almost like his usual self. He hesitated, licked his lips. "Why are you doing this for me?"
"I don't know," Peter said after a long pause. He cupped his hands and started to rinse the shampoo out of Elias' hair. Elias hadn't tried to compel him that time, yet he still felt a strange need to be honest. "I won't lie, I do like seeing you like this. It's not often you've got your worst enemy helpless at your feet. But…" He thought for a moment. "I don't want to see you suffer too much. When I put you to bed and you were overheating and miserable, it didn't feel like victory. It just felt like cruelty. And despite everything, I don't want to be cruel. Not to you."
For a long time, Elias didn't say anything. Peter picked up a bottle and began to rub conditioner into the ends of Elias' hair.
"I wouldn't do the same for you," Elias said.
"I know," Peter replied.
That was the whole point, after all.