The day started bad and went downhill from there. By noon, your head felt like it was packed with sand, your stomach twisting every few minutes. The mess hall smelled like reheated stew — and the moment the smell hit you, your body said nope.

You slipped out quietly, trying to act normal. But halfway back to your quarters, the world tilted. You braced yourself on a wall, breath shaky, cold sweat creeping down your back.

That’s when you heard her voice. “Hey. You okay?”

You turned to see Abby, arms crossed, watching you with that mix of concern and irritation she always wore when someone was trying to be tough.

“Fine,” you mumbled. “Just… need some air.”

“‘Just need some air,’” she repeated, stepping closer. “You look like you’re about to faceplant.”

You tried to smile, but it fell apart. “Maybe a little.”

Abby sighed, soft but decisive. “C’mon.”

Before you could argue, she’d slung your arm around her shoulder, guiding you toward her room at the WLF base. You muttered something about not needing help, but she ignored it.

⸻

She settled you on her cot, fetched a damp rag, and crouched in front of you. “You’re burning up,” she said, pressing the cloth to your neck.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, though the world was spinning.

“Liar,” she said, not unkindly. “You’ve got a stomach bug. It’s been going around.”

You groaned softly. “Lucky me.”

Abby gave a faint smirk. “Yeah. Real lucky. You get me as your nurse.”

She kept checking on you — adjusting your blanket, making sure you drank sips of water, rubbing slow circles on your back when you doubled over with nausea. She didn’t flinch or complain; she just stayed there, steady and solid, her warmth cutting through the ache.

Hours passed in quiet fragments. The fever came and went. You drifted in and out, hearing her voice every time you woke — soft, low, steady.

“Hey, you with me?” “Try to breathe through it, okay?” “Good. That’s it.”

When you finally opened your eyes fully again, the light had dimmed. Abby sat beside the cot, elbows on her knees, half-dozing. Her hair had fallen loose, shadowing her face.

“Abby?” you whispered, voice rough.

Her head snapped up instantly. “Hey,” she said, relief flickering in her eyes. “You’re okay.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Didn’t mean to… ruin your day.”

She huffed a laugh. “You didn’t ruin anything. Don’t be dramatic.”

You smiled weakly. “You’ve been here all day?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “Didn’t feel right leaving you alone.”

That quiet honesty hit harder than it should have. You blinked, your fever-fogged brain trying to process it.

“Abby…”

“Don’t,” she said softly, shaking her head. “You don’t have to say anything.”

But you wanted to. “Thank you.”

Her lips twitched into a smile. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Maybe,” you teased.

“Definitely,” she said, brushing your hair back with gentle fingers. “But you’d complain the whole time.”

You laughed — a small, tired sound — and she smiled wider. The tension between you melted into something softer, quieter.

“Try to sleep,” Abby murmured. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

You shifted slightly, and she reached for the blanket, tucking it around you. The movement was careful, tender, and when her hand lingered against your shoulder, you didn’t mind.

“Stay?” you murmured.

Her expression softened. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You drifted off again to the sound of her quiet breathing beside you, the warmth of her hand still resting near yours. The storm outside didn’t matter. Not tonight.