under the weather (alistair x reader) – chapter one
Summary: Alistair discovers that you're ill
Warnings/Tags: gn!reader, human!reader, mentions/descriptions of illness, mention of eating, Alistair having lots of anxiety (as per the usual); let me know if I've missed anything!
Words: 3675
Author’s Note: Alistair anon, if you're reading this, this one's for you!! I actually started this fic a long time ago, but I revisited it last night and then had a request for it, so I am now posting what I have finished of it! I have one more chapter done, so maybe I'll try to post that tomorrow? unfortunately the fic is not completed, but hopefully it will get there soon! for anyone feeling a little under the weather (or anyone who just wants a little Alistair fluff), I hope you enjoy! ☺️
Living in such close proximity to so many other vampires had been feeling particularly tedious lately, and so once Alistair had assured himself that you were safely asleep and that there were no present dangers, he indulged in some nighttime wandering to help clear his mind of the lingering frustrations of needing to put up with far more frequent interactions with the Cullens than he preferred. When he returned just before dawn, still pulling twigs from his hair and shaking pine needles from his jacket, he felt much more centered. He was resolved that he would suffer through the closer contact with Carlisle’s coven if it meant also getting to be close to you.
He was idly considering how you might feel about a trip to some remote location with just the two of you when he stepped silently into your bedroom and immediately sensed that something was wrong. Not really wrong, just off. He froze instantly, trying to decipher what was setting off alarm bells in his head. After scanning the room, his senses zeroed in on your sleeping form. He crept closer, perching ever so lightly on the edge of your bed, hovering a hand over you to assure himself you were still breathing even though he could hear the sound clearly. He just needed to be sure. So why were his senses alerting him to the fact that something was wrong? He closed his eyes, focusing. The familiar sound of your breath had been altered just slightly, the air not passing quite as easily as usual in and out of your lungs. Then there were quiet sounds, like you were sniffling almost imperceptibly in your sleep. Lastly, he realized that there was just the minutest change to the scent around you – the one that he would have known anywhere – indicating that not all was as it normally was. He compiled these findings quickly, attempting to make meaning of them. Then it hit him: you were sick.
He panicked. Could that happen so quickly? Quite literally over night? You had seemed fine when he left you. But had you truly been fine? Had there been small signs that he had been too distracted by his annoyance with the Cullens to notice? Should he have been paying closer attention? He lifted himself off your bed and began pacing in quick circles around your room as these questions flurried through his mind.
But you didn’t seem very sick, he tried to reassure himself. Your illness didn’t appear to be having too much of an impact on you since you were still sleeping peacefully. But what if it got worse? He had the faintest, blurriest memory from his human life, almost totally obliterated by now, but fragments of the feelings remained. His youngest sister, little Ibb, had a cough that the physicians had said was nothing. But within days she was burning up, drenched with sweat and coughing up bile. With his mother’s constant attention and some healing remedies, she eventually recovered, though the family had feared the worst for a time. It had taken weeks for her to regain her strength. The panic he had been trying to talk himself out of surged through him again, and he flitted to the side of your bed once more. He ghosted his hand over your forehead, attempting to determine if you had a heightened temperature. Much to his relief, you felt normal – warm compared to him of course, but not unusually so.
He huffed a little sigh – a very human expression that was working its way back into his comportment as he spent more time with you – and sank lightly onto the edge of your bed once more. He traced his finger over your cheek adoringly, just the barest brush across your skin. Should he wake you to ask how you were feeling? No, if you were unwell you certainly needed your rest. But he did want Carlisle to examine you, just to ensure it wasn’t anything serious.
He retreated to another room and pulled out the infernal little device that Carlisle had given him to “communicate.” Alistair almost scoffed. As though he had much interest in communication. Nevertheless, he flipped the thing open and punched in the required code to contact Carlisle. Of course, he could have just run to the Cullen house and explained the matter in person, but that would have involved leaving you and potentially exposing himself and his thoughts to that nosy little mind reader that Carlisle inexplicably kept around. He pressed the device to his ear. Carlisle picked up almost immediately.
“Alistair?” Carlisle’s calm voice betrayed mild surprise; Alistair never called him.
“My mate is sick.” It was not a word he used around you. He was terrified that you might find the idea of it too strange, too serious. Even he had balked at the idea at first, but it soon became clear to him that what he felt for you, the bond that was forming, was something eternal, unbreakable.
“And you would like me to stop by to assess the illness?” Carlisle intuited immediately.
“Yes,” Alistair responded. “I don’t think it’s serious, but I would like to be sure.”
“Of course. I’ll come by on my way to the clinic later this morning,” Carlisle replied, the amount of compassionate understanding in his voice still mildly surprising to Alistair. Other members of Carlisle’s odd “family” had been fairly clear in their assessment of Alistair’s worry over you as being excessive, even obnoxious, but Carlisle had always answered his multitude of questions and concerns with seemingly infinite patience. He could no longer find it in himself to regret speaking to a lonely and eager – if annoyingly persistent – young Carlisle all those centuries ago. Perhaps he should try to convey his gratitude in some way.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Alistair.” The faint shock in Carlisle’s voice attested to how unusual such an expression was, coming from Alistair.
With nothing further to say, Alistair pressed the button to end the communication. He then returned to your room to sit in the chair near the window that he often occupied while you were sleeping. He listened attentively to your breathing, making sure it didn’t become more labored. There was little change until he heard the quiet shifting of your covers as you moved beneath them and the sweet, soft noises that indicated you were waking. He drifted to your bed, standing there uncertainly for a moment before he realized he was looming a little ominously. He sank to the floor instead, folding his arms on the edge of your mattress.
You rolled to face him as though you sensed his presence despite his entirely silent approach. When your eyes slowly blinked open, you didn’t appear at all surprised to see him looking back at you. In fact, you seemed almost… pleased, if the warm, sleepy smile that bloomed on your face was anything to go by. Little beams of sparkling, refracted light went fluttering throughout Alistair’s body at the thought. Sometimes he wished he was still able to sleep, just so he could have the surely incomparably wonderous experience of waking up next to you.
“How were the woods?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep and maybe just the tiniest bit hoarse. Sparks of panic went off in Alistair’s mind again.
“Good,” he responded, knowing he should probably expand on that answer, but also consumed with trying to determine the best way to bring up your illness.
“I think you might be sick.” The worried words left his mouth before he could think them through properly, coming out a bit less elegantly than he would have liked.
“Ugh, yes – I know,” you replied, rubbing a hand over your face in what seemed like mild annoyance. You knew? “I could feel it coming on yesterday, but I had hoped I was just tired.”
Alistair opened his mouth to ask you to clarify further and to inquire into how you felt, but then your alarm went off on the sidetable on the opposite side of the bed, cutting off the questions he was formulating. You swore quietly and rolled to turn it off. Alistair couldn’t help a light chuckle as the expletive fell from your mouth. He dashed to the other side of the room, silenced the noise, and returned to his post with his arms propped on your mattress before you had even rolled all the way over.
The look of slight confusion on your face melted into a cheerful laugh when you realized what had happened. Alistair could have listening to the lovely sound forever. But then you pushed yourself up to sit and he refocused on the issue at hand.
“How do you feel?” he asked, knowing you could probably hear the concern that threaded through his tone.
“Mostly fine, just a little congested,” you replied. You certainly seemed fine, but he could hear the congestion you described in your slightly impeded breathing.
He was framing a way to tell you about Carlisle coming to check on you when he noticed that you had slid your legs over the side of the bed as though you were intending to get up. Weren’t humans supposed to stay in bed when they were unwell? He flew to the opposite side of the bed to stand in front of you.
“What are you doing?” he whispered anxiously.
“I’m getting up?” you replied with bemused confusion that lifted the end of your sentence into a question. “I have to go to work.”
Work? You couldn’t possibly go to work – you were sick. What if you felt worse during the day? He couldn’t be there to monitor your symptoms, so he wouldn’t know if your illness had worsened.
“But you’re unwell,” he insisted, a new bevvy of fears springing to life inside of him as he considered all the possible negative outcomes that could result from you going to work.
“It’s just a little cold,” you assured him. “And anyway, I’ll keep my distance from others so no one else catches it.”
What? It took him a moment to process your words, but when he finally understood their meaning, he almost snorted with derision. He could not have cared less about other humans getting sick – that was not even remotely a concern he had. What he cared about was you.
“I’m worried about you,” he clarified, reaching out slowly to rest his hands on your shoulders, underlining his point. When he met your gaze, the look in your eyes was so soft it was nearly making him ache.
“Thank you for worrying,” you said quietly, “but I’ll be just fine.”
“Carlisle is coming to assess your condition.” The words leapt from his mouth before he could stop them. He bit back a grimace at his own awkwardness. When he dared to look at you again though, your features were practically radiating warmth, filled with such genuine understanding that Alistair feared he might fall to his knees.
“It was so thoughtful of you to ask him to come,” you murmured, reaching one hand up to rest over where one of his was still clasped lightly over your shoulder. Your palm felt like a sunbeam against his cold skin that was only slowly becoming familiar with touch again. He stared fixedly at the place where your hand met his, the amazement that he always felt when you touched him with such gentle affection bubbling up in his chest again. He struggled to get his thoughts back in order.
“How about…” you started, bringing his eyes back to your face, “if Carlisle says I’m well enough to go to work, then I do, but if he says I’m not, then I’ll stay?”
Alistair really wanted you to stay either way, but your logic was sound. He nodded in agreement, and you offered him a beaming smile that shone on him like sunlight.
“Now can I get up to go get ready so Carlisle doesn’t think I’m a complete mess?” you asked, a little current of teasing sparkling through your voice. Alistair realized his hands were still resting on your shoulders, and he lifted them immediately, stepping back to let you get up.
You stood then and moved past him, brushing your hand softly against his as you did, the action clearly intentional. You were always so conscientious of his unfamiliarity with touch, making sure that your gestures didn’t become overwhelming for him while still expressing your affection. He wasn’t certain what he had ever done to deserve such attentiveness and care, but he knew he wanted to return it to your a hundredfold.
When you had retreated to the bathroom to make your preparations for the day, Alistair moved to the kitchen. There was only one thing he could trust himself to make without incident, and that was tea. He had no intuition at all for the proper preparation of human food, even though he often watched with rapt curiosity as you constructed your meals, but he could certainly manage putting water into a kettle, bringing it to a boil, and pouring it over a teabag. In all honesty, even that had taken him a little while to learn, but as soon as you explained how the strange electric kettle worked and how he would know when it was done, he had been able to make tea for you quite easily.
He followed the familiar procedure as he listened idly to the noises of the street outside, waiting for the sound of Carlisle’s car. He fussed with your collection of tea for a while, unsure which one to choose, until he saw one that promoted healing benefits. He wasn’t sure he believed it entirely, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. He placed the bag in a mug and watched the birds flutter past the window as he waited for the water to come to a boil. As soon as you had learned of his affinity for birds, you had bought him a birdfeeder to draw more of them into the area as a surprise gift for the day he had told you was his birthday even though he didn’t truly remember what day it was. He had been so moved by your thoughtful gesture that he had sat in unmoving silence for long enough that you had almost started to second guess yourself, when he had really been attempting to process the enormity of his gratitude for your kindness – and also just for you. But then he had been able to somewhat stumblingly reassure you that he loved it.
A quarrel of sparrows had just been startled from the feeder, and he could almost feel the vibrations of their rapidly beating wings as they took off in a scattered cloud. Then the kettle indicated that it was done, and Alistair turned his attention to pouring the hot water into the mug. He also pulled your container of honey from the cabinet where you kept it and set that along with a spoon next to the steaming tea.
He sensed your movements shift as you finished your preparations in the bathroom and made your way to join him in the kitchen. Heavens, you looked wonderful. A familiar spark of awe flickered to life inside of him at the knowledge that he had finally found someone he genuinely enjoyed spending time with – someone that he loved, although he had not yet been able to admit that to you aloud – and that you seemed to feel the same about him. The warm, quiet domesticity of it was a far cry from his solitary, often anxiety-laced wanderings, and while he still didn’t mind being alone – he was the only company he had had for so long, after all – there was something about being with you that made him feel more centered than he had in centuries.
You offered him a treasured smile and he shook himself from his slightly awestruck daze to dash forward and pull out your chair for you just before you had reached it. You responded with an appreciative ‘thank you’ and looked up at him with an achingly soft smile as he hovered near your side.
“Can I get you something for breakfast?” he asked. It was certainly far beyond his capacity to actually make you anything, but he could locate any ingredients you might need. Plus, sometimes you ate pre-prepared things from boxes, most of which he would recognize if you described them to him.
“I think I’m just going to pick up some doughnuts on the way to work as a little pick-me-up,” you responded as you swirled honey into your tea. Alistair could hear just the slightest rasp to your voice, which instantly reignited the panic that had momentarily faded from his thoughts. And you said you needed a ‘pick-me-up.’ He wasn’t sure exactly what that phrase meant, but he could intuit that you might be referring to a special treat that would make you feel better. His panic grew slightly. Were you feeling worse than you had told him?
Before he could ask you though, he heard Carlisle’s car pull up outside and instantly snapped his attention to the door. You followed his gaze, making a motion as though to stand, put he placed a gentle hand lightly on your shoulder, stopping the movement.
“I can get it,” he assured you quietly before dashing to the door, opening it just as Carlisle reached it. Carlisle’s expression was not at all surprised – he had certainly heard Alistair approach.
Alistair stepped aside so that the doctor could enter, and Carlisle ducked his head slightly in acknowledgement. Even though Alistair had hoped you might remain sitting and continue to drink your tea, you had appeared at the entrance of the kitchen to greet Carlisle as well.
“Thank you for coming by, Carlisle,” you said brightly.
“Of course – I’m always happy to help,” he responded with his usual warmth, moving at a very human pace to join you in the kitchen. That was something Alistair still struggled with. He found himself often falling back into his supernatural speed unless he was being intentionally cognizant to move slowly. He supposed that Carlisle had a few hundred years more experience at it than he did.
“I don’t think it’s anything serious,” you told Carlisle as you offered him the chair next to yours and sank back down to sit.
“Always better to check though,” he commented with a smile, casting the minutest glance at Alistair before sitting down and beginning to pull a few things from the medical bag that he carried.
Alistair remained standing, watching intently as Carlisle began his examination, reaching to press his fingers to your throat. The sight momentarily ignited a deep, visceral protective urge within him, tensing all the muscles in his body, but he stifled the growl in his throat, reasoning with his more reactive instincts that Carlisle would never hurt you. In fact, he was likely the only other vampire Alistair would ever trust to touch you.
As Carlisle continued his work, performing a few small tests and asking you questions, Alistair’s latent anxiety became too much for him to remain standing still, and he began flitting around the room, needing to do something with the excess energy spooling inside of him as he waited for Carlisle’s verdict. After a moment, Carlisle spoke, but not to you this time.
“Alistair, I believe you’re distracting my patient.” There was a light amusement in Carlisle’s tone as his golden eyes found Alistair in his latest location near the sink. If he could be good humored about the situation, then he must not be finding anything too wrong with you. Alistair flew back to your side.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s fine,” you responded quietly, extending your hand slightly, an invitation for him to take your fingers in his, which he did readily. “I just don’t want you to worry.” He squeezed your hand lightly to reassure you, making sure the pressure was incredibly light. He was painfully aware that even just the slightest exertion of force on his part could easily snap and shatter the delicate bones of your fingers.
“I’ll worry less when I hear Carlisle’s assessment of your condition.” He flicked his eyes to the doctor, who was returning his things to the bag.
“I agree that I don’t think the illness is anything serious,” Carlisle concluded. Alistair felt some of the tension release from his body.
“But if there are new or worsening symptoms,” he continued as he stood, “you know where to find me.” He accented this last statement with a little nod to Alistair, who echoed the gesture.
“Thank you again, Carlisle,” you said as you rose to walk him to the door. Thankfully, you didn’t drop your hand away from where it still rested in Alistair’s gentle grasp. Holding your hand was a manageable and enjoyable gesture of affection that Alistair was quite comfortable with by this point.
Carlisle departed with a wave and a reassuring smile aimed at Alistair. As soon as he was gone, you needed to collect your things for work. Even though Alistair still would have preferred if you stayed home, he understood that Carlisle had essentially cleared you. As you stepped out the door, you promised him – at his insistence – that you would return home immediately if you began feeling worse. Then you had leaned in slowly, letting him anticipate your action, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. The sunburst of beloved warmth it ignited there was still glowing even after you had left. He realized too late that he had certainly not reacted in the proper way, going instantly still as he processed the exquisite feeling of your lips on his skin, still trying to acclimate himself to the cherished sensation. When he had finally broken himself from his enchanted stupor, you were already almost gone, but he offered you an awkward wave nonetheless that you rewarded with a beaming smile before you departed.