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Apollo wasn’t at all surprised when he woke up with a fever. He had felt as if he was coming down with something the day before, and as much as he hoped it would go away, his symptoms had only worsened overnight.
He had hardly slept the night before, and his body protested when he got out of bed. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep, but he had precious little time to prepare for his upcoming case. He prided himself on giving every client the best defense possible. And, more selfishly, the Wright Anything Agency didn’t get business very often, at least not often enough to give him a stable income, so he treasured whatever he could get in that department.
That was how he found himself hunched over his desk at the office, an array of miscellaneous papers and other evidence he’d managed to collect piled in front of him; he was admittedly not the most organized, especially when he got tunnel vision on a project. That excuse was less applicable this time, though, since his mind felt like it was running at a quarter of its usual speed.
Even in the balmy spring weather, he was sweltering. He tugged on his collar, trying in vain to get some relief from the stifling heat. Beads of sweat had begun to accumulate on his neck. Despite the warmth, he shivered from time to time, his body switching from boiling heat to freezing chills and back again. His head pulsed with pain, the ache coming and going in droning waves.
Apollo massaged his temples. He had reread the same line three times without processing a single word. Frustrated, he tried once again, pouring over the letter until his vision blurred.
The sound of the entry door easing open alerted him that he had company, most likely Mr. Wright, which was confirmed when the man in question entered his peripheral. As expected, Trucy was absent, since her school year wouldn’t be over for another few months. Despite being a full-time high school student, she really was the most productive member of the agency. She certainly booked shows more consistently than Apollo found cases.
Mr. Wright, on the other hand, was always an enigma. Apollo wasn’t completely sure what he even worked on at the office. As usual, he rolled in around noon with pronounced eye bags from a long night of “playing the piano”.
“Hey,” Mr. Wright said, fiddling with some binders on one of the old shelves. Apollo just hummed in response, refusing to look away from the paragraph until he could comprehend it.
There were a few minutes of quiet after that, Apollo sifting through the stack of papers in a blurry haze, before his vision was suddenly filled with Mr. Wright’s face peering down at him. “You feeling okay, Apollo?”
Apollo looked away. “Yeah, I feel fine. Why wouldn’t I?” He stared at a random spot on the page.
“You look a little flushed,” Mr. Wright pointed out.
“I’m fi—Hey!” Apollo jerked his head back, avoiding the hand which Mr. Wright was attempting to press to his forehead. It wasn’t enough, and Mr. Wright frowned as the back of his hand made contact. It was cool against Apollo’s skin.
“No, you definitely feel warm. You’re clearly sick. Why are you even here?” Mr. Wright asked, perching a hand on his hip.
Apollo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “It’s no big deal, I’m barely sick. I took some Ibuprofen—“ which he realized must have been out of date since it hadn’t had any effect, but he wasn’t about to mention that to Mr. Wright, and plus, enduring a fever would let his immune system do its job, ”—and there’s work I need to do. Work that you’re distracting me from, by the way.”
He had hoped Mr. Wright would drop the subject and let him continue, but he showed no sign of letting up. “I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life, but you look more than a little sick.”
Apollo pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache had intensified, although he wasn’t sure if it was from the conversation or from his fever worsening. “Look, I need to make sure this case is airtight by the end of the day. This client is really counting on me.” The chances of that were looking slimmer as the letters in front of him blended into each other, which he tried not to think about.
“You do realize that you won’t be able to help your client if you make yourself sick, right?” Mr. Wright said dryly.
Apollo ignored him as he stood from his desk, intent on getting a glass of water. His mouth was uncomfortably dry. God, when had he gotten so thirsty?
As he took a step, however, his head began to spin. Dizziness enveloped him, and he stopped, swaying. His vision darkened at the edges. Fatigue gripped his body, and he slowly toppled over, only prevented from falling to the ground by Mr. Wright’s arm around his shoulders.
“Woah, okay,” Mr. Wright said, guiding him back to his chair, where he collapsed back down, too weak to resist. “Apollo, as your boss, I’m ordering you to just go home. And no biking, I’ll get you a ride.”
Stubbornly, Apollo shook his head. “No, I have to get this done,” he insisted, even as his hands shook. He clenched them into fists, forcing them to still, but that did little to stop the shivering that had overtaken the rest of him.
Mr. Wright closed his eyes and exhaled in frustration. “At the very least, just take a nap on the couch or something.” Before Apollo could argue, he pointed a threatening finger in his direction. “That’s my final compromise. I will forcibly take you to your apartment if you don’t rest already.”
God only knew how many questionable things had happened on the Wright Anything Agency couches. Apollo wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had been murdered on them, so the fact that he wasn’t immediately put off by the idea really showed how sick he had gotten. He couldn’t resist the urge to just pass out.
“Fine,” he said weakly. Mr. Wright looked a little surprised by his acquiescence, which was embarrassing in itself.
Apollo made his way to the nearest couch, putting up a defensive hand when Mr. Wright tried to support him. “Stop it, I can walk on my own,” he grumbled, directing extra energy into walking as gracefully as he could manage. He sagged down onto the couch and sank his head onto the plush arm. He loosened his tie and slipped off his shoes, not bothering to take off his vest before he let sleep take him. He was out cold within a few minutes.
This kid was going to be the death of Phoenix.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand Apollo’s mindset. He had been 22 once. Hell, he’d showed up to college lectures and court alike with every illness under the sun, although that train of thought edged dangerously close to some memories he didn’t like to linger on.
Regardless, it was different when it was someone else. How could he not worry when Apollo had nearly passed out in front of him?
Phoenix had moved to his office when Apollo went to sleep, not wanting to chance waking him. He spent some time fully engrossed in his work, pages of research on jurist systems laid across the desk, until he realized he was missing a case file, one of Mia’s old files on a jury trial in Europe.
He padded back out into the main area, keeping the sound of his steps to a minimum. He scanned the shelves and located the file he needed. As he carefully extracted it, he shot a curious look in Apollo’s direction.
Apollo was fast asleep, snoring softly. His face was still fairly red. He was peaceful in sleep. Phoenix had never seen him so calm before, more accustomed to the wide eyes and loud expressions he had in the courtroom.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, Apollo’s expression began to change. His brow furrowed and his eyes scrunched closed tighter. Phoenix broke his gaze away, realizing he had been staring. He returned to the shelf and flipped through the binder.
Despite himself, Phoenix allowed himself another glance at Apollo as he walked back to his office with the file in tow. He stopped in his tracks.
Before it had been ambiguous, but there was no mistaking the distress on Apollo’s face now. His mouth curled into a pained grimace. He thrashed about restlessly, his hands and face twitching, and Phoenix’s stomach sank at the anguish his features had contorted into.
Apollo murmured something inaudible in his sleep, and Phoenix couldn’t stop himself from moving closer, straining to hear what he was saying.
Before he could get too close, he hesitated. Apollo was clearly distressed, but he had no way of knowing if he would want to be woken up. Phoenix didn’t want to overstep.
Apollo mumbled again, this time just loud enough for Phoenix to hear. “Dad…”
Phoenix’s chest felt tight.
Apollo shuddered, his head jerking. “Ngh…nno, dad, please…don’t leave me, dn’go….” His speech slurred together, barely above a whisper.
Phoenix’s resolve was completely hardened now. He kneeled by the couch, placing a gentle hand on Apollo’s shoulder and shaking him ever so slightly. “Hey, hey, wake up, kid. You’re dreaming.”
Apollo whimpered, still unconscious. Phoenix squeezed his shoulder harder. Heat radiated from Apollo’s skin even under his sleeve, which wasn’t a great sign. “It’s just a dream.” He continued to shake Apollo’s shoulder until, finally, he was roused from sleep.
Apollo jolted, blinking blearily at Phoenix. His eyes were glazed over. Phoenix wasn’t convinced he was fully awake.
“Dad…?” Apollo breathed.
Oh god. Definitely not awake.
Apollo blinked again, seemingly coming out of the fugue to some extent. If he realized what he had said, he didn’t show it. To Phoenix’s horror, he spotted tears in the corners of his eyes. Apollo groaned, propping himself up on one elbow and immediately wobbling so hard he fell back down.
“Hey, easy.” Phoenix kept a steadying hand on Apollo’s shoulder, pressing the other to his forehead once again. His temperature had skyrocketed since the last time, and Apollo leaned into the touch rather than away. Phoenix cursed internally. “Jesus, you’re burning up. I thought you said you took medicine.”
Apollo’s eyes were unfocused with delirium. “Think it was expired,” he admitted, his voice raspy. His flushed face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and he shivered violently.
Phoenix sighed. “I’ll be right back.” He retrieved a washcloth and a cup from the sink, as well as the bottle of painkillers he kept at the office. After filling the cup and dampening the washcloth, he returned to Apollo’s side, setting the cloth aside and pouring out the appropriate dosage.
He handed the water to Apollo, who threw the pills back and gulped the rest of the water, draining it almost immediately. “Careful,” Phoenix protested, “you’ll make yourself sick.” He tilted the cup back, forcing Apollo to drink more slowly.
Once the water was gone, Apollo slumped back down, and Phoenix put the discarded cup to the side. He folded the washcloth and gingerly placed it on Apollo’s forehead. Apollo’s breath hitched at the contact, and he sighed contentedly, leaning into Phoenix’s touch once more. It wasn’t long before he had drifted off again.
Phoenix slouched onto the couch opposite him. His dad, huh.
Phoenix had quite a bit of knowledge about Apollo’s family from his investigations into the Grammarye case, certainly more than the average employee background check and probably more than Apollo knew himself.
Apollo’s father was a bit of a blind spot, at least compared to the rest of his family. Phoenix was obviously well acquainted with Trucy, and even the mysterious Thalassa had become less of an enigma with time, but he still didn’t know what had become of her previous husband, or why she hadn’t stayed with Apollo. Hell, he had no idea what Apollo’s life had looked like before he became Kristoph’s mentee.
The couch cushions creaked from movement. Phoenix looked at Apollo in alarm, but Apollo’s expression remained calm, lacking the strain of a nightmare. He did appear uncomfortable, though, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself.
Phoenix dug through one of the cabinets until he found a blanket, one of Trucy’s many props with a diamond pattern to match. He draped it across Apollo’s sleeping form, relieved to see his shaking fade away.
Phoenix stroked the smooth surface of the magatama in his pocket as he returned to the couch. He flipped through the case file in his lap, but his mind was elsewhere. Apollo was an independent adult, with a right to as much privacy as he wanted, and Phoenix would always respect that. There was also no denying that he stirred Phoenix’s paternal instincts just like Trucy did.
Speaking of Trucy, Phoenix glanced up at the sound of the entrance door opening, revealing his daughter. She was still in her school clothes, back early thanks to a half-day. He smiled, pressing a finger to his mouth and gesturing to Apollo, although he wasn’t too concerned about him waking up—he had proven himself to be a pretty heavy sleeper.
Trucy covered her mouth, gingerly setting her backpack on the table and taking soft steps towards the couch. “What’s up with Polly?” she whispered. She leaned down next to Phoenix, giving him a side hug.
“He’s just sleeping off a bug,” Phoenix whispered back, returning the hug. “Don’t worry about making noise if you want to practice your new routine. He’s out like a light.”
Trucy grinned. Like always, her warm smile made Phoenix’s heart full. “I’ll be quiet,” she promised, but the skip in her step betrayed her excitement as she dashed away, rummaging through her various stores of props around the room.
Contentment washed over Phoenix with the knowledge that both his daughter and employee were safe and sound. He intended to keep them that way to the best of his ability. It was his job as a father, after all, and a father was something that they both deserved.