fightlikehell | call in sick

A fixed point that's forever moving. A paradox, and another thing she doesn't worry about much.

So long as he knows he's safe, even when he's feeling unsteady, they'll be okay. "True, but I'd rather take a long time getting home than have you rush and hurt yourself." Ever the practical one, this girl of his. Well, she's had a few flights of fancy, but he's always made them come true thus far. He can set the pace and she'll keep them steady. "Let's try to get to the smoothie place before we stop. I'll get you one of those ginger and mint smoothies, that should help calm your stomach down."

The nuzzle gets a purr from her and the hand on his hip gives a light squeeze. "I do love the weather here," she admits. "It's not always so predictable, you know. I think it's behaving for you."

Matt squeezes his eyes shut and exhales noisily through his nose. Of course she's right. It's like they're on a ship and he's seasick. The sickness intensifying or retreating in turns. Steady, yeah. "I hope so, babe. It feels empty and queasy at the same time."

Her hair brushing against his face is a soft comfort. The little squeeze has a bit of resistance--swelling? Augh. What is happening here?

"Just for me? Hah." Verity, you make him smile so easy when he's miserable! "I'd believe that if you controlled the weather, sweetheart."

She's always right, Matthew Murdock. Just accept it. Life would be so much easier. She can't stop the rolling and roiling of his stomach, but she can try to ease the discomfort a bit. "If you're going to be sick, better to have something to come up," she points out. "But if we're lucky, that won't be a problem. And if we're not, we'll deal with it."

The resistance under her hand is unexpected and worrisome. She squeezes again, testingly, then moves her other hand down to move lightly over his abdomen. "Does that hurt?"

She loves that smile. She's smiling back and leans her head in to brush her chin against his chest. "What, you think I'm the only one who might be smitten with you? You only get to get away with that because you don't know what you look like. Trust me, it's entirely likely the weather tames itself for your pleasure."

As right as a calculator or an oracle. And reliable to boot. God, does he love her for these reasons and more. "I know there is no person on the planet that likes to be sick. But I hate it." And he hates throwing up particularly. It brings back so many best forgotten college experiences. The beer before liquor. All those lessons learned with Foggy.

"Ooof." Matt leans away from it and moves back. "No, just like...swollen." Or water retention.

Since they've decided on a leisurely pace he will take a moment to stop and wrap his arms around her. Stillness feels amazing. "I don't really care what I look like as long as it means I get to keep not only around but happy." He lifts his head and looks around. "No rain storm because of that?"

So more like the calculator than the oracle. She's not nearly so cryptic as to pass her ability to predict the future off as oracular power.

"I know, baby. I know." His overdeveloped senses going out of whack make getting sick so much harder on him. "I'm here. You'll be okay. I'm going to take care of you, and you know what that means." So much the pampering. So much love and gentleness. All the soft easy kisses and all the kindness.

She lifts her hand for a moment to let his stomach settle, but then explores a little more. "All over? Probably not your appendix... but that's weird. We'll figure it out when we get home." Which means no more poking and prodding.

Stillness and a chance to breathe might be just what they both need. She'll hold him easily, steady and solid for him. "Mm, no rain yet. Please stop tempting fate, honey, I'd rather not have to carry you home in the rain."

Not so cryptic, true. Still to simply say she's a calculator takes away that spark and warmth of magic and humanity in her. There's always that knowing. His life has also improved for the better by virtue of just listening to her.

Matt makes a rumbling noise in his throat, a hum and a purr. All in appreciation. She is going to take care of him. She already is just dropping whatever she was wrapped up in to walk his pathetic self the rest of the way to their hideaway.

"My feet feel swollen too? I mean, they don't hurt either. It's uncomfortable." Poking and prodding help, sure. He's relieved when they stop.

Since they're not going anywhere for a few seconds he kisses her hairline like he's making a crown there. "I'd pay for a taxi to get us home. Or...whatever else if it did, I mean, seeing as it'd be my fault. Just in case though..." One more peck and nuzzle before he moves so they can carry on.

"Smoothies on me?"

It's not like nobody's done that to her before. She does it to herself easily enough. He's too good, remembering she's human when she forgets.

She's going to wrap that rumbling in silk and whispers and keep it in a secret place in her heart. It's more than enough reward for her when it comes to taking care of him. When he mentions his feet she tilts her head to try and get a look at them. "Hmm. Bloating maybe? Have you been eating a lot of salty snacks at the office?" Her tone isn't quite accusatory, but if it's true, Foggy's getting an earful.

The crown of kisses he gives her is finer than any empress' jewels. "We can get a cab if you want, honey. There's a good spot to catch one coming up soon." The peck and nuzzle combo is a knockout win with her. He might want to give her a moment to come back to her senses after so much loveliness.

"We don't need to worry about that right now." In other words: no. "You can treat me to something when you're feeling better, yeah?"

All the people who have should be ashamed of themselves. Every person has value, and her's is unmistakable. It's a light that should shine and brighten. Matt will ever be ready and able to remind her that she's human and one that he loves so much.

There are more where that came from. More tender loving care and treatment and she'll have a whole lot to store. Best be sure her heart is more open and full. Matt's in sensible shoes, tied and not showing any signs of obvious strain. "Maybe the pita chips. Foggy actually likes those." So they're around. Constantly. "Not like I eat the whole bag."

"Let's just take a cab." When he is usually in to going for walks for the air and the chance to keep moving. They're slow to start again for her comfort and his own. Matt keeps close to her for support and comfort.

Yes, when he's feeling better she is owed a very big treat. "Say the word, and we'll go when I'm better." Anywhere. Everywhere. "...do we have peanut butter at home?"

Hers is very mistakable. The fact he finds it so easily is one of the infinite reasons she loves him so much.

"Pita chips are good," she admits, and part of her brain is making a mental note to make pita chips for him to bring to work. It's the little things that make her so happy. The little sounds and smiles she coaxes out of him with the little caring things she does. None of it seems difficult to her, and she's sure she's getting the better end of the bargain.

"Okay." A nice slow start should let them get to the cab stand in good shape, if not a swift time. She's happy to stay as close as he likes. "Yes, we've got peanut butter, and I got a loaf of that Tuscan bread you like. I can make you some peanut butter toast if you want. And we've got bananas, too. And I can always order whatever we need that we don't have." The old-fashioned grocery delivery service is a treat she doesn't often indulge in, but at times like these it's a blessing. "Tea and toast when we get home? And then music and a cuddle?"

So long as she needs reminding, rediscovering, reestablishing he'll keep at it. And love every minute.

"Did you know they make cinnamon and sugar chips now too? I mean the savory are the best of course." Matt hasn't felt hungry and queasy at the same time in a while. How it comes up so hard and fast, well, that's been the standard of this affliction.

Her ability to just be able to make whatever she can put her mind to is always a surprise and a treat. And somehow all these wonderful, new favorite foods he had never thought of are in the pantry. "Just what I need. And you. You're the most important part of that equation." And peanut butter. More of that right now would be great. They're coming to the spot to wait. He can hear it.

"There's a bench to the left, right?" Sitting would be good.

She's a lucky girl.

"Mm, they're pretty tasty. I can make you some later if you'd like." It's a little more involved than cinnamon toast, but not much. And it's worth his happiness. She's not sure it'd be the best thing for an upset stomach, but 'later' can be 'when you're not sick anymore'. She won't mention the cheesecake dip she makes to go with them on account of his stomach upset.

Considering all the things he's taught her about, that he's given her the courage to try and the room to explore, teaching him about new foods doesn't seem like a very big deal to her. Still, she's happy to do it. She always likes having someone around to appreciate her cooking. "Well, of course 'and me'. Tea and toast isn't going to make itself," she teases.

"Yes, on the left," she agrees as she begins to steer him toward it. "You can sit and relax while I deal with the taxi." Once he's sitting she presses a kiss to his forehead. "I love you."

She's his lucky girl. And he's her lucky guy. And lucky for them even though these symptoms are spelling out something, it's very untrue. Which might be one of the luckiest of things.

"Later," he agrees. Toast with some peanut butter and tea would be the most complicated he should handle. And he wouldn't want to miss a chance to enjoy it.

It doesn't seem like a big deal, it's an activity they can both appreciate. And there's a nurturing, simple pleasure about sharing her know how and palette. He also loves that they both have a tendency to want things natural. "I don't want to cuddle myself either," he grumbles softly to her with an all too practiced pout.

Taking a load off makes him sigh. The feeling of her lips on his skin has another grin. "I love you." And there's no shred of shame being less than his best with her knowing she understands.

She's his. The luck is implied in that statement and the girl. Yes, they're very lucky neither of them is unexpectedly pregnant. She could not handle that right now. Although it might be a smidgen easier on her if it were him; he's not likely to pass along his powers or her curse.

It's a treat he can look forward to. She'll make it when he's on the mend; the scent of the cinnamon sugar baking should rouse dormant appetites. One of them, at least. It does help that their tastes and preferences are so similar. She's been known to binge on junk food from time to time (and he's known her long enough to time those times), but generally, she'd rather keep him healthy. Gods know he needs all the help in that department.

The pout makes her laugh. She wants so much to kiss it away. Not while they're walking. "No, my love, I'll never abandon you to such a fate. You'll always have a cuddle partner in me. Or a pillow at the least."

She hums and kisses his hair before stepping away. It's not finding a cab that's the problem it's finding the right kind of cab. Her neighborhood doesn't allow cars, so it'll have to be a bike cab or rickshaw. Usually, she appreciates the quiet; today, she's frustrated by the wait. Doesn't the multiverse understand that Matt needs something? It should be right there waiting for them, damn it!

Ah, the universe doesn't work that way. Nor does Matt biologically. And really, their life has settled in a pace that has enough room for the both of them. No additionally cursed being or ultra-sensitive one is needed.

They both do have a weakness for the occasional junk food items. The periods of lapsing in good, clean eating have been kept up pretty well between the two of them with some enabling. Matt is just as bad though when it comes down to it. In the end nothing beats what Verity can cook up unless it has a Michelin star. Even then, being in her presence as she whips up another delicious thing is something he'd choose as a favorite.

"Partner first, pillow second," he amends. His touch lingers just a moment since she's there until she pulls away. Matt then tries to focus on what he's feeling. Surely it's starting to pass since it came on fast right? Right? As long as it doesn't get worse.

Figuring out their life together, just the two of them, is enough of a challenge for now. That's for sure. They'd need to get that all squared away before they start adding to the team.

As weaknesses go, it's not the worst sort. The only weakness less likely to hurt her is her weakness for him. Knowing he'd rather have her cooking for him at home over a gourmet meal is one of the sweetest things. And inspires her to try just a little harder to make things even better for him.

She isn't away from him for too long; a handful of minutes, and then she's coming back to collect him. "Okay, there's a bike taxi waiting. Ready to stand up?" Her hands rest on his shoulders until she has his agreement; then she'll lean down to help him up. Small and sturdy, and just the right height to be used as leverage if he needs it. There's perks to dating a short girl.

Certainly the new member would not be a humanoid. An animal would be better, a more neutral party with strong opinions on affection and food, it'd fit right in.

A greasy burger or pizza belly ache would be uncomfortable. A fraction of what he's going through right about now. Verity's cooking has never and would never hurt him. That's one of the many perks. Another is that he swears that love makes a difference in the recipe. Hence that eventual surprise pudding she has coming.

The handful of minutes have him with a few more buttons of his shirt undone. He straightens when she comes forward. "Yeah, I think so." A good breath in, a good breath out. "I'm going to stand and then stay still a minute, okay?" Dizzy again. Bless is sturdy, sweet and short girlfriend. Matt's on his feet which still don't feel right and he holds onto her. "You're so good to me, I love you so," he miserably groans into her hair as the nothing he sees sways and sloshes.

Yes, clearly, they need to get a dog. But it needs to be the right dog. The perfect stripey-socked dog.

Love most definitely makes a difference. It's why everything is made just the way he likes it, and his food is always plated the way he finds most convenient. Another of those little things she does to try and make his life easier. She'd never let her cooking hurt him.

"Take all the time you need." Don't think she hasn't noticed those buttons being undone. If he weren't feeling so unwell... Later. When he's better. For now, she focuses on getting him up, then shifts a foot back so she can hold him steady. "I love you too, honey. I love you too. I'm going to pick you up now, so you just focus on holding onto my shoulders okay?"

He's given a moment to process this before she tucks an arm behind his knees and lifts him up. Her breath comes out in a sigh; it's an effort, but not a burden. He still gets a minute to feel steady again before she starts walking to the taxi.

The right dog, the right demeanor, the right stripes. It's like there's one just waiting to be found...

Verity's love is in the entire conception of whatever is on the plate. Matt has been sorely lacking home cooking for more than half of his life. Even if it's a daily occurrence he is still very, very appreciative and happy for it. No sit down establishment can replicate it.

"Uh huh," he swallows and keeps up with the even breathing. The buttons are to try and cool down. It's warm again. All the attention will come back to her. Might want to reserve a day to stay in bed. "Okay. Three. Two." Matt hopes thinking light thoughts will help her process. "I'm okay." Spins still on the go but he holds on, having faith that it will just not get in the way of their journey.

Soon. All in good time.

This is true; for all the exotic ingredients and exceptional skill, nobody in those fancy restaurant kitchens will ever love him the way she does. And the waitresses better not try to deliver his meals with the hugs and kisses he gets from her.

He can have all the stay-in-bed days he likes. They can sprawl and lounge and nap, all good things they need more of in their lives. She's got fans and ac for when he's hot and blankets and heaters for when he's cold. Everything will be better soon. All he needs to do is focus on her. The world may be unsteady, but her heartbeat isn't. And the ride in her arms soon turns into a ride in her lap; she's not putting him down, just climbing into the back of the cab and settling him against her. "There. Safe and sound, yeah? It won't be a long ride now."

Every time together is a good one. Even now has it's charm.

No fancy restaurant would get him the way that Verity does. And no staff would be to his liking completely the way that she is. Matt is very content to have her as his only source of physical affection. No others need to apply in that department.

Senses, as sloshed and mixed as they are, focus on her heartbeat. The way she smells. That carries him too right up until the moment they're still. "Better. Mmmm." Curling into her is easy to do once he's up next to her, on her mostly. A day in bed after recovery would be spent on her, just her. There are so many ways to feel good. Matt wants to be sure Verity knows more than a handful.

Now does have its charms, true. It isn't often she gets to be the strong one cradling him like this. It's an interesting role-reversal for them. She doesn't love the circumstances that brought them to it, but she loves being able to comfort him.

Puppies can still apply for physical affections, though, right?

Ver holds him close but not tight once they're settled. She's already arranged the route with the cabbie; a longer one than usual, but a gentler one with slower traffic. Ver's wearing the perfume they made, and her clothes are soft blends of silk and cotton. She tilts her head to lay her cheek against his hair, watching the scenery pass through half-closed eyes.

A day spent entirely with him would be a treasure. Right now she's concerned with his present comfort. He should know by now that she doesn't sing, but she can hum a meandering tune. It's something for him to focus on, close and soft and familiar. Better than getting lost in the sounds of life outside their bubble of safety.

"I love you," she interjects from time to time, sing-saying the words. It's as close to singing as she comes.

Usually Matt is the one doing the carrying. He never thinks it a chore or a burden and dimly worries that he is too bulky. It has been vanquished. Laying here with her in total trust, breathing the same air with her, trying to slow it with her's. If he has to be incapacitated he is with her and under her very capable watch.

Puppies do give snuggles and cuddles. He wouldn't refuse a puppy. Just an overly confident waitress or anyone else humanoid with the wrong idea. His favorite person is unbeatable when it comes to comfort.

Verity' said voice, soft and muted to most ears gets him exactly as she guessed it would. Matt reaches for her hand to hold it to his chest. He shuts his eyes and falls into a lull. "I love you," he answers softly, the words vibrate their joined hands.

Too bulky? Far from. He's just right, in every possible way. Even incapacitated, he's perfect. Just the right amount of a handful for her to feel useful and free to fuss. He knows how much she loves an excuse to spoil him.

Ver's hand settles against his chest, shifting until it's under his shirt and she can feel his heartbeat. All those open buttons are finally good for something. The steady rhythm of his heart is as reassuring for her as hers is for him. Her melody gets a delighted trill in answer to those favorite words. He can relax and trust in her to take care of him for the rest of the ride.

She doesn't move until the cab's stopped, and at first it's only to deal with paying. Then she kisses his forehead and warns him, "I'm going to be picking you up again now." It's only five flights of stairs up to her apartment. Samus would tell them both it's nothing she can't handle and would tsk if she wavers.

His combined weight is really not as bad to lug the short distance to her place. It is like a very streamlined version of Samus runs. Not being too much or overwhelming feels grand. God willing he won't chance from that. Thus far the lifestyle with a good diet has only yielded good results, more lean muscle.

Skin to skin contact is another intimate comfort that soothes him. Her skin is so warm and smooth. His own flesh still feels too hot. But in stillness it's more livable. "Thank you," he says again for everything happening. It's just another way to proclaim love.

Coming to a halt, now for phase two. Matt swallows. "Okay, love. I'm ready. Take your time." His stomach still flops hard at shifting. Oh boy.

She does appreciate his lean muscle. On a daily basis, when he lets her.

There'll be more skin to skin when they're upstairs and alone. Soon, soon. "You're welcome, honey." Another sing-song answer, punctuated with a flurry of butterfly-light kisses along his brow. His skin is warm, which is usually one of the things she loves about him. She'll be taking his temperature properly before the cuddling can commence.

"Of course. No rush. Just keep your head on my shoulder so it doesn't bump into anything." She does take her time, easing them through every step to keep the ride as smooth as possible for him. "Can you handle the locks?" Otherwise, she'll have to put him down a few times. But on the whole, she's pretty good at this: he's not the first man she's carried up a flight (or five) of stairs. And he isn't even bleeding.

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