The fever comes on fast. One moment, Odysseus's cheeks are just starting to turn pink, the beginnings of sweat at his temples - and an hour or two later, he staggers so badly Polites catches him with a concerned cry.

"'m fine," the stubborn captain mutters, but his voice is quiet, and he's beginning to shiver.

"You aren't. You need to rest. You're no good to anyone like this."

Odysseus complains wordlessly but he's too weak to put up much of a fight as Polites leads him below decks, another pang of concern ricocheting through him every time his friend stumbles. He gets him settled among his blankets and leans back, a hand staying on him protectively.

Odysseus whines and turns his face into the furs. "'s hot. Feel..."

"Not good," Polities finishes for him. "I know. Rest. I'll get some things to help you feel better."

When Odysseus slumps further into the blankets, Polites tears himself away to make good on the promise. It only takes him a few minutes to round up a bowl of cool seawater, a cloth, and a mug of freshwater, but when he returns, his captain looks even worse.

Odysseus has moved restlessly, the furs twisted beneath and around him, half thrown off. His face and neck are deeply flushed, and he has an arm thrown over his eyes like even the dim lighting below decks is hurting him.

"Hey," Polites murmurs softly, kneeling beside him.

Odysseus grunts, unmoving.

Polites can't help a small smile. He hates to see it, but there's something about the man, the king and warrior, like this, vulnerable, needing him, that makes his heart warm.

"Let me help," Polities says. "Here..." He runs fingers up Odysseus's arm before gently pulling it away from his face. Then he soaks the rag in the cool water, wrings it out just enough, and tenderly lays it on his friend's forehead.

Odysseus gasps softly with it. His eyes roll open, glassy and distant.

"Better?"

Odysseus manages a small affirmative sound.

"Good." Polites gestures to the mug he's brought. "In a bit, I'm going to have you drink this, and then you're going to sleep for awhile, all right?"

Odysseus doesn't argue or really even respond, eyes fluttering closed again. His breathing is heavier than usual, and Polites only hopes this is something that can just be slept off. Silently, he sends up a prayer to Apollo, hoping the god of healing will hear and speed the recovery.

Polites rewets the cloth and tugs Odysseus's chiton down a little to apply it to his pink-flushed chest. He does his best to right the blankets without disturbing him too much, then wipes a stray drop from his temple with a thumb before smoothing sweat-damp hair away from his face.

"...P'l'tes?"

"Right here," Polites answers immediately.

Odysseus's hand quests blindly for him, fingers finding and curling into the edge of his tunic. "Thank you." The words are barely a breath.

Polites swallows hard. He gathers his friend's hand into his own and holds it gently. "Always, Odysseus. Thank you for letting me."