Hack here! Thanks for the faves and follows you guys! Sorry to keep ya waiting I got lotsa stuff going on!

so here we enter BLACKWATCH Captain Robert Cross -round of applause-

thanks PirateWeasel! Check out this authors fics here and on AO3!

Allons-y!

Chapter Title: Get Up & Out! Do the Technicolour Shout!

First Trimester—Month 3

Symptom(s): Ravenous Appetite/ Puking & Morning Sickness

Desmond's fingers slipped as he gripped the smooth porcelain of the toilet's rim and retched weakly into the bowl again.

Finally, his stomach so empty that not even bile came up, he sagged—gasping—on the bathroom floor.

What the hell was wrong with him? For the last four days he had woken up feeling violently ill; barely managing to make it to the apartment's small bathroom before vomiting. The weirdest part about it was that less than an hour later he would find himself ravenously hungry, going through the pantry and cabinets looking for something to eat.

The first two times, he had thought it might have been the leftovers that he had eaten for dinner had gone bad. Desmond knew he shouldn't leave them in the fridge that long; but it seemed like a waste of food to just throw them out. After all, he hadn't gotten the hang of living with Alex and not cooking enough for two to eat. Alex might not need to eat because of the virus but Desmond liked cooking for the two of them, and sometimes Alex would join him for dinner.

Desmond was pretty certain that Alex was vomiting it up when he went for those 'after-dinner walks' of his…probably Consuming some unwary human shortly afterwards. As long as he didn't see it happen, Desmond could deal with it.

For some reason, right now the thought of Alex vomiting up perfectly good food and then Consuming someone was turning Desmond a bit green around the gills.

It wasn't bad leftovers, however. The night before last, he had been too tired to cook (and what was up with that? He was never that tired from just training, before…) and had ordered a pizza. He threw out the leftover pizza just to be on the safe side.

He had still woken up in the morning with a start, bolting to the bathroom to pray to the porcelain god….

Last night Desmond had started to wonder if he had picked up some sort of stomach bug and opened a can of chicken noodle soup for dinner. Who got sick to their stomach, he reasoned, from eating chicken noodle soup? It was what you fed people when they were sick; there couldn't be any problems from having soup for dinner.

He would be fine in the morning.

Instead, here he was again, on his knees in front on the toilet and close enough to it that he could tell that they should really invest in one of those 'stain-removing' toilet tablet things. What the hell were they called, again? It didn't matter; he knew they were blue and fizzed. Dana could probably tell him what they were and what brand to buy.

Enough was enough; there had to be something he could take to get over this…whatever it was. He was an Assassin, dammit! Assassins don't go to bed thinking that they should take some Pepto and pray that they don't wake up and give the Technicolour Shout.

He would find something that dealt with the stomach flu…as soon as he could get off the bathroom floor.

Robert Cross folded his arms across his chest and let out a loud, exasperated sigh at the sight in front of him.

Mercer's roommate—Desmond something—was kneeling over the toilet and puking his guts out.

Mercer had asked Cross to stop by the apartment and check on his roommate early this morning, saying that he felt guilty leaving his roommate alone when the guy had been sick for almost two weeks now.

Cross had asked Mercer gruffly why he didn't just tell his roommate to see a doctor if he was that sick.

"Desmond's stubborn," Mercer had said, looking frustrated. "And he won't do anything I suggest if he thinks I'm trying to 'mother-hen' him."

"Look, I'm not asking you to donate a kidney or something, just show up and make sure he's able to get around okay…it's not that big a deal."

Cross had started to refuse, until Mercer had told Cross he would leave and deal with his roommate on his own if that was the case. Knowing that BLACKLIGHT was needed to deal with a new HIVE that had been reported today, Cross had grudgingly agreed to go to Mercer's apartment and check on the other man that lived there.

Another wave of retching noises came from the figure bent over the toilet bowl again, causing Cross to make a small sound of disgust.

Desmond turned bleary eyes set in a green-tinged face towards the man that leaned against the bathroom's doorjamb and gave a half-hearted glare.

"What?" Desmond asked, his voice a little thick from trying to suppress his nausea. "You got something you want to say?"

"Just that's the nastiest thing I've seen since my college girlfriend got pregnant," Cross said, rolling his eyes, "and considering whom I work for, that's saying a lot."

"Well, thank you so much for sharing," the other man snarked. "I'm sure you've made 'Father of the Year' with that bedside manner. Your kid must be so proud."

"No kid," Robert told him, his voice flat. "She lost it about three weeks after she found out she was pregnant. We split up a little later."

Desmond seemed taken aback by this revelation, blinking eyes that had widened just a bit as he stared silently at Cross. A moment later he spoke.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Robert said, straightening up to stand in the doorway. "I would have made a shitty dad, anyway." He heaved a breath, "You going to be getting off that floor soon, or did you need to toss up someone else's cookies as well?"

The glare on Mercer's roommate's face was back again.

"I'm fine now, and I—" The man's voice cut off suddenly as he practically turned a paler shade of green and began puking again.

Robert Cross slumped back against the doorway, letting his head thump lightly against the doorjamb as he did so. He turned his gaze up to the ceiling as he muttered, "…that next time Mercer asked for a favor, the virus could go take his requests and shove them…"

Another round of puking noises drowned out what he said next.

"What can you eat without throwing it back up later?" Cross paced back and forth in frustration. He'd tried to give Desmond some soup because the man had been ravenous after throwing up his guts, but it had taken only 30 seconds before he ran back to the restroom.

"Well excuse me for not being able to keep down my shit!" Desmond snarled.

"Has it occurred to you that maybe you should, oh I don't know?Schedule an appointment with Ragland?" The BLACKWATCH Captain didn't care what about what BLACKLIGHT said anymore. This was getting ridiculous!

"I don't need—BLEGH—to see a doc—HUURK—tor!"

"Have you taken any Pepto?"

"I already tried th—BLUUR!"

If this had been a job Cross would've wanted to receive overtime pay and quit. BLACKLIGHT was going to repay him for this or he wouldn't like him in the next few days.

Robert hoped to God that Desmond would finally stop puking; hereally just wanted to drag the Assassin by his hood to see the doctor.

"Y-you don't have to stay I'll be fine." Desmond was panting now.

BLACKLIGHT was definitely not going to like Cross.

Disgusting noises continued from the man he was babysitting.

"It would be easier on the both of us if you just go and get yourself checked." Robert said in irritation.

"I told you I'm fine!" Desmond panted out in denial.

"I'll have no problem dragging you unconscious." Cross thought of more ways to potentially manhandle Desmond to a clinic. One of those ways involved a headlock. "Wouldn't be surprised if we find out you're some cow hybrid freak." He grumbled aloud.

More Technicolour Shout.

Scratch that, BLACKLIGHTs going to hate him for two weeks tops.

Authors note: So apparently Altaïr's stubbornness runs through his line lmao. Yeah making Desmond miserable is fun as well as Cross being an arse. PirateWeasel is helping me so yaaaay! Next chap will be...something.

Owari~