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You'd been working your ass off almost all week, and it's been pushing you to your limits. For a few weeks you've been feeling sick, your wife has pried and tried to get you to stay home from work—you were having none of it, insisting that you can continue working through it.
You're starting to think she may be right. As you drag yourself home, you can barely put one foot in front of another. Your head is spinning, your throat feels like knives, your stomach turning, the whole nine yards.
You fish for your keys, and stumble into your shared apartment, putting your keys on the table. Jill isn't home, you note. Not yet anyways.
The house is quiet, only light from the moon peeking through the curtains. Truth be told, you're never sure when your girlfriend will get home. With her job it's always different. It's a bit hard on both of you running on different schedules, but you manage to make it work somehow.
You barely make it two steps into the house before feeling your stomach turn, and you hurry towards the bathroom. Only just managing to make it to the toilet before the contents of your stomach make an appearance.
You crouch by the toilet, hugging the bowl as you retch. And just when you think you're done—more comes out. You groan, tears beading at the corners of your eyes, and your throat burning.
You heave and heave until you can't anymore, panting and quivering as you sit there. There's sweat gathering on your forehead, and your head is spinning. Still, you push yourself off your feet and flush the toilet, then move over to the sink, and brush your teeth.
You slug to the living room when you're done, debating on grabbing something to eat, but the remaining queasiness tells you that that's not going to be a good idea. Instead, you make your way over to the couch, and take a seat, kicking your shoes off.
The sound of sleep sounds wonderful to you, and as much as you try and resist it, sleep finds you.
Everything around you fades away for a little while, and any dreams you might have are forgotten in the haze of your fuzzy mind.
When you next awaken, you feel as if you have cotton shoved in your head. You notice right away that you're laying down, and that you're not in the living room anymore, but in your bed. A shiver runs through you, and you pull the covers closer to you.
"There's my girl," a voice comes from beside you.
You turn your head slightly, your voice a soft croak. "Jill, wha-"
A coughing fit overtakes you, and you hack harshly. Your body curling in on itself.
Jill rubs your back, her brows furrowed in worry. "Easy baby."
You clear your throat, and she brings a glass of water to your lips. You sip tentatively, appreciating the cool liquid running down your throat. She lets you drink until you're satisfied, then places the glass back on the bedside table.
"How are you feeling?" She asks, scooting a bit closer to you. Your feet tangle together under the sheets, and you can't help but snuggle against her. She's so warm, and you're so cold.
You sniffle, your hands curling in her shirt, and you bury your face against her neck. You'd care about getting snot on her if you felt better, but now all you care about is warmth.
"Shitty…" you mumble, grimacing as you speak. "You shouldn't be so close, you could get sick too."
She chuckles quietly, kissing the top of your head. "I know, and I don't care. In sickness and in health, remember?"
You let out a whiny grumble against her shoulder, the noise all but incoherent. She rubs your shoulder, shushing you. "You didn't have to push yourself so hard, you know that right?"
"I know," you sigh, shivering a bit. She seems to notice, and grabs the warm blanket at your feet, pulling it over the comforter. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" She guffaws, shaking her head. "Sweetheart, you have no reason to be sorry. I just hate that you feel so bad. I'll make a doctor's appointment for you, ok? For now, just rest with me."
You hum in acknowledgement, nodding. "Missed you…"
"Missed you too," there's a tender smile on her face. "Always do when I'm out there. Spend every minute thinking about you."
Your heart fills with a warmth your body is lacking. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," she reaches up to touch your forehead. "Fever is still pretty rough. Lay back, I'll grab a washrag for you."
She stands, and you whimper at the loss of her body heat, instinctively reaching out for her. She pauses to grab your hand, and raise it to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I promise I'll be back."
With the reassurance, you slump back against the bed, waiting for her return.
A few moments later she returns with a washrag. She takes her place beside you, and grabs ahold of your face gently. She dabs the sweat from your face, doing a once over, before releasing your face and placing the washrag on your forehead.
You snuggle back up against her, and your hand finds hers. "You're so warm, 's nice."
"Yeah, and you're burning up. You've got a fever, no wonder you're cold," she murmurs. "You should get some more rest."
You're too tired to argue, frankly. "Jill?"
"Yeah sweetheart?"
"Thank you…" your words are just above a whisper.
"No need to thank me, just get better," she kisses your cheek.
She watches as you start to drift off in her hold, her heart squeezing at the sight of you so ill. But feeling so grateful that you'd trust her enough to let her take care of you like this. She knows that you're stubborn, she is too. But, you must really have hit your limit for you to let her take care of you.
She listens to your raspy breathing, your lips parted ever-so-slightly as you inhale and exhale; she notes the way your body trembles occasionally, or the small, pained noises you let out. She wishes she could make you better, wishes she could fix it all for you. Instead, she has to wait for the doctor, and she hates that. She hates watching you feel so bad, she feels helpless that she can only alleviate some of the symptoms.
Part of her thanks whatever deity is out there for finally letting your body know it's time to slow down and rest, and that she gets to be here for you. She always wants to be here for you, even in your worst times, because that's what you both signed up for when you put those rings on your fingers.
For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.
She'll be there.