So You Can Rest
By Lois

Chris came down with a cold the morning after a concert in Cleveland. He was not pleased.

"Motherfucking son of an impotent goat!"

He emerged from his bunk with a handful of Kleenex pressed to his nose and crashed right into JC, who blinked at him warily.

"I'm sick," Chris said, feeble now that he had someone's attention. He closed his eyes as JC pressed a hand to his clammy, damp forehead.

"Shit," JC yelped, lurching backwards. "You ARE sick. Get away from me."

Chris opened his eyes and glared at him. "Your bedside manner sucks," he mumbled, as JC almost catapulted himself backwards into Justin's bunk, scrambling to put distance between him and Chris. "Jesus, JC. I don't have the Plague. I have a fucking cold."

"Don't care," JC said. "I can't afford to get sick, man. One of us has to be able to sing tomorrow night."

"Gee, thanks." Chris inhaled, and it triggered a coughing fit. He doubled over with his hand against the wall for support, and out of the corner of his eye he could see JC looking uncomfortable. He felt kind of bad, because he knew the guy had a deep-seated fear of germs.

"You okay?" JC asked, reaching out a tentative hand, then drawing it back quickly when Chris straightened up and was able to breathe again.

"Yeah, fine," Chris said. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. "Ugh. I feel like ass, microwaved."

"I might have some, um. Vitamin C, or something." JC moved toward his bunk, just as the curtain to Justin's flew open, and a buzzed head poked out. It sniffled once, and coughed, and JC bumped his head against the wall and uttered a soft curse.

"Fuck."

Chris reached out and touched Justin's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You're sick too?" he asked, and Justin was only able to nod before launching into a flurry of shuddering coughs.

"Ack," he said, when it was over. "Shit. It hurts to talk."

"Great," JC said. "Then I definitely can't get sick, 'cause. Um." He looked shyly at Chris, who made a face and shrugged.

"Someone has to sing," he sighed. "Okay. Go call Joe, see if we can stop at a Wal-Mart or something, get some cold medicine, and you can go on the other bus 'till we kick this thing."

JC nodded, relieved at the promise of escape, and scampered off to find his phone. Chris pushed the curtain aside the rest of the way and sat down beside Justin, pinching his earlobes.

"What're you doing, man?" Justin asked, batting his hand away. "Stoppit."

"Fuck off, you have a fever," Chris said. "It's how my mom always did it."

"Oh." Justin went quiet, and Chris reached behind him, tugging his shirt up and pressing his palm against his back. "Hey-"

"Relax. Mom did that, too." Chris stroked Justin's spine once, then pulled his hand away. "Yeah, you're one sick puppy."

"You are too," Justin said, looking Chris up and down. "I don't have to feel you up to know that. You look like shit."

"Thanks."

"You probably got me sick," Justin mumbled. "Fucker."

"Pardon me for living," Chris said, and he stood up. "Whoo. Is the bus supposed to be upside-down?" he asked, gripping Justin's shoulder and swaying, slightly. "That. Was not fun."

"Go lay down," Justin said. "In the back, on the big couch."

"That would be perfection," Chris said, and he let go of Justin, slowly making his way down the hall toward the lounge, where JC was curled up in a seat guzzling orange juice straight from the carton. "Hey there, Howard Hughes."

"Fuck you." JC smiled, weakly. "There's another full carton in there, you guys should drink that. And I found my vitamins." He waved a hand toward a pill bottle on the counter. "Go nuts."

"Gracias." Chris collapsed on the couch and stretched out on his back, staring at the ceiling. He coughed, and sniffled deeply. JC winced.

"Tasty," he mumbled. Chris rolled his eyes.

"Not enjoying it on my end, either," he said. "I fucking hate colds."

JC nodded. "Last one I had, I wanted to remove my own lungs. I almost did, but Joey said I probably wouldn't have been able to, because all I could find was one of Lance's nail files."

Chris giggled, coughing almost for a full minute before being able to talk. "Those fuckers are deadly," he croaked, gasping for air. "I hear Tiny and Dre carry them now, instead of crowd-tazers."

"Shove over." Justin appeared, wrapped in one of the quilts his mother gave him to tour with, to remind him of home. He flopped down on the sofa next to Chris and put his feet up on the table. "This sucks," he muttered, in a ragged voice.

Chris said nothing, because he pretty much agreed with Justin's sentiment, as articulate as it wasn't, and propped his feet up beside Justin's, nudging his ankle with his toes. JC fluttered around for a moment, then disappeared, to where they didn't know, though Chris thought maybe he'd shut himself in the bathroom. It was really the only place left for JC to go.

When they heard the click of a sliding door, Justin looked over at him and grimaced. "He's one step away from wearing Kleenex boxes on his feet and designing airplanes that won't fly, isn't he?"

Chris sighed. "'Fraid so, Jup."

"I heard that!" JC shouted, from inside the bathroom.

--

They stopped at a Wal-Mart, and JC changed buses while Joey's brother went inside with a shopping list. He came back with bags of cough drops, DayQuil pills and NyQuil in a bottle.

"They were out of the gelcap kind," he said, handing the bag to Chris with a slight shrug of apology. "Sorry. I know, the liquid stuff tastes like ass."

"Not like I can taste anything, anyway," Chris said, sniffing for effect. "But Justin is going to have a conniption fit."

"I am NOT taking that stuff," Justin said, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the couch, preparing for a long sulk. "It's nasty. I'd rather be sick."

"Suit yourself," Chris said, rolling his eyes. "Just remember, we both have to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by tomorrow night."

"I'll be fine," Justin snorted, and he turned away. "Go. Go drink your... your invidious elixir of death!"

Chris stared. "Big word, little boy. Wade let you use his dictionary desk-calendar again?"

"Fuck. You."

Laughing, Chris went into the bathroom, unscrewed the NyQuil cap and poured himself two fingers' worth. Pinching his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, he tossed it back as easily as a shot of tequila, but the shudder that followed was ten times worse.

"Je-hee-sus," he sputtered, turning on the water and cupping his hand in the stream, bringing it to his mouth and taking long, eager swallows. "Bleah."

It was worth it, however, eighteen minutes later, when he collapsed in his bunk, completely dead to the world. The last thing he heard was Justin, coughing loudly over the sound of the television in the lounge, and Chris fell asleep with a small, triumphant smirk on his face.

--

At about four in the morning Chris' NyQuil wore off, and he fell out of his bunk, sniffling and hauling himself to his feet. He staggered toward the kitchen, flipping on the light and grabbing wildly for the NyQuil bottle.

"Turn the fucking light off!" someone shouted, and Chris poked his head into the lounge. Justin lay on the divan, half-covered under a blanket and clutching a pillow over his head. "Jesus."

"Why are you still up?" Chris asked. Justin emerged, then, and looked up at him. His eyes were glassy-blue and rimmed with red, and his nose raw and almost bleeding from the mountain of Kleenex on the floor by the couch. "Shit," Chris breathed. "Have you slept at all?"

"Can't fucking stop coughing long enough to," Justin sighed, burying his face in the blanket, convulsing for a moment before taking as deep a breath as he could, and letting it out again with a little shudder.

Chris reached down and poked him. "C'mon, man," he said. "Take some NyQuil. It'll put you out, you'll feel a lot better."

"No," Justin shook his head. "It's nasty. I can't - that shit makes me sick."

"You can't stay up all night like this." Chris grabbed the NyQuil bottle and flicked the kitchen light off. He felt his way through the lounge and flopped onto the divan, across Justin's legs. "It's not that bad. Hold your nose."

"No."

"Justin, come ON." Chris yanked the blanket away from him and pulled him up so that he was sitting, back against the cushions, face lit only by moonlight through the bus windows. "There's a reason they call this stuff the 'nightime-sniffling-sneezing-coughing-aching-stuffy-head-fever-so-you-can-rest medicine."

"Fuck off-" Justin began, but Chris wasn't listening. He was holding the bottle of NyQuil in his hand, and frowning.

"Where's the little cup?" he asked, looking around. "Fuck. In the sink." He didn't want to get up, so he looked around and spotted JC's shot glass collection, lined up meticulously along the windowsill behind them. He swiped one of the glasses - it said 'Viva Las Vegas!' across one side - and showed it to Justin, who frowned.

"NyQuil shots?" he asked. "That can't be, like, safe."

Chris rolled his eyes. "One of these is the same size as the little plastic thingy that comes with it, so. How about this-" He opened the bottle and poured a half-inch of green liquid into the glass. "I'll do a half-dose, then you do one. Then I'll do the rest and you do it, and then we're done!"

Justin made a face. "Ick."

"Watch." Chris closed his eyes, took a deep breath and threw back the shot. A visible tremor shook his body, and he made a face and cursed a little, under his breath, before looking Justin in the eye again, and smiling. "See?"

"I've seen you do sambuca better'n that," Justin said, sighing. "But fine. Gimme, if it'll shut you the fuck up, and it'll let me fucking sleep."

Chris grinned and poured another half-dose of NyQuil into the glass, passing it to him. "You can do it, boyo," he said, gripping the back of Justin's neck and wincing at how warm it was. The kid wasn't sweating, either, which meant his fever was raging at full force. "Just suck it up and swallow."

"Ha," Justin snorted. "Bet you say that to all the boys." He smirked and then suddenly drank the glass empty, gasping when he was done and doubling over, gagging quietly into the blanket.

"Shit," Chris said, wrapping his arms around him and stroking his arms. "You okay, man?"

"Fine," Justin said, straightening up. "I didn't puke, so. Yay, me." He sighed, and started coughing again. "Ack."

Chris nodded, but didn't move away. "'Kay. My turn," he said, and he measured out another shot. He made it a little bigger than the last one, so he'd sleep a bit longer. "Bottoms up?"

"Salud," Justin said, a tiny smile on his face, and he raised an imaginary class against Chris', making a clink! sound. Chris giggled.

"Dork," he said, and he downed the shot. This time, he only twitched a little before opening his eyes. "Whoo. Yeah, doggy." He dropped the glass into Justin's hand, who stared at it.

"I don't know if I can," he said, quietly. "I just. I'm afraid I'll really get sick, this time, and - yuck." He sighed, coughed, and finished sighing. "Shit, man."

"Hang on," Chris said, and he jumped up. It was amazing, how fast NyQuil worked - he was already a little wobbly, and had to hang onto the walls for support. He went into the kitchen and rummaged around in the fridge for a moment, before coming back and falling down next to Justin. In his hand, he held a cut lime, and a saltshaker.

"The fuck?" Justin said, but he was giggling. "Seriously?"

"Dude," Chris said. "If it makes tequila taste better, then it should work for NyQuil. And," he added. "It'll distract you, y'know?"

"Okay." Justin said, after a moment, and he took the salt-shaker.

"Hey-" Chris began, but he couldn't finish his sentence. Not with Justin licking a long, clean line from his collarbone up toward his ear.

"Distracting," Justin breathed, as he shook salt against the cold, wet mark his tongue had left behind.

Chris nodded. "Okay, um," he said, and he watched Justin bring the shot glass to his lips, and drink.

It probably went by a lot faster than Chris thought, because time seemed to become a slow montage of images - the ripple of Justin's throat, the slope of his neck as he leaned in and cleaned the salt from Chris' skin, the lime in Chris' hand when Justin grasped his wrist and pulled it to his mouth, sucking hard before biting, and swallowing.

Then Justin was leaning back and looking at Chris like he expected something, and he didn't know what it was or even if he wanted it, but he knew something was definitely coming in the dark pools of Chris' eyes.

"Did, um." Chris cleared his throat. The NyQuil was making him dizzy. Maybe it was Justin. Probably both. "Did that, y'know. Help?"

"What? Oh, yeah," said Justin, and his voice was just a rattle in his throat. "I didn't even, y'know. Taste it, or anything."

"Yeah?"

"I tasted, um. You."

"Um, okay." Chris nodded, picked at the blanket beneath them. "Well, that's cool. Yeah."

"Probably should have done that first," Justin said, and he smiled. "'Cause, like. Maybe you could have, like. Been distracted. I bet that would have helped."

"Maybe," Chris said, and he thought he might have left the NyQuil bottle open and spilled it, because he could suddenly smell the tangy menthol all around him, but spiked with something citrusy. Then he had Justin's mouth hovering over his, breath hot under his nose, and when they were kissing he could taste it all, the medicine and the lime and the salt, and that warm, spiciness that was all Justin.

The NyQuil got spilled anyway, because they threw the bottle onto the floor when they pulled off their clothes and crawled under the blanket, but then back out again because they both had fevers, and it was too fucking hot to be under there and under each other at the same time.

Though at some point, when Justin was somewhere below the equator, not blowing him, because he could only breathe through his mouth, but licking the small divot at the base of Chris' back, leaving little trails of wet up and down his spine, Chris wondered if he actually had a fever, or if it were just a fire burning inside of him that had somehow been ignited by Justin, a shot glass, and a bottle of NyQuil.

--

"You guys look better," JC said, when they got to Minneapolis the next morning and he met Chris and Justin in the lobby of their hotel. "Rested, like."

Chris struck a pose, one hand on his hip and the other stirring the air. "Lookin' good, feelin' good," he said, and Justin jumped onto his back, laughing.

"Get along, little doggy!" he shouted, smacking Chris on the ass and squealing when he spun around in quick little circles before jogging off toward the elevator, as JC watched with a small smile on his face.

"Wadup, dork?" Joey said, walking up and slapping him on the back. JC looked up at him and started to reply, but before he could, he sneezed. "Bless you. You're not getting sick now?"

"Shit," JC said, sniffling. "I better not be."

"Ah, no worries," Joey said, and his hand crept up to the back of JC's neck, warm and thick. "You'll be fine. We'll get you some NyQuil or something." He motioned toward Chris and Justin, who were standing too close together, waiting for the elevator but not noticing at all that it had arrived already. "Worked for those guys, yeah?"

JC looked at them and nodded, knowingly. He glanced back at Joey, sneezed again, and smiled.

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