2019-09-29 - Veil Flu Visitor

Rebecca has called Itzhak repeatedly for a few days. She still hasn't seen him face to face since the exorcism, and she's been worried sick, but respected his privacy. Today, however, she called Stephanie after looking up her number, and checked to see if he was all right. She learned he was brought to the hospital with that terrible flu that is going around.

Rebecca shows up to visit, and she's taken her own precautions. She has one of those paper hospital masks, a paper gown, and nitrile gloves on. She also smells like she dipped herself in Lysol or hand sanitizer, maybe both. If anyone cannot afford to get sick, it's her. She knocks at the door to his room, carrying a gift bag. "Itzhak?" she asks quietly.

Itzhak, unsurprisingly, looks absolutely terrible. He's the same color as the grubby pale plastic of the hospital machines. Lying in the hospital bed, he's hooked up to an IV and a blood pressure cuff. Worst of all, he's not doing anything. He's still and limp. His phone lies on the bedside tray, playing 'Violin Sonata in A Major', but that's the only activity in the room, aside from the hum of the machines.

It takes him a moment before he opens his eyes. Takes him another moment until he recognizes Bex, and stirs, making an unhappy noise. "Aw, Bex," he murmurs, voice papery dry. "You don't gotta be here."

"Why didn't you tell me you were in here?" Rebecca asks, the hurt in her voice audible through the paper mask. She moves to set the gift bag on the bedside table, pulling a chair up to sit beside him. "I've been worried sick." Anger flashes in her blue eyes, the same anger they've all been feeling since they flushed Gohl out of Addington. But it subsides quickly. She has too much control over it to let it boil over. "What did the doctors say?"

Itzhak's mouth flinches. He turns his face away from Bex, retreating. "M'sorry. Didn't want you to see me like this. Said they were gonna release me today but..." he lifts one hand a little, lets it drop. "Now they say tomorrow. Severe..." he loses track of what he was saying, gaze wandering off. "...dehydration. Something about a storm. Don't remember. M'sorry," he repeats, helplessly.

Rebecca's eyes narrow as she moves to clasp his hand. Then she pauses to strip off the glove on it. She has lots of hand sanitizer, she'll be fine. She takes his hand gently. "A lot of people are down with it. It's really bad. Are Stephanie and the kids and your friends all right?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah. She came by. Everyone got flu shots though mostly it's too early for..." Itzhak runs out of breath, has to breathe shallow for a moment. "Too early for most people to get 'em. She called 911." He twines his fingers through Bex's, with hardly any strength to his usual grip. "You shouldn't," he murmurs, bloodshot eyes on her face. "Gonna get infected. This is about..." he has to breathe again. "...what we did to Gohl."

Rebecca shakes her head in the negative. "No, the flu isn't. People who have nothing to do with Gohl or the exorcism or funeral are down with it. And I've taken precautions. But I think there is something Gohl has done to us. I've been...angry. Very angry over stupid little things." Not that you would know it looking at her, as composed as she always is.

Itzhak hitches his eyebrows. "That's me all the time," he murmurs, and chuckles raspily. His thumb rubs over Bex's knuckles. He doesn't argue with her--another sign of how low he is--just pets her hand. "I should have called. Forgive me?"

Rebecca gives him a worried look. Her smile is lost behind the mask. "Forgiven. I don't think there are many things I couldn't forgive you, Itzhak." She lets out a breath and reaches her other hand for the gift bag. "I brought you some things I thought you might need while you were in here." She begins setting things out on the bed.

There is hand sanitizer, earplugs, an eyemask, a lavender vanilla glade plugin that smells like her shampoo and body wash, pajama pants and a Reinhardt tee shirt, slippers, and a box from the Jewish bakery containing some Rugelach and hamantaschen. And one from Patisserie Vydal containing chocolate croissant.

Itzhak smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and squeezes Bex with a little more strength.

He says, "Oh," in real gratitude when he sees the earplugs. Grins at the Reinhardt shirt. "Them pins you gave me. Got me through. 'There is still more to my tale.'" He eyes the pastry boxes with a faint edge of hunger. "They said if I can eat, I oughta. Lost eight pounds already." He really does look thinner, and he didn't have that much to lose to start out with. "Bex, thanks..." Itzhak hesitates, wanting to call her one of the sweet lover's names that come to his tongue. He looks up at her, and his expression will have to suffice.

"You definitely need to eat. You'll need your strength when you get out of here. We still have a funeral to attend. And I miss my tank," Rebecca says softly. She gets up to work him out of the gown so she can help him get the shirt and pants on calling in the nurse to navigate the IV for it. The slippers are really just thermal socks with rubberized treads on the bottom, non slip and warm. "I was always freezing in here after Kelly. I don't want you to be cold," she insists, sitting on the edge of the bed when the nurse is gone again.

Itzhak hates this. He practically glows with how much he hates this, hates that his vitality and physical strength is drained away, that he needs help with something so simple and so intimate. Hates most of all that Rebecca is here seeing him this way. So much for the sexy mysterious bad boy thing. Nobody is a badass with the flu. He's pretty sure she won't be interested in him after this. Oh well. Life sucks.

He doesn't lay back down, instead sits up with one long leg tucked in. Looking down at Reinhardt's icon on his shirt, he's grinning a little in that lopsided way. "Reinhardt, at your service."

Friends is still good, right? Right.

Itzhak opens one of the boxes, gets out an apricot hamantashen and cautiously nibbles at it. Then he groans happily. "Oh man. It's so good."

When she's sure the nurse is gone, Rebecca slides into his bed with him and curls up along his lanky form. "I've missed you." She's gotten used to sleeping at least near him, if not beside him. His current state of illness doesn't seem to have dulled her attraction or affection for him. "Is there anything you need for me to do for you while you're stuck in here? At your shop or for Stephanie?" she asks, resting her head under his chin.

Itzhak tenses up, not sure what to do. She's going to get infected, snuggling him like this! On the other hand, oy gevalt, it's so good to be wearing clothes instead of that humiliating tent, and it's even better to have Bex curling up alongside him. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, resists the urge to kiss her hair. She's soft and delicate next to him, warm, and crinkly from her own paper gown. Smells wonderful, like always.

"Yeah, if you'd check on her. And would you check on..." pause for breath, "...Isolde and Alexander?" Carefully he takes tiny bites from the cookie. "They don't know how to cook. Isolde was getting sick the last time I saw her. ...Which is how I got infected," he adds, rolling his eyes at himself. August told him to be careful, so what did he go and do? Yeah. That.

His heartbeat is strong under Bex's ear, if faster than normal. He's warm but not too warm. The doctor has loaded him up with anti nausea meds and Tylenol and steroids.

"I'll bring them something to eat. Do you have pets that need looking after?" Rebecca asks quietly, just soaking in his presence. She hasn't been sleeping well, but she's managed to avoid the flu. She is agitated and frustrated and angry all the time and it has left her restless and weary.

"How many days has it been?" Itzhak tries to count, finds he can't. He has the schedule on his phone, but he can't be bothered to reach for it. "If you'd make sure Lemondrop and Iris have fresh water..." pause, "...that'd be great. Otherwise they'll be fine... until I'm out."

He's made it through half the hamantashen and that seems like just about enough. He sets it down, settles in, cuddling Rebecca to him with both arms now, careful with the IV line. "Give ya the keys. In a bit." Right now it's way too nice to hold her. Itzhak gives in, nuzzles her hair, inhaling her scent. "Hi," he murmurs. "Missed ya too."

Lemondrop and Iris, right. Just water? What just needs water for a few days? Cats maybe with their own feeder? "Ok where are Lemondrop and Iris. I'll check on them for you," she murmurs, nestling in comfortably. "You'll be out of here soon. I'm staying with Hyacinth Addington for the moment."

Itzhak blinks. "I guess I never told you about them. They're my..." breathe, "...reptiles. Lemondrop is a python. Big one. She lives...at the shop. Iris is a skink, a big lizard. She lives...at..." he has to pause to pant for a moment, his heartbeat speeding up a little. "Fuck, sorry. She's at my place. Both of 'em are sweethearts, you have nothing to worry about with 'em. ...Hyacinth, huh? She's..." now his pause isn't for breath, but for words. Itzhak decides on, "a hell of a lady."

"Do you need some oxygen?" Rebecca asks in concern, ready to press the call button for the nurse for him at a moment's notice. "A...snake? And a lizard. Ok well, I will do my best." She hasn't really been in the presence of a snake in real life. She has no idea how she'll react. But for him, she'll try. Or hire someone to do it for her.

The O2 sensor latched on Itzhak's index finger goes off just after Rebecca asks. He grimaces. "Nurse'll come in," he says, to see if she wants to get up and not get caught being adorable with him. "Yeah, they're...big. Lemka's fifteen, sixteen feet. If you can't...she'll...be okay."

There is a moment where Rebecca ponders getting up and not being seen like this. But then she decides to say fuck it. She misses him dammit. "Ok. I'll still try though. She probably misses you." Like she does. Dawwww.

The nurse comes bustling back in, and smiles big. "Aww, look at you two! Talking too much, hmm?" She jokingly scolds Itzhak as she prepares the oxygen cannula.

Itzhak blushes. "Feh," he grumbles. He submits to her putting the straps of the cannula over his head, taking a hand off Bex so he can adjust it. Then he sighs as the high-oxygen mix starts flowing. The O2 sensor ticks up from the high 70s into the low 90s.

"That's better. You should have warned me your girlfriend was coming to visit, I'd have set you up ahead of time." The nurse notes down various numbers on Itzhak's chart. "Don't get too frisky now!" And she bustles on out, leaving Itzhak red in the face.

Rebecca opens her mouth to protest the use of the G word, but she swallows it down, blushing hotly. Oh look, it's her turn to blush for a change. When she gets that under control, she murmurs. "Does that feel better?", about the oxygen, not the terminology.

Itzhak can't figure out what to say about the G word. Nothing is correct! Especially as Rebecca is blushing in his arms. He hasn't made her blush like that with anything else he's done to her. Let's just pretend it didn't happen. That sounds like a great plan.

He nods, resettles his arms around her. "Better," he murmurs, as the mask hisses. "They said something about my lungs making too many antibodies. I forget." Now he can't put his nose back in Rebecca's hair, but oh well. "Hey. S'great to see you."

"I'm just glad you're going to be all right. Life is infinitely more boring without you in it, Itzhak," Rebecca says with a small chuckle, running over the awkward moment like a steamroller.

Itzhak laughs along with her, quiet and rusty. "Yeah?" Long fingers find Rebecca's cheek, stroke her soft skin. "I'm a troublemaker, I know." Resting his head against hers, he cuddles her close. "Might be about to fall asleep," he murmurs.

"Go to sleep. I'll sneak out when you're resting," Rebecca assures him with a small smile. And she does. She waits until he is out before she slips away once more, washing her hands thoroughly after.

Now it's Rebecca who watches over Itzhak as he dozes off. In not too long at all, he's gone limp and heavy, sliding deep into sleep. He doesn't stir when she slips from his arms.