"Garrus," Jane wheedled, the stuffiness in her nose making her voice muffled and flat, and just plain making her feel absolutely pathetic laid out in bed from the flu. Flopping sideways across the bed so she can do her best at looking pleading, she looks up from her laying position. Just that one simple shift of her body has her winded and groaning at the rush in her head from the jostling. "Come cuddle. Please," she draws out, the word rattling through the stabbing pain in her sore throat.
She knows her illness has thrown Garrus to the dogs in terms of taking care of the kids, but she thinks she deserves to mope around and grumble, dammit. How could she possibly think of tending to the twins when she can barely muster up enough strength to get to the bathroom? Let a healthy, grown turian male deals with those monsters, she says, and why not throw a whining, snotty and raspy sounding into the mix for him?
Didn't he say once that he's a glutton for punishment, or am I just imagining he did? Doesn't matter, he's one now.
Her mate hums from where he's folding some of her unmentionables into their dresser drawers. If she didn't feel like she was dying, she'd take a moment to praise him for being such a great husband and dad when she isn't at her best. As it is, though, she'll settle for just giving him a smile when he looks her way when he brings her meals, and even that is a hell of a lot of work in her condition. Garrus never complains, though, and she can swear he must already know somehow. He has always been able to read her better than she could read herself most times throughout their relationship.
"Garrus," she whines again, stretching her arms out across the sheets towards him. "I need you."
Never one to let a chance to tease her pass him pay, he chuckles from where he slides the drawer closed. "No, you need a heating pad." Turning to her, he lifts a brow plate and smirks, crossing his arms. "Where was that need when you practically growled at me this morning when I asked how you were?"
"I didn't growl-"
"You did," he insists, dropping his arms as he walks to her. From her place as a human pile of sickness on the bed, he looks massive standing above her and she lifts an arm for him, only to let it flop down with a thump. Chuckling, he leans down, slides his hands under her arms, and lifts her back into place, but not without emitting the wail of a dying animal from her mouth. "You okay?" Concern etches his features at the sound as he gently places her back against the mountain of pillows against the headboard.
"No," she groans and he gently combs his talons through her hair, the warm of his palms over her scalp easing some of the thumping pain there. "I'm dyin'."
"You're not dying. You may sound like it. And you kind of smell it, too," he adds with a half cocked grin and she grunts, at least able to roll her eyes.
"Ass. You gonna stand there and crack jokes about your poor, suffering wife, or do something to help me?" She juts her lip, this being the only time she could ever pull it off without him laughing her out of the room because she could damn well do something by herself.
And I would too, if I could move.
Her husband relents with a soothing purr and sits at her side, leaning forward to press his mouth plates to her forehead in a mock kiss. "What do you need me to do?"
His whisper is so soft, so tender, that she lets a weak smile break through the heavy weight of what has to be the worst day yet, but she'll vehemently deny the existence of the tears welling up in her eyes. She can't quite stop the whining hum that stings her throat, though, as she fights the weight of gravity to touch his cheek. "Be with me?"
He covers her hand - to which she is grateful because she was struggling with keeping it up there without something to prop it up on. Turning his head towards it, he gives her palm a gentle nip of a kiss. "The kids should be occupied at least an hour or two." At her questioning look, he laughs softly, hot breath puffing against her sweaty palm. "Blasto," he says as way of explanation, and it's a good enough one to understand.
"Ah. Maybe there'll be a marathon."
"Then we'd never get them out of the living room." Still, he shifts more onto the bed so that he can lay back against the pillows. Though isn't anywhere near uncomfortable, she appreciates the fact that he's still in his soft sleep pants and plush jacket - which looks suspiciously like the turian equivalent of a hoodie - as she unceremoniously drops herself against his side with a huff.
Despite her sweats, she's been cold all day with chills. It's why she loves his heat against her body more than life itself at the moment. The Reapers could come back for all she cared, so long as they left her to snuggle against her heater of a turian husband. She lets Garrus know of her thinking with a pleased hum.
"Better?" His voice is soft, vocals rumbling against her cheek as she nuzzles her cheek against his chest. She gives a mumble of affirmative, whether he understands it or not, and smiles when he wraps his arm around her form to hold her close. She won't admit it, but, at this angle, she'd probably slide off him and into a weak puddle if he didn't hold her in place. "I didn't know influenza could be so debilitating." She grunts, closing her eyelids suddenly made of lead. "I would imagine humans would have treatment for it, though I guess I can't really wonder since even turians have illnesses that are better left-"
"Garrus?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
His rumbling chuckle bounces her head slightly, enough to make the pounding intensify, but it's not worth the energy to tell him so when he quickly quiets down again. "Understood, ma'am. Won't happen again."
Jane just gives him another grunt, one of 'good', 'about time', 'I hate being sick', and 'I love this man'. She thinks he understands by the calming hum in his chest, one he's often used to ease her back to sleep after jerking awake from the cold chill of fog and the voices of the dead hidden within.
Now that she just listens to it, it's easy to find herself falling asleep again despite feeling like complete shit. He's even rubbing small circles on her back with one hand and carding his other hand's talons through her unruly hair. Melting at his touches and caresses, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she'll have to keep him here.