requested: even though you're an ER doctor, you still can't manage to convince your girlfriend to stay home when she's clearly sick...
tags: angst w/happy ending, sickfic, fem reader, fluff, established relationship
w/c: 1.9k
masterlist
On a typical morning, you wake to the smell of a fresh cup of coffee and Vi’s fingers in your hair, slowly drawing you out of sleep with the promise of caffeine.
Today, however, you wake to the sound of coughing.
“Mmph,” you mumble incoherently, still half asleep as you turn over in bed to see what’s going on. Vi’s in bed next to you, her head buried in her pillow as she tries to muffle a coughing fit.
“Don’ smother y’self,” you slur, words still blurry with sleep. You faintly tug the pillow away from Vi’s grasp, then push yourself more upright so you can get a hand on her back and rub between her shoulderblades. “Hey, breathe, baby.”
Vi’s eyes are red and watery by the time she manages to catch her breath. She thumps her chest a few times with her fist and shoots you an apologetic grimace. “Sorry,” she croaks, clearing her throat. “Something stuck in my throat.”
You’re a little more awake now, alert enough to notice the pale tint to Vi’s skin – she looks uncharacteristically washed out in the weak morning light.
“You okay?” you ask, frowning and scooting closer to your girlfriend. “You don’t sound so good.”
Vi shakes her head roughly and pushes herself out of bed. You can tell she’s trying to seem as energetic as usual, but you catch the grimace on her face when she stands and stretches.
“I’m fine,” Vi says, already heading toward the bathroom. “Overslept, sorry babe. I’ll get your coffee in a minute.”
You want to call out for Vi to stop, to talk to you for a moment, but the bathroom door is already clicking shut behind her, and the sound of the shower starting follows soon after.
You’re up and brushing your teeth by the time Vi gets out of the shower, her hair damp and sticking to the back of her neck, water droplets glistening on her ridiculously toned shoulders. You watch her in the mirror, noting how sluggish she seems. Then she sneezes twice – rough, throat-scraping sounds that make your own chest hurt.
You spit out your toothpaste and turn to give her a sympathetic wince. “Bless you, babe.”
“Thanks,” Vi mutters. She finishes drying off, then grabs a handful of toilet paper and blows her nose loudly.
“We have tissues, you know,” you say with a raised eyebrow, keeping your tone carefully neutral.
“Don’t need ‘em,” Vi grunts, then immediately sneezes again.
You cross your arms and lean back against the counter, giving her a long look. “Vi…” you sigh, but your girlfriend interrupts before you can get any further.
“Don’t start. I’m not in the mood okay? Please.” Vi heads out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom to start getting dressed.
You let out another long breath, following her. “Baby, if you’re getting sick –”
“I’m not,” Vi says curtly, pulling on her work pants.
You roll your eyes at the ceiling, silently praying for patience. “Something’s been going around the station, Vi.”
“Yeah, and I’ve been working doubles all week because of it,” Vi says, slipping on a t-shirt. “We’re already down two guys, I can’t call off. You know that.”
“So you’re just going to work until you drop?” you huff, your voice coming out a little sharper than you intend.
You know you’re both on edge. It’s the middle of cold and flu season, and between Vi working extra shifts at the fire station to help fill in for her coworkers out sick, and you pulling twenty-hour shifts at the ER to deal with the influx of patients, you’re both exhausted and irritable.
“Guess so,” Vi says, as if that ends the conversation. “Gotta go, I’m late.”
“Vi, can you not be so fucking stubborn for once in your life?” you snap, patience fraying. “I care about you, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“And can you just let it go?” Vi bites back, glaring at you. “I’m fine. I’m going to work. Love you.”
She grabs her work bag and stomps out of the room before you can say anything back.
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Work is busy enough to keep your mind off your argument with Vi, thankfully. You barely have a moment between patients, flitting between setting broken bones to treating a heart attack to trying to get a lego out of a three-year-old’s ear.
Eventually, you finally get a moment to breathe, and you sit down at the computer station to catch up on some paperwork. But of course, you’re sitting for no more than two minutes before one of your nurses rushes up to you.
“Incoming, suspected stroke. Paramedics just brought them into room two,” the nurse tells you, gesturing toward the hallway.
You nod, already logging out of the computer and pushing to your feet. “Page neuro. What’re the vitals?” you ask, striding down the hall. The nurse follows, quickly rattling off the patient details as you go.
The patient, an elderly man who’s disoriented but friendly, is laying on a gurney in the middle of the room, surrounded by staff doing various assessments. You nod your thanks to the firefighters who are standing in a corner of the room, having just brought in the patient and ready to finish their hand-off.
But then you pause, your gaze lingering. It’s not unusual to see Vi in the ER, as she often brings patients in while she’s on shift, but you rarely get more than a minute or two to talk.
Right now, however, she looks awful. Your heart clenches as you give her a once-over. She’s wearing a black surgical mask, but it doesn’t hide her ghostly pale skin or the sweat beading on her temples. There’s also an angry flush on the apples of her cheeks, and her eyes are pink-rimmed and hazy. You have half a mind to kick the patient out of bed and force her into it instead.
But of course, you need to remain professional, and you know Vi won’t take well to being fussed over in front of her coworkers. You focus on assessing the patient and doling out instructions to the medical team, putting your worries about your clearly sick girlfriend on the backburner for the moment.
It doesn’t take too long for you to finish your initial assessment and get the patient handed off to neurology, thankfully. You take off your gloves and wash your hands, stepping back into the hallway.
Vi and two of her fellow firefighter paramedics are rolling their gurney back out to the ambulance bay, and you jog to catch up with them.
“Can I steal her for a moment?” you ask the other two firefighters, as you put a hand on Vi’s shoulder. The other two give you a knowing look and nod, clearly already knowing what’s up.
Vi frowns at you, but you ignore it. You grab her hand and lead her to an empty room.
“Sit,” you point at the bed, voice firm.
“Babe…” Vi starts to croak, but you shake your head firmly. You take her by the shoulders and give her a gentle push until she’s sitting down.
“Uh-uh. Mask off, baby. Let me see you,” you say, sitting down next to her on the bed.
Vi gives you a wary look but is apparently too tired to argue with you, because she peels the mask off her face and tosses it aside.
Your heart breaks a little when you finally get a good look at her.
“Sweetheart,” you sigh, all of your sternness replaced with soft concern now. You reach up and thread your fingers through Vi’s pink hair, gently tucking it behind her ear. You put the back of your hand to her forehead and frown. “Oh, baby. You’re burning up.”
Vi shrugs, but you can tell she’s miserable. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” you counter, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Vi’s mouth. “You’re a big deal to me.”
Vi’s shoulders slump, and she presses a fist to her mouth to cover a rough cough. “I thought I could just push through. I’ve only got a few more hours left on shift.”
“Of course you did,” you say, but your voice is gentle, not angry. You get up and head to the cabinet in the corner of the room and start digging through it. You find a thermometer, a packet of acetaminophen, and a stack of disposable cups. You fill the cup with water and bring it back to Vi. She takes the medicine and drinks the water while you unwind the stethoscope around your neck and get ready to listen to her lungs.
“I thought you were mad at me,” Vi croaks, watching you warm the diaphragm of the stethoscope between your hands.
“My feelings can wait,” you murmur, putting the earpieces in and scooting closer to her. “Right now I just need to make sure you’re okay. Deep breath, sweetheart.”
You run through a quick check up on Vi. Just as you suspected, she’s running a fairly high fever and definitely has caught whatever bug’s been making its way through the firestation.
“I’m going to call Dr. Medarda to come take over my shift,” you say once you’re finished checking her vitals. You set your stethoscope aside and rub warm circles on your girlfriend’s back. “I’m taking you home. You need to be in bed, Vi.”
Vi peers at you through glassy eyes. “I’m not changing your mind on this one, am I?” she asks, grinning faintly.
“Absolutely not,” you smile, leaning in to kiss her warm forehead. “You’re my only patient now.”
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“Okay, into bed, you big lump,” you tease, guiding Vi over to your shared bed with a protective arm around her waist. She shoots you a dry look, but climbs under the covers anyway when you pull them back for her. She’s already changed out of her work clothes and into a soft t-shirt and pair of boxers, so she settles comfortably into bed and you tuck her in.
“You know, if you wanted me to take care of you, there are easier ways to do it,” you smile softly, sitting down next to her and stroking your fingers through her hair. You let your fingers brush over her cheek, humming at the heat you feel there. “Besides spiking a hundred and two degree fever.”
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Vi’s voice is gravelly and congested, but there’s still a spark of humor in her eyes. Then she starts coughing, and you help her sit more upright against the pillows, fluffing them behind her back.
You hand her a glass of water and kiss her temple. “I’m sorry I was short with you earlier,” you murmur, tracing the pad of your thumb over her flushed cheek. “I was just worried.”
Vi laces your fingers together, and brings the back of your hand to her lips so she can kiss it. “I was being an ass,” she says. “Not your fault. We’ve both been stressed lately.”
“Well, still.” You lay down in bed next to her, offering an arm out so Vi can curl up against you. She’s fever-warm against your side and you’re pretty sure you’re going to catch what she has, but you don’t care. You just want to hold her. “I could have been more patient.”
Vi hums, turning her head to kiss your collarbone, and you know that all is forgiven. She snuggles up closer to you and you press your lips to the top of your hair, your chest aching faintly at how much you love the woman in your arms.
“Get some sleep, baby,” you murmur, your own eyes falling shut. “I’ve got you.”
Vi’s words were slow and low in her throat like they were weighed down by exhaustion. She filled the doorway to the kitchen, just as tall as Caitlyn remembered, but something had changed. Vi had always been powerfully built, her body threaded with muscles that wrapped tightly around each limb; now she was broad, burly, her muscles big and strong and soft all at once. She was the same Vi with the same tattoos and the same short hair pushed back from her forehead, but the woman in front of Caitlyn had this new, large presence that seemed to pull everything in the room towards her like the sun.
Then she yawned and sniffed the air. “You making coffee?”
-
What happens if you and your girlfriend break up, she loses her dad, and when you come back two years later she's gained like fifty pounds of muscle, is a super sexy firefighter, has a sadness to her smile, and you find that you're still very much in love with her?
My Caitvi break-up/make-up fic is now complete! If you like angst and beefy lesbian firefighters then you should definitely read it, just saying...
I was reading Hotshot by SarcastCity when I chose what to draw for this prompt. So... I had to do a firefighter Vi! It's a 2-parts story, next and end tomorrow.
