Work Text:
"How's he doing?" Apollo asks, his voice low enough for only M to hear from the bed. He doesn’t want to disturb the quiet of the bedroom anymore than he has to.
Passed out and curled up tight beside M on the bed, Grayson still looks rough from the fever. His fingers are curled around M’s knee, hanging onto him even in sleep. But he doesn’t move when Apollo speaks, so maybe he’s finally getting real rest. Apollo can only hope so. He would’ve just waited for M to come find him, not even broached the bedroom, but it had taken Apollo longer than expected to get back home.
From the bed, M looks up at him. And it takes a careful eye to see the tension in his hands. To tell that the casual way he’s balancing the book is pretense. He was preparing to use it as a weapon, braced beside their house-guest like he thought attack was imminent. And it's a surprise to Apollo, realizing that he startled M. He'd been trying to be careful. To be courteous. But he also fumbled the bag of groceries on the way in. He'd cursed when the bottle of tylenol had escaped off the counter. M should have heard him.
Apollo leans against the doorway. Forcing a nonchalant stance when what he really wants to do is get closer. He wants to brush M’s hair back and shield him with his whole body. But.
He's learning that he needs to gives M the space to roll his shoulders and call off the fight computer. After their trip to Hell especially, M’s reactions have had a short trigger. So Apollo waits. He watches as M’s posture eases, his shoulders lower, and slowly he sinks back into the pillows. The book is placed carefully on his lap. The tremor in his hand gets disguised by motion as M carefully rubs Grayson’s back.
Apollo tries again. "Hey," he says. "How’s your head, babe?"
M gives a small shrug. He says. "He started moving and talking in his sleep."
"A nightmare?"
"Maybe," M says. He stops rubbing circles across Grayson’s shoulders. He stares at the man, and Apollo pushes down a hot, tangled emotion in his chest. It’s something like jealousy, but also want. Possession. It’s something he’s saving for when Grayson is out of the woods to bring up.
M brushes the sweaty mess that is Grayson's hair out of his eyes. He wets his lip and says, "Sorry. Didn't realize I was reacting to it, you know?"
Apollo knows. He's woken up enough times in a similar state. His pulse racing because of M's restless dreams. It’s not even always the ones where M wakes up screaming. The quieter ones have found Apollo tense and waking up using his whole body to shield M’s. From some history they’ve both forgotten.
“Hard not to put the vigilant in vigilante,” Apollo says. “With what we’ve seen.”
It’s not a joke, and not really funny. But M smiles at least.
"Has his fever gone down though?" Apollo asks. He nods toward Grayson.
They'd gotten a distress call from one of the man's birds. 'SOS, Grayson needs to be pulled out of the desert.' They hadn't realized how serious it really was until they'd tracked Grayson down. He'd been checked into a clinic with a prognosis that amounted to severe heat-stroke and dehydration. His skin had been hot to the touch and he was worryingly delirious from fever. But he'd been alive.
Bringing him home had been M's idea. And not one that he was willing to compromise on. The distress on his boyfriend's face had led Apollo to ask. Why? But not until they had Grayson bundled into his arms, and M was calling for the door.
The short version was: back when M and Grayson had been circling each other over Spyral, Midnighter had pulled Grayson out of the desert then too. Apollo sensed that had been a rough road to recovery. He hasn’t asked for the long story yet.
"It's down. I think he'll be aware next time he wakes up." M's thumb brushes Grayson's cheek, and even though his face is full of questions Apollo isn't ready to touch, the gentleness stirs something in the hot tangled mess. Grayson’s a competent guy, Apollo has seen it. He’s not so bad looking either; when he doesn’t need to be nursed back to health.
"Couldn't have guessed that out of the two of us, you'd be the one bringing home strays," Apollo teases.
It gets a laugh out of M. He licks his lower lip, a smile coming helplessly to his face. Apollo's stomach feels full of butterflies at the sight.
"Please, honey. Can we keep him?"