AN: I'm back at it again with another YGOTAS fic. This time it's a sickfic. Lots of feefshipping fluff ahead. Enjoy.
Chapter 1
Marik should have known something was wrong yesterday. He woke up feeling tired, but that wasn't exactly unusual. What was unusual, however, was the fact that he stayed tired all day. Normally, his morning cup of tea (with plenty of sugar) was enough to get him ready for the day. That wasn't the case yesterday. He had felt sluggish all day, and that night he went to bed feeling worse than when he started the day. Now, here he was at 4 o'clock in the morning, coughing his lungs out in the bathroom. But the coughing wasn't what woke him up. No, the congestion was. Somehow, he had rolled over in his sleep, and when he did, all the gross mucus in his system moved accordingly, making it impossible to breathe.
Marik knew he had all the classic cold symptoms: fever, chills, congestion, a sore throat, a headache, and an upset stomach. He just didn't want to have a cold. A small part of him wanted to wake Bakura up and ask for help, but Marik didn't need help. He wasn't getting sick; no, he hadn't been sick in years. He didn't have time to be sick, he had videos to record and a council to run. Yup, he definitely didn't have any sort of illness or virus. It was probably just allergies. Yeah, totally allergies.
He rummaged through the medicine cabinet and located a bag of cough drops. Marik plopped one into his mouth. Despite his nose being clogged beyond belief, he could still taste how gross it was. But he refused to spit it out, because coughing all the time was annoying. Next, he grabbed a box of tissues from under the sink, just in case his nose decided to start running. Then he trudged back to his room and flopped onto the bed. Hopefully Bakura would wake up soon.
After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Bakura finally started waking up. He yawned, stretched, and rubbed his eyes sleepily. He looked over, and saw Marik sitting up, comforter wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and crumpled tissue in hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin was flushed, and his nose was red and raw.
"Good mordidg…" Marik started, before his nose began to itch. He lifted the tissue just in time to catch his sneeze. He sniffed, wiped his nose, then finished his greeting, "Good mordidg Bakura. How are you?"
Bakura blinked. "I'm…are you alright, Marik?"
"Who? Be? I'b fide, Bakura! What would bake you thidk somethidg was wrodg with be?" Marik asked, avoiding eye contact.
"Nothing, you just," Bakura started, before shaking his head. It was way to early in the morning to be dealing with Marik, especially when Bakura could barely understand what he was saying, "Are you sick, Marik?"
"WHAT?!" Marik exclaimed, before coughing roughly into his arm, "That's ridiculous Bakura, I dever get sick. I'b too sexy to get sick."
Bakura rolled his eyes. Apparently his sexuality wasn't the only think Marik was horrible at lying about. "Well, then why do you sound like your dub counterpart?"
"I soudd dothidg like hib," Marik retorted, "By voice is waaaay bore hoarse thad his right dow."
Bakura opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He wasn't quite expecting that response. He sat up, scooted closer to Marik, and carefully put his hand on Marik's forehead. "Bloody hell!" he yelped, pulling his hand away, "You're burning up!"
"It's probably just the friggidg heater," Marik mumbled.
"Marik, it's the middle of-" Bakura started to argue, but he thought better of it. He sighed, then grabbed Marik gently by the shoulders to lay him back down. "Look, clearly something is wrong, so until you feel better, you're staying right here in bed."
"I cad't, Bakura!" Marik whined weakly, "Today's Let's Play Day! I gotta record or else I'll be behidd."
"I'm sure your fans will understand," Bakura said soothingly. He moved the comforter off of Marik's shoulders and tucked it around his body.
"You thidk so?" Marik asked quietly. That wasn't a good sign; it meant he was too tired to put up a fight.
Bakura nodded. "If you record with your voice like this, everyone will be worried about you."
Marik gasped, "I dod't wadt theb to worry!"
"Then you need to stay here and rest your voice, okay?" Bakura asked, petting some of his bangs away from his sweat glazed forehead.
"Okay," Marik nodded, leaning into to touch. Bakura's hand felt nice and cool against his feverish skin.
Bakura patted his head, before slowly getting up. "Good, now, you stay right there, and I'll go make you a nice cuppa to help your throat, okay?"
Marik nodded, before coughing again weakly. "Thadks," he whispered hoarsely.
Bakura grunted, before turning around and heading to the kitchen. In all honesty, he was probably the least qualified person to take care of anyone, really. He could probably retreat into his soul room and let Ryou deal with it; he was much better at the whole "nurturing" thing, after all. However, he knew he couldn't just abandon Marik while he was like this. The other was tired, and vulnerable, and that combination could get dangerous if a certain deranged personality decided he wanted to go on a murder spree. Besides, how difficult could it possibly be to take care of someone who was ill?
Bakura returned to Marik's room ten minutes later, tea in hand. He opened the door carefully, afraid he may accidentally wake up his partner. However, one look at the bed told him he wouldn't have to worry about that.
"Oh joy," Bakura mumbled sarcastically. He set the mug of tea on the nightstand before going to hunt for Marik. He called for him, but he got no response. "Marik, if you think this is some kind of joke, it's not very funny. Where in the name of buggery-"
Bakura's thought was cut off by a loud, throat-clearing sneeze from the living room. "Ah-ha, found him," he thought. He crept silently into the room, and sure enough, there was Marik, sitting at the computer desk.
Marik sniffed, before turning around to look at his guest. "Oh, hey Bakura!" he greeted cheerfully, before turning back to his laptop.
"Marik, what are you doing?" Bakura asked calmly.
"I'b editidg a video," Marik explained, "What does it look like?"
"It looks like you're not resting to me," Bakura said, crossing his arms.
"I'b dot recordidg, so it coudts as restidg," Marik retorted.
"Marik," Bakura warned.
"I dod't see what the big deal is," Marik huffed, "I'b dot eved..." He brought his hands up to his face just in time to cover another loud sneeze. He sniffed, before finishing through his hands, "I'b dot eved that sick! Also I deed a tissue."
Bakura managed to suppress his disgust long enough to not kill Marik for sneezing into his hands. "I have to remember to wash my hands later," he thought as he grabbed the box of tissues from the coffee table.
"Thadks," Marik said, wiping his hands and nose with the tissue before throwing it into the trash can.
"No problem," Bakura said flatly, "Now, where should you be?"
Marik groaned, "Are you really godda bake be go back to bed?"
Bakura nodded, "You need to rest, Marik, you sound awful."
Marik coughed into his arm, then whined, "But I feel fide, Bakura!"
"Are you sure?" Bakura asked.
"Yup, I'b positive," Marik nodded, "My dose and throat are just aggravated, it's probably just allergies."
"Do your allergies usually give you fever and chills?" Bakura asked thinly.
"Well, dot... doh, they dod't," Marik confessed, hanging his head.
"Then I think it's time you went back to bed," Bakura stated firmly, before grabbing the back of the office chair and wheeling Marik away from his computer.
"Oh, this is fud!" Marik exclaimed, sticking his arms up like it was a roller coaster ride, "Go faster, Bakura!"
Bakura (obviously) did not roll the chair along any faster. Once they were halfway down the hall, however, Marik put his hands down to clutch his stomach. "Too fast, too fast, slow dowd, Bakura!" he begged.
Bakura stopped the chair. "Do you feel like you're gonna throw up?" he asked in alarm.
"I... dod't dow," Marik moaned.
Bakura wasn't taking any chances. He bolted into the bathroom, and came back in record time with the trashcan. He placed it in Marik's lap and moved any loose hair away from his ill partner's face.
After staring into the trash can for a minute, Marik finally sighed in relief. "I thidk it passed," he sniffed, "Cad I keep this though, just id case?"
"I'm glad," Bakura smiled, "And yes, you may keep it"
"Thadk you," Marik mumbled, lifting his legs so that he was sitting cross-legged, "Ab I still goidg back to bed?"
"Definitely," Bakura nodded. He started pushing the chair to the bedroom again.
"That soudds dice," Marik said quietly, "I dod't really feel good."
"Oh really?" Bakura asked sarcastically (not that Marik could pick that up).
"Yeah," Marik sniffled, before continuing, "By dose is all stuffy, by throat really hurts, add I'b really, really tired."
Something about the way Marik said that made Bakura feel a dull pain in what was once his heart. In all the time he had spent around Marik, he had never heard his partner sound so... defeated. He really did sound like he looked: miserable. Whatever pain he was feeling (sympathy, compassion, or something entirely different) he didn't like it. Marik should never look, or sound, or feel this horrible again. And he was going to do whatever it took to make Marik feel happy again.
Finally, Bakura rolled Marik back to his room. He helped him crawl back in bed, and tucked the covers back over his lap. He then handed Marik the mug of tea.
Marik sighed contently as he took the first sip. "This is really good," he told him sleepily, "It's bakidg by throat feel better already."
"Good," Bakura replied. He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. He hoped this was what you were supposed to do when you were trying to nurse someone back to health.
Marik finished the tea and set the mug down on the nightstand. Then he laid down again, wriggling into a comfortable position. Before long, he drifted off into a light nap.
"Good, you rest up," Bakura thought as he got up from the bed to take Marik's mug, "I'll make sure you have everything you need."
Bakura walked to the apartment's small kitchen. "Hopefully Marik will be out for a while," he told himself, "And when he wakes up, he's probably going to be hungry." He opened up the cabinet to grab the cookbook that once belonged to his host. He remembered seeing a recipe for soup in there once or twice. And soup was definitely something Marik should be eating. The poor kid probably wouldn't be able to stomach much else.
Bakura found the recipe, and began dumping ingredients into the pot. As he did, he heard a quiet voice ask, "You seem troubled, Bakura, is everything all right?"
"Everything is fine, landlord," Bakura mentally hissed, "But since I know you won't stop bloody pestering me until I confess: Marik is sick."
"I see," Ryou nodded. He was quiet for a moment, before he asked, "Do you know what kind of sick?"
"I'm fairly certain it's just a cold; nothing to get worked up over," Bakura answered curtly. He hated when Ryou stuck his nose in his business, especially when it came to Marik.
"Except now you're having doubts because he nearly threw up?" Ryou supplied.
Bakura froze. "How long have you been bloody spying on me?"
"Since about the time you got that pit in your stomach because you were worried about how poorly Marik looked," Ryou replied matter-of-factly.
"I was NOT worried!" Bakura yelled. Thank goodness this entire conversation was taking place between their soul rooms, otherwise his agitated yelling at his host would have woken Marik up.
"Uh huh. Let me guess, because you 'don't bloody care'?" Ryou asked sarcastically.
Bakura's eye twitched. He hated how well Ryou could read him. "What do you want? Why have you chosen NOW to speak up?"
"I only want to help, Bakura," Ryou acted like he was hurt that Bakura would think he had any ulterior motive, "But I must admit, agitating you is smashing good fun! No wonder Marik enjoys getting a rise out of you."
Bakura clenched his jaw, then spat, "If you want to help, just get it bloody over with."
"Okay, okay, calm down," Ryou laughed, "I was just going to tell you that I know there's some cold medicine in the cabinet, both daytime and nighttime."
Bakura rolled his eyes. "Wow, that's so sodding-"
"And if I were to guess," Ryou continued, ignoring the other's bad attitude, "Marik probably won't take any if he can help it. Sneak it in his tea or his food. Odds are he'll be too congested to taste any difference."
Bakura blinked. He had briefly considered the possibility of Marik being a stubborn twat and refusing to help himself, but he hasn't figured out exactly how to work around it.
"There's also vaporub in the same cabinet. And several boxes of tissues under the sink. And some ibuprofen too, if he complains about feeling sore," Ryou continued, "And if all else fails, make him take a hot bath. He'll feel much better after."
Bakura was stunned. He hadn't thought of any of those things. The only things he'd thought of were soup and plenty of fluids. "Why do you suddenly care so much?" he asked, "It's not like he's your friend."
"No, he's not really," Ryou agreed, "But I know how he makes you feel, and I know you don't like seeing him in such a pitiful state."
Bakura opened his mouth to object, but closed it again when he realized arguing with someone who could practically read your mind was a losing battle. He chose instead to just glare at Ryou, but even that was only half-hearted.
"Best of luck, Bakura," Ryou chirped as he opened the door to his soul room. He entered, and right before he closed the door, he said, "And if you need any other advice, you know where to find me."
Bakura came back to reality. He was thankful he hadn't turned the burner on yet, otherwise that conversation would have ruined Marik's meal. He threw in the rest of the ingredients the recipe called for, gave the soup one final stir, and set the burner on low. Next, he went into the bathroom to fetch all the supplies his host had mentioned. Finally, he went back into Marik's room to drop everything off and to check on the blond.
"Still sleeping like a baby," Bakura thought as he brushed a few stray strands of hair from his partner's forehead. He didn't even have to put his hand on the other's skin to feel the heat radiating off of it. That wasn't good; he'd have to bring that fever down once Marik woke up. He finally left to check on the soup after watching Marik for another moment. Ryou was right; he really did hate seeing Marik look so poorly.
