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Brad’s life had been much simpler before he’d asked Ray to move in with him, before they started a relationship. Hell, it had been simpler before he’d met Ray.
Case in point.
He’d left Ray in their bed, sprawled haphazardly and snuffling into their pillows, and had since showered, dressed and eaten breakfast, all without sign of his chaotic partner waking up. He was seated on the couch in early morning silence, slouched down in a manner that was more often seen in Ray than the Iceman, flipping through a magazine for motorcycle enthusiasts because he’d skimmed over an article and was trying to find it to read it again properly.
His feet were propped on the coffee table, ankles crossed, even though he bitched at Ray for doing the same thing.
Yeah, he made up excuses to bitch at Ray sometimes, but it was only because he loved watching Ray work himself up into a complaining froth before manhandling him into the bedroom to calm him back down.
He heard the cacophony that was Ray waking up and getting ready to come downstairs, and sure enough, some fifteen minutes after the noise, Ray came traipsing down the stairs and into the living room.
“Morning.” Brad greeted, with amused brevity.
Ray didn’t look amused. He looked a little listless actually, possibly because it looked like he was diverting all his energy into trying to scowl Brad into spontaneous combustion.
“Bradley. I’m unhappy with you.” He stated distinctly.
Brad raised an eyebrow at him. “Why?”
“You… you know what you did.”
Brad turned back to his magazine. “Sorry Ray, but you’re going to have to elaborate.”
“You knocked me up!”
Brad blinked at his magazine in the long, slow, despairing fashion that Nate had copyrighted, before closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the sofa. He took a steadying, careful breath and then turned his head to the side to look back at Ray.
“Ray. What, in the entire United States Marine Corps fuck, are you talking about?”
Ray lifted his (oh great, it was Brad’s) shirt and stabbed an indignant index finger towards his stomach, then wielded it in Brad’s direction. “I’m pregnant and it’s your fault!”
Brad dropped his head into his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with a muttered ‘oh my god’, then a louder, “I don’t even know where to start with this.”
“’Sorry’, would be a good one.” Ray snapped.
“Look, I know that you have some skewed ideas about procreation because of your deviant inbred family and your perverted idea of appropriate familial sexual relations, but I know you know that it’s physically impossible for me to have impregnated you.”
“Are you fucking saying I’ve been cheating on you?!” Ray said, honestly shocked and then swinging back to anger. “Oh, fuck you Colbert! You’re the only guy I’ve ever loved enough to have unprotected sex with, I can’t even imagine cheating on you! This baby is definitely yours, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Parts of that were surprisingly sweet, but only parts of it. The rest of it was a burning trashcan of a joke.
But Ray’s hands were clenched into fists by his side and his teeth were gritted and he didn’t look like he thought this was funny.
“Wait, are you actually upset about this?”
Ray looked like he was trembling with his anger.
“Of course I am! This was not in my five year plan, Brad!”
“You’re taking this joke too far, Ray.”
“Yeah? If this is such a fucking joke to you, then you can just fuck off!” He crossed his arms almost protectively over his midriff, and now Brad was beginning to really worry.
“You’re not pregnant Ray, come on. Why do you even think that?”
“If I’m not pregnant, then why is this test positive?” he shot back, pulling something out of his pyjama pants pocket (gross) and throwing it at Brad, who did what he could not to catch it.
And then he took a closer look before picking the thing up.
“Ray, this is a toothbrush.”
“What, well… if I’m not pregnant, then why did I throw up this morning?”
“You threw up this morning?”
“Yes, Brad, it’s something that happens when you’re pregnant.”
Brad sighed, sitting up and reaching a hand out to Ray. “Come here.”
Ray looked mulish for a moment, but eventually caved and complied, moving over, taking Brad’s hand and being pulled down beside him. Brad tucked him up against his side, partially because he felt like it, but also so that Ray couldn’t rabbit off if he got pissed again.
Ray was warm beside him. Really warm. Brad frowned and put the back of his hand against Ray’s forehead; he didn’t need a thermometer to see that Ray was running a fever.
“Christ Ray, you’re really fucking hot. How are you feeling?”
Now that Ray was sitting, he seemed unwilling to move very much. “I threw up.” He complained, quiet now, leaning heavily into Brad, still trembling, but now it was clearly because he was sick.
“Yeah?” Brad asked, petting over Ray’s head and fretting internally about the dry heat radiating off him. “Anything else?”
Ray shrugged, but then turned his head in against Brad’s shoulder. “Head hurts. Body aches. My throat hurts.”
“Hang on a minute.” Brad ordered gently, getting up from underneath Ray and laying him down, putting a cushion under Ray's head. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Ray’s sense of time didn’t seem to be running right, because when Brad reappeared armed with a bottle of water, painkillers and a thermometer, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Thought you were going.”
Brad put the bottle and painkillers down on the table, thermometer in hand. “You should have stayed in bed.” He chided. “Come on, sit up for me.” He helped Ray up into a semblance of sitting, leaving him mostly leaning against the sofa back, and tried to get him to take the thermometer in his mouth.
Ray pulled away, giving Brad a somewhat clouded suspicious look.
“Is that my pregnancy test?”
Brad suppressed his smile in case Ray saw it and aggravated his paranoia. “It’s a thermometer Ray, I need to take your temperature, come on.”
Ray acquiesced, obediently taking the thing and holding it in his mouth, Brad reassuring him sporadically so that he wouldn’t forget what he was doing and bite down on it.
It beeped and Brad checked the numbers.
“Fuck Ray, you’re at 101.6, no wonder you’re hallucinating.”
Ray groaned and slumped down against the back of the sofa again. “Can I lie down?”
“Take this first.” Brad handed over the painkillers and watched Ray take them, handing over the water bottle and hovering in case it slipped. Ray managed to drink without getting it all over himself, and Brad took the bottle back. “Okay, you can lie down.”
Ray flopped over and curled up on the couch cushions. “Not my fault.” He grumbled peevishly. “Your fault I’m pregnant. Pregnant people need sleep.”
“It’s okay, Ray, I’m not blaming you. Just go to sleep, okay?”
Ray was already collapsing under the weight of his illness and his fever, but still managed to have the last word. “Yeah, gotta sleep for Baby Brad.” It was more a last mumble, but it made Brad huff a laugh.
Brad took a seat on the edge of the couch and Ray’s heated body curled in towards him. Brad rested one hand idly on Ray’s side, feeling the soft tide of his breathing coming in and out as he dialled Doc Bryan’s number on his cell with the other.
He knew that a fever of 102 Fahrenheit asked for medical intervention, but he still wanted to check with a professional. He explained the situation to the ever-surly Doc, who told him to keep plying Ray with liquids, make sure he took regular painkillers and that if his temperature crept much higher he should go to hospital.
“He keeps hallucinating.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen sometimes at that temperature. Just keep reassuring him that it’s not real.”
As Brad hung up, he was relieved that the Doc had the professionalism not to ask more about what Ray was ‘seeing’ – he wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to tell him that Ray was convinced he was with child.
Brad sighed and leaned back a little against Ray, who whined unhappily a little. Brad reached over and stroked his hair soothingly until he quieted again.
So yeah.
Brad’s life had been a lot simpler before Ray had crashed into it, but he still wouldn’t give Ray up for any amount of jalapeno and cheese.
Ray and his hallucinatory baby.