((Hi, this one is long, might wanna reread everything to refresh your memory. Sorry it's been literally three years :"3 i didnt know anyone was still interested in this one until a few days ago))

"Hey Paul?"

The man in question hummed softly, turning to face Patryck. The Polish man was facing the closet still, but rather than getting dressed, he was perfectly motionless, his hand on his hanging coat. He sighed, thumbing the imprints on his name tag.

"...Mom thinks I should come home much sooner than I planned."

Paul sat up straighter at that. "How much are we talking?"

"She's saying as soon as possible, but I managed to push her back to next week."

Paul glanced at Clara's bed, thankful that she was still sound asleep. He was honestly surprised that the gasp he let out didn't wake her up.

"Why's she being so pushy?" Sure, Paul was more than happy to get his family out of the base, but Patryck's agreement with Tord stressed that he would be allowed to leave at seven months, no earlier. He was barely hitting six, but getting Tord to budge seemed like an impossible feat.

...Especially since Paul was still too nervous about getting permission to tag along yet. It felt like such a stupid problem to have, asking permission to go with his family, but this was a problem the Red Army hadn't had before.

Patryck finally let go of the coat, turning to face Paul with his arms tightly crossed. "I was on the phone with her, and I joked that holding it to my cheek hurt because of..." He broke out into mumbles, not wanting to remind himself of his cheek. "...She freaked out on me. She wants me out of here and away from Tord."

Paul agreed with her, but he knew he couldn't voice it. Patryck loved this job more than anything, and probably saw all of this this as an overreaction.

"She's acting like he's gonna break a table over my head..." Pat mumbled, turning back to his coat and shimmying it off the hanger. "I mean, he's on good terms with Clara, he's calming down, the threat is gone."

"But the cut is still there."

Patryck finished putting on his coat in silence, not bothering to face Paul as he did so. He smoothed the front of it before his hands slowed, falling to his sides with a small shift of fabric.

"Paul, I'm staying here. Tord needs us."

"Why can't we just go?" Paul blurted, his face tensing. He groaned, dropping his hands to his lap. "It's gonna be impossible juggling all of this bullshit once the baby gets here, I hate seeing you get hurt, and I'm stressing over your safety all the time! Why can't we just leave?"

Patryck turned around, running a hand through his hair as he let a weak laugh escape. "You're freaking out over nothing. It's only one more month, then we're with my mother." He paused, adjusting his coat nervously. "I'm not leaving when she wants me to, I'm leaving when I want to."

"Are you sure we can't haggle with Tord? Next week is only...three weeks before the original plan."

Patryck shook his head. "We're working on a very big project right now, I can't leave yet, even if I wanted to."

"Well...what is it?"

"Tord wanted to revisit an old experiment, but I-..." He paused, his voice lowering. "I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"Pat, I'm not gonna tell anybody, who do you think I am?"

Patryck huffed shortly, turning on his heel and slowly walking towards Clara's bed.

"It's not that I don't trust you...It's just that..." His words slowed, then stopped. "I gave Tord my word." He reached down to Clara, gently shaking her shoulder. "Come on, baby. Time to get ready for the day."

Their daughter groaned, her face scrunching as she blindly groped for the covers before dragging them over her head.

Paul watched quietly as Patryck lifted their daughter out of the blankets, squirming and whining, holding her close to his body as she rubbed her eyes. He glanced back to Paul.

"I'll be coming back pretty soon, anyway. He said I get today off after we meet in his office."

"I didn't hear about this," Paul mumbled, "What's the occasion?"

"He actually hasn't told me yet, so...my guess is the lab might be too dangerous today." Paul nodded, watching Patryck hold their daughter a little closer, petting her hair as she began to finally wake up. "Just make sure she gets breakfast, and I'll be back before you know it." Patryck crossed the room, gently placing Clara into Paul's arms. His arms stayed under her for a moment as he gave Paul a quick kiss on the lips. He smiled warmly, standing up straight with a short sigh.

"See ya in a bit." Paul smiled, offering a small wave as Patryck left the room. His eyes lingered on the door for a moment after it was closed, then his focus was on Clara, who had her chubby arms crossed and her face pressed into his turtleneck. "So, baby, what do you wanna eat?"

She shrugged, her eyes barely able to stay open. Paul knew that if he stopped talking, she could probably drift right off again.

"I heard from Lars that today is pancake day."

Her closest eye peeked open, staring up at him as it lit up with interest. "Pancakes?"

"Yeah, but...do you think we can get them and come back here, baby?" Paul was in no mood for the mess hall, and he definitely didn't want to miss Patryck when he came back. "I'll let you eat them in bed if you're careful with the syrup."

She nodded quickly, squirming impatiently in his arms.

"Hold on, hold on! We have to get you dressed first!" As cute as Paul thought she was in her little nightgown, Patryck wouldn't be too happy if he left her in it. Thankfully, she wasn't against changing, and picked white polka dot leggings and a pink dalmatian shirt - her favorite outfit.

The mess hall was always crowded during the designated meal times, but today it absolutely reeked of syrup. Just by walking through the doors, Paul already felt sticky. Clara didn't seem to mind, though, happily socializing with anyone within earshot as Paul carried her to the lunch line.

Even as they walked back to their quarters with their food, Paul's mind was racing, screaming theories about Patryck's work at him. Why couldn't he tell Paul about it? Why was he getting the day off, would he be hurt if he didn't?

He wanted to trust Tord, he truly did, but the past three days were dragging up old buried memories. The way Tord slapped him during Clara's delivery, the way he held Paul's arm so hard he could've broken his wrist. Sure, Tord's softened over the years, but if he was willing to treat Paul that way, he was terrified of how Pat was being treated.

Despite his own growing fears, the mess hall pancakes were actually good for a change. They were normally a salty and cheap mix of Bisquik and water, but someone must've chewed the cook's ear off for a change in the menu. Clara kept her syrup on her plate and off the sheets, and even washed her hands so she wouldn't stick to everything.

"O-Oh...you're still here." A voice piped up, making both father and daughter look up. Patryck smiled softly at them, gripping the door frame as he took a step inside. His steps were light, his legs seeming to shiver as he walked to Clara's unoccupied bed and steadily sat down. "I really thought you would be off to work by now."

Paul watched with a trained eye as Patryck rested his elbows on his knees, sighing roughly.

"I didn't have any work orders come in yet."

"That's great! I-...Hold on..." Patryck trailed off into a mumble, his head dropping lower until he was staring at the floor.

"Pat?"

"Bucket-" he choked out before covering his mouth, his wide gaze flying to meet Paul's. Paul grabbed the waste basket near his bed, throwing it to Patryck, who immediately began to vomit into it, gripping the sides like a vice. Thankfully, his hair draped over the front of the bin, censoring the vomit and leaving only the sound to gross Paul out.

"Papa?" Clara asked, her normally soft tone tensed. Paul put his arms around her, keeping her in place.

"Give him a minute, baby, he's okay."

By the time Patryck was finished, Paul wasn't even sure if he had any organs left in him. His fingers were trembling against the plastic, his breath weak and gasping.

He lifted his head, wiped his mouth, and closed his eyes tensely.

"...Do you feel any better?"

He shook his head, setting the bin on the floor with an awkward laugh. "I-...I haven't done that in a while."

"Does anything hurt? What are you feeling?"

He shook his head again. "I'm fine, I'm just...god, I feel like I'm burning up. Paul, I didn't feel like this this morning."

"I know you didn't, you wouldn't have kissed me if you felt like this." Paul set Clara on the bed, hurrying over to his boyfriend in a shitty attempt to seem level headed. He put the back of his hand to Patryck's damp forehead, only to find that what Pat had said was true. "God, you are burning up..." he took his hand away, pulling at the flaps of Patryck's jacket. "Take this off, I'll get you a t shirt."

Patryck nodded, doing as he was told and shrugging off the jacket. He grabbed the bottom of his turtleneck, hesitating. "Clara, heads up, I'm changing."

"Ewwwwwww," the little girl laughed, burying her face in Paul's pillow.

"She's seen you without a shirt before." Paul mumbled, carefully draping a shirt over his boyfriend's knee.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean she enjoys it."

Once Paul had the Polish man dressed down and Clara had the green light to look up, Paul sat down next to him, his hands folded in his lap.

"So...what happened at your meeting?"

"I told you that I can't talk about it, Paul." He mumbled, wiping his forehead on his arm. "Me being sick isn't gonna change that."

"...Can you at least summarize?"

"No, Paul."

"Please? I'll rub your back, I'll do whatever you want!"

"I-..." Patryck paused - Paul knew how enticing a massage was this far into the pregnancy. "...Fine, but I'm only giving a summary, I'm not going into detail no matter how much you ask."

"Don't worry, I won't." On the outside, at least. He would probably be overthinking whatever Patryck said for the rest of the day.

"Well, we chatted about mundane things for a while before he said I would need a few mandatory preventatives for the experiment, and he said everyone involved had to get them. He let Winston give it to me, and sent me on my way."

Paul nodded, picking at his own fingers in thought. "So what happened after?"

"I had breakfast with Jan and Lars, but my stomach got really upset halfway through, so I came back here."

"Do you think it's food poisoning?"

"That's what my vote's on. The pancakes were different, they could've messed with me." Patryck's hands rested idly on the sides of his stomach, and he kept his gaze on the floor. "God, I still feel so gross."

"Well, since I haven't gotten any work orders yet, I'll stay with you." Paul smiled warmly as Patryck put his head on his shoulder, sighing softly. "Clara, do you wanna help papa feel better?"

Clara looked up from whatever mess she was making out of boredom and nodded excitedly.

"You two are dorks." Patryck smiled softly, rolling his eyes.

"That's Doctor Dorks to you, sir. Now lay down and let us tuck you in, doctor's orders!"

"Okay, okay, but one more thing," Patryck paused as he laid down, laughing lightly as Paul pulled the covers up to his chin. "I have to meet Tord again later."

"...Should I comm him and let him know you're not up for it?"

"No," Patryck said without hesitation, following Clara with his eyes as she walked over to the bed. "It's in a few hours, I'll feel better by then."

"Are you sure?"

"Paul." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "Stop asking questions and trust me. I wouldn't do it if I wasn't sure."

Paul's worry only grew as the hours slipped by, and the food poisoning only seemed to get worse. Patryck had thrown up until he was merely gagging, and his body never seemed to cool down. His face paled from its usual lively tan, and he seemed to be getting more exhausted with each passing minute.

Regardless, he plastered on a smile for Clara so she wouldn't worry.

"Pat, I don't think this is food poisoning..." Paul admitted as he pet over his boyfriend's hair. He was staring away from Paul, watching Clara as she drew the three of them on a sheet of paper - she drew Pat as a ridiculous fat circle and he couldn't stop laughing at it, no matter how much it ached him. "Can I call Winston to come check you out?"

Patryck was silent for a long while after that, his eyes on Clara and his body still. "...What time is it?"

"Three. He'll probably be here in five minutes if I call him now."

"Three?" Patryck repeated, glancing up at Paul. "...He can come by after, Tord's gonna kill me if I miss his meeting."

"When is it?"

"Soon," was all he mumbled, forcing himself to sit up. The motion was as tense as his face, but after a moment he was rigidly sitting up in the cot. "Can you grab my clothes?"

"Babe, I'm not letting you go like this." Paul knew when he had to put his foot down, especially with Patryck's current state. Hell, he would work himself into the ground if he could. "Lay back down. I'll call Tord."

Patryck stayed still, glancing at the door before meeting Paul's eyes again. "Would it make you feel better if you walked me to his office?"

"I mean..." Paul paused, weighing the options. "God, I don't know." It did give him some security to know Pat would make it safely, but at the same time, he wanted to keep his boyfriend in one place until he felt better.

"Clara, baby, can you use your puppy dog eyes on your father for me?"

The walk to Tord's office was slow and careful, Patryck resting most of his weight on his boyfriend. His breathing was laden with hitches, but his will was as strong as ever. His fighting spirit was gonna kill him one day. They left Lars to watch over Clara - since he was her favorite soldier, he could probably calm her down after seeing Pat struggle to leave the room.

Each step felt weighted, and the pain in Patryck's weak grunts was doing nothing to convince Paul that this was the right choice.

"Thank you," He smiled as he grabbed at the office door knob with delicate fingers. "I'll only be a minute."

"I'll be here." Paul soothed, only waiting until after Patryck walked in to fully freak out. He just let his sick, exhausted partner shamble into a meeting with the boss, that had to be a crime. He mentally kicked himself for letting himself fall for the puppy dog eyes.

"You don't look well." Paul heard Tord say through the door. The soldier rushed to get closer, desperate to hear some sort of explanation for the secrecy. "Sit down, tell me what's going on."

"But sir, the meeting?" Patryck mumbled, his voice loud enough that Paul could tell he was leaning against the door for support.

"It can wait a minute or two," Faint footsteps, the slide of fabric against the door. "There, just walk with me, sit down..." After a moment, the odd squeak of Tord's leather chair hit the air, then a soft sigh of relief.

Silence.

A faint, timid hiccup.

"I'm sorry you had to see me this way, sir." Patryck's voice wavered with embarrassment. "I never get sick on the job, and I just-..."

"No, no, don't apologize." Tord soothed, making Paul raise an eyebrow. "Everyone has off days, and you're no god, Duncalfe." He laughed lightly after that, Patryck's voice never joining him. "But tell me, when did this start? You seemed fine this morning."

"After breakfast," Pat replied plainly. "Maybe a half hour after I left your office, it hit me. I've never had food poisoning before this, but Paul's been taking care of me."

"He's the best person for the job," Tord agreed, with a shuffle of papers that Paul desperately wanted to see. "I hope your first time with food poisoning isn't too bad, though. I've seen a soldier crap their pants."

"Oh god, no, none of that." Patryck barely laughed, "I haven't been able to keep anything down though, and my fever won't break."

"And you could hardly stand...." Tord mumbled. Paul wanted to grab him and shake him for dragging out the meeting with symptomatic small talk. "You can't even keep down liquid?"

"No, nothing sir."

"And you've probably had that fever since five AM." They were both silent for a moment after that. When Tord spoke again, it was soft and unsure, barely audible through the door. "...I think this might be my fault."

Paul's heart skipped a beat, his fingers scraping across the concrete floor. What the hell was he talking about?

"Yh-...." Patryck tripped over his words, exhausted. "Your fault...? What do you mean, sir?"

"So, you already know how sterile I need the lab for this experiment, right?" A short pause. "I had Winston and the other lab boys make me that treatment, mainly for worker safety - we've tested it for weeks beforehand on rats, all with perfect results after an hour or so of mild fevers, so I thought it would be fine." His voice lowered into a dejected sigh. "I didn't think at all to test on pregnant rodents....Fuck, it completely slipped my mind, you're the only one on my team in this condition."

Patryck was silent for a long time after that. So long, that Paul almost thought he dropped dead from shock. He balled his uniform under his fists, using every living fiber to restrain himself from running into the office.

"What's happening to me?" Patryck asked, a sudden spark of life to his voice, albeit wavering with fear. Tord stayed silent. A weak shove of furniture, no doubt Patryck standing up. "Tord, my baby! What did you do to my body?!"

"I don't know!" he spat, "That's the problem, I don't know what's happening!"

Paul couldn't take it anymore, rushing to stand before throwing the door open. "That's enough!" He barked, making Tord flinch. Patryck was gripping the front of the desk with one hand, his stomach with the other.

"Paul! Paul, I'm sorry." The Norwegian immediately blurted, his hands raised defensively. "It's all on me, I'll pay for the damages."

"Damages?" Paul echoed with a scoff. "Tord, this isn't property damage, this is our son!"

"I know, b-"

Paul didn't want to hear it. "I can't have you hurting him like this, it's insane! I-..." he tensed, testing the words in his mind before daring to speak them. "I think we should leave for Poland now, before you fuck us up even more."

"Paul..." Patryck whimpered, easily ignored by the two bickering men.

"Now?" Tord scoffed. "Paul, take some time to hear me out, I just-"

"No! With all due respect, I'm not budging, sir!"

"Soldier, you have to listen to me, that's an order."

"I really don't, Tord, you've done enough!"

"Paul-!" Patryck called again, a horrible shivering gasp to his voice. That was enough to get Paul rushing to his side, gripping him by the shoulders.

Fuck Tord, all that mattered right now was Pat.

"I'm here, I'm here," Paul soothed with trembling hands. "What's wrong, angel?"

His gaze stayed locked on Tord's desk, not focusing on any particular detail as his body weakly shook. "I don't...." He let out a drawn out groan of pain before his body dipped forward limply, his forehead almost slamming into the desk. Paul's grip tightened before that could happen, the Polish man suddenly feeling ten times heavier, his full weight resting in his boyfriend's arms as he let out a pitiful, wavering breath. Paul's heart seemed to stop the second the noise came out. A cry of panic leapt from Paul's throat as he held Pat up, he couldn't help it.

"He's unconscious," The words came so quick that they nearly crashed into one another, pulling a fearful cry out with them. "Tord, call someone!"

Tord was frozen behind his desk, staring in shock at the scene before him. His eyes hurriedly flitted between the limp soldier and the panicking one, but his body refused to cooperate.

"Fuck-....Fuck! What did I do?!"

"Call Winston!"

Tord nodded feverishly, fumbling with his communicator, his worried gaze staying on Pat as he turned it on. His voice didn't hold its usual authority, his nerves impossible to contain. Paul was beginning to realize that this was truly a mistake - Tord never broke like this, not in eleven years.

"Th-...This is Red Leader. Medical and surgical wing, we need assistance! Doctor Winston Quell, do you copy?"

Paul carefully lowered Pat to the floor, brushing his hair away from his face with light fingers.

"I copy, what do you need, sir?"

"I need you to get ready to see Patryck Duncalfe, it's extremely urgent."

The static on the other line took over, burning Paul's ears and making him force his focus back to his unconscious partner.

It's been years since he passed out like this, but Paul still remembered it like the back of his hand. The closet, the bloodied floor, the way Patryck looked dwarfed on a medbay cot. That day ended happy, however, with Clara and Pat safe and sound. This....

The static cut out, Winston's voice returning with a nervous breath.

"Fuck, I apologize for the delay, I told the nurses to prepare. What are we expecting to see?"

Tord nodded to himself, licking over dry lips. "I think the treatment turned on him. He's weak, completely unconscious. Get a drip and flush ready."

"Any bleeding?"

That sent Paul into a panic as reality hit him. Tord, whether he meant to or not, could've easily just killed their son. Hell, he could've killed Pat too.

He whimpered, holding back his early grief as he held the side of Patryck's face, lightly petting his cheek with his thumb. His face was relaxed and pale, a stark contrast to his tan and lively self. Tord continued to answer questions for Winston, not that Paul was listening.

"You're gonna be okay," he whispered, more to himself than to Pat. "You and Daniel are gonna make it, and we're gonna take Clara and leave...You're gonna be alright."

"Thank you so much, Winston." Tord spoke quickly before turning the comm off and turning to Paul, relaying what he was told. "Winston said we could be facing kidney failure, but that's the worst case scenario. He's sending a stretcher here." He wrung his hands together, fidgeting. "We're not far from the office, it shouldn't be long."

Paul shook his head, looking down at Pat with tears welling, threatening to breach his lashes. "You did this..." He whispered, the first tear escaping and hitting Patryck's forehead.

"Paul," Tord sighed, his own voice wavering. "You know I didn't mea-"

"No, Tord, you did this!" Paul nearly screamed, his body beginning to burn from the pent up rage, finally getting a chance to reveal itself. "He trusted you with everything he had, and you've worked him to death! Nineteen hour days, barely a break...And for what? Wh-...." Paul looked away, trying to calm himself down. The screaming stopped, but the anger was still blazing through his blood. "What experiment is worth more than my family? Huh, Tord? Was it worth it?"

Tord opened his mouth to respond, but a hurried knock on the door cut him off.
"Medbay!"

"Come in." Paul called back without hesitation, his voice breaking. He sighed, wiping his eyes and looking down at Pat again.

His face was...wet. Not with the pained sweat from before, not with blood, not with anything of his own. Paul's tears had poured out in droves, leaving a light dew on his features that made him look as if he was merely sleeping in the rain. Paul's tears rolled down Pat's cheeks as if they were his own, and it made him feel sick.

The trip to the medbay was a blur. The nurses wheeled him in, asking Tord about everything he knew about the effects, which wasn't much. Paul simply walked behind them, eyes half-lidded and burning from dried up tears.

He warned Pat. He warned him almost every day that work of his caliber wasn't safe anymore. Paul wanted to be mad at him for not listening, maybe have a good laugh with him once it was all said and done, but right now he couldn't feel a damn thing. He just kept his eyes on the top of Pat's head as it peeked from the stretcher, waiting for him to sit up and turn to see him.

They hooked Pat up to countless machines. The doctors told Paul that, until they could get his body stable, they would use small doses of ketamine to keep him in a medically induced coma. Paul prayed that wherever Patryck was in his own mind, he was at the very least safe. Maybe he wasn't even dreaming, maybe he wouldn't know any time had passed.

Thankfully, his heart rate and breathing were easy to stabilize, but they still needed to flush the treatment from his system and break his fever, which managed to climb to 40°C, or 104°F as they told Paul. His kidneys were showing signs of minor damage in ultrasounds, but the doctors wouldn't be totally sure of the extent until his blood test results came back. IVs, blood pressure monitors, and a near constant beeping of machines. All of Daniel's vitals thankfully stabilized, but that wouldn't matter if they couldn't keep Pat around.

All they could do now is wait, and Paul intended to stay at Pat's side until he opened his eyes again. He knew he would. He always did.

The dim overhead light in their section of the medbay only made Pat look worse. His closed eyes were merely shadows, the darkness hollowing his cheekbones. Paul couldn't stand to look at him for more than a few minutes at a time. He sat at Patryck's right, his left side crowded by machines and monitors.

After about an hour of nothing but beeping monitors, small groups of lower rank nurses and assistants began to trickle in.

Patryck was a favorite of theirs, one of the few frequent medbay flyers that actually talked and laughed with them. He even had favorites, who would sit in on his monthly checkups just to chat. They weren't stopping in now to check vitals, and they were only having light conversation with Paul. They would just file in, stand at the foot of the cot, and chat amongst themselves or with him, before a few of them would either start to cry, the others apologizing to Paul.

It took a few minutes for Paul to realize what this was. They were mourning before Pat was even dead. Their insensitivity made him sick, but he didn't have the heart to tell them to shut up, their quiet sobs tearing at his ears and screaming in his face - Patryck is as good as dead, and there's nothing you can do now but cry.

Eighteen agonizing hours dragged by, the improvements small, but noticeable. His fever lowered a few degrees, and his color was slowly returning. Paul didn't want to leave, deciding to get more comfortable by removing his jacket and turtleneck, keeping his white undershirt and slacks. Paul only ate or drank when visiting nurses forced things into his hands, refusing to leave Patryck's bedside. He had the smallest sliver of thanks to Tord for not forcing him to work while Pat was here, but he didn't know if he could ever forgive this.

Paul told Lars to bring Clara for a visit, something Paul was truly dreading. She was too young for all of this, but she needed to know what was going on - not all of it, but as much as a two year old could handle.

Paul brushed through his boyfriend's hair with his fingers, getting caught on a snarl near his ear. He sighed, carefully pulling the tangle loose before continuing to comb through his hair. He felt stupid, poking at his boyfriend to keep himself occupied, but he figured Pat would appreciate waking up without a rat's nest on his head. Besides, it was comforting to touch him, Paul couldn't help it.

It was dumb, but all of this really made him think about their future together. When he made it through this, Paul made up his mind that he was finally going to propose, just like Pat always wanted. Hell, he would even get his mom in on it once they were living with her. Picturing Pat's reaction gave him something good to look forward to.

"Daddy?" Clara's voice came from behind the privacy curtain, making Paul jerk his hand away from Pat in surprise. He flew back down to his chair and leaned forward, trying to pretend that he was just woken up. He didn't want Lars to nag him about already being up at nine AM. A hand much bigger than his daughter's slid the curtain aside, waving once it was fully open. The soldier held Clara to the front of his body, her legs wrapped around his waist as she struggled to look behind her.

"Come on in, man." Paul smiled tiredly. "I've been waiting for you."

Lars did as he was told, setting Clara down before leaning gingerly against the curtain closest to his friend with a nervous grin. Clara walked forward a bit more, almost hitting Paul's knees with her chest.

"Hi daddy," Clara fidgeted with the hem of her dress. She'd never been this deep into the medbay, no doubt that she saw her fair share of war injuries on her way in. Paul felt awful for that.

"Hey, Pumpkin," he put on a smile, ruffling her hair. "How was your sleepover with uncle Lars?"

She lit up. "Good! He let me stay 'wake after bedtime, jump on papa's bed, and-and eat fancy candy."

Paul glanced at Lars, raising an eyebrow. "Fancy....?"

The soldier raised his arms defensively. "I didn't give your kid weed!"

Paul cupped his cheeks in his hands, pursed his lips and put on an awful mix of a Scottish and British accent. "Ooh, then how is it fancy, esteemed chocolatier Lars Haukland? Do tell."

"I don't think you've ever used my full name like that before..." Lars cringed, laughing lightly. "What a way with words....They were mailed in by my gran a few days ago, straight from Aberdeen."

"I had a strawberry one, and a chocolate one, and a salt one!" Clara beamed, finally letting go of her skirt to hold Paul's knees with both hands. He was relieved to have her here, she lifted his mood faster than anything else could.

"That's a lot of sugar, baby," Paul reached down and pulled her onto his lap. "I hope you were able to sleep ok."

"I could say the same for you, old man." Lars gestured to Paul's face as he spoke. "You got my gran's handbags under your eyes."

"Thanks, you're so kind." Paul grumbled flatly. "And I'm not old, I'm twenty-six."

"Ok, ok, but...You were dozing when we came in, have you slept at all?" Paul hesitantly shook his head. "He's not gonna scamper off if you get a little shuteye! Clara and I are here now, we'll wake you up if he does first."

"I don't wanna miss it," Paul muttered, glancing at his sleeping boyfriend. "He's been out cold for almost nineteen hours, the least I can do is be here when he gets up."

"Nine-ten is a lot..." Clara whispered to herself, counting her chubby little fingers until only her thumb was down. "Look, that's this many!" She said, holding them up for Lars to see.

"Close, Clare-bear. How about nineteen?"

She pursed her lips, glancing between her hands as she thought. "...I don' think I know that one."

Lars giggled a bit at that, leaning forward to pet her head before getting back to their conversation.

"Seriously, get some rest. I promise I'll wake you up the second his heart rate picks up."

Paul begrudgingly leaned back in his chair, pushing Clara up a little higher so she could rest her head near his. There was only one chair per room, so Lars slipped away to steal one for himself, leaving father and daughter alone for a moment.

Clara rubbed the fabric of Paul's shirt between her fingers, her head facing Patryck's cot as she seemed to doze off. Paul was doing the same - Clara was a tiny space heater, nearly melting all his tension away.

"Daddy?" She whispered, still pinching at his shirt.

"Yeah Clara?"

"What's papa doing in here?" Paul hesitated, so she spoke again. "It's too loud to sleep."

Paul rubbed her tiny back, sighing softly. "He's in here so he can feel better. Remember how he had an upset tummy yesterday morning?" She nodded. "It made him really sleepy, kind of like Sleeping Beauty, remember that movie?" Another nod, a bit more excited at the mention of a Disney movie. "We were pretty good doctors, but the ones here are even better. They're keeping him and Danny happy for us while they sleep."

"Oh, ok!" She seemed content with that, letting out a little sigh as she continued to mess with his sleeve. A minute or two passed, and Paul actually found himself dozing off before her voice reeled him back in. "Daddy?"

"What, baby," he groaned, clenching his eyes shut.

"I closed my eyes, and...I think that you should kiss papa."

"...Huh?" He laughed a bit, genuinely confused.

She sat up a little, turning to face his ear so she could properly whisper into it. "If he's sleeping beauty, you're the prince." She laughed loudly, right into his ear. "You gotta wake up sleeping papa!"

Clara was too young to understand that Prince Phillip was probably a rampant somnophile, a rant that Patryck loved to give him whenever they watched the movie. Paul, however, didn't want to open that can of worms, so he just laughed and rubbed her back a little more.

"Ours is way cooler than the movie, he doesn't need a kiss from some dork. He's able to break his own spell."

"...Are you the dork?"

"The dorkiest, Clara."

Lars walked through the curtain backwards, holding a metal chair by the arms. "I snagged some blankets too, I think it'll help you sleep better."

"Thanks, dork!" Clara sat up and swivled on Paul's lap to face the soldier as he stared in surprise.

"I didn't teach her that one." He reassured, setting the chair down on the opposite side of the cot.

"She just picked it up, don't worry." Paul rolled his eyes, kissing her forehead. "Only call me that, ok baby? I don't want anyone getting mad at you."

She nodded, laying back down.

"Not like anyone can stay mad at her," Lars unfolded one of the white, sterile blankets before laying it on Clara and Paul. "There we go, all snug."

Immediately, Paul felt far better than he did the past nineteen hours. Words pushed at his lips as he watched Lars sit down, words he wanted to say but could hardly admit.

"...Thank you," he finally sighed, craning his neck to see over Clara's head. "I....I really needed someone else."

"Don't mention it. I think it's really cool that you're stickin' this out for Pat n' Danny." Lars pulled his own blanket up to his chin, smiling at his friend. "Now sleep, dammit, we're not gettin' any younger."

"Alright, alright." Paul turned his head to face the wall, sighing gently.

"Goodnight, dork." Clara mumbled, her hold on his shirt loosening. Paul kissed her head, hugging her close with a faint grin.

With Clara and Lars here, he could almost forget the horrible beeping of the machines, the unbroken fever, and the darkening fear that Tord might not let them leave after what he's done.

The latter lingered in his mind far too long.

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LARS HAS EXISTED FOR SIX YEARS AND I JUST NOW REMEMBERED HIS LAST NAME FROM MY COMPLETE AGAIN REREAD OMG SO IF YOU MAKE ANYTHING WITH HIM HIS LAST NAME IS HAUKLAND XDDD ((pronounced How-kland))

I marked this story as finished so ppl wouldn't read it, but I think it just made them read it more skskk, so here's some more that was just rotting in my drafts! ((the chapter after this is like a quarter done so idk how long it'll be before I finish it, don't harass me about it pls thxxx!))

Also, this isn't what my announcement was for, and I hope to tease for that until it's finished! I think you guys'll love it X3