Non linear oneshots of Schlackity

Lovesick

Almost inhuman coughs erupt from beside Quackity, and he nearly slaps Schlatt in surprise. Sitting upright in startled shock, he watches as his newly wedded husband's face scrunches up with illness, and his limbs lazily move to turn away so his throat can erupt with ghastly noises.

With certain hesitation, Q places the back of his hand on the ram's forehead and frowns when sweaty heat presses back. A rumble tries to be a coherent thought, but however it causes the duck's frown to grow.

"You're boiling." He states, almost to himself as Schlatt is clearly aware. "Stay here, I'll get you some water." He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and leaves for the kitchen.

'There's no way he can actually function in that state," he pours a tall glass of water, before looking through cupboards for some painkillers. They're new to this whole husband thing, and most of the time they exaggerate their relationship for their country.

It strains them.

Quackity rarely ever catches Schlatt outside of a work environments, and vice versa. And now, they're forced together until Schlatt gets better. Alex knows this because the president dislikes having other people in their house, and will protest to having doctor Ponk come check him out.

Annoyed with this knowledge, the Vice President walks back into their master bedroom with a pill bottle and the glass of water.

"Sit up, you should take some medication. Come-" he sighs as the ram hybird's arms shake with weak effort to bring himself up. The Mexican rolls his eyes, placing down the two objects occupying his hands, before helping the weakened American to sit up.

Wordlessly, he hands him a pill and the water, watching as he lazily drank it down, features scrunching up in disgust at the feeling of the gentle water flowing down his agitated and inflamed throat. He smacks his lips to hopefully distract himself from that horrid feeling, maroon and glazed with tiredness eyes drag themselves up to look at the shorter man.

Quackity tenses up, even in this vulnerable state, Schlatt never ceases to exude power. Control. He looks so out of it. "What?" He asks, watching as the questions processes behind those tired eyes.

"Don't call the doctor." He croaks out, bursting into a coughing fit straight afterwards, covering his mouth with his elbow so he can save Q from his sickness. A lot of good that will do him. Quackity rolls his eyes in exasperation, "yes yes I know, weirdo," he mumbles the last word out in irritation.

Schlatt catches the tone. "What?" It's more of a command, and Alex wishes he would switch his attitude towards him sometimes. "I don't want to have to take care of you all day, idiot. It's not my fault you're sick, but I still have to pay for it," he doesn't mean to sound so pissed off, but he isn't bothered to change his tone.

The words slowly go through Schlatt's ears, and they pin back in offence once he comprehends. He doesn't retort, but the pointed glare he shoots at the other speaks enough. Silently, he turns to his side, facing away from his partner. Quackity scoffs at the childish behaviour and gets up from the bed, "go to sleep," he says before leaving the room.

Schlatt sighs when the door clicks shut. He has wanted them to get closer since the start of their partnership, but there just never was enough time. And now they're meant to be mad at each other. He is angry that Quackity feels like taking care of him whilst sick is a chore, but he can't help the sadness that overwhelms that. The bed is too cold. He's too hot.

Wrapping his arms around a pillow, he squeezes it in hopes he can trick himself. Maybe.

Alex gets fresh clothes from the laundry to change into and he prepares himself breakfast. On second thought, Schlatt should also eat. "He can wait," he convinces himself after staring at the second piece of toast. Eating quietly, the house stands in its usual silence. He loathes it, but it can't be changed. Schlatt is too stubborn to get along with behind closed doors, and Quackity has a habit of speaking his mind then thinking later.

Oh well.

Quackity dresses up for the outside, and leaves to buy some chicken broth ingredients since there was nothing at the house. Schlatt should be asleep so there was no point in letting him know he's leaving.

And there is no point in going out alone without a friend, so Alex is on the phone with Karl, complaining about his woes. "Urgh hes so fucking stubborn sometimes, like, what's the problem with having a doctor over? None! Oh ho ho ho but if you even DARE to disagree he's going to have a screaming match with you, like a big fucking baby. Jesus, he can be so annoying." The ravenette throws some produce into his carrier bag in a fit of rage, pressing his phone to his ear.

Karl's nervous voice electronically picks up volume. "You really need to talk to him about it.." he trails off, fearing the worst. "Oh of course I have to talk about it!! Because he's too much of a baby to swallow his pride and agree that he's in the wrong! He doesn't even apologise after he's wrong he just fucking shrugs and UGH I actually hate him. I hope he dies to this sickness." Alex furiously walks to a cash register and begins waiting for his things with the money at hand. Karl murmurs a quiet "right" and the walk home is essentially indifferent.

Schlatt probably shouldn't have gone out of bed. He knows that, but his stomach was growling without any signs of stopping and no matter how loud he'd try he couldn't get Quackity's attention. Yet walking- well, wobbling around the house presents the cold truth; Alex left. Schlatt would scoff, would roll his eyes, would do anything but want to crumble. Of course he left, but.. why would he leave? Is he hoping he'll die? Seems likely. Jonathon isn't much of a cook but eating cold toast just doesn't seem all that appealing to his destroyed appetite. So he's trying to make himself something.

Whether it's the pounding headache, or the blurry vision, or even the weak limbs it's unknown to the ram, however the one thing he does know is that he burned his breakfast. Terribly. So he eats his even colder toast in disdain as he tries not to think about the emptiness of their house. Of his heart. He chokes a little on his last bite of the toast, and drags himself back to bed.

His muscles shudder with cold and he is too weak to pull the blanket fully over himself. He groans when his head spins from the effort, why is Alex still gone? Has he left him? Schlatt can barely hear himself incoherently mumbling as he complains about the cold and the loneliness. He's so tired, but he keeps coughing every time he closes his eyes and tries to relax. He can barely breathe if he thinks about it. Weakly curling in on himself, Schlatt keeps coughing up his soul and shuddering from the biting cold of the room. Of their house. Of his heart.

Quackity opens the door and shuts it as quietly as he can; he has a heart still. Walking into the kitchen, he doesn't fail to notice the dirty plate and burned food in the bin. "Huh," he breathes out as he puts down his grocery bag. His umber eyes scan the surroundings, and his scowl worsens at the broken silence which is shattered by distant but violent coughing. 'Why is he still awake?' He thinks annoyed as he draws nearer to the bedroom. Their bedroom. Urgh, what an insult. Alex turns the doorknob carefully and pokes his head in. Just as he expected, Schlatt is sickly laying there dead whilst heaving laboured breaths. Shaking as well, to add insult to injury.

"I told you to rest. Why- ugh you're so difficult," he rolls his eyes as he walks over and pulls the covers over the trembling ram. Jon doesn't rebuke, he simply sniffles and his eyelashes flutter at the new warmth. "Schlatt." The animalistic ears pin back at the harsh tone and the sick man goes to turn his back on his frustrated husband. If he can even call him that at this point.

"You left.." he muttered out, refusing to meet his eyes. Quackity raises his eyebrow, growing more and more frustrated with the idiotic president's excuse. "Yeah, I left to get you soup, you melodramatic ass." He snaps back, glaring into the sizzling gaze of his partner. "Oh." Schlatt sheepishly meets the duck's flaming gaze, shrinking under it. "I didn't know." He mutters out again, slowly and over cautious, pissing the ravenette with each passing second. "You're impossible to live with sometimes," Alex huffs out annoyed as he goes to leave the room, again.

Schlatt bites his quivering lip and turns to ignore his dejection and vulnerability. "I'm going to make you your fucking soup. Rest, you insomniac." One last bite of venom and the Mexican Vice President closes the door to groan vexed and go to cook.