Disclaimer in pt 1.

Dedication: my mom for taking care of me despite my truck driver cough waking her up on her day off. or maybe because of it. Shannon b/c you don't feel that hot either.

Note: see end

Comment On the Weather

Part nine of the Foolish Games series

He hated this cough this sick thing. Not even really sick. If he had a job more steady than the Dingoes, Oz wouldn't even be sick-leave sick. No, his nose was runny -- when it wasn't completely stuffed, his body ached in places it only ached when it was his turn to play roadie, and his bark of a cough certainly had bite.

Oz winced at the very bad play on puns.

"How do you feel, Oz?" Willow asked.

Okay. "Awful." He had meant to lie. Really he had. Cough!

Willow's eyes opened wide, full of concern. "You should have called me earlier!"

Somehow he felt that shrug all through his lower back as well as his shoulders and chest. Crap. "It's okay. Really." Except his eyes hurt in their sockets. Oz sat up in his twisted-sheet covered bed. Did he mention dizzy? But just slightly because he was able to catch himself on his elbows.

"Oz!" Willow was at his side quickly, helping him lower himself onto the bed. "What's with all the blankets. I didn't know you had this many."

"Cold," Oz answered succinctly, eyes closed against the light his girlfriend had unconsciously flicked on as she rushed to his side.

Brow furrowed in confusion and concern she pointed out that he wasn't wearing a shirt. That he only had on his boxers from what she could see.

"Woke up all sweaty. T-shirt's cough on the floor somewhere."

"Oz, are you okay? Stupid question, Will. I mean, is there something I can do for you? Get?"

"Kill the light?"

Willow noticed, for the first time, that all the shades were down and the curtains, more or less, firmly drawn. Trying not to jostle him too badly, as if he had a head injury instead of a head cold, she got up and turned off the overhead light. "Anything else?"

"I don't coughcough know."

"My, what a big cough you have."

Oz smiled.

"I'm gonna go out and get you some cough medicine. Are those the only symptoms, coughing?" He told her the rest. "Okay, I'll get some Nyquil."

"No," he shook his head firmly. "Makes cough me sick." Actually the alcohol made him a little tipsy and then when it wore off he felt worse. Oz found it hard to believe something that was supposed to make you feel better should also make you unaccountable for the next eight hours of your life. Give or take a few hours.

"Um, okay. I'll see what they have and be back as soon as possible. You'll be okay without me, right?"

"I promise to try to stay alive."

"Oz, don't joke like that!" Willow admonished, halfway to the door already.

"Who said I was joking," he told the closed door as he roused himself from the damp bed. COUGH!

He was sitting at the kitchen table when she returned, staring resolutely at a glass of orange juice. "Robbetessin," Willow declared, pulling a white box out of a paper bag. "You're not allergic are you?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Great," Willow beamed. "Well, not that you need it but that you're not alle--"

"Will," Oz touched her hand, "it's okay. I understand." One hand on his forehead, the other on hers he said, "I understand. I need someone who . . .to . . ." He didn't know how to say it without hurting her sometimes fragile sensibilities. "I trust you. It's okay, okay?" coughcoughcough

Willow nodded. "Okay. Okay," she repeated more firmly. Quickly she opened the box and read the label. Pouring out the prescribed amount she held it out to Oz. "Drink."

"Yes, ma'am." He knocked it back like a shot of whiskey. Then scowled like it was a shot of moonshine. "If that doesn't burn the cough away nothing will."

Willow's smile was sympathetic. "Orange juice chaser?"

Brow furrowed in concern over the taste of orange juice and Robbetessin, Oz drank most of the glass in front of him anyway. At least it was cold. Nothing worse than hot orange juice.

"C'mon you, you're going to bed."

"But I'm fine out cough here."

Willow snorted. "Oh yeah, you were Mister Active when I showed up just now. Uh huh, that's you, Mister Daniel I'm-So-Sick-I'm-Jumpin'-Through-Hoops "Oz" Osborne, oh yeah. Let's go, buddy."

And he let her lead him back to bed.

cough

Finis

Author's Note: as you can guess I wrote this when I was actively sick. I actually wrote this midway into #6 cuz that's when I was sick. (which is why "careless hair" took so long amz.) Anywho, I figured if I'm gonna write a sick fic -- cuz I only get certain ideas when i'm going through -- I should do it while I'm sick. And hopefully, at the posting of this fic, I'm not *still* sick.