I wrote this as a drabble for Tumblr one late night when I was bored and on a Melvester high (though let's be honest, I almost always am, that ship gives me so many feelings) and I wanted it posted here as well. It's just a fluffy sort of fic.

She rolled onto her back and ran her hand back through her hair. "God, I live for when they let me escape the hospital bed. They give me those ugly pink comforters, you know what I'm talking about." She reached out and placed a hand next to her. "Super Fun Guy bedding is so much more fun."

From the bathroom, Sylvester grinned at her around his toothbrush.

Megan extended her arms, her left hanging off the side of the bed and her right crossing over onto Sylvester's side. Her bed at the center wasn't a hospital bed in the sense that it wasn't one of those narrow ones with barriers on the side that they put post OP patients in, but it was small. She couldn't stretch in that one. The bed at Sylvester's place was designed for two people, and the mattress was so much more comfortable than her issued one. She wasn't sure if she'd ever tell him this – though she knew he'd understand – this bed almost represented the freedom she didn't have most of the time. Her life at the hospital was dull, depressing, and restrictive. Nothing about this place was.

"I like this bed," she said, rolling onto her side as Sylvester came out to join her. "It's so much better than at the hospital."

"Because Super Fun Guy," Sylvester said matter – of – factly, easing down next to her, "makes everything better. Right?"

She laughed. "Right." Her amused grin shifted into affectionate. "I'm glad they okayed me staying over again."

He smiled at her. "Me too."

"Dinner was wonderful," she said with a smile. "How much of it did you make yourself?"

"Absolutely none of it," he said matter of factly, and she laughed. "That was all Paige. But," he said, "Paige isn't the one that knew your favorite meal."

"That one all you?" she said with the smile of someone who knew the answer. "Thank you, Sly. This has been a wonderful night."

"So you're really not turned off by all the..." Sly gave a bashful shrug as he gestured to the room, which was filled with various memorabilia.

"No, hey, no," Megan said, awkwardly scooting closer to him and putting her head against his chest. "This is my favorite place." She felt his hand find hers, and she curled his fingers around his. "I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am when I'm here," she mumbled.

"Good," she heard him say, hearing the catch in his voice. She lifted her head, offering him a small smile, and he returned it, leaning down to kiss her.

"I like that we're making this a weekly thing," he said. "You know, while we can."

Megan nodded, the tranquility fading from her face. "Doc says I won't be permitted to leave much longer."

Sylvester's face fell. "Oh?"

She looked away. "I'm still getting worse, Sly. You know that. You know that's all it's going to be now."

"Does your brother know you're here?" he asked suddenly.

"He's not the boss of me," she said, a bit confused at the change in topic.

"That wasn't my question."

"He knows I was temporarily discharged. It doesn't take a 197 I.Q. to know I'm with you." She smiled again. "He wants me to be happy. He takes me out too, you know. He's not going to get jealous that I'm spending time with you, because whether he's able or willing to admit it or not, he has emotions like everyone else. And inside, even if he doesn't understand it, he's thrilled that I have you. Okay?" She smiled. "Prop me up?"

He nodded. "Okay." Sitting up, he rearranged the pillows, and helped her scoot over to them, so she was sitting up slightly, then leaned over and kissed her again, curling one of his hands around one of hers and using his thumb to gently massage her skin. She brought her hand up to his jawline, and pushed against him, deepening the kiss. He shifted his weight to curl an arm under her, not resting his weight on her, but lowering himself enough so that their bodies touched, ever so slightly. When the kissing ended, they remained where they were, touching noses. Then Sylvester lowered himself next to her and gathered her up in his arms, her back against his chest, kissing her cheek and holding her hands in place over her stomach. She laughed, tipping her head back, playfully protesting the move from the inclined pillows. "I'm not going to be able to sit up in the morning!"

He helped her scoot back. "Sorry." He pushed some hair back behind her ear, smiling down, suddenly – but unsurprisingly – struck by her. He often got like this. They'd be hanging out, and then she'd move a certain way or say a certain thing or make a certain sound when she laughed and he'd become nearly paralyzed, unable to do much of anything but look at her. It often happened when they were here, when she was with him in his bed – in their bed, really – smiling, her whole body relaxed, her fingers tangled up with his. At the hospital she was always slightly reserved, always under a cloud, only rarely able to escape fully into their time together and forget her reality. Here, it was almost as if that reality didn't exist. It was almost as if they were two young people in love who could fully expect to spend fifty years together.

"Sylvesterrrr," she said, impishly calling him out as she always did, tipping her chin down and cocking her head flirtatiously. He smiled down at her.

She sat up, pushing his chest gently, signaling she wanted him to lie down. He eased over onto his back and she stretched an arm across his chest, nestling her head into his shoulder. He slid an arm around her and tugged her close.

"What about the elevation?" he asked, his eyelids beginning to feel heavy.

Her voice was muffled; she was tired too. "This is better."

His hand lazily ran from her shoulder to hip and back again. "I'd have to agree."