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Sick Day

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“Do I have to tie ye to the bed then, Fraser?”

Claire’s eyes narrow as she looks at her (new) husband across the bed. “It isn’t that bad, Jamie. I’ll get Tamiflu and be on my way.”

“I’m no’ the doctor here, but doesn’t that only work if ye start taking it right when ye notice the symptoms?”

“You definitely aren’t the doctor,” she retorts, not answering the question, but standing too quickly and immediately sinking back down on the end of the bed when she stumbles.

That’s enough for Jamie to get up and kneel in front of her, taking her shoes out of her hands. “Ye’re no’ going.”

She groans and bats at his arm. “I have surgeries today,” she weakly protests, using him now to brace herself as she stands and lets out a breath, moving past him to get another pair of shoes, looking a little smug about seeming to outsmart him.

“Oh, and do ye think those people may no’ be grateful to not have a doctor breathing the flu at them?” Jamie reaches out, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ye’re burnin’ up, Claire. Call it.”

There’s another groan, more groaning than talking, really, and she drops the shoes. “Fine. One day. And stop trying to talk like a doctor.”

“We’ll re-assess in the morning. I’m staying wi’ ye today. I’ll watch more Grey’s for my education.”

“God, Jamie, I don’t need a babysitter, I’m perfectly capable of--”

“Where are ye going wi’ that succulent?” he asks, raising his eyebrow and nodding at the cylindrical vase in her hand.

Claire looks at it, then the water bottle right next to where the plant usually sits, same approximate shape, before looking at Jamie. “Don’t read into that, it means nothing.”

“What it means is you’re no’ thinking straight. No’ really the best of mindsets for a surgeon, Sassenach.” He moves to her and gently takes the vase from her, putting it down and kissing her forehead. “Ye take today and I’ll allow a reassessment tomorrow. Agreed?”

She thinks about it for a moment, notes the way her muscles ache, the way she feels uncomfortably hot and all that sounds nice is melting into bed. “Agreed,” she gives in, pulling her shirt over her head now and tossing it in a chair before face-planting into the bed with a long groan. “I don’t want to be ill.”

Gently, Jamie rolls her and carefully tugs her skirt off before removing her bra and slipping his own discarded sleep shirt over her head. “I know it, mo chridhe,” he murmurs. “But I’ll take good care of ye, promise.”

“Will you rub my head?” she asks giving him the most pathetic look she can muster.

“Aye. I’ll rub yer hard head. After I get back from picking ye up some proper drugs.” He knows she already pushed herself yesterday, too far gone for a prescription. “Call the hospital and make sure ye tell the Chief of Surgery I’ll tell him to go fuck himself this time if he gives ye any grief.” The man’s a hardass, Jamie dislikes him immensely, and if he had his way, Claire would have Marylebone’s job.

“I have no problem telling Clarence that myself, you know,” Claire mutters, reaching for her phone.

“Oh, I ken it but I dinna want ye to actually lose your job.” Jamie leans down and kisses her forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, leaving her to make the call she needs to. When he returns some twenty minutes later, his hands are full of bags and he makes his way to the bedroom, realizing it’s blazing hot. He sees the reason for their apartment heat set to ‘inferno’ in the form of his wife, wrapped so tightly in the comforter that only the top of her head is poking out. “Sassenach? Can ye breathe under there?”

“I can’t breathe at all and I’m freezing,” comes the muffled reply as he sits down, placing the bags at his feet and gently unwrapping her.

“I brought relief. Dayquil, Nyquil, Tylenol, Advil, soup, crackers, chapstick for your dry lips and an electric blanket so I will no’ sweat my bawls off while ye have chills. Oh, and those wee electrolyte drinks. They said it would be good for ye.”

Claire stares at him and his bounty which includes the soft nose tissue she likes. She decides not to mention that she isn’t losing fluids and so she isn’t dehydrated. “Did you leave anything for the other sick people?”

“I dinna love them,” he scoffs, bending to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m very lucky that you love me,” she murmurs, reaching out to lace her fingers through his before sitting up enough to let him dole out medicine to take. That done, he gets the blanket unpacked for her and it goes under the comforter which she still wraps herself in tightly. “You know in ten minutes I’ll be burning up,” Claire mumbles, closing her eyes.

“Aye, and I’ll never be so glad for something as cool air.” He makes sure there’s something to drink for her there on the nightstand, then picks up the garbage and leaves the room.

She doesn’t expect him back, already dozing when she feels the bed dip and his arms wrap around her over all of the blankets. “You’ll get sick,” she advises in weak protest.

“If I’m going to get it, Sassenach, this will no’ matter much.” He kisses the back of her head, feeling the lump of blankets moving with her breathing.

“I do love you, for the record.” Her voice is muffled and thick with the edges of sleep. “Glad you don’t love all those other people.”

Jamie kisses her again, not minding the way her curls splay across his face. “Only room in my heart for one woman wi’ the flu.”

All that she can do is hum in response before she’s out, well-loved and taken care of.