Rose's Sickfic Plague Pit

[thethirteenthchild]

I'm sick so I'm giving my characters my wretched cold. Specific characters available upon request. Intended to be very low effort. Starters in the comments!

Comments

Capochin

[staybizzy]

For Hector

[staybizzy]

"ACHOO!"

The abrupt sound rings out through the office, followed by an annoyed, quieter, "Cripes." There is a pile of tissues in Capochin's waste bin next to his desk, his coffee shockingly untouched as he miserably hunches over his paperwork.

Someone should tell him to take a break.

[carefulinspekshun]

The latest sneeze, and the first one of the day Hector's been here for since his short trip out for errands, gets a look of surprise as Hector comes into the office with his own cup of coffee. He'd gotten a reassurance that this was just "allergies, probably", but considering how the level of tissues in that bin are only getting higher, he's not exactly convinced.

"Yew feelin' okay, Cappy?" Hector asks, giving him a skeptical brow and a worried little frown. "Yew're lookin'... a lil' rough."

[staybizzy]

Capochin looks up from his work, baggy-eyed and weary, a deep blue flush burning through the fur on his cheeks.

"What?" He asks slightly too loudly, despite Hector speaking at a reasonable volume. His ears are clearly congested enough that it's making it hard to hear.

[carefulinspekshun]

Well, that just about cuts it. Between his volume and a better look at him, it's clear that a spring cold's gotten hold of him. Just like he used to do when they were younger, Capochin's trying to muscle through it like nothing's wrong.

And, just like Hector always used to, hands find his hips, and that doting sort of frustration rises to his face.

"Awright, yep, yew're sick. Pen down, mister," he starts, stepping over. He's not exactly good at taking care of other people--- he's barely good at taking care of himself--- but he's been fussed over while sick enough times to have a decent idea of how this ought to go. "It's rest n' rec-of-her-ee for yew today, c'mon."

[staybizzy]

"What? No, I'm fine! It's just a lil' hay fever, Hector, it goes away when them cobdamn flowering trees quit bloomin'! C'mon, I'm busy!" Capochin tries in vain to shoo Hector away, trying to get back to writing.

[carefulinspekshun]

"Yeah, yew say dat every year, and yew know what happens? Couple days later, yew're too sick to move, 'cause yew woiked yewrself too hard!" Hector isn't deterred by the swatting, moving to press the back of his hand to Capochin's forehead, then the side of his face. "Cripes, yew're burnin' up, too! Yew're off-duty today. Boss's orders. Don't make me pick yew up to get yew away from dat desk."

[staybizzy]

"Don't you dare!"

[carefulinspekshun]

Hector steps closer and lifts his hands threateningly. No bluffing here. He's done it before, and he has not learned anything from the last time it happened. He'll do it, consequences be Drained.

[staybizzy]

Immediately, Capochin starts to scramble away, claws out, snarling. He is going to bite Hector if he is grabbed.

[carefulinspekshun]

It wouldn't be the first time Capochin has bitten him, and likely not the last. Such is the cost of love and care.

Quickly and playfully, with his comparative height to his advantage, Hector takes just two short steps before he's able to scoop Capochin into his arms, hoisting him up with his back to Hector's chest, both arms wound beneath Capochin's own, carrying him like a poorly-tempered cat.

"C'mon, yew nasty thing, right to beddy-bye with yew."

[staybizzy]

Much like a poorly-tempered cat, Capochin flails and wriggles, lashing his tail angrily. But he quickly succumbs to fatigue, as contrary to his prior assertions, he is indeed sick. But that won't stop this plague ridden idiot from biting his own fiance. So with the last vestiges of his strength, Capochin unleashes his swan song---- a devastating chomp to Hector's sleeve-covered arm.

[carefulinspekshun]

"Wh--- ow, HEY! Would yew quit!?" Hector scolds him with a huff, not budging his arm from the bite as he starts to trudge up the stairs. "Peas louise, I could'a dropped yew! Then yew'd be sick and dropped, how're yew gonna deal with that? Huh? Gravity ain't no nicer 'cause yew ain't feelin' good. Trust me, learned that tha hard way."

[staybizzy]

"I've had woise," Capochin grumbles, flopping over as his last ditch attempt at freedom proves to be in vain. He instead turns on the drama, reaching forlornly back to his desk. "My scheduuuullleee."

[carefulinspekshun]

"I'll finish it, don't yew worry yewr ailing lil' head." Hector hoists him just a bit higher, to lean down and kiss the top of his head. "Until yew start feelin' better, yew just leave every lil' thing to me, awright?"

[staybizzy]

Capochin can only sniffle miserably in response. He hates being ineffectual, incapable. He's a Bizzyboy, cobdammit! He's supposed to be unstoppable! He sure as Drain didn't get here by being weak enough to get laid low by a stupid little cold.

But... it is nice to be cared for. The allure of being doted on quells his frustration. Especially by Hector. The sort of attention that would make a younger Capochin giddy.

(Okay, maybe somewhere in the cracked and aging recesses of Capochin's battered heart, he's still a little bit giddy even now. But no one gets to see that. That's between Capochin and the gods.)

"If ya say so," he finally mutters. "As soon as I start feelin' better, I'm gettin' back to it."

[carefulinspekshun]

"Sure t'ing! But until then, bed only."

With a little hum, Hector totes Capochin all the way up the stairs, depositing him into the bed once he's crossed their cozy little bedroom. He takes a few extra moments to find some particularly cozy pajamas and piles them into the bedside.

"There! Yew get changed n' get all cozy in bed, and I'lllllll..." He trails off thoughtfully, bringing a hand to rub at his chin. "See if we got anything good for soups! An' maybe some tea. Sham'o'meals is good for dis kind of thing, I think. Or the minty types. Yew want anything in part-ick-yew-lure?"

[staybizzy]

"Honey," Capochin wheezes. "S'good for sore throats. I could really use it in the tea. N'chammomile's good for sleep, so I'll take dat."

With a groan, he peels himself off the bed, feeling like he weighs a million pounds. But he won't be stopped by a change of clothes, even if his body would very much like to give out on him.

[carefulinspekshun]

"Okie-dokie, yew got it. I'll be back here in juuust a lil' bit!"

And he's off. There's some clattering down in the kitchen, the sounds of him singing to himself, and occasional sounds of the front door opening and light conversation had with the Bizzyboys, but, true to his word, he returns after about an hour.

It's by no means marvelous--- he hasn't cooked for himself in some decades, only still yet fetching himself snacks--- but the chicken in the soup is cooked through, even if the broth, at this point, is lukewarm, and the noodles are a bit chewy. The tea smells more of honey than it does of chamomile; it's hard to say if it's because chamomile has a subtle smell, or he just used a fair bit of honey.

"Caaaaappy, yew still awake?" He calls gently into the room, nudging the door open with his hip to walk the little tray in sideways. "I got yewr healin' liquids all ready for yew!"

[staybizzy]

Capochin changes clothes as quickly as he can, into loose cotton pants and a matching button up. Then he collapses back into bed, just resting his eyes, unable to sleep for the racket but enjoying the sound. He loves listening to Hector sing. He's got a gorgeous tenor voice, and sings like no one's listening just any old time. There's such a warmth to the sound that all of the stress and discomfort just melts right out of Capochin to the point where he's lulled into something not quite sleep, just a gentle meditation.

The smell brings him back to himself, somehow penetrating his congestion. Maybe it's the steam carried with it. His eyes drift open slowly. "Mm, my liquids..." he mumbles, too delirious with exhaustion to realize how goofy he sounds. He heaves himself upright slowly. "Yeah, m'awake. You make all dat for me?"

[carefulinspekshun]

"Who else, silly thing?" Hector teases, but waits until he's all the way upright and settled before he passes over the tray, fishing into the pocket of his pants where he'd stowed away the silverware to ensure he wouldn't accidentally leave them.

"Yew need anything else? Water, lil' treats, extra pillow? I could even borrow da desk over there n' work up here to keep yew come-pan-ee, if yew want."

[staybizzy]

The silverware in the pocket makes Capochin laugh softly, and he starts in on the soup. Sad that it isn't all that warm still, but his nose is too stuffy to notice any issues with the taste, and the noodles being a little bit too al dente is a Hector special. Awful if anyone else did them like this, but when it's Hector, it tastes like home.

The tea is nice and warm. Too sweet, but that's alright. Capochin isn't above guzzling honey straight if it means supressing his cough, so he drinks it fine.

"I'd worry 'bout you catchin' what I got if you hang around too much..." But it sounds like maybe he'd rather not be alone.

[carefulinspekshun]

"Pfff, I'll be just fine if I work over here n' yew rest over there!" Hector waves off the concern. "Yew sit tight for just a minute, and I'll be right back!"

Out the door he goes once again, and after a trip down the stairs, and back into their office, he comes back up with a bundle of papers and writing implements tucked into his arms. The desk at the other side of the room is more of a place to catch assorted objects, so it takes some shuffling to clear it, but once things are set out of the way, he's able to get himself set up without too much fuss.

"I figure dis works better, anyhow," he prattles as he gets everything arranged. "That way, if yew need somethin', yew can flag me down real easy! But no backseat note take-king, yew hear me?" (The chiding is playful, of course, but this is something that's happened more than once in the past. The curse of being two people who have particular but very different ways of going about these things.)

[staybizzy]

"Yeah, yeah," Capochin grumbles, but there's no venom to it. He slowly eats his soup and drinks his tea, letting the steam break down some of the fog in his head.

So this is what it feels like to be loved. He'd nearly forgotten, in all this time. It feels so, so nice.

Finally, Capochin lays down and starts to actually go to sleep.

"Hey Hector?" He mumbles.

[carefulinspekshun]

"Mhm?" Hector's reply comes as a content little hum, the scratch of pen to paper stopping while he takes a glance back over his shoulder. There's a warm pride at seeing that his food went over well, and a fondness that's written all over him. "What'cha need?"