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Chapter Text

Von Kaiser knew when Glass Joe was feeling unwell. 

He had become much more adept at reading body language and faces overall since they had begun dating. 

In the past he had never paid much mind to what he could deduce from the way someone's mouth turned upwards or downwards, or what one did with their hands while talking to him. 

It had not been difficult for him to learn Joe. Despite his soft-spokenness the Frenchman was fairly expressive after all, in contrast to a few of the other boxers who were perpetually stoic and stony, like Piston Hondo, Mr. Sandman, and the German himself.

Von Kaiser had always deeply respected the men who could keep stone-faced in the ring. The wrong expression or gesture could easily telegraph one's next move- a point that he had always drilled into the minds of his young students. And there were certain expressions- smiles and smirks, scowls and sneers- that did not reflect good sportsmanship.

Von Kaiser had initially been appalled by Joe's behavior during matches: his trademark taunt cry of Vive la France, his wide and cocky grin whenever his opponent's punch failed to land a KO, the little march he did while humming his country's national anthem to himself, and most of all, the terrified frown that always appeared when it looked like he was going to lose, once again.

Eventually some of the small Frenchman's little quirks charmed Von Kaiser, and he could no longer consider himself bothered by them. He was simply patriotic, and any jab that did not knock him out was definitely worth celebrating. 

The hints of melancholy and fear, however, did not charm or humor Von Kaiser. He would feel his blood boil whenever he heard an opponent or an audience member crack a joke about how pitiful and scared and helpless the Frenchman looked. 

Von Kaiser had come to know the real Glass Joe- the Glass Joe that peeked through the weak facade of enthusiasm and confidence, if one just looked closely enough.

“Is something the matter, mein Liebling?”

Whenever Joe's wide, brown eyes looked less like those of a sweet fawn and more like those of a sad, lost puppy, Von Kaiser knew that the Frenchman was either having un mauvais jours- a bad day- or was physically sick.

Joe had barely touched his coffee and was struggling to consume even a spoonful of his yogurt, and he had only managed to peck at his croissant.

“I am fine, mon bijou,” he murmured, staring at the full spoon in his left hand, unable to bring it anywhere near his mouth.

“You do not seem fine, Josef. You have not had a bite of your breakfast, and you look a bit flushed. Are you getting sick?”

Joe shook his head and forced the spoon between his lips. 

“Why don't you stay home today, Schätzchen. You do not look well.” 

“Non, Viktor.” He gulped down the yogurt, although he knew that his stomach would ultimately not cooperate. “I think I need some air frais, that is all. The gym will do me good.”

As he drove to the WVBA facility, Von Kaiser occasionally glanced at the uncomfortable Joe leaning forward in the passenger seat. He remained quiet for the entire ride, keeping his gaze out the window and occasionally squirming in his seat. 

“Josef, if you need to go home, let me know.” Von Kaiser laid a hand upon his forehead as they entered the gym; he was beginning to feel quite warm.

“I will be fine, Viktor. I can stick with an easy workout today. Maybe some light weights for just a short while.”

“Well, then,” he grunted. There was no stopping Joe; if he wanted to train while clearly ill, then that was his prerogative. “Just do not be afraid to let me know when you need to leave, ja?”

Von Kaiser pushed Joe's auburn hair up and off of his wan face. “I would much rather you sit out instead, Josef. But I will be at the barbell racks if you need me.”

Von Kaiser watched in the mirror as his biceps bulged with each curl of the barbell.

"Sieben… acht… neun… zehn."

When he finished his grueling set, he paused to dry off his hands and take a sip of water before resuming.

He looked down at his watch; he and Joe had been at the gym for nearly an hour. Perhaps Joe was OK after all? Certainly he would have given out by that point, and the two would already be on their way home.

He lifted the heavy barbell off of the floor and was lining up his elbows for a set of forearm curls when a youthful voice interrupted him.

“Herr Kaiser!”

His head snapped up, and he glanced in the mirror to see Little Mac racing up behind him, nearly out of breath. 

“Herr Kaiser, there you are. Come quick!”

Alarmed by the frantic teenager, Von Kaiser dropped the barbell back on its rack with a resonating metallic thud. 

“Is something the matter?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

Little Mac pivoted on his heels and motioned for Von Kaiser to follow him. “Come to the locker room. Joe’s sick.”

“Oh, nein.”

The German raced ahead of him into the main locker room and found a handful of the other boxers huddled around a bench.

Bear Hugger was seated upon it, reclining his back against the wall and cradling Joe in his large, hairy arms. The bib of his denim overalls was splattered with pale clumps, and his usual ear-to-ear grin was replaced by a worried frown.

The Frenchman was very green in the face, a film of sweat on his forehead, and Don Flamenco was crouched beside him with a trash can in his hand.

“Scheiße,” Von Kaiser groaned, hurrying to the small group. 

“Hey, Von Kaiser is here, Joey, do ya wanna sit with him instead?” Bear Hugger gently bounced Joe like an infant and met Von Kaiser's stern gaze.

“What's wrong with him? What happened?” Von Kaiser dropped beside the obese Canadian and allowed him to hoist his barely-conscious partner upon his lap.

“There ya go, Joey,” Bear Hugger murmured, lightly smacking him on his bare knee. “Welp, Don came in and found him in front of one of the johns, hurlin’ like he'd eaten some raw fish that'd gone bad.”

“Sí,” the Spaniard confirmed, indicating the trash can. “And when he was done, he said he felt very weak and could barely stand. We had to carry him here.”

“Then he blew chunks all over Bear, just like I did at the bar after half-off whiskey night,” Aran Ryan added with a smirk, although his brow was also slightly furrowed with concern.

Von Kaiser sighed, frustrated and embarrassed. If only Joe had stayed home! It was never unusual for him to get sick to his stomach, especially when his opponents aimed their blows at his belly rather than his helmeted face, but now the Frenchman seemed to be genuinely ill. 

Von Kaiser laid the back of his hand on Joe's forehead. “He's burning up.”

At his partner's cool touch, Joe began to stir. “Viktor,” he managed to utter, “I need to go home.”

“We're going to get you home right away, mein Schätzchen, do not worry.” 

With Bear Hugger's help, Von Kaiser carried Joe to his Volkswagen and gently laid him across the back seat.

“Danke, Bear. Now go get changed, please,” Von Kaiser said, cringing as he eyed- and smelled- the lumberjack's soiled dungarees. 

“Any time, Vik,” Bear Hugger answered with a salute. “And no worries. It's just a little puke, eh? And not nearly as bad as Aran's cheap whiskey upchuck. I've had worse stuff get on my clothes. Now run home and take good care of your Joey.”

Your Joey.

The Canadian's words echoed in Von Kaiser's mind as he turned the car key. He scolded himself for not having been more assertive with his Joey, more protective.

Why had Joe been so reluctant to stay home that morning anyway?

“We will be home soon, Schätzchen,” he promised as he turned on to the freeway.

Joe responded with a long sniffle. Von Kaiser clutched the wheel and kept his focus upon the road as he heard the rustling of a plastic grocery bag, followed by a series of heaves and belches, coming from directly behind him. 

Gott, he had seen much more blood and gore in the past twenty-odd years than the average man would see in a lifetime, but vomit still made his skin crawl. 

“We will be home soon,” he repeated shakily, to reassure not only Joe but also himself. His trembling right hand reached for the radio dial and turned it to NPR. 

Distracted and eventually soothed by All Things Considered, he turned his mind away from the fact that there was a full, makeshift barf bag just inches behind his seat and began to mull over remedies.

Ginger, and… what else? Weak toast was an option, given all the bread Joe kept in his kitchen. Could he take pain relievers? Should he apply a hot or a cold compress to his aching belly? 

What had their mothers done for them when they had had the stomach flu as children? 

Once he had gotten Joe home and settled into bed, he would call his Mami: she would know just what to do.

Chapter Text

“I'm sorry I threw up on Bear Hugger.” 

Those were Joe's first words after Von Kaiser had pulled the light, gauzy blanket over his feverish body.

“He did not seem angry about it, Josef,” Von Kaiser replied, stroking Joe's temple and sliding a digital thermometer under his tongue. “There are worse boxers for you to accidentally… contaminate, in that way.” He imagined someone much more temperamental or vain, like Bald Bull or Super Macho Man, in Bear Hugger's place and shuddered. “You have no reason to worry, mein Liebling.”

The thermometer beeped. “One-hundred-one-point-eight degrees Fahrenheit,” he read, calculating the conversion to himself, “or over thirty-eight Celsius. You are ill, Josef.”

Joe wrapped his arms around his abdomen as another cramp took hold. 

“Ça fait trop mal,” he moaned.

Von Kaiser furrowed his brow and pressed a cool compress to his hot forehead. “Armes Ding.” 

Any illness, no matter how mild, could knock out the weak Frenchman entirely, much more than a bad beating in the ring. A mere stomach ache or nausea could be excruciating for him, and even a low fever would leave him feeling like he was entirely engulfed in flames. 

Von Kaiser poured a can of clear lemon-lime soda into a glass and set it on the nightstand. Joe managed a few sips before suddenly rising, throwing off the covers and bolting to the bathroom.

He emerged a few minutes later clutching his lower abdomen. “I may need to stay in there for a while,” he said shakily.

“Do whatever you need, Liebling.” 

Von Kaiser knew Joe would be challenged with a frustrating decision: sit on the toilet or kneel in front of it. He leaned against the dresser and examined his chapped hands, which were still recovering from the dry, irritating air of winter. He was certainly going to have to wash them over and over if he was to have any hope of not catching Joe's illness. 

All he wanted to do was lie beside the poor Frenchman- his Joey- and caress him, cradle him, whisper into his ear that everything would be OK, but he did not dare get too close.

Gott, why did his heart always falter and ache so terribly whenever Joe was suffering? Why did his hands- and lips- itch to nurse and heal him? 

He glanced at the clock; it was nearly eleven, and it was already early evening in Germany. He would need to call his Mami before she went to bed.

He heard the toilet flush, followed by the gush of running water from the sink. Joe emerged from the bathroom looking even paler and weaker.

He was still underweight, Von Kaiser realized, and this stomach flu was only going to make his condition worse.

“Josef, keep sipping on that soda. You cannot end up dehydrated.”

“When I would get sick as a boy,” Joe began, perching on the edge of the bed, “my maman would brew me ginger tea. I don't think I have any, non.”

In Von Kaiser's mind, that was a directive. 

“Well, why don't I go to the supermarket for some things for you, Liebling, like some ginger tea? But first, I need to make a short phone call, if you do not mind.”

He took his phone from his pocket and sat down beside Joe as he dialed. With his free hand he rolled up Joe's pajama shirt and began to massage his tender stomach, rubbing in gentle circles around his navel, delivering a soothing warmth.

“Mami! Wie geht es dir?”

Von Kaiser's exclamation startled Joe, who was beginning to fall asleep. Von Kaiser apologetically hushed him and resumed his massage.

He began to prattle entirely in rapid German with his mother while continuing to rub Joe's belly. Joe winced every few moments, attempting to relax and loosen the persistent cramps.

“Josef? Hier ist er. Sag Hallo, Mami.”

Von Kaiser held the phone just closely enough above Joe's burning ear. The Frenchman did not feel like speaking, but he did not want to be standoffish towards Von Kaiser's mother.

“Guten tag, Josef!”

“Bonsoir, Frau Von Kaiser,” he murmured, his face contorting through another harrowing cramp.

“Mein Viktor tells me you are ill,” she said in English.

“Oui. Mon estomac…”

“Do not worry, nein. Viktor will care for you. He can cook you something to make your tummy better. He has all my recipes. I hope you feel better, Josef.”

“Merci.”

Von Kaiser took the phone back and continued chattering away in his native tongue. 

“Danke, Mami. Tschüss!” He hung up, smiling gently, and turned back to his sick lover. “Mami had some suggestions for what I should cook for you. Some of her specialties, things she would make for me whenever I was unwell.”

Joe answered with an understanding nod. “Can you bring me the heating pad, please? It is under the bathroom sink.”

“Certainly.” Von Kaiser did as requested. Joe immediately clasped the pad to his belly as it began to warm up, desperate for its therapeutic effects.

“See that it doesn't get too hot, Josef. You're already feverish.” Von Kaiser picked up Monsieur Croissant- one of Joe's beloved plush toys- from the opposite side of the bed and tucked it beside the sick Frenchman's chest. 

“Here- why don't you let Monsieur Croissant take care of you while I head to the supermarket. Will you be comfortable on your own? I should not take too long.”

“Oui. I will try to sleep.” Joe yawned and squeezed the heating pad and the toy more closely to his body.

Von Kaiser looked back at Joe as he left the bedroom. He resembled a sick child, helpless and wanting only someone to be at their bedside to nurse them. 

He had escorted many of his students to the school infirmary over his career: nosebleeds, sprains, black eyes, cuts, and even lost teeth were plentiful in the gym. 

The littlest boys would fight back tears as he marched with them down the corridor, his hand on their shoulders. A few of them had not been afraid to express their fears- that a wound would never stop bleeding, that a twisted ankle would render them permanently unable to walk, that the stars in their eyes would leave them blind.

All he could offer them was assurance that they would heal in little time, that the physical pain was temporary: he knew from decades of experience. But once they reached the infirmary, the boys were out of his hands. He simply dropped them off in the doorway and returned to the gym.

Of course the little monsters had pummeled him with their surprising strength. He had learned to respect them and to never underestimate their tiny fists, and at times he simply despised them. 

However, whenever they were hurt, they were hurt, and their pain became his too. Part of him ached to patch up their bruises and scrapes himself, to allow them to cry into his chest for as long as they needed. Their own mothers and fathers were far away, and he was the closest they had to a source of comfort.

Chapter Text

Mami's remedy was simple: plain potato stew- kartoffelsuppe- and her renowned gingerbread tea cookies. The stew would gently rehydrate Joe, and the gingerbread would quell his nausea and calm his tummy.

Von Kaiser chuckled to himself as he parked in front of the supermarket. How he had loved those gingerbread cookies as a boy! They were soft baked and not too sweet, and their fresh, warming bits of candied ginger never failed to soothe a stomach ache or a stuffy nose. 

Whenever Mami baked them for her weekly gatherings with her neighborhood friends, he would sneak into the sitting room and swipe a handful whenever he thought the ladies were not looking. Even when he was older and had his regular Tantenkaffee with his favorite Tante Karine, his Mami always baked them a dozen to share.

He checked off the items on his mental shopping list: potatoes, vegetable broth. Bananas, white rice, applesauce, saltines, sports drinks. And, of course, a melange of ginger items: bottles of ale brewed with real ginger, fresh root, and candied bits and powder for the tea cookies.

As he combed the breakfast aisle for a package of ginger tea bags, he could not help but blink back angry tears.

None of this was fair. His Schätzchen was very sick and uncomfortable, and all he wanted was for his Mami herself to come and prepare her soothing treat, because she would do it perfectly. 

Von Kaiser despised baking- he was better at cooking-, and he knew he could never replicate the plush texture and spicy, cozy warmth of her own tea cookies anyway. His would inevitably turn out burned or undercooked in the center, misshapen and unappetizing.

He just wanted it all to be perfect for Joe: poor Joe, who did not even have the privilege of calling his mother, let alone wishing she could appear in his kitchen to cook for his aching tummy, or in his bedroom to massage and caress him until he was well.

Verdammt. 

Von Kaiser realized why Joe had resisted staying home. Many times he had recounted stories of his father, past guardians, and countless foster parents treating his frequent ailments as mere inconveniences, as if he had become ill on purpose, to spite them.

It made sense; Joe had simply been afraid of being an inconvenience to him. He feared seeming needy.

Poor baby, he thought sadly, not realizing that he was standing stock-still in the middle of the aisle, until a clerk stopped to ask if he needed help.

He simply replied with a brusque shake of his head and dropped the carton of tea bags into his hand basket with a flick of his wrist.

He hoped that one day Joe would fully realize that he was not an inconvenience- at least not to him.

When Von Kaiser returned to Joe's townhome, he found him half-asleep on the living room sofa, a Tati film playing on the TV.

“Viktor.” Joe turned his head in Von Kaiser's direction but kept his eyes closed.

“How are you feeling now, Liebling?” He noticed the cord and the thermostat of the heating pad emerging from beneath Joe's blanket. 

“I fell asleep.” 

Von Kaiser knelt beside him and delicately smoothed his messy hair with the back of his hand. 

“I have some groceries for you. Do you think you can handle a banana, or some plain, toasted baguette?”

Joe choked out a pathetic “Oui”, but the glimmer that usually appeared in his brown eyes at the mention of his favorite food, however, did not appear. 

Von Kaiser chewed his lower lip, his heart aching, as he washed his hands and cut a quarter of a fresh baguette into thin slices. 

He allowed the door of the toaster oven to spring shut with a metallic clang as his mind revisited the croissant and coffee that Joe had struggled to eat that morning. 

Although his illness would likely not last long, seeing Joe unable to enjoy his much-beloved treats made Von Kaiser feel queasy himself.

When he had been a very young student at the Military Academy, he developed a long spell of anxiety. His stomach ached, and he had no appetite. While the rest of his classmates enjoyed their lunches every afternoon, he only stared down at his while tears stung at his eyes, and the only feeling worse than the inability to eat was the fear of what would happen when the lunchroom monitors caught him wasting his food.

The monitors would scold him while jabbing a finger at his tray as the other boys watched in amusement, laughing and shaking their heads at their miserable classmate.

One day the tallest and oldest of the monitors suddenly grabbed him by the arm and jerked him off of the wooden bench. 

You think it is acceptable to waste this nourishing food, Master Von Kaiser? Do you need a reminder of the famine this country suffered after the war? Your mami and papa and your grandparents would have been grateful to have been fed slop from a bucket back then!

He dragged the frightened Von Kaiser to the corridor, tightening his grip. If you want to be force-fed like a baby, then that is what we will do!

Something snapped in the young child. He balled up the fist of his free hand and drove it with all of his might into the monitor's crotch. 

The man instantly released him with a wheezing groan, allowing him to run free, and despite his empty stomach and low energy, he managed to reach home by foot, where he fell into his Mami's arms and released the wails that had been long stuck in his throat.

That had been the beginning of his illustrious boxing career, he thought with a snicker as he arranged the toasted baguette rounds on a plate.

He set the dish, along with a ripe banana and a bottle of ginger ale, on the coffee table in front of Joe.

“Eat what you can. I think you will feel a bit better with something in your stomach.”

Over the next hour Joe managed half of the banana and two slices of the toasted baguette, and he sipped a bottle of the ginger ale between his slow bites, allowing its bubbles to tickle his inflamed esophagus.

Von Kaiser remained in the armchair across from him, combing through a fine arts magazine. Once Joe was well, he would plan a special date for them at the Metropolitan Opera or Lincoln Center. The magazine announced that Beethoven's Fidelio was playing at the Met in two weeks…

“V-Viktor?”

“Hmm?” In the whitish glow of the television screen, he could see that Joe's face had once again taken on a deeper, greener hue.

“I need… I am going to…”

Joe reached frantically for the metal trash can he had kept beside the coffee table. Von Kaiser was set on keeping his distance from the scene but found himself crouching beside his ill partner, rubbing his back while looking away and holding his nose.

When Joe was finished he curled up in the fetal position and groaned.

“Josef, are you in that much pain?”

Joe only blinked back tears and hugged the heating pad to his abdomen. 

“Is there anything I can do? Should I call your doctor?”

Joe shook his head. “I just want to sleep. But I don't know if I can.”

“Oh, mein Schätzchen.” Von Kaiser detected a melancholic quiver in Joe's voice. “Is there any music I can put on for you? Or,” he gestured at the row of DVDs in the TV cabinet, “you have plenty of movies. Are there any that might make you sleepy?”

Joe pulled his blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. “I would like music, please. Do you mind a lullaby?”

“Of course, Liebling.” Von Kaiser perched himself on the arm of the sofa, still at a safe enough distance, and began to caress Joe's auburn hair, its roots damp with his feverish sweat. 

He continued his gentle strokes as he hummed Der Mond ist Aufgegangen, stopping once Joe's eyelids closed and batted lightly like a butterfly's wings.

Before rising from his seat he paused to admire Joe's profile: his strong nose and cheekbones, the freckles that adorned their flesh, the peaceful expression that had finally settled upon his eyes and his full lips. 

“Ich liebe dich,” he whispered, carefully repositioning Monsieur Croissant within the safe crook of Joe's elbow. 

He set a Satie album on the record player and returned to his spot in the recliner, and he resumed reading his magazine as the first Gymnopédie gently carried Joe into an even deeper sleep. 

Chapter Text

There were no strict hours or routines whenever one was ill. The sleep-filled day might as well have been nighttime, and there were no mealtimes- especially not with a stomach flu. For those reasons Von Kaiser was grateful that he was rarely sick. He needed routine, and although he himself was healthy, Joe's sickness made him lose track of time.

He did not realize that it was already evening when Joe awoke from his nap, groggy and still uncomfortable.

“Did you sleep well, Schätzchen?” He felt just as disoriented as the ill Frenchman and looked out the window at the approaching dusk in disbelief.

“Not very well, non. I would like to try some ginger tea, please. Maybe I can keep it down.”

Von Kaiser prepared a cup, but when he set it on the coffee table, Joe took one look at the mug and went green in the face once again.

“We can save it for later,” Von Kaiser assured him, quickly removing the offending drink from Joe's sight.

Von Kaiser had arranged a makeshift bed on the recliner, while Joe was still drowsily curled up on the sofa, watching a Jean-Luc Godard film through half-closed eyes.

He had not been able to decide whether to keep Joe there or to carry him to his bed, but Joe quietly insisted that he was comfortable in the living room.

“Wake me if you need anything,” Von Kaiser instructed as he situated himself in the recliner. Joe acknowledged him with a brief grunt and turned down the volume on the TV.

It was already nine o'clock, and Von Kaiser was exhausted after the long day's events, but if Joe needed to stay up and distract himself from his pain, that was fine by him. Despite the TV's silvery glow and the somber French dialogue, and the fact that his reading glasses were still perched upon his nose, he fell asleep immediately.

Von Kaiser awoke suddenly to the sound of muffled sobs. He rose and peered into the kitchen to see the oven clock, squinting through a thick blurriness until he remembered he was still wearing his reading glasses. It was three-thirty AM. 

“Josef, what is the matter?” he called from the kitchen, groping his way through the darkness until he felt the firm arm of the sofa.

“It hurts,” the Frenchman murmured, his face covered by his pillow. Von Kaiser felt his cheek and found that it was still burning. 

“I tried to swallow two fever-reducer tablets before going to sleep, but I threw them back up,” he whimpered. 

“Josef, I do not know what to do. Not at this time of night.” 

Von Kaiser had already known that neither of them were going to get a good night's sleep, but he could not resist caving in to exasperation. 

His eyesight having finally adjusted to the darkness, he laid a cool, damp washcloth on Joe's forehead.

“Try to lie still,” he barked as Joe writhed beneath his touch.

Joe sniffled and choked on a sob. “I am trying to.”

Von Kaiser took a few deep breaths to quell his frustration. He sat upon the arm of the sofa. 

“Shh, mein Liebling.” He brushed Joe's damp hair, stroking it from the temple to the top of his ear with his thumb, and readjusted the Monsieur Croissant plush so that it was nestled within the crook of his neck.

He continued shushing and caressing him until his writhing and whimpering slowed, and then eventually stopped.

“Please stay asleep,” he begged silently. He washed his hands in the kitchen and returned to his makeshift bed, and although Joe had fallen back into a deep sleep, he himself struggled to keep his eyes closed and his mind at ease.

The next morning, Joe asked to be moved back to his bed so that he could be closer to a bathroom. 

Von Kaiser helped him walk to the bed as lower abdominal cramps left him with a shaky limp. 

He draped the sheets loosely over Joe's feverish, aching body and laid the cool washcloth back over his forehead.

“I need to make a phone call. I will not take long.”

“You are not calling the doctor, are you?”

“Not unless you would like me to.”

Joe shook his head. “Every time I go to them with stomach troubles, they just tell me, ‘it is from boxing. You have been punched there too many times. You need to give it up already.’” His brown eyes began to water. 

“I will not bother with them, then,” Von Kaiser replied gently, pulling the linen sheet up over Joe's shoulders. “Keep resting. I will be right back.”

He needed privacy, so with his phone in hand, he shut himself in his car, slamming the door and bashing the dashboard with his fist. 

“Verdammt!”

He seethed as he listened to the dial tone. 

“Hallo?”

“Mami!”

“What is wrong, Schatzi? You sound upset.”

“I am upset, Mami.”

“You are always upset, mein Schatzi. Did a group of children try to steal your wallet again, or does this have to do with your poor Josef?”

Von Kaiser rubbed his temple. “Josef,” he squeaked. “He hurts very badly. He can barely sleep, and he can't keep anything down. I gave him some toasted baguette slices and a banana yesterday, and he just threw them back up. He cannot even keep medicines down.” His voice was loopy from frustration and sadness, as well as lack of sleep. “Is there something I am doing wrong?”

“Viktor, you have had the stomach flu before, remember? It does not just go away that quickly, or by magic, you know that.”

“But Mami…”

“Viktor, you are almost forty-three,” she scolded. “You know that it will take time for your Josef to feel better, and there is nothing you can do to cure him. The bug will have to run its course.”

The line crackled as she sighed. “I know you wish you could make him better on your own. I was in your place myself, back when your poor father was…” She paused, and then interrupted the silence moments later with another long, pained exhalation. “You cannot let this bother you, Schatzi. All you can do is nurse him. Be patient. You will make him my tea cookies and potato stew, once he is ready to keep down his food?”

“Ja,” he replied, although it felt like Joe would never be able to eat again.

“Very good. For now, I am certain that all he wants is to feel comfortable and have you with him.”

Von Kaiser nodded, as if she could see him. “I just feel like… there is no sense in my being here with him. I am only in the way.”

“Now, Viktor.” Her voice resumed a brisk, reproachful tone. “Give this some thought. Before he was with you, how long do you think the little doll went without having anyone to care for him?” 

“Probably… not since he lost his mother.” It pained him to speak that sentence. “That was when he was a boy.”

“What did you do while he was hospitalized?”

“I visited him every day. And I sat with him and brought him food and things from home.”

“See? That's all he needs. I doubt he expects much from you, Viktor. Just keep him company. Play him music or read him a book. Tell him some nice stories. I know you two have plenty of entertainment at home.”

They sat through a few moments of ponderous silence.

“Mami?” He began to toy with one end of his mustache, a bit embarrassed by the question he was preparing to ask.

“Yes, Schatzi?”

“What did you do for me whenever I was ill as a child?”

“Well. You were not ill often, Viktor, but it seemed you were always hurt, from rough-housing and all your physical training at the Academy.”

It was true; it seemed that at least once a week she was nursing a black eye, a cut lip, or a cramping calf muscle.

“You liked when I bounced you on my lap.” Fortunately she had always been a brawny woman and was always able to withstand his weight upon her even as he grew. “And you always had to have some kind of sweet to make you feel better. Chocolates, marzipan candies, and those almond biscuits. Getting hurt always made your sweet tooth even sweeter, Viktor!”

They both laughed. 

“But in all seriousness, Viktor, I know you can take care of your Josef. He will recover before you know it.”

“Danke, Mami.”

“Keep me updated on him. Do not be afraid to ask for more help. Oh, I do wish I could be there for you two…”

Von Kaiser blushed and chuckled as he ended the call, his mood having immediately improved. He could not bounce Joe on his lap, and he certainly was not going to offer him rich sweets, but he now had a newly-found confidence that he could figure out something.

Chapter Text

Joe spent much of the morning in the bathroom. When he finally emerged, clutching his lower belly, Von Kaiser observed that he had been crying.

“Do not worry, Josef. This cannot last much longer. I doubt there's much left inside of you.”

“It is not that, Viktor.” Joe shook his head as he climbed back into bed. “Non, I just need…” His voice cracked, and he embraced the extra pillow beside him.

“Josef, you can tell me whatever it is that's upsetting you, and I will do what I can.” Von Kaiser remained standing beside the closet, his hands folded behind his back. He knew Joe had excellent hygiene, but he still did not want to risk touching anything in the room.

Joe propped himself up on his elbow and wiped away a stray tear. “Can you bring me the photo album, please?”

“Certainly, Liebling.”

Von Kaiser set the leather album in front of Joe. He propped the album upon his lap, keeping one palm pressed to his aching belly, which Von Kaiser heard emit a few rumbles before he returned to his safe zone at the foot of the bed.

“You may look along with me, mon bijou.”

Von Kaiser was prepared to politely decline but recalled his mother's stern advice: keep him company. He sensed that Joe's invitation was really a disguised plea: he wanted nothing more than to share his treasured memories with him- his partner.

He stood beside Joe and stroked his hair as he slowly turned each page, stopping once he reached a photo of Genevieve. She was seated in front of a café, smiling at the camera, a cup of coffee in her hand and a croissant on a dish before her, smothered in a light red jam.

“Getting sick always makes me miss Maman, much more than usual.” His voice squeaked, and he squeezed Monsieur Croissant to his chest. “Not having her to care for me or to sit up with me at night when I cannot sleep…”

He traced a finger around the edges of the photo while he wept. 

Von Kaiser handed him a tissue. “What would your maman do for you when you were ill as a child?”

Joe flipped the page to another photo of Genevieve. She was cradling him as a crying newborn, and her lips were softly puckered, possibly to shush him or to soothe him with a kiss. 

“She would read me my favorite books, and of course she would sing for me. Even when I was bigger she would stay up and rock me to sleep. She was the only one who could ever make me feel even a little bit better.”

Von Kaiser timidly reached down and rubbed Joe's upper back. How was he ever going to nurse Joe as sweetly and as gently as his poor deceased maman had? His skin crawled at the thought of rocking him, cradling him: had Genevieve not been afraid of catching his illnesses?

“I will try my hardest to do the same for you, mein Liebling.” Von Kaiser took a deep breath, playfully ruffled Joe's bangs, and allowed the Frenchman to lightly grasp his forearm. “Why don't I bring you some more ginger tea and find a book to read to you?”

Joe briefly tightened his hold on Von Kaiser's arm. “May we keep looking at pictures, too?”

The German nodded. “Of course. We will do whatever will make you feel better, mein Schätzchen.”

Joe continued paging through his beloved photographs while spooning the warm ginger tea between his lips, as if it were soup.

Meanwhile Von Kaiser read to him from his beloved copy of The Story of Babar. He awkwardly plodded through its French text, knowing he sounded like a complete embarrassment, but eventually Joe relaxed and even flashed him a tender smile. He remained curled up on his side, but soon his brow and jaw unclenched, and he fell asleep with the plush croissant tucked beneath his chin.

“Kleiner Engel,” Von Kaiser whispered, setting the half-finished book on the nightstand, on top of the photo album. He did not dare touch its red leather cover; besides, he considered, Joe might want to revisit it.

Von Kaiser could not suppress a proud smile. Despite his greenish, wan face and his straggly hair, Joe truly did resemble a little angel, sleeping peacefully with his plush toy as a small child would.

He washed his hands and forearms at the kitchen sink, where the spicy aroma of ginger tea still lingered. He prepared himself a mug of coffee and situated himself at the table to read the newspaper, but his mind lingered on what had taken place over the previous hour.

He wanted to cry for Joe, for all of the suffering he had endured completely alone over nearly thirty years.

It seemed unreal to him that the kind Frenchman had spent all of his adult life returning to an empty home every night, to tend to his own bruises and wounds and whatever injuries the WVBA's medics and nurses could not heal immediately after a match. 

He could not imagine how many colds and flus and infections Joe had been left to soothe with only the effort of his own weak, aching body.

It all angered and saddened him. 

He recalled Joe's time in the hospital and psychiatric facility that past year, and how scared the Frenchman had been. Certainly there had been numerous hospital stays before that one: had he spent those long hours alone?

Life had led him to stumble upon a sick, fearful, orphaned little fawn, cowering in the bushes beneath a storming sky. But he loved that tiny creature very much, and while he could not simply replace his sweet mother, he promised himself that he would try his best.

Chapter Text

Joe slowly began to improve. Within a few days, the vomiting and diarrhea stopped, and his fever broke. He was finally able to keep down bland, solid foods, although his stomach still ached, and he spent most of his time recovering in bed, drinking juices and tea.

Von Kaiser had stayed with him whenever he was not at the gym, just as he had done when Joe was in the hospital. They read books and listened to music together, and Joe shared some of his happy childhood memories as he guided Von Kaiser through more pages of his treasured photo album.

Von Kaiser decided that at last it was time for his mother's potato soup and gingerbread tea cakes. 

He spent much of the afternoon in the kitchen, glancing at the sticky notes on which he had meticulously scrawled his mother's instructions. The soup was easy: he tossed the measured ingredients into a pot and left it to simmer on the stove until a hearty, creamy aroma filled the apartment. 

Then came the tea cookies: his formidable enemy.

He spread the ingredients across the counter and menacingly glared at them. Applesauce, candied and powdered ginger, brown sugar, flour, molasses, oil, cloves. A bowl and a whisk, a pan lined with a sheet of parchment paper whose edges would not stay unrolled. They each glared right back at him, taunting him like an opponent in the ring. 

He felt his face and neck begin to twitch as he stirred the powders and liquids together in the glass bowl, grinding and mashing them into a thick, fragrant paste as a medieval druggist would herbs with a mortar and pestle.

Having finished mixing, he turned to the baking sheet. Form the dough into small balls and arrange them, spaced an inch apart, on the sheet. Unfortunately, the little dollops glommed onto the spoon until he flung them forcefully on the parchment paper, leaving an array of splatters that were certainly not at least an inch apart.

He pressed the clean backsides of his hands to his temples and groaned. How had his mother gracefully handled such sticky dough? He dusted his hands with flour and shaped each blob as best as he could into a sphere, but the rubbery strings wound themselves around his fingers and between his palms. His lips curled up into a disgusted sneer: how could such a mess yield a delectable treat?

Once he was at least satisfied with the little dollops of dough, he slid the sheet into the oven and prayed that he would never again have to handle that raw slop. It seemed to take forever to rinse the dough from his hands, and when he looked down, he discovered that his pants and shirt were almost entirely covered in flour. 

While he was in the middle of shaking the white grains from his pant leg, the timer finally dinged. 

Scheiße! 

The cookies were nearly burnt to a black crisp around the edges, but they redeemed themselves with plump and glistening centers, like rolls coated in butter. 

Not a single one was shaped like the perfectly-rounded domes his mother had always produced. They had flattened and were scattered across the paper in a variety of nebulous forms; one was shaped like Saturn, and another looked a bit like a flattened boxing glove.

They are hideous, he thought, seething. 

He could do plenty of things masterfully, skillfully. Why could he not do this one simple task perfectly for his Joe?

Although they were still steaming, he picked one up with his fingertips and broke it in half to find tiny cubes of candied ginger nestled within the fluffy, cake-like center. They at least looked correct on the inside…

He waited for it to cool and took a bite. While it was not nearly as spicy or robust as his mother's, he still felt a pleasant burn on his palate that eventually worked its way up into his sinuses. 

Not bad.

Von Kaiser shuffled Joe's room with a plateful of the cookies and a bowl of potato soup, his head hung in shame. “I apologize for how they turned out.” He sighed with disappointment as he set the snacks on the tray. “I hope they taste much better than they look.”

“Oh, mon bijou!” Joe exclaimed, beaming. “I think they look delicious. And they smell wonderful, too! Merci!”

Joe was right: the cookies were delectable, despite their charred, crooked edges, which he simply snapped off and discarded. Their soothing tingle was much more potent than that of the tea and ginger ale he had been sipping, and to his relief, they stayed in his stomach.

“Viktor, I am not worried about how pretty they look.” He laid a hand on Von Kaiser's knee and smiled reassuringly. “Non, they make my tummy feel better, and that is all that matters to me. Besides, I know you are not a fan of baking.”

Von Kaiser blushed and smiled modestly at his partner's gratitude. “They have always been a favorite treat of mine. I would steal them from Mami's tea parties.” He chuckled. “And whenever she made some for me, she could not make them fast enough! Those cookies were just about the only thing that would test my patience. I would sit by the oven until they were done, and waiting for them to cool drove me mad.” He planted a brief kiss on the top of Joe's head. “One day I will have Mami come to visit and show me how it should be done.”

Joe silently leaned against Von Kaiser's shoulder. “Merci beaucoup, Viktor. You have been a wonderful nurse.”

Another bashful, modest smile made Von Kaiser's mustache twitch. 

He considered what his mother had said, that Joe had likely gone years and years without a reliable caregiver whenever he was ill.

As if he could read his partner's mind, Joe spoke. “It has been forever, Viktor, since I had someone care for me at home.”

“Well, then what have you done whenever you've been ill or hurt?”

Joe shrugged, frowning. “I would go home and sleep the sickness or the pain away, and I would do my best to make myself feel better, even if I was too weak to get out of bed. It was all I could do.”

Von Kaiser raised his brows. “Josef, is this true? For all of these years that I have known you, and the other boxers too?”

“Oui,” Joe squeaked.

“Oh, Liebe. Any of us would have been happy to have cared for you. You never needed to suffer alone.”

Tears began to roll down Joe's gaunt cheeks. “I was just used to it for so long… When the world seems to think that you are nothing more than garbage, it is impossible not to think of yourself as such, non?”

“Josef.” Von Kaiser's tone was suddenly stern. He sat as closely to his recovering partner as he felt was safe. “I am deeply sorry, and very angry, that this was how life treated you. But we are fixing that. You should never have felt undeserving of care, mein Liebling.”

Joe held his plush toy closely and allowed Von Kaiser to dab away his tears with a tissue. “I never want or expect anyone to feel sorry for me, mon amour, but part of me has always needed someone to at least try to make me feel better… 

“I would come home after a fight, badly injured, bleeding and aching all over. On my way out of the ring I would hear everyone laughing, making comments and jokes about me. But there was one that stayed with me, even after many years. ‘Look at that loser Frenchman! Why does he even bother anymore? I cannot feel any sympathy for him. At this point, it is all his fault if he ends up badly hurt!’”

Von Kaiser crossed his arms and gazed up at the ceiling. “I am very sorry.” 

Guilt sent a chill racing down his spine. In truth, he was apologizing not only for the spectator's rude remark but also for his own misdeeds: he himself had been guilty of such jeers towards Joe earlier in their careers. 

“I only want to do what I love,” Joe continued, weeping. “And I want to do it without a constant reminder of how pathetic I am. Losing every match has been enough, without people saying out loud that I do not deserve to…”

He burst into tears.

“Josef,” Von Kaiser whispered, shushing him like he would a wailing infant. “Shh. Everything is going to be OK now. I love you. Everyone else in the WVBA loves you. Even Aran was concerned when you got sick at training. And you should have seen Little Mac- he seemed a bit worked up. Listen.” He continued shushing Joe and gently rocked him side-to-side. “You may have lost everything and everybody you had, but we are your family now, and aside from a few knock-outs, we will not let anything bad happen to you. Nein, we are never going to leave you to suffer all on your own, Josef.”

The sobs began to subside, and Joe quietly pressed his head into Von Kaiser's chest. He focused on the sound of the German's hypnotic, steady heartbeat through his thin gray t-shirt.

“You are my brave little soldier,” Von Kaiser whispered, tickling the tip of his ear with his warm breath. He continued rocking Joe and patting his back, and he hummed one of his lullabies until the Frenchman fell asleep.

“Hallo, Viktor!”

“Hallo, Mami!”

“How is everything? How is your Josef?”

“He's much better, Mami. I made him some of your soup and cookies. The cookies were not nearly as perfect as yours, but he loved them anyway.”

“That's wonderful to hear, Schatzi. I told you he would get better with time.”

Von Kaiser was in the living room but still spoke quietly, as Joe was in a much-deserved, deep sleep. He gazed out of the front window, at the hazy, silvery cityscape on the horizon.

“Mami?”

“Mhm?”

Von Kaiser lowered his voice even further and stifled what felt like an oncoming sob with a gulp. “I cannot replace his mother.”

“Of course you cannot, Viktor. No one can, try as they might.”

He pursed his lips and blinked away the film of tears that was nipping at his eyes. “He cannot stop wanting her and missing her. Sometimes when he is asleep, he cries out for her. All I can do is hold him close to me. But it never feels like I am doing enough, Mami.”

“Viktor, unfortunately that is something that no one can fix. Please doubt yourself a bit less. I know what you are capable of. You remember that little starling with the broken wing, when you were a boy? And all of the other baby animals you tried to nurse? Gott, I was afraid our apartment would turn into a veterinary hospital. You definitely have your Papa's knack for mending things, rest his soul.” 

She paused, and Von Kaiser took a moment to traipse to the back bedroom to check on Joe. He was still asleep, with Monsieur Croissant nestled in his arms. Most of the greenness had already faded from his face, and his torso was no longer contorted from cramps.

“If his mother could see you caring for her baby, she would be very grateful, Schatzi,” she continued. “I know you are a wonderful and loving partner to your Josef, even if you cannot replace his sweet mama.” 

Von Kaiser beamed warmly: he knew she was right. “Danke, Mami.”