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Elide coughs feebly, wanting nothing more than for this to be over, the sooner the better, by any means necessary. From where she’s standing boiling more water for tea, Manon gives her a look that’s half sympathetic, half reproachful as she slumps back against her pillows feeling decidedly sorry for herself.
Padding over and handing Elide freshly brewed tea before she perches on the broad, cushioned window seat she set up so she could have fresh air and watch the world beyond the window instead of going stir crazy in the small bedroom, Manon makes the former expression understood by saying flatly, “I told you not to go into that germ factory you call work. You should have told them you were ill so you wouldn’t get infected. Prevention is better than cure,” she grumbles for the tenth time that morning.
Manon has never quite grasped the concept of ‘I won’t say I told you so’ though Elide supposes she never promised to either.
“They were already short-staffed,” Elide protests weakly while Manon attempts to subtly adjust her pillows without making it obvious, “I couldn’t make it worse for them.”
Manon only snorts derisively at that, “You’re too nice for your own good,” Manon tells her starkly but there’s a certain softness tempering her words nonetheless, a fondness in those rich eyes, “Next time I’m going to phone and tell them what’s happening,” she announces fiercely, gold eyes flashing.
Elide suppresses a shiver at the thought of Manon calling her boss and explaining why she isn’t coming in. Though if the woman snaps at her again she might just let Manon loose on her after all and just make sure she’s there to witness the response. Elide things, with a faint smile of satisfaction, that there are few people in this world that would be a match for her girlfriend. Her boss definitely isn’t one of them and though a very possible outcome of all of it might well be her losing her job; it might well be worth it.
Foreseeing a flaw in this brilliant plan as she looks into Elide’s eyes Manon interrupts her indulgent musings with a swift addition, “And I’ll tie you to the bed and sit on you to stop you being a good person.”
Elide chuckles at this until it makes her start violently coughing again and Manon hastily takes her cup from her to stop the boiling liquid sloshing all over them and doing even more damage to her poor Elide. When she’s done choking Manon lifts the tea to her lips and helps her take a slow sip of it.
“I’m sorry,” Elide wheezes miserably, voice hoarse from all the coughing, “You’ve been looking forward to this holiday for months and me and my flu are ruining it.”
The two of them are currently nestled together in a small log cabin named The Keep, tucked away in between several large snow-capped mountains that Manon’s mother owned and left to her when she died.
Manon’s disapproval melts away like morning dew before a rising sun at Elide’s words. She gently runs her fingers through her hair, “It’s alright,” she says, her voice a low, tender purr, different from her typical growl, “Don’t worry about that; just rest and get better okay?” a soft smile brushes her lips as she strokes her hair away from her face, “I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else in this world right now,” she breathes quietly onto Elide’s skin, leaning in close to her.
“Sickness and all?” Elide asks, allowing herself a soft smile at her girlfriend’s words.
“Sickness and all,” Manon confirms with trademark utter seriousness, leaning down to press a soft, affectionate kiss to Elide’s forehead, softening her words.
“You shouldn’t,” Elide protests feebly “I don’t want you to get sick too,” she says, thinking that that’s the last thing they need.
She should probably have quarantined herself in that miserable little bedroom after all to spare her from this. But she hadn’t quite been able to protest when Manon had lift her gently from the bed and carried her through to the bright little window seat where they’ve spent the past few nights tucked up together, wrapped in an old tartan blanket and star gazing from the inside. Selfishness had won out on her part, her desire to be held and taken care of and she suspected it was pure stubbornness on Manon’s part, tinged with a flat refusal to allow the world to dictate the terms on which she was supposed to do anything. For all her talk about prevention being better than cure it doesn’t seem to be something that’s crossed Manon’s bull-headed mind when she’s spent the last three days holding her.
Manon snorts derisively at Elide’s cautioning words however, “I don’t get sick Elide,” she announces with a perfectly balanced mix of disdain and arrogance only she has ever truly mastered.
“Never?” Elide says wryly, pointedly raising her eyebrows to remind Manon of the hellish flu they went through last Winter. Not that Elide actually caught it but that didn’t mean she never suffered because of it.
Manon either misses the silent, implied cue to remember last Winter’s flu or, more likely, chooses to ignore it, “Ever,” she states firmly.
Hiding her smile Elide decides not to push it just now, especially when Manon starts plumping up the cushions behind her again to make her more comfortable, “Good,” she says instead, “It means you can take care of mere mortals like me without fear.”
Manon smiles faintly at that and gently kisses her cheek in answer. Tender affection and yet another display of flat defiance. Elide feels her stomach tighten with a sudden rush of affection for the silver haired beauty perched beside her.
They sit quietly for a few minutes more, gazing out of the window together as snow begins to fall again, thick fat flakes like chunks of white candyfloss falling from the sky, building up on the window ledge just beyond the thick pane of glass. Manon keeps coaxing more hot tea into Elide, as though in response to the sudden blizzard that’s whipped up beyond them, only stopping when she notices her shivering at which point she gets up and prowls away from her across the room.
She returns a few moments later with an extra blanket which she covers Elide with, tugging it right up to her chin to make sure it warms her up quickly.
“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were fussing, Noni,” Elide says with a small smile, eyeing her decidedly fussy girlfriend over the rim of her tea cup which pokes out over the large red blanket she’s just been covered in.
Manon growls at this, burnt gold eyes flashing, “I don’t fuss,” she insists, looking mildly offended at the very idea but somewhat ruining the effect of the defiant snarl and the flat glower with the way one hand is smoothing down creases in the blankets piled on top of Elide, tucking them in against her while the other chooses that moment to press itself against Elide’s forehead to check her temperature.
Elide smiles again, “You don’t get sick, you don’t fuss,” she teases lightly, voice breaking and forcing her to take another sip of tea to clear the cough that rises up in her chest before she can get out, “What do you do?” she demands, eyes twinkling.
“I do love you,” Manon replies, all gruff seriousness, and Elide’s smile broadens and warms and she gently pulls Manon towards her, the two of them tenderly touching foreheads.
“I love you too,” Elide murmurs back, rubbing noses with Manon, smiling when she blinks rather rapidly, clearly unsure how to react to this gesture.
Elide damns this current illness with the foulest curses she knows-most of them Manon’s- because all she wants right now is to be able to pull her in close and spend all night kissing her in front of the roaring fire, taking her time, taking it slow, as though it’s their first kiss, as though she’s desperate to learn every inch of her mouth again, as though she’s been bidden to commit it to memory, the shape of it, the feel, the taste, the heat against her own.
Instead she’s forcer to settle for wryly murmuring, “And you are fussing,” whisperings out the words in a faint breath of laughter into the taut air between them.
Manon huffs impatiently but doesn’t attempt to deny it this time and gently twines their figners together as she says, her usually coarse tone soft and intimate in a way Elide doesn’t think anyone else ever really hears, and she delights in that, “Do you blame me?” she asks, voice vibrating through Elide with every word because of their proximity.
Manon tentatively rubs noses with Elide in turn before she says very quietly and seriously, without at trace of playful teasing “You’re a fragile little thing.”
Elide yelps and then growls in a mixture of defiance and outrage at this, “Only to you, fusspot,” she chides lightly, glowering at her, though her twinkling eyes give her away.
Manon reaches forwards and tucks a lock of Elide’s thick dark hair behind her ear, her long nails lightly brushing her temple, “You deserve someone who fusses over you,” she breathes evenly, “Who cares about you,” she murmurs, her rich eyes deep and layered a dark, shadowed touch of emotion entering them as she cups Elide’s cheek in her hand, gently caressing the skin with her thumb.
Elide nestles in to her touch, squeezing her hand, “I have you, Manon,” she whispers, the two of them gently pressing their brows together again, “And I know you care about me,” she breathes softly, a faint shiver running through her as she remembers just how much she cares, just what she’d be willing to do for her, willing to tear the worlds to shreds, shatter every star and tame the will of any god foolish enough to stand in her path.
“More than anything,” Manon whispers the words like a pledge, a promise, like some binding oath that would bring them together even if they were worlds apart.
Elide hums contentedly, closing her eyes as Manon affectionately nuzzles her neck, savouring her closeness and the feeling of being completely and utterly alone with her on the edge of the world; being made to feel at the centre of her universe.
After a few moments Elide withdraws just enough to gently but insistently tug Manon up onto the window seat beside her saying, “If you’re so sure you’re immune to my illness you can prove it by cuddling me.”
Manon obligingly coils herself around Elide without a word of question or protest. It’s a tight squeeze with them both on the window seat but they make it work, Elide ending up practically in Manon’s lap, her head resting comfortably against her shoulder.
“I told you,” Manon says quietly, her breath lifting Elide’s hair as it brushes over the top of her head as she nestles against her, her body rising and falling with Manon’s steady, even breathing, only interrupted by the sound and feel of her voice murmuring through her, “I’m invincible, of course I’m immune.”
Elide can’t contain herself this time, the words burst out before she can stop them, “Yes, you felt very invincible last Winter,” she says pointedly, lifting her head to look up into Manon’s eyes, “When you had flu?” she prompts, the question in her voice not really a question at all and she knows that Manon remembers perfectly from the way she won’t quite meet her gaze as she goes on, “And I spent half of my time taking care of you and coaxing you to rest and actually follow the doctor’s orders and the other half stopping you from brutally murdering Asterin for giving it to you in the first place,” she reminds her, taking no pains to hide her grin at all now.
“No more talking, you should be resting, “Manon deadpans but Elide is sure she can see a faint half-smile blooming in her eyes all the same.
Elide giggles and ends up doubled over, coughing and wincing as her ribs burn and ache in protest. Manon soothingly rubs her back then helps her sip some water before she slumps back down again, nestling in to her soft warmth letting herself be enveloped entirely.
Manon kisses the top of her head then softly strokes her hair until Elide finally falls asleep against her, breathing slow and even, her head once again pillowed against Manon’s shoulder.