A/N
Don't ask. I was accidentally thinking about Blake and Garcia together, and then I fell asleep and dreamed about having chickenpox. Yes, even my dreams are weird. I thought about reversing the roles, but I figured that Blake would be THE most awkward nurse EVER, so I stuck with what I know. The tough one knocked out. LOL
"Hey, how are you feeling, my pretty? Still running a fever?"
Penelope Garcia sat down on the side of the bed and touched the other woman's forehead with her cool palm. The half-asleep brunette pulled away.
"No," she snapped.
"Yes, you do. But not as bad as it was last night. It was like sleeping next to a furnace, which of course I've never done, so I wouldn't really know, but I can imagine…"
A groan cut her off.
"Sorry. Would you like some orange juice?"
"What are you doing home?"
"I got off work an hour ago, Spot."
She looked confused.
"But…you just left, didn't you?"
"No. I suppose you've been sleeping all day. That's good. That'll kick those mean viruses right out of your system."
She beamed at her fiancée and stroke her hair gently. Alex Blake closed her eyes and tried to swallow through her raw throat.
"This is embarrassing," she muttered.
"Well…" Garcia snickered a little. "Chickenpox at your age might be a bit unexpected…"
"We're never babysitting Henry again," Blake said.
"I'm sorry sweetie, I honestly thought you had already had it. I mean, who doesn't get chickenpox as a kid?"
"Obviously, I didn't," Blake replied dryly.
"Let me see those spots," Garcia said, ignoring the other woman's eye roll. "Come on Alex, I know you behave when you're awake, but you scratch at them in your sleep and they might get infected. Get up. Stand."
"I feel like I'm standing in front of an executioner patrol," Blake said and coughed as she, shaky from the fever, stood in front of her lover and reluctantly took off her pyjamas. The air in the room felt cold against her feverish skin and she shivered.
"If I catch pneumonia from standing in this cold…" she began. Garcia shook her head, grinning.
"It's 77 degrees in this room. Oh my God, you're the whiniest patient I've ever had," she giggled and inspected the irritated blemishes on her lover's body. "Okay. It looks better than it did yesterday, that's something, at least. I'm going to rub some lotion on you."
"Can't I just get my pyjamas and go back to bed?" she whined, but Garcia was already pouring lotion into her hands and began smearing it onto Blake's shivering shoulders. It was so cold she winced, but she had to admit that it offered a great deal of relief from the itch.
"I'm going to make some chicken soup for dinner," Garcia said as she tucked her lover back in under the covers.
"Why does everybody think chicken soup solves everything?" Blake complained, and Garcia leaned forward and kissed her.
"Because it does. Wow, you're really not yourself when you're sick, are you? I've never heard you whine this much before. Not even that one time, remember? Before we went public and you stayed the night, and spilled the morning coffee on your clothes so you had to go to work in my pink, fuzzy, sweater."
"Penelope…! Thanks for bringing that up, I still haven't gotten over the look on their faces."
"Me neither," Garcia laughed. "It was hilarious!"
"I would have thought you had some piece of clothing less extreme to offer…"
"Laundry day. You're lucky you didn't have to borrow my red polka dot mini-dress instead, because that's the only other clean thing I had."
Blake shuddered, and not due to fever this time.
"Tell me again what I'm doing with you," she sighed.
"Spending your life with me, because you love me and because, quite frankly, you could never find anyone else like me."
Blake nodded.
"That is true."
She sat up. "Come here. I know I'm the worst patient ever, so… thank you for putting up with me."
Garcia's lips brushed against hers.
"Anytime, Spot. Anytime."