Good news, I'm not dead! I'm really, really, really sorry it's been so long, believe me it was totally not intentional. But here I am, alive and well, but still busy. I'm sure you don't want to hear my saga, so I'll just stick with telling you I will attempt to update and post with more frequency for the time being. :)

Alex, who prides himself on being tough, doesn't know what to do with himself when Alfred is sick, moaning in pain. Normally he'd find whoever made his lover cry and pound them into a pulp until they were begging for their lives. But can he fight something he can't touch?

Alex reached a hand up, running it back through his cherry-streaked chocolate brown hair. His reddish brown eyes were settled on the figure curled up on the bed, the skin around them tight, mouth set in a grim line. He didn't lean against the wall so much as he pressed himself against it, each low moan or hitched sob another stab in the heart. His arms were folded firmly against his chest, hands fisted tightly.

Finally he shoved himself away from it, stalking over to the bed. He reached down, hesitating before putting a hand on the other man's shoulder. Alfred didn't move, unless another hitching sob counted. Alex winced, and reached down further, moving his hand to press against a hot forehead.

"Come on, please?" Alfred begged. "It still hurts."

"I know," said Alex grimly. "I'm gonna heat something up for ya, maybe that'll help."

"Can't you just give me more medicine?" Alfred protested.

Alex reminded himself, not for the first time, that his golden boy wasn't always right. He pulled away, walking out of the bedroom and down the hall to their apartment's kitchen. He found an underused chill pack in a drawer under the oven mitts, tossing it into the microwave and punching in a few minutes.

As the machine hummed, he glanced back towards the bedroom guiltily. It was getting late, almost ten o'clock, and Alfred was still in pain. Apparently this particular stomach ache wasn't easily beaten by pain medicine. The ironic part was, until recently Alex would have sworn his partner's digestive tract was constructed of cast-iron. At least until Alfred had decided to enter the speed-eating contest at the neighborhood's Memorial day event. Not only had Alex not stopped him, he'd encouraged him. He'd even laughed when Alfred had initially balked when that year's food in the event would be corn dogs. While he'd known they didn't rank very high on Alfred's favorite food list, certainly not compared to hamburgers which had been the food selected last year, he'd more or less goaded Alfred into going through with it. Could you blame him? Alex was fully aware that sensitivity wasn't one of his strong suits, and Alfred had initially been so eager. He'd found out about the contest too late last year, and had pouted for the rest of the day.

Alex vividly remembered laughing, giving his lover's backside a smack as he sent him towards the tables. He'd shouted along with the crowd after it started, yelling the loudest, managing to keep most of the vulgarity out of his 'encouragement', which was took honest effort on his part.

Alfred had won, of course. There wasn't anything he did that he didn't put his full effort into. He'd half stumbled away, blue ribbon in hand, mumbling about not feeling so good. Alex had responded with another smack to his backside and throwing an arm over his shoulders. "Nah, you're just not used to corndogs thunder thighs. If it was hamburgers you'd be fine."

It wasn't until later he noticed Alfred wasn't indulging in things like shaved ice and cotton candy as he usually would have. Only then did he start to worry. By the time they got home Alfred was doubled over in pain, moaning in a way Alex didn't like. Normally he was quite fond of Alfred's moans, loved them, loved getting them out of him, but not like this.

The microwave dinged. Alex shrugged off the counter, pulling the pack from the microwave and dropping it into a dish towel. He wrapped it up, slamming the door shut before returning to the bedroom. Bracing one knee on the mattress, he pushed Alfred over onto his back.

"Come on, babe, straighten out," he ordered gruffly, tugging him out of the fetal position he'd been curled in.

Alfred made a pathetic sounding noise that could only be described as a whimper, but slowly repositioned himself on the bed, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. Alex laid the warm pack over his stomach, reaching up to stroke honey blond locks starting to go damp with sweat. His free hand brushed at the tears, wanting to get rid of them completely. He hated it when Alfred cried, no matter the reason. It took a lot for the blue eyed man to cry, and when he did Alex loathed each and every tear.

"Knock it off, would ya pork chop?" he asked, frowning down at Alfred.

"Don't call me that," protested Alfred. Alex had yet to refer to him with a nickname Alfred actually liked, or at least one that didn't make him blush or wince. He usually didn't sound so weak and miserable in his protests though.

Alex sighed, but kept his mouth shut. Alfred was an inch shorter than him, which still left him at an impressive six foot two height, and he wasn't exactly lacking in the muscle department. That said, the bespectacled man had been spending more time at the local college than working or in a gym. It had made the physical differences a little more pronounced as Alex put in extra hours at the mechanic's shop. He'd more or less coerced Alfred into going to college first, as they could only afford one of them to go at a time. He was making decent enough money, was even considering opening a shop of his own, but Alfred had bigger dreams, was capable of so much more. He was Alex's golden boy, a boy scout if there ever was one, especially when compared to his partner.

Their current choice of dress was as supportive of this as anything else. Alfred had changed to lose sweatpants and a t-shirt once he'd gotten back, one of his favorites with a Captain America shield on the front. His sun-kissed skin was unblemished, completely bare of any sort of ink or piercing. Alex was still clad in low ridding, worn jeans, and a white t-shirt that strained at the shoulders and did little to hide the various tattoo's he'd gained over the years. They might not stand out as vividly on mocha-colored skin as they would someone more fair skinned, but they were obvious enough. His left eyebrow sported two studs, one more in each earlobe, the fifth a ring in his lower lip.

Finally Alex asked, "Think it's helping babe?"

Alfred had closed his eyes, but now he opened them a crack. The sobs and moans were less frequent, at least, but Alex wanted to make sure.

"A little," Alfred mumbled. "Feels more like it does when I accidently eat something Artie made."

Alex grimaced. It was the only other time he'd witnessed his lover with a tummy ache. Even then it hadn't been this bad. For some reason Alfred could stomach the scones and fish and chips his older brother made, but nothing else. Everyone else couldn't even managed that much. Alex himself had taken one bite and sworn off the stuff for a lifetime, ignoring the indignant protests of who he planned to make a brother-in-law.

"Better than nothing, thunder thighs," he decided.

Alfred sniffed, but Alex knew he was feeling a little bit better when rather than complain he grabbed the pillow he wasn't using and slammed it into the bigger man's face. He chuckled, shoving it away. "See? Told ya it'd help, babe."

"Why is it you only call me Alfred around my family?" the blond mumbled, what Alex hoped to be one of the last tears escaping down his cheek.

"I figure I put 'em off enough," said Alex with a one shouldered shrug. "If you didn't care about 'em so much I wouldn't even do that."

"Why?"

"Do all these questions mean I can stop babying you?"

"No."

Alex grimaced at the whimpered protest, a hand tangling in the hem of his t-shirt. "Alright, alright," he muttered, laying down next to Alfred. "You're a big baby, ya know that babe?"

Alfred didn't protest, instead rolling over and burying his face in Alex's chest, one arm still keeping the heated pack pressed against his stomach. Alex sighed, but put an arm around him, his free hand stroking Alfred's hair. For a moment he considered toying with that special cowlick, but disregarded the idea the moment it popped up. Normally he'd be all up for sex, but Alfred wouldn't be in any condition for it for a while. He was still miserable, still in pain.

Alex knew he was a lot of things, and most of them were far from perfect. He knew most people avoided him, and he didn't blame them. He also knew that, despite all that, Alfred still loved him. He was a vulgar greaser of a northerner, and the bright country boy from the depths of Alabama loved him anyway.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Alfred's damp forehead, murmuring, "Sleep, babe."

Alfred didn't answer. Alex listened for a minute, and cracked a smile. He was already out.

Soooo? What y'all think about my excrement with 2P? Review and let me know! I have a bizarre fondness for this pairing, and will probably do a few more one-shots. They'll be the one with '"Lover's" at the start of the title.

Please don't kill me for being absent for so long and review! :)