Hour 1

Kim mutters a hurried goodbye, runs out the door, slams it behind her, and I'm alone with my thoughts.

Naturally, my thoughts are of her. Specifically, of the various ways she could be hurt or killed or otherwise negatively affected by the world in all its shittiness without me there to look out for her.

I hate my thoughts. I also hate being an invalid. I also also hate being laid up in bed with the flu.

Today has not been my favorite day ever.

Urk. I vomit into the bucket she left at the side of the bed.

I'm bored, I ache all over, and my mouth tastes of sick. Super.

Need water.

Guh. Stood up too fast.

I stumble to the sink and turn it on, fill the glass that sits next to the sink, and gulp down the whole damn thing. Ahhhh. Why does water always taste amazing when you're sick?

My head's throbbing. Back to bed.

Hour 2

This Campus PD marathon has its moments, but it's not a great batch of episodes so far. Yes, I could watch something uplifting or educational, but I feel like a pig shat in my head. Laughing at the misfortune of idiots who don't understand pot laws is the only thing keeping me from putting a gun in my mouth.

Well, that and the fact that I'd have to get up to do it.

Sigh.

Hour 3

Why isn't she back yet?

No, she's not dead. Shut up, brain.

What the hell is this movie called, again? I feel like I've seen it before. Why have I seen it before? Jesus God, it sucks.

Cruel Intentions? I loved that movie! It's this thing? What's even happening? It's like, there's a guy, and this girl, and his sister is Buffy–

Wurgh. That's right, movie, that's how much I hate you. Let Pukey the vomit bucket be my witness!

Oooh. Great. I'm getting dizzy from shouting things in my head. I hate this. I hate it so much.

...

Why isn't she back yet?

Hour 4

Movie had an okay ending, I guess. Still shit, though.

Much like the shit Kimmie is in right now–

Okay. I need to get up and, like, get a sandwich or something before I start calling people.

Guhhh. Got up too fast. Oh boy, looks like Pukey needs to be dumped. Must be three days' spewage in there. Jesus. Okay, time to lift it...

Nnnnngh. Steady... steady...

Oh, man, I don't think I can make it to the toilet with this thing full. Stupid huge bathroom. Sorry, Kimmie, it's going in the sink by the door.

Whuff. Glad I can't smell that–

Oop, spoke too soon. Bluuugh.

Ew. At least it went in the sink. Turn on the faucet, and... Ewwwww.

Am I gonna be enough of an asshole to leave the crusty remains the faucet didn't reach for someone else to clean up?

Turns out I am. Oh, my apologies will be legion.

More water. Mmmmm.

'Nother glass.

One more. Ahhhhh. So good.

...Alright, what was I– Food, right. So, kitchen.

Oops, almost forgot Pukey.

Ugh, goddammit, why's our bedroom on the second floor? What do you mean, it was my idea? You are not helpful, brain.

Hokay, just one foot in front of the other, dummy. You do it every day.

One down. Two down. Three down. Ooooh, woozy! Keep it together, keep it together. Four, five, six...

Okay, you're halfway there. Wall's too bright, but you're probably just hallucinating. Okay. Is it hallucinating if things look too bri– Shut up, shut up. Keep it together. Here we go.

One. Two. Three. Four...

Oof. Thank God that's done. Now, kitchen–

Wooouuughh. Hot fever dizzy flash blargggg.

Man. Damn bucket'll be full again soon. Kitchen's just down the hall, Sheegs. Hold on a little longer...

Okay, what was I– Right. Yes. Dump bucket.

God, that's gross. Why can't there be a bucket that eats puke and goes nom nom nom because it eats puke and this is crazy talk because I need food. To puke back up. So much hate right now, my head's throbbing. With hate. Because sick.

Ugh. Nope, not cleaning that up now. Sandwich time.

Why didn't she make food for me to eat, or...? I am an invalid. Do things for me, person who is not here because she is busy being selfless someplace else and definitely didn't have time to fix me goddamn cereal before she went off to get killed by a laser, oh God, she's dead, she's–

No. Calm. She's fine. Make sandwich. She's fine. The bread is in the pantry, and she's fine.

God, I hate loving her. Well, right now.

Sandwich.

Hour 5

If she isn't back soon, I'll kill her myself. Seriously, I will kill her myself, and then I won't have to have days like this anymore because she will be dead and I will be free, and the only problem will be that little one where I will want to die for killing her, and I will hate myself forever and ever and drown in the ocean and get eaten by sharks, and they'll be sad she's dead then, but I won't have to be, because I'll be shark food.

Ugh. Sad now. I hate my brain.

I should turn on the news. No, I really shouldn't. Yes, I should. No. Yes. No. Yes.

And I turned on the news. Stupid, stupid, why did I do that?

Nothing about her. But maybe there will be! But maybe not.

What if they don't think it's newsworthy? What if I'm on the wrong channel, and the people in charge of this one don't like her, and it's another one that's covering her d– it? Changing channel. Nope, nothing on this one. Nothing on this one. Nada. But maybe they're not aware yet? Or maybe they are, and they just– Or maybe she's too local. Maybe that's it. It's not the lead story because she's too small-time. Not like - urk! - Team Go.

BLAAARGH. Oh, Pukey. You are my best friend right now.

Mmmm, yes, orange juice, wash away the vomit taste.

Still nothing. Christ, I hate the news.

I should stop watching this. It's torture. There's a Pawn Stars marathon on History. I should watch that. Or Storage Wars, I could watch Storage Wars.

But what if they mention her on the news, and I'm not on this channel, and I miss it, and then she's dead and I'm watching fucking Chumlee appraise a watch with his dumb Chumlee face?

No, no, stop watching this, you idiot. No news is good news.

Pawn Stars it is.

Okay. Okay, switch it to Pawn Stars. Let's go, nothing to see here.

Hour 6

Still no mention of her on the news.

Monique hasn't seen her, but she tells me to stop worrying, and I tell her I'll do that, and then I hang up the phone and keep worrying.

Oh. The sandwich. I guess I'll eat that now.

Hour 7

Okay, Kimmie, if you don't text me soon, I'm gonna...

...Sit here and worry about you. Goddammit.

No, I'm not going to call Ron. Probably meditating or–or boning Yori or something. No, brain. No. Every six hours, I can call somebody. We agreed on that, brain.

I'm just gonna switch it to Pawn Stars now, and not call Ron. Because I am not ruled by my emotions. Women are not ruled by their emotions. That is a stereotype. An evil, evil stereotype, with no basis in fact whatsoever. It would go against everything I believe in to call him.

No. Changing the channel. Not going to call him.

Maybe if I take a nap, I'll wake up and she'll be here. I need a nap, right?

Not gonna call him. No. Absolutely not.

Go to sleep, you idiot!

Hour 8

He's not answering.

Yes, I know what I told you. I meant it. I wasn't going to call him. But...

Look, he didn't answer! This is academic!

Maybe I should start a book. Something trashy.

Gotta pee. Ugh. In a second.

Well, I guess I could go for a classic.

But you have to think when you read those things. I don't wanna think. I wanna not think. I want to be away from here.

I want to be out there, with her.

Trashy. Definitely trashy.

Hour 9

I'm so tired of looking at the cover of this book, I could puke. And I have. Several times. Which proves my point.

No texts. No calls. No news. Nothing.

No news is good news. Remember.

No, I'm not calling Monique again.

Of course, she might know something.

But no. Which rhymes with "know." Which Monique might. And I don't.

Shut up.

Come on, Kimmie. Let me know you aren't lying in a ditch somewhere. Or dismembered. Or disintegrated.

I'm not calling Monique again.

Hour 10

Mo chewed me out.

Of course she did. She was right to. This is crazy, what I'm doing to myself right now.

...

I'm just gonna check the news one more time.

Hour 11

Call me. God, just call me.

You're doing this to me, you bitch. I hate you.

No, I don't. I'm sorry. I don't hate you. Come back.

Safely, I mean. Come back safely.

Hurk. Yuck. Pukey, you are a saint.

Come on. Don't make me beg. Come home.

I need you here and okay and not dead. I need you–

Wade. Why didn't I think of him before? He could–

But if I call him, and he's guiding Kim out of some horrible place, and I distract him, and she dies, it's on me.

So Wade's out.

No, he is.

...Dammit.

If she's not back in two hours, I'm risking it.

Hour 12

Haven't called Wade. That's good. Self-control.

Was that the door?

Holy shit, it was! The door just opened! It unlocked, and it opened! Holyshitholyshitholyshit–

Be cool. Play it cool. Don't get up. You weren't worried at all. You're cool.

"Shego, I'm home!"

Screw that! I'm walking to the motherfuuuugghhaahhh. Ick, some puke spilled. BUT SHE IS IN THE HOUSE LIKE SHE SHOULD BE AND I AM GOING TO KISS–

Oh, right. Vomit mouth.

Hugging, then. But wait, no, the flu! Dammit!

She walks in looking like she lost a fight with a swamp. Her boots and pants are caked with mud, her hair is all out of sorts, her shirt is torn in like five places, and her arms are crisscrossed with little cuts and bruises.

She's never looked more beautiful.

I'm about to tell her that when I puke again.

Being sick sucks forty-seven dicks.

Author's Note: I do, in fact, still exist! I am, in fact, still writing! And yes, that includes POTH!

Now that those facts have been reaffirmed once again, I suppose I should simply request that you please leave a review, and then vanish once again into the ether. The story behind this piece is pretty simple, after all, and not at all interesting.

Alas, by saying that, I can be sure you'll want to know the story, though it's not much of one. So: I thought it would be funny to sit Shego down at the house she shares with Kim (in my headcanon, obviously) and watch her squirm. I couldn't think of a reason for her to be stuck there all day, but then I remembered that her powers don't prevent her from getting sick. Boom, reason provided, and it gave me an excuse to make her vomit a ton, which is endlessly amusing to me on account of I am basically a twelve-year-old boy in a twenty-five-year-old man's body.

See? Not much of a story.

Anyway, yes, please do leave a review.

Cheers! :D

EDIT: Oops. Like the dummy I am, I forgot to thank my indefatigable beta Diogenes for his invaluable help in editing this piece. My sincerest apologies, Dio.