Emil woke up two days later feeling like crap. His head was pounding, his eyes felt like they were on fire, his throat felt like it was three feet thick, every muscle in his body ached, and when he woke up he endured a coughing fit that made his stomach hurt. He lay back in bed and groaned.
"I do not need dis…not now." He sighed and coughed again. "Ugh…" he said to the ceiling when he realized he could hardly talk. His throat was all swollen and sore, but it wasn't because of Gris trying to strangle him. He was sick; he didn't know what he had, but he felt horrible. And he had a strange desire to eat a dozen popsicles.
"Hmmm…" he whispered, finding that he could talk better in whispers because it didn't hurt his throat so much. "A popsicle sounds good…but do I have de strength to get outta bed an' go get one?"
He decided to risk it and pushed the covers off himself, shivering when his feet touched the floor. He hadn't been out of bed in days, he had felt too miserable, and he was used to the warm comfort of his bed. He pulled on his dark blue bathrobe and the fuzzy slippers Mercy had gotten him for his last birthday and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob when he was overtaken with another coughing fit. When it ended, he succeeded in opening the door and going out into the hallway.
It was still early in the morning, and he didn't see anyone else up and about on his way to the kitchen. He coughed some more as he opened the freezer door and found the box of popsicles.
"What?" He whispered. "No lime? Damn. Okay, do I want cherry, grape or orange?"
"How about butt-kick?" said an evil voice from the doorway.
Holding onto the handle of the freezer door for support because he felt like his legs were about to give out, Emil sighed. "Gris…please…I haven' said or done anyt'ing to you in days…please leave me alone…" he whispered, coughing again.
"Dat's true." Gris-Gris admitted. "But you see, your friends have. An' I t'ink it's time dey were shown dat I mean business. Since dey're getting after me on your behalf…"
"Gris, in case you couldn' tell, I'm sick. I can' talk. I jus' wan' get a popsicle an' go back to bed. Please leave me alone…"
"You can' talk? Gee, dat's too bad. Dat means you can' yell for help." Gris smirked, moving closer to Emil, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Oh well. Your loss."
'Oh no…' Emil thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 'I shoulda stayed in bed…'
Mercy walked into the kitchen a little while later and stopped in her tracks. What she saw scared her to the very core of her being. "Oh my God…Emil!" she exclaimed softly, ungluing her feet from the floor and racing to the young thief's side. "THEO! CLAUDE!" She yelled as loud as she could to her two friends, whom she knew were in the living room.
She turned Emil over and gasped at how horrible he looked. As Theoren and Claude ran into the room, she checked Emil's pulse and sighed with relief when she learned he was still alive. His usually pale face was covered in bruises and flushed, and Mercy could only imagine what the rest of his body looked like as well.
"What happened?!" Theoren demanded, kneeling down on the other side of Emil, a concerned look on his face.
"I don' know, I found him like dis." Mercy replied. "Claude, please go call Tante Mattie. We're gon' need her."
As Claude left the room, muttering to himself, Theoren and Mercy tried to wake Emil up.
"What d'you wan' bet Gris did dis?" Theoren asked grimly.
Mercy nodded. "After dat little run in you guys had wit' de assassins de other day, it wouldn' surprise me. Mais, I t'ink dere's more wrong den dat. He's got a fever an' it looks like his throat is swollen. I t'ink he's sick too. C'mon, Red, please wake up."
Emil coughed as he woke up, and tried to focus his burning eyes on his friends. He shuddered in pain from the coughing. "I jus' wanted a popsicle…" he whispered so softly they could hardly hear him.
Mercy pulled him close to her and rocked him in her comforting arms. "Shhh, baby, it's okay. Claude's callin' Tante Mattie. We'll take care of you."
Theoren gently ruffled Emil's red hair. "Emil, what happened?"
"I woke up, an' I'm sick." Emil whispered in reply. "I can' talk, dat's why I'm whispering. I came down here to get a popsicle, an' Gris beat me up. He said he wanted to show you guys dat he meant business."
Claude came back in and told the others that Tante Mattie was on her way. As they tried to get Emil back up to his bedroom, he had another coughing fit and looked at his friends in horror when he tasted something coppery in his mouth.
"What is it?" Claude asked.
"Blood." Emil whispered, a very scared look crossing his face. "I hope Tante hurries…"
"Dat's it. I'm gon' kill him." Claude said. He and Theoren were in the living room of the safehouse, having been kicked out of Emil's room by Tante Mattie, who only allowed Mercy to stay.
"I'll help ya." Theoren replied. "I'm sick of Gris doin' dis kind of t'ing…Emil's lucky to be alive."
Upstairs in Emil's room, Tante Mattie was working her healing magic on his beaten body. Mercy had shivered when she saw the bruises on Emil's chest and stomach. He had fallen asleep very quickly after they got him into bed, and was lying there, looking anything but peaceful. That was understandable, as he was in immense pain.
"Tante, is he goin' to be okay?" Mercy asked, sounding worried.
"De chil' will be fine, Mercy." Tante Mattie replied. "But he'll need a lot of rest, an' even more care."
"You can count on us, you know dat. We'll all do whatever we can for him." Mercy said.
"I know, chil'. He's very lucky to have you."
The door opened and Remy ran in, his red on black eyes wide with horror. "What happened?"
"Remy, hush." Tante Mattie whispered sharply. "Emil has a throat infection, an' Gris didn' help t'ings any. He beat Emil up very badly dis mornin'."
"Is he okay?" Remy asked, standing by Mercy, who put a hand on his shoulder. She knew how much her young brother-in-law cared for Emil. The two had grown up together; they were like brothers.
"He's gon' be fine, but it will take time."
Remy motioned for Mercy to join him on the other side of the room. "Merce, why'd he do it? Emil didn' say anyt'ing to him, did he?"
Mercy shook her head. "Non, but Theo, Claude an' Genard did. They had a bit of a run-in wit' Gris, Fifolet an' Questa a couple days ago, an' I guess some heated words were said. I don' know, I wasn' dere. Emil told us when we found him dat Gris had wanted to show de others dat he meant business."
Remy sighed. "Dis whole t'ing is so out of control…How angry are Theo an' Claude right now?"
"Pretty mad. You might want to go talk to dem. Dey were really upset when they left us a little while ago. If Gris isn' careful, he's gon' end up dead."
Remy sighed again and frowned. "Where'd dey go, do you know?"
"I heard Theoren say somet'ing 'bout de living room. You could check there."
"Okay. Will you stay here an' help Tante take care of him?" Remy asked, looking over at Emil.
"Of course." Mercy replied.
As Remy walked down the stairs to the main floor of the safehouse, he sighed for a third time. "I'm startin' to really hate dis unification…" he muttered. And he could tell from the angry looks on Theoren and Claude's faces that they felt the exact same way.