#day17

From the moment that kid had sneezed onto Michael. 

A domino had fallen. 

You should’ve realised that a series of events had been set into motion. 

But it had slipped your attention. 

Michael was constantly surrounded by people who were ill, or unwell. He really didn’t think much of it. 

Not until he had woken up this morning. 

6 am as usual. 

But he felt weighed down. 

Heavy. 

As though a weight had been dropped onto his chest. 

You should’ve noticed the night before, how he was more thirsty than usual. How he sniffled. 

The slight temperature, warmer than usual. 

But you paid no mind to it as your fingers swept across his temple, placing a delicate kiss to his cheek, before you both turned off the lights and went to sleep. 

If anything. 

Michael should’ve seen the signs. 

Should’ve noticed his own body slipping into a state of sickness. 

His energy slowly being zapped from him with each passing hour. But he simply chalked it up to a long day. Feeling no more exhausted than usual. 

But that morning. 

As Michael began to stir. 

His alarm began to sound off. 

You were startled awake, it was unusual for Michael to not already be awake. 

He normally woke up long before his alarm, early enough to turn it off before it could sound out. Before it could disturb the peace of your home. 

But as you reach over, leaning over him. 

His arms slink around you, eyes firmly closed tight. 

A small groan escapes him. 

Crackled and distorted. 

Your eyes narrow slightly. 

As much as you loved a little morning cuddle. 

It was strange for Michael to linger in bed, especially after his alarm. 

And the groan that escaped him, sounded groggy and thick. 

Shifting slightly, you gently move your hands to rest upon his temple. Eyes widening as you realised. 

Michael had a temperature. 

Wriggling yourself free from his arms, as they try to tighten around you. You gently pry him off. 

“I’ll be right back,” 

He peers an eye open, glancing at the clock. As he begins to move, about to leave the confines of your bed. 

You’re quick to gently place your hands on his chest, pushing him back down, “Stay there, ok. Don’t get up” 

He mumbles weak protests. Lifting his head trying to push back. 

As you send him a stern look. “When I come back in here, you better still be in bed”

He flops his head back down, paying head to your words. 

“Good” 

You nod satisfied, as you slip out of the room, rummaging through the kitchen cupboards you boil the kettle. 

Slicing a lemon, as you pluck a honey jar from the cupboard. 

A nice soothing cup of honey lemon tea was brewed. Slowly making your way back into the room, on your way having grabbed some cold and flu medicine. 

Pushing the bedroom door open with your hip, you discover Michael’s arm slung over his eyes. As he breathes through his mouth, a nasal sound emitting, strained whenever he tries to breathe through his nose. 

A small frown forms on your face. 

It was a rare sight to see Michael sick. 

He was normally such a beacon of health. Sure he’d be bone tired, sluggish at times, but he was never so sick to the point that his limbs felt like lead. 

Like his head was dunked under water, struggling to breathe. Mind fogged and bleary eyed.  

He had the immune system of an ox. 

He was normally so diligent. 

So particular with maintaining his health. 

But that one sneeze had knocked the wind out of him. 

Placing the steaming cup on the bedside, you gently encourage him to take the medicine. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, your hand rested upon his thigh, as he shifted to take a sip of the tea. 

“You’re going to have to call in sick”

Shaking his head, “I’m ok. It’s just a fever, I’ll feel better in a few–”

“You look like death,” you said pointedly. 

“Gee hon, you look beautiful today too,” he quips, before falling into a coughing fit. 

“You’re not going to work today–if someone else came in looking like you do, you would turn them around and send them home with a bottle of Benadryl and a strict glance”

Sighing, his voice hoarse, mouth dry. Chest clogged and weighted, he relents. 

“Fine”

Satisfied by the win, you pass him his phone, work already dialed, waiting for Michael to call sick. 

“Now I’m going to stay here–”

“I’ll be fine, you can go to work”

He could be so stubborn sometimes, honestly…

“I’ll just work from home, don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to leave you alone right now”

“You know I’m a doctor right?” he asked dryly. 

“A sick doctor,” you pat him gently before starting to stand, “Now get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up, ok. Just let me take care of you for once. Just let me do that, if not for you then for me.”

He grips your wrist loosely, tenderly. “Thank you” 

“Of course,” you smile softly, before wagging your finger, “You know this means no kisses until you feel better”

“Guess I have to get better quick,” he jokes as you both laugh. 

Pure adoration shining in his eyes as he looks at you. 

Your hand swipes at his brow gently, softly, brushing through his hair, as he closes his eyes in contentment. 

Whining quietly as the warmth of your hands disappears. 

You leave him tucked in bed, as he takes the time to feel better. 

Pottering around the home, you answer a few emails, make a few calls. Continue your day as usual. 

Ducking out for just a moment to pick up some groceries. Returning with an abundance of veg and a nice whole chicken. 

You take the time to chop them up, carrots, onions, celery all thrown into a pot as you settle the chicken in. 

Covering it with stock and water, plopping in a bay leaf to add a slight pepperiness to the soup. A touch of ginger and garlic, all to help soothe an unsettled stomach. 

You let it simmer and boil over the course of hours. 

Just letting its aromas fill your home, soothing and heartwarming. 

It was as though the care and attention could be sensed with a whiff of the air. 

Checking in on Michael as he slept through the day. 

So he knew that you were there for him. For whatever he needed. 

A few close calls as he tried to pull you into his arms. 

Though you remained resolute with keeping your distance. 

Too bad that had weakened by the evening as you let his lips press against yours. 

…and if perhaps that had been the cause of you feeling sick a few days later. 

You couldn’t remain completely annoyed. 

Not when Michael took the time to care for you just as you had done for him. 

Especially when he lulled you to sleep with the cadence of his voice, as you insisted he read to you. Something you always appreciated.

You were each other’s greatest weakness and greatest strength. 

There through sickness and in health. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” you whispered. 

“Always,” he replied sweetly. 

Pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. 

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little story, simple and sweet, as you insist on making sure Robby rests when he's sick (I totally imagine him just trying to plough through - he's stubborn that way, but you simply won't let him. So who's he to argue against you 🤷‍♀️) Let me know what you thought of this little piece of fluff! ✨ Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Feel free to find my Dr Robby x Wayne!Reader Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist here 🩺 Or check out my main Masterlist here

You wake up feeling more exhausted than usual.

It’s not the grogginess that you sometimes get when you wake. Sleep wouldn’t be able to fix this. It wouldn’t fade with a few stretches and a glass of water. It sits in your bones and pulls at every movement like gravity has doubled overnight.

And even then, you still try to get up.

“I’m fine,” you say to no one in particular. You push the blankets aside and plant your feet on the floor. You probably shouldn’t be walking right now, because your head spins immediately. The room tips sideways. Before you can even pretend you’ve got it under control, a hand presses gently but firmly against your shoulder.

“Get back in bed.”

Levi doesn’t need to raise his voice. You look up at him standing in front of you, blinking slowly, trying to gather your thoughts through the haze of a fever you definitely have.

“I said I’m fine,” you insist, though the hoarseness in your voice gives you away.

Levi’s expression doesn’t change. He looks concerned and done with you at the same time. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I’m not,” you argue weakly. You try to stand anyway. He doesn’t let you. His grip on you shifts and he guides you back down onto the mattress. He sighs to himself, already preparing for the fact that he’ll have to do this several times today. You glare up at him, or at least attempt to. “You’re being dramatic.”

Levi shakes his head, not bothering to respond. You’re sick. You’re very clearly sick. He saw it from the moment he woke up and felt your skin burning. Your eyes struggle to stay open, your movements are slightly delayed, your speech is slurred. You’re stubborn—you always have been.

“Stay,” he says, adjusting the blankets around you, tucking them in just enough to stop you from wriggling free too easily. You huff, crossing your arms under the covers.

“I have things to do,” you say.

“You’re not doing them today.”

“I can—”

“No.”

You stare at him. He stares back. And despite everything, despite your annoyance, despite the newfound restlessness buzzing underneath your skin, something about the way he says it has you listening to him without argument.

That is, until he leaves the room.

It becomes a pattern. You wait until he turns away, until he’s in the kitchen or grabbing something from outside, and then you attempt another escape. You truly believe that you can outsmart him if you just try a little harder.

You never make it far. Each time, he catches you. Each time, he groans softly under his breath, like he expected nothing less. Each time, he guides you back to bed, adjusting the blankets again with an expression that practically screams at you that this is non-negotiable.

“Levi—”

“Stay.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You sink back into the pillows with a frustrated groan, staring up at the ceiling with narrowed eyes. You hate feeling useless like this. Levi disappears briefly and returns with a cup of tea, steam wafting into the air. He sets it down carefully on the nightstand within your reach.

“Drink,” he says.

You eye it. “I will.”

“Now.”

You make an annoyed face, but you push yourself up just enough to take a sip. The warmth spreads through you, soothing you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. He watches until you swallow, and only then does he step away again.

Soup follows, then medicine—and the medicine is a battle.

“I don’t need that,” you mumble, turning your head away like that alone will save you. Levi is the type to force the medicine down your throat if it means you’ll get better faster. He hates to see you like this.

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose, his patience thinning, as it always does when you get sick. “Take it.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re anything but fine.” You frown, stubborn to the end. He pauses for a moment, then decides to shift strategies. He hates to do it, but he knows it’ll work. “If you take it, I’ll let you pick dinner tomorrow.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “...Anything?”

He shrugs. “Within reason.”

You hesitate. You hate how easily that has you unraveling. You’ve been meaning to try the new place in the shopping plaza close to your home. It’s pricey, but if Levi is offering…

You slowly reach for the medicine. He watches you take it, victory flickering behind his eyes, though he doesn’t comment on it. He scoffs in disbelief. He cannot believe he had to negotiate for that. Still, he feels relieved.

By afternoon, the fight leaves you, not completely, but enough to submit to Levi’s care. You’re much quieter now, eyes heavier, the fever dragging you under no matter how hard you try to stay afloat.

Levi sits beside you on the bed, laptop open, working on some personal project he refuses to tell you about, but his attention isn’t entirely on the screen. He can’t stay focused when you’re like this. His free hand rests lightly against your arm, thumb brushing back and forth against your skin. He adjusts the blankets when you start shivering. He brushes your hair back from your face when it sticks there. He checks your temperature without making a big deal out of it.

You hate this, he knows. But you need it.

You squirm and turn toward him, seeking him without fully realizing it. Your body leans into the warmth he offers without question. Too tired to even speak, your hand finds his sleeve, holding onto him loosely. 

Your eyes start to close. You try to keep them open. You fail. Just for a minute, you think. I’ll just rest for a minute.

Levi notices the moment it happens. Your grip on him loosens and your hand falls flat to the mattress. Your face finally relaxes into something peaceful instead of strained. He pauses in the middle of typing and looks at you, longer than he should.

“Good,” he says to himself.

He closes his laptop and sets it on the bedside table before moving closer to you, one hand gently tucking the blankets more securely around you, the other brushing against your temple, smoothing your hair back. You don’t wake, even when he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Sleep well, baby.”

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divider by: sweetmelodygraphics

Coming to and being catapulted into some kind of panic attack wasn't favorable for his spinning head.

He tried to move, get upright. The urge to puke was overwhelming. Despite his weak state, the stiffness and pain, that suddenly seemed to come from every fibre of his body, his hands came to an abrupt stop. Thick restrains kept him where he was. His eyes flew open, as realisation hit him like the stinging slap he just received to his face.

It burned, but much worse was the earpiercing ringing, that came with the explosion of pain in his skull.

He tasted blood. The bitter taste was there all the time, but suddenly he could identify it, for what it was. For a brief second, he was aware of his bettered body being straped to the metal table. He was aware of his pulsing broken leg, his wet clothes and the stream of half dried blood in his face and down his neck.

Another slap and everything exploded in a haze of light and dark, all consuming agony highjacked him. A scream disloged from his throat, when someone dug their fingers in the wound on his abdomen.