all things must pass » the beatles, queen and the backstreet boys

14- John Deacon

"I already told you, darling, I'm quite alright. You're worrying over noth---"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence when a mighty sneeze shook his frame, causing me to arch my eyebrow challengingly, as though daring him to argue any further.

Sheepishly, it seemed, he refused to meet my eyes and instead curled up further into a ball, slamming his pillow down on his head.

"Alright my ass," I scoffed, "You're as sick as sick can be, John. Not sure if that qualifies as a reason to stay at home in your book, but it does in mine."

He threw off the pillow and opened his mouth, most definitely intending to protest, only to sneeze once more, as I rolled my eyes at his stubborness that really wasn't necessary.

"We've got an album to record though," he groaned, delicately covering his eyes with his hands as he attempted to block out the light, "We can't afford any setbacks. Literally."

Sympathetically watching him as he struggled to form words as he let his illness finally show, I switched off the bedside lamp, sitting on the edge of the bed and letting darkness engulf us two.

"I'll phone Freddie and tell him you're really sick, I know he'll understand," I softly said, letting my fingers brush back his soft brown waves from his forehead, which was burning up, "Try to stay awake until I do, so I can take your temperature."

John nodded, swallowing thickly as I made my way out to the sitting room.

Five minutes later and a worried Fred sending his love and concern, I shook the thermometer on the edge of the bed.

Cold fingers took it from my hand and slipped it into his mouth, looking slightly out of it as he struggled to stay awake.

Tsking as I realized he was well beyond the normal limit, I set it down on his bedside table, fondly kissing his forehead as he blinked on with a weak smile.

"Sleep for a couple of hours. I'll wake you up when it's time to take your medicine," I patted his head in a motherly fashion.

"See, this is why I hate being sick," he groaned, though he didn't seem to protest too much, "I don't like feeling useless."

I chuckled, "Deaky, you're always up and about, doing this and doing that for us," daring to peck his lips briefly, I was almost sure I stared at him in full-on adoration, "Let me take care of you today. I'll make you your favorite soup too."

A slight sniffle and a nod later, he fell back into the mattress, almost instantly snoring sweetly as he was out like a light.

"That man," I shook my head, half in amusement, half in exasperation, "He'll get himself killed one day, at this rate."

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