Yet another sick!fic. We can never have too many.
Every time I'm sick- which is disgustingly often- B gives me fluffy, wonderful fic to make me feel better. First was sick Sark, then sick Wat, then sick Weiss. Clearly, there was still one missing, and now she has been sick, so here it is.
Entirely fluff, and not really as good as the ones she does for me, but nothing ever is, is it? Because she's just that awesome.
By a bit past one, Wat’s scowling in the direction of the door whenever he has a free moment. Geoff’s nearly always in by noon, and often times when he isn’t, that means he’s plotting something. Sometimes, true, it’s because he’s writing, and doesn’t think to take a break even long enough to relocate to his usual spot at the counter so that Wat can keep an eye on him properly and make certain he eats. But no matter the reason, Geoff hasn’t been in yet, and Wat doesn’t like it.
It gets to closing time with still no sign of Geoff, and Wat is annoyed, but not particularly surprised or worried, since it’s happened before. Probably, Wat thinks, his scowl deepening, Geoff’s lost all track of time, and not had a bite to eat for hours on end. Still, it’s not as though it’s Wat’s job to take care of him, so he finishes closing up and heads home, still feeling vaguely annoyed.
When the next day starts to become a repeat of the previous, Wat’s family starts to get irritated by Wat’s irritation. Wat’s temper is getting steadily worse as the day passes, and Geoff still hasn’t come in, or at least called to pester Wat by phone for a bit, which Wat suspects Geoffrey nearly prefers, as Wat can’t smack him for being a fool through the phone.
Wat’s family tolerates his mood for a few hours, but by 3 o’clock they’ve grown tired of his constant snapping, so Elinor and Rosie corner him, and take the wash rag and dirty mug from his hands, and Rosie sets about bodily removing his apron while Eli finishes bussing the table. “We can’t make you go see him,” Rosamund says sternly, “but we can make you get the hell out of here and stop driving us all mad. And we’d like to strongly suggest that you stop by his flat on your way home, because otherwise Will and Roland are just going to do the same thing to you that we’re doing now.”
Despite his spluttering, his sisters manage to get him into his coat and out the door, and after swearing at them through the glass for a moment, he scowls and tucks his hands in his jacket pockets and trudges off in the direction of home, which somehow ends up being the direction of Geoff’s home instead. He scowls at the door to Geoff’s flat, debating for a moment before going up to hit the call button, fidgeting as he waits and glaring in the direction of the security camera.
Two minutes pass without answer, and Wat’s scowl deepens as he tries buzzing again, without much hope. After another minute with no response, Wat grumbles and digs into his pocket, scrounging up the key Geoff gave him three months ago which he still hasn’t got used to using. With one last frown at the camera, he lets himself into the building and takes the stairs two at a time to knock directly on Geoff’s door. When that doesn’t get an answer, either- not even the muffled “Go away” he’d expect if Geoff were really that wrapped up in his writing- Wat’s scowl of irritation turns to one of faint worry and he gives one last knock, purely for the sake of courtesy since he’s already unlocking the door.
He calls Geoff’s name as he steps into the flat, frowning in the direction of the desk and the untouched clutter covering it. Heading in the direction of the bedroom, he calls again, quieter now as he isn’t really expecting a response, “Geoff?” The bedroom door is partly open already, and he pushes it open the rest of the way to find the bed nearly overflowing with blankets, all bundled around what’s probably Geoff, somewhere in there, though all of him that’s showing is messy blond tufts poking out near the pillows. Blinking, Wat steps closer to the bed, and sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, hand going to the bit of hair that’s visible, which gets him a muffled, muzzy, half-asleep noise that at least confirms that Geoff is still alive under there, probably.
“Geoff,” he tries again, voice still quiet as he eyes the pile of crumpled tissues on the floor next to the bed and tries to work out how long it took for them to accumulate. Geoff makes another noise, followed by a bit of disgusting-sounding coughing, and then the barest shifting within the nest of blankets. Another movement gets the blankets mostly away from Geoff’s face, enough for him to peer out- or, since he isn’t opening his eyes, at least tilt his head in the direction of Wat’s voice and the weight of him on the bed. “Idiot,” Wat says, low and affectionate, and goes to make tea.
Geoff comes awake again when the mattress dips, indicating that Wat’s returned. He manages to crack one eye open the slightest bit, and sees that Wat’s brought a tray, which he’s carefully setting on the bedside table. “What’s all that?” he asks, or tries to, but it comes out more like “W’zt?” Wat shoots him an amused glance, then reaches for something on the tray, nudging at Geoff to release his death grip on the blankets. “Mmm?” he tries, not bothering for actual words this time as he shifts the covers just enough to let Wat’s hand sneak in and find its way up his shirt. “Mmmm,” he says again, grinning very faintly, then yelps suddenly at the shocking coldness as Wat touches his chest.
“Vicks,” Wat informs him, even as Geoff whimpers and tries to squirm away. “Hold still, it’ll help. You’re not breathing right, your lungs’re all full of muck. I’m sorry it’s cold,” he adds, and moves his hand once he’s finished rubbing the slimy coldness in, resting his warm palm on Geoff’s side. Geoff starts to make a pleased noise, but it turns into a cough, which turns into a sniffle, which turns into much more disgustingness than he’d ever have wanted Wat to witness.
Wat, however, seems unfazed, and simply nudges with his hand on Geoff’s side to make him sit up while simultaneously reaching over to grab a tissue and hold it to Geoff’s nose. “Blow,” he orders, and Geoff gives him a look and takes the tissue for himself and blows obediently. “Again,” Wat says, and Geoff frowns at him, displeased at this massive display of unattractive sickness but knowing there’s no way to keep from continuing to blow his nose now that he’s started. Several tissues and a bit more coughing later, he’s feeling awake enough to sit up a bit more, blinking miserably at Wat through still-watering eyes.
Another moment of sniffling gets him to a point where he thinks it might be safe to talk, a bit, without fear of sounding like a phlegm monster. “’s all right if you want to run away screaming now. I don’ want to make you sick.” Wat rolls his eyes, and pushes Geoff most of the way back again, leaving him slumped against the fluffed up pillows. “’m sorry I didn’t call,” Geoff adds, crossing his arms over his stomach.
“Idiot,” Wat says, and Geoff can vaguely remember him having said the same thing a minute ago, or maybe it was an hour ago, or several hours ago. “I’ve been helping change diapers since I was 6, a bit of coughing and some bogies aren’t going to scare me off. Besides, who’d make sure you ate if I left? Bet it’s not eating that got you sick to start with, too.” He picks up a bowl off the tray, and gets a spoonful of broth which has had a chance to cool a bit but still feels wonderfully warm as Geoff obediently swallows when Wat brings the spoon to his mouth. Part of him wants to say that he isn’t a child and doesn’t need to be treated like one, but most of him is very loudly saying that yes, actually, he does need to be treated like a child, because for one thing he’s very tired and achy and disgusting, and for another it’s simply cute beyond words to see Wat taking care of him like this.
His pleased little grin must give him away, because the next thing he knows Wat’s frowning at him and poking him lightly in the chest with the empty spoon. “I wouldn’t have to do any of this if you weren’t so daft. Probably brought this on yourself, not eating and staying up days at a time and driving that bloody Vespa in terrible weather.” His scolding is belied by his actions as he returns to spoon feeding Geoff mid-rant, and Geoff only barely manages to suppress his gin. “Did you even think to take any medicine?” Geoff starts to nod- he did, of course he did, right before he first got into bed, but then he stops nodding, because if he’s been in bed long enough for Wat to have got worried and come looking and even (and Geoff has to bite back another grin at the thought) use his key to get in, then he must’ve been in bed longer than he’d thought. So he shrugs instead, and Wat rolls his eyes again and sets the soup down to get some pills and a mug of tea off the bedside table.
When Geoff sips the tea, he’s surprised to realize it’s the Vanilla Red, and gives Wat a questioning look. “Well,” Wat says, voice sounding gruff to the point of being half a step away from smacking him but the redness of his ears telling the real story, “It’s my best tea. And you’re sick. And I need you not sick.” He nudges the mug towards Geoff’s lips again, clearly to keep him from commenting, and Geoff goes along with it without a fight, grateful for the fact that the rim of the mug hides his ridiculously happy grin. He isn’t sure Wat wouldn’t smack him for that grin, sick or not.
It takes another two days before Geoff’s entirely better, and another day after that before Wat goes back to work. Geoff, for once, shows some common sense and doesn’t question Wat about leaving the café for so long, and also doesn’t question how much of Wat’s favourite honey has been taken in place of, or as an additive to, proper medicine in the course of getting Geoff well again. They’re questions Wat doesn’t particularly want to ask himself, anyway, and fortunately none of his family seems inclined to bother asking either.
By the time one o’clock rolls around, Wat’s long since easily slipped into his usual rhythm behind the counter, and when Geoff comes in with a flurry of snowflakes and a swirl of cold air (properly bundled against the cold, for once, per Wat’s demands) and takes his usual spot at the counter, Wat’s right there with his espresso and a blueberry scone and back to serving the other customers waiting before Geoff has time to say more than a quick “hello.”
Once everyone else is served, Wat makes his way back to the corner end of the bar, and leans against the counter to look at the crossword, which Geoff’s got sideways so they can both look at it easily. He steals a bite of Geoff’s untouched scone, then pushes it into the writer’s hand in place of his pen, filling in 16 across- “atrium”- himself before setting the pen down. Geoff’s absentmindedly eating the scone, now that it’s in his hand, and Wat doesn’t think he’s paying attention to anything at all until he speaks.
“You know,” he says, still not looking up from studying the crossword, though suddenly Wat doubts if he’s seeing a single word on the paper, “I don’t know what I’d’ve done if you hadn’t come by.” Wat begins to open his mouth, not comfortable with Geoff thanking him for something that he’d have done whether Geoff wanted it or no, but Geoff keeps on. “I was thinking.” A first, Wat supplies mentally, but he can tell that Geoff’s trying to say something, so he keeps quiet and listens instead. “It might do better for me, keep me from working myself sick again I mean, if you were there more often.”
Wat frowns, not suspicious or angry but faintly puzzled. What Geoff means is, it’d keep Wat from worrying so much, which Wat knows but is grateful for the spin on it anyway, since it keeps him from blushing so much. It doesn’t make it make any more sense, though. “I’m there plenty.” Roland and Will have started teasing that he’s there more than he’s home, in fact, though he isn’t about to admit to that.
Geoff’s still looking at the newspaper, and picks up his pen again to fiddle with the clicky top. “Well, yes. I meant… more sort of permanent. If you’d like.” He hasn’t quite said it in a rush, but Wat suspects that he wanted to, and can’t really blame him for it. His mind wouldn’t be able to process it better no matter how fast or slow it’d been said, so Wat can only blink for a long moment, gaping at the top of Geoff’s head as Geoff takes another bite of his scone.
After half a minute’s silence, Geoff looks up at him and meets his eyes, clear blue wide and hopeful and the slightest hint of a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Despite still being unable to find words- which is no surprise, Wat never does seem to be able to find the words, no matter what- the rest of him seems to have already decided things, and he’s grinning a slow grin back before he’s really aware of what’s happening, but the way his smile makes Geoff’s grow makes him think that, words or no, between the two of them it’ll all get sorted out right in the end.
Entirely fluff, and not really as good as the ones she does for me, but nothing ever is, is it? Because she's just that awesome.
By a bit past one, Wat’s scowling in the direction of the door whenever he has a free moment. Geoff’s nearly always in by noon, and often times when he isn’t, that means he’s plotting something. Sometimes, true, it’s because he’s writing, and doesn’t think to take a break even long enough to relocate to his usual spot at the counter so that Wat can keep an eye on him properly and make certain he eats. But no matter the reason, Geoff hasn’t been in yet, and Wat doesn’t like it.
It gets to closing time with still no sign of Geoff, and Wat is annoyed, but not particularly surprised or worried, since it’s happened before. Probably, Wat thinks, his scowl deepening, Geoff’s lost all track of time, and not had a bite to eat for hours on end. Still, it’s not as though it’s Wat’s job to take care of him, so he finishes closing up and heads home, still feeling vaguely annoyed.
When the next day starts to become a repeat of the previous, Wat’s family starts to get irritated by Wat’s irritation. Wat’s temper is getting steadily worse as the day passes, and Geoff still hasn’t come in, or at least called to pester Wat by phone for a bit, which Wat suspects Geoffrey nearly prefers, as Wat can’t smack him for being a fool through the phone.
Wat’s family tolerates his mood for a few hours, but by 3 o’clock they’ve grown tired of his constant snapping, so Elinor and Rosie corner him, and take the wash rag and dirty mug from his hands, and Rosie sets about bodily removing his apron while Eli finishes bussing the table. “We can’t make you go see him,” Rosamund says sternly, “but we can make you get the hell out of here and stop driving us all mad. And we’d like to strongly suggest that you stop by his flat on your way home, because otherwise Will and Roland are just going to do the same thing to you that we’re doing now.”
Despite his spluttering, his sisters manage to get him into his coat and out the door, and after swearing at them through the glass for a moment, he scowls and tucks his hands in his jacket pockets and trudges off in the direction of home, which somehow ends up being the direction of Geoff’s home instead. He scowls at the door to Geoff’s flat, debating for a moment before going up to hit the call button, fidgeting as he waits and glaring in the direction of the security camera.
Two minutes pass without answer, and Wat’s scowl deepens as he tries buzzing again, without much hope. After another minute with no response, Wat grumbles and digs into his pocket, scrounging up the key Geoff gave him three months ago which he still hasn’t got used to using. With one last frown at the camera, he lets himself into the building and takes the stairs two at a time to knock directly on Geoff’s door. When that doesn’t get an answer, either- not even the muffled “Go away” he’d expect if Geoff were really that wrapped up in his writing- Wat’s scowl of irritation turns to one of faint worry and he gives one last knock, purely for the sake of courtesy since he’s already unlocking the door.
He calls Geoff’s name as he steps into the flat, frowning in the direction of the desk and the untouched clutter covering it. Heading in the direction of the bedroom, he calls again, quieter now as he isn’t really expecting a response, “Geoff?” The bedroom door is partly open already, and he pushes it open the rest of the way to find the bed nearly overflowing with blankets, all bundled around what’s probably Geoff, somewhere in there, though all of him that’s showing is messy blond tufts poking out near the pillows. Blinking, Wat steps closer to the bed, and sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, hand going to the bit of hair that’s visible, which gets him a muffled, muzzy, half-asleep noise that at least confirms that Geoff is still alive under there, probably.
“Geoff,” he tries again, voice still quiet as he eyes the pile of crumpled tissues on the floor next to the bed and tries to work out how long it took for them to accumulate. Geoff makes another noise, followed by a bit of disgusting-sounding coughing, and then the barest shifting within the nest of blankets. Another movement gets the blankets mostly away from Geoff’s face, enough for him to peer out- or, since he isn’t opening his eyes, at least tilt his head in the direction of Wat’s voice and the weight of him on the bed. “Idiot,” Wat says, low and affectionate, and goes to make tea.
Geoff comes awake again when the mattress dips, indicating that Wat’s returned. He manages to crack one eye open the slightest bit, and sees that Wat’s brought a tray, which he’s carefully setting on the bedside table. “What’s all that?” he asks, or tries to, but it comes out more like “W’zt?” Wat shoots him an amused glance, then reaches for something on the tray, nudging at Geoff to release his death grip on the blankets. “Mmm?” he tries, not bothering for actual words this time as he shifts the covers just enough to let Wat’s hand sneak in and find its way up his shirt. “Mmmm,” he says again, grinning very faintly, then yelps suddenly at the shocking coldness as Wat touches his chest.
“Vicks,” Wat informs him, even as Geoff whimpers and tries to squirm away. “Hold still, it’ll help. You’re not breathing right, your lungs’re all full of muck. I’m sorry it’s cold,” he adds, and moves his hand once he’s finished rubbing the slimy coldness in, resting his warm palm on Geoff’s side. Geoff starts to make a pleased noise, but it turns into a cough, which turns into a sniffle, which turns into much more disgustingness than he’d ever have wanted Wat to witness.
Wat, however, seems unfazed, and simply nudges with his hand on Geoff’s side to make him sit up while simultaneously reaching over to grab a tissue and hold it to Geoff’s nose. “Blow,” he orders, and Geoff gives him a look and takes the tissue for himself and blows obediently. “Again,” Wat says, and Geoff frowns at him, displeased at this massive display of unattractive sickness but knowing there’s no way to keep from continuing to blow his nose now that he’s started. Several tissues and a bit more coughing later, he’s feeling awake enough to sit up a bit more, blinking miserably at Wat through still-watering eyes.
Another moment of sniffling gets him to a point where he thinks it might be safe to talk, a bit, without fear of sounding like a phlegm monster. “’s all right if you want to run away screaming now. I don’ want to make you sick.” Wat rolls his eyes, and pushes Geoff most of the way back again, leaving him slumped against the fluffed up pillows. “’m sorry I didn’t call,” Geoff adds, crossing his arms over his stomach.
“Idiot,” Wat says, and Geoff can vaguely remember him having said the same thing a minute ago, or maybe it was an hour ago, or several hours ago. “I’ve been helping change diapers since I was 6, a bit of coughing and some bogies aren’t going to scare me off. Besides, who’d make sure you ate if I left? Bet it’s not eating that got you sick to start with, too.” He picks up a bowl off the tray, and gets a spoonful of broth which has had a chance to cool a bit but still feels wonderfully warm as Geoff obediently swallows when Wat brings the spoon to his mouth. Part of him wants to say that he isn’t a child and doesn’t need to be treated like one, but most of him is very loudly saying that yes, actually, he does need to be treated like a child, because for one thing he’s very tired and achy and disgusting, and for another it’s simply cute beyond words to see Wat taking care of him like this.
His pleased little grin must give him away, because the next thing he knows Wat’s frowning at him and poking him lightly in the chest with the empty spoon. “I wouldn’t have to do any of this if you weren’t so daft. Probably brought this on yourself, not eating and staying up days at a time and driving that bloody Vespa in terrible weather.” His scolding is belied by his actions as he returns to spoon feeding Geoff mid-rant, and Geoff only barely manages to suppress his gin. “Did you even think to take any medicine?” Geoff starts to nod- he did, of course he did, right before he first got into bed, but then he stops nodding, because if he’s been in bed long enough for Wat to have got worried and come looking and even (and Geoff has to bite back another grin at the thought) use his key to get in, then he must’ve been in bed longer than he’d thought. So he shrugs instead, and Wat rolls his eyes again and sets the soup down to get some pills and a mug of tea off the bedside table.
When Geoff sips the tea, he’s surprised to realize it’s the Vanilla Red, and gives Wat a questioning look. “Well,” Wat says, voice sounding gruff to the point of being half a step away from smacking him but the redness of his ears telling the real story, “It’s my best tea. And you’re sick. And I need you not sick.” He nudges the mug towards Geoff’s lips again, clearly to keep him from commenting, and Geoff goes along with it without a fight, grateful for the fact that the rim of the mug hides his ridiculously happy grin. He isn’t sure Wat wouldn’t smack him for that grin, sick or not.
It takes another two days before Geoff’s entirely better, and another day after that before Wat goes back to work. Geoff, for once, shows some common sense and doesn’t question Wat about leaving the café for so long, and also doesn’t question how much of Wat’s favourite honey has been taken in place of, or as an additive to, proper medicine in the course of getting Geoff well again. They’re questions Wat doesn’t particularly want to ask himself, anyway, and fortunately none of his family seems inclined to bother asking either.
By the time one o’clock rolls around, Wat’s long since easily slipped into his usual rhythm behind the counter, and when Geoff comes in with a flurry of snowflakes and a swirl of cold air (properly bundled against the cold, for once, per Wat’s demands) and takes his usual spot at the counter, Wat’s right there with his espresso and a blueberry scone and back to serving the other customers waiting before Geoff has time to say more than a quick “hello.”
Once everyone else is served, Wat makes his way back to the corner end of the bar, and leans against the counter to look at the crossword, which Geoff’s got sideways so they can both look at it easily. He steals a bite of Geoff’s untouched scone, then pushes it into the writer’s hand in place of his pen, filling in 16 across- “atrium”- himself before setting the pen down. Geoff’s absentmindedly eating the scone, now that it’s in his hand, and Wat doesn’t think he’s paying attention to anything at all until he speaks.
“You know,” he says, still not looking up from studying the crossword, though suddenly Wat doubts if he’s seeing a single word on the paper, “I don’t know what I’d’ve done if you hadn’t come by.” Wat begins to open his mouth, not comfortable with Geoff thanking him for something that he’d have done whether Geoff wanted it or no, but Geoff keeps on. “I was thinking.” A first, Wat supplies mentally, but he can tell that Geoff’s trying to say something, so he keeps quiet and listens instead. “It might do better for me, keep me from working myself sick again I mean, if you were there more often.”
Wat frowns, not suspicious or angry but faintly puzzled. What Geoff means is, it’d keep Wat from worrying so much, which Wat knows but is grateful for the spin on it anyway, since it keeps him from blushing so much. It doesn’t make it make any more sense, though. “I’m there plenty.” Roland and Will have started teasing that he’s there more than he’s home, in fact, though he isn’t about to admit to that.
Geoff’s still looking at the newspaper, and picks up his pen again to fiddle with the clicky top. “Well, yes. I meant… more sort of permanent. If you’d like.” He hasn’t quite said it in a rush, but Wat suspects that he wanted to, and can’t really blame him for it. His mind wouldn’t be able to process it better no matter how fast or slow it’d been said, so Wat can only blink for a long moment, gaping at the top of Geoff’s head as Geoff takes another bite of his scone.
After half a minute’s silence, Geoff looks up at him and meets his eyes, clear blue wide and hopeful and the slightest hint of a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Despite still being unable to find words- which is no surprise, Wat never does seem to be able to find the words, no matter what- the rest of him seems to have already decided things, and he’s grinning a slow grin back before he’s really aware of what’s happening, but the way his smile makes Geoff’s grow makes him think that, words or no, between the two of them it’ll all get sorted out right in the end.