Life On Mars by ceilidh
A/N: One thing that's struck me about watching this great series is the number of times that poor Michael gets whumped. I mean, he's been shot, stabbed, hit with a tranquilizer dart, brainwashed by Bester, and beaten up more times that you can count. But I don't remember him ever being plain, old fashioned sick - well, aside from the start of Objects In Motion, of course, when he's going through that detox, and being seriously sick.
So given that, and some evil inspiration from my whump-bunny, I came up with this. Our favourite hero is feeling a bit poorly, and Lise is... well, I think you can guess!
Enjoy!
Life on Mars
Chapter Three - Michael vs Microbe
He'd faced every known threat in the sector. With one still bitter exception, he'd defeated all of them. But now Michael Garibaldi had met his match. Martian microbes had breached those seemingly indefatigable defences, and hit him like the proverbial truck.
Unfortunately for him, and even more unfortunately for Lise, he was too damn stubborn to admit it.
"Lise, I am not sick-" he squeaked, wondering when the hell he'd turned into Elmer fraggin' Fudd – returning her deeply sceptical grin with the glare that had made B5's hardest perps beg for their mommy.
"I have been stabbed, shot, zapped, zonked, Bestered, and beat up more times than I can count-"
A pause to prop himself on wobbly elbows, to find enough of his voice to deny the blatantly obvious.
"But I have never been sick. I don't get sick. Hell, I don't have time to get sick!"
He could have gone further. Luckily for Lise, a thunderous sneeze and fit of coughing stopped him.
"Yeah, right-" she shot back, for once unmoved by the whipped puppy look that followed. Usually it turned her to goo. Sadly for him, she was having waaaay too much fun to be gooified.
Instead she grinned, studying her suffering husband with one part sympathy to six parts mischief. She thought he was, of course, but 'cute' wasn't a word that anyone else would use to describe Michael Garibaldi. Certainly not to his face. Anyone who dared to try would either be very drunk, very stupid, or needing a free rearrangement of their teeth.
But at that moment, as she finally yielded to those plaintive eyes, it sure as hell suited him now. And yes, she'd suffer hellish revenge for what she said next, but – well, that was kinda the point.
"Damn, you're cute when you're sick-"
He was still coughing, the poor baby, so she had plenty of time for a huskily purred follow-up.
"And soooooooo sexy-"
A noseful of tissue made it impossible to hear what he growled in response, but it sounded Italian. Rude, too. And even in the grip of a soaring temperature, he still had one hell of an aim.
Catching the pillow he'd hurled at her, Lise then grinned as she dutifully tucked it back behind him – pressing a glass of warily sniffed meds into his hand, and glaring at him until he meekly drank it down.
No wonder Stephen had gone grey through taking care of him, and… well, that duty fell to her now. She knew from her own experience, too, how awful he'd be feeling. As tempted as she was to continue, the time for teasing him had passed.
"Actually, Perellian flu is a one off virus-" she said at last, all seriousness now as she sat beside him. "Once you've had it, you have lifelong immunity. And I've had it already, so I can't get it again"
A fevered eyebrow lifted at that. The bleary eye below it still managed a glint of hopeful mischief.
"Really? So you're gonna be my nursemaid? Kiss me all better?"
"Down, boy-" Lise grinned, loving the face he pulled in response, then sobering at the pain beyond it. He was being all heroic about it, as she'd known he would, but he was still clearly feeling like hell.
"Guess you're feeling pretty lousy-" she said at last, completely serious now as she sat beside him. She could have fried eggs on his forehead, and the misery of aching joints still clouded his eyes.
"My shoulders are killing me-" Michael admitted, wincing again as he tried to get comfortable – perking instantly back up again, though, when Lise made him an offer that he'd never refuse.
"Okay, roll over. I'll see if I can ease some of the kinks out-"
It took some help, and some painful jack-knifing, to get there, but he finally made it onto his side – a sighing groan of relief escaping him as Lise settled in behind him and set to work on his aching back.
A soft kiss on his shoulder made him sigh even more, a sleepy mumble telling her where to go next.
"Aaw, yeah, hon, that's got it… jus' – jus' a bit lower… ymm, bit - bit more to the right, and… aaaah…"
Hell, she'd kiss him all over if she could, but – no, it would be much more fun, for both of them, if she let him get his strength back first. Besides he was enjoying the simple pleasure of being gently kissed to sleep as much as she was – snuggling back against her and tugging her arm fully around him, pressing her hand against his heart.
The meds had kicked in too now, and she could feel him relaxing into much needed, healing sleep. By the time she reached the nape of his neck, he was out for the count, snoring softly into his pillows.
Watching him for several more moments, Lise smiled and rested her head into the snug crook of his shoulder. Yes, he was soundly asleep now, so now she could do the same. He'd feel like hell for the next few days, and it would be several more before he'd be back on his feet. But from sheer bloody mindedness, he'd beat this damn bug. Soon he'd be her Michael again. The bundle of impulsive energy who'd turned Edgars Industries on its head, and become her truly indispensable partner.
And for all those manly protests, he was still cute, still damn sexy, when he was sick.
