“I think I need to throw up,” Wes groans softly.
Hobbie slowly sits up from where he's been lying beside him on the bad, trying to jostle him as little as possible. “That's okay. Where's your bowl?”
Wes's only reply is a quiet moan as he curls up even tighter around himself. Hobbie casts his eyes around, finds at the foot of the bed the giant mixing bowl he'd procured from the base kitchen just for this eventuality.
He pulls it closer and lays a hand on Wes's shoulder, wincing when he shivers. “Let's get you sat up, okay?”
Wes acknowledges with a tiny nod and allows Hobbie to get hands around his arms and guide him upright. Wes leans all his weight against Hobbie, and Hobbie catches his breath at how weak and ragdollish he feels. The Emdee droid had assured them this illness isn't serious and just needs to be allowed to run its course, but he hates seeing his usually effervescent and strong partner like this.
Hobbie holds him, supports him as much as he can, and slides the bowl into his lap. “There. Do what you need to,” he murmurs, letting his lips rest against the feverish skin of Wes's neck. “It's all right.”
Wes just sits there for long moments, trembling slightly, the bowl clutched in his hands. His head hangs like his neck can't quite hold it up, damp, sweaty curls obscuring his face. Then, suddenly, he lurches forward, gagging and spasming as he empties his stomach into the bowl.
“Shh,” Hobbie murmurs, rubbing Wes's back as he whimpers plaintively, still leaning over the bowl and shivering. “It's all right. You're all right.”
“I hate this,” Wes sniffles, one hand clutching Hobbie's like it's the only thing keeping him steady.
“I know.” Hobbie kisses his neck again, so gentle. “You won't feel like this much longer, I know it. Just try to relax.”
Wes falls silent, only the sounds of his ragged breathing filling the room as he gradually starts to calm down again.
“Do you think you're okay now?” Hobbie asks softly after awhile. “Are you good to lay back down?”
“I think so...”
“Okay.” Hobbie slowly, gently helps him back down to the mattress, aware that the smallest movement could upset his stomach again. He grabs the dirtied bowl just before it slips from Wes's limp hands. “I'm going to empty this out in case you need it again.”
“No–” Wes protests weakly, and Hobbie shushes him.
“Shh, I'll only be a minute, just rest.” He runs a hand over Wes's hair, willing him to relax, then tears himself from his side. It only takes him a few moments to clean the bowl and return with a glass of water; he's eager to not leave Wes alone for longer than he absolutely has to.
Wes's eyes are closed when he comes back, but they flicker open, heavy and sluggish, as Hobbie approaches and kneels by his side of the bed. “Here, have a drink. I think you'll feel a little better.”
Wes does, allowing Hobbie to help him lean up just enough to not make a mess. “Thanks,” he murmurs when he's finished and lays back down as Hobbie sets the glass aside.
“Don't mention it.” Hobbie pulls the blankets up and tucks them around Wes, watching as his eyes slowly flicker closed and open again. He looks so tired. “Sleep,” Hobbie encourages, smoothing his hair again. “You need it to get better.”
Wes sighs, but he's fading fast. “You'll stay with me?” he asks, voice small.
“Of course, dear heart.” Hobbie runs gentle fingers across his burning cheeks, leans in to kiss his forehead. “I'm not going anywhere until you're better.”
Wes mumbles something quiet and satisfied as he nuzzles further into the pillow and lets his eyes close. Hobbie circles the bed and climbs back in behind him, curling an arm around him protectively and rubbing the tenderest of circles into his stomach. “Is this okay?” he murmurs.
“Mmm,” Wes hums back, already half asleep. “Feels good.”
“Sleep now,” Hobbie says again. “I'm here. You'll be okay.”