When she opens her eyes the next morning, her throat is itchy, her nose is running and her head is pounding. She groans and buries her head in her pillow briefly. Grabbing her phone, she calls Dr Gaius, then feeling sorry for herself, she texts Arthur.
She regrets it immediately. Just because he kissed her last night doesn't mean that he's interested in her health. Or her really. It might have been all the good feelings from the party spilling over. After all, aside from a smile and a gentle stroke of her cheek after the kiss, Arthur had said nothing. And her spectacular google skills had unearthed the fact that he used to date Camelot's most famous socialite, Mithian Green. How does one even compete with the perfect Mithian Green?
He hadn't messaged her either. Not surprising since he doesn't have her number. Which probably means he has no idea who the strange person who messaged him I'm sick :( is.
Humiliation courses through her and she shoves her evil phone under her pillow. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tells herself that maybe Arthur will ignore it. But the phone rings. In panic, Gwen presses the pillow harder over the phone, muffling the sound. She is going to have to change her phone number so he'll never find out it's her. Maybe she needs to move house as well.
Eventually a mix of hunger, a coughing fit and the fact that her phone has rung another three times drags her out of bed. Tugging her blanket around her, she shuffles to her tiny kitchen, praying that through some miracle, her fridge would be stocked with food that wasn't ice cream or chocolate. Even before she can open her fridge, her doorbell rings.
Gwen jumps. It's barely noon. Who would be here?
Her first instinct is to hide in bed. She's a mess, wrapped in a blanket covered with large, brightly coloured geese and for all she knows, it might be someone trying to rob her.
"Gwen? Are you there?"
It is worse than a robber. It is Arthur.
"Gwen, if you don't open up, I'm going to – uh - do something."
She cannot help her smile and she shuffles to the door and pulls it open slightly. "I'm fine."
In response, he narrows his eyes, informs her quite primly that he called her four times and she didn't answer making him panic. He lifts an arm, showing her some sandwiches he packed from the shop and that's enough to gain him entrance.
"Nice geese," he calls as he follows her into her home.
Once he settles her at her small kitchen table, he unpacks the sandwiches and passes her a flask.
"Tea?" she asks hopefully.
Amusement dances in his eyes. "Merlin says it's honey latte. It's his latest attempt at a Christmas drink."
"Does he know he doesn't share the same taste as the rest of the world?" Still Gwen takes the drink from Arthur and sniffs at it. It doesn't smell weird or anything so, foolishly, she takes a sip.
It's terrible. "Oh. It's an interesting blend of flavours."
Laughing, Arthur takes the flask from her. "I'll make you some tea."
They spend the day on her tattered sofa, watching some fantasy show. Arthur criticizes the sword fighting while Gwen laughs. She's a little disconcerted when this scene seems far too familiar. When his arm curls around her, she shrugs off her feelings. There are better things to think about, like how nice he smelled. Eventually, Gwen falls asleep against him. He simply tucks the blanket around her. When she finally wakes, there's soup boiling on the stove and Arthur for company and she thinks it's possibly the best way to be sick.
He kisses her again before he leaves, even though she tells him she's pretty sure she's contagious. Her mind, frazzled by fever and Arthur, conjures up dreams that involve castles, dragons and Arthur in chainmail.
AN: Again, thank you for the comments. And yup, this is going to be fluff, fluff and more fluff.