Summary: Mark eats a piece of Pick's birthday cake, which ends with the boys taking care of him.

It was April 4, 1981, and that meant it was Pick Withers' birthday. The friends Pick, David, John and Mark played together in a band called Dire Straits and also lived together in an apartment. At first they had lived together because of the cost, but now they all got along like good brothers. (Except Mark and David, who were actually brothers and because of that often argued, as siblings do) Since it was Pick's birthday, his friends had bought him a big cake. It was already afternoon, they sat together at the big kitchen table and sang a song for Pick, like little children do. The drummer was red in the face and blew out the candles.

"Happy birthday, buddy." John laughed and put his arm around the smaller man.

"Thanks." Pick giggled. David and Mark also passed on their congratulations before the drummer cut the cake and gave everyone a piece of it. They ate the cake laughing and talked to each other for a long time. They listened to records by Elvis Presley and others together until late at night.

"I'm going to bed." Mark then said when it was already midnight.

"Already?" Pick asked disappointedly. He was sitting on the sofa between John and David and holding a glass of champagne in his hand. The singer yawned loudly.

"I'm damn tired."

"I'm the oldest and you're acting like a grandpa." The drummer laughed. Mark rolled his eyes, walked over to him and hugged him tightly one more time before saying good night and going to bed. The guitarist closed his bedroom door behind him and let out a weak groan. Damn, he had a bad stomach ache. Mark put a hand on his stomach. He felt absolutely bloated and looked like he was five months pregnant. The guitarist lay down on his bed and groaned weakly. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain.

*

Pick, David and John celebrated until late at night. They didn't go to bed until 3 a.m. John wanted to brush his teeth, so he ran to the bathroom, but was dismayed to find that the door was locked. John shook the door.

"Mark? Are you in there?" He asked, astonished. It took a while until John heard a quiet groan through the door. "Mark? Are you okay?" David came around the corner and looked at John in surprise.

"Why don't you go in?" He asked, confused.

"The door is locked. I think Mark's in there." John said.

"Mark!? Hurry up, damn it! I have to pee!" The younger Knopfler moaned.

"I don't think he's well, David." John said worriedly, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Mark, can you answer us?" John waited patiently.

"Damn it, Mark! Open the door!" David shouted.

"John?" Mark asked quietly.

"Yes. I'm here." The bassist nodded quickly and looked at David worriedly. Pick came out of his room and saw his two friends kneeling in front of the bathroom door.

"What's wrong?" He asked tiredly.

"Shhhhh!" They both hissed and told him to be quiet. The drummer walked towards the two.

"John, I feel sick." Mark moaned in agony.

"You feel sick? Why? Do you have to throw up?" John asked worriedly. He was worried about his oldest friend. Mark groaned in agony before they heard a gagging sound.

"Answer enough, I'd say." Pick laughed. David looked at him angrily. The drummer fell silent and waited for an answer.

"Mark, what's wrong? Talk to me." John said worriedly. He had the most calming voice of the three, so he spoke.

"I...damn." Mark clutched his stomach in pain as he sat on the toilet.

"Are you having cramps or something?" David asked.

"Mhm." He said forcefully through the door.

"Can you open the door?" Pick asked.

"No." Mark gasped and closed his eyes tightly.

"Okay, don't worry. We'll wait for you in the living room, okay? When you feel a little better, just come over, alright?"

"Okay." Mark groaned quietly.

*

Half an hour later, the guitarist came into the living room. All three of his friends raised their heads at the same time and looked at him worriedly. Mark was as white as a bed sheet and clutched his stomach. He was wearing a gray oversized shirt and just a pair of burgundy boxer shorts underneath. His hair was sweaty and stuck to his forehead and neck. Sweat was running down his face.

"Hey." John said worriedly and stood up. He put an arm around the guitarist and slowly led him to the sofa. Mark was shaking like a leaf. His hands were cold as ice. "What's wrong?"

"I think...it was the cake." Mark whimpered weakly. "I...I had to throw up and had diarrhea." Mark's face turned a little red as he said that. John bit his lower lip before putting a hand on Mark's stomach. The younger one winced.

"Your stomach is bloated too."

"You're not pregnant, are you?" David teased.

"Fuck off." Mumbled Mark weakly.

"Mark, are you lactose intolerant?" John asked carefully. Mark weakly raised his head and looked at him in disbelief.

"Not that I would know ... milk has never bothered me."

"Something like that can happen suddenly." Pick explained quickly. "My sister didn't have it until she was 18 either." Mark groaned weakly and slumped tiredly against John's shoulder. The bassist immediately wrapped an arm around his friend and held him close.

"I have such a bad stomach ache." Mark whimpered and closed his eyes.

"Wait, I'll make a hot water bottle for you!" Pick called and quickly jumped up to run into the kitchen.

"Do you want to lie down?" John asked worriedly. Mark nodded tensely. David got up from the sofa and sat down on an armchair while John helped Mark to lie down. He got a blanket and covered the younger man with it. Mark looked at him with sad eyes. "Don't worry. It will be okay. You'll be fine tomorrow." Mark groaned in agony.

"I'm cold." He whispered.

"Pick will be here soon. Don't worry." And as promised, it wasn't long before the drummer came running over. He lifted Mark's shirt and put the hot water bottle on his stomach.

"I'm so sorry, Mark. If I'd known you were lactose intolerant, I wouldn't have given you a piece of the cake." Pick said worriedly.

"It's not your fault. None of us knew." John explained, putting an arm around the drummer's shoulders. David yawned loudly, catching the attention of the others.

"What?" David asked irritably. "I'm tired."

"Then go to sleep." Pick said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa. Mark turned his head to the side and looked at him weakly.

"And you?" David asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We're staying with Mark." John said firmly, also sitting down on the floor.

"You don't have to." The singer whispered.

"We know that." Pick nodded. "But we want to." Mark giggled weakly.

"Well, I'm going to sleep." Said the rhythm guitarist and headed for his room.

"John?" Asked Pick.

"Mh." Hummed the bassist as he smoothed the blanket that was over Mark's body.

"What do you think of Scrabble?" John giggled.

*

They played Scrabble for an hour. Mark just lay on the sofa and watched them, sometimes falling asleep for a few minutes and then waking up again. He tried to sit up in a panic when he woke up for the third time.

"Woah! Easy boy!" John shouted, holding Mark by the shoulders as he began to stagger. "What's wrong?"

"I have to..." Mark pressed his left hand to his mouth and choked weakly.

"Pick! Get a bucket!" Shouted the bassist.

"On my way!" Nodded the drummer. John held the guitarist upright.

"Hold on. You can let it out in a minute." John said worriedly. Pick ran around the corner so fast that his socks skidded across the polished floor and he almost threw the bucket at Mark. The drummer held the bucket under Mark's head and the guitarist vomited. John gently rubbed Mark's back. "Sh. Let it out." The guitarist groaned in agony.

"Shit, John. Isn't there anything we can do for him?" Pick asked worriedly, still holding the bucket with both hands and looking down at Mark, whose head was in the bucket.

"I'm afraid not." The bassist sighed, playing with the sweaty hair on Mark's neck. "We can give him water to drink, but that's it, I guess. He'll be in a bad shape until the milk is out of his system." Mark lifted his head out of the bucket and whimpered softly. Pick ran off with the bucket and John wiped Mark's mouth with a tissue before giving him water to drink.

"You really don't have to worry about me." Mark muttered, eyes drooping as the bassist laid him back on his back.

"We're your buddies. Of course we'll take care of you." Pick said firmly and looked down at him. The drummer gently brushed a sweaty strand of hair from Mark's forehead.

"What time is it?" Mark croaked and tried to turn his head to see the clock, but he couldn't.

"It's almost five in the morning now." John sighed and offered him something to drink again, but Mark shook his head.

"Go to sleep." The guitarist said quietly. "You don't have to stay awake because of me." He groaned quietly and pressed his hands to his stomach. John raised his head and looked at Pick, who looked quite worried.

"We're staying here." The bassist said firmly. "You're not feeling well, so we're staying here. We can sleep when you're better." Mark wanted to protest before he simply nodded and said quietly:

"Thanks, mates." Pick smiled and got another blanket to put over Mark's shaking body.

"Wait, I'll turn on the heater." Said John and ran away.

"Now close your eyes and sleep." Pick muttered, looking down at the younger man. "Sleep has always helped." Mark giggled a little before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Soon he was asleep. Pick and John sat back on the floor and started playing Monopoly.

*

When Mark woke up, it was already light outside. He yawned and sat up before raising his arms in the air and stretching. John and Pick were lying next to each other on the floor, sleeping. Mark had to smile. Two friends who had stayed with him when he had been sick. Mark was already feeling a lot better. Still a little tired, but no longer sick. The guitarist bent down and slowly picked Pick up from the floor. The drummer's head rolled against Mark's collarbone, but he didn't wake up. Mark giggled a little as he made his way to Pick's room. He kicked the door open and laid Pick on the bed before covering him and leaving the room. John had obviously woken up because he had laid down on the sofa where Mark had been sleeping and had wrapped himself in the blanket. Mark smiled down at him. It was good to have best friends.

THE END :)