#gischelweek

Notes: I knowww sick fics are clichéd, but I didn’t have much inspiration to do anything else for this prompt… And well, it’s not like we have lots of these in FataMoru fandom anyway, right?

Anyway, this takes place post-True Ending & post-Reincarnation, so beware of spoilers for that.

PS: Do NOT try to watch the movie ‘Martyrs.’ I love it but it’s a terrible, terrible movie lmao.

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Today is going to be a bad day, Morgana decided when she woke up with her head throbbing, a stuffy nose and her vision blurry.

She felt so bad, in fact, that she didn’t even need to check her burning forehead to know she was sick.

Getting out of her bed, drinking a cup of coffee and braiding her hair felt like insurmountable efforts, and when she finally managed to step outside her apartment and stood in the corridor trying to fit the key in the lock, she honestly felt like she was going to pass out.

For a brief moment, she even contemplated the idea to just go back and stay in bed. But then she remembered her general precarious situation; missing even just a day of school could cost her the pension the association she depended on had granted her, which she couldn’t afford. And even without this, her innate personality just wouldn’t forgive her to take a day off when she could easily get over such a silly illness.

It was fine. She’d known worse; surely it wasn’t a little fever that would get the better of her. She didn’t have a lot of classes either today, so she could get through this.

Just as she’d convinced herself, the lock finally clicked, and she sighed in relief, ready to turn around and get down the stairs—

“—Morgana?”

—until she collided with a soft thing. It took her fuzzy mind quite some time to realize that said soft thing was in fact a whole another body that had been standing behind her, and the impact coupled with her dizziness was almost enough to make her stumble back into the floor.

Thankfully, she was able to keep her balance before looking up with a deep frown, narrowing her eyes for a while until she distinguished a blur of black and red and green staring at her with a concerned expression.

Giselle. Wonderful.

Out of all the people she could’ve run into, of course it had to be her.

“…Morgana, are you okay? I’ve been calling out to you for some time now, but—”

It took a lot of time for the girl’s brain to decipher her words before she could nod.

“…Yeah. I’m good. Thanks. Have to go now.”

Morgana tried to get away — almost run away, really — from the older woman, but at the last moment Giselle grabbed her wrist, stopping her in place.

“Ah, wait, wait! I wanted to talk to you about—”

“I’m going to be late for school.”

“Oh… I understand that, but it’s just about the mailbox—”

God. Why now.

“Look— I really can’t be late, so—”

Morgana tried to slip her hand away from Giselle’s grip, but doing so somehow managed to make her lose balance, and she had to seize and lean on the banister with all her weight as to not fall and trip in the staircase. Obviously, that peculiar uncharacteristic lose of control of her body didn’t went unnoticed by Giselle, whose face instantly darkened.

“Morgana?” She called cautiously. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, I just— Yeah. I’m—”

But Giselle didn’t let her say anything else that she closed up on her and put a hand on her forehead brusquely.

“Oh my god! You’re burning!”

“I’m fine,” Morgana grumbled for the umpteenth time, slapping her hand away. “I need to go to—”

“Are you kidding?! You’re not going anywhere with such a fever! Look at yourself; you can barely stand!”

“I can’t miss school— It’s not a big deal, I’ll just…”

Morgana intended to turn around, but the moment she tried to her vision blurred entirely and her mind blanked.

The last thing she felt was a pair of arms wrapping around her before she fell onto Giselle’s chest and everything turned black.

______________________________________________________________

“—is she?”

“—you. —just sleeping, it’s okay…”

“—call… right?”

When she opened her eyes for the second time today, she was greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling and distorted voices echoing back in her skull painfully.

Well, not completely unfamiliar, she realized after some long minutes of contemplation, as she’d seen it a few times before.

It was the ceiling of a fairly modest, cozy pretty room; a big bed meant for a couple, a desk and wardrobe in the corner, some trinkets and shelves and photographs decorating the place here and there. It was rather dark, with the shutters and curtains shut, and the only source of light was a feeble ray that escaped from the half-open door.

Michel and Giselle’s room.

The cognizance made her straighten up on the bed, even if her head instantly turned and hurt as soon as she did. Her braids had been undone, letting her long red hair fall all around her face and shoulders, and the dress she’d put on for the day had been replaced by a comfy pajamas that was nothing like her own and was too big for her. Certainly a courtesy of Giselle.

She put her face into her hands, shook her head, and let out a sigh.

It’s definitely going to be a terrible day.

With trembling arms and her brain still feeling like it was made of lead, she slowly got out of the bed and tried to stand on her wobbly feet. After what felt like an excruciating time, she finally reached the door while taking the wall for aid — before the light blinded her eyes, accentuating her headache. She was able to distinguish her surroundings properly only a few minutes later, noting the forms of a white-haired man and his black-haired wife some meters away from her; the annoyingly perfect lovey-dovey couple that was as much of a pain in her ass as a blessing.

“—maybe I’ll just go to the pharmacy, then. Just in case.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary. She has a big fever, but it doesn’t seem to be anything more serious.”

“Still, that doesn’t really cost anything to do so, right?”

The dispute was relatively peaceful, but there still was some tension in their voices, which almost made Morgana groan and sigh. If there was one thing she hated more than stumbling in the middle of an argument between Michel and Giselle, it was stumbling in the middle of an argument between Michel and Giselle in which she was the source of.

Just as she was considering slipping out of her friends’ place before either of them could see her, she heard Giselle gasp.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

Morgana winced. Well, it seemed like the escape plan was already doomed. She turned around to find herself almost nose-to-nose with both Giselle and Michel, who’d practically jumped on her as soon as they noticed her.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Giselle said in that admonishing, big sisterly tone. It was amazing how she was actually the younger sibling in her family given how often she took this one. “You have to go back! You’re still burning!”

Michel put a hand on Morgana’s forehead while she was speaking, and nodded as if to confirm his fiancée’s words.

“She’s right. You’ve only been asleep for two hours, you’re still in a bad state.”

Morgana’s eyes widened, a wave of panic washing over her. “T-Two hours? Wait, what time is it right now?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Giselle retorted. “You just need to go back to bed. Now.”

“But school—”

“We already called your school,” Michel replied. “We told them you were sick and wouldn’t be here for at least today and tomorrow.”

Morgana first gaped at him, which quickly morphed into a glare as her anger escalated.

“You did what?” She exclaimed. “Why? I’m not that bad! I can go!”

“Don’t be silly, you wouldn’t even be able to pass the door without collapsing!” Giselle argued back, and for as sweet and patient as she could usually be, some clear frustration was starting to slip through her voice. “Now stop being stubborn!”

“E-Even so, it’s not your place to do this! You’re not my parents!”

At this, it seemed both Michel and Giselle froze. A slight awkward silence spread between all three of them, and then the couple exchanged a look that Morgana couldn’t make sense of.

She wasn’t sure where the uneasiness even came from, as she’d only stated the truth — and, honestly, the attitude the two of them took towards her at times by trying to— to parent her was really something that could get on her nerves.

She wasn’t a child, and there were no reason for them to look after her as if she was their own kid.

It was unnerving at best, and actively uncomfortable at worst.

Finally, Michel ran a hand through his hair and started again.

“That’s true, we are not your parents,” he said in a calm, pragmatic tone. “And we’re not trying to be. However, we are still your friends, are we not?”

Morgana opened her mouth, then hesitated. It was only after a short while that she finally looked away, and vaguely grumbled an ‘I guess.’

“Well, that’s what friends do, looking after each other. And again, there’s no way you’ll be able to go to school in this state. Even if by some miracle you were to go, would you be able to truly study or learn anything?”

“But—”

“Morgana, you’re a very good student, are you not?” Giselle added, her voice softer than earlier. “Just skipping two days wouldn’t put your grades in jeopardy. And you don’t have to worry about your pension either; even in the worst case, Michel and I will help you out.”

She wanted to keep arguing. She hated the idea of not going to school because of a stupid fever, and more than anything she hated the idea of relying on others, even less so on Michel and Giselle.

She’d relied on them enough like that, be it in this life or the former.

Still… logically, she knew they were right. She could barely keep up with the conversation right now; there was no way she’d be able to go through an entire day of school in that state.

And… she did just feel really bad and tired.

“…I can… go back to my own place,” Morgana finally conceded with a big reluctant effort, gritting her teeth.

She was about to turn around when Giselle put her hands on her shoulders and shook her head right before.

“You’re already here, so it’d be better for you to stay. Don’t worry about sleeping in our bed, the sheets are clean.”

That’s not the issue, Morgana was about to say, but suddenly her legs failed her and the next second her knees were on the ground. She felt both Michel and Giselle jump towards her with concerned faces and jumbled words, but she barely could make out what they were saying anymore. The only thing she was able to comprehend was when, shortly thereafter, Michel grabbed her shoulders with one hand and slipped his other arm under her knees, lifting her in his arms with difficulty.

She absentmindedly thought that was a stupid thing to do as Michel had never been the strong type, and even in her dizzy state she could feel him struggle to carry her back to the bed.

Still, the warmth of his body and his heartbeat she could make out against his chest was instantly able to relax her, and all of her previous anger and annoyance slowly faded along with her consciousness.

Michel’s presence always felt soothing and comforting to her, like a safe place. Her mind instinctively went back back in time, in this dream-like world as that dying girl chained down to that tower while God’s angel descended to get her in her last moments.

That had never actually happened — but it was still engraved in her soul and heart in a more powerful way than the events that had truly taken place in real life.

______________________________________________________________

Everything that followed afterwards seemed to happen in a daze. She could tell she was laying down in a bed most of the time, and she could tell that Michel or Giselle were going back and forth inside the room, either putting some towel on her forehead or making her swallow things she felt like spitting back instantly — but everything was such a blur that none of it felt real, like it was all in a weird dream.

Sometimes she felt like she was back in her former house, with her mother looking after her like when she was sick as a child. Sometimes she felt she was back even centuries before then, at the brothel during the rare times where she’d gotten ill and the prostitutes fussed over her well-being.

Those memories still made her feel some sort of ambivalent, nostalgic warmth inside her chest. Having people take care of you and worry about you was a privilege most took for granted, but it wasn’t her case, and she was well-aware how extremely precarious this was.

It couldn’t be even more painfully obvious to her when, in her fever-induced phantasms, she also suddenly ended up being back to her cursed mansion, all alone; or worse, chained up in that tower.

The smell of blood spreading through her nostrils, the throbbing pain in her arm and the overwhelming, merciless cold slowly infesting her body was almost as vivid as when she was still actually there.

It was that coldness that brought her back to reality — her eyelids progressively fluttering open, her mind clearing up.

The first thing that then greeted her were voices, muffled and far away as if they were from another room — so it actually surprised her to realize those were, in fact, right next to her bed.

Both Michel and Giselle were sitting about a meter away from her, talking in hushed voices with stern expressions. Still half-asleep, what first crossed her mind was if they’d truly just spent the entire day tending after her like that.

“—fever doesn’t seem to go down… maybe we should call back the doctor after all,” Giselle muttered.

“…Let’s wait until tomorrow morning. See how she get through the night. Then if she’s not better, we’ll call.”

Giselle sighed, nodded; then let her head rest on Michel’s shoulder, their hands intertwining. In an act of casual tenderness, Michel gently kissed her forehead, and a gentle smile instantly bloomed on her lips, illuminating her face.

A thousands years ago, Morgana would’ve hated seeing this.

Watching them fall in love while she was stuck with them in that mansion — in her mansion — confined as a ghost inside the walls of this cursed tower had driven her insane.

She couldn’t stand seeing this woman slowly taking her Michel away from her. She’d cursed every single one of their lingering gazes, the tender way they’d come to look at each other; had wished for their demise at every contact of their skin, every embrace, every kiss.

It had all been a fiery entanglement of resentment, anger and jealousy burning inside her as she watched them share all the warmth and love she’d been forever denied.

And when their demise did finally come, she’d reveled in it; had taken utter pleasure in seeing Michel writhe in pain over his silly actions and Giselle scream in agony over her stupid optimism. She’d been delighted to break the woman’s identity and take away all of her love little by little — until somehow it stopped being fun and simply began to be pitiful and boring to watch.

Until it’d started become painful for her, too.

But that had all been a thousand years ago.

Now, well… that didn’t bother her as much. She could roll her eyes and grumble and make fun of them, but deep down, none of the actual ugly feelings showed their face.

Now, there was only… an odd complacent feeling. A pleasant warmth that emerged while staring at them from afar get all touchy-feely with each other.

A weird sentiment of contentment and familiarity.

A warm hand suddenly caressed her forehead, running into her moist hair sticking to her face, and she realized Giselle was looking down at her with a soft expression.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” she said gently. “How are you feeling?”

“…Awful.”

Giselle smiled sadly at her. “Well, that was to be expected.”

“Your fever’s still going strong,” Michel added. “We gave you medicine a little while back, so I hope you’ll start feeling better soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Ah, but I was just about to cook dinner!” Giselle exclaimed, with a sudden regain of energy.

Morgana, on the other hand, only felt herself deflate. “I… don’t think I can swallow anything right now…”

“I understand, but you still have to eat. Don’t worry, I intended to make you this pottage my mom always made me when I was ill. It tastes good even to the sickest of people!”

Morgana was about to reply she truly didn’t feel like gulping down anything regardless of if it was the greatest soup for sick people in the world or not, but then Giselle got up before she could say anything, kissed Michel on the cheek and then left the room. Now the two of them alone in the room, Michel only smiled at her with understanding.

“I get you probably don’t want to eat anything, but you won’t get better otherwise.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“You look really bad, you know.”

“You’ve seen me look worse.”

She only intended this as fun retort, but it didn’t seem like Michel took it this way because his face instantly darkened. Well now, if she couldn’t joke around about her own horrible death, what could she joke about?

“Did you two… really spend the day here looking after me?” She finally asked, deciding to change the topic before Michel decided to make the mood even more uncomfortable. “Aren’t you supposed to have jobs or something?”

He blinked at her curiously. “Well, of course we looked after you. We just both took the day off,” he replied simply, as if it was just obvious they would skip work just to take care of some random teen girl who lived next door.

Well, okay, fine, she knew she wasn’t just ‘some random teen girl’ to them, but still, the point was the same.

“Giselle wanted to close off the café, but Maria told her she could handle it by herself for one day. As for me I just said I had an emergency with my family so I couldn’t come.”

With my family.

Morgana tried not to let the words stick to her too much. It was just an excuse as to why he couldn’t come to work. They were not family, and would never be, after all.

“…What, and it worked? You can just skip your job like that? Sure sounds like a nice life.”

“I’ve been working at this company for five years after college and I’ve barely taken any days off since then, so my superiors tend to be lenient on me.”

“Still stupid, though. I have a fever, not cancer. And if Giselle’s already there, there was no need for you to skip work as well.”

“You really just hate it when people care for you, huh?”

There was something in the way he said it that made her a bit uneasy, so she just snorted and turned her head away. She still felt like her brain was about to explode anyway, so arguing with Mr. Goody-two-shoes wasn’t the first priority on her list right now.

But then she suddenly felt fingers gently ran across her forehead, pushing her red locks away from her eyes just like Giselle had done earlier. She looked up at Michel again and he had an odd expression on his face; a mix of tender affection, fond exasperation and… some sort of sadness, maybe.

“People just care about you, Morgana. You should let them sometimes.”

She opened her mouth, a witty retort all ready pushing at the tip of her tongue, but nothing came. Instead she just stared straight at Michel into his red eyes, something odd growing into her chest and her stomach and her throat suddenly feeling tight. Thankfully, Giselle choose this moment to barge into the room with a smile.

“It should be ready in about fifteen minutes!” She declared joyfully. “By the way, I was thinking. If Morgana doesn’t feel too bad, how about we watch a movie together? We could eat here in the bed together and put something on my laptop.”

“…Sounds like a nice idea to me,” Michel said, before the couple looked at Morgana for any agreement.

The girl sighed. “As long as I don’t have to move… it should be fine… but don’t blame me if I just fall asleep midway.”

Giselle’s face beamed again. “Perfect then!”

“Wait, do you know what to watch?”

“Yep! There’s this one movie I rented the other day. I’ve been wanting to see it for a while now, it’s called ‘Martyrs’!”

Morgana had never heard of this movie before — she still wasn’t very well-versed in pop culture things — but then she noticed Michel’s face noticeably paling, and knowing Giselle, she guessed it probably must be either very gore or with a very dark sense of humor or both at the same time — because for some reason Giselle really loved those type of movies, to her poor boyfriend’s dismay.

Morgana didn’t really care either way, but if she could see Michel get all squeamish for more than hour then it could be worth it.

True to her words, Giselle came back with three bowls of vegetables pottage on a tray only a handful of minutes later, and they all bundled up under the sheets with the laptop; Morgana in the middle and Michel and Giselle to her right and left respectively. She actually was surprised they were able to fit all three of them in that bed, but it was a pretty big one.

As expected, the movie was horribly bloody and pretty nauseous, and Morgana even noticed Michel gagging on his bowl a few times, but that didn’t really matter much to her.

What mattered was the way she could feel the warmth of both of her friends’ bodies next to her, the way Michel’s head fell on her head, the way Giselle would sometimes push some burgundy locks behind her ears without even thinking about it all while sharing fun small comments.

It was the way Michel and Giselle casually held hands and exchanged brief caresses and little kisses almost imperceptibly in the dimness of the room.

It was the way Morgana had no need for thousands-years long anger and jealousy anymore, not when she could easily share in the love these two had whenever she wanted.

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It took her two full days to recover completely.

However, she still stayed at their place for at least a week afterwards — eating Giselle’s meals with them, watching some other movies (of Michel’s choice, this time), and even sleeping there.

She wasn’t sick; there should technically be no need for her to stay anymore.

They weren’t her parents, weren’t family; just a couple of fools she’d kept torturing for centuries, who had somehow still forgiven her and welcomed her into their home regardless.  

But if they were fine allowing her in, she figured… maybe she could take Michel’s advice and accept to be taken care of sometimes — maybe even when she didn’t truly needed it.

The witch inside her wanted to sneer and scream at her for that; but that had been a while since she’d left that poor lonely creature behind now.