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Archer looked over his stripped pistol, racking his brain trying to understand the machinery. He looked from the manual for his gun that his omni-tool was projecting, to the disassembled gun on the coffee table, and back to the manual again. He didn’t understand how Vask was able to strip guns down, and then reassemble them in under a minute. Archer was able to disassemble it easily but had been at it for over an hour trying to reassemble it.

He scrolled back several pages of the manual to try and figure where he went wrong, and had a spoonful of the custard he had to the side. The milk they had in the fridge was going to go bad soon and since he was the only one of the pair eating food to ration, he didn’t want the milk to go to waste.

“This custard doesn’t taste anywhere near as good as my grandmother's,” he said.

“You say that every time you make it,” Vask said from the other end of the couch, tossing up in the air and catching the block of tungsten that Archer’s pistol used for ammo.

“And it’s true every time I make it,” Archer said, trying to attach two pieces of his gun together.

“You’re trying to connect the mass effect field generator to the pistol’s frame backwards,” Vask said with barely a glance over at Archer’s direction. “Why do you even keep making it if you don’t like it as much as your grandmother’s?”

Archer flipped the generator he was holding and it slid easily into the slot on the pistol’s frame, “I keep making it cause I want to find a honey that’s easier to find than the one my grandmother uses for the recipe.”

“And rare, expensive honey from an Ardat-Yakshi monastery was your go to?” Vask asked, before coughing slightly and returning to tossing the block of tungsten in the air.

“Well, for one. I stole that honey from work so I didn’t pay for it,” Archer said, gesturing to Vask with his half-assembled pistol.

“Flagging,” Vask growled in warning.

“It doesn’t even have the ammo block in it,” Archer said, returning his attention to the coffee table, grabbing the pistol’s computer and slotting it in. “And the kind of honey you use changes how the flavour turns out.”

“It doesn’t matter. Always treat a gun like it’s loaded,” Vask replied before breaking off into a series of harsh coughs. He cleared his throat and continued. “And why don’t you just use the honey your grandmother uses?”

“Because that honey is both rare, expensive, and at low demand,” said Archer.

“That was three things,” said Vask.

“Shut up,” snapped Archer which made Vask smirk. Archer continued, “The honey my grandmother uses only comes from Earth, and not just Earth but a very specific region. You remember Australia, right?”

“Yeah,” Vask said, tossing the ammo block into the air with a spin. “Is it dangerous to harvest or something?”

“No,” corrected Archer. “It requires a certain flower from a plant that’s only found in Australia and a neighbouring country called New Zealand.”

“Then save up and get some.” Vask said, tossing the ammo higher with a faster spin. “You won’t die if you can only make the custard every now and again.”

“Cause it’s expensive as hell and you use a ton of honey in the recipe. That asari honey is cheaper than my grandmother’s,” Said Archer, slotting in the last of the components of his pistol before gesturing with a hand towards Vask.

“Bullshit,” Vask said, going to catch the tungsten block but missing as it suddenly flew into Archer’s hand, “There’s no way that honey is cheaper.”

“It is,” Archer said as he slotted in the block of tungsten into his pistol. “And I did the maths. It’s cheaper to charter a ship to Earth, charter a shuttle to Australia when I get there, buy a jar of the honey, and then charter a ship back here to Omega than it would be to order the honey on the extranet.”

Archer checked the pistol over and turned the pistol’s computer on to run diagnostics which returned a red, blinking light.

“Oh, come on.” Groaned Archer, tossing the pistol on the coffee table. “I followed the instructions.”

Vask reached over and grabbed the pistol, and quickly and deftly partially disassembled the pistol. He pressed on a few components and then reassembled the pistol. The pistol returned his actions with a green light.

“You didn’t put the components back in firmly enough. The manual said-“ Vask said before dropping the pistol to the ground as a long series of harsh coughs suddenly wracked through his body.

“Are you alright?” Archer asked, dismissing his pistols manual and starting up a first-aid app.

“I’m fine,” Vask said, clearing his throat. “Just choked on some food.”

“You haven’t eaten anything in a week. There’s nothing for you to choke on.” pointed out Archer. He waved his omni-tool over Vask. “And this says you have a fever.”

“You have it on the wrong setting,” denied Vask, suppressing a cough and picking up Archer’s pistol.

“It’s set to ‘krogan’,” pointed out Archer. “And it says you’re sick. And it’s most likely the plague.”

“I’ll be fine.” Vask said, waving away Archer’s omni-tool covered hand.

“Yeah, probably,” agreed Archer. “But we should play it safe. Have you rest up somewhere more comfortable than the couch and keep your fluids up.”

“Fine,” said Vask, immediately heading to the bedroom. Not arguing about finally being allowed back in the bed. He continued, yelling from the bedroom, “But we need to ration the water.”

“The water hasn’t been cut off yet,” Archer said, getting up from the couch and filling up a large glass of water from the sink. It’ll probably be another week or so before some chucklefuck gets the bright idea of cutting off systems like that.”

Archer walked into the bedroom with the glass of water to find Vask already on the bed, wrapped up in the sheets.

Archer grumbled in annoyance, not liking allowing Vask back into the bed so soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to have him sleep on the couch when he was sick. He gave the glass of water to Vask, who immediately drained it and gave it back.

“Shout if you need anything,” Archer said before leaving the bedroom.

***

Archer lay awake on the bed, struggling to fall asleep. Both because of worry for Vask, who was getting worse, and that sleeping next to the sick krogan was too uncomfortable. The bed shaking from Vask’s near constant shivering, and he had no sheets to sleep under because Vask had them all tightly wrapped around himself. Not that Archer was cold, the intense feverish heat emanating from the alien next to him had him half hanging off the bed in an attempt to try and escape the heat.

The bed shaking got worse as Vask started to roll and thrash in his sleep, his arms escaping the tight cocoon of sheets he wrapped himself in and swiping away invisible creatures.

“Too hot,” Vask slurred in his sleep, kicking the sheets wrapped around him off the bed.

Archer sat up, yawning. He wanted to sleep but couldn’t with Vask in such a state. He stood up and headed to the kitchen, filling a bowl up with water in the sink, put ice in it and grabbed a tea towel.

He shuffled back into the bedroom to find Vask seemingly awake but his green eyes glazed over, and body thrashing in bed fighting off whatever spectres he was seeing in his fevered delirium.

“It burns,” slurred Vask.

“I know. But I’m here with you,” Archer said reassuringly, kneeling down by Vask’s side of the bed.

Vask calmed down slightly at Archer’s words but still thrashed. Archer rubbed the sleep from his baggy eyes, and dunked the tea towel into the bowl of cold water and wrung it out as Vask’s thrashing and slurring got worse.

“It burns. Kl-klixen!” Vask yelled, suddenly reaching behind the bed and pulling out his shotgun.

“Shit!” Archer yelled, dropping the wet tea towel and throwing a stasis field around Vask. Archer leapt for the foot of the bed, the stasis around Vask dropping mid-leap who immediately started firing.

Archer landed on the floor curled up at the foot of the bed, clutching the left side of his head and a tear of blood rolling down his face from his left eye from the strain of the stasis, and waited out behind the poor cover off the bed for Vask’s gun to overheat and force him to reload.

He heard the tell-tale click of an overheated gun and popped up from the bed, biotically pulling the shotgun, ripping it from Vask’s hands and sending it flying over Archer and into the wall behind him.

Vask started thrashing on the bed again, erratically patting himself over, yelling, “Get them off! It burns!”

Archer tried to run over, but tripped when a shooting pain shot up his left leg, he crawled the rest of the way and picked up the discarded wet tea towel.

“It’s okay. They’re gone,” he said, patting the wet cloth over Vask where the Krogan was patting away invisible flames. “I’m here, and they’re gone now.”

Vask calmed down, stopping his thrashing and laid still on the bed. Squirming as Archer took away the towel to re-soak it in the bowl of water on the floor.

Archer held his free hand to his left eye, panting in pain from the intense headache from holding the stasis. His other hand still at work trying to cool Vask down with the wet cloth.

Vask looked at Archer with his glazed, green eyes and brought a hand to Archer’s face, gently wiping away the streak of red from his cheek.

Archer shuffled closer but grunted in pain, dropping the tea towel on Vask’s chest as the pain in his left leg got worse.

He looked down and went pale, he could see through a large tear in his pants that the skin of his thigh was shredded. Archer remembered the mod Vask had for his shotgun, the one that was illegal in Citadel Space. He knew how brutal the shotgun was on its own, and that this must’ve been just a glancing shot. If it wasn’t, Archer would’ve been missing his leg.

“I need to patch this up,” Archer told Vask, putting the tea towel over as much of the krogan’s chest as he could. “I won’t be gone for long.”

Vask grabbed Archer’s arm as he started to stand, and begged, “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not.” Archer said, trying to get the krogan to let go of his arm. “I just need to patch up my leg.”

“I can’t lose you,” Vask whined, his voice quivering, sounding on the verge of tears.

Archer knelt down, wincing as the shredded skin of his leg flared in white hot pain. He shuffled close to Vask, sweating from the feverish heat the krogan was emanating. He gently placed both hands on either side of Vask’s face.

“I’m not going to leave you,” promised Archer in a soft voice. “I won’t be gone. I’ll just be in the other room. Just out that door.”

Vask slowly let go of Archer’s arm, and Archer slowly, painfully stood up and said before limping away, “I’ll be right back.”

Archer slowly, and painfully limped his way into the kitchen where he pulled out the first-aid kit. He searched through the kit for the medi-gel. Becoming more and more panicked when he couldn’t find it, even upturning the entire kit onto the kitchen counter.

“Oh fuck,” Archer said, his stomach dropping as he remembered. He used all the medi-gel on Vask a fortnight ago and they hadn’t been able to restock since because of the quarantine. He leaned against the counter as he wracked his brain to figure out what to do. Vask would know what to do, but wasn’t in the state to help. He couldn’t just leave the gunshot as is, he’d bleed out if he was lucky, or get it infected and probably lose his leg.

He couldn’t stay in the apartment, if he didn’t get his leg treated, he’d die. But he couldn’t leave Vask alone either.

There was a clinic nearby, remembered Archer. The salarian running had an equal chance of shooting him as he did to help him, but he had no choice. He just had to get him and Vask there.

He grabbed a roll of bandages from the counter and sat on the ground. He unrolled the bandage and wrapped it around his thigh, just above the shredded skin and loosely tied it off. He paused, taking several deep breaths to steel himself before he quickly tightened the bandage.

He screamed out in pain, his biotics flaring and sending the rest of the first aid kit, and everything else not nailed down in the kitchen, flying, scattering them across the apartment.

Archer heard a loud crash from the bedroom, and quickly picked himself up, limping back to the room he left Vask in. He entered the room to find Vask stumbling around the bedroom, trying to leave.

Archer slowly made his way to his own side of the bed, wincing with each step, and grabbed his pistol from where he kept it stowed.

“We can’t stay here,” he told Vask, “You’re getting worse and my leg’s fucked. We need to get to the clinic.”

“We need to rely on each other to get there,” Archer told the delirious krogan. He put an arm around Vask’s shoulder and guided him out of the bedroom, and apartment.

Archer was horrified at what he saw as he and Vask left the apartment. Bodies were piled into pits and on fire. Archer couldn’t help but imagine the bodies suddenly crawling out of the fire, covered in circuitry and groaning screams coming from their skeletal faces. He shook his head, banishing the image and he pushed on, leaning on and guiding Vask through the district.

It was a struggle to guide the krogan through the district. Vask kept trying to take different routes to the clinic that would take longer, or even take the pair away from the clinic. He even once stopped and refused to go any further when they got close to one of the pits of burning bodies.

“Come on,” Archer said, tugging on Vask’s arm. “It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Vask stood rooted in place, looking past Archer and into the pit of fire, shaking his head.

Archer looked behind him and into the fire, and then back to Vask. He remembered back to the Geth’s attack on the Citadel when Vask froze up when the alleyway became covered in fire. He didn’t like remembering the invasion so he never bothered to ask the krogan why he had frozen up the way he did.

He realised that Vask had an intense fear of fire from something. He didn’t think the krogan was afraid of anything, he was a krogan after all. They were renowned warriors, they defeated the rachni, and brought the galaxy to its knees during the Krogan Rebellion. He didn’t think that they were capable of fear.

He put himself between Vask and the pit of fire, and grabbed the large alien’s face. “Hey, hey. Look at me.”

Vask slowly looked at him with his glazed eyes.

“There isn’t any fire,” lied Archer. “It’s just the fever making you see and feel things.”

“You feel how cold my hands are in comparison?” Asked Archer and Vask nodded. “It’s just your body heating up to try and kill the virus. That’s the only heat here.”

Vask nodded again, and Archer guided him away from the fire.

“Just stay focused on me,” Archer told Vask. “I won’t let the heat hurt you anymore.”

Archer stumbled as his left leg reminded him of the reason they left. He returned to Vask’s side and leant on him, the krogan’s hide feeling close to burning him.

They continued onwards, slowly moving down halls and public squares. As they moved through, Archer took notice of more and more dead vorcha littering the ground.

“Oh, god.” Archer said to himself. “What the fuck happened here?”

It was clear to Archer that it wasn’t the plague, since he knew that they were somehow immune to disease and that the dead vorcha were littered with gunshot wounds. At first, he thought it was a gang war between the Blood Pack and Blue Suns, Vask was a member of the mercenary group after all and was living in Blue Suns territory, so Archer assumed that they were going to make a move on the Gozu district at some point. But as they made their way closer to the clinic, Archer didn’t see any Blue Sun bodies.

“Oh, well. I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Archer said to himself. Thankful to whatever slaughtered the vorcha that he wouldn’t have to get into a firefight to reach the clinic. He only had the one heat clip in his pistol, and Vask was in no state to help in a firefight. He also deliberately left the krogan’s shotgun in the apartment. Not trusting Vask’s current mental state to wield a gun.

The pair turned a corner and saw the sign for the clinic.

“Oh, thank God,” exclaimed Archer. He picked up the pace and dragged Vask behind him, hissing in pain with each step.

They stopped halfway through the square when a group of LOKI mechs walked out of the clinic with assault rifles trained on them. Archer unholstered and aimed his pistol at them.

“Firearm detected,” said one of the mechs. “Please leave the area.”

“Please,” Archer begged, “My boyfriend’s sick and I’m hurt. We need help.”

“Request for medical assistance acknowledged,” said the mech. “Please holster your firearm.”

Archer slowly holstered his pistol and the mechs lowered their rifles in return.

“Please follow us,” requested the mech, and the mechs turned around and headed back into the clinic.

Archer followed them into the clinic, guiding Vask with him and told him, “We’re gonna get you some help.”

The pair made their way into the clinic and Archer sat them down on a bench as a flustered medic came up to them and started scanning them with their omni-tool. Archer leaned against Vask and closed his eyes. Letting the medic do their work and answering every question asked of him as best he could.