(Oh no.)

- Being on the road can be hard on a person, both mentally and physically. Human beings generally aren't accustomed to the routine of being somewhere new every 24 hours, working themselves into exhaustion, then being denied rest while they begin to repeat the cycle. For the most part, you and your boys are used to it. That does not mean, however, that there aren't times when someone's immune system fails them. 

- Like now. You're awoken at the crack of dawn by the sound of coughing, interspersed with gratuitous amounts of indistinct complaining. You sigh as you rouse yourself from your bunk. Anyone getting sick on tour is more than inconvenient, but a sick Trent is by far the worst. This is not only for technical reasons, (although it's obviously a factor, considering,) but the fact that he's your boyfriend and you know him all too well. For all the stuff he can do, he simply does not handle being sick well. Not only does it worry him to death when something disrupts his well-thought out plans, but he insists on working through it, no matter how pitiful he is. You're sort of worried that he's going to end up doing some real damage to himself one day. 

- You find him, pouring himself a cup of coffee, and you can tell just by looking at him that he feels godawful. You sneak up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Not feeling well, babe?"

- "No." You cringe at the sound of his voice. Even if it's better than having his voice completely gone, a stuffed-up vocalist is not good. "I think I caught the damn flu."

- You loosen your grip around him, going in search of your bags. "Rest," you order him. "I'm gonna go get you some meds--"

- "No," he interrupts you. You all but deflate, turning around to see him holding up the coffee pot with a quite serious look on his face, bloodshot eyes and all. "Can't be tired; we've got a show tonight. I just need the coffee."

- It's all you can do not to groan in disgust. Of course he's doing this. Even when he obviously feels as if he's been hit by a truck, he's still one of the most stubborn people you've ever known. "Fine," you say. "But at least let me make you breakfast." You pause, listening to him cough again, this time with a liberal amount of cursing added in.

 "And honey," you add. "You definitely need some honey."

- After you give him the best breakfast you could possibly make on a tour bus and a spoonful of honey, you attend to the rest of the guys, explaining the situation. You're just about to lead into the fact that the show might not happen tonight when Trent stands up from his seat.

"What are you doing?" you ask. 

"Getting dressed," he replies. "We've got soundcheck."

"Trent, seriously--"

He keeps his back turned, ignoring you completely. At that point, you decide that if he insists on following through with this, you are absolutely tagging along, -- and doing your best to convince him that this is a terrible idea and he needs to rest, dammit. 

- And so you do. The thing is, you can't be a total hardass about it, because he really is looking pretty pathetic. So you baby him in between your looks of casual disdain, carrying out some soup from a local restaurant and pressing a cool hand to his feverish skin. Once he's finished with lunch, he groans. "Jesus," he says, looking up at you with tired green eyes. "I am going to sound awful tonight."

- "That's not true," you reply gently, hand resting against his cheek. "Because you aren't going to be playing tonight."

- He sighs. "Seriously, babe," he whines. "I really, really don't want to cancel the show. I'm not gonna do it." He's getting really worked up at this point, kicking into high gear workoholic mode. "Everyone will be disappointed and people will have wasted their money and I'll feel bad about it."

- "Trent. Honey." 

You place your hand on his arm in hopes of calming him down, only to have him look at you with those eyes again. And dammit, you're a goner.

You sigh, shaking your head. "I'm not gonna be able to stop you, am I?"

He grins then, despite himself. "Probably not."

- And so here you are, backstage, waiting for the band to go on. You're still worried to death, of course, and it shows. 

"Don't hurt yourself. Or scream too much, -- Robin can help you with that. And please, for the love of God, Reznor, don't spit on anyone or anything. As much as I'm sure that some groupies would love to catch your germs--" 

Danny laughs at you as he walks past. "Is Mommy taking good care of you, Trent?"

You shoot him a dirty look. "Shut up, Lohner," you say. Then you lean in and kiss your boyfriend, germs be damned. 

"Feel better," you say. "Now go knock 'em dead."

- He does, -- or at least, you think so. You make sure to tell him so when he comes backstage, looking a bit paler than he should. You don't offer to let him hang around, lightly tugging at his arm. "Come on," you say. "Let's hit the road. It's a hotel night, remember?"

He nods, leaning against you as you lead him towards the parking lot. 

- You drive the two of you back, listening to Trent continuing to talk nervously the entire drive over. "You swear I wasn't horrible?" he asks, voice even more hoarse now than it was before. "I know I sounded bad. I probably failed all those people--"

"Nothing about you is a failure." You reach out and grab his hand without even looking. "You were still great, babe. You might not have been able to do as much as you usually would, but it was a wonderful show. Besides, you have one hell of a band to make up for everything."

"The guys did a good job, didn't they?" he asks. "They were great. I love them."

You smile at him in his groggy state, making a note to tell Chris, Robin, and Danny exactly what he said in the morning.

-  When you get to the hotel, you lead him straight to the bathroom. "Get a good shower, okay?" you ask. "I'll be right here waiting for you." He nods, obliging without protest. 

While he bathes, you make something resembling tea in the hotel's instant coffee maker, (more like warm water run over the bags of chamomile you keep in your bag, but, hey, it works.) You add sugar and a good helping of honey, because you know that his throat must feel even worse after that. When he comes out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet, you hand him the cup and a few flu capsules before patting the spot next to you on the bed.

"Come here," you instruct him. 

He looks at you, all wide-eyed and precious. "Are you sure--"

"Just as long as you don't puke on me, I am," you interrupt him. "Now let me take care of you."

- He curls up against your side, and, after he's finished with his medicine and tea, he leans into you, head resting on your chest. He sighs contentedly as you stroke his head, trying to finally bring him closer to rest. "We have an off day tomorrow," you tell him. "We'll stay here and you'll rest, and I'll be taking care of you. I'll have you healed up before the next show as long as you relax a bit, got that?"

He nods, eyes heavy. Before he can let himself fall asleep, though, he asks you a question. "What would I do without you?"

"You wouldn't be as well taken care of, I can tell you that." You smile. "All the more reason to keep me around, huh?"

He smiles right back at you. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

(A/N I wanna take care of him.)