Get Well Soon

Written for Lamia of the Dark's Return of the Daily Weird Prompt Thing

Prompt - Oh no! The healer is sick!

Maybe she had overslept. That was Scabior's first thought as he returned from work one morning and didn't see his wife waiting for him like he usually did. Normally she came running the moment she heard him enter the house, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a kiss. But today she was no where to be seen.

"Draconius?" he called out, walking into the kitchen and looking for his wife. He then felt someone gently tugging on his jacket, and looked down to see his four year old daughter standing beside him.

"Daddy, mummy's sick."

At first her words didn't register in his mind. How could his wife be sick? Draconius was always the one who took care of him, not the other way around.

"'Ow long 'as she been ill?" Scabior asked, turning and looking up at the staircase that led to their bedroom.

"Since this morning, daddy." Melody looked at him with worry clouding her bright, blue-grey eyes. "Can you fix her, daddy? Mummy always fixes you when you're sick."

"Don't worry, sweet'eart. I'll take good care of 'er." He then bent down and picked up his little girl. "Come on then. Let's go see wha's wrong with mummy."

Scabior carried Melody up the stairs, opening the bedroom door and peering inside, his daughter on his hip with his arm around her waist.

There was Draconius, huddled under the blankets, shivering and miserable.

"Pet?" Scabior said softly, taking a few steps towards the bed. He set his daughter down on the thickly carpeted floor. "Draconius, are you awake?"

The mass of blankets moved, and Draconius poked her head out from under the covers.

She looked positively dreadful. Her soft curls were damp with perspiration, hanging limp in tangled curtains about her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was shaking with feverish chills.

"'Ow are you feeling, love?" Scabior asked.

"How do you think I feel?" Draconius rasped. "I feel awful, Scabior."

Scabior raised an eyebrow and gave her a curious look. "You don't sound so good, pet. Is there something wrong with your throat?"

Draconius glared at him. "You think you're the only person in this house who gets tonsillitis?"

Scabior chuckled and grinned. "Well, there's something new. Although I don't think you caught it from me. I 'aven't been sick for a good two months."

He drew his wand, muttering a brief incantation that lit the tip of his wand with a bright light.

"Open up, sweet'eart. Let me 'ave a look in there."

Draconius opened her mouth, allowing him to examine her throat.

"Well, I'm no 'ealer, but those definitely look infected to me. I think the right one looks a bit more swollen than the one on the left."

"Just shut up and get me the anti-infection potion from my medical bag," Draconius whispered hoarsely.

"Daddy," Melody chirped in the background. "Why does mummy sound like a frog?"

Scabior burst out laughing when he heard this. Of all the things for his daughter to say. She certainly never said that whenever he got sick.

"Dammit, Scabior!" Draconius swore. "Stop laughing! It isn't funny." She then went into a sudden coughing fit, each sharp exhalation of breath grating like jagged knives against her sore throat.

"I'm sorry, love," Scabior apologized. "I'll get you the potion. Just 'old on a minute."

Her eyes watering with pain as she held her burning throat, Draconius watched as her husband searched her medical bag for the potion she'd requested.

There was a long pause.

"Pet, which one is the anti-infection potion?"

Draconius sighed. "The sea green one, Scabior. You've taken it so many times I thought you'd be able to recognize it by now."

"Oh right. This one." He held up a glass bottle filled with a pale green potion. "Got it, love."

He gave her the potion, then brought her a cool washcloth to help relieve her fever. Unfortunately, Scabior wasn't known for his bedside manner. And when he brought her the washcloth, he unceremoniously dropped it on her forehead with a wet splat.

"Cold!" Draconius gasped, as the dripping wet cloth made contact with her warm skin. "You son of a banshee! That's freezing!"

Scabior looked like a disheartened house elf who had failed to please his master. "I was only trying to 'elp cool you off, pet."

"Well you should try being more gentle next time," said Draconius. She held up the sodden cloth with two fingers like it was a dirty diaper. "And wring this out. It's dripping everywhere."

Scabior's next attempt to care for his wife involved making her soup, which was much more successful than his previous attempt.

After feeding her some soup and refreshing the washcloth on her forehead (this time making sure it wasn't soaking wet), Scabior sat with her for a while, talking to her until the soothing sound of his voice lulled her to sleep. Everything was going fine until she woke up an hour later, feeling nauseous and on the verge of throwing up. Scabior had just enough time to conjure a bucket before her stomach decided to empty itself right there in bed.

"I don't understand," said Scabior, as his wife threw up into the bucket he'd placed under her chin. "I get tonsillitis all the time, an I never throw up."

"That's because you have the chronic form," his wife groaned, clutching the bucket as her stomach continued to ache and churn uncomfortably. "There's a difference."

"A difference?"

Scabior didn't get an answer to his question, for a renewed bout of vomiting had silenced his wife.

When she had finished being sick, Scabior brought her a glass of water so she could rinse her mouth, then lay down beside her in bed. He rubbed her aching belly, speaking softly and singing to her to help take her mind off how miserable she was.

"You better not get sick from being this close to me," said Draconius, her tired eyes beginning to close as she drifted off to sleep.

"It's alright, love," said Scabior. "Some people are worth getting sick over."