Bird Flu - A Rick and Dante Short

Dante is a bit of a Drama queen, but if we're honest, his friends do kind of coddle him. Which is a bit weird because he's five-hundred-plus year old phoenix that can walk off a head shot. "Bird Flu" was the result of the question, what would happen if Dante got sick? Man flu has nothing on bird flu.

You don't need to have read Baptism by Fire to enjoy the shorts, but if you haven't you might want to read my blog post about it to get a feel for the characters.

“Dante? Are you up?” Rick knocked on the door to his partner’s bedroom. Dante never slept in, even on his day off, and Rick was sure he'd have heard him in the shower if he’d gotten up already. He knocked again and pushed the door open a little when he still didn’t get an answer. “Peacock?”

A blast of hot air hit him – hotter than even normal for Dante – and a deep wheezing cough was the only answer he got from his friend. He pushed the door open the rest of the way and approached Dante’s bed. He’d never been in his friend’s room before and was struck by the incongruity of the expected rich mahogany and silk nearly buried in indoor plants and backed by a full wall nature mural behind Dante’s bed. Opposite the door was a bank of arched windows that looked out over Dante’s well cared for backyard. Dante lay curled up on the bed, a hand pieced quilt clutched tightly around him as he breathed raggedly.

“Dante! You’re burning up.” Rick reached out a hand to brush away a lock of sweat matted red hair so he could test Dante’s forehead for a fever and pulled it back quickly. Dante’s skin was painfully hot. “That’s not right, even for you.”

“I hoped it was just a cold, but…” Dante started coughing again until he lost his breath. Rick kept a worried hand on his back until he caught his breath again. “Call Charles. He’ll know what to do.”

“I’ll call him, but not until you promise to take some cold meds and drink something. I had the flu last week, remember?” Rick pulled his phone from his pocket as he left the room and headed down to the kitchen for iced tea and cold meds. He’d been miserable for a few days, but Dante seemed worse off than he’d been.

He returned to the room to find Dante shivering even as his face glistened with sweat. “Dante? I need you to sit up enough to drink some of this and take the pills.”

“How about you just help me to the backyard and shoot me. That’s faster than pills.”

“Well you sound normal.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“I know you weren’t. I don’t care. Sit up and take your meds.” Rick helped his partner up to sit leaning on the headboard, handed him the pills, then held the glass so he could drink from the straw. “I’ll call Charles while you finish that.”

He pressed the speed dial for their boss, and held the phone to his ear while Dante slowly drank the sweet tea between fits of coughing. If this didn’t bring his fever down closer to phoenix-normal rather than inferno level, he was going to run him a cool bath. “Charles? Dante woke up sick this morning. I gave him a couple cold pills and am trying to get fluids in him. His temperature is insane. I couldn’t even touch his forehead to test it. Is there something else I should be–”

“I’m on my way. Keep doing what you’re doing, and no matter what he tells you, don’t shoot him.”

“I wasn’t–” The call cut off, leaving Rick staring at it in amazement. “Charles is on his way. He sounded worried.”

“There's no reason for him to worry. I don't think." Dante groaned and slid back under the covers. "It's not like last time."

"What happened last time?" Rick set the half empty glass on the bedside table.

"Apparently I nearly died." Dante started coughing again. He took a ragged breath and mumbled, "Which would be nice right now."

"I get it, you think resurrecting cures everything, but since neither Charles nor I agree, you're stuck with me taking care of you." Rick glared at his friend huddled tightly beneath the heavy quilt. "Which would be a lot easier if you told me what's wrong, apart from a fever that would boil water and a cough that would make pneumonia jealous."

"That is the worst of it, mon ami." Dante sighed. "The fever leaves me aching, cold, and shaky. The cough leaves me short of breath, weak, and sore. My nose is stuffed up and I have a headache, but the medication you gave me should help that, no?"

"Try to get some sleep, Peacock." Rick drew the heavy curtains over the windows. "Charles will be here soon and we'll make a plan to get you back on your feet."

Charles arrived twenty minutes later with an arm load of groceries. He set them on the counter and started pulling things from the cupboards. Soon medicine, a humidifier, and a small jar of herbal chest rub were lined out on the counter beside the groceries.

“How is he?”

“Sick? Miserable.” Rick shrugged. ”Dramatic as usual. He seemed frustrated by all the concern.”

“Do you know how the phoenixes became extinct?” Charles looked at Rick grimly as he mounted the stairs to Dante’s room.

“No, I didn't realize anyone knew.” Rick’s stomach twisted. “I don’t think I like the fact that you’re sharing this story with me now.”

“Some virulent form of bird flu went through Dante’s flock shortly before he threw his lot in with humanity. Wiped them out. From what he described, their bodies were so worn out fighting the virus, they had no power left to resurrect.” Charles opened the door and crossed to Dante’s bedside. “Obviously we don’t know the mechanics of a disease among mythical creatures over five hundred years ago, but when Dante got sick during the last bird flu outbreak he landed in the hospital. The director of mythic specialties at Johns Hopkins said he could be thankful his body is more human than phoenix and that he responded to modern medicine.” Charles rested a hand on Dante's shoulder in spite of the painful heat. “We almost lost him even then.”

“Are you telling me that a disease bad enough to kill him could keep him from resurrecting?”

“I’m telling you we don’t know. And we obviously don’t want to test it. So you have one job until he turns the corner: keep your partner alive. Whatever it takes.”

“Can’t we put him in the hospital if it’s that serious?” Rick frowned at his partner’s sleeping form. “I’m not really trained in mythic medical care.”

“We’ll transport him if it’s necessary, but at the moment he’s comfortable here. Hopefully we won’t get to that point.” Charles looked at Rick’s face and evidently read the horror there. He rested a hand on Rick’s shoulder and squeezed. “Sorry, I forget I can be a bit too blunt. Dante has survived several centuries longer than either of us. The odds are that he’ll be fine. I just need you to be aware and not blow this off.”

“Little likelihood of that now,” Rick grumbled as he followed his boss down to the door. “I see why Dante calls you Glace.”

“Hah. Ask him where the names actually came from.” Charles laughed. He clapped Rick on the back again and left.

Rick stared for a while at the door after Charles had left. Dear Jesus, there’s no way you’d let a stupid cold take out your agent, right? Help him to pull through.

A crashing noise from upstairs broke him from his reverie.

And help me not to kill him.

He dashed up the stairs to Dante’s room, only to find the door open and the room unoccupied. He grabbed the door jamb as he swung around to slow himself down. Where did his partner go?

A soft moan came from the hall bathroom.

Rick caught his breath and yanked open the door to the bathroom. Dante knelt on the floor in his dressing gown, trying to use the edge of the tub to push himself to his feet.

“What happened? Are you all right? Why are you out of bed?” Rick fired questions at his partner as he rushed to his side and helped pull him to his feet.

“I am a bit weaker than I anticipated.” Dante admitted softly. He clung to Rick heavily and trembled under his own weight. “And the room will not stop spinning.”

“Are you all right?” First things first. He could yell at his friend after he was certain he was unhurt.

Dante hesitated. “No, Bulldog, I am not all right. I am sweaty, cold, hot, achy, miserable, and too weak to even get to the bathroom to shower alone. My sheets are soaked with sweat, and my hair–” He gestured at the damp hair sticking to his face and neck in unruly strands and moaned. His breath hitched. “To make matters worse, I heard Charles tell you you’re stuck here until I am well. There is no need for both of us to be out of commission, mon ami. PNI–”

“Can manage just fine without us for a couple of days.” Rick shifted Dante’s weight so that Dante’s right arm was over his shoulders and his left arm was wrapped around Dante’s waist. “I’ll change your sheets, but you’re not getting a shower until you can manage to stand without falling. No one cares what you look like right now. Your health comes before your personal hygiene regimen.”

Dante glared at him like he’d just said Abercrombie and Fitch were fashionable men’s clothiers. Rick snorted to himself at the thought of Dante’s reaction if he’d actually said that, then decided it should probably wait until his friend was feeling better.

Rick helped Dante back to his room and into a tall wingback chair sitting among some ferns. Then Rick quickly stripped the damp sheets from the bed, found a spare set in the closet, and made up the bed.

“There. Let’s get you back to bed.” He turned back to Dante and found his friend curled up tightly in the chair, fast asleep. Shaking his head, Rick scooped Dante up in his arms and lifted him into the bed. He covered his friend with the clean sheet and patchwork quilt. Satisfied Dante was resting peacefully, he collected his laptop and a cold bottle of Coke from the fridge and settled in the armchair to work on paperwork and keep vigil over his partner.

He only left Dante’s side long enough to collect a delivery from Dante’s favorite food truck for dinner. When he brought it upstairs, Dante was sitting up in the bed, his expression more alert than he’d been all day.

“I thought I smelled carnitas.” Dante’s eyes tracked the bags of food in Rick’s hands as he entered the room.

“You feeling well enough to eat, or should I put this in the fridge for later?” Rick held the tantalizing bag just out of Dante’s reach.

“Well enough to try.” Dante lunged and grabbed the bag. He paused only long enough to say grace before tearing into the bag.

“Well enough to tell Charles you’ve turned the corner, it looks like to me.” Rick sat down with his own meal and thanked God for both it and his friend’s recovery.

“Charles is a good man, but a bit overprotective.” Dante shrugged as he tucked half the meal back in the bag. “I suppose I’ve given him reason to be so.”

“So what’s the story of Chaud and Glace?” Rick kept his tone light as he frowned at Dante’s half eaten meal. He still had a bit of recovering to do.

“A story for another time.” Dante chuckled as he passed the bag back to Rick and slid back under the covers. “One that reflects worse on me than on him, however. Charles may be pragmatic, but he is hardly the heartless beast people believe. Nor am I the passionate hothead the nickname implies. Usually anyway.”

Rick hummed his agreement. He’d seen that in the speed Charles had come to Dante’s side. “Get well, Peacock.”

“I am on my way, Bulldog.” Dante yawned and closed his eyes. “Thank you for your care today. It is never pleasant to be sick, especially not alone.”

“I get that.” Rick gathered his trash and Dante’s leftovers to take downstairs. “As long as either Charles or I are around, you won’t have to suffer alone. It’s what friends are for.”