Nineteen: Difficult Patient

Author's Note: What do you do with a kitty who's under the weather? Marinette discovers her boyfriend is good at many things but being sick isn't one of them.

Special Note: As I am taking the plunge and doing the 2019 version of National November Write a Novel Month, I've created shorter chapters for the next few weeks so I can continue to provide fresh content while I am furiously working on that project. (Feel free to follow along if you like over on their website; I'll take all the support I can get!)

"Nice try, kitty," Marinette said with a smile as she pushed herself up. "But no, you're not dreaming. Although you do have a pretty bad cold." She frowned as she leaned over and put a hand to my forehead, brushing away a bang in the process. "This came on fast."

I nodded. "I was okay this morning, but after—I mean, by lunch time, I was so cold that stepping into a wood-fired pizza oven wouldn't have been enough to warm me up."

Marinette sat back. "What were you doing, exactly?"

"My job," I smiled weakly. "If I tell you more…"

"Ah," she said. "Got it." Sliding off the bed, she added: "Do you have any cold medicine?"

"No," I said. "It's been years since I've gotten sick; in fact, I'm not sure I've been down for the count more than a handful of times since becoming Chat."

She tapped a finger against her lips thoughtfully. "I wonder if you need to transform before you take anything."

"Excellent question," I replied as I struggled under the comforter to turn toward her. "Heh… this is kind of tight," I laughed nervously. "I… uh… can't really move much."

"Good," Marinette replied with a devilish smile. "For if you can't take anything, we'll need to rely on your quick healing ability. And that means getting some rest."

I blinked, for I couldn't recall ever telling her about that particular attribute. "I don't necessarily have to stay transformed for that," I said cautiously, "but it would go faster if I did."

"Yeah," she nodded. "All right, get some sleep."

"Hang on," I said rather urgently, still struggling a bit and wondering if somehow Marinette had swaddled me with iron chains. "I'd not mind a tiny bite to eat first…"

"Of course," she said before pulling the plate away from me. "I'll go mix up a smoothie for you."

"A smoothie!" I mewled as I watched the luscious croissants move away from me.

"I'll bet you didn't have lunch, did you?"

Not wanting to admit she was right, I just stared at her accusingly.

"That's what I thought. I can get more protein into you with a smoothie. Back in a jiffy."

I had dark thoughts about Cataclysming in my way out of that comforter, but didn't want to have to buy another one. After wriggling around a bit to no avail, I thumped my head back onto the pillow in defeat and closed my eyes, not intending to nod off again but promptly doing so. A gentle nudge to the shoulder awoke me to the concerned blue eyes of my girlfriend.

"Hey," she said softly. "You zonked out again."

"How long?" I croaked, my throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara desert.

"It's almost midnight, so about three hours."

I groaned. "I'm sorry," I rasped. "This thing is apparently kicking my kitty butt."

"Indeed." Gently, Marinette put a hand behind my mane and sat me up; the comforter fell away easily, making me wonder why I'd had such trouble with it. "Take a sip," she said as she pressed a straw to my lips.

Even with a cold, the strawberry-kiwi protein shake she'd made exploded across my feline taste buds, and as hungry as I was, I gulped most of it down in short order. Clearly expecting this, she swapped the empty cup for a second one. "Slower this time, please," she cautioned.

I nodded, and closed my eyes in bliss as the pineapple-guava shake worked its way into my system. I wasn't sure how she'd managed to come up with fresh fruit in the middle of the night and thanked my kwami she had. Sadly, I slurped the last of the second glass up and looked to her. "That was insane," I said.

"I'm glad you liked them," she smiled. "Now, more sleep. I'll check on you in the morning."

"On one condition," I said suddenly.

"And that would be?"

"Stay?" I asked, feeling a bit like a six-year-old. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell her that my mother had often stayed with me long into the night when I'd had a fever or other malady. But tonight, for some reason, a tiny part of me didn't want to be alone.

Marinette looked at me for a moment, then put the glasses down on the nightstand before turning off the light. I shifted to my side, and Marinette slid in behind me, then draped an arm across my chest. "Sweet dreams, my precious kitty," she whispered into a feline ear.

My only response was to snuggle into her a bit more and purr both of us to sleep.