Things were quiet in the Infirmary in the middle of the night. Too quiet. It wasn't simply because most of the men and women in the cots were sleeping, or dosed with fellis; it wasn't because it was late, with most of the Weyr long-since retired for the night, save the watch-dragons, and a few assigned healers to watch over and tend the ill. No, in the bluerider's case, it was quiet because Macuith was ill and partially drugged himself. It was quiet, because where his usually vibrant and talkative blue had been ever-so-quiet.

Ever since the accident, ever since Macuith and he appeared from Between right into the hot flames of another.

That was the last time he'd heard Macuith, and he hardly remembered it. Just a squeal of pain, a cry of alarm, before the blue had swerved. Things were fuzzy after that, but he'd never forget the cry of his poor beloved. He woke up a sevenday later, groggy, weak as a kitten, and Macuith... Macuith had been quiet. So very, very quiet.

It was disconcerting and alarming. While the bond was still there--a bond that C'lusi clung to with every fiber of his being, willing his darling to be all right, to keep fighting the poisoning--it didn't feel right. He could feel an echo of the blue's pain; the ache in the limb that was no longer there; the burns that now marred his pale-blue chest and neck; the poison that ran through his very blood and being. The healers didn't say so to him directly, but C'lusi knew that phosphorous poisoning could well be fatal. If the burns didn't do a rider in, the poisoning certainly could.

Transfusions were necessary, along with flushing his system with liquids, to try to get the poison cleared before it became fatal. He hadn't died, and C'lusi wouldn't entertain the thought that he would!... but it was clear his silver-tongued lifemate was in poor shape.

Every now and then, C'lusi reached out to touch the link. He could still feel the dragon's pain come and go; sometimes it was worse, sometimes it was more manageable. Sometimes the medication the dragonhealers gave him seemed to work, or a queen helped ease his pain; but sometimes, none of that seemed to work. It was miserable, and all C'lusi wanted was to take it from him. Oh, how he tried to do so. Despite his own pain, despite his own feelings, despite his everything, right now, all he wanted was to ease the agony that ran through his poor, beloved.

Just keep fighting, baby... You'll get through this. It won't be forever. Keep fighting Macuith. Keep living.

The blue dragon didn't stir and said nothing in return. Whether he was simply in a deep sleep, or drugged, the rider wasn't sure; but he trusted the healers, and knew they were doing all they could to keep his beloved alive. Oh, he wanted to go to him; to curl up next to him, to kiss his snout, to wrap his arms--arm--around his head and hold him. The separation was almost unbearable, and would be if the healers hadn't let him out of the infirmary for a visit. He'd demand another tomorrow, and would take comfort that his beloved wasn't alone. Viandarth was there; Menankith was there. Surely... Surely that would be enough, wouldn't it?

Surely... Surely he'd be enough to keep his blue from slipping away.

Faranth, the reality that Macuith could slip away terrified the young rider. While he had long accepted the idea of an early death, he'd never truly thought that there might be something worse. What if... What if Macuith perished and he did not? What if they didn't leave together? Could he live without him? Would he be expected to? What would life be like if Macuith wasn't there; and yet, were not his loves important? Would he need to make such a terrible choice?

....and yet, a part of C'lusi knew that there would simply be no choice. How could he carry on without his lifemate? How could he possibly carry on without the one who knew his everything?

....but Macuith wasn't going to die! Not if C'lusi had his way. He wasn't going to entertain such thoughts, wasn't going to let the fear consume him. Life might have been changed, but they would get through this new challenge. There was too much to live for, too much they hadn't said, too much they hadn't done. Menankith and Viandarth needed Macuith; their Wing needed him; the Weyr needed him. They weren't done fighting Thread... They weren't done with their relationships; they weren't ready to give up the fight.

You hear me, Macuith? You're stronger than any bronze or gold in the Weyr. Come back to me, okay? Please... I'm begging you, beautiful. Come back. I can't do this alone, and I don't want to.... Show them how tough you are. It was just a little burn; just a little Thread wound. Remember what you said last sevenday? How you were clearly just too hot? ... Well, that's still the case. The Weyr would be empty without you... You don't want to break all their hearts, do you? Viandarth is here... Menankith is here.... And I'm here. Please... don't give up. Don't slip away. Please... Just stay with me, all right?

He poured as much love and support and hope into his words. He shoved all his fears to the wayside. Any distress he had about his missing arm, any angst over his vanity; any fears he had about what Nadry and R'shahar might feel about their armless-boyfriend was pushed down. Now wasn't a time to think about that... None of it would matter if Macuith didn't make it.

If a few tears slipped down his cheeks, he hardly noticed. Eyes squeezed shut, he ignored his own aches and pains; he ignored the phantom feelings in an arm no longer present. He wasn't ready to cope with those thoughts, and couldn't...not without Macuith there. Not without knowing what would happen. So he'd set them aside, and deal with them another day.

For now, until he fell back into a restless sleep, all he would do was pour love and need and encouragement into his dragon.

Live, baby blue. Please... just live.