#sick bill

[ford-between-dimensions]

HEY DERE, SIGSER! FUNNY SEEIG YOU HERE! WHAD A COI-

*he sneezes all over ford before he can finish his sentence*

-@perpetually-sick-billcipher

That is…disgusting.

[Ford hands over a medical mask]

Put it over your…eye? I suppose.

[lihikainanea]

sis leiii, can i please have a piece where instead of bill flying back home to be with tiger, she's the one who's flying to see him because he's travelling to film a movie or do a photoshoot or something but he's feeling homesick and maybe having a fever and tiger flies immediately to whatever he is to take care of him, but she surprises him and he lets himself cry when he sees her there?

Oh my sweet, soft Bill. Tiger is, without a doubt, no stranger to rescuing her Big Dude.

And you know, maybe it’s a multitude of things. Maybe Bill really isn’t jiving with the producer or the studio or something, but he’s learning in his older age that sometimes you can’t just...flip your shit and walk away from projects. Maybe the project itself still really interests him, but the people carrying it through are being insufferable dicks. Bill has an extremely low tolerance for people who think they are above anyone else, and if the set he’s on is rampant with egos, he has a really hard time...but he also can’t necessarily walk away.

Maybe it’s not even that. Maybe it’s just a gruelling shoot, one where actors’ unions and the studio are constantly in a battle because the actors are somewhat being forced to go through with scenes or go through in conditions they have no business going through. On Bill’s second day on set, he spent 14 hours submerged in an indoor pool that was way below the temperature it should have been. His acting contract, his union, probably states that he can spend up to 3 hours maximum in the pool and then he needs a one hour break to dry off, have a warm drink, raise his body temperate back to normal and then he can continue.

But the producer was always almost just getting the right shot, and maybe just one more take, and okay that was great but let’s do another one just in case and suddenly, it’s 14 hours later and Bill is shivering, his body temperature is dropping dangerously low, and his lips are blue. The doctor on set finally puts an end to it.

The next day, a cough had set in deep in his chest. One of those coughs that started off small and then just couldn’t stop, one of those ones that ached in your lungs, a cough that had you gasping for air after you just couldn’t make it stop. His entire day was scrapped, every take he did cut short when his breath would catch and it would set off this hacking cough, one that rattled deep in his bones. He was exhausted. He was out of breath. The first week hadn’t even wrapped yet, and he was already wrecked.

Tiger heard it the moment she picked up the phone when he called her that evening--the middle of the night for her. She picked it up and mumbled a groggy hello before a deep, uncharacteristic wheeze had her eyes widening.

“Hi kid,” he rasped, “Sorry I’m calling so late.”

“...Bill?” She had to ask to be sure. His voice was so rough, so strained, and she winced as a terrible cough sounded down the line.

“Yeah,” he wheezed, “Sorry, give me a second.”

He sounded terrible. His voice sounded thick and rough, strained as if he was trying to control it--and his cough sounded even worse. Wet and rumbling, it seemed to go on forever before she heard a soft sip,  clearing of his throat.

“Sorry,” he croaked, “Having some issues.

“You sound terrible bud,” she said, “What’s going on?”

“Just caught a bit of a chill,” he mumbled.

A bit of a chill turned into pneumonia a few days later--and still, he worked. He would call her when he could, but tiger was getting increasingly more worried--she knew her Good Dude. And it seemed that every time she talked to him, he was coming off a day on set that was seeming more and more insane. A night shoot, where he had to run through freezing cold temperatures and snow in nothing but a bathrobe, barefoot--and he had to do it over and over and over again, because the director wasn’t happy with the shot.  More water scenes. More hours spent in subzero temperatures, in soaking wet clothes, already sick as a dog.

Tiger had a feeling that there was a reason why he was sticking to regular calls instead of video ones, and at one point she insisted on it--and it only confirmed her suspicions. He looked terrible--gaunt and pale, his big eyes sticking out of his head even more, his skin a sickly pallor, and he was at the point where he couldn’t even get two words out without either having to stop to catch his breath, or launching into a coughing fit. The wheeze in his chest was even more prominent, there was a permanent wince in his features from the pain, and his eyes had deep bags under them.

“Bill,” she said sternly, “Have you seen a doctor? Are you taking meds for this?”

“I’m on a round of antibiotics,” he brought a pill bottle into the frame and shook it to show her, “But it just needs to run its course.”

“My ass it does,” she snaps, “You look awful.”

“Careful,” he warned, but it lacked all of its usual malice when he launched into a coughing fit after.

As soon as tiger hung up the phone, she booked her ticket to his location. She wasn’t going to sit by and watch this happen. The kicker was when she was browsing her instagram and just happened to stumble across a story that one of Bill’s co-stars posted--a goofy photo of the dude in the make up chair--but there in the background, a little blurred but tiger could spot him anyway--was Bill, curled up in a lounge chair, an IV drip in his arm. Tiger screen capped the photo and sent it to Bill, with a very curt message.

Call me. Now.

Seconds later, the image disappeared from the costar’s stories and Bill’s name popped up on her screen.

“Don’t freak out,” he started, “It’s fine, kid.”

“An IV isn’t fine Bill,” she snapped, “What’s happening?”

“It’s just some nutrients and vitamins and a lot of hydration--” a pause for a gross-sounding coughing fit--”I’m having a hard time shaking this thing, so it’s just to give me a boost.”

“You can’t shake this thing because you’re exhausted and this gig is killing you--”

“I’ve gotta go tiger, they’re calling me back to scene,” he mumbled, “Please don’t worry about me. I’m okay, I promise.”

Tiger moved her flight up to the earliest one she could find.

And listen, when she got there? She gave his agent strict instructions not to tell him shit, but to help her find a way to get into his apartment.  She was exhausted from the flight and the time difference, but she was on a mission--she found a grocery store, was able to pick up a few staples. She stocked up on green tea, honey, managed to find some warm blankets, was able to somehow figure out how the sauna on the back deck worked. Tiger had a bad case of whooping cough as a kid, and she remembered that Granny used to spend hours in a steamed out bathroom holding her, trying to ease the pain and break the cough. Extreme heat was good to try and clear out the lungs, and if Bill didn’t have a fever, she planned on manhandling him into the sauna for a few hours tonight.

She got everything she could. Medicine. Lozenges. A thermometer. A hot water bottle. She spent the rest of the day cooking--big pots of soups and stews, hearty things with a lot of vegetables that would be easy for him to digest.

And listen, when Bill got home in the wee hours of the morning? Tiger was on the couch reading, and she stood when he entered the doorway. He hadn’t seen her yet and she watched as her Big Dude stepped in, closed the door behind him--and then slumped against it. His back leaning on it, his head fell forward and she heard him exhale a rough sigh--or at least part of one, before he started coughing again. Pushing himself off, he wearily raised his head and that’s when he saw her--and he froze.

“But you’re fine eh?” she said sarcastically. The house was mostly dark except for a few dim lights, but she saw his eyes widen and the shock register on his face.

“...Tiger?” he rasped after a long pause. He shook his head as if he might be imagining it, but tiger took a few steps forward.

“This ends now Bill,” she said lowly, “Do you hear me?”

She stopped in front of him, but he still hadn’t blinked yet. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Tiger...” he mumbled. Reaching a hand out, his fingers brushed her hip as if he was afraid she was just a mirage--but then a few fingers turned into a whole hand, then both hands.

“Tiger,” he croaked, and then he crumbled. Reaching for her, she pulled him in as his knees buckled under him. She caught his weight as best she could, and he buried his nose in her neck. His shoulders shook and he clung to her, and she could feel the rumble in his chest as he struggled for air.

“Okay easy big guy,” she said, “Just try and stay calm and breathe through it.”

The cough started off small as he tried to suppress it, but eventually his whole body shook as he wheezed and his knees gave out. He knelt down, trying to get air in as he heaved, and she soothingly rubbed his back.

“Enough,” she said softly as she patted his back, “I’m here bud, and I’m not leaving. Just try and calm down a bit so you can get your breath back.”

His hand still reached for her just to make sure she was real, and it took him a long time to be able to catch his breath. Tiger held him the whole time, right there on the floor, until he could at least get some air in again.

Once he was able to breathe again, I’ll bet she put her foot down. Told him that she was worried, and that she was there to take care of him--because he was sick. Really sick, and that if he didn’t take the time he needed to heal, that he would only get worse. He finally caved because it was her you know? And for as well as he takes care of her, he trusts her to do the same for him. Halfway through the call with his agent, tiger had to take the phone from him because he was struggling for air again and couldn’t get the words out. Tiger told her, in no uncertain terms, that Bill wouldn't be able to work for at least two weeks. 

And listen, for two weeks--Bill wasn’t allowed to move an inch unless tiger told him too. His fever was too high for the sauna that night, and even though he shivered most of the night, she made sure he was only draped with one blanket so he wouldn’t overheat. She filled him with fluids to try and help break the fever, and when it was a little better the next day, she started working on his lungs. She dragged him to the sauna and sat there with him to sweat it out. He was miserable--cranky and in pain, the dry air burned his already sensitive chest, but tiger just sat there and held him. She held him as his body wracked with heaves, she rubbed his back when a coughing fit took over and left him gasping, and she wouldn’t let him leave no matter how much he protested. Only after they had been in there for two hours did she pull him back upright, take him inside and get him to drink another ungodly amount of water, followed up by some of Granny’s tea. She gave him all the head scritchies until he was able to sleep at least a little, and even then he was only able to with his head propped up against her chest.

It was agonizing. It was the sickest she had ever seen him. And it was a long process--if she didn’t like the way he looked after two weeks, then she wasn’t going anywhere for at least another two. And neither was he.

[lihikainanea]

Imagine our little Tiger babe was SO excited to go crazy while on vacation with Bill, but of course he manages to catch a cold on the plane ride over. But he’s Good Dude, so he tries to hide it. Tries to go along with whatever Tiger wants to do, because let’s be real - he planned this trip to make her happy in the first place. But eventually Tiger’s spidey senses tell her something’s wrong, and ends up taking care of her big dude the rest of the trip 🥺❤️

Ohhhhhh MY SOFF HEART.

Everybody gets sick on planes, don’t they? Actually, probably not anymore--planes with them sweet sweet HEPA filters are probably the cleanest air you’ll ever breathe.

But maybe it’s a planned vacation after Bill has been working for awhile--somewhere cold and rainy, hell maybe back in Sweden? BACK IN SWEDEN. And it’s been a long shoot, long days, and he's really just worn down--that much rain and dampness gets into your bones. And it’s this whole thing too where you’re always okay when you’re working because your body is in survival mode, but then as soon as you stop and it knows it can relax--BOOM. The fucking train hits.

So that’s it--they’re off to a wonderful, sun filled vacation to smack some colour on those sickly pale cheeks of his, and so he can relax a bit. Tiger is so excited she’s practically vibrating--she’s so excited to see her Big Dude after such a long time, and she knows they have a blissful 10 days ahead of them of nothing but BEACH and sun and warmth and sex and food. And for tiger--I mean listen, it’s 10 days back with her fave guy that she hasn’t seen in too long, but it’s also a week away from boring adult shit like dishes and grocery shopping and work and making her bed.

Bill looks like death when he gets home, but he always does. She shoves him in the shower and then tucks him into bed as she finishes getting the suitcases ready--and despite how much noise she’s making, despite the full sun streaming through her bedroom window, Bill is sprawled on his back and snoring loudly just a few seconds later. She does his suitcase for him too, cursing the entire time--dudes have it so easy. She throws in a few pairs of his shorts, some of those patterned shirts she sometimes has to encourage him to wear (they’re just so loud? aren’t they? But she loves him in them). A few pairs of flip flops and his bathing suits. She purposely doesn’t pack him any hair gel, just so she can run her fingers through his soft curls all week. She throws some sundresses in her bag, a few strappy heels and more flip-flops, her bikinis. She shoves a lingerie set in just for good measure.

She wakes him up around dinner time and she knows he’s out of it because his eyes are all wonky. He’s a bit sniffy and a bit shivery, but he just got off a plane that he spent 8 hours on so it’s too be expected. He barely eats enough before he’s falling asleep again, and tiger drags him to bed. She probably gives up and crawls him with him--she’s too excited to sleep, so she just reads until she passes out.

He’s a little slow moving the next day--his voice all scratchy, his eyes puffy. He blames it on jet lag, on sheer exhaustion. Tiger sympathizes, says some sun and heat will do him some good, and off they go. Bill’s uncharacteristically quiet, but the poor dude really is exhausted. He still brings her tea at the airport, still packed an extra sweater in his backpack for her knowing she’d get cold on the plane. He’s basically asleep when the plane takes off, and tiger covers them with a blanket so she can hold his hand.

But like, plane naps can sometimes be the worst. And sure enough he wakes up as they’re landing, but suddenly his slight sniffles turn into stabbing pain in his sinuses. His head is pounding, his eyes burning, and his throat is on fire. It’s only when they get off the plane that tiger takes one look at him and thinks....ohhhhhhh no.

His eyes are bloodshot, his lips all chapped. That cute nose of his is bright red, and he looks like death.

“Oh bud,” she says softly.

“I’m fine,” he interrupts.

“You feel like shit don’t you?” she asks, and he sniffles so loud it’s nearly a snort.

“No--” he’s cut off by a random but powerful sneeze.

“Right,” she says, unconvinced, “Come on, I packed the whole pharmacy in my luggage.”

“Tiger I’m--”

She gives him a warning look, and he pouts.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He lets her pull him through the airport, continues his sneezing fit as she folds him into a taxi. Once they check in she sets him up on a lounge chair on the balcony--the fresh air will do him some good--and loads him with some cold medicine. She comes back a few minutes later with a small cup, about an inch of clear liquid in it.

“Here,” she hands it to him, “Gargle and swallow.”

He tips the cup back, his eyes bulging as he sputters. He coughs, wincing but manage to swallow.

“What the fuck,” he rasps, “Is that lighter fluid?”

“Grappa,” she tells him, “Granny’s trick. A shot a day and you’ll be better in no time.”

Granny’s never wrong. Tiger keeps her Big Dude relaxed, brings him lots of liquids and keeps him fed and medicated. He’s better after just a few days--and it’s a good thing too, because he was getting real whiny for his snuggles.

[lihikainanea]

ok but instead of tiger having to go through a emergency surgery, what if BILL have to go through a emergency surgery? how would that be?

Oh my god listen, for as much as tiger fights having to be taken care of, Bill swings in the entire other direction--he loves it. The tall boi, in fact, completely embellishes and exaggerates everything just so he can be loved on and taken care of. A broken finger? He’s bed ridden for a week, giving an exaggerated pout and moaning in discomfort whenever tiger comes into the room, taking her hand and pressing it to his stomach for belly rubs because that definitely helps a broken finger. It’s science, tiger. He doesn’t make the rules.

But also just like, I will never get over this visual of Bill in a hospital bed. Because he is JUST TOO BIG FOR ONE. His legs are hanging off the end of it basically right after his knees, and the poor bean is so uncomfortable. Tiger freaks--because if there’s one thing she won’t stand for, it’s the dude who takes such good care of her being uncomfortable or in pain--and she raises hell over it. Hell maybe she even grabs some stirrup attachments from the birthing ward, rigs them up to the end of his bed, gets some pillows going and some blankets and rests his feet on those so that he’s comfy. He’s probably completely out of it, coming out of anesthesia is such a bitch, and his eyes are even crazier than usual and he can’t control his face or any of his limbs. He just knows that the feisty girl making him comfortable smells really good, he knows that the soft scritchies in his hair feel very nice, and a warm hand rubbing his tummy is heaven. He cuddles more into it, trying to shift to get more contact, and then the good-smelling little human is pulling him in more and pressing into him and it’s fantastic.

Getting him home is a challenge--he’s more coordinated now, thankfully--but still a little loopy on pain meds and he’s moving so gingerly. Trying to steer a 6′4 giant into the passenger seat of a car is challenging, and getting him up the stairs to her apartment is even worse. He usually knows to duck into the entrance way because it’s too low for him, but he’s out of sorts and tiger forgets to warn him and the poor dude whacks his head on the low part. He groans in pain, and tiger just feels terrible.

She gets him set up in bed--at least he’s safe if he’s just lying out--and for the next few days or weeks she just loves all up on him, and Bill soaks up every second. She brings him food in bed, and gets him as many books as he wants. He gets all the head scritchies. If tiger is in the kitchen or working, Bill will let out a foghorn whine when he wants cuddles and she’ll smile, going to lie with him until he falls asleep. She helps him shower, which is a challenge in itself. She eventually gives up on trying to wash his hair there, instead settling him on a comfy chair and doing it in the bathroom sink. She hovers when the home nurse comes to check on his healing process. She reads to him, his head plunked on her chest, until he’s snoring.

Guh, my fucking heart.

[lihikainanea]

Sick!Bill who refuses to admit he's sick. He's miserable and stuffed up. He has a fever but insists "I'm not sick, kid, I'm fine." And Tiger, bless her, she's trying, she really is but Bill can be stubborn when he wants to be. Nothing is working. He's not cooperating so she decides to give Bill a taste of his own medicine. Snaps her fingers, tells him "Eyes up, bud." Gets real serious and assertive 'cause she's taking care of her big guy whether he likes it or not.

okay LISTEN. Maybe it’s because I seem to have come down with my second cold in two months (honestly, what the FUCK, body? We never get sick. It’s not something we do. And hey--HEY HEY HEY LEAKY EYEBALL--stop that too. SINUS STOP TICKLING ME I SWEAR TO GOD)

Anyway, look. I very, very much think that Bill is a total baby when he’s sick. Like, at the barest hint of a sniffle, he’s throwing himself across tiger’s lap and demanding to be taken care of because man colds, you know? They are deadly. And so much worse than the colds women get and tiger help I’m dying. She wants to roll her eyes but honestly, he takes such great care of her every damn day that when he’s whiny and sniffly and bemoaning his fate she just takes pity on him and very lovingly nurses him back to health.

So like, if he’s sick and he’s denying he’s sick? it’s gotta be for a reason. And I’m feeling sappy so let’s make it a soff reason. Maybe it’s something special--like tiger got a big promotion at work or it’s their friend anniversary or she got a big win somehow and he planned this lovely weekend away in the countryside, to celebrate. He’s been planning it for weeks, reserved an incredible room at a little country resort, made reservations at some of the top restaurants. But when that weekend rolls around, Friday night he starts feeling a little feverish. And he tries to hide it--sneaks off to the bathroom, takes some sinus meds, pops a ton of vitamins. Eats 8 dozen oranges. Goes to bed early. And tiger can feel a slight tremor in him as he hugs her to him, and she pulls away concerned.

“Are you....shivering?” she asks him.

“No,” he mutters petulantly.

“Yes you are,” she says, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Well I’m shivering now,” he grumbles, “Get back here. You’re warm.”

She lets him pull her back to his chest but she puts a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature.

“No, you’re warm,” she says, “Bill it feels like you’re running a fever.”

“It’s fine kid,” he mumbles into her neck, “Sleep.”

“Did you take something for it?”

“No, I didn’t take something for nothing,” he grumbles, “Tiger, sleep.”

She sighs but reaches a hand up to scratch lightly at his scalp, until he drifts off.

The next morning though--oh god, poor Bill. He’s trying so hard to hide it, but god he feels dreadful. Tiger’s first hint that he may be a little less than top shape was when she woke up and he was still deadass asleep, and not at all wrapped around her. In fact he had kicked most of the blanket off and was sprawled half on his back, his skin dewy and flushed. She heard him sniffle, then again, then a little louder as he groaned uncomfortably and rolled onto his side.

“Hey bud,” she said softly, “You alright?”

“Fine,” he croaked, and his voice was wrecked. She tried to pull him over onto his back so she could see his face, but he resisted.

“We should get going soon,” he rasped. Tiger quirked a brow.

“Sure,” she said with mock cheer, “How about my coffee first?”

And she poked him. It’s done purposely, just so she can get a look at him and confirm her suspicions. And poor Bill is still trying to fight it, so all he does is groan--a deep sigh, trying to move his aching body, sit upright with a head that feels like it weighs 800 pounds.

His feet land on the floor while his entire upper body is still laid out flat, and with a painful groan he tries to ooze the rest of the way out of bed but tiger stops him--puts a hand on his arm and rolls him over. And she cocks her head with a sad, sympathetic smile when she sees him--because his eyes are glassy and bloodshot, his brow is beaded with sweat, his cheeks are flushed, and his adorable nose is bright red. He sniffles a little.

“Oh bud,” she coos, “Not feeling too great, are you?”

“I’m fine,” he insists, but his nose is too stuffed up to say it properly.

“There’s no d in fine, Bill,” she teases, “Alright, let’s get you drugged up.”

“Good idea, it’ll make the drive easier,” he says as he goes to sit up, but tiger just pushes him back down.

“Oh no you don’t big guy,” she says, “We’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes we are,” he sits up again but he’s gently shoved back down, “We have a whole weekend planned.”

“Bill, buddy,” she says as she puts her hands on his cheeks, “You’re burning up. You’re in no shape for a weekend getaway. Stay here.”

And she gives him a warning look when he shifts, but he holds up his hands in surrender. She comes back a few minutes later with a cold cloth for his forehead, some meds for his plague, and a cup of tea for his throat. He pops the pills, settling back against the headboard and closing his eyes.

“I had it all planned out,” he whines, “I wanted you to have a great weekend. To celebrate.”

She smiles softly, threads her hand with his.

“I know bud,” she says, “And we’ll just postpone it to a weekend where you don’t look--and feel--like death warmed over.”

He whines pathetically, a real long one, before he pulls her back onto the bed and sprawls clumsily across her lap.

[lihikainanea]

picture this: touch starved tiger trying to get attention from bill but he's sick with a cold or virus so he's like no dont come near me i dont want you getting sick too so they have a weird cat and mouse chase around the apartment

I think Bill would be the biggest baby in the world when he’s sick, just pouting, that cute little nose all red and stuffed up, those big eyes all watery and bloodshot. He’s just a whiny, needy mess. So while I do think he definitely wouldn’t want tiger to get sick, I think her caretaker instincts take over when he’s pitiful like that. And she just wants to snuggle him while he sniffles and he just keeps trying to scoot away but also...it just feels so good, to his achey body.

But y’know, since Bill is just a baby when he’s sick...then I absolutely HC this cat and mouse game happening when it’s time for him to take more medicine. Maybe he can’t swallow pills so any antibiotics he takes has to be in disgusting liquid form--so he’s totally camped out at tiger’s place and the minute he hears her utensil drawer open to grab a spoon, he’s trying to haul ass off the couch to go and hide. But he’s achey and feverish and moving slow so tiger walks into the living room right as he’s attempting to crawl under her coffee table to hide, and she just rolls her eyes.

[billciphersrpblog]

HEY DERE, ODER BE! HOWZI GOIG? DESDROY ADY PESGY DIMESIONS LA-

*he sneezes very aggressively. all over other-bill*

-@perpetually-sick-billcipher

... HEY! WHAT'S THE BIG IDEA? GET YOUR FLUIDS OFF OF ME, YOU PILLOCK!