The Vault

I've Watched You Suffer - Keith Richards Fanfic

December 8, 1969

I sniffled, running through yet another box of tissues. This bloody cold's been working on me for nearly two weeks now, and I only felt worse and worse every day. It didn't help at all that Keith's been on tour for the two months or so, and hasn't thought to call in almost three weeks. 

Curling up in bed, I wiped my runny nose with a clean tissue before I began pouring through the pages of my book. Really, reading was my own form of comfort with Keith being here. I continued devouring the contents of Les Miserasbles, sniffling and sneezing as Eponine climbes the bariccades and decides to take a bullet for her love, Marius. Eventually, the reading was such a strain on my eyes that my head began to throb.

"As if I wasn't sick enough…" I grumbled. 

Sliding out of bed, I went to the bathroom to freshen up before I fell asleep for the night. Looking in the mirror actually terrified me; I looked like a bloody ghost. My mousey brown hair was tangled in a big knot, as it was tied up in a messy bun attop my head. My hazel eyes seemed to sink into my head as purple bags hung low under them, showing my exhaustion. My nose became puffy and red from sniffling, and my eyes puffy and red from tearing up. Groaning, I brushed my teeth before running a rag under some cold water. 

Climbing back into bed, I placed the rag on my forehead in an attempt to calm my pounding headache. After about twenty minutes or so, I could feel myself drifting into a deep, inevitable sleep. 


Waking up in the morning, I didn't feel much better… In fact, I felt like my entire body has been hit by a train. Groaning, I took the now dried rag off my head and opened my eyes to the harsh morning light filtering in through the slit in the window curtains. I felt a depression in the bed by my legs - looking up, I found Keith smiling down at me happily, holding a tray with a cup of soup and a mug of hot tea. 

"Hello, darling." He smiled softly, trying not to disturb me too much. 

I looked around me to find that my copy of Les Mis has been moved, and all the tissues that were scattered around the bed had been cleaned up. Realizing this, I knew this wasn't my imagination, but instead, a reality. Keith was finally home!

"Keef! Baby, I missed you!" I giggled before coughing up a lung.
My head hurt so badly that I winced and sat back into the pillows as Keith set the tray of soup down before climbing under the sheets with me and pulling me into his arms. He brought the soup and the tea up towards us and began to feed me as if I was an errant child. 

Now, Keith wasn't a phenomenal cook, but his food also wasn't entirely unbearable. Really, it's the thought that counts, which is why I choked down the chicken noodle soup he'd made with a grateful smile. 

"Thank you," I sighed softly as he finished feeding me and kissed my cheek. 

"You look so sick, Angie." He put the back of his hand on my forehead, gaguing my temperature. "You're still gorgeous as ever, but Jesus you look sick."

"I feel it." I groaned, cuddling closer to him. "I should be fine though."

"How long have you been sick for?" He asked, concern extremely noted in his voice. 

"Only a week or so…" I tried playing it down like it was nothing, though his eyes still seemed to bug out of his head. "Really, I'll be fine."

"No, Angela… You need to see a doctor!" He protested. "You could be seriously ill."

"No Keith, baby, I promise I'll be fine." I smiled, resting a hand on his cheek. "But if you'd like, maybe you could be my doctor?"

"Darling, I'd love to." He grinned, lifting up the mug of tea and handing it to me. "Now come on then, drink up."

I did as was told and lifted the mug to my lips, letting the warm, sweet liquid flow down my throat. Keith somehow remembered the way I took my tea - warm with just a tad bit of milk and honey. It made me smile knowing he always made it so perfectly. After he made sure I finished the entire mug, he went to put the empty soup bowl and mug back into the kitchen, returning minutes later with an acoustic guitar. 

He climbed back into bed with me and began to pluck at the strings while we spoke endlessly about the tour. Just talking to Keith made me feel better already, plus, listening to his phenomenal playing helped tremendously. 

He'd noticed me eyeing his guitar up and down, giggling softly as he beckoned me closer to. I rose an eyebrow and questioned him when he instructed me to sit in front of him. 
"I'm going ot teach you how to play," He smiled, pulling me onto his lap as he placed the guitar in my arms. "It always helps me get better when I'm feeling quite crummy."

"Baby, you're so cute." I giggled, watching as he guided my fingers onto each specific string, plucking away and creating a soft tune which was one I'd never head before… Surely it was something he was working on for the new album. 

Every once in a while, he'd place little kisses on my neck, making me blush as I continued strumming along with his hands guiding me. After a little while, he'd completely left me to my own devices, as his hands roamed up and down my back, massaging my tense muscles softly. 

I moaned a little and rolled my head back so his lips had full access to the tender flesh of my neck.
"Feeling better, are you?" He chuckled softly as I stopped playing. 

"Yes, much." I put the guitar down and turned in his arms, kissing his cheek softly. "You're an amazing doctor."

"Well, I do try my hardest." He smirked, pulling me tighter to him. His lips lingered over mine for a moment before he sighed. "Oh Angie, I've missed you, baby."

"I missed you too, Keef. I missed you so much." I sighed, pressing my lips eagerly against his.