Chapter Text
“Achoo!”
Dar snapped their head up. “What was THAT?” They looked at Pleck. “Is that what your sneezes sound like and I've just never noticed?”
“That wasn't me-” Pleck began to say, when another small, high-pitched “achoo!” interrupted him, followed by a quieter, “ugh”.
The two of them stared at C-53, who already looked like he wanted to escape the ensuing conversation.
“Oh. My. Rodd. C, that was YOU?” Dar stalked towards C-53, looking at him like he was a boot full of gifts on X-Marse morning. In contrast, C-53’s face was locked in a grimace, looking more miserable by the second.
“C-53, that was adorable,” Pleck said.
This was, apparently, not the right thing to say.
C-53’s face went red, as it seemed to do frequently in his new frame. It was fascinating–-a far cry from the completely expressionless toaster, now it was as if you could see the emotions building up in him, like a shaken bottle of soda. And then the cap came off. “SHUT UP! You don't have to point it out! I don't even understand why this frame HAS this function! What is the purpose? Why would someone design this?! It's TERRIBLE!! I hate th…I ha…achoo!”
“Awww, your sneezes are so CUTE!” Dar cooed.
AJ wandered into the room, summoned by the commotion. “Is Robot Man having another mental breakdown?”
“You guys are the worst.” C-53 glared at everyone in turn.
“Love you too, C,” said Dar, sporting a rather shit-eating grin.
“It's not a big deal, C-53, it's just a sneeze. That happens to tellurians ALL the time,” Pleck supplied. His eye widened when C-53’s icy glare fixated on him. He thought he was being helpful.
“I know that. But I'm not a tellurian.”
“Well, sure, a hermann then-”
“I'm not a hermann either!” C-53 said. There was a whine to his voice that Pleck didn't think he had ever heard from him before. He wondered whether that was a result of the new frame or simply the state of its owner. “And it's not just the sneezing. It's everything! This whole body is just terrible. It's even worse than usual.” C-53's glare turned back into pitiful misery.
“Oh man, he totally is having another meltdown.”
“AJ, leave him alone!” Pleck watched, concerned, as C-53’s face began reddening with anger again. It wasn't just that, though; his eyes were wide and--if Pleck wasn't mistaken--shining, threatening tears. He was overwhelmed.
“Should we put him in a drawer like we did with Papa that one time?” AJ stage whispered to Dar.
“Don't you dare,” C-53 seethed.
Pleck looked at Dar pleadingly. “Hey, Dar, why don't you…” he looked at AJ and nodded towards the exit. Measuring by C-53's complexion, he was about to explode again.
Thankfully, Dar took the hint. “Alright buddy,” they turned to AJ and clapped their hands together to draw his attention, “you wanna go get some ice cream? There's that place on the Synergy where you can get aaaall the flavors you want!”
“Oooh! Do you think there's a paste flavor?”
“You know, probably not, but I bet we could make one if we tried!”
“Alright! I accept that challenge. Let's do this!” AJ fist pumped and followed Dar towards the Synergy’s ice cream parlor, his plans of terrorizing C-53 forgotten.
C-53’s glare followed the two of them until they were out of sight, then snapped to Pleck, who was still watching him warily. It faltered, eyes softening slightly, and he looked away. “Thanks,” he mumbled, crossing his arms uncomfortably.
“Yeah, no problem,” Pleck said. He walked closer to C-53, who was still avoiding eye contact. “What did you mean when you said your body was ‘worse than usual’? Are you okay?”
C-53 let out a very put-upon sigh and rolled his eyes. “I'm fine,” he said, “everything is just…breaking down or something. I get tired every time I do anything. And there's no way to stop this… sneezing. Seriously, why would anyone build a droid frame that can't be maintenanced?”
“Huh. That's weird. I wonder if…” Pleck reached his hand out to hold the back of it against C-53's forehead. As soon as he made contact, C-53 flinched and swatted his hand away.
“What are you doing?!”
“I'm checking to see if you have a fever,” Pleck said, “I think you do, too. You're pretty hot.”
C-53's face went red again. Was he still angry? “You're telling me you know that just from touching my head with your hand?” C-53 sounded skeptical. “There's no way that's accurate.”
“Well, I don't know. People on Rangus-VI did that all the time,” Pleck said, self-conscious. He had never really thought about it. “You're probably right. But still, I think you might be sick, C-53.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Pleck winced. If C-53 didn't like having to sleep and eat, he definitely wouldn't be happy about getting sick.
C-53 was silent for a long moment. Pleck was worried he'd broken him. “No,” he finally said, his tone firm and harsh, “your hand thermometer is wrong. I'm not sick.”
Pleck noticed that C-53 was swaying in place slightly. He took a step to stabilize himself, perhaps in response to Pleck’s gaze. “Okay, well the Synergy has a medbay, so maybe we can-”
“I'm not going to the medbay. I'm fine. Just leave it.” C-53 turned sharply away and began walking. “Go have ice cream with the others or something. I have work to do.”
This won't end well, Pleck thought. C-53 hadn't even adjusted to caring for his new organic frame on a good day--the crew had had to remind him to eat several times–-and, well, being in denial of his condition certainly wouldn't help. It was already late evening, and still he was intent on continuing to work, ignoring his fatigue. If he really did have a fever (and, despite C-53’s insistence that the forehead method was wrong, Pleck was pretty sure he did), then he was going to hit a wall pretty soon.
There wasn't much Pleck could do about that, though. His friend was proud and stubborn. He would just have to wait until C-53 accepted that he really was sick. C-53 helped him all the time-–he'd likely be dead many times over if it weren't for him–-and Pleck really wanted to be the one helping, for a change. Ever since his cube had been transferred into the Jeremy body, C-53 had been so unsure of himself, so uncomfortable in his new skin. Pleck wanted to alleviate some of that, make him feel better somehow, but at the moment it was a nonstarter.
He sighed, glancing at the new toaster the COUP had provided them. For some reason, it made his chest feel tight.
Pleck did not go get ice cream with the others. Instead he hung around the ship, mostly screwing around playing Flappy Garfon to pass the time. He was still concerned about C-53, despite-–or perhaps because of–-his protestations that nothing was wrong. So when he heard the sound of deep, labored coughing coming from the main deck, Pleck was quick to follow it to its source.
C-53 rolled his eyes when he spotted him.
“I thought you left to get ice cream,” he said, still coughing out a few words.
“Nope!” Pleck said, popping the ‘p’ with some degree of self-satisfaction. He felt a bit like he had caught C-53 in a trap–-clearly, he had let his guard down, dropping the put-together facade when he thought no one was around to react. It was a rare moment in which Pleck had the upper hand, only slightly spoiled by the sorry state C-53 was already in. “I never said I would. You just told me to,” he said.
“I'm Lead Envoy, you're supposed to listen to me,” said C-53.
“I don't think that's how that works. Besides,” Pleck said, “it's a good thing I didn't, because you're not okay! You need to rest! Especially since you've never been sick before.” He tilted his head. “I don't even know how, like, your immune system works. This could get bad!”
“Is this your way of trying to get me to relax?” His tone was dry and sarcastic, but he stiffened, and his jaw clenched.
“Sorry…” Pleck scratched at the back of his head. “I'm not trying to freak you out. It's just, you know, new territory.”
C-53 hummed, unimpressed.
“Listen, it'll be fine! You rest, and I'll help take care of you, and you'll be better in no time! probably!”
“I'm not so sure I want you taking care of me.”
“Don't worry about it. I've been sick tons of times before,” Pleck said, full of unearned confidence, “I know what I'm doing!”
“Yeah…that’s not the comforting statement you think it is, Pleck.”
“Well, I'm still here, aren't I?”
C-53 put his face in his hands for a second. “You sure are,” he said, muffled. He started rubbing his temples. “Alright, fine. What do you do when you're sick?”
Pleck blinked in surprise. He had intended to keep pestering C-53 until he caved and allowed himself to be helped, but he hadn't really expected that plan to, well, work. At least not so quickly. He wasn't about to waste the opportunity, though. “Well, first of all, you should really lie down. This is a great time to binge watch holovision! It could be cool to see what kinds of shows this galaxy has.” C-53’s unconvinced expression made him nervous. He blurted, “and then, uh, I'll make you soup!”
“...You'll make me soup.” C-53 repeated, deadpan.
“Um, yeah!”
“You're going to make it? Instead of getting some from one of the kitchens on the Synergy, which would be faster and probably better quality?”
“I mean, I cooked for myself all the time back in Zyxx. I'm decent at it. Plus,” he said, “it's better to have something homemade! Y’know, made with love!”
C-53 launched into another coughing fit.
“Oh no. C-53…um, okay, I'll get you a glass of water, and then you need to get some sleep. Go lie down, and I'll be right back!” Pleck hurried away from the still coughing C-53, feeling flustered. His mind raced as he filled a glass from the tap in Bargie’s kitchen. He wasn't really sure why he had said the soup thing. It was like he couldn't stop talking. He didn't actually have much of an idea of how to best take care of someone who was sick, so he had improvised.
When he brought C-53 the glass of water, Pleck was surprised to see him already asleep. He must have really been exhausted, given how much he generally resisted his organic needs. Pleck set the glass gently down on the table next to him and crept away.
He needed to figure out what he was going to do about that soup he promised. He started looking through the barren cabinets of Bargie’s kitchen, waiting for inspiration to strike, before remembering he could get basically any ingredients he wanted from the Synergy. He brainstormed as he walked–-simple was probably best. He didn't want to mess it up. Broth, noodles, vegetables of some kind, spices? What kind of spices would he need? What did they already have, anyway?
He would improvise.