{Jon}

When they got back to Kurt's car from St. Aidan's Queer Choir practice, it was clear that an afternoon with an audience had poured Kurt full of energy--he was bubbling over with plans.

"It's just three," Kurt said. "There's time for a couple hours of Christmas shopping. I'm thinking we hit the mall--it's a one-stop-shop for every family member on our list."

Jon rubbed his aching forehead; his face felt like it was packed full of drywall dust and his throat ached from singing. "The mall?" he asked plaintively. "Are you serious? What happened to naps? I'm so--peopled out right now. Can't we shop tomorrow?"

Kurt's eyes were big and pleading. "I'm working tomorrow, White. We're going balls-to-the-wall 'til the twenty-fourth to get our jobs done and get paid. When you said no more hiding I got so excited about shopping with you today."

His partner's longing was palpable and Jon pulled up on the back of his neck, breathing in to dig deep and do this for Kurt. "Okay love. But coffee first."

Kurt beamed, touching the mirror ball hanging from the mirror to make it swing and scatter sun beads over the two of them. "Now we really can go to that roastery you love!"

Jon smiled, touching Kurt's leg beside him. "Now we really can," he agreed.

It was such a small deal, just a couple minutes standing together in an urban-chic coffee shop in broad daylight, while the espresso machine hissed and growled over the froth for Kurt's caramel macchiato. One or two people glanced their way as Kurt gestured, telling a story, and Jon felt zero anxiety. In fact, he felt the opposite. Knowing people were looking and seeing him with Kurt made him feel warm with pride.

Of course, he'd over-thought it a little getting out of the car, calculating the distance between this street corner and his former workplace. The work commute to the North side of Edmonton had been a source of annoyance for years--now Jon was grateful his work house was a nearly fifty minute drive from anyplace he wanted to be about town, shopping or dining with Kurt.

At a little table, Kurt pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket while Jon slupped back a third of his Americano with cream.

"Okay so I've made a list," Kurt said.

"A list of what?" Jon asked blankly.

"Gift ideas of course," Kurt said, his eyes laughing at him. "There's a couple options for everyone except your dad--I know exactly what we're getting Pete for Christmas."

Jon scanned Kurt's sloping, hasty writing. "Any of this would be exponentially better than the gift cards I usually get."

"You don't have a preference?" Kurt asked, worried. "They're your family."

With half his Americano inside him, Jon felt up to this. He couldn't keep a smile off his face. "They're your family now too."

"Well you know them best," Kurt said.

"Uh--these are pretty amazing, Kurt. You are clearly way more creative than I am."

Kurt grinned, wiggling a little with glee. "I've been thinking about this shopping trip all week. I haven't had a family Christmas in three years and I'm the fucking Ghost of Christmas Presents with a corn-o-copia overflowin' with ideas."

Jon laughed at the mental image of Kurt appearing in Ebenezer Scrooge's bare apartment, bounteous with presents, but underneath his heart hurt thinking of his affectionate partner alone or drinking with Nicky for the past three Decembers.

Jon snapped the lid on the remainder of his drink. "Well let's not waste time sitting around. These are 'to-go' cups--let's go!"

{Kurt}

Kurt was pretty sure Jon was the kind of man who swept through a store, snatched up the first thing that resembled what he thought he needed and got the hell out. Kurt figured this first foray to the mall together needed to be a 'training wheels on' kind of experience for his partner. He had three stores he wanted to check out--just three--and he listed them off in order of proximity while Jon listened patiently.

"I'm just here to pull out my wallet and pay," Jon said, when Kurt was done.

Kurt had been scanning the jewellery display as they passed a store not on his list, but his head jerked around at this. "I'm paying," Kurt said. "You're unemployed."

Jon made an annoyed 'tsk' with his tongue. "I'm not unemployed yet. It's my family--I'm paying."

Kurt stuck out his chin. "Nope. It's my family and my money and I want to spend it on presents."

They had arrived at their first destination, a boutique full of exotic, imported housewares: mahogany framed mirrors and embroidered throw pillows and brass-fitted chests for silverware sets. Jon paused just outside the entrance, tipping his head at Kurt, his eyes narrowed in a smile. "I guess we're going to have to talk about money," he said.

Kurt chuckled. "I guess we are."

"Love, I want to pay because otherwise I'm going to feel like I didn't do anything for my family for Christmas," Jon said. "You did all the work of choosing these beautiful gifts, and I want to help. I'm not--creative like you. My gift wrapping skills are atrocious. But I'm frugal as a church mouse and I have no shortage to make our bills even if I'm unemployed a month or two. I can show you my savings account to prove it."

"Hm." Kurt leaned over to put a quick kiss Jon's earnest face. "You're so sexy and responsible. I was just planning to blow my whole paycheck on Christmas and skip take-out for the next month."

Jon laughed. "Not necessary."

Kurt gave it a moment's thought. "Well, I'm still buying the chi chi frou frou bows and wrapping paper."

Jon nudged his arm against his. "Sure. Deal." He put his wallet into Kurt's hand. "Have fun."

A giddy jolt hit Kurt's chest looking at the simple leather billfold. "You serious? Don't you want to ask me how much I'm planning on spending?"

Jon glanced up reflectively. "Um, the blue card in there has a grand on it. Is that close to what you were thinking?"

It was eerie how Jon had nailed the amount left in Kurt's spending account. "Yup." He held up a finger. "Including the dog-o for Care Bear. I've been doing some poking around." Grinning, Kurt pocketed Jon's wallet, waving his hand at the store. "Let's find something beautiful for our mom."

*

Forty minutes and two stops into their shopping trip, Kurt had told Jon all his stories about local animal shelters and dog breeders and his partner was visibly wilting. Changing gears, Kurt made a deal with Jon, that he could wait in a Lay-Z-Boy easy chair in a department store and Kurt would bring him the packages he bought.

Forty minutes after that, Kurt came back to the Lay-Z-Boy laden with the last of their gifts, to find Jon tipped back in the chair, fast asleep with his arms wrapped protectively around a pile of boutique bags in his lap, his tuque down over his eyes.

"Uh oh," Kurt giggled softly. "Kurt's been having too much fun." He gave Jon's boot a little shake, where it was propped up on the recliner footstool. "Jon darlin', we're all done."

Jon shoved his tuque back and blinked blearily at him.

"Sorry love," Kurt said. "I got carried away at the perfume counter. Let's move this nap to your bed."

Jon carefully hooked his fingers around all the handles of all the bags before getting to his feet. "Did we get everything?" His voice was scratchy with sleep.

Kurt gave a little skip, swinging the last bags in his hands. "Yup. Let the wrapping begin!"

Jon laughed softly. "You are amazing Kurt. I can't wait to see it all." He hid a cough in the corner of his arm. "After--bed."

*

Unpacking all their bags beside the Christmas tree, Kurt was not sleepy at all. Jon wearily climbed the stairs while Kurt put on Christmas music and rustled around in the fridge for a supper plan. He was rapidly side-tracked by a craving for shortbread and fell down a baking blog rabbit-hole before pulling out the gluten free flour mix flour and sugar and butter to whip up a couple dozen for their house and the White household this week.

When Cary padded into the kitchen, sniffing at the sugary smell and peering about for something edible, the sun was long past down. "Cookies for supper?" he guessed.

"Uh-huh." Kurt laughed. "Uh--there's carrot sticks and deli meat in the fridge if you want all the food groups. Can you watch these cookies while I go wake Jon up?" He waved at the last dozen getting puffy and golden in the oven.

"Like a hungry bear," Cary said, pulling up a chair.

Kurt heard the sound of coughing before he got to the top of the stairs. In their room, Jon was curled under a pile of extra blankets, and a small mountain of used tissues was piled on the floor beside him. "Oh, Jon," Kurt said softly, leaning over to check on him. "You okay?"

"I'm alive," Jon croaked without opening his eyes. He was flushed and shivering. "I just feel like shit."

Kurt laid his hands beside Jon's neck--he was hot as a baked potato fresh out of the oven and his throat was swollen and lumpy. "What's your symptoms?"

"Sore throat. Shivers. Coughing. Headache," Jon listed miserably.

Kurt stroked the back of his hand over Jon's flushed cheek. "I'll get you something to feel better; just hang tight."

"I'm just planning to lie here," Jon said and started coughing again.

The medicine cabinet in the bathroom was oddly bare of actual medicine--apart from the Tylenol leftover from his concussion, there was no Advil Cold & Flu or cough syrup.

"Jon's down," Kurt remarked in the kitchen, as he unlocked the med box on top of the fridge with the key he now had.

"Migraine?" Cary asked.

Kurt shook his head. "Cold and flu probably."

"Typical," Cary said with some sympathy. "First thing he does when he's finally on holidays is crash."

Kurt frowned into the med box. He was hardly going to give Jon a joint to smoke for his sore throat and fever. "I'm gonna run to the pharmacy for some cold meds," Kurt said. He grabbed a pair of cookies on his way out.

Scanning the shelves of the 24-hour Pharmacy on the corner of their neighbourhood, Kurt stocked up on everything his mom used to keep in the house, including that sticky Vicks rub that was a great example of a cold remedy that smelled awful and worked like a miracle. He was home in under thirty minutes, bounding up the stairs with his purchases.

Jon pushed up on one elbow, squinting suspiciously at the pills in Kurt's hand. "What are you giving me?"

"Advil Cold Night TM." Kurt waved the box at him.

Jon snorted, pushing the pills away, and drinking down the water instead. "Keep them for yourself. Those won't touch me," he said hoarsely.

Kurt blinked at the pills in his hand. Right. His housemates had such a high tolerance for painkillers these over-the-counter meds didn't work on them anymore--and that's why there were none in the medicine cabinet. "Huh. Sorry love."

"My own fucking fault," Jon said, burying his face in his arm and starting to cough again.

Kurt had to go looking for his glasses to read the label on the cough syrup. Satisfied that it would do Jon some good, he perched on the edge of Jon's bed with a bottle of the sticky stuff and the measuring spoon. "I think this'll work, though. It's got a cough suppressant." Before he could pour out the dose, Jon had the bottle out of his hand and took a big slug, making a face.

"Darlin' you're supposed to measure it," Kurt said, exasperated. "Who's been looking after you all this time?"

Burying his face in his pillow again, Jon cracked one eye open to look balefully at him. "Me."

"Okay, well you need to give yourself a little talking to," Kurt scolded. "I'm coming back in six hours and measuring this with this plastic spoon thing-y like you're supposed to."

Jon's eye closed and his chapped lips curved in a small smile. "Okay Mom," he said under his breath.

"That's Mister Mom to you," Kurt said, stroking a hand over Jon's sweaty, rumpled hair. "Imma put this Vicks stuff on you and then you need to sleep, so don't get any ideas." He scooped a glob of the menthol-smelling paste onto his fingers, and rubbed it between Jon's shoulders under the blankets, and then rolled him onto his back to rub it into his chest.

"Oh wow that smell brings back memories of my childhood," Jon said, making a face even as he lifted his chin to let Kurt stroke it up onto his neck.

"It's not just for children," Kurt said. Nicky had been down with a series of colds every winter; working for the public transit system he'd been exposed to every new bug. Kurt figured he was pretty much an expert bedside caregiver by now. "It's for sicky gays as well."

"You should sleep in your bed tonight," Jon said, shivering as he pulled the blankets back around himself. "So you don't catch this."

Kurt laughed. "I'm pretty sure I already have your germs all over me, darlin'. If I'm going to catch it, it's too late."

"I don't wanna keep you up coughing all night," Jon said, hoarse and muffled.

Kurt shrugged and made no promises. He was willing to tolerate a lot of sleep disruption for the comfort of having Jon next to him in bed.

{Jon}

Something woke Jon abruptly in the middle of the night, like the drop in pressure before an oncoming storm. He had a swift realization that he should have anticipated that the swelling of a sinus cold would trigger a migraine and drugged up before he went to sleep. He hated the heavy stupidity that came with the migraine pills, so different from the pleasurable high of opiate based painkillers, and avoided them whenever possible.

Whimpering, Jon opened his hands and tried to push open the pressure building around his skull with full lungfuls of air. It was far too late for that-- his head was in a vise with a slowly turning screw and if he moved the room would also bend and spin around him and he would need to throw up. He could lie here and suffer, or he could interrupt Kurt's sleep to get help.

Beside him, Kurt's breathing was deep and peaceful; he had to work in the morning and Jon hated to disturb him for this. Rational thought was shrinking under the slow crush of pain. Kurt would be mad. Kurt would be hurt that Jon was hurt and hadn't trusted him to tell him. Jon slid his hand across the warm space between their bodies and touched Kurt's smooth back.

"Kurt?" The word was small and squeezed and Kurt didn't move. Jon's whole body was curling around the pain in his skull and his fist closed, pushing into Kurt. "Love. Please."

Kurt twitched and mumbled something. Desperate, Jon hooked his arm around Kurt's shoulder and dragged him onto his back, putting his throbbing face into Kurt's chest and slinging an arm across his body to pin him, like Kurt might forget he was there.

Kurt took a big waking breath and his arms closed around Jon's shoulders. "Jonny-Jon--what--"

Jon's head felt like a thousand pounds of dynamite wired to explode. He burrowed his skull into Kurt's nightshirt, the smell of him a momentary comfort. "Head. Hurting. Need you." His voice was hoarse.

"Let me up darlin'," Kurt said, stroking Jon's neck. "I got you."

Jon let him go, creeping back to put his head on his pillow.

Kurt rocked the whole bed getting up, and a horrible feeling rolled over Jon, like he was going to throw up or be crushed under the tread of a massive earth-moving machine. He made an unrecognizable noise, knotting his arms over his head to try to contain the explosion of pain in his skull. His consciousness narrowed to one thought--breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Good breaths. Full breaths. Expand his whole body with oxygen breaths.

Kurt's fingers fumbled over his face in the dark, and Jon made the tight screw of his neck turn towards him, opening his mouth. Kurt's fingers gently put a pair of pills on his tongue and his arm lifted Jon's head as he put a glass against his lips. Jon sucked it all inside him even though his stomach sloshed with nausea.

"Don't move the bed," Jon croaked. His head was blown glass and any jostle would shatter it. "Please. Thank you." He had a whisper of a voice left; the only part of him he felt safe to move was his mouth, wet with water. "Sorry."

The bed did not move. Jon breathed until the blessed mind-wipe of the meds made it all go away.

{Kurt}

Kurt felt Jon go gradually limp in his arms, his own pattering heart slowing to a normal rate, and his eyes dropping, grainy with sleep. Very gently, Kurt finally permitted himself to move, easing Jon's head off his arm onto the pillow. He put his hand on Jon's head, still unnaturally hot, his hair damp with sweat under Kurt's palm, and he thought of Jon's words the night before. I wish I had healing hands.

Kurt sighed, backing out of their bed and rolling his shoulder, stiff from the weight of Jon lying on it the last forty minutes. If not healing hands, then he wished for some deep well of persevering strength to carry Jon through to the other side. He set a timer on his phone and made his bed on the floor next to Jon. It seemed highly unlikely that his partner would step on him anytime soon.

The difficulty was that his alarm to get up for work sounded hours before he could give Jon his next dose. Slapping the chiming phone silent, Kurt rolled to his knees with a groan. Thank God he was sober. Drinking Kurt felt invincible, but had a fraction of the energy in his body that sober Kurt was going to need today.

Mornings were still dark. Kurt flicked on his nightlight to check on Jon by the faint rainbow glow. Jon was passed out with his face buried in the corner of his arm. His skin was flushed and Kurt couldn't tell if it was normal warm or fever-warm; his breathing was laboured and he coughed under his breath in his sleep.

Worried, Kurt paced down the stairs where he could hear Douglas rustling up the coffee. The other man's dark eyebrows lifted, seeing Kurt arrive in bare legs and his Pusheen cat nightshirt, clearly not ready to work.

"Migraine hit in the night," Kurt said. "Can I beg off work today?"

Cary made a face. "Aw shit. We have to get that drywall hung. I can mud it alone but I can't hang it alone."

Kurt swung a look between him and the stairs.

Cary sighed. "Visser, he's a grown man. Leave two pills and water beside him and he'll take them himself. He's done it before. It won't kill him."

That squeezed a small, hurt sound out of Kurt. He wasn't sure actually if Cary knew how shit Jon was at looking after himself on his own.

Miserable, Kurt did as he was told, laying out out two pills and a fresh glass of water beside Jon's unconscious form and going to his own room to pull on paint-spattered work clothes. They were going to a job forty minutes away. Jon couldn't see straight when he had a migraine. Could he even use a phone to call if he was in trouble?

And then an idea occurred to Kurt--a brilliant idea before he'd even had his coffee. God he loved sober Kurt. He quickly pulled out his own phone and scrolled through his contacts, stabbing 'dial.'

Mel's gentle voice said, "Hello Kurt. What a nice surprise."

"Hey Mom? Do you have work today?" Kurt asked, shoving his hand through his hair. "I need some help with Jon."

It did not for a second occur to him that Jon would have a problem with this plan.

*I fell down a little Pusheen rabbit hole while writing this chapter. Pusheen cat was my daughter's favourite thing a year ago and I still love that fat grey cartoon. In case you are wondering, Kurt is a Pusheenicorn...

...and Jon is a Dragonsheen. The quiz to find out what kind of Pusheen YOU are is in the comments!

It's garden season here and I had a busy planting week, so just this one chunky chapter for you until next week. Thanks for the reads and votes lovelies!*

3464 words.