Task Force 141 and when Reader is sick. Characters: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz Warnings: Sexual implications, pre-existing relationship, sickness, v*miting.
Price scents it like a shark catching blood 20 yards away. He lazily lifts his gaze from his book, blue-grey eyes tracking you in the kitchen. Sniffling, an occasional cough, the tension in your body that belies the achiness that comes with a budding fever. Sick. His sweet Dove, sick. Makes something nasty churn in his gut. The man rarely got sick nowadays, how he wasn't sure but he never questioned it. Questioning meant jinxing and he wasn't one for jinxing.
Price moved. "John?" You croaked out, stepping into the living room to find it empty. Mug on the end table still curling with steam, a cigar in his crystal ashtray left unattended. You blinked, befuddled by the sudden disappearance of your husband. You walked over to his mug, reaching to pick it up--
"Ah." A sharp click of a tongue halted you mid-reach. You slowly swept your gaze to the landing of the stairs where Price stood, hands on his hips. "You're sick. You need water, not coffee. A bath and bed too." He moved, walking down the last three steps and crossing the room to take your hand. A frown tugged at your lips.
"Oh- but, John, I'm fine. Really-" Price only sighed, letting you rattle off excuses and protests all the way upstairs and into the bathroom where a warm bath was running and vitamins sat on the counter. He laid his hands on your shoulders, kissing your forehead- partially for affection, partially to check your temperature.
"Bath, vitamins, bed. You're staying in bed until your appointment. Made a house call for you." Price gave your hip a gentle squeeze before giving it a pat and walked out of the bathroom. You smiled to yourself, savoring the reminder of why you chose John Price as your husband.
Ghost notices when he gets home from deployment. He drops his bag in the foyer, shucking off his jacket. No word, not a breath of you shuffling from the other side of the house to chastise him for leaving his bag in the foyer when the closet is only a foot away. Something ripples inside of his chest; panic. Socked feet pad through the house, checking each room like he's doing a sweep of a building for survivors. Each step making panic swell, swell, swell until--
You, curled up in bed, mouth open and breathing slow, crackling breaths. A humidifier running on the dresser, a half used box of tissues on the nightstand, a bin beside your side of the bed. That tension releases in him, easing into a dull hum as he crawls into bed behind you. His hand splays on your hip, briefly waking you. Your skin is fever hot, blisteringly so and it tugs at his heart as he nudges his nose against your scalp. "Bird, you're warm." You made a weak sound of acknowledgement that Ghost gently hushed as his thumb rubbed your hip. "Shh... sleep, I'll take care of you when you wake up."
True to his word, Ghost did. Breakfast in bed, a mug of tea and a glass of water consistently on your nightstand. You could ring a bell and he's right there, one knee on the bed and bent over you like a looming shadow of unconditional love. Now, whether he eats you out or not while you're fever ridden is just making his bedside manner even better.
Gaz sees it in the way you're fumbling with your bra, trying to get ready for date night. It's your one year anniversary and the two of you have been planning this for months. Ghost had chuffed in amusement when the Sergeant laid PTO paperwork on the Lieutenants desk for the weekend so Gaz could focus solely on you. But Ghost signed off on it, of course he did. "Love?" Gaz tilted his head to the side a fraction, eyes squinting in that 'something is off with you and I know it' way of his. You paused, looking over your shoulder. Oh and that just made his heart shatter. Staring back at him was teary eyes, a wobbling chin, followed by a small sniffle. You were sick and putting on a brave act to not ruin the evening. "Oh, love... no, it's ol'right..." He strides over, the tie around his neck undone and slipping off as he wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"No-- no, it's not-- Kyle, it's our anniversary-" He hushes you a knuckle under your chin to tilt your head towards him. He smiled warm and sweet, snorting in rueful amusement.
"Love, you're sick... our anniversary is good wherever we are, what matters is that we spend it together." He couldn't help the laugh bubbling up. "Which is on the couch, some movies... maybe some takeout?" Your heart fluttered, laughing softly with him as he planted kisses all over your face. He was a good boyfriend, one of the best, and the fact he wasn't upset but understanding, the fact he was adapting and changing plans in a way that better fitted the circumstances.
Christ almighty, you were going to marry this man on your second anniversary.
Soap doesn't notice, he gets a call instead. From his Mam. "Johnny, she's sick, she won't say so but I know she is, wee thing is shakin' and coughin' something fierce." Soap cursed under his breath as he walked down the hall beside Ghost at Base. You had driven up to Glasgow for the weekend while he was wrapping up paperwork back in Hereford before he would drive up and meet with you for the MacTavish family reunion, one time of the year everyone got together from all over to rejoice where roots were planted. "Aye, mam, I'll wrap up 'ere and head up. Jus' be gentle with Hen, she was nervous comin' up without me." Soap grimaced as his mother gasped, the woman proudly declaring over the phone that she would do her best and that she'd take good care of you until he showed up. Ghost's shoulders shook silently beside Soap, the manc finding it hilarious that Soap seemed to have gotten is pride and confidence from his mother.
By the time Soap made it to his families home, he parked haphazardly and jumped out of the car. Boots thudding up porch steps as his sisters flitted about in the house. "Johnny, why'd you have her drive up by herself!" One scolded as she brushed by. "Because he had work, Beth! You know-" The twins argued as he skirted down the hall, taking two steps at a time with a grunt. His mam stepped out of his childhood bedroom, nearly jumping out of her skin as Soap speed walked swiftly down the hall. "Och! Johnny, nearly spooked me half ta death, love! She's restin' right now, poor bird is runnin' a fever..." The woman's words fell on deaf ears as he open the door, immeaditely moving to your side and muttering apologies and curses for his own stupidity to have you drive up by yourself, why he didn't notice sooner-- you silenced him, placing your hand on his face. The action made him pause, brain short circuiting before a big grin broke out across his face. He took your wrist, pulling your hand from his face as he leaned in to peer at you better under your mountain of blankets.
"Aye, there's ma hen..." His mam leaned against the door frame, smiling as she watched him pepper your face in loving kisses as you grumbled curses at him. Yeah, you'd be alright.
