The Trojan Cat

7. Healing, literally and figuratively

Last chapter before the epilogue !

The first thing Virgil noticed when he woke up was not that he had returned to his human form.

Nor was it the morning light that filtered through the curtains, or the puppy plush that had fallen from his nest of blankets.

No, the first thing he noticed was how sick he felt.

Every area of ​​the body that could get flu-like symptoms had them. His throat, as sore as if the tuna from the night before had still had all its bones, his hermetically sealed nose, and his head with a Remus' morning star level ache, protested sharply when he tried to straighten up. By the time he got into a sitting position, he had checked "muscle aches", "fever" and "dizziness" in his list of ouchies.

"I guess after being soaked in ice water for two hours, that shouldn't surprise me," he mumbled. Hearing the sound of his voice again felt good.

He quickly rearranged his pile of cushion in a shape more fit to support an adult human than a small cat, which proved to be quite easy, thanks to the wide variety of materials available to him. Despite the disease he had just discovered, he felt so comfortable, it was ridiculous. He then stretched an arm to grab the bowl of tuna Logan had left him, saw a covered plate next to it, and fell off the couch in surprise.

A short battle with the blankets (which had unfurled behind him like a parachute, before promptly wrapping around him), he managed to settle back into a semi-sitting position, this time with the plate on his knees. He removed the cover, smiling as he revealed a sandwich cut in the shape of a cat's head, with a cherry tomato and celery stalks acting as a nose and mustaches.

He gulped down the sandwich and the accompanying handful of crisps almost as quickly as the tuna from the night before, but saved the chocolate chip cookie for later.

He was questioning his ability to reach the pitcher of water on the coffee table without having to get up, when footsteps resounded upstairs. Instinctively, Virgil disappeared under the covers. Once in the (relative) safety of his hiding place, he had to convince himself that he was in no danger here, and that no matter which of the household's three inhabitants was coming, hiding would be pointless.

If Logan was surprised to find, as he descended the stairs, two intense eyes staring at him from a heap of blankets, he didn't let it show. "Good morning, Virgil."

"Hi," he replied in a low voice.

That answer, however, earned him a raised eyebrow from Logic. The Dark Side winced as he realized how hoarse his voice sounded.

Logan came and sat down on the coffee table, where he poured them each a glass of water. He waited until his interlocutor had taken a few sips to ask: "Would I be correct in assuming that the state of your throat is not just a result of having been deprived of your voice for a long time?"

While lying to a right-brained Sides was sometimes possible, lying to Logan about facts worked about as well as lying to Janus (lying to Virgil or not didn't matter, because he was going to believe the worst option, depending on the context, anyway). So, he admitted pitifully: "I think I have a cold, the flu, or something. I don't feel great."

Fortunately, Logan didn't look angry. He only nodded thoughtfully. "Euphemism. I see. Are you comfortable?"

"... Yes?"

"I would appreciate if you didn't move too much. I will be back soon with the Otorhinolaryngological Disease Kit."

He disappeared for a few minutes, which was not bad, considering that Virgil needed a little time to assimilate the interaction, as well as the general situation he was in (not to mention the word "otorhinolaryngological"). And despite everything that had happened, he hoped the Others were okay...