Work Text:
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Caitlyn knows something is off before she even opens her eyes.
Whether it’s due to her sharp intuition or bit of a sixth sense, Caitlyn always knows when something’s off with her girlfriend. And this morning all of her internal alarm bells are ringing.
Mel isn’t curled up next to her, for starters. That in and of itself isn’t too unusual – both she and Caitlyn have their fair share of early mornings, due to their equally demanding careers. Caitlyn knows Mel has an event today that she’s been working on for months, a fundraising gala for the aid organization Zaun Children’s Society. She’s probably already up and getting dressed for the event, perhaps refining her speech for the umpteenth time.
But what is out of the ordinary is the light smell of lavender with a hint of menthol hanging in the air. Caitlyn recognizes the scent instantly as the aromatic cream Mel is partial to using when she’s feeling unwell. A quick glance at her girlfriend’s nightstand also reveals two slightly crumpled handkerchiefs discarded there. That is quite unusual, both Mel and Caitlyn despise messes and are meticulously neat.
Caitlyn doesn’t need any further clues to unravel this particular mystery. Mel is sick… and sure to be absolutely stubborn about it, if history serves as any precedent. Caitlyn grins softly to herself as she slips out of bed, donning her silk dressing gown and sweeping her hair into a messy ponytail. She feels a bit as though she’s readying herself for battle, which isn’t far from the truth. Convincing the determined, headstrong councilor and mage that she is, in fact, still human always proves a challenge. But that’s never stopped Caitlyn before, and it certainly won’t now.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
As expected, Caitlyn finds Mel in her study, reviewing her notes through narrowed eyes. Caitlyn easily clocks the signs of exhaustion on Mel that would be so easily missed by anyone else. The slight hunch to Mel’s usually perfect posture. The purple hue under her eyes. The way the golden sigils sweeping over her skin are just ever so slightly dull, missing their usual gleam.
Mel muffles a tiny cough into her shoulder, then glances up quickly when Caitlyn enters the room. Her expression is guarded, almost sheepish.
“Good morning, my love,” Mel says, giving her a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Caitlyn comes to her side, her heart skipping a beat the same way it always does when she sees Mel. She still hasn’t gotten used to her beauty, even after all these months that they’ve been together.
“Good morning.” Caitlyn perches on the edge of Mel’s desk, gently tugging the papers out of her hands and setting them aside. Mel sighs, giving her an irritated look, but Caitlyn isn’t dissuaded. She trails her fingers lightly down the side of Mel’s face, touching the backs of them against her cheek. Her skin is warm, too warm. “You’re not well,” Caitlyn murmurs, her brow pinching. She brushes her thumb over the faint circles under Mel’s eyes. “You should rest, darling.”
“I’m well enough,” Mel huffs, leaning back in her chair. Her golden-green eyes are sharp as she looks at Caitlyn, head tilted. “You aren’t going to convince me to forgo the event.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Caitlyn smirks, leaning in to press a light kiss to Mel’s forehead. “I was simply making an observation.”
“I’m fine,” Mel insists, but then her expression shifts, her nose scrunching. She turns and sneezes into a handkerchief, the sound rough enough to make Caitlyn wince with sympathy. “Ugh…excuse me,” Mel mutters afterward, coughing a little and pressing a weary hand to her temple.
Caitlyn lets out a long breath, shifting closer and reaching out to gently rub Mel’s shoulder. “Sweetheart…”
“I can still do the speech,” Mel protests, her voice cracking halfway through. She coughs again, trying to clear her throat. “It’s nothing, truly.”
“Mhm, and what would you say if it was me who had no voice and a fever, insisting on carrying on?” Caitlyn keeps her tone soft, but raises her eyebrows pointedly.
“I don’t have a fever.”
“You do, love.” Caitlyn lays the back of her hand against Mel’s forehead, humming softly. “Quite an impressive one, in fact.”
Mel sighs, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t cancel, not now. The timing is terrible, I’m supposed to be speaking just this afternoon,” she groans, but she’s sounding less sure of herself each passing second.
Caitlyn starts rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back. “They would understand. And there’s enough time to find someone to fill in. Shoola perhaps?”
“It would be rude of me to miss it.”
“But coughing your way through your speech wouldn’t be?”
“I would manage.”
“Love.” Caitlyn clasps Mel’s hand warmly between her own, giving her a level look. “I know as well as anyone that it’s pointless to try and stop you from something you’ve put your mind to. I am simply suggesting, however, as someone who loves you quite dearly and doesn’t wish to see you faint on stage in front of a crowd, that you stay home and let me look after you.”
Mel looks up at her, a mix of stubbornness and weariness in her eyes. “You wouldn’t catch me if I swooned?” she smirks, eyes glinting. “I would have expected more, Cait.”
Caitlyn chuckles, immediately coming to Mel’s side when she stands, putting a protective hand on her waist. “Of course I’d catch you. It still might put a dent in your status as the most formidable woman in Pilotver, though.”
Mel sighs, stumbling slightly when she sneezes again. Caitlyn tightens her arm around her, steadying her. “I hate falling ill.”
“I know,” Caitlyn says sympathetically, brushing a kiss over the top of Mel’s hair and guiding her from the room. They quietly head down the hall toward the sitting room.
“And I truly didn’t feel it coming on, or I would have canceled sooner,” Mel adds, coughing when her voice cracks.
“I know,” Caitlyn repeats patiently, helping Mel settle onto a velvet, plush settee. She props a pillow behind her girlfriend’s head, then covers her with a thick knit blanket, tucking the edges around her warmly.
She kneels next to the sofa, tucking a loose curl behind Mel’s ear, then kissing her cheek. “Rest. I’ll send word to the society and Shoola.”
Mel gives her a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, love.” She hesitates, expression turning hopeful. “Is there any chance I could sweet talk you into…”
“Making you a cup of ginger-lemon tea with a ridiculous amount of honey?” Caitlyn guesses with a grin. “That was exactly what I was going to do next.”
“You know me so well,” Mel laughs, eyes soft.
“I do. And I love you.” Caitlyn rests her forehead against Mel’s for a moment, just savoring the feeling of having Mel here. Sick, yes, but resting. Taken care of. Caitlyn’s.
“You’re mine,” Caitlyn says, her voice dropping into a low, protective murmur.
Mel cups her chin, smiling up at her. “Yes, darling. I’m yours.”
Those just might be the words Caitlyn loves the most.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁