AN: Get ready for some fluff, ya'll
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"Are you going to come along to the show tonight?" Emily asked over the telephone.
"I wish that I could, darling." I croaked into the telephone before erupting into another fit of coughing.
"Oh." I could tell that she was frowning. She got on well with Mary, but I knew that she was more comfortable when I was there because I was always able to continue the conversation between the two of them. At least she'd be able to have a catch up with John. It had been a while since they had seen each other which made Roger and I's plotting practically futile. "Got a cold?" she asked.
"I wish that was all I had. I've been chucking up my guts all morning and afternoon." I groaned.
"Aw I'm sorry, love. I'll come round tomorrow and make you something good to eat?" she suggested.
"Nothing sounds good to eat at the moment."
"I'll miss you at the show." she said sadly.
"Oh, try not to miss me too much. It will all be worth it if you finally get to make your move with Deaky."
"Piss off." she laughed. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. Get some rest, alright love?"
"I will. That's all I want to do right now. Bye, Em. Have fun at the show. Tell the boys I say hi." I put the telephone back on the receiver and made my way back to my bedroom. I laid down and pulled my duvet all the way up to my chin. I so wished that I could be at the show, supporting my favorite boys and normally I would even if I felt under the weather, but this was a different kind of ill and I knew that there was no way I would even make it to the venue without throwing up. As such, the second that I felt even remotely comfortable in my bed, I had to run to the loo again. As soon as I was doing throwing up, I shut the toilet lid and rested my head against it. What a sight, I was. It must just be the flu because I hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary. Figuring that it was a better option, I dragged my duvet into the bathroom and laid down on the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was better than chucking up on the floor if I weren't able to make it to the bathroom in enough time.
I woke up on the floor to the sound of knocking on my door. I groaned and left my cover on the floor of the bathroom. I checked the clock on the way to the door to find that it was two o'clock in the bloody morning. Emily said she wasn't going to come until tomorrow. Unless she had great news regarding John Deacon, this better be someone else. I was surprised when it was Roger at the door instead. I had spoken to him that morning over the phone and he knew I wasn't feeling well, but it wasn't all that serious this morning. "Hi." I tried to muster a smile but it was really no use.
"You alright, love?" Roger asked, holding his arms out. I shook my head and wrapped my arms around him. "Emily told us that you were practically bloody dying."
"I practically am." I answered with a straight face. "You should probably stay five feet back though. You do not want to catch whatever it is I have." I said, distancing myself from him.
"I'm not afraid of you." he said, stepping inside.
"You should be." I grumbled, leading him to the couch. I sat down and hugged a pillow to myself. I felt really shit.
"I'm sorry, love." Roger cooed, brushing a piece of hair out of my face.
"Sorry that I look so shit. I feel it."
"Come off it. You wouldn't look shit even if there were literally shit on your head."
"Y'know, it's hard to take that as a compliment." Suddenly my stomach lurched again and I was off the couch, sprinting to the loo once again. I don't even know how it's possible to throw up this much. I haven't eaten anything since I first started getting sick, so now all that was coming up was stomach acid.
"Aww, lovey." Roger knelt on the bathroom floor beside me and I slumped into his arms. "I'm so tired. But I can't fall asleep because this keeps happening." I whined.
"Have you taken anything?"
"Yeah, but it hasn't helped any." I said. Roger felt my forehead and immediately retracted his hand.
"You're burning up." he confirmed. I already knew that, though. Even if I hadn't had a fever before I started vomiting, I'm sure it would have brought it on. "It's gonna be alright." he said, wrapping my duvet around me like a burrito.
"How was the show?" I asked, trying to sound upbeat again. "I'm sorry I had to miss it."
"It's better that you're here. If you were there you would have only gotten worse. It was great. Biggest crowd yet."
"Did Emily talk to John at all?" I asked and Roger nodded, a certain sparkle in his eye appearing.
"I dunno, they sure were getting cozy backstage after the show." he said.
"Good. I set her up for success then with my well wishes." I smiled, proudly despite the fact that I felt like I was dying.
"D'you want me to get some toast for you or something? You should probably eat something if you haven't all day. It'll settle your stomach." he said, rubbing my back as I clung to him.
"No way. There's no way I could eat anything. It'll only make it worse. And just the thought of eating anything right now is enough to make me sick again." I said and then it literally did. "I'm just going to lay here." I groaned, curling into a ball on the floor.
"I don't think so. I'm not about to sit here and let you sleep on your bathroom floor. C'mon." Roger stood up and lifted me off of the floor despite my protests. "Don't worry. I'll walk slow and in a straight line as to not give you sea sickness." Once we were in my bedroom, he set me down on my bed and pulled the covers back over me flat. He brought the bin to the bed and placed it down next to me in case I threw up again. "D'you want me to go, darling?" he asked, planting a sloppy kiss on my forehead.
"Please stay." I asked, grabbing onto his hand while he was turning around.
"Of course," he sat down on the edge of my bed and ran his fingers through my hair.
"You sure know how to take care of a girl when she's sick, don't you?"
"Used to it." he mumbled.
"Roger." I whined, smacking his arm.
"Sorry, love. Not what I meant."
"Yes it is."
"Ok, ok. Still sorry though." he tried not to laugh and held his hands up in defense while I jokingly glared at him. Part of being with Roger was trying to accept the fact that he was quite the lady's man. Every day was a struggle.
"Shut up and cuddle me." I grumbled, tugging on his wrist.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. If you're sick I don't want to catch whatever it is you've come down with." he joked. I knew he was joking but I was too sick for his joking. It was more irritating than it was endearing.
"Then go home!" I suddenly shouted. I hadn't meant to, but it came out that way. Anyway, it immediately wiped the smile right off of Roger's face. He looked like I'd whacked him across the head rather than tell him to go.
"C'mon, love. I was only joking."
"It's not funny, Roger. I feel like I've been hit by a bus. I just want to go to sleep." Roger let out a drawn out sigh and climbed onto my bed next to me. He wrapped his arms around my waste and kissed the back of my head. I wanted to stay mad. I wanted him to know that I didn't appreciate his joking. But it's hard to stay angry with so little energy. And it was hard to be mad at Roger anyway.
"C'mere." he whispered, pulling me closer so that my back was tight against his chest. I coughed heavily and then nuzzled my head against his arm again. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep despite how uncomfortable I was.
I woke up in the morning, still against Roger but now we were chest to chest and my right leg was slung over both of his. I checked the time and realized it was almost half nine. Well, that was more sleep than I could have hoped for with being as sick as I was. I felt slightly better in the morning, I must admit. I still felt as though I'd been hit by a bus, but the nausea was subsiding. I tried to slide my way out of Roger's grip seeing as that I was covered in sweat. My mum always used to say that the best way to get rid of a fever was to sweat it out- seems as though that's the only option. "Good morning." Roger's voice came out softly whilst his eyes remained shut. Finally I was able to escape his arms and threw the covers off of me. "We should do this more often." he suggested. I cocked an eyebrow at him.
"I should come down with sickness more often?"
"No, I meant this." he said, gesturing to the bed even though his eyes were still shut. "I like sleeping with you." I rolled my eyes and blushed even though he couldn't see me. "Where are you going?" he groaned as I stood up and marched over to the wardrobe.
"I've work today."
"Love, you're ill. You can't go to work today."
"I'm not throwing up anymore, Rog ."
"Tell me you're not still feeling like shit then." he said as if he were one of my parents. I turned around on my heel and walked back to my bed. I promptly plopped down on the bed next to him and rested my head on his chest again.
"Well, I can't say that exactly." I mumbled. My head was still pounding with a migraine and every part of my body still ached.
"Call in sick. I can take care of you today." he said, finally opening his eyes. He sat up and wrapped his arms around me, his eyes widening as he did so. "You know on second thought, you might have to be taking care of me." He doubled over, clearly due to an uncomfortable stomach.
"Don't tell me I got you sick."
"Ok." he said, laying back down and crossing his arms behind his head. He looked frightfully pale which was saying something because Roger was always pale. "I won't tell you then." He wouldn't tell me that he was sick but I could tell just from the expression on his face that he was.
'Aww Roger, I'm so sorry." I frowned, laying down next to him again but the second I did, he ran to the bathroom, nearly knocking me right off my bed. I followed close behind him to realize that I had definitely gotten him sick seeing as he was chucking up in the bathroom. "I'm sorry, love." I repeated as he wiped his mouth and stood up from the toilet. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder. The heat coming off of his forehead alerted me that he had the same fever I'd had just hours early.
"Come off it." he muttered. "It's not your fault. Besides, I wouldn't change it for the world. Anything to be next to you in bed."
"Shut up!" I shot, smacking his arm again. "You need to stop making such innuendos."
"C'mon now. That wasn't even an innuendo. You just think I'm a right twat."
"No, I don't. Try and tell me that wasn't an innuendo."
"Maybe it was. But to be quite fair, I genuinely do like laying in bed next to you, love. Even when you're spreading your illness to me."
"Back to bed, Mr. Taylor." I said, pushing him back to my room. I left quickly and returned with a glass of water for him. I came back and he was without a shirt, limbs spread out across the entire bed. "Might I ask why you're without your shirt?"
"You should know. I'm burning up." he moaned. I frowned and rubbed my thumb back and forth across his cheek. He leaned into my hand and smiled. "You know, I could get used to you babying me."
"Try not to get used to it." I laughed.
"And besides, don't pretend like you don't enjoy getting to see me without a shirt on."
"You've got me there. Maybe you should make a habit of that. You know, you're the only man I've ever met that can still smooth talk while he's ill." I smirked, laying down next to him but not too close considering he already felt he was burning to death.
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AN: You're welcome.