Chapter Text
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You should probably clean the apartment before your girlfriend gets home from her twelve hour shift. That had been your plan for the day after all, and you still want to do it. You know that working in the ER all day is exhausting, and you try to make everything smooth and easy for Baran when she gets home, if you can.
The only problem is that your arms seem to have been replaced with limp spaghetti.
You groan as you struggle to push yourself up on the couch with shaky arms. You can’t remember the last time you felt this awful – pounding head, throat on fire, full-body chills, the works. Whatever you’re currently sick with hit hard and fast, and you’ve pretty much been camped out on the couch all day. Much to your dismay, as you hate being unproductive.
You’re just considering whether you have enough energy to get some sort of dinner started when you hear the front door unlocking.
You use your last dregs of strength to get up from the couch, trying to hurriedly smooth the wrinkles out of your hoodie and sweatpants. Your girlfriend doesn’t need to know you’re not feeling well. She’s just coming off a day dealing with Pittsburgh’s sick and injured. That last thing she needs is more of that when she gets home.
“Hey, honey,” you greet, coming over to Baran and helping her out of her trench coat. You give her a swift kiss on the cheek and hang up her coat. “How was work?”
“Long,” Baran answers, kicking off her sneakers and then neatly lining them up by the door. She straightens up with a sigh and tugs the elastic out of her hair. Her honey-brown curls fall in a wave to her shoulders, and you reach up to card your fingers through her hair, admiring – not for the first time – how gorgeous your partner is.
“How’re you, azizam?” Baran asks, heading toward the powder room off the main hall to wash her hands. She always insists on washing her hands after coming home from work, even though you know she washes them untold times when she’s on shift.
“I’m good,” you lie, and immediately have to choke back a cough. You grab a pillow off the couch and muffle a few small coughs into it, hoping it’s quiet enough that Baran won’t hear. You clear your throat afterward to get rid of the scratchiness in your throat. “What should I get started for dinner?”
Baran comes out of the bathroom, drying her hands on a paper towel. Her brown eyes are sharp as she glances over you. “Are you alright? You sound a little hoarse.”
“Fine,” you say breezily, heading into the kitchen to avoid any further questioning. “I was thinking stir-fry, maybe? It’ll be quick.”
Baran calls something back but you miss it, because you’re suddenly ducking away into your elbow to sneeze. It makes your head spin and your throat burn, and you lean back against the counter woozily afterward, trying to steady yourself.
When you look up, you see your girlfriend standing a few paces away, giving you a knowing look. “Bless you,” she says, crossing her arms and studying you. “You don’t sound well.”
You wave a tired hand. “It’s nothing.”
Baran sighs, coming over to you and running a hand down your arm. “Sweetheart. Don’t lie to me. You’re pale, you’re clammy, and you can barely stand.”
You deflate a little. “It’s…mostly nothing?” you try, wincing.
Your girlfriend’s hand comes to your forehead, her cool palm pressing against your overheated skin. Tenderness shines in her soft brown eyes. “This is a lot more than just nothing, joon-am. Come, let’s get you sitting down.”
She guides you back over to the couch with a hand on the small of your back. Once settled, she strokes your hair behind your ear, frowning at you. “Why didn't you tell me you’re sick?” Her lips curve in a half smile. “I am a doctor, in case you forgot.”
You roll your eyes, falling back against the cushions. “I didn’t want you to have to come home to another patient. I know this is the one place you can get away from all that. I want this to be the place where you can get away from all that.”
Baran considers your words for a moment, playing with the ends of your hair. “I love my job, my patients, the work I do,” she says finally, cupping your cheek. Her eyes shine with conviction. “But it’s also that – work. You,” she presses her lips to your temple, “are never work. You’re my heart. Taking care of you is something I choose to do, not something I’m paid to do.”
Something thick lumps in your throat at that, and you blink quickly. “Sappy,” you say, choked up, with a teasing grin.
“And true,” Baran says, kissing you again. She pulls the throw blanket off the back of the couch and carefully wraps you up in it, tucking it warmly around you. “Now, I’m going to get the thermometer, you’re going to tell me how you really feel, and we’re going to cuddle the rest of the night.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Al-Hashimi,” you smile, accepting the tissue box that she hands you. “But…thank you.”
Baran smiles at you before getting up and disappearing into the bedroom. You curl up on the couch, settling further into your blanket – warm, loved, safe.
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