a/n: Oh God, where have I been? I don't even know. Here, have some more Jade/Beck. Somebody said they enjoyed 3rd person POV more, and this resulted. It amused me deeply for whatever reason, and my 'what-not-to-post' filter is kind of sketchy. Oh! Also, I don't think I've updated since it happened, but for those who don't know, this fic won Best Humor in the Victorious Awards. ;D Eee. Thanks to everyone who keeps reading and liking!

Oh, and props to Ava for the totally now canon fact that Beck loves Full House. xD

There were many things Beck Oliver enjoyed on a Tuesday morning. Waffles. Non-blinding sunlight. His awesome tie-dye colored cup. Actually having all of his homework finished. Birds that sang in a less-than-annoying fashion. Hairbrushes. Reruns of Full House playing before school. Syrup on top of waffles.

Notably not included on the list was waking up to his girlfriend puking her guts out.

"Babe— what are you—" Beck struggled into a sitting position on the bed, squinting at the floor where Jade was currently bent over in what seemed like an extremely uncomfortable fashion. "What happ—"

"I'm puking!" Jade yelled back, and promptly proved it by doing so again. Beck winced. At least he had that trash can by his bed. Tossing blankets to the side, he fell onto his stomach and reached out to touch Jade's back gently. She jerked away, her knuckles white on the metal rim of what Beck was sure was going to require lots of disinfectant later on.

"Don't touch me, I'm sick," she muttered.

"I gathered."

He leaned over and grabbed for his phone; Jade's mad scramble for the trash can had apparently knocked it to the ground. "It's seven," he announced.

"And I care."

But it was hard to be irritated at her when she still looked nauseous. Beck rolled off the bed, shaking his head to clear it, and kneeled next to his girlfriend. Her hair was stuck to her forehead; there were dark circles under her eyes.

"You look like crap, babe."

Immediately, he got the distinct impression that if she could kill anyone with her mind right then, it would be him.

"When I don't feel like I'm being stabbed in the stomach," Jade panted, "you are getting punched so hard."

"Duly noted," he said gently. He pried her fingers from the trash can, trying not to look inside it. He loved Jade to death, but really, he didn't want to stare at the once-contents of her stomach if he could help it.

"This is all your fault," Jade said under her breath, even as she lay down on the bed again. Beck wasn't really sure how infectious bacteria could be attributed to him, but, as with many other things involving the way Jade's mind worked, he let it go. She batted him away when he tried to pull the blankets over her. "Don't even, I feel like I'm dancing in lava."

"Weirdest analogy ever," Beck informed her. The oh-so-convenient bullet-proof windows were doing a good job of keeping the always annoying sunlight out, but even so, he pulled the curtains over them. Better safe than sorry. Or something. He used to say that a lot more, except Jade usually twitched with annoyance when he did. A twitchy girlfriend was not fun.

…Neither was a pukey girlfriend. Jade sat up in bed, a hand over her mouth. Beck gave serious thought to participating in trash-can-handling Olympics as other meals of hers made a quick reappearance just moments later. Unsure of exactly what to do now, he settled on grabbing the length of her hair before the morning could graduate to a new level of gross and, to the soundtrack of retching, found one of the ponytail holders Jade secreted about the RV and hastily knotted the tangles of thick hair at the nape of her neck. Aside from saving her the disgust of vomit-y hair, it also proved to Beck very succinctly that he had no future in the hairdressing business.

Finally, Jade pushed the trash can away. He placed it carefully on the floor (no way that was getting knocked over). Jade shoved her way off the bed. "I guess this means you don't want a waffle," he said as the door to the RV's tiny bathroom slammed against the opposite wall. A quick bout of gargling later, she gave him a look. Beck raised his hands in acknowledgement. "Too soon."

"Damn right." Her voice was tired. "Go… get ready for school and stuff. Find me clothes." She brushed a hand over the mess of hair behind her head and frowned. "And a comb."

Beck stared at her. "You're not going to school…" He dearly wanted to add 'you crazy wench,' but figured that wouldn't go over too well when she was in this state. Actually, it probably wouldn't when she healthy. (And by 'probably,' he meant 'for fucking sure, man, what the hell? Do you find getting punched in the kidney a particularly exciting experience? !')

"Beg to differ," Jade snapped. She made her way back to the bed, collapsing there on arrival. She wiggled her fingers absently, eyes closed. "Clothes. Bag. Stuff. Find it."

"But—"

"Now," she snapped, or tried to, at least, because it came out more like a weak whine. Beck nodded, then made an executive decision to make a waffle, brush his hair, and catch the tail end of Full House instead. Which didn't matter in the end, because ten minutes later Jade was curled onto her side, asleep.

In a fit of inspiration, Beck ripped out a page of his notebook and attempted to draw her a picture to wake up to, except it ended up looking like the both of them had been using hard drugs for sixty-seven years and he had a beavecoon on his head instead of hair. But he tucked it next to her sleeping body anyway, so at least she would be distracted from her sickness long enough to mock it mercilessly. Then, bag over his shoulder, he locked the RV's door as he left for school, Jade still sleeping peacefully inside. And she'd wanted to come too. He shook his head as he climbed into the car.

Crazy wench.

(Though, he might have done her math homework for her at lunch. Possibly. Well, even crazy wenches needed pre-calc assistance. But to be fair, he did deeply consider scribbling over it when he got a text at lunch asking why he drew her a picture of "two aliens suffering from various limb distortions.")

12:08 AM

To: Jade

it's supposed to be you & me. i think it's beautiful and a masterpiece. possibly of mona lisa-esque proportions.

12:11 AM

To: Beck

It looks like what I puked into your trash can this morning.

Just saying.