Greeting, dear people. This was floating around in my head, and I couldn't resist.

Enjoy!

In Sickness and in Health

I was getting slightly irritated. Today was the day that Fang and I were supposed to meet Iggy and Ella at the mall to see (or in our Pyro's case, hear) a movie. The source of my irritation?

Fang wasn't up yet.

We were supposed to be there in half an hour, and it was at least a fifteen-minute walk.

Fang was so in for it.

"OK, Fang, you are getting up now-" I burst into his room and trailed off.

He was still asleep.

OK, so that might not be that big of a deal for other people, but this is Fang we're talking about. Mr. Overprotective-paranoid-never-sleeps-past-eight-man.

I checked my watch, just to be sure. The numbers winked back at me cheerfully.

Yep, definitely says 11:30.

Fang was sprawled across the bed on his stomach, one leg hanging off of the bed and his arms curled around his head.

I frowned as I took a closer look. A sheen of sweat covered his bare torso, and a T-shirt lay in a heap on the floor where it had been discarded hastily. His sweaty hair was stuck in tendrils to his forehead. Fang's face was paler than normal except for a red flush across his cheekbones.

I walked across the room to his bed. He didn't wake.

Bad sign number two.

I shook him gently. "Fang?" When he didn't respond, my worry grew.

"Fang!" I said loudly. Finally he stirred and rolled over tiredly.

"Max?" He mumbled, eyes still shut, "What time is it?"

"11:30," I replied, stepping back.

Fang groaned. "Oh, man, we meeting Iggy today?" His voice sounded oddly thick.

"Well, we were." I frowned at him. "But we're not if something's wrong with you."

Fang grimaced. "I'm fine."

I just looked at him, and then at my watch meaningfully. "Sure."

Fang didn't reply as his eyes drifted closed again.

"OK, that's it."

I grabbed the phone from the hall and went back to lean on Fang's door frame while I dialed Iggy's cell number.

"Who're you calling?" Fang asked blearily.

"Iggy. To tell him we're not coming."

Fang roused himself with a slight effort. "You go. I'll stay here."

I glared at him, but before I could answer Iggy picked up the phone.

"Yo." He said easily.

"Hey, Iggy? This is Max,"

"Hey. What's up?"

"Uh, I don't think we're coming," I said, watching as Fang frowned unhappily.

"Why not? Something wrong?" I could hear Ella ask a question in the background.

"I think Fang's sick," I said, daring said avian to contradict.

"Sick?" Iggy sounded alarmed. "Is it bad?"

"I dunno yet. I'm probably going to call Mom if he gets worse."

Fang was making sounds of protest, and I waved a hand to silence him.

"OK, well, Ella and I are going to go ahead. We can all go out some other time." Iggy replied.

"Fine."

"Tell Fang I hope he feels better." Iggy said.

"'Course. I'm sure he appreciates it." I said, smirking at Fang.

Iggy laughed. "Yeah. Talk to you later."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone, and returned to stare at Fang. "What am I going to do with you? We don't get sick, Fang. We just don't."

"Well, I wasn't planning on it," he said irritably.

"Iggy says he hopes you feel better," I said with a grin. Fang grunted in disgust and buried his face into his pillow.

"You really feel bad?" I asked him seriously.

"Not so great," he replied honestly. "Hot. Dizzy. Tired."

I frowned. "Maybe you have a fever." I crossed the room again and touched my hand to his forehead.

"Jeez, Fang, you could burn yourself on there." I said in surprise.

Fang's eyes looked slightly glazed up close, I noted. "Go to sleep," I ordered him. "I'm calling Mom."

Fang glared at me again. "No. I'm fine."

I threw up my hands in exasperation. "Fine! Go ahead and die, see what I do!"

Fang winced at the noise and his eyes shut again wearily. I instantly felt chagrined. "I'll go get you a cool cloth, you just stay here, OK?" I said more quietly.

Fang nodded, and I slipped out to get a washcloth.

When I returned, Fang was stretched out on his stomach again. He seemed to be dozing as I sat carefully on the edge of the bed. I carefully laid the wet cloth on his bare shoulder blades. Fang stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.

I gently ran the cool towel down his back, wiping away the sweat. He shuddered for a second, then chuckled at himself. I could feel it vibrate through his back.

Once I had wiped off most of the sweat, I lay the cloth on his neck. I stood up, but he was asleep. I smiled to myself at his calm expression, knowing that he never would have let me do that if he weren't sick.

I sat curled up on the couch, reading. As I flipped the page, I glanced up.

"Hey. Why are you out of bed?" I asked, shutting the book with a snap. Fang was standing in the doorway in black sweats. He still hadn't put his shirt back on.

"Tired of laying in the same room forever," he grumbled, coming in. His steps were small but steady, I noted. Fang's lean torso rippled slightly as he rolled his shoulders in discomfort.

He collapsed onto the couch beside me, exhausted by the small effort. "I hate being sick."

I laughed at his annoyance. "Well, if you'd stay in bed…"

Fang glared at me. "You'd get up too."

"You've got me there. You still hot?" I asked.

"Nah. Getting cold, now," he complained. "I'm not supposed to be cold with a fever."

I grinned and tossed him his black hoodie that was hanging on the back of the chair where he had left it. Fang pulled it over his head with a sigh. He left the hood up, to my amusement.

"You look emo," I teased him. Fang glared at me from the hood. With his black hoodie, sweats, and hair, it just made a perfect picture.

"Shut up. I'm cold."

I waved a hand in airy acknowledgment. "Yeah, yeah. You hungry? I made soup,"

This time it was Fang's turn to smirk. "Turning into Mommy Max?"

I blushed slightly. "Yes. Now do you want any dumb soup or not?"

"Sure." He nodded, lying sideways on the couch.

I dipped out a bowl of soup from the kitchen and shoved it into his hands.

"You spill, you die."

Fang grinned hazily up at me as he took the bowl. "Yes, Mom."

"Are you going to call me that forever, now?"

"Yep," he chuckled around a mouthful of hot soup.

I couldn't help grinning.

Later that night, I was sitting in my room working on a paper for my classes. I had all of the lights off except for my desk light, so the room was dark.

I felt hands on my shoulders, and jumped.

"Calm down. It's me." Fang's deep voice reassured me.

"Hey. Feel any better?"

"Some," Fang still sounded disgusted with his sickness.

"Everyone gets sick, Fang."

"You don't."

"I will someday. And then you'll have to take care of me."

Fang shuddered. "I don't do soup."

I laughed out loud. "You don't have to make soup."

"Good."

We stood for a moment in companionable silence.

"Max… thanks." Fang said quietly.

"No problem," I said, and took his hand in mine. Feeling extremely bold, I brought it to my lips for a moment.

Fang stopped in surprise, and then his hand squeezed mine warmly. He leaned around me slowly so that one elbow rested on my desk, and kept the other hand on my shoulder. With a soft grin at me, he leaned in and kissed me gently.

I pulled back and smirked slightly at Fang's laborious breathing. "You still need rest, bucko."

Fang smirked right back at me. "Fine, Mom."

As he walked out of the room, he paused in the doorway.

"Max – what is it they say? 'In sickness and in health, 'till death do us part?'"

"Yeah," I replied, slightly bemused.

"Hmm." He mused, and walked out the door. I frowned, confused. Fang's voice drifted in the doorway as he continued down the hall. "Well, it's something to think about."

Unable to stop the grin taking over my face, I picked up my pencil again.

REVIEW. Please.

If you didn't get what Fang meant at the end, you really need to go to a FAX school and learn something. Also, if you were one of the few girls who didn't drool when they read that Fang didn't have his shirt on...

Well...

:D