Sick

Greed-Ler never really smiles much. Not while he is working, not while he is sleeping, not even while he is eating something particularly delicious. And before you ask, because I know at least 3 of you are thinking it, not even during sex. Sure, he had different expressions with which to express his joy, or his fondness or when he was proud or pleased, but he never really broke into delighted beams or bashful grins like his younger (and arguably more happier) other half did. People say it is because he works too hard. His mother says it is because he doesn't make enough money and has to earn more for the family. Oncie thinks it is something to do with the weather.

Greed-Ler personally thinks it's the teeth.

So when it's two am in the damn morning and he's still up doing paperwork, crammed onto his desk trying to find a smooth surface to write on and his ink is drying on the quill and his coffee's getting cold. When body is cashing checks on him and all he wants to do is trudge into the small hallway to his left and into his bedroom, collapse on his master bed and go the fuck to sleep with hopefully a nice warm slightly snoring body next to him to wrap his arms around, the last thing he has on his mind is smiling of all things, or even looking very pleasant at all. There was no joy here, not at this hour, there was nothing warm and fuzzy and—

The door to his left opened, creaking slightly on its hinges, because in the dead of night that's when all hinges like to creak sharply to see if they can scare whoever might be trying to sneak through them.

Greed-Ler's hand jerks on reaction—ink smears the dotted line he was trying to sign.

He snarls at the mess for a second, and then decides to direct his anger at the source of the problem.

"What. The fuck is it Oncie." 'And for your sake it'd better be good.' He thinks as he spins around in his chair when he doesn't get an answer right away.

Any murderous thoughts about the many ways he can torture and where to store the body of his simpler other half stop dead in its tracks when he sees what's standing in the door way, though.

More like hanging onto it really, like he was being held up by sheer will power alone. Greed-ler blinks and raises an eyebrow.

"….Oncie?"

"…" the young inventor hasn't taken his eyes off the floor—or moved from the doorway yet.

If Oncie was willing to interrupt his work when he knew he wasn't supposed too, and risk the Greed-Ler's wrath then…well then it must be important, right?

"Get over here." The CEO finally snaps, but not unkindly. Under his words is the added tone of 'and fucking hurry because you're scaring me and I don't like that.'

Oncie steps further into the room—staggers actually—and it's now the green-clad man can see the current state of his other half.

And he doesn't like it at all.

For one thing his legs are shaking; even under his pajamas Greed can see the shivering mess the boy is, the way his clothes stick to his body. And then the slight sheen of the skin that's visible, the red dusting across his cheek and the fuzzy slightly glazed look in his eyes and ohfuckit.

"The hell's the matter with you, come here—" he tries to keep the worry out of his tone even as he reaches long arms out for Oncie to stumble right into them with a tiny gasp of—relief maybe? Before Greed-Ler can say or do anything else; there's his younger half crawling shamelessly into his lap and winding him arms around his neck, shoulders, anywhere he could reach. Clinging, he's clinging, Greed-Ler realizes.

He's also breathing slightly hard, wheezing a bit, shaking like a damn leaf and basically looking all around pathetic.

"I, I just, sorry, I'm sorry but…but I think I'm a little bit…sick." Oncie finishes lamely, staring at the carpet and biting his lip. The shivers have not let up once and they're even moving Greed-Ler a bit with their power.

And so Greed-Ler's frown becomes slightly more worried than ferocious.

"No shit Sherlock." The blush was admittedly a little bit cute in any other circumstance, now it was just a marker of how feverish Oncie was getting. It was…unsettling, in this context.

Greed-Ler doesn't like it.

He glances at his desk, takes a few precious seconds to shove some papers here and place a pen there, before he fixes his arms back around the small of Oncie's back and hooks a hand under his legs and lifts him straight up, carrying him back the way he'd came.

Oncie, for his part, only squeaks lightly and tightens his hold on his other half, Greed feels his warm, flushed face bury into the crook of his neck and hears a pathetic sniffle of all things.

"How long did it take ya to come down with this?" He finds himself asking, voice gruffer than he'd intended.

"…dunno. A little, a little before you left for your meeting," Talking sounds like it's hard and tiring—and Greed-Ler's pretty sure you need a heart to have heart strings but dammit something in his chest is twanging painfully over his Oncie being in pain.

"…and a-after you left I took a nap and, and just woke up…w-wanted you…" He wanted him. Fuck howcould a part of him be this adorable. It was criminal.

And Greed-Ler would be lying if he said his worry hadn't increased at those words. "My meeting was at one in the afternoon…" He reminds lightly, hoping for an error in time.

"Y-yeah, I know." Nope. The poor kid literally has been this sick for that long. Greed spots Eddy sitting on his side of the bed, and he almost has to say something but, no, Eddy sees them come in and perks up.

"Oh, dammit Oncie…jesus ya should've said something earlier—or at least rang the damn bell for the maid to bring ya some of that grape medicine stuff I know we got lying around." He mutters in a light scold as he kicks the door open further so he can fit the both of them through into the master bedroom.

"Dun'like that stuff," Oncie informs him blearily as Greed lays him back down on the bed, grabbing the covers Oncie had pushed off when he'd gotten up to come looking for him, most likely. Eddy was snuffling right into Oncie's neck and curling up there, settling down because baby anythings, let alone barbaloots, need lots of sleep.

"No?" Greed-Ler just chuckles at that as he tucks Oncie in—sounds like the fever was sitting in his head. He spares the tiny barbaloot a scratch on the crown of his fluffy head before he moves to undress for the night.

"Bo… tastes like, like…it tastes bad." Stuffed nose too. Ohh he was gonna be fun tonight.

"Mhh-hm."

"Not like you."

That makes him pause for a second, fingers held over his tie. He smiles very softly and when he looks at the groggy young man curled up under the covers, it's the fondest look possible from him.

"Is that right."

"Yeah." Oncie's arms appear from over the duvet and stretch out as he rolls onto his side. He's all but making grabby hands for the Greed-Ler and the Greed-Ler can barely take it. "You're the best." Oncie mumbles quietly, eyes half mast. Greed-Ler can see him fading.

"I know that babe" Then he sees that puppy dog pleading look and he sighs. "….okay, okay, I'm coming, hang on a second." He sheds his work clothes and leaves on his boxers—skin to skin would warm Oncie up faster for when his fever spiked tonight, God willing it did leave tonight. The older one gets into bed just a little bit hastily had anyone been noticing, but then it's nothing because Oncie's arms are reaching around to hug his waist tight and press right into him.

"Sorry," he whispers out quietly. Greed-Ler snorts but holds him back tighter nonetheless.

"That's a damn lie, no you're not."

He throws a leg over Oncie's just to pull him close and offer more warmth, Oncie drinks it all up and sniffs pathetically. Eddy is still conked out, completely oblivious and probably dreaming of eating Daddy's papers or Mommy's knitting.

"…I am a little." Oncie mumbles sleepily.

That earns him a small laugh as Greed-Ler rests his chin atop Oncie's black mop and relaxes.

"Yeah, whatever. You're a horrible liar, you always were…" and before Oncie can protest to that or defend his honor, Greed-Ler's raking his fingers through his hair of all things, watching the light from the lamp glint off the emerald ring on his finger. His smile (and perhaps his heart) grows one more size.

"Get some sleep Oncie…" He whispers before a kiss to the forehead. And the words tumble from Greed-Ler's lips before he can stop them: "I'll take care of you."

"…kay." Are Oncie's last truly conscious words. The fever and the sick and the comfort drags him right down, which is what Greed was hoping for.

And the CEO blinks a little in realization over his words, because it is true. It is.

Because, for better or for worse, he would take care of his, his other half, his younger-self, whatever the fuck Oncie was. He'd do it.

Greed-Ler never really smiles, you know.

But the look on his face as he falls asleep curled around and sheltering his sick other half is nothing short of pure euphoria, because finally, finally he is doing something right and he knows it. And it feels so good.