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“Brennan is looking for you,” I say, lowering myself gently onto the slanted roof of Riorson House, “I thought I might find you out here.”
I reach back behind myself where the chocolate cake is sitting precariously on the masonry and bring the plate into my lap. “Any particular reason we’re brooding up here this morning?” I ask, half teasing.
The quip earns me a small smirk before his eyes meet the plate. I watch his normally honey-hued features, wash of any pigment until his skin takes on an unsavory eggshell color.
“Xaden?” I ask, feeling the all-too-familiar twist of anxiety in my gut.
“Could you—“ he starts, stopping to let out a slow, steadying breath.
“Could you get rid of the cake?” He asks, finishing his thought across our bond.
I pause. “But chocolate cake is your favorite,” I say, more than a little confused.
He nods, crawling his feet up the shingles so his knees are drawn closer to his chest. “It’s—.” I watch him take another long exhale before he continues, “Violence. Please,” he grinds out.
Short of any true disposal options, I hesitate, before sliding the plate down the slope of the roof and watch it fall just beyond the eaves.
“Xaden?,” I ask cautiously, inching towards him. “Are you okay?” I place my hand on his bicep and find heat rolling into my palm. “Are you wielding?”
Xaden briefly shakes his head before quickly pinning his forearm across my chest, holding me in place. The sudden movement is the only warning I get before he tucks his head between his knees and begins projectile vomiting onto the waiting shingles below.
“Woah, okay,” I say, bringing my hand to his back. “You’re okay.” I move his protective arm down to his side. “Relax your arm. I’m okay. Let’s focus on you for a second.”
I reach for Tairn’s door inside the Archives. Can you ask Chradh to find Garrick and ask him to come up here please?
The next time Xaden throws up, his walls fall ever so slightly and I feel a prickling heat crawl across my skin alongside cresting nausea. I take a few slow breaths to steady my stomach and bring my attention back to rubbing small, soothing circles across his lower back as he rides out the worst of it.
He folds his arms across his knees and rests his forehead across his stacked wrists. He lurches forward again, this time only bringing up a small puddle of, what I imagine, was breakfast.
“Deep breaths,” I soothe, “it’s almost over.”
I watch the flight leathers across his upper back grow taut, as he works to bring a shaky, cautious breath in through his nose.
After a few more measured breaths, our shared nausea is brought down to a low simmer and instead replaced with a deep ache.
“Take your time,” I whisper, rubbing my hand up and down his back.
“Violet?” Garrick calls, from the bottom of the staircase leading to the roof.
“We’re out here Garrick,” I yell.
“You asked for Garrick?” Xaden gripes.
“We need to get off this roof and get you into bed. Do you want to cross your fingers and hope we make it across on my muscle alone or your weakened signet? Or would you like Garrick to help me? Let’s not forget that you are the one that came out here, while feeling sick.
Xaden grumbles but doesn't argue.
“Everything okay?” Garrick asks, at the top of the staircase.
“No; Xaden’s sick,” I reply, “I need help getting him off the roof.”
Garrick climbs from the top of the staircase onto the seam of the roof, planting a steady foot on either side of the ridge.
“Just a heads up,” I say, rubbing Xaden’s low back again, “he did throw up.”
Xaden buries his face in the crook of his elbow. “I’m never going to live this down.”
Garrick’s nose scrunches but he continues, otherwise unphased when he meets us in the middle. “Damn Xaden,” he jests, crouching down on the opposite side of him, “godspeed to whoever is on the lower floors.”
“Violet?,” Garrick asks, scanning my face, “are you sick too? You look a little green.”
I quickly shake my head, trying to signal to Garrick to drop it before Xaden has time to take notice. Xaden’s onyx eyes snap up at mine, taking in the pallor of my skin. “Love, are you sick?” he asks, bringing the side of my face into his fevered hand.
“No,” I say, gently, “but you are…”
He briefly searches my face before his eyes grow wide. “Fuck, Violet. Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks, bewildered, before firmly severing the connection between us.
Gods bless Garrick who just snorts. “Dude, what was she supposed to do?” He raises his voice an octave, in imitation of my own: “Hey babe, I know you’re in the middle of puking your ever loving guts out but could you maybe shield a little bit better?”
I fold my lips over my teeth, doing my best to smother the laugh that bubbles up in my chest.
“Nobody asked you,” Xaden snipped, glaring at his best friend — though it lacked its usual bite.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, resting my hand on top of his, “you’re sick. Besides, I could’ve shut you out, if it got too bad.” I bring my hand up and brush the nape of his neck, “Now will you let us get you off this roof so I can take care of you?”
I watch Xaden set his jaw and roll his shoulders back, clearly preparing to challenge the idea of him needing any kind of assistance.
“Let me rephrase,” I say, interrupting any protest he may have, “Garrick will be helping you off this roof and you will be going back to our room so I can take care of you. The only thing I need to hear from you is if you feel ready to move now or if you need a minute?”
I watch Xaden wrestle with the argument on his tongue before he is forced to turn around and revisit more of his breakfast.
Garrick clapped a hand on Xaden’s upper back. “Apparently he needs a minute,”