Triple A Adventuring Agency (Part9)

"Oh no, oh no, oh no! What's happening?" Cricket drops to her knees beside him, panic rising in her voice. "Malbec! Are you okay? Did you touch something poisonous? Oh gods, I knew I should've paid more attention in that herbology class!" Her hands flutter nervously, unsure whether to touch him or not. "Um, okay, don't panic. I'm not panicking. You're not panicking. We're all calm here."
She fumbles in her pack, pulling out a waterskin. "Here, drink this. Unless... wait, what if water makes it worse? No, that's silly. Water's good, right?"
Think, Cricket! What would a real adventurer do?
"Should I... should I try to carry you back to town? Or maybe we could, I don't know, make a stretcher out of branches? Oh! I could use my Thunderclap spell to call for help!" She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Just... just please talk to me, tell me what you need, okay? I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you."

I've been so intent on hiding how I feel, I didn't even notice I was getting sick. 
His thoughts felt slow like they were wading in through a bog.
Just like me to confuse love with a fever.
He takes a long slow breath in and lets himself fall back to sit. "It's, okay Cricket, really. Just a mild fever, I think. Th-thank you f-for..." his voice trails off. He was determined to keep his voice calm through chattering teeth. He felt freezing despite knowing he was burning up. He graciously takes the waterskin but hesitates to bring it to his lips, "I, d-don't want to get you s-sick too."

Oh no, he's really sick! What do I do?
She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, concern etched on her face. "You're burning up! Don't worry about me, I've got an immune system of steel. Probably." She helps him sit up, supporting his back. "Here, small sips. Doctor Cricket's orders."
I can't believe I got him sick on our first adventure. Some partner I am.*
"Listen, we need to cool you down. There's a stream nearby. Think you can make it if I help you?" She glances around nervously. "Or I could try to make a potion? I mean, how hard could it be? Mash some leaves, add water, voila! Instant cure, right?"
Please don't die. I can't lose you before we even start our adventure.
"Just... just hold on, okay? I'll figure something out. I promise."

Malbec gives her a nod and worried smile but takes a few sips from the waterskin. The cool water feels good in his throat but at the same time makes his stomach churn. "Stream? S-sure." He nods again and stands up with Cricket's help. He looks her in the eyes as seriously as his half-lidded fever blurred vision would allow, "Not-t your fault. I'll be ffine..." his voice was hoarse as he forced the words out through a sore throat. Eventually, his sluggish mind finishes his sentence. 

Slowly they make their way to the nearby stream. Malbec carefully drops his pack and other equipment, making sure not to damage the chamomile sprout. He looks down at the running water tentatively. His eyes open a bit wider as he gets an idea. He holds up his little book and points at a page. It displays a crude picture and detailed description of a tree. "W-White wwillow. Bark. Should help. I know y-you can find it." Malbec maintains an optimistic tone. He teeters on unsteady feet.

White willow? I can do this. I have to do this.
"White willow, got it! I'm on it!" She helps him sit down by the stream, then scan the area frantically. "Don't move, okay? I'll be right back!" She dashes off, stumbling over roots and muttering to herself. "White bark, droopy leaves... come on, where are you?" After a few minutes of fervent searching she spots it. "Aha! Take that, nature!"

While Cricket was off looking for the willow, Malbec pulled his boots off and dipped his feet in the cool stream. The shock of the sudden fever still made his body ache all over. He'd been sleeping on the streets while looking for work in Sharn, he didn't want Cricket to know how desperate he'd been, but that was probably where he picked up this infection.
"Not exactly how I pictured my second day out, but could be worse I suppose. At least it’s a beautiful day." Leaning back on his hands he looks up at the clouds floating by against the crisp blue sky. He fills a pot with water and gathers what sticks he can without moving to far. 

She scrambles back, breathless, clutching strips of bark. "Okay, now what? Tea? Poultice? Interpretive dance?"
Please let this work. I can't lose him.
"Just... just hang in there, okay? I've got you."

A sudden crash and familiar voice made him smile. "I knew you could do it." His voice was a little froggy as he looked up at her, "Save some bark for an extract, but tea for now, please. Although, I wouldn't mind seeing you dance." His light chuckle becoming a short coughing fit.

Oh thank the gods, he's still conscious!
She rushes to his side, nearly dropping the bark. "Dance? Ha! You'd probably feel worse after seeing my two left feet in action." She fumbles with the pot, hands shaking slightly. "Okay, tea... I can do this. Just... boil water, add bark, don't set anything on fire. Simple, right?" As she works, she glances at him nervously. "So, um, any exciting fever dreams yet? I once hallucinated that I was being chased by a giant turnip. Long story."
Please let this work. I can't lose my first real partner.*
"Hey, Malbec? Thanks for... you know, not running away screaming when you realized how much of a disaster I am."

Well it's a beautiful disaster.
"Every one starts somewhere. Thank you, for not giving up on this h-hopeless country-boy. I guess we both still have a lot to learn." He takes a few slow stuttering breaths, at least it didn't feel like he was getting worse. He watched Cricket prepare the bark tea, trusting in the reliability she'd shown throughout their short time together. "As for fever dreams?" With the sun behind her the feverish haze makes it look like Cricket is softly glowing. "I don't think so, but it does look like I have an angel looking out for me."

An angel? Me? Oh gods, he must be delirious.
She nearly spills the tea, her cheeks flushing. "Angel? Ha! More like a clumsy cherub with broken wings." She hands him the steaming cup, her fingers brushing his. "Careful, it's hot. Unlike my dancing skills, which are decidedly cold."
Focus, Cricket. He needs you.
"So, um, how're you feeling? Any less... feverish? Because if not, I might have to resort to my backup plan of dumping you in the stream." She fidgets with a loose thread on her sleeve. "Not that I'd actually do that. Probably. Unless you asked nicely."

Maybe I am delirious. Did she just say she wants to go for a swim?
"Clumsy? Maybe," says Malbec as he carefully takes the cup allowing the contact between their hands to linger a moment. "Broken? Definitely not." He offers a kind smile in spite of feeling nauseous, "and we'll have to see about the dancing." He looks down at the medicinal tea, "bottoms up." He takes as long of a sip as he can manage. Swallowing it down his face contorts in reaction to the extreme bitterness and astringency. "Gods that's awful, then again most medicine is. Don't worry, I know you prepared it correctly, I was expecting this. It should help, but it might take a little while to bring the fever down." He forces down another gulp. "I don't want to go back to the city yet but we probably should. Sorry, for putting a halt on our adventure."

Oh no, he looks so miserable. I have to do something!
"Hey, don't apologize! Adventures are supposed to have unexpected twists, right? This is just... a really boring plot point. But every story needs those!" She gently pats his shoulder, then pulls back, unsure. "Um, is there anything else I can do? I could... sing a lullaby? Or maybe find some leaves to fan you with?"
Gods, I'm terrible at this. What would a real adventurer do?
"Oh! I know! I could tell you embarrassing stories about my past adventures. Nothing cures a fever like secondhand mortification, right?" She leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally set fire to a nobleman's wig?"

Malbec laughs enough for it to become a short fit of coughing. "Hmm that's a new one. I'd love to hear a story. Although maybe we can put a pin in the singing and fan thing for later." He adds with a cheeky wink.

Oh gods, he winked at me. Is this the fever talking?
She clears her throat, fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. "Right, so... the wig incident. Picture this: me, a fancy party, and way too much wine. I thought I'd impress everyone with a little prestidigitation..." She mimes casting a spell, nearly knocking over the teacup. "Oops! Anyway, next thing I know, Lord Pompous McFancyPants is running around with his head on fire. Who knew silk was so flammable?" Her eyes widen as she realizes what she's saying. "I mean, not that I'd ever do that again! Totally responsible now. Mostly." 

She leans in, lowering her voice. "How's the tea working? Any less feverish? Because I've got plenty more embarrassing stories if you need them."

"I'm sure that would have been a sight to see."
Getting to see you in a party dress anyway.
Malbec's feverish face hides the blush as his mind conjures an image of Cricket in a fancy gown.
"I do think it is helping. Still feel like I've been run over by a very small carriage but I should be well enough for us to start moving again. I'll warn you if it starts getting worse again." He thinks on something she said earlier, "T-then again, the water looks really nice. Maybe we could take a quick dip. I mean, cooling off might d-do me some good. Right?"
This is not just an excuse to get to see you in the water…

A dip in the water? With him? Oh gods...
She stammers, her cheeks flushing. "I, uh... that's... I mean, sure! Cooling off. Good idea. Very... medicinal." She glances at the stream, then back at him, fidgeting with her armor straps. "Just, um, don't look while I... you know. And no laughing at my farmer's tan!"
What if he sees my scars? What if I slip and drown? What if—
"Last one in is a rotten egg!" she blurts out, starting to unlace her boots with shaky hands.

*She agreed!? Lords above what have I done?*
He quickly turns away to give her 'Privacy'. "H-hey, if anyone has a farmer's tan, it'd be the farm-boy here. And no p-peeking, I promise." Not fully expecting this result, Malbec hurriedly unbuckles his armour. With eyes trained firmly on the ground. He pulls off his boots, gloves and shirt, but stops as his fingers hook the waist of his trousers.

Ohgodohgod, oh goddess, am I really doing this?