sarah paulson one shots

you don't have to hide from me - billie dean howard

request from tumblr: A sickfic with billie or mina where the reader knows that they are sick and tries to take care of them but they try to hide their sickness. Like some comfort/fluff of that is possible. <3

warnings: just being sick??

word count: 1058

.   .   .

The light of Sunday morning filtered the room, the night not leaving behind any darkened areas. The sunlight was bright, but you were frigid. The crisp October air had snuck its way into the house before you considered turning the heater on.

But clearly Billie didn't mind. Not this morning. She wasn't awake, but her intense body heat was the only thing keeping you from getting frostbite. She should be cold too.

Billie always complained that she was cold. It didn't matter if it was the middle of July, or the end of August. That woman seemed to always be shivering.

You cuddle closer into her sleeping form. Her body was damp, sticky, pale. You pulled away, and sat up in the bed. The medium managed to never look haggard, and you think she would keep that up even if she were to be on her death bed.

The person who you looked down onto did not look like Billie. Not one bit. Her face was concerningly pale, and covered in a layer of sweat. Her cheeks and chest were red, a deep tomato shade of red.

You shook her shoulders once, a faint, "Billie" from your lips. She was a light sleeper, and woke with just that. However, it took much strength for her to open her eyes. The sunlight that the thin curtains couldn't barricade was already hurting her head.

"Billie dean, are you alright, love?" You wiped away the hair that stuck to her face. She groaned and grunted, but soon leaned into the coolness of your palm.

She didn't response. You answered for her. "It's seems like you've come down with a fever."

"I'm fine." Her gravely voice betrayed her. Water. She needed water. Someone must've scraped her throat with sandpaper while she slept, she supposed.

"You don't seem too fine. Does your head hurt? What hurts?" You pried. Her eyes; they would've rolled to the back of her head if they weren't already hurting her.

"I am fine. If I wasn't, you would know."

"Exactly. I do know. It's below zero and you look like you've just worked out in a desert. Like you haven't slept for days either."

"Thank you, baby. You look wonderful yourself."

You scoffed at her antics and got up anyways. She didn't put it past you that you were trying to get her some medicine. You didn't put it past her that she would force you to shove the pills down her throat before she willingly took them.

But she did not expect for you to come back with every hospital tool there was. Not exactly. Just a cool rag, some medicine, and a thermometer. But Billie never took enough care of herself when she was sick to recognize that you weren't being unnecessary.

"I'm not sick," she voiced, weak, fragile, while you got back onto the bed. Her eyes were closed again, slightly. Staring at you through a small slit in her eyes.

"I never said that you were sick, so that leads me to believe that you are." You set the cold, wet rag on her forehead. She didn't fight it. It felt too relieving to push away. "And you're being so stubborn about this. Why don't you just admit that you're sick?"

She didn't answer you until her pills were swallowed. She strained to answer. The pills already made her feel like she was swallowing tiny knives. "Because, baby, i'm not. I have to- oh the dinner tonight. Remember? With the crew of my show."

"Your plans tonight are relaxing, so scratch that dinner. I'm not letting you go when you're sick as a dog. They can reschedule." You stuck the thermometer in her mouth, her brows displaying that she was evidently angry. "Over one hundred. Jesus, Billie. I don't mean to be controlling, but I care about you. You're sick as a dog."

"I'm not sick, though. Just hot." She winked. You certainly weren't having it. On other occasions, yes. But not right now.

"Billie—"

"Can I have some water?"

"Of course, sickie."

You could feel her eyes burning your back when you got up. She would rather take care of you. But you weren't the sick one. Maybe after she was cleared up, you would catch whatever she had. Then you would be sure to give her a hard time too.

You came back with some cold water only minutes later. You would've thought she was dead, being so unresponsive to your presence. However, she quickly gulped down the entirety of the water once it was in her hands.

"Just tell me how you feel. I know you're sick so there's not point in denying it."

"My head is pounding, my whole body hurts, i'm hot and cold. Nose is stuffed up. But don't worry about me, darling. You're such a worrier."

She buried her head deeper into the white pillow. She couldn't smell her own perfume against it, or yours from laying on billie throughout the night. She couldn't smell anything, she couldn't even breathe.

"Nonsense, i'm going to worry about you until you're better. How about breakfast?" You didn't think she was listening. Maybe she was sleeping. All you heard was muffled mumbles in the pillow.

"I really don't think I can stomach food right now." She turned her head back to you. For a moment, she looked so small. Her nose red, and brown eyes big and tired. "I just want to lay here with you."

"Promise you'll eat lunch?"

You waited for her to respond, and then you laid and gather her weak body into your arms once she nodded. "You know, you're going to have to take care of me when you give me whatever you have."

"I know" she muttered into your shirt, half asleep but still aware.

"And i'm going to put up a fuss like you did."

"I know." She breathed. "But you're lucky I love you because I don't take that bullshit from anyone."

You airily laughed at her, fingertips finding her damp locks again. "And I love you, my sickie."