A/N: Okay so...this one isn't quite as fluffy as I intended (still working on the H/C/Fluff balance), but I hope you enjoy!


Munkustrap's knitting needles clicked together, winding blue yarn into the beginnings of a scarf. The repetitive motion soothed him after a stressful day's work, and the clicking was nice and rhythmic against the quiet whirring of the desk fan on the dresser which Skimbleshanks kept on at night for white-noise.

Skimbleshanks. Munkustrap finished a stitch and glanced toward the ensuite door - for what he believed was the first time since they'd shared a bedroom, it was Skimbleshanks who was taking forever to get ready for bed, instead of him. He shrugged it off, and kept on with his knitting; he supposed taking forever to get ready once in a while wasn't anything to be too worried about. But the steady clicking of his needles against the soft whirring of the desk fan was interrupted when he heard his husband sneeze forcefully from the bathroom.

He once again looked toward the ensuite door, sighing this time, with drooping shoulders. Whether he admitted it or not, Skimbleshanks had caught whatever head-cold was going around the staff at work, and if his desperate-sounding sneezing was any indication, he was right in the deepest throes of it.

The ensuite door creaked open after that, and Munkustrap turned back to his knitting, offering a casual blessing as Skimbleshanks perched himself on the edge of his side of the bed. Already Munkustrap could sense his husband's irritation - he hardly ever got sick, and he absolutely hated drawing attention to it when he did. So the silver tabby kept quiet, knitting diligently, even as Skimbleshanks pulled a kerchief from the nightstand drawer and blew his nose soundly.

"How's your knitting, love?" The ginger tabby didn't acknowledge his blessing, perhaps not hearing it well through plugged-up ears. Unfortunately, his attempt at casual conversation was muddled by his blocked nose, a sniffle punctuating his words as he slipped under the covers.

"Fine." Munkustrap pretended not to notice how much heavier his husband's accent had gotten now that he was all congested. "I've got twenty rows now, if I've counted correctly."

"Good for you." Skimbleshanks reached over onto his nightstand and picked up his book, perching his reading glasses on his nose before opening it to the page designated by his leather bookmark. Bad idea; his nose was sensitive, and the glasses made it worse. He begrudgingly reached for his kerchief on the nightstand and lightly blew his nose to try and quell the tickling in his sinuses.

It didn't work. He sneezed, barely managing to catch his glasses as they fell off his nose.

"Bless you, dearest." Munkustrap's ears drooped as he offered another condolence, and he hoped Skimbleshanks didn't notice. Munkustrap knew he wanted things to carry on as normal, even if he was sick - just don't mention it, it wasn't that bad, he was still perfectly functional despite being sniffly and a bit uncharacteristically cross. The crossness was evident as Skimbleshanks reached back into the nightstand drawer, sharply plucking out the satin cloth he used to clean his spectacles - he was still very gentle as he wiped at his lenses, but his whiskers twitched in silent retaliation all the while.

Either that, or his nose was still bothering him. Munkustrap couldn't tell. And he opted not to ask.

Out of the corner of his eye, Munkustrap watched his husband relax back into the pillows, settling his glasses back on his nose and resuming his reading. This was what they were used to at night: Munkustrap knitting, soothing himself with the repetition of the needles and the yarn, and Skimbleshanks reading, relaxing his mind for the night by taking a trip into a book. Tonight he was reading Murder on the Orient Express for what Munkustrap believed was the third or fourth time. He'd never personally been much for reading, let alone the same book multiple times - but Skimbleshanks was content with it, and Munkustrap had his knitting, and that was all well and good.

Except for Skimbleshanks not feeling well. That wasn't good.

Munkustrap changed colors of yarn after a bit, knitting a couple rows of white for a little stripe, then another few of blue, then white - and then he started off on the blue again. He really was quite swift with it, his stitches nice and even and beautifully close together. It would be a warm scarf, once he was finished with it.

They stayed like that for quite a while, no sound between them but the clicking of knitting needles, the flipping of book pages, the whirring of the desk fan. And occasional sneezes from Skimbleshanks' side of the bed, followed by a casual blessing from Munkustrap's.

By now, it was getting a bit harder to ignore, for both of them. Skimbleshanks' eyes were tired, all the sneezing and sinus congestion pressing into them and making them hurt even with his glasses on. And Munkustrap's keen ears heard everything, even the slightest sniffle or clearing of the throat.

Poor Skimbleshanks. As much as Munkustrap knew his husband hated having attention drawn to his being under the weather, he couldn't stand just sitting there in feigned obviousness while the love of his life felt miserable.

He sighed, setting down his knitting with subtle finality. He reached into his own nightstand drawer and pulled out a kerchief, fluffing it open before draping it over Skimbleshanks' book.

The ginger tabby tried to hand it back, with a gruff sniffle. "I have my own, Munkus."

"Mmm-hmm. And now you have two, just in case."

The kerchief was passed at just the right time. As Skimbleshanks folded it to set it aside, he sneezed once more, burying his nose in it in an attempt to muffle the sound. His glasses slipped off and fell to the floor beside the bed.He groaned in annoyance, and Munkustrap offered a gentle back rub. "Bless you, love."

Skimbleshanks turned away from Munkustrap's paw, not in the mood for affection. "Evidently Everlasting doesn't want me reading, does she?" he muttered tersely, to no one in particular. He pointedly replaced his bookmark in the spine of the book and set it on the dresser, reaching down to the floor to pick up his spectacles. A bit of dust tickled at his nose. He sneezed. "Bast dammit."

He firmly set his glasses on his book and reached for the lamp cord, shutting off the light on his side of the room. With a quick blow of his nose, he laid down, pulling the covers up to his shoulders and settling his head on the pillow.

Munkustrap smiled softly and watched him, listening as his breathing slowed as he drifted into slumber. He waited until he knew he was asleep before reaching over and planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Get well soon, Skimble."

He turned back to his knitting then, not quite ready for sleep himself. His stitches were nice and even, close together without being too tight. It would be a warm scarf when he was finished, perfect for wrapping around his husband's neck as he headed off to work when he was feeling well again.