The Recovery Plan | N. MacKinnon
Summary: Nathan and Y/N have a date planned, but a nasty cold gets in the way.
WC: 2K
CW: Sick fic! Bad communication, slight insecure reader, so the tiniest little bit of angst. Tooth rotting fluff, Nathan is a sweetheart. Confessions, swearing, lightly proofread. Let me know if I missed anything!
A/N: Hart trophy and best boyfriend award goes to this fella!
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You let your phone ring and ring, then go silent, the third call coming through and going to voicemail.
One thing everyone knows, you, his teammates, the media, basically the whole hockey-enjoying public, is that Nathan MacKinnon is a health nut. Like, twenty-four hours a day, never shuts off kind of health nut. In the few months you had been exclusive, he had maybe three cheat days, and had never seen you sick. So when you woke up with chills, a fever, a cough, and a head stuffed to the brim with pressure, you decided to let Nate’s calls go to voicemail and curl up in your cocoon of blankets.
He was leaving in a few days for a long, important road trip, and you were not going to be the reason Nate couldn’t play. A cold was absolutely unacceptable to pass along to him. No amount of phone ringing or anything else could convince you otherwise. You would just have to instacart some NyQuil and some soup and tough it out solo. You were not going to bother him with your issues when he had much more important things to be worrying about.
The problem was, today was Nate’s off day, and the original plan was to meet up at your favorite cafe for a light lunch, then take a trip to Red Rocks. There was absolutely no way that was happening now. You hoped he would just assume you were tired and make his own rain check of the date. You didn’t let the thoughts swirl too long before falling asleep.
Nathan was completely and utterly worried.
You had never blown him off like this, not once in your year-ish long friendship or your few months of dating. He knew you always had your phone on you, and there really wasn’t a good reason to not have it. He was calling from the cafe, now 15 minutes past your arranged meet time. After dialing you about five times, he dialed Miles Wood instead, who happened to live in the same complex as you.
“Hey Dogg,” Woody answered, “what’s up man?”
“Hey, um, have you seen Y/N? I’ve called her a bunch, we were supposed to meet up but she isn’t picking up the phone.” Nate explained, hearing a faint hmm on the other end.
“I haven’t. I’m a ways out from home otherwise I would go check for you. Maybe she forgot?” Woody offered, secretly hoping it wasn’t that because of the awkwardness that would ensue if that was the case.
“Ok, I’ll go check on her. Thanks Woody.” He said, and hung up the phone after their goodbyes.
He threw on a cap and his sunglasses, making sure he had all of his essentials before locking up and getting in the car. You had given him a spare key in case of anything, so it was going to be no problem getting in. He just hoped for the best, but still assumed the worst secretly. He had a nasty habit of doing so sometimes.
Once he arrived at your complex, admittedly speeding a little to get there, he found your car still parked in its reserved spot. That was slightly relieving. He basically skidded into the guest spot and hopped out, locking up quickly. He chose to take the stairs up to your floor, deeming it faster than waiting in the lobby for the elevator. Your door was locked, understandably, the irrational thoughts slowly leaving his anxious mind. He slid the key into the lock, twisting and opening the door softly to a dark apartment.
Not a single light was on, the only light coming in from the window in the living space. It was very, very quiet, unusual for the space when you were in it. He loved how you lit up every room you graced. Things were tidy and normal, so no crazy robbery and kidnapping. He roamed around, looking for a sign from you in the kitchen, the living space, and the balcony, finding nothing.
Finally, he came to your bedroom, slowly twisting the handle in case you were inside, he didn’t want to startle you if you were. He noticed the black out curtains drawn, the room completely dark save for your salt lamp in the corner. Your floor was messy, tissues littering the ground and stacked high in the trash can. Your phone was on the nightstand, plugged in face down. Your bed was an absolute mountain of blankets unlike anything he had ever seen, just a tuft of your tangled hair sticking out the top on the pillow.
“Oh, baby.” He muttered to himself, a pang of guilt washing over him.
Now he understood. His girl was sick and sleeping while he was definitely ringing her phone off the hook. He stepped closer, trying to find you under all of that fabric. Your head was poking out onto your pillows, hair a mess and cheeks blazing red. You had a crumpled tissue in your hand. He stuck his hand out, running the back along your forehead. You were roasting under there, but he could feel your body shivering from the chills. You stirred, but didn’t wake.
He quickly stood straight, leaving you with a quiet click of the door. He locked up, dashing back down to the car and speeding to the local Walgreens. He filled his basket with all sorts of cold and flu necessities: medicine, cough drops, peppermint tea, your favorite Gatorade, a few of those crackable instant cold compresses, and a thermometer. He hoped no one would stop him in here, wanting to be as fast as he could. Luckily it didn’t appear that anyone knew or cared that he was there, shouting a thanks over his shoulder.
The next stop was Whole Foods, so he could grab some chicken noodle soup that was remarkably close to how his own mother made hers, when Nathan or his sister were sick as children. He threw in a sandwich for him to eat later, an extra couple of your favorite drinks and a chocolate croissant for you when you were feeling up to it. He checked himself out, making his way back to your apartment as quickly as he could. He walked back in with everything, trying to be as quiet as possible. He quickly set up a little tray of soup, medicine, and gatorade. He heated up some water in your kettle and steeped a couple of the tea bags. He cracked the cold compress and wrapped it in a paper towel before making his way back to your room.
He set the tray down on your desk, walking over to your window to crack it under the curtains, airing out the stuffy, overheated space. He checked the thermometer, making sure it was calibrated and working. Now he could finally sit down on the edge of your bed, and start the Nathan MacKinnon recovery plan.
He placed the thermometer on your forehead, dragging it across and down, 102.2F flashing back at him when it stopped thinking with a beep. That made him worried, more than anything else. He grabbed the cold compress, resting it on your forehead so, so softly. You stirred again, this time waking up. The throbbing pressure in your head had only gotten worse, the pain now rattling your jaw and your teeth. You were sweating under all of those blankets, but so impossibly cold at the same time. You groaned in pain before rolling over into a heavy mass that was dipping your side of the bed. Nate’s hand found your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in feathery dashes.
“N-Nate?” Your voice coming out hoarse and patchy. “No, no you need to get out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere, babe. You need to break this fever.” He said, his hand sliding down to brush over your shoulders.
“No, you can’t get sick because of me. You have so much to worry about right now, I’ll be fine.” You insisted, watching his face slide into a sad frown through sleepy, delirious vision. “I’m just gonna instacart s-some meds. Go home before you catch this.”
“I beat you to it already. I’m not leaving so you can stop trying to convince me.” He crouched down, “do you think you can sit up to take something?”
You nodded, gingerly sitting up, trying to keep the pain from getting any worse. The blankets slid down as you sat up against the head board, now noticing that you had slept until 3:30pm. You guys would have been enjoying the beauty of Red Rocks by now. Nate grabbed the tray of goodies from your desk, setting it down gently. He popped the two gel caps out of the package, silently asking for your hand before unscrewing the cap to the Gatorade.
“We need to keep you hydrated, so keep taking sips of that,” he mentioned, watching you weakly swallow the cold medicine. “I hope you like chicken noodle soup, it’s very good.”
He picked up the spoon, taking some and guided it to your lips, letting you take a few bites. It definitely helped to settle your stomach, but chewing was painful. You honestly had no strength for more than half of the little bowl of soup, so Nate picked it up and returned it to the desk, placing the Gatorade next to you again. This time, Nate rounded the bed, climbing in and grabbing the remote, earning little hoarse nonononono’s from you.
He didn’t listen, of course, just adjusting so your head was resting in his lap, pulling a couple of the endless blankets up over your shoulder. He laid his hand gently over the cold compress, keeping it in place, while he picked an easy watch kind of show. Finally he sent a text to Woody, letting him know you were ok and that they were going to have a sleepy day in. His hand found your head, dragging his fingers through the tangles so you wouldn’t have to brush a huge birds nest out of your hair when you were back on your feet.
“Nate, please go, I can’t even imagine getting you sick. You guys have h-hard division rival teams coming up, they need you more than-“ you tried to reason.
“I told you already that I’m not leaving. Your fever was pretty high, and you needed to eat and drink something. I’m here to support you, whatever that looks like, and today it looks like this.” He explained, calmly and softly like it was the easiest decision he had ever made, “plus, I’ve been with you the last two days, slept here, and I haven’t gotten sick. And if I do get sick, I’ll figure it out with the staff. I’ve done it before.”
“I ruined the whole day, and my body hurts, and I don’t want you to have to deal with me right now.” You said, your eyes beginning to mist up with frustrated tears, “please, I promise I can deal with it.”
He realized you had begun to cry softly, a couple of tears dripping onto his shorts, “oh baby, you didn’t ruin anything!” He turned your body so you were laying face up, his hands coming to brush away your tears, “Also, I’m not dealing with you, I want to be there for you when you’re struggling. I don’t want you to handle it by yourself. This is just what you do when you love someone.” He rambled, the words coming out quicker than he could think.
He… loves you?
That’s the first time either of you had said it. He had planned to take you on a nice date, give you flowers, wine and dine the hell out of you, before finally telling you he loved you. Of course he knew he loved you, so he gave up the momentary wave of apprehension and went with it. No time like the present, even if that present was stuck in bed with a brutal cold.
“You love me?” You asked, choking on the words a little bit.
“Yeah, I do.” He said, looking deep into your eyes for any sign of rejection, “and I want you to be ok, so rest. We can talk about it more when you’re ready to.”
You turned back towards the tv again, Nate grabbing the cold compress to put back on your head. You close your eyes, feeling sleep call you. Nate returned to carding his fingers through your hair, keeping a slow and steady pace. Every once in a while he would run the compress over your neck and shoulders, trying to cool your burning body. The meds were already helping to bring the fever down. He could feel your breath begin to even out against his leg.
“Nate?” You asked, almost too quiet to be heard.
“Hmm?” He hummed, leaning down to hear you better.
“I love you too.” You admitted, feeling his lips press into your head before sleep overtook you again.
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:)
