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To be honest, when I found out the patriarchy wasn't just about horses, I lost interest.

How I Think of You

〚 Notes - I'm finally safe in a new house, thank god. Thank you for the request anon! It was fun to write! :D 〛

〚 Pairing - Baran Al-Hashimi x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - You hadn't wanted to bother your wife with your problems. Doctor Al-Hashimi dealt with patients all day - she didn't need one at home too. At least that's what you told yourself. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2200 〛

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The first thing you noticed was the heat. That uncomfortable, dragging heat sitting just beneath your skin. It wasn't the comforting kind, the kind that came from sleeping beside your wife or from hazy sunlight slipping through the curtains. It was different. Hot, heavy and suffocating. 

It made your limbs heavy, your muscles aching as you slowly rolled over onto your side. You closed your eyes, wondering if you'd be able to fall back asleep - a small, fleeting hope of sleeping this off. 

It was nothing. You could ignore it. 

Your wife had an early shift. You'd remembered that. Baran had been half-dressed when you'd cracked an eye open earlier, barely awake. Her hair had been damp from her shower and her voice impossibly soft as she murmured for you to go back to sleep. 

You could've told her. You'd felt it even then, barely awake but you'd still registered the building heat on your cheeks, the dull ache that hadn't quite become something sharper yet. Instead, you curled around the blanket tighter, pulling it to your chin as your eyes fluttered shut. 

You should have told her before she left. But she’d already been exhausted. You’d seen it in the way her shoulders had sagged when she thought you weren’t looking, in the quiet sigh she’d let out while tying her shoes. Another long shift. Another day of too many patients and not enough time. 

You weren’t going to add to that. 

Trying to go back to sleep proved pointless. The light seeping through the curtains had been shining in your eyes for too long. With a groan, you forced yourself to sit up, eyes squeezing shut at the sudden wave of dizziness the movement caused. You sniffed weakly, dragging the back of your sleeve across your nose, only vaguely registering how sticky your skin felt. 

Still, you didn't have the time to lie around all day. You had chores to do. The apartment needed cleaning, then there was the grocery run, not to mention the other numerous errands you had planned for the day. You didn't have time to be bogged down by whatever this was. The day wasn't going to wait for anyone, especially not for you. 

By some small miracle, you'd managed to get dressed. It wasn't pretty by any means - a loose baggy shirt and some joggers you could've sworn you worn a few days prior. Whatever. You coughed, your chest burning as you muffled the sound against your hand. You lowered yourself on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on your knees, breathing slow and shallow like that might somehow steady everything. 

It didn’t. 

The room tilted again, soft at the edges, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Your head throbbed faintly now, that dull ache from earlier sharpening into something more insistent. You swallowed, throat dry, and pushed yourself to stand anyway. 

One step. Then another. 

You made it as far as the living room before your body started protesting properly. Your body sank against the sofa. You told yourself you’d just sit for a minute. Sixty seconds. Enough time to gather yourself before getting on with the day. Baran was the one at work right now. She had the right to complain. You didn't. Your to-do list was small in comparison to hers. You didn't get to whine about this. 

The minute passed quicker than expected. The blurry time on your phone screen stared up at you mockingly. Sweat ran down the side of your head, and you dragged your hands down your face as you took a shaky breath. Just five minutes. That's all you needed. Just five minutes to get yourself together... 

*** 

You hadn't even remembered falling asleep. You woke with a start, the sudden movement sending blood rushing to your head. The room was darker now, considerably so and you squinted as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light. 

Shit. How long had you been out? Reaching down for your phone, you tentatively tapped on the screen, and the time sneering back at you made you want to cry. It was nearly 7pm. How had you managed to sleep the whole day? Your neck roared with a deep ache from the position you'd slept in. 

You groaned softly, lifting a shaky hand to rub at it, only for the movement to make your head spin all over again. The heat hadn’t gone. If anything, it felt worse now - thicker, heavier, like it had settled deeper into your bones while you slept. Before you had time to complain a different thought came into your head. 

Baran would be home soon. 

The thought sent a flicker of panic through your chest. 

You hadn’t done anything. The cleaning. The groceries. Everything you’d planned sat untouched, the apartment quiet and dim around you like proof of your failure. You pushed yourself up anyway, legs unsteady beneath you as you staggered a step forward. 

You could still fix this. At least some of it. The kitchen felt miles away. By the time you reached it, your breathing had gone uneven again, shallow pulls that did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest. You gripped the counter, knuckles whitening as another wave of dizziness rolled through you. Your vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in just slightly before you squeezed your eyes shut. 

Dinner. You could manage that. Baran had been at work all day, the least she deserved was dinner on the table when she arrived home. Fumbling with the cupboards, you managed to pull out a pan, setting it clumsily on the stove top.  

Your mind was foggy. You didn't know what to make. Everything seemed to take far too much effort. You sneezed suddenly, sending you stumbling backwards on unsteady legs. This wasn't going well.  

A cough tore its way out of you before you could stop it, sharp and painful, forcing you to double over slightly as it rattled through your chest. You sucked in a breath afterwards, wincing at the lingering sting. You couldn’t let your wife see you like this. 

The thought came instinctively, stubborn and immediate. Baran had enough on her plate. Another long shift. Another day of carrying too much. The last thing she needed was to come home and worry about you too. 

You just had to hold it together. Just for one night. Footsteps in the hallway outside made your stomach drop. No. It was too soon. How was she home already? How? 

Your head snapped up, heart kicking uncomfortably against your ribs as the faint sound of keys reached your ears. The front door unlocked with a soft click, the familiar creak following as it opened. 

“Hey?” Baran’s voice called gently. You saw the reflection of the light being flicked on from the hallway. You were running out of time. You needed to answer, to call back out to her like nothing was wrong. 

You tried. You opened your mouth, but nothing more than a broken rasp managed to leave your lips. 

Baran appeared in the doorway a second later. She noticed immediately. Something was wrong. She stayed silent, her eyes scanning the room for a clue to what was going on. You were standing over the stove, your back to her as you leaned against the countertop. You hadn't even turned the kitchen light on, a soft glow coming from the flickering hob in front of you. 

"What's going on...?" Baran's voice carried her concern, thick and clear. You sniffled, biting your lip hard as you tried not to cry. Her voice was so soft, so full of concern. You didn't deserve this. Her slow, steady steps approached from behind. Her hand reached out to touch your back, fingers retracting for a split second as they met the damp fabric of your shirt. 

"Sweetheart, talk to me."  

You shook your head, a half-stifled wrecked sob hiccupping out of you. Your shoulders shook with silent cries, a whimper barely louder than a whisper escaping your lips.  

Baran moved before she could think, wrapping her arms around you, letting her head sink against your shoulders. She didn't speak, just held you quietly for as long as you needed. You sniffled wetly, quickly rubbing your sleeve against your face. The doctor waited for you to calm a little before trying again. 

"Look at me azizam," Baran asked quietly, a sigh of relief leaving her when you finally, albeit reluctantly turned around. The doctor drew in a long inhale as she looked over you, trying to keep her face neutral. The way sweat clung to your brow, the pink-tipped nose sitting in the middle of your flushed face. You weren't fine. Not even close. 

She reached forward without a second thought, "You're unwell." She said simply, stating the facts rather than whatever fiction you were trying to create. Baran sighed softly, reaching past you to turn off the stove, ignoring your protest in the process.  

"I'm sorry-" 

"What on earth are you apologising for-" Baran interrupted immediately, her thumb gently swiping across your cheek to wipe away a stray tear, "You don't ever need to apologise for being ill." 

"I'll sleep in the spare room tonight." You mumbled automatically, tone laced with guilt as you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to chase away the throbbing headache drumming behind your eyes. Baran made a face you couldn't quite recognise, her hands folding across her chest as she took a step forward. 

"Absolutely not." She said sternly as she reached out to tilt your chin towards her, moving her head until you finally met her eyes. 

You swallowed, trying not to wince at the sharp jabbing it caused against your raw throat. You made a noise somewhere between a cough and a splutter, a protest dying on your lips as you objected with a rasp, "I'm gross... it's disgusting – and I'll get you sick." 

“Azizam, do you really think I would ever let you sit alone, miserable all night?" Baran murmured, her hand sliding up the back of your neck to massage the base of your head. She hummed softly, noticing the clammy, warmth rising beneath your skin, "You're not going anywhere. I mean it." 

The moment she saw the way your shoulders sagged, the way exhaustion seemed to finally catch up with you now that you weren’t pretending anymore, her expression softened. The sternness faded into something warmer, something that made your chest ache. 

“Come on,” She murmured, brushing her thumb gently beneath your eye. “Let’s get you cleaned up. A hot shower will do you well.” 

You leaned into her before you could stop yourself, forehead pressing against her shoulder as her arms wrapped around you. She held you carefully, like you were something precious rather than fragile. She moved at your pace, keeping an arm around your waist as she steered you towards the bathroom. 

The shower was warm enough to soothe the aches that had settled into your muscles but not so hot that Baran would allow you to overheat yourself further. She fussed over every small thing, making sure the water wasn’t too hot, washing out your shampoo when your arms grew too tired. 

By the time you were finished, you felt slightly more human. Still exhausted. Still sick. But less like you were drowning beneath the weight of your own body. Baran wrapped you in a towel immediately, drying your hair gently while you sat on the edge of the bed. 

“You don’t have to do that,” You mumbled automatically. 

Baran paused, placing a gentle hand against your cheek, “I need you to let me love you too.” She said simply before continuing with drying your hair. 

You sat quietly while she worked through the dampness in your hair, her fingers gentle as she ran the towel over the ends. The room was dim, the only light coming from the bedside lamp that cast a warm glow across the sheets 

"You know," She murmured after a moment, voice soft but carrying the faintest hint of teasing, "for someone who claims they are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, you are remarkably bad at knowing when you need help." 

A weak huff escaped you, somewhere between a laugh and a cough, "I wanted you to be able to relax – not to come home from work, just to have to look after your wife." 

"I don't have to do anything azizam." She sighed softly, setting aside the damp towel and nudged you to climb into bed properly, pulling the covers over you. Once you were settled, she sat by your side, her hand reaching up to check your temperature again, "I look after you because I want to. Loving you, taking care of you, it isn't a job. It's natural." 

You managed to smile, a small grin, "You're sappy." 

"I have a stubborn, sick wife. I get to be sappy." Baran shook her head as she shuffled into the empty side of the bed. She leaned over, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, "Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning." 

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