[Translation: Long Live the Revelation!]

Continued from  Il n’y a aucune lave dans l’espace, il n’y a seulement la justice! 

By early afternoon, Guy’s fever broke, and he woke almost naked with a sweat-soaked sheet entangled about him, and held in the arms of one Dick Grayson.

Well. This was interesting.  He gently pulled away, not from discomfort but from a desire to sit up and look around. Guy’s body, on the other hand, had other plans, and these did not include doing anything other than lying there, thereby avoiding the room spinning at an alarming rate. He lay, or rather fell, back against the pillow and took a few deep breaths. Turning back to Dick, he reached out a hand and tapped the other man’s chest a few times. “Dick…?”  Guy surprised himself with how dry his mouth and throat were, that he could barely finish the end of the word, and it came out sounding closer to “Dihh…?”

He was awake at the first tap, his hand instinctively grabbing the one on his chest as his eyes snapped open.  Oh, it was only Guy.  Of course.  Dick gave his hand another squeeze, this one more friendly and less I-can-numb-your-hand-for-an-hour-don’t-test-me, and scooted up on the bed.

“How’re you feeling now?  You need some water?  Here, lemme get you some.”  He was up and returned in a flash, gently easing Guy up against the headboard so he could drink.  “There,” he said, helping Guy drink.  “That’s better.  Feeling any better?”  He checked Guy’s forehead and smiled when he realized it wasn’t hot anymore.  Good.  That was better already.

The blessed water hit his throat, and made him instantly crave more. He accepted Dick’s help, but insisted on trying himself all the same; being helpless wasn’t something Guy dealt well with. He nodded a few times, then leaned back tiredly on the headboard and looked up at Dick. “I’m gonna assume I was pretty out of it, huh? What was it, was I sick? Poisoned? Ate bad snails?”

Dick giggled, smiling brightly now that he knew Guy was well enough to talk.  “I, uh… that’s kinda my fault, actually.  I came down with something on the road to Vichy and I think that’s what you had.  Your bout seemed a little milder, though, if that’s any consolation,” he smiled apologetically.  “I’m really sorry.  I didn’t think I’d be contagious after so long.”

He shifted a little on the bed, getting closer and more comfortable, and bounced his hand on his leg for a moment before turning back to Guy.  “Oh, um, are you hungry?  Think you can eat yet?  I can get you some soup!”

Guy couldn’t help make a face as his stomach rebelled against the idea of food. “Uhhhgh, maybe not just yet. Later?” He rubbed his arms and felt a little chilled, the perspiration still clinging to him, and he eyed the blanket he’d managed to kick off in his sleep. “Wouldn’t mind layin’ down, for a while,” he looked to Dick.

“Oh, sure.  You could use some good sleep.”  Dick reached down and pulled up the blanket, slipping off the bed to tuck it around Guy.  “And you certainly don’t need me taking up all your room.”  He tucked Guy in the way his mother used to, and smiled at him.  “Anything else you need?  I can bring you the water pitcher.”

“Pitcher’d be great,” he answered tiredly, sliding himself back down the headboard. He could always pour more water and drink with his ring’s help, freeing Dick from feeling obligated to dote on him. His eyes drifted towards the window, at the bright daylight coming in through the small part in the drapes, at an angle sharp enough that the sun was high in the sky and on the west side of the building - afternoon. Guy had been out a whole day - it was dinnertime when he last remembered laying his head down. “The Louvre…” he groaned, “Damn…sorry, Dick…”

Dick returned with the pitcher in time to hear Guy’s apology, and laughed, waving to dismiss it.  “Don’t worry, Guy.  The Louvre will still be there tomorrow or the next day.  It’s important that you rest and get well, okay?”

He set the pitcher on the bedside table and ran his hand through Guy’s hair.  “Don’t worry about it.  You just feel better.  I’ll be right here or right out front if you need anything, okay?”

Guy gave him a quizzical look when he ran his hand through his hair. It didn’t bother him, in fact it was comforting, and was somehow familiar, and he slowly realized Dick had done that a lot while he’d been… no, hadn’t that been Kyle?  In a dream?  There was no way Kyle had been there, and his mind started to piece it together, his ring silently and helpfully filling in the blanks. Oddly, the ring didn’t have the same smugness about it that it usually had while fulfilling this particular need, on those rare mornings after Guy had had so much to drink he’d actually forgotten portions of the night before.

Sobered and wide awake now by these revelations, Guy didn’t want to sleep anymore. He wanted to talk. “I thought…you were Kyle…” he said slowly, as Dick was still providing him a comforting touch.  A knot started forming in Guy’s stomach as he realized Dick probably knew a lot more than he was letting on; he’d only been raised and trained by the world’s finest detective. The groan he was thinking became audible in his throat, as his expression went from tired and confused to wide-awake and mortified.

“Ah, fuuuuck…”