#flora and father luc

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Okay so this is impossible not to request with Father Luc 🌟 but I would actually love to see a quick moment of Flora going to midnight mass despite being sick because she wants to see Father Luc in that robe and him noticing her fever because am I misremembering or does that blessing involve the priest touching people’s foreheads?? (I’m not catholic sorry lol) and this unspoken moment where he’s a little tripped up by it but there’s a line of people so he can only say it with a look, but then slightly later approaching her like hey I think you might have a fever 🥺

Title: Cheer My Wearied Spirit

Words: 1853

Note: Thank you for the request, my friend! I love the reversal here from the other Father Luc thing I just wrote. A lot of it felt similar to the previous father luc fic, but it was essentially the same setting (just different years) so I suppose that is to be expected. I am still planning to write the day 2 follow up to the original father luc fic! Over the holidays I will have quite a lot of down time and hope to do a lot of writing over those two weeks or so, and that follow up is top of the list 

It seemed she had just shut her eyes when the alarm telling her to start preparing for mass began to scream in her ear. Flora groaned as she reached out to shut it off. She didn't feel well. If anything she felt worse than she had before she fell asleep, which was obviously the opposite effect she had been hoping for. She nearly rolled over and went back to sleep. Since she was evidently going to be sick for Christmas, she was sure her parents would excuse her from midnight mass if she asked. 

However, the image of the hot, young priest who had recently been called to her parents' church flooded her mind. She hadn't been able to forget his beautiful smile in the intervening six months since she'd met him over the summer, and she'd be darned if she missed her chance to see it in person tonight. For one thing, she needed to confirm if he was really as handsome as she remembered. She had fruitlessly googled him and scoured the woefully out of date church website to no avail. She needed to see him again for herself.

Every joint ached and her head throbbed as she got out of bed and began to dress. As a precaution she also took her own temperature. She was desperate, but she wasn't stupid. If she had a high fever, then of course she couldn't go. However, the reading wasn't even over 100 degrees. The show would go on. She put on her best "I'm not sick" face for her parents when she emerged, and they didn't seem to suspect anything as they got their coats on and loaded into the car. 

The little church was packed when they arrived, and more people streamed in every second. The three of them were just barely able to squeeze into a pew while most of the other latecomers were relegated to folding chairs. They had hardly removed their coats when the organ began to belt out the opening chords to the first hymn. Everyone rose as one without being told, drew a collective breath, and began to sing their hearts out, with grinning and good cheer all around. 

However, Flora wasn't paying much attention to anyone except the man in the robe who had just taken his place at the front of the church. He, too, was grinning as he picked up a hymnal and began to sing along, his face rosy and fresh and his eyes perfectly set off by the royal blue of his stole. Corny as it was, the most fitting comparison that came to her mind in the candlelit room was that of an angel. 

"Damn," Flora sighed to herself. "He really is that beautiful."

The service was the same as it had been every year of her life. Usually she loved the comforting familiarity, but tonight there was a thrumming undertone that she couldn't quite place, except that it intensified whenever Father Luc looked her way. It would have been deliciously exciting if she hadn't been feeling so gross. 

Ten minutes into the service and she began to wonder if coming had been a mistake. She immediately began to overheat, squeezed between her parents as she was, and the air felt thick even in the sanctuary, with its soaring ceiling and dozens of windows. Her head was throbbing before the end of the first hymn, which she couldn't sing along with anyway since her throat felt as if she'd swallowed glass. While her eyes followed the priest's every move, her sluggish thoughts couldn't actually follow what he was saying. She swallowed yawn after yawn, and soon she found herself thinking about her bed more than anything else.

She was in such a fog by the end of the service that she didn't realize it was almost time for communion until Father Luc began to prepare the host. She shook herself out of her stupor as much as she could and readied herself to be inches away from the hot priest. 

She hadn't been to confession in months so she didn't plan to partake of communion (not to mention the idea of knowingly sharing a cup with the rest of the congregation while she was ill made her shudder), but she wasn't going to miss out on the chance to be blessed by him, so when her parents rose she did the same, and the three of them walked to the front when their turn came. 

She moved down the line, lulled into peace by the familiarity of the sacrament and the lovely piano piece being performed. She didn't realize it was her turn until she was shocked into awareness when Father Luc made eye contact with her, his eyes warm and bright. She wordlessly indicated that she did not wish to partake in the sacrament, mesmerized by his deep blue eyes. With a warm smile he laid his hand on her head and began to murmur a blessing, according to tradition. However, she was startled when the smile faltered as his skin made contact with hers, and for a moment she thought he was going to draw his hand back, blessedly cool as it was. He did not, but blessed her as usual, though his gaze probed hers and a strange expression tugged his eyebrows toward the center–was it worry, perhaps?

She was unable to discern the meaning of his behavior before she was pushed along by the queue behind her. She made her way back to her seat in a haze of confusion and sickness, clamping her lips shut against a cough as she sat back down. She didn't have much time to dwell on the strange interaction before the service drew to an end. A little more talking, a little more chanting, and then the introduction to "Silent Night" could be heard as the lights were dimmed and candles were handed down the rows and lit. Soon Father Luc was only visible from the chin up, the candle he held casting strange shadows on his face as he sang, yet Flora still couldn't keep her eyes off him. She wished she could talk to him–say something funny or witty or memorable, in the hope that she would stick in his mind just as he had stuck in hers. 

When the service ended, the congregation began to file out of the pews to meet the priest who greeted them as they exited the sanctuary as always. Once again Flora was electrified as she made eye contact with him, and he froze for a split second too. Her parents quickly drew his attention, seemingly not realizing what had transpired between them. They clasped his hand, thanked him for the service, and presented her for an introduction. 

"This is our daughter, Flora. She's home from nursing school for the holiday break," her mother said. "I think you met her once before over the summer."

"I believe you're right. It's a pleasure to see you again, Flora," he said, holding out his hand to shake. 

Flora mirrored the gesture breathlessly,  attempting a smile. "Same to you, Father," she said. 

Once again, the handsome smile flickered when they touched. This time his hand felt roastingly warm while she had started to shiver in the line to get out the door. 

He opened his mouth, hesitated for a split second, then seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. "I hope you are well this evening," he said, his eyes probing hers again. 

She nodded and smiled as she was supposed to, then moved along so the next people could greet him. If only he knew, she thought to herself, that she was the opposite of well. And yet she thought he might suspect the state of her health. Why else would he look at her so closely? And use that particular phrase? 

Her parents were always some of the last people to leave any church service. This had been the case her entire life. Their families had been attending this church for generations, so they knew everyone here, and if they didn't know them then they made it their mission to get to know them. Usually Flora didn't mind, but tonight she certainly did. She hovered by the door closest to their car, holding the door for everyone else lucky enough to be leaving and mentally imploring her folks to hurry up just this once. 

However, her patience was rewarded in an unexpected way. Out of nowhere, Father Luc appeared and headed right for her as if he'd been searching for her. He had removed his robe and was wearing a royal blue sweater, the same color the stole had been, over a striped collared shirt and tie, looking very dashing indeed. Flora's heart fluttered as he drew near. 

"Flora, I was hoping I would catch you before you left," he said, stopping only inches away. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. This will probably sound strange, but when you were receiving the blessing, I thought your face seemed very warm. I think you might have a fever. I just wanted to let you know so you could check when you get home."

Flora flushed immediately, fever notwithstanding. "I think you're probably right. I wasn't feeling the best this evening, but I really wanted to make it to mass. I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have come tonight."

"Oh no, that's not… it's a blessing to have you with us tonight and I wasn't trying to say otherwise. I just wanted to make sure you're taken care of. No one likes being sick on Christmas." 

She flushed even brighter. "Thank you, Father. I have everything I need back at my parents." 

"I'm glad," he said earnestly. "And while I am excited to gather with the congregation again for Christmas Day, under the circumstances I'll say that I hope I DON'T see you tomorrow!... Unless you make a miraculous recovery of course. And if the Lord chooses to work such a miracle, all the better! But… I guess you understand what I'm getting at," he stammered, his face red now as well. 

She giggled a tiny bit, his nervous rambling somehow cuter to her than anything else he could have said, and also serving to put her at ease. "I do. I promise I'll stay home tomorrow if I'm still sick. I appreciate you checking on me."

"Certainly, and I hope you feel better soon. Take care, Flora." He turned and walked away, both of them still red-faced.

He had hardly turned the corner when her parents emerged at last, and Flora avoided their eyes, lest they notice anything amiss. She ushered them through the door with pleas to head home to bed, not needing to exaggerate the fatigue she felt. She wouldn't tell them she was sick tonight. They would only fuss and blame themselves for bringing her out in the cold weather. There would be plenty of time to be fussed over through the rest of this holiday break. Instead, she let silence reign during the drive home, smiling to herself as she imagined his cool hand on her face over and over again. 

[xzho-writes]

plant enthusiasts

pairings: diluc, zhongli, kaeya, itto, thoma x gn!reader (separate)

genre: fluff

summary: what the genshin boys would be like as plant fathers

wc: 1.2k

warnings: none (minus one swear word)

you can find my masterlist here

diluc

would definitely seem hesitant at first when you initially bring up the idea of housing a few plants

doesn’t particularly mind the idea, he’s just never thought about it before

ah well, as long as you’re happy (simp.)

would try to read up on some of the plants you have as a way to join in and help you

if you bring this up, though, he might dismiss you with a slight flush on his cheeks

“hmm? what am i reading? ah… well, it’s nothing important. i was just wondering if i overwatered your potted lamp grass.”

comes around eventually and even offers to go plant shopping with you

when the both of you aren’t home he’d have elzer or adenlinde oversee your plant babies

you once told him that talking to them helps with their growth as it ‘makes them happy’

and he said that you were being silly

(but you catch him talking to them the next morning when he thought you were still asleep-)

“it gets awfully tiring dealing with all the drunkards at the tavern, even more so when those drunkards include your own brother and that stupid bard. you wouldn’t understand though, would you, little thing?”

“…‘luc? is that you?”

“archons— love? you’re… up early this morning. don’t you usually sleep in on saturdays?”

congrats! you have your very own flustered darknight hero!

(more utc!)

zhongli

the perfect plant dad!

not surprising, he’s very knowledgeable about all plants (especially the ones from liyue)

would help you out all the time! very enthusiastic

need help repotting? sure! don’t know how much to water them? it’s okay, just ask him and he’ll show you how

i have this personal hc that he’d also go out of his way to find new plants to bring home to you, and you two would name them together as if they were your children

“welcome home, dearest. i have something to show you. i found this little one at the back of a florist’s shop, and they sold it to me for less than half the price as it was on the verge of drying out. would you like to name them with me?”

he’d happily share all the trivia he knows about the flora in your home

pls he’s just so happy to finally have someone interested in listening to his stories

you’d let him ramble away cause seeing him so joyful makes you smile

he’s just so adorable

once he was sure that he’d want to spend the rest of his life with you, however long that may be, he decided to plant a peach tree in your shared garden

zhongli wanted to care for it and watch it grow with you :)

“good morning, my dear. i have something i’d like to do with you today.”

“oh? what is it?”

“i think it’s best if i show you. now come, the sun is shining and the temperature is perfect. i’m certain you’ll like my little surprise.”

kaeya

not particularly super excited, but would still help you nonetheless

it’s more to spend extra time with you rather than the interest of nursing plants

would help you water them and whatnot but he isn’t exactly very knowledgeable

you’d have to help him with repotting and feeding them

he’d prefer to watch you tend to the little plants with his chin on top of your head and arms around your waist

“for calla lilies you need to water them quite often since they’re mostly found on the shores of lakes. but you can also— kaeya.”

“hmm?”

“are you even listening to me? and stop grabbing my ass, you idiot.”

he only chuckles breathily

but you know he’s listening cause he takes in your advice the next time you catch him tending to the flowers

it’s a little odd to see the cavalry captain act so delicately around the tiny life forms but it always brings a smile to your face

he accidentally dropped a plant and killed it in his rush to get to work one morning, though

well, shit.

you made him sleep on the couch that night

“sweetheart, please! it was an accident, i swear! i’ll buy you a new one tomorrow when—”

“nope. better pray to the archons cause i hope you don’t wake up with a stiff neck tomorrow.”

“ouch, darling, you’re killing me here… ”

itto

archons above please keep him away from your green babies

he’s not purposely trying to kill the things! he’s just very excited and naturally heavy-handed, so he has to be mindful of his strength

itto is canonically a very caring soul, so he’d definitely get the appeal of looking after plants! and the fact that it feels oddly domestic to be doing it with you makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside

accidentally knocked a plant over 2.0 and because he’s so caring he absolutely cried over it

he felt so bad pls—

would come crying to you because he felt so guilty

because he’s so heavy-handed you normally give him the task of watering and did the repotting yourself, lest the poor buds get crushed by the oni’s large hands

“just like this, right? i don’t need to do anything else?”

“yup, perfect! just make sure that— oh. oh no. ITTO! THE WATER! YOU’RE TIPPING THE WATERING CAN OVER!”

“h-huh? what— oH! I’M SORRY—”

plants: drowned

itto’s heart: broken

sulks about it all the time

pls tell him it’s okay and that you can always find new plant babies, he hates that he can’t be as gentle as you

maybe you should buy him a fake plant instead so he can’t kill it

“itto, baby, it’s fine! i was going to head to the city tomorrow to buy more anyway.”

“but it’s not the same! i was doing so well with that one, too…”

“then how about we grow a tree instead? that way it won’t be so easy for you to crush, and i could supervise you?”

thoma

oh he’s easily the perfect plant dad 2.0!!!

basically in his nature!

as the kamisato caretaker he definitely has knowledge about gardening seeing as he has to tend to the ones at the estate

pays each one special attention

definitely talks to the plants and encourages you to do the same

there will be no dead shrubs on his watch

“hey, look! this one’s already starting to bloom! didn’t think it’d happen so soon but i guess it’s all cause of my green thumb. yours too, of course!”

would absolutely love to go plant shopping with you

and pot shopping

thinks it counts as a date (which it basically is)

also definitely thinks of your baby shrubs as your children

he was actually the one to bring up the idea; one night as he was walking you home from a date he caught sight of a few dendrobiums placed on your windowsill

ever since then thoma had been teaching you everything he knew about plant-keeping

“say, you never mentioned you like gardening?”

“oh, yeah! it never really came up but i do like watering and watching these little guys grow. but… i’m not an expert or anything, which is why i only have dendrobiums at the moment.”

“then why don’t i help you out? my lord and my lady made me in charge of all the plants at the estate, so i know quite a bit. it could be fun!”

published on 27/02/22

[ylizam]

is WIP amnesty still a thing?

anyway, here is a scene from the Beverly/Will/Deanna thing I spent way too much time thinking about in the existential sense of, “hmm, what if Beverly shows up right after Picard left” and “how do we deal with Picard-era JLP not being quite right?” and “oh of course they’ve been a long-term long-distance thing and Will bakes comfort foods and Deanna understands Beverly in a way that makes Beverly Uncomfortable sometimes and it’s both soft and also hard-as-in-difficult and prickly but also important and loving and when Beverly goes back to her ship to save the galaxy from pandemics and whatnot she thinks back to their arms as home,” and not enough time actually figuring any sort of plot or writing anything god forbid. so! 

“You just missed him, you know.” Deanna smiles when she says it, though, gentle and not actually chiding. Beverly drops her bag on the ground. Steps into Deanna’s open arms for a very necessary hug.

“I know,” Beverly says, when she finally settles into the safety of Deanna’s arms. “Laris called to let me know he’d left on some sort of epic quest, and to shoot him for her if I saw him. And then Will warned me he was actually here. Although I’m still not entirely sure whether he was trying to tell me to take my time or to push warp nine.”

“Neither,” Deanna says. She releases Beverly, but mostly so she can make sure to maintain eye contact. “Or both. Either. I think Will was mostly telling you to do what you needed to do, and that we’d support you in that choice, in that Will way of his.”

Beverly lifts her bag and hitches it on her shoulder. “Well, in the end, Cardassia made the decision for me. We got stuck dealing with another outbreak in Lakarian City, and there was a mandatory quarantine period even I couldn’t get us out of.”

“Jean-Luc, he’s,” Deanna says.

“I know.” Beverly may not be his treating physician anymore, may barely even merit the title of friend these days—more his fault than hers this go-around, but they’ve both had their turns at fucking things up—but she’s seen his medical records recently enough to know that his brain’s a ticking time bomb.

“I think he’s enjoying this opportunity for one last great adventure.” Deanna is careful, gentle, kind to everyone involved in this mess; she’s a fierce protector to all of them, and Beverly chafes at the feeling that Deanna’s trying to handle her. To handle them. 

“I’m glad,” Beverly snaps. 

Deanna grasps Beverly’s empty hand. “You’ve every right to be angry with him,” she says.

“Oh, I am. But”—and how to explain this? She doesn’t even fully understand it herself, and it’s her own damned brain—“I’d rather he go out in a blaze of glory than continue to hide himself away in France waiting to die. Although I think he really hurt Laris when he left; he can be so unthinkingly callous when he has a mission to plan.”

She just wishes he’d thought to say goodbye to her as part of his grand farewell tour. (Even a message, a letter, something left with Will and Deanna or sent through subspace to her ship. She’s not difficult to find, and they’d been so close, for such a large part of her life. For him to head off to tilt at one last windmill, to run toward certain death, without a word? And the worst of it is that he probably didn’t mean to hurt her. To hurt any of them. He had a quest, after all.)

Deanna doesn’t respond (to either her words or her obvious emotional turmoil). They make their way through the woods; Beverly can’t hear her, can’t see her through the leaves and foliage, but she can feel the comforting presence of Kestra following behind them, probably dragging some sort of dead animal with her for dinner.

 “How’s Will taking it?” Beverly asks. 

“About as well as you are,” Deanna answers. “Or I am. He’s Jean-Luc, and he’s going off to fight some sort of cosmic evil without any of us at his back, all while—“

“—dying,” Beverly says. Fuck. 

“Yes.” Deanna stops then, still about another ten minutes from the house, and turns back to Beverly. “With a new crew and a new mission.”

“I am so angry at him, Deanna.” She kicks at a cluster of stones. Takes no small amount of pleasure at the sound of the cracking against one another. And then it hits her: “Shit, do you know if he’s told anyone else—Worf, Geordi, anyone?—or are they going to find out when the obituary hits the news?”

“He didn’t say,” Deanna says. “I only know he didn’t tell you because you’ve told me as much.”

“I’ll call them—“

“We’ll call them,” Deanna says. “After dinner, after a few drinks, maybe some of the chocolate cake Will baked last night.”

“I could kill him myself.” 

“No, you couldn’t.” 

Beverly feels like her entire body deflates. The air punched out of her. 

“I hate that you know that,” she says. She reaches for Deanna this time, steps close enough to lean down and press a soft kiss to her mouth. “That you know me well enough to know that I’m mostly bark.”

“Ah,” Deanna says. She kisses Beverly once, twice, quickly, and then takes her hand again. “But when you do bite, it is always deadly.”

Beverly pulls her back. This time the kiss is anything but short, anything but gentle. Her hands gravitate to Deanna’s hair, to the back of her head, to her ears and neck and back to her hair. She nips at Deanna’s lower lip. 

“Ew,” Kestra says. Beverly jumps back, thinks Kestra’s voice is coming from above. She looks around, but can’t see anything but nature. She’d think she was imagining it, but then Kestra adds, “I’m right here.”

And then she jumps down in front of them. An animal Beverly doesn’t recognize is strung up in what she assumes is Kestra’s standard hunting gear, her bow and arrows in a quiver on her back. 

“Is that for dinner?” Beverly asks. 

“Nah,” Kestra says. “We’ll cure it, make bacon from it.”

“Oh.”

“It’s better that way,” Kestra says. “It’s too tough otherwise.”

“I stand corrected then,” Beverly says. 

She feels a little judged, but she’s never pretended that a detailed knowledge of the local flora and fauna of Nepenthe are a particular strength of hers. General survival, yes; the edible plant life on any number of Federation worlds, also yes. But she’s never spent more than a few months here at a time, and at first, well. There was Thad. 

She’d been so cocky. So sure that, given the opportunity, she’d be able to find a cure that didn’t require artificial life. And she could therefore tell Kestra which barks make a tea so noxious that everyone in a five kilometer radius would feel dizzy, faint, and that there are fungi on the eastern shore of the lake that could stave off nausea. But food, no, that had been Will’s particular interest: he’d cook, and bake, and feed them all in the panicked hope (and growing despair) that they might be able to save his son.

“Come on,” Deanna says, interrupting her spiraling guilt. “Will’s probably starting to worry.”

“Right,” Beverly says. 

Kestra rolls her eyes, but Beverly thinks she’s secretly a little pleased about her father’s very obvious love. She darts ahead of them—so fast, so young, so alive.

“Come on,” she calls back, “I smell pizza!”

[luca-moreno]

“Does it ever stop hurting?” “No, you just make room for it.” (isaac)

post war terra nova --

Luca does his best to block out the soft, breathy moans drifting from down the hallway. He’s used to them by now, but he’s not used to the teeny tiny pang of envy that curls around his heart when he hears them. Not envy for either of them, but envy for just… someone.

He tugs on the soft folds of his quilt and gathers up his pillow to make his way through the quiet farmhouse. The front door is sealed only by a screen to keep the bugs out and the floorboards creak ever so slightly under his feet. He’s tread them so often now, he knows which boards are louder than others, where to place his feet to creep through the darkness. Outside he can see the moon reflecting across the surface of the lake and he shuffles barefoot through the damp grass towards the small dock that juts over the water. And overhead, the stars are bright and expansive in a cloudless sky, so vibrant in the deep night it feels like he can reach up and touch them. These are the times on Terra Nova he likes the best, when the sparkle presses down on him and he can lie back and imagine he’s still right up there amongst them.

He drops the quilt to the dock along with his pillow and lies back, hands behind his head as he tracks the movements of the distant solar systems. The night wasn’t quiet, too noisy with the native nocturnal flora and fauna echoing soft calls and rustling through the wildflowers. It had been one of the hardest things to get used to when Isaac had brought him here. That and the wide, open skies and the smells of so much earth. Everything was so fresh and wild here and Terra Nova was beautiful away from the ravaged cities. Isaac had been lucky that the farm had been saved from the reapers, but Luca was luckier that Isaac had insisted in sharing it with him.

Sometimes Luca had to sit back and wonder how it had all happened to him. A home and a family and a future far beyond what he could ever have dreamed for himself all wrapped up in one.

He’s still watching the stars wheel overhead when the vibration of footsteps echo through the dock. Luca doesn’t bother to sit up yet. He recognizes that solid tread, knows exactly who it is before he even lowers himself beside him.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” Isaac asks him quietly.

Luca pulls himself up so he can sit shoulder to shoulder with the other man. “How did you know?”

“I heard you creeping. It’s that fourth step, gives you away every time.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

Isaac hums thoughtfully then, - “Did we, uh... Were we too loud?”

Luca’s glad for the dark to hide the twitch of his mouth. There wasn’t much that rattled his captain- no, Admiral now, but any mention of his very active newlywed status was one of them. Luca shakes his head.

“No, don’t worry. I’ve been awake for a while. Couldn’t sleep. I dunno, just those post war blues, I guess.”

“Luca,” Isaac sighs. “You know you can talk to me, son. About anything but if you need to talk to a pro-“

“No,” Luca waves him off. “Nah, not that. I’m okay, really. Well, maybe a little sore and tired from all the work you’ve been making me do around here because boy, launching drones and hacking unfriendly AI's is absolutely nothing like building fences and milking cows or planting... and oh, sweet khalahira, that’s it isn’t it? I’ve found you out. I’ve uncovered your scheme. It was your devious plan all along, wasn’t? Befriend the stray and establish trust, then drag them back to your colony to make them work for you as slave labor on your farm.” Luca shakes his head disapprovingly and with great drama. “Admiral Cerrillo, I’ve discovered your nefarious plot. I'm disappointed in you.”

Isaac chuckles in spite of himself. “You have been spending far too much time with my mother, Luc. You almost sound just like her.”

“Well, someone has to keep you in line-“

Luca’s comment is joined word for word by another voice, this one high and sweet. He looks up to find Eva walking onto the dock, a pale lace shawl around her shoulders to protect her from any chill and a curtain of pale hair loose around her head. Her grin is a flash of white in the darkness.

“See,” Luca elbows Isaac as Eva takes a seat on his other side and loops her arm through his. “It’s not just me.”

“I don’t know if I should be amused or terrified,” Isaac says dryly. “Maybe I shouldn’t be leaving tomorrow after all if it just means you’re all going to gang up on me.”

Luca tries very hard not to let the dark pit in his stomach leak too heavily into his heart at that thought. The closest thing he had to a father, and one of his most favorite people in the galaxy was going to be leaving them again.

It was hard enough for him and Mara, he can't even imagine how hard it will be for Eva.

But then Eva is nothing if not strong.

She props her chin on his shoulder, as though sensing the thread of his thoughts. Somewhere off in the distance, there’s a small splash of something diving into the lake. If he’s lucky, the fog might creep in and he’ll be able to stand in a cloud again.

“Are you alright, Lulu?” she asks him softly.

He leans into her, ignoring the question. He’s not sure what he is these days.

"Sure," he shrugs. "Why are you guys both up now, anyway? Did you get lost on your way to the kitchen looking for sustenance before round-”

“Fourth step,” Eva reminds him with a squeeze of her red painted nails against his arm. She's chuckling though. “Gives you away every time you sneak out.”

“That damn floorboard,” Luca mock growls just as Isaac says, “See, that’s what I told him.”

They laugh together and Luca leans further into Eva’s warmth. It’s nowhere near the closest season on the colony, but it was cold enough that the slight breeze off the lake makes his skin prickle and he shivers.

He refuses to admit it could be anything else.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” Luca asks suddenly, the question bubbling up inside of him and falling out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop it. He's ignored it for so long, pretended it didn't exist - he wants to regret it, to hunch down and hide his face, but some how he can't find the energy to do so anymore.

That was the worst part, he thinks. The sapping grief that made it hard to even function.

"Oh, Lulu," Eva murmurs as she pulls him into a hug. Luca sobs once into her chest as Isaac squeezes his shoulder with a soothing gentleness.

“No," he says softly. "You just make room for it.”

"I hate it," Luca mumbles. "It's stupid and it hurts and I didn't mean to wake up sad and make you both come out here. You don’t have to be here. I was trying to give you space. You know, because it’s the last night and all and... you guys love each other and I love you both and-”

Isaac squeezes his shoulder again, ending his ramble. “We know that, son. But we love you too. And you don’t have to be alone. Ever.”

[thatfootballphotog]

LUC JEGGO

 Whats your football story?

· Born in Austria with two English parents, brother joined a club - wanted by the coach at the age of six, mum made the deal with said coach that if the club wanted Jimmy they would have to take me on board. At the age four it all started. Playing football on the streets of Australia

· Few offers from a few clubs, life as always decided to change as my father was offered a job here in Australia. We moved over to Melbourne, joined Green Gully - later on with VIS.

· Worked my way through the tough world of football and got myself a half scholarship with Victory, few months down the track earned a full scholarship. Worked my up as to be the Youth Captain at Victory. Spent at least 2 years, at the age of 19 - Ange Postecogelu joined Victory, the same season as the Liverpool friendly at the MCG. Made my onto the bench after one of the best pre seasons i have ever had personally. Finally got my big moment in front of my home town against footballers like Suarez and Steven Gerrard. 

· Few injuries at Victory which allowed myself to make the senior squad, sadly I ended up with an injury as well and missed out a lot of first team football.

· Sustained another injury, ACL and MCL. Worked hard and pushed myself to get back on my feet, joined Green Gully in the NPL and got myself back into shape.

· I decided to leave Australia and head out to Europe

 What are some of your inspirations?

· At a young age my brother as most know was diagnosed with Leukaemia and that itself had to be an inspiration, to be there for him and watch his recovery. To now become the professional footballer that he is.

 Football is a tough game, was there ever a moment that made you want the game more?

· I remember working in a call centre every day, saving up as much as i could to get myself back to Europe. Id do anything for football. Training 3 nights a week with Gully and personally keeping myself fit during the off days before and after work. It all pays off in the end.

 You attempted Hungary first?

· I decided to fly over and trial with a club in Hungary, sadly that didn’t work out as I had wished. luckily I have a contact over there that hosted me.

 How long were you in Europe? what did you get up to?

· About 3 or so months in Hungary, decided to visit England. Had a trial with Kittaminster FC(English 5th Div). Stambolziev is currently there. I almost signed, but i wanted to see what else I could get. I had to hustle around, few months in England and I moved around to find the best place. Moved around Scandinavia, a lot of Aussies are up there. Things fell into place, a club in Norway needed a player and we linked up. 

 How was Kittaminster?

· We versed West Brom in a friendly, the club officials were interested but i feel if I was a little younger. The offer would have been ready. 

 How was that leap of faith?

· Flew over in a small plane, first game with the club was against a Tippelega club in quite a large stadium. Training and playing everyday, it was what I wanted. Learned so much and now calling Norway home. 

 Describe the town?

· Ten thousand population, a small town who have accepted me and taught me a lot of the past few months. A lot of people I can consider family.

 How was the first few months with Flora SK?

· I picked up a small injury during the start, it was a little tough being a foreigner with an injury. You could get replaced any time. Medical attention would require me to fly interstate, but we did what we had to do. 

· I finally returned back into the starting 11, the club was on a run which made it a challenge for me to make my way back. I ended up scoring about 4 goals. As a centre midfielder, I had to take every opportunity. 

 Whats your next goal, individual and at the club?

· The club is only one promotion away from the top tier Tippelega, so getting that at next seasons end (2016/17) would be the best way for me to reach a greater goal for myself and the club. 

· Personally id like to work hard and get a few good games under my belt, hope to cut it in the top four leagues in the world over the next few years.

 Has your style football changed over the years?

· During my time at Victory I was usually playing a direct defensive position. On the wing at left or right back and at times as a defensive midfielder. In Norway, Im more of a luxury number 10. And thats the thing about playing overseas, you need to adapt to be able to stand our or even survive in the football world.

 Has the club/players or even the clubs fans given you a nickname?

· Kind of, I may have stolen it. But as I score I have decided to do the kangaroo hop as a joke of course. 

 Which footballer did you admire growing up? who was your footballing idol

· it always changed as I got older, Scholes or Gerrard.

 Favourite football moment?

· Gerrards performance against West Ham in the cup

· Macheda scoring for Manchester United against Aston Villa when he made his debut, I remember my brother calling me after it happened. We were going nuts.

 Do you cry for Football/ does football effect your day to day life?

· At the moment, its for the club I play for. A win is a win and a lose is a lose. Only those games could effect my day or mood. 

 Favourite pair of boots?

· Chopped and changed, i wore way to many colourful boots. I wanted all the fancy boots. If Ronaldo had them, I needed them.

 Favourite jersey you own?

· To be honest, Joe Allen when we swapped at the MCG post match against Liverpool. His an awesome footballer, and actually one I admire.

  Pele or Maradone

· Maradone!

 World Cup or Euros?

· World Cup

 MLS or ALEAGUE

· MLS but the A-League is catching up

 Favourite football documentary

· AFC Bournemouth or “5 year plan” a story about QPR

 Current Australian footballer doing well?

· Tom Rogic, he tore Man City apart! he is majestic

 Favourite song now and classic?

· I found my song in Norway! Earth Wind and Fire - September

 Play FIFA? 

· My brother and I always do manager mode, we took Arsenal to the Champions League final

 Anything personal you want to mention?

· Australia really needs to work on their pathways, too many footballers go on to be forgotten or neglected.

· I would like to see more Australians taking risks and going overseas without a worry. 

· Aleague giving more of the Youth League a chance in the A-League

· Instead of spending your savings on holidays, go overseas and trial and train.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Only Wanna Be With You

At last my long-promised (emphasis on long) Priest/Flora fic is finished. I wanted to write a deep-dive on what their hidden relationship would look like if he got sick while preaching, and I think I accomplished that pretty well.

There are lots of religious elements in this story. Worship services, prayer, mentions of the saints, etc. There is a lot of "priest doing priest things" here, and I won't be offended if that doesn't suit many of you. But it's what my brain wanted to write, and I think it's important to the themes of these characters.

That being said, I might start writing things further down their timeline, so if anyone has any other ideas for these two (non-church encounters? free time? smut? sick Flora?), my ask box is open! Thanks for reading :)

Coming down with a cold is never convenient, especially for someone who makes their living by speaking. However, when Father Luc began to feel the telltale signs of burgeoning sickness the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, it was more than an inconvenience. In truth, it felt akin to a death sentence. 

Holy Week is the gauntlet every liturgical minister must run each church year. Palm Sunday was only the start. Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday would follow close behind, meaning Luc had to oversee and preach a total of six special, important services within four days. All of this of course was on top of the hundred other things a minister is expected to do each week. Even thinking about it was exhausting, and now he would be sick on top of it all.

He had been so careful, too, or he had tried to be. He took extra care to stay healthy in the weeks leading up to Holy Week so he would be equal to the huge task before him. He talked to so many people and shook so many hands every week, though. There was no way to say for sure when or where he picked up a bug. All he knew was that after the final Lenten service that Wednesday his throat felt tickly and scratchy, which he initially chalked up to dryness from preaching. However, by the time he went to bed that night he was chilled and sporting a headache, and he feared he was in for the worst. 

The cold had officially set in by Saturday night, and it was a doozy. His head and ears were packed tight and aching, his sinuses felt like they'd been filled with concrete, and his throat was raw from postnasal drip and the resulting persistent, irritating cough. Every few hours the nasal congestion transitioned from running out of his nose to swelling up in his sinuses, then transitioned back again (and he wasn't sure which was worse) but either way, this cold was noticeable and persistent. There was nothing to be done for it, however, and there was no hope of taking a sick day. Every priest in the country was just as busy as he with the upcoming week of services. Brutal head cold or no, he would be preaching Holy Week. 

Palm Sunday morning arrived right on schedule, and if anything his cold was worse, not better. Yet when the bells began to toll for the opening of the service, Father Luc was standing before the congregation just as he had every Palm Sunday since he was ordained. He may have been loaded with decongestant and DayQuil, but he was present, and that was a win as far as he was concerned.

He hadn't spoken to Flora since he'd come down sick. They didn't chat much as a rule in their day-to-day lives. It was safer and easier that way, with fewer messages to hide and fewer opportunities for others to ask awkward questions. Luc and Flora’s lives were already too intertwined in this small town, and the more they could avoid scrutiny, the better. Whenever he was sick, though, he wanted to be with her more than ever, and he knew she felt the same way. Still, he couldn't afford to be sneaking around with how much he already had on his plate this week. And what if he got her sick? No, it was better to stay safe. Until service time, Flora would have no idea he was under the weather. 

For that reason, he couldn't help but watch her out of the corner of his eye when he opened the service that Palm Sunday. She was easy to spot, sitting with her parents in their normal row. It would be obvious to her from his voice that he was sickly. How could it not be, between the dulled consonants and hoarse voice? And sure enough, before the end of his first sentence her head had snapped to attention and her eyes were boring into him. He flushed under her scrutiny. He longed to meet her gaze, but had to refrain, not knowing what his face might betray.

Somehow he made it through the service without incident, though he wasn't certain how, between his fixation on her and the demanding cold symptoms. Soon enough he was making his way to the back of the church to greet the people. Naturally, Flora and her parents were almost the first to reach him. His lover rushed to shake his hand, throwing nonchalance to the wind. At last he was forced to look at her, and the air rushed from his lungs in a moment of rapture and yearning, leaving him speechless. She was more focused, though, and her gaze probed his. 

“Are you feeling alright, Father? Your voice sounded a bit different today,” she said levelly, revealing nothing. 

“I've picked up a spring cold, I think. Nothing too serious,” he replied, hoping he seemed equally calm. 

“Oh dear. I do hope you feel better soon! We can't have you sick for Easter,” Flora’s mother tutted. 

“I'm sure I'll be fine in no time. But I appreciate your concern.”

Flora hesitated another moment; she was holding up the line now. Finally she squeezed his hand tightly. “Be well, Father.”

“Thank you, Flora,” he managed, flushing again. 

There was a text from her waiting on his secret phone when he arrived home after Sunday luncheon. “Why didn't u tell me u were 🤢?”

“There was nothing u could do,” he replied. “Just a cold. Has to run its course.”

“I could’ve kept u company tho.”

“I was busy every night this week. There wasn't a good time.”

“I'm guessing ur busy the next few days too?”

“Holy Week. Busy doesn't even begin to describe.”

“😞 Miss u. Meet up a week from tomorrow? Hotel on me.”

“👍 Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“❤️ it's a date. Try not to be too sexy until I'm with u, ok?”

He was grinning like an idiot as he replied: “I'll do my best ❤️”

With a sigh he locked the phone back up in his cabinet. This cold had come a week too early. There was nothing he wanted more on earth than to be lying in Flora’s lap as she stroked his hair, but he'd have to wait eight more long, exhausting days. Time couldn't pass quickly enough. 

~~~

He fully expected the cold to clear up by Holy Thursday for sure, but to his horror, it was holding on as fiercely as ever when that day dawned. The week of constant low-level headache, sneezing, sniffling, and coughing had sapped his energy stores, and he was going into his longest four days of the year running on fumes and feeling like garbage. There was prayer on his lips the whole day through to any saint who might be listening for strength, endurance, and perhaps a miraculous healing. 

Thursday's work day and evening worship service passed in a haze. He must have said the right things at the right times, but he felt disconnected from what was going on due to the sensation of his head being stuffed to bursting with cotton. He wasn't even excited to see Flora for once. There were still several days to go before they could spend some interrupted time together, and seeing her at a distance made the wait feel that much longer. He kept his eyes away from her all through the service to minimize his yearning. As he spoke the closing words at the end of the hour and made his way to the back of the sanctuary, he prepared himself to simply smile and nod at her like any other parishioner and avoid revealing how pathetic he felt. When she was several people back from him in the exit queue, though, he unintentionally caught a glimpse of her. Her eyes were full of tender love and concern, and his heart fluttered. He hadn't realized how desperately he needed to know she cared. She reached him a short time later, ducking in front of her parents to clasp his hand in hers, subtly scrutinizing him.

“You look tired, Father. And it sounds like your cold is still bad. How are you feeling?” 

The care was obvious in her voice and his heart fluttered again, but he almost chuckled at her frankness. She was close to going past the line of what they had agreed was safe to say in public to one another. Still, he couldn't bring himself to mind. 

“I AM tired, and my cold isn't any better. But I'm doing as well as can be expected.”

Flora’s forehead was furrowed with worry as her mother chimed in: “Oh dear, what an awful time for you to be sick. I'll pray even harder that you recover quickly.”

“I certainly appreciate any prayers on my behalf, and thank you for them gladly.”

“Do let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I'll bring ‘round some soup tomorrow if you're still not feeling like yourself.”

Like mother, like daughter. Luc almost laughed at the irony, and he could see Flora holding back a smile too. “I'll be sure to reach out if there's anything you can do. Thank you so much.” 

“Take care, Father,” Flora said, with one last meaningful look. He'd been chilled for a week now, but that long gaze warmed him for the rest of the night with a heat no sickness could touch.

~~~

Luc was not well come Friday morning. The congestion was lodged and unmoving in his nose and the back of his throat, making his whole face feel swollen and raw. The aches and headache had increased significantly. His cough had gotten worse, and now any time he inhaled too deeply or quickly he would spiral into a coughing attack. In short, he was in rough shape and all he wanted to do was wrap himself in an extra blanket, take a heavy dose of NyQuil and sleep the day away. Instead he got up, aching, shaking, and miserable as he was, and began to shower and dress like always. The goal for the day would simply be to survive. He couldn't manage any more than that. 

Just as he was about to leave his house, he heard the secret phone vibrating in his file cabinet. He unlocked it to find a text from Flora:

“Any better today?”

“No. Worse :( “ 

“Hang in there. I'll see you later and I'll make sure I get a chance to hug you somehow ❤️”

Luc couldn't think of a response that wasn't outright pathetic so he left it at that, locking the phone back up before getting the last of his things together and dragging himself out the door. 

He arrived at his office close to his usual time, and was glad to have accomplished at least that. Resisting the urge to immediately lay his head on the desk and fall asleep, he instead pulled out his notes for the day's service and tried to get himself in the proper mindset. He would lead worship services at 1 pm and 7 pm, but other than that, today he simply had to be present for any questions the staff members or parishioners might have, and do his duty as the church figurehead on this most sacred of days. There were a dozen other things he needed to work on in preparation for the upcoming weeks, but working ahead wasn't part of survival mode. The only thing he cared about today and tomorrow was trying to rest as much as possible so he was able to stand upright and speak come Sunday. Everything else would have to sort itself out.

His eyes were on the order of service and homily notes in front of him, but his mind was unfocused and he was comprehending maybe one word in ten. An unknown amount of time later, his secretary Rhonda‘s knock at the door startled him out of his stupor. 

“Come in,” he called, trying to make his voice sound normal. 

The matronly woman pushed the door open with her hip. In her hands was a to-go bag from Starbucks and a drink. She wore an amused expression as she placed the items in front of him. 

“You should've told us you were DoorDashing Starbucks. Jan and I would've gotten something too.”

Luc had not ordered DoorDash, but he had a good guess who had. He flushed and stammered for a moment, trying to cover his surprise. 

“Oh it was… a spur of the moment thing. I didn't even think to tell you. I just… really needed coffee, I guess.”

Rhonda raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Well you certainly look and sound like you need it, so I won't hold it against you. But that means you're treating next time.”

“Sure, sure. Thanks, Rhonda.” 

She gave him a last, searching look before making her exit, and Luc had a flash of anxiety. Rhonda was sharp, which made her very good at her job. He couldn’t help but wonder how much she knew about Flora and himself, or at least guessed.

He forced his thoughts away from such worries and turned his attention to the meal delivery. It was his exact Starbucks order, Irish Cream cold brew and egg bites, and he knew of only one other person who would know that. This wasn't the first time they had sent one another anonymous deliveries, though they couldn't do it often to avoid suspicion, but today he wanted to weep with gratitude. Those first few swallows of coffee might as well have been the nectar of life, because he immediately felt more awake and alive, and the egg bites were exactly the sort of simple food his body was craving. Dear Flora… she always seemed to know exactly what he needed whether she was present or not. He wondered if this was what she meant by giving him a hug today.

The sustenance (and the love behind it) gave him the boost he needed to push through until the afternoon service, and he actually managed to get a few easy things done that morning to boot. He ducked into the sacristy extra early, though, to avoid having to talk to anyone unnecessarily and hopefully save his voice. 

When the time came for him to emerge for the service, he couldn't help but scan the crowd for his girl. She wasn't present, but her parents were. She was working, then. At first he was disappointed, but that meant he would see her in the evening service instead. Leaning on that hope, he launched into his greeting, trying to display energy that he didn't feel, and hating the hoarse, congested sound of his voice and everything it revealed. 

The service was far from smooth, but he made it through. It hurt, though. His head hurt and his throat hurt and his joints hurt and his nose hurt. He was shaking by the end, but at least he didn't have to greet the people after this solemn, mournful service. He could slip quietly into the sacristy and remain hidden until everyone had departed. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief as the sacristy door closed behind him. Four more services to go. 

There was a single chair in this tiny room, and not a very comfortable one, but his body was screaming for a break, so without even taking off his robe he let himself fall into it, tipping his head back against the wall. 

He startled awake almost two hours later, completely disoriented. He staggered out of the chair, groaning as he freed himself from the sweaty, wrinkled robe. Less than ideal didn't begin to describe the situation, and the worst part was, he felt worse after the nap than he had before. He let himself out of the room and hurried through the dark, silent hallways of the church. He saw no sign that there was anyone else in the building. He had informed the staff that they could take the afternoon off, so this wasn't surprising, but he hoped they hadn't needed him for anything before they left.

He went straight to his desk once he was back in his office and dug out his phone. Sure enough, there were several confused texts asking where he'd gone, as well as a handful of new sticky notes from Rhonda on his computer. He quickly responded to the texts and made sure none of the notes were urgent, then collapsed into his desk chair, holding his head in his hands. He felt wretched in every possible way. Sick during Holy Week… this was his personal hell. This was punishment for what he was doing with Flora, he was certain of it, and, worse, he knew he deserved it. 

Thinking of Flora made his heart flutter in yearning, though, damnation notwithstanding. He needed her cool hands on his face and her soft lips in his hair, and her arms around him. There was nothing else on earth that would make him feel better at this point. 

After a while he lifted his head, and his eyes fell on the low bookcase across from his desk. Sitting on top of it was a travel mug and a canvas bag that didn't belong to him, and he went over to investigate. In the mug was hot green tea sweetened with honey. In the bag was an insulated container full of beef chili. What little he could smell of it made his mouth water. On top of the container was a note: 

“Get well soon, from the De Luca family.”

Luc was grinning like a fool as he sat down at his desk with his afternoon meal. 

“Flora De Luca, you are a lifesaver,” he whispered. While Flora’s mother Barb may have been responsible for the chili, he had a hunch her daughter had suggested the tea. He wasn't sure which part of this second "hug" he appreciated more, but either way he felt notably better after eating once again. He sipped at the tea for the next several hours, right up until he was dressing for the evening service, trying to help his abused throat in any way possible. 

With a feverish sense of Deja Vu, Father Luc was once again standing in front of the church at 7 pm that evening. His legs were already trembling beneath him and wished he was in bed, or really anywhere but here. He was sure he looked and sounded as sickly as he felt, but he was beyond caring. As the bells ceased pealing, he found Flora’s eyes in the crowd and clung to her gaze like a drowning man, drinking her in. Refreshed, he took a careful breath, being sure not to cough, and opened the service. 

He looked at Flora far too often during that service, but it was the only thing that kept him going, like sips of water in a trek through the desert. He wasn't sure what kept making him think of water metaphors, except that his throat felt like it was on fire before he was halfway through, and his voice grew more hoarse every minute. Also he was craving a shower after being covered in sickly sweat all day.

After another agonizing hour the service came to a close, and he could once again quietly escape to the sacristy. He was careful not to sit this time lest he sleep the night here, but snuck back to his desk by cutting around the outside of the building. He kept the shades drawn and the lights off in his office until the sounds of people departing had totally faded, than waited a further fifteen minutes to be safe before creeping out to the sanctuary of his truck and the road home. 

Of course there was a car parked beside his truck in the otherwise empty parking lot, and he almost turned around and went back inside, but then he recognized the vehicle. He quickened his pace until his open arms met Flora’s in a desperate embrace.

“I thought you fell asleep or something,” she whispered in his ear as her fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head. 

“Nearly. I'm beyond exhausted,” he croaked, letting his head fall onto her shoulder and nuzzling into her neck. 

“You poor, sick baby. I can't believe you're still preaching like this. You're burning up.” She let the back of her hand rest against his forehead to further confirm, tutting in concern. 

“I don't have a choice. I literally cannot imagine what would happen if I canceled church during Holy Week. I'd probably be burned at the stake and sent straight to hell.”

“They'd have to go through me first,” she said fiercely, giving him a possessive squeeze. “Oh, Luc. What am I going to do with you?” she sighed. “Only you would get this sick during your busiest week of the year.”

“Only me,” he agreed with a wheezy sigh of his own. He could feel himself starting to doze off on her shoulder, so he reluctantly stood straighter and pulled away from her, even as his legs shook. “But I've gotta get home. I'm honestly about to collapse right here.”

“Then you definitely shouldn't be driving. I can–”

“It's too risky, love. I can make it three miles to my place. I'll be alright.” 

Her face was crumpled in frustration, but she nodded, staring at the ground. “I hate this so much– all the hiding, everything being ‘too risky’. The only thing I want is to be with you, and you want that too. I shouldn't have to stay away. It's not right.”

“Nothing is right about this,” he whispered. “But it's all we have right now. I wish I could give you better. I'd give you the world if I could. But all I've got to give is me, holding your hand in the dark.”

“You're enough, and always will be. But I reserve the right to be upset that my guy is sick and I'm not allowed to take care of him.”

“Granted,” he chuckled, which turned into a cough. “As long as I can reserve that right too, considering I'm the sick guy in question.”

“I'll allow it,”she murmured, pulling him in for another long hug. After several moments, she sighed again. “But you'd better get going before I change my mind and kidnap you after all.” 

“Don't tempt me with a good time,” he groaned, pulling away from her warmth reluctantly. “I'm going, but I'll have our phone nearby tonight and all day tomorrow, so call and text whenever you can.”

“Will do. I'll see you Sunday okay? You better be feeling better by then. You're seriously worrying me….” she added. He imagined it was because he was visibly swaying where he stood. He had to brace himself against his truck to keep from buckling, but he hoped she didn't catch that part. 

“I just… need to rest,” he managed. “I have all day tomorrow to recover. I'll be okay… I think. Love you like crazy. I'll talk to you soon, okay?”

He blew her a kiss, then pulled himself into his truck, barely making it. He tried to catch his breath as he started the engine, waiting for the dizzy spinning in his head to stop. Three more miles, he chanted to himself as he put it in drive. Three more miles until he could collapse. 

Collapse he did, nearly as soon as he was in the door of his house. He didn't even bother to change or take a much-needed shower, just stripped down to his undergarments and staggered into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. His final, conscious thought was gratitude to Flora for convincing him to install a doggy door for Charlotte the golden retriever so she could let herself out whenever she needed to. 

~~~

Luc slept for a long time, but he was haunted by fever dreams all night. He couldn't remember the details other than a sense of rising panic for his loved ones that would bring him just to the edge of waking before shifting and changing again. He was also very hot, to the point that his dream-self was sure he was boiling alive because hell was coming to swallow him up for his sins. 

He woke up gasping around noon on Holy Saturday. He was shaking with chills yet simultaneously drenched in sweat, and for several moments he could only lay in bed and try to breathe. Charlotte was pressed against his side, and focusing on her solid presence helped to ground him. Eventually his breathing and heart rate stabilized, but this only served to show him how truly awful he felt. He couldn't even pinpoint what was worst–the respiratory symptoms, the sore throat, the fever chills, the body aches, the malaise–all were equally unbearable. He needed to take some medicine immediately, and probably drink and eat too, so he dragged himself out of bed though his deepest instincts screamed against this.

He pulled on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, then his robe and slippers when he couldn't stop shuddering, before making his staggering way to the bathroom. He had a well-supplied medicine cabinet, so he took a concoction of things that he prayed would do some good before continuing on to the kitchen. It was then that he remembered his promise to Flora and groaned when he had to double back to retrieve his secret phone. Sure enough, she had texted him several times and called him twice. He quickly pushed the button to dial her. She picked up on the second ring. 

“Luc, finally! Where were you?”

“Sorry, love. Just woke up,” he croaked, digging in the fridge for milk to make instant oatmeal.

“I was honestly about to come check to make sure you were alive. I’ve never seen you sleep so long.”

“Not sure I AM alive. I feel awful.”

“Worse than that chest cold when we first got together?”

“... Yeah. Worse than that,” he mumbled, leaning heavily on the counter as he stirred his cereal. He needed her, and he needed her now. He didn't know how he would survive the day otherwise. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to come take care of him like she had been begging to do, consequences be damned, but then he registered the background noises of her "Getting Ready" playlist, her quick footsteps, zippers being pulled, and a water bottle being filled. He recognized the cadence, and his heart sank.

“You're breaking my heart, Luc,” she was saying with a groan. “I can hear how much you're hurting from your voice. And of course I got called into work. But you need me. I can still cancel. I'll call them back, tell them I'm sick–”

“No, don't lie for my sake,” he cut in quickly. “They need you, too. Go save lives. I'll be okay.” The words sounded like a lie even to him but he forced them out even as a miserable tear or two rolled down his cheeks and his legs began to tremble. 

“If you're sure… If you want me to come get you, though, you have to promise to tell me. I have no problem leaving. I'll just tell them I got food poisoning. I can be with you in minutes.”

Luc couldn't help but smile as he dragged a kitchen stool over to the counter and sank into it to wait for his breakfast to cook. “Okay, hon.”

“And I'll call you on every break to check on you.”

“Maybe text instead of call,” he croaked. “Trying to save my voice for tomorrow.” Every word currently felt like a dagger in his throat. He tried not to imagine having to preach in his current state.

“Oh gosh, of course. Okay, well then I'll let you go. I'll be praying for you. Be good and take it easy and get lots of rest. I love you.”

“Not sure I can do much else. Love you too. Do good.”

“Bye, babe.”

“Bye.”

Luc let his head fall into his arms on the counter until the shrill beeping of the microwave roused him. He couldn't ever remember feeling so poorly. It was going to be a long day. 

~~~

One way to make a day feel shorter is to sleep through most of it, as everyone knows, and Luc embraced this solution willingly. After eating and showering and changing his sheets, he went back to bed and hardly moved for the rest of the day. It wasn't a light sleep, either–he was out cold for long stretches of time. He felt bad for Charlotte, knowing he'd hardly paid any attention to her all week, but she was faithful as ever, keeping him warm by staying cuddled up against him. When he did wake, usually to take more medicine, he made sure to send a few texts to Flora. Looking at the screen for long made his headache worse, though, so he kept his replies simple. He knew he was probably letting her down, too, but there wasn't much to be done about it, and he felt too horrendous to care much. 

He woke close to midnight. After getting water and meds yet again he returned to bed but found for the first time all day that he couldn't get back to sleep. He felt overly rested, in fact, and dread started to creep over him at this realization. He would need to be up in less than five hours for the sunrise service. Right now he should absolutely be sleeping, disgusting sickness notwithstanding, and instead he was wide awake and still feeling awful. Panic started to build in his chest.

Thankfully Flora’s shift ended at midnight, so he quickly fired off a text to her: 

“Please pray for me. Slept all day and now I can't sleep when it matters most. Very worried about tomorrow. I don't know how I'll manage preaching. My voice is basically gone.”

He had been sparingly using his voice, just talking to the dog every once in a while, and he had heard it declining all day until it was barely a hoarse whisper. 

Flora replied quickly: “Absolutely praying. I'm believing everything will work out. Just do what you can and leave the rest in His hands.” 

She also sent instructions for a throat soothing rinse, which he made and used right away. He wanted to keep texting her, but he knew she would get ready for bed and crash as soon as she got home, and he didn't want to keep her from sleeping even if he was wide awake. Mentally he wanted to watch TV or read but physically he knew this wasn't wise, so he lay in bed and tried to will himself to sleep. 

Time passed slowly, but he refused to look at the clock. There came a time, though, when he couldn't stand to lay in bed for a minute longer. After pacing a few aimless laps around the house, he found himself in the bedroom again. Instead of laying down, though, he knelt at the side of the bed, pressed his face to the sheets, and began to pour out his heart in prayer. He sensed the listening ears of the saints and was comforted immediately. He expressed his worries and fears and asked for any and all help they would be willing to give. As he closed his prayer a sense of deep peace settled over him, and he noticed the illness symptoms seemed a bit better. He was also sleepy again, so he crawled back into bed, closed his eyes, and was out like a light in moments. 

~~~

When his alarm went off a few hours later, he was more painfully aware than he had ever been before of how early it was. He dragged himself out of bed as the weight of his illness crashed over him yet again. However, he felt fairly steady on his feet, and his head and lungs seemed okay. Charlotte jumped down behind him, wagging her tail in greeting. 

Luc swallowed, noting the mild pain in his throat. “Good morning, Charlie.” 

To his surprise his voice was… okay. He still sounded sick and congested, but the strained whisper from the night before was replaced by something resembling his usual tone. He wanted to weep with relief. He could stand and he could speak. He could preach the Easter services. 

In a strange twist of fate, though he would never forget the circumstances of this particular Easter, he couldn't remember much of the detail of what transpired that day. He knew from the beginning that he was still running a decent fever, though he didn't bother to check how high it was, and he attributed his lack of awareness and memory to this. His body was almost moving of its own volition, taking him where he needed to go and doing what he needed to do with little external input needed. The one conscious decision he remembered making was to tell Rhonda that he would be taking a sick day tomorrow and to please clear his schedule. Other than that, he simply let the day unspool before him. He preached three services, presided over two Easter breakfasts, spoke to dozens of people, sniffled or coughed or wiped his nose hundreds of times, and somehow, though he would never know quite how, survived the whole ordeal. By 1 pm the church had emptied, his duties were complete, and there was nothing left for him to do except pack up and leave, which is exactly what he did. 

He had been invited to several Easter gatherings this year (including the De Luca’s), but between yesterday and today he had politely declined them all, stating his poor health as the reason, and of course everyone understood and wished him well. He was free to retreat to his quiet home, take a long shower, make a huge mug of hot tea, and not move or speak for the rest of the day if he chose. When he sank into his couch after the aforementioned shower and tea, the relief of this washed over him like a tsunami. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, allowing himself to simply breathe. 

It didn't take long before loneliness and self-pity set in, however. He was still sick and miserable and all he wanted–all he'd wanted for days on end–was for someone (well, one person in particular) to hold him and kiss him and take care of him. It seemed cruelly unfair that this wouldn't be possible for another twenty-four hours, and that he would only get maybe twelve hours of coddling out of the deal. He needed more than one night with Flora. Deserved it, in fact, after the horrible week he'd had. With this in mind he began to concoct a desperate plan, praying it would work. 

~~~

That Easter Sunday evening found Luc sitting in front of a rest area Starbucks, nursing a coffee and watching the door. He had been dropped off here by a confused Uber driver thirty minutes ago, and he'd been waiting ever since. Flora’s last update put her arriving any minute now, and he would have been bouncing up and down with anticipation if every joint didn't ache. 

Luc tried to distract himself with his phone, but he felt very exposed here, like every eye in the nearly-empty rest area was on him, a clearly unwell traveler sitting by himself. He was shivering worse than ever between the fever chills and the anxiety, and this made the aching, whole-body soreness nearly unbearable. Every moment he waited for her was agonizing on many levels, so when beautiful Flora breezed through the doorway, he leapt to his feet, almost sending his chair clattering, and ran to meet her, weak with relief.

“My Flora, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!” he murmured in her ear as she pulled him into an embrace. 

“You just saw me this morning,” she giggled, burying her face in his chest. He was glad he'd decided to wear a spritz of cologne at the last minute.

“Yes, but under very different circumstances. I couldn't even touch you then,” he whispered into her hair. 

“True enough.” She pulled back slightly to scrutinize him in her usual way. After a moment she stretched up to press a hand to his sweaty forehead, frowning at the obvious heat she felt. The frown only deepened when her hands brushed over the huge lymph nodes in his neck. “Come on, sick guy, let's get going. Meeting here was a brilliant idea, but I'm not wasting another second of our day together in this creepy place. I've always hated rest areas.”

She took him by the hand and tugged him out the door to her car. After making sure he and his luggage were secured, she climbed into the driver's seat and pulled out onto the freeway, heading toward the next major city, about an hour away. 

“So how are you feeling, love?” Flora asked once they were underway. “You look awful, no offense.”

“I feel pretty awful,” he agreed in a hoarse whisper, already fighting sleep. “But I'm already a bit better now that I'm with you.”

She gave him a concerned, sidelong look. “Is that really all that's left of your voice? You sounded fine this morning.”

He nodded. “I prayed hard last night that I would be able to preach today, and my prayers were answered. But I took a nap while I was waiting for you to be ready and this is how it was when I woke up. I think my body has reached its limit.” 

“Then shush, you don't have to talk anymore. I can't even imagine how sore your throat is. Just rest and let me take care of everything from here, especially you. For the next thirty-six hours, you're mine and mine alone.”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Luc mumbled with a smile, already drifting toward sleep. 

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Sicktember #19

Prompt: Curled Up With a Pet

Fandom/OCs: Priest ‘verse OCs (Luc and Flora)

Words: 2530

Sicknario inspo: 'Have you taken anything for that fever?' from this post and caught in the rain scenario from this post.

Author’s comments/background: Ah my sweet babies, in the honeymoon of their relationship. This is tooth rotting fluff, giving a new meaning to the idea of sickly sweet, but it’s definitely sickfic and easily one of my favorite things I wrote this year. Another prompt that just needed some characters to bring it to life, though, which made writing this easy. Enjoy the continued progression of Luc and Flora’s relationship. I set myself up perfectly for some romantic sickbed sex as the next chapter. We’ll see if I have the b*lls to write that, though. 

~~~***~~~

The last week in June was always when Father Luc took his summer vacation. He had rented an isolated cabin by a lake in a different state this year, ensuring the lowest possible chance of meeting someone he knew, which enabled Flora to join him along with Charlotte, his golden retriever. The pair had been scheming and anticipating the trip for months. Days of uninterrupted time together, not having to hide or cover their whereabouts, was something they had only dreamed of. Now they would actually experience it. 

The first few days of the trip were blissful. They spent hours basking in one another's company, talking about everything and nothing, elated not to be watching the clock or looking over their shoulder constantly. They ate every meal together, swam at all hours of the day, cuddled on the couch, stayed in bed for hours, explored and memorized every line and curve and expression and breath… perfection was the only word they could find to describe those first days. 

Around midweek, though, Flora was going a little stir crazy. It was decided that she would run to the nearest town for a grocery run and some window shopping. Luc despised shopping of any variety, so he opted to stay back and go for a hike with Charlotte on the nearby paths. It would be their first time apart in days, and Flora felt a little strange leaving them in the rearview mirror. She felt almost exposed without the warmth of his solid presence only a touch away. She decided she wasn't going to linger long in town, not wanting to waste a single moment of the blessed week. 

Luc, too, missed Flora the moment her car disappeared, but he had been looking forward to hiking since they'd gotten here. Flora was not an outdoors girl, though he knew she would've toughed it out just to please him, so he seized the opportunity to go while she was otherwise occupied. 

In his eagerness to get a few miles under his boots, he didn't look at the weather before starting off, which proved to be a huge oversight. The first half of the hike was perfect. He set a challenging pace, but didn't push himself and eased up when he needed to, though he refrained from taking any long rests. Charlotte trotted along with him merrily, enjoying her investigations along the path but never straying far from his side. 

The hour he'd set for his midway point arrived, and since he was feeling great, he decided to go just a bit further. The moment he made this decision, so it seemed, the rain clouds rolled in with frightening speed. Within minutes the first fat drops were falling. Luc groaned and turned around immediately, knowing it was probably too late. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes rain was falling steadily, surprisingly cold for the month of June. He had a cheap plastic rain poncho in his pack and he threw this on, knowing it would do little good in this, heavy, soaking rain. He tried to keep up the same pace, and even sped up where he could, but the path was steep and slippery in many places and he was forced to slow down for the sake of safety, so in the end he lost time. He avoided any injury, but he still slipped and fell more than once, and soon he was muddy on top of everything else. Any enjoyment he'd gotten from the first half of the walk was quashed by the cold, wet second half, and he was beyond relieved when the cabin appeared over the rise. Charlotte started running when she saw it, desperate to get somewhere dry, and he wasn't far behind.

Even though they returned almost forty-five minutes later than he intended, shockingly Flora hadn't returned either. He realized she was likely trying to wait out the rain, since driving in inclement weather made her anxious as it was, and this was unfamiliar territory to boot. Relieved not to have worried her, he toweled off himself and the dog, threw his filthy clothes in the wash, and hopped into a hot shower. 

He felt worlds better when he emerged, except that the damp chill seemed to have settled in his bones. Donning a sweatshirt and sweatpants, he planted himself on the couch to await the return of his beloved. 

About an hour after the rain had slowed to a drizzle, Luc heard the truck in the driveway. She had texted him when she was leaving town that she was on her way and that she'd picked up frozen pizzas for dinner, so he had the oven preheated and the pans ready. He waited just inside the door for her, and the moment she entered they collapsed into each other as if their absence had been months instead of hours, a hug so tight that neither knew where one of them ended and the other began. He breathed in the sweet scent of her, relishing the tickle of her hair against his neck. 

"I don't know how I'll get used to not being able to touch you in public again," she murmured in his ear, echoing his thoughts exactly. 

"We won't deal with that until we have to," he murmured back. 

They continued with similar sweet nothings while they moved as one into the kitchen and got the pizzas into the oven, unable to keep eyes and hands away from one another. 

"How was town?" he asked after a while, in the midst of making sweet iced tea to go with the pizza.

"Adorable. It's cliche, but the best word to describe it is quaint. They have little shops for everything. The grocery store was very overpriced, but they did have a lot of good stuff. I definitely splurged a little. How was your hike?"

He made a face. "Wet. Well, breathtaking at first. The trails are wonderful. But we got caught in the rain and got drenched before we could get home."

"I wondered why Charlie was looking all bedraggled. And why you chose to shower without me," she said, nudging her hip teasingly against his. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know you were really looking forward to that."

He shrugged. "Maybe I'll get another chance before we leave. But next time I'll actually check the weather first."

The rest of the night passed similarly. The rain never stopped with only the intensity varying from hour to hour. After their first day out of the house in days, the pair was tired and spent a languid evening watching movies on the couch. Flora sat in Luc's lap, her head on his chest, with a blanket covering them both. Luc was thankful for all the extra warmth keeping him from shivering, since he still couldn't get warm. They both dozed off and on, but during one interlude between movies, Flora made Luc promise to take her out to lunch the next day and go with her to a bookstore cafe she'd seen for dessert. Because Luc's only objective for the whole week was to make Flora the happiest woman alive, of course he said yes. 

~~~

In the wee hours of the next morning, Luc woke out of nowhere. Usually a hard sleeper, at first he was confused as to why he was awake, until he realized the pillow was unpleasantly wet under his face because apparently his nose was running. He gingerly lifted his head to find one nostril was completely clogged while the other was already tickling furiously, as if a dozen sneezes wanted to get out suddenly. He crept out of bed, careful not to disturb Flora. Charlotte raised her head to look at him from her bed on the floor, then laid back down with a huff of annoyance.

 He tiptoed around the foot of the bed, scrubbing at his nose until it squelched which only served to make him want to sneeze more, and over to the ensuite bathroom. Once the bathroom door was shut behind him, he blew his nose several times, then finally gave in to stifle a smattering of fittish sneezes into a towel. Another round of nose blowing, which triggered a little coughing fit, and at last he felt better. Opening the bathroom door, he was startled to see Flora half sitting up, blinking at him in confusion. 

"Are you okay?" she mumbled, fuzzy with sleep. "Heard you coughing."

He frowned. "I didn't mean to wake you. I'm fine. Just a tickle."

"Heard you sneezing too. Are you coming down with something?"

He shrugged. "Maybe a little chill. All the rain yesterday and such. Nothing to worry about."

Flora nodded, already coasting back to sleep. She was out before he had gotten under the covers. Before he could settle, he again had to scrub at his nose and was annoyed to find that it was already feeling drippy. He laid down with a huff reminiscent of Charlotte's and closed his eyes. He too was asleep again in moments.

~~~

The couple slept in the next morning, as had been their habit this week. By late morning, though, Flora, more of a morning person than Luc, was flitting around like a butterfly getting ready while the priest hadn't yet managed to get out of bed.

"Why are you getting all dressed up?" he mumbled, still half asleep.

"Because you promised to take me to lunch, silly! It's already brunch time as it is."

He ran a hand across his face, suppressing a groan. "Right, right. Okay, then I need to start getting ready too." He tried to keep his tone positive, but going into town was the last thing he wanted to do. Anything beyond moving from the bed to the couch was the last thing he wanted to do. But he could never disappoint Flora, not during their magical getaway. He was sluggish getting ready. His nose and throat still bothered him, his eyes felt puffy, and now he had the makings of a headache too. Yet he didn’t complain, smiled at Flora whenever he was near, and tried to act as if nothing was wrong. 

He couldn’t hide anything from perceptive Flora, though. He hadn’t made much headway in getting ready, and had only just made it out of the shower when she stopped him with a gentle touch on his arm. “Are you okay, Luc? You look pretty out of it.”

He sighed, choosing truth over a white lie. “I think that hike yesterday really took it out of me. I’m exhausted. Got the sniffles. Just really don’t feel great. But hey, I can still take you out to lunch, don’t worry. I want to make you happy and make the most of our time here."

Flora gave him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t do that to yourself. I can see in your eyes that you really don’t want to go out. You stay here and rest and hold down the fort. I’ll run up there and grab a book or two and some lunch and coffee to go for us. You don’t need to make yourself miserable for my sake.”

He chuckled softly. “I would never be miserable if I was with you. But if you’re sure, then I’ll take you up on that offer. I know you’re getting bored just hanging around here. And all I want to do is go back to sleep for a while. I promise I’ll be better company when you get back.”

“Especially if I bring you some caffeine,” she laughed. “Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll see you in a few hours, then. Enjoy your rest.”

“I’ll miss you the whole time,” he said softly. He hated that he would have to watch her drive away again, but knew he wouldn’t feel any better if he were with her in this case. It was for the best for him to stay here, so he could get himself into shape to enjoy her when she got back. 

~~~

Flora was back by late afternoon with a bag full of books, and a bag full of takeout, plus a carrier of drinks. Luc wasn’t in the living room, and she had a strong sense of deja vu, recalling the official beginning of their romance when she nursed him though a horrible chest cold. She set the food in the kitchen and the books in the living room, then poked her head into the bedroom, smiling at the sight that greeted her. 

Luc was wearing the same clothes he had been when she left, and it looked like he had turned around and laid down as soon as she was gone. He was on top of the bedspread, but covered in the blanket she always traveled with, snoring deeply and curled up in a “C” shape around Charlotte, who was also snoozing. Unlike the first time she had nursed him, though, she wasn’t about to let him sleep all day, not when they only had a few precious days left alone together. Plus, she was hungry, and she assumed he would be too. 

She perched on the side of the bed and ran her hand up and down the length of his leg. When he didn’t stir, she tried gently shaking his arm. He shifted and mumbled, immediately scrubbing his nose, which she noted was an angry shade of red, into his shoulder with a snuffle. She went to brush the riot of dark curls away from his forehead, but frowned when her palm made contact with his skin. She shook his shoulder again, softly calling his name. His eyes flickered open and lit up upon seeing her. They shared a tiny smile. 

“Hey, sleepyhead… Have you taken anything for that fever?” she asked softly, trying not to let worry color her tone too much. 

“Fever?” he mumbled. “What fever?” Luc slowly sat up, rubbing a palm into one eye and sniffling, only to be wracked by a harsh shiver a moment later that made him hiss in discomfort. 

“Oh no, are you cold?” Flora asked, though the answer seemed obvious, scooting closer to him and lifting her arm invitingly. 

“Freezing,” he said, and she thought she heard his teeth start to chatter as he pulled her blanket closer around himself, then sagged against her with a sleepy yawn, his heated skin making the hair on her arms prickle. She simply sat and held him for a bit, weighing their options. 

“Looks like I might be making another run into town,” Flora murmured. “I’m not sure how much medicine I brought. I think I just have Tylenol and Ibuprofen.”

“Don’t go again,” Luc mumbled, still half asleep against her. “I’ll be fine. I just want you here with me.”

Flora laughed softly. “If you insist. Your wish is my command.”

“All I wish is that we go watch more movies with coffee and dinner.”

“Call me Jeanne, then, because I think I can make that happen. As long as you promise you’ll take some medicine and not get any worse.”

“Your wish is my command,” Luc echoed sleepily, his dimple flickering in a smile.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Feel My Temperature Rising

Set the day after this story, the first thing I wrote for them. 

Also, I have decided Burnin’ Love by Elvis is officially Flora and Luc’s song. 

CW: Dubcon-ish elements, but s*x doesn’t actually happen, just cuddling. Also, obviously, priest things and religious elements. 

If anyone ever asked about everything that transpired on that pivotal day, she would insist she hadn't been looking for him, because it was true. She hadn't been. She was coming back from the library, and she always took that route to and from the library to avoid the traffic on the main roads. 

Now of course she knew he lived in that area, because of course she had looked up his information in the church directory, so sure, whenever she drove through this neighborhood she had one eye on the sidewalks in case she passed him walking. Who could blame her for that? Still, she never expected to actually find him, that day of all days, so she couldn't possibly be blamed for the subsequent events. She was simply a victim of fate.

On that fateful day, the day after he'd been coughing in confession and then let her feel his fever, the rainstorm started while she was browsing for books. She had hung around the library an extra ten minutes or so to see if the downpour would abate, but when it showed no sign of slowing she made a run for her car, ducking in and slamming the door behind herself. She was in the open less than thirty seconds, yet she was already uncomfortably damp and shivering, and annoyed at being so. She put the car into drive and began to make her way home along her usual route, thinking only of dry clothes and a hairbrush. 

Imagine her surprise when, through the sheeting rain, she saw someone on the sidewalk ahead, leading a dog and holding a handful of grocery bags. Even from behind, she could see both dog and owner were drenched beyond belief and hunched into themselves against the downpour. As she approached, her concern turned to disbelief, for the person looked an awful lot like her hot priest. She slowed to a crawl beside them, and sure enough, Father Luc turned to meet her eyes, his face mirroring her own startled look. She rolled down the passenger window and leaned over. 

"Father Luc? What are you doing out in this storm?" she called. 

"Flora," came the weak reply. "What a surprise! I'm… out enjoying the weather with Charlotte as you can see." He gestured to the sodden golden retriever at his side, who gave her a mournful look. 

What she could see was how much he was shivering, how deathly pale he was, and how hollow his eyes were, ringed with dark circles. Without further ado, she threw open the passenger door, gesturing for him to get in. 

"Oh, no, don't trouble yourself. We're only a few blocks from home and we'd get your car all wet–"

Charlotte was not so humble, though, and immediately hopped into the open door, seating herself on the passenger seat with as much dignity as she could muster, shaking off immediately. Flora was thoroughly caught in the spray, and the priest apologized profusely, begging the dog to come back out, but Flora only laughed and waved away his concern while Charlotte ignored him.

"I was already wet. What's a little more rainwater? And clearly she's made up her mind, so it looks like you'll have to get in, too."

Shaking his head, the shivering man opened the rear passenger side door and got in awkwardly, as if trying to avoid touching anything with his wet clothes, a totally futile task when sitting in a car. 

"Tell me where you live," Flora directed, putting the car into gear. 

He gave her simple instructions, and she started off. 

"This certainly isn't how I hoped our first car ride together would go," Flora thought to herself, glancing at the dripping dog beside her, and at the dripping man in the backseat, and suppressing a snort of laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. 

"Thank you for the lift," Father Luc croaked. "Your timing was impeccable. I think Charlie girl was about to give up walking all together and just lie down on the sidewalk." He coughed productively after the speech, excusing himself. 

"What were you doing out in this weather with that cough? I'm sure her walk and the groceries could have waited. You still sound as sick as you did yesterday."

"It wasn't raining when we started," he said sheepishly. "I rested most of this morning and felt better, and I thought some fresh air might help. I was just going to take her on a quick walk and get a few groceries at the little market. The rain interrupted everything. We waited around at the store, but when it seemed like it was just getting started, we made a run for it." He coughed again, even harsher. 

"You could have gotten an Uber or something!"

"I couldn't bring myself to waste the money for a few blocks of walking."

By then they had arrived at his home, and Father Luc was shivering worse than ever. Once the car was in park, Flora leapt into action. She grabbed Charlotte's leash and got herself and the dog out of the car, then ran around to open the priest's door as he fumbled to collect his bags and his keys, his hands numb and shaking. He gave her a tiny smile as he led the way up to his porch, but she saw a foggy heaviness in the way he moved, and the unnatural cast to his eyes told her his fever was back with a vengeance, if it had ever left. She was determined to stay with him now more than ever, and she said a quick prayer of thanks that the situation had presented itself so naturally. 

He unlocked the front door of his house, and she was afraid he might take the leash and say she could leave, so she held on tightly to her ticket in, and even grabbed the grocery bags from him as he fumbled with his keys, then followed in directly behind him as if she belonged there, and he didn't stop her.

His cozy little house exactly suited what she imagined for him, and seeing it at last made her happy. She made her way to the kitchen with the grocery bags, unclipping Charlotte's leash as she did. The dog shook off again with a weary sigh, then began to pace around. 

Meanwhile, Father Luc was stripping off his wet clothes, tossing them in a heap. Flora did her best to keep her face neutral at this rapid development, but the priest did not acknowledge her presence. Soon he was bare chested, and she waited with bated breath to see if the pants would follow. His violent shaking was visible as he removed his shoes and socks, and then his belt. Flora clenched her fists at her sides, but that seemed to be as far as he was going. 

"Gotta get in the shower," he mumbled through chattering teeth, glancing at her. "I'm not feeling well at all all of a sudden."

"I'll make you some soup and tea for when you get out!" she called as he made his way into the back part of the house. He didn't respond, and she took that as her invitation to stay. She couldn't help but crane her neck to see if he would continue stripping in the hallway, but his pants stayed on until the bathroom door closed behind him.

Shaking her head, she set about making food for him right away, trying to put clothes (or lack thereof) out of her mind. Judging by the cans he'd picked up at the store, he was in the mood for vegetable beef soup, so she started it simmering, adding some extra seasoning just as she would have done if she was making it for herself. An electric kettle was already out on the counter, so she got hot water going as well. As she worked, she familiarized herself with his domicile. It was cute and homey, with touches here and there that showed it was currently a sick room: the kettle, the used mugs scattered here and there, the blankets heaped on the couch, the medicine and cough drops on the coffee table. She saw the canvas bag she had given him the day before draped over a chair and found most of her dishes in the sink. Her jam was open in the fridge, so she made him toast and jam to go with his soup, and some tea and toast for herself as well. 

Charlotte continued to pace the whole time, and kept going to the back door, then coming back to look at her expectantly. 

"You can't want to go out in this. I dunno what you want, girl. You'll have to wait for your master."

Charlotte continued to stare at her pleadingly. With a sigh, Flora moved toward her. Seeing she was being followed at last, Charlotte walked over to an old towel folded up near the back door, pawed at it, then looked at Flora hopefully. Flora picked it up gingerly. It was very hairy and smelled like…

"Wet dog. You want me to dry you off better?"

Charlotte wagged her tail, positioning herself at an angle. Laughing, Flora did as she had been (more or less) asked. The dog wagged her tail the whole time, shifting here and there so Flora could better reach all of her. When she had been thoroughly toweled off, the dog gave Flora a grateful lick on the hand, then trotted over to her dog bed and laid down with a contented sigh. 

"Well you're a spoiled princess, aren't you? But I guess I shouldn't expect any less. I'm an only child, too, so I get it." 

Feeling very fond of the dog already, Flora returned to her preparations. By the time she heard the shower kick off, everything was ready. She still wished for a hairbrush and a dry shirt, but she combed through her hair with her fingers and made the best of it. 

She heard the sick man before she saw him, his chesty coughing heralding his approach. He staggered in, now dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, wearing a pained grimace and looking faint and flushed, with one hand pressed to his temple. He stopped short upon seeing her, clearly taken aback, while she moved to his side eagerly.

"Flora. You're still here. I thought I heard you leave."

"No, I've been here taking care of things. I wanted to make sure you got lunch and had everything you needed." 

"Thank you, that was very kind of you. But I think it might be best if–" 

 He tried to walk as he was talking, but as he came down the small step between the back rooms and the living area, he tripped and staggered. He would have fallen face-first onto the floor had Flora not been there to catch him around the ribs. She held him steady as he got his feet back underneath him. When she felt he was stable, she released him, tutting in concern as she did. 

"Poor thing, you are absolutely roasting, aren't you?" Without thinking she pressed her palm to his forehead to confirm. He made a small, needy sound as she did, pausing a moment before he pulled away. 

"I was just coming in here to take a fever reducer. But as I was saying–"

"I'm not going anywhere while you're borderline delirious with that fever. You can hardly walk straight."

"I can walk straight," he said softly, perhaps a little hurt. Yet the unsteady way he continued to sway said otherwise. Luckily for her, before he could protest her presence again, he broke into the harshest coughing fit she had yet heard. His legs began to tremble in earnest, forcing him to reach desperately for the nearest piece of furniture to keep himself upright. Before he knew what was happening, she had one hand around his arm and one in the small of his back as she propelled him to the couch. When he was seated and catching his breath, she scurried to the kitchen, poured him a mug of tea and honey, then returned to hand it to him. He took it eagerly, though his hands visibly shook. 

"That's twice now you've almost fallen in as many minutes. I can't in good conscience leave you alone like this," she said softly. "You're on a crash course to injure yourself, no pun intended. I'm staying to help you, and that's final."

She spoke with such conviction that no one would have dared argue with her, him least of all, since they both knew that in truth he desperately wanted to be taken care of. He was too sick and miserable to want otherwise.

At last he nodded, dropping his gaze in submission. She had won this round. 

"Drink that tea," she chided gently. "It's the one you just bought, the throat coat."

He did as she asked, humming in pleasure at the warmth, which of course turned into a cough. "Can you bring me the cough syrup?" he asked after another few swallows. "And the Tylenol?"

"Of course. How about some food, too? I made soup and toast."

He palmed his stomach, rubbing it absently. "I suppose I'd better." 

"Don't tell me your stomach is bothering you too?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. But if I take all this medicine without eating it will."

"Sensitive stomach?"

He nodded. "Especially when I'm already sick."

She filed this tidbit away in her memory as she fetched his requests. She handed him the medicines along with a bottle of water and set the soup and toast on the table. Then she squatted down so they were at eye level, forcing him to meet her eyes. She gently brushed away his shower-damp bangs and pressed a hand to his forehead, wanting to actually gauge his fever this time. He accepted her touch without protest, muffling a cough behind his lips. 

She clucked her tongue at the noticeable heat. "Have you taken your temperature with a thermometer recently?"

He shook his head, looking sheepish. "Not sure I want to know the number. I already know it's high."

She chuckled. "I suppose that's fair. The number won't change the treatment. As long as you take that medicine."

In reply, he swallowed the syrup and pills with a big drink of water, giving her a tiny smile and a wink. 

She grinned back at him. "Before you eat, I'll pray for the food." Seizing any opportunity to touch him, she grasped his free hand and bowed her head. "Dear Lord, thank you for this food and let it nourish our bodies. Heal Father Luc of his illness and keep us safe in this rainstorm. In Jesus' name we pray, Amen."

"Thank you, Flora," the priest said, gently releasing his hand from hers. "And I'll add, I pray you don't catch this from being around my germs so much today."

"I'm not worried, and you shouldn't be either. But if it makes you feel better, I'll do the dishes and disinfect things while you eat. For both our sakes."

"That's not necessary. I can–"

"I want to. I'm here to help you, after all. Plus, you'll feel better in a clean house."

He sighed quietly. "If you insist. Again, thank you."

"It's my pleasure," she said fervently. "I'll take care of everything. You just sit and eat and rest."

Of course, while she was cleaning the kitchen she kept an eye on him, glancing over surreptitiously every so often. At first he ate fairly steadily, though pain flashed across his face every few swallows. The toast was gone in short order, washed down with the rest of the tea, and then he started on the soup. During the second half of his meal, though, his blinking steadily grew slower and heavier, and the motion of the spoon slowed. At last she looked over to see he had dozed off where he sat, the bowl resting precariously on his knee. Just as she was about to go rescue it, he jerked awake with a barking cough. He set the bowl and spoon aside then and wrapped a few blankets snugly around himself, shifting to lie down with a sickly snuffle, knees drawn in close and hands tucked under the pillow under his cheek. 

"Why haven't you been lying down in bed?" she called over to him.

"Too far away from everything," he croaked. "I didn't want to be walking around so much."

She almost told him she would be doing all the walking for him now so he could go to bed if he liked, but thought better of it. There would be time for that later. And anyway, seeing him curled up on the couch was probably more adorable. 

Charlotte seemed to agree. Once his face was at the same level as hers, she quietly trotted over and gave him a few comforting licks on the cheek, wagging her tail. He freed a hand from his cocoon to scratch behind her ears. 

"I'm okay, Charlie girl," he murmured. "I just need to sleep."

She seemed to understand. She gave him another little lick, then went back to her own bed, continuing to keep an eye on him.

Flora finished the dishes a few minutes later and came to sit across from him. He was nearly asleep, his breathing slow and steady.

"You should leave whenever you want, Flora," the priest mumbled, not opening his eyes. "I'll be okay. Charlie will take care of me."

Hearing her name, the dog crossed to Flora, who began to pet her right away. Giving her a friendly tail wag, the dog laid down across Flora's feet with a happy sigh. Flora laughed, continuing to pet her ally. 

Luc cracked an eye open at the sound of her laugh, and also smiled at the sight. 

"Looks like she doesn't want me to leave. I guess she likes having the help."

"So it would seem," he murmured, letting his eyes drift closed again. 

Flora was quiet until it seemed he was asleep, then smiled down at her foot warmer. 

"Good girl, Charlotte," she murmured, scratching the dog's ears. 

"Good Charlotte," came his voice from beside her, muddled with sleep and a sore throat, making her jump. "That's why I gave her that name. I loved that band growing up."

"It's a perfect name for her. I loved that band, too. Still do. My mother was appalled the first time I accidentally let her hear it."

"Mine, too," he mumbled around a yawn. "I still have all my punk albums hidden under my bed. Old habits die hard…." He trailed off into a snore.

As far as she was concerned, that was the only proof necessary that the two of them needed to get married. A priest that listens to 2000′s punk rock? Could a man be any more attractive?

~~~

Flora was near at hand when the sick man woke again a few hours later. Wild horses wouldn't have dragged her away from his sickbed now that she had made her way in, so after cleaning and disinfecting most of the house, she had opened up one of her library books and waited out his nap with Charlotte at her side. It had been difficult to watch him toss and turn uncomfortably for so long, his fever making him mutter and moan in his sleep, so it was a relief when he showed signs of waking. 

In the end it was a coughing fit that woke him of course, the sound harsh and rumbling as ever. He tossed and turned a bit after he quieted, as if trying to go back to sleep. Eventually his eyes slid open instead, then immediately closed. With a soft groan he ran his hands over his face.

Watching all of this transpire, Flora crossed to him, the dog at her side. "Hey there. How are you feeling?"

There was no denying the flicker of happiness that crossed his face upon seeing her, but the pinched, miserable expression quickly returned. 

"Nnghn," he mumbled, feebly trying to free his legs from the blankets wrapped around them. 

"That good, huh?" She came to his rescue, folding up the offending blankets on top of the others. 

"Just slowly boiling alive," he sighed, wheezy and rough. "I'm pretty sure I feel my temperature rising." He began to scratch Charlotte's ears, and this seemed to relax him slightly. 

Flora knew there would be no benefit in feeling his forehead, for it was going to feel hot. She could tell that on sight alone, flushed and sweaty as he looked, and his own comments notwithstanding. Yet the urge to touch him in any possible way was constant and overwhelming; such was his magnetism over her. Still, another idea occurred to her.

"Let me get a cold cloth for your face so you'll be a little more comfortable. And we'll actually take your temperature now as a baseline, since it seems like the medicine isn't working well."

"Just a minute," he croaked, swinging his legs down and staggering up to stand. He shuffled his way to the bathroom, coughing all the way, with his dog at his heels. Charlotte was clearly intent on making sure he stayed safe. The pair returned as quickly as could be expected in his weak, unsteady state, and he fell back into the couch bonelessly, nestling into the blankets with another groan while Charlotte and Flora looked on anxiously. 

Flora was ready with the thermometer as soon as he was settled, but as she was about to give it to him, something began to vibrate. It wasn't the first time she'd heard the sound that day, but it was the most persistent. She gave him a questioning look and he pulled his phone out of the depths of the couch behind him wordlessly, tossing it on the coffee table without a glance. It stopped vibrating, then started again immediately. 

"You're not going to answer?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Don't feel good. No phone calls today," he mumbled.

She wanted to "aww" so badly at his pathetically simple statement of fact, but didn't want to embarrass him, so she settled for giving him a sympathetic look while Charlotte licked his cheek, clearly feeling the same way. He'd gone from "not feeling well at all" to "don't feel good" in only a few hours. He really must be miserable.

 The phone stopped ringing, then started once more. She really tried not to look, since she didn't want him to think she was snooping, but she caught a glimpse of the name on the screen before she could stop herself.

"It says Mom… are you sure you don't want to answer?"

He shook his head. "She's the last person I want to talk to. She'll hear I'm sick from my voice and then she'll fuss and worry. Here, let me turn the ringer off."

She handed it to him, and he set it to silent before tossing it back onto the table, settling down once more with a huff that ended in fittish coughing. Flora didn't leave him alone, though, and held out the thermometer again. He took it and put it in his mouth willingly. As it calibrated, he let his eyes slip closed, the bruising around them vivid as ever. 

His companion took the opportunity to soak in his appearance, staring unabashedly. Dressed in sweats and shivering, hair tousled, fever-flushed, moisture glistening on his forehead, and now with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth, he was the picture of illness. She had never seen a more contagious sight–or a more beautiful one. That she was able to be with him while he was in such a vulnerable state was a gift she would never take for granted. 

The thermometer eventually beeped, interrupting her reverie, and his eyes flickered open wearily as she took it, awaiting the verdict. 

"103.3. That's about what I expected, honestly. Let's try to get you cooled off a little so you're more comfortable."

"At least three is my lucky number," he mumbled sleepily as she bustled around gathering things. "Maybe that'll be good luck."

"Is it? Why three?" she asked conversationally. "The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost?"

"That's one reason, I suppose," he chuckled. "But there's lots of others. There are three kids in my family and in both my parents'. My sisters were born on March 3rd and March 23rd. My house number growing up was 333. Just to name a few."

"Well I like that. I'll hope that that means good luck, then, too," she said, kneeling at his side to press an icy cold cloth to his forehead.

He broke into a coughing fit as she did so, one of the worst yet. He quickly had trouble catching his breath and had to sit upright, hacking into his fist again and again, the cloth falling off immediately. 

Feeling the need to do something, Flora found herself pressing her hand into his chest, rubbing a little, wanting to soothe and steady his lungs. To her surprise, he didn't shift away from her, but grabbed her hand with his and held on like it was a lifeline, squeezing with every cough. 

At last he quieted, more flushed and sweaty than ever, and fell back against the pillow in exhaustion. Only then did he let her hand fall from his. 

"I'm sorry I got you talking," she said. "I should know better when you're sick like this."

"Not your fault," came the hoarse whisper. "Conversation is good for the soul."

Flora again laid the cloth against his forehead, pressing it down. He sighed in pleasure, which only made him start coughing again, though this fit was less protracted. 

"Oh Luc, that's such a bad cough," she sighed. "Do you want to take some more medicine?"

He made a face, and she almost thought he was going to decline. But after a moment he nodded with another tiny sigh. "Can you bring me a yogurt bar out of the freezer too?"

"Oh yeah, of course." 

In no time he'd downed the medicine and eaten again, rounding everything out with more tea. While he was eating, Flora turned on Netflix with his permission. Scanning through his "recently watched" queue for something familiar, she picked one of her own favorites, the Great British Baking Show. He smiled as she selected it, and of course she smiled back. She had always sensed their innate compatibility, but she adored finding more and more proof of it.

Once his tea was gone, he settled back into his blanket nest and was snoozing in no time, propped up somewhat so he could breathe better. Charlotte followed suit, stretching out in her dog bed. Flora left the show playing for the background noise for both of them. 

She was getting a bit bored, she admitted to herself. It was progressing towards evening, and she wondered idly how her departure was going to come about. Would he force her to finally go, or should she see herself out and save him the trouble? She thought probably the former, whatever intentions she would purport to have. Bored or not, she knew once she left his house the magic would have to end. She'd never get another chance like this, so she intended to see it through as long as possible. 

He didn't sleep nearly as long as she expected this time, and in less than an hour (two episodes hadn't even played) he was stirring awake again. He opened his eyes, fidgeting around restlessly. He'd been lying on his side with the blanket drawn up to his chin, but with a frustrated groan he rolled over onto his front. 

"Is everything okay?" Flora asked, going to kneel at his side. She pressed her hand to his forehead. "It feels like your fever is finally down. What's wrong?"

"Nauseous, dizzy," he muttered. "I always get nauseous when I take Robitussin, but it's the only thing that works when I have a cough like this. I thought eating with it would help. Guess not."

"Why would you take it if it makes you sick, though?"

"I'd rather be nauseous than coughing so hard I can't breathe."

"So you either have to feel seasick or cough your lungs out? Poor love. Those are both awful options."

It was only after he perked up and met her eyes that she realized her slip of the tongue. 

"What… what did you say?" he croaked, his face inscrutable as he slowly sat up straighter. 

She willed herself to hold his stare in that critical moment as she carefully chose her words, communicating far more through the intensity of her gaze than what she said: "I meant to say 'Luc', but it came out 'love'. A slip of the tongue. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Please forgive me." 

His gaze didn't waver either. "Oh no, it's not that. You don't need to ask for forgiveness. I just… I wanted to make sure I heard you correctly."

"Yes, you heard correctly." She took a tiny step forward, his eyes drawing her in, erasing any willpower she might have had.

"I see," he breathed. "I– I believe I understand."

They hung, frozen in time for the longest of moments. Neither seemed to breathe. Then, he slowly reached out his hand to her, inviting her to come closer. She hardly felt her feet on the floor as she drew near and placed her hand in his, but his touch electrified her. He brushed his lips across her palm. The barest touch, yet she felt fire erupt across her skin, raising goosebumps of delight. Then, with a little squeeze, he released her just as quickly as he'd caught her, their eyes meeting once more. 'Not yet', his gaze seemed to say. 'In time. But not yet.'

For him, she would wait as long as he asked. She believed a promise of more from him could sustain her indefinitely. Her chest felt full, bursting with a thousand emotions. 

His chest was full too, though in a very different way, and she crashed back to reality when he began to hack productively into a fist, harsh and scraping. 

She sighed softly, shifting her focus. His health still took priority. "You poor thing. That cough just won't let you rest."

"It's better, though. I think it's getting better," he mumbled, lying back down with an air of exhaustion and misery. 

"Maybe a little," she conceded. In her mind, she was running through options of how she could help him. It was too soon for medicine. He wouldn't want to eat with a stomach ache. His fever was down, so a cool rag wasn't necessary. "But you still look so sick and sad. What can I get you to help you feel better? Name it and it's yours."

His eyes lit up for a brief moment. "The only thing that sounds good right now is ginger ale. And maybe Vicks will help this cough since nothing else will…."

She could see there was one more thing, but he was hesitating. "And? What else?"

"Well… whenever I was sick as a kid, my grandmother would always watch me. And she and I would always do jigsaw puzzles together. And I… I guess I'd really love a new puzzle to work on. Since I don't think this is going away anytime soon."

"Your wish is my command. But actually, you already have one of those things." She hurried to the kitchen and returned with a little jar of Vicks. "You bought this while you were out this morning."

"Did I? I don't remember that," he said faintly, taking the jar and fidgeting with it. "This morning feels like forever ago."

"You can say that again," she agreed. "But you were thinking ahead even if you don't remember doing so. Do you… want help putting that on?" 

"Oh no, I've got it," he said, reddening. "But if you're leaving, could you let Charlotte out before you go? I think the rain finally stopped."

The dog, who was quietly standing by the back door, wagged her tail at the sound of her name, making Flora smile. 

"You got it. Anything else?" 

He shook his head. "You've already done so much. I'll never be able to thank you enough. I'm so thankful you found us on the side of the road."

"Don't mention it. Any– anyone would have done the same." She had been about to say 'any good Christian', but that was a little too tongue-in-cheek even for her, knowing her own ulterior motives. "I'll head to the store right away," she said, preventing him from replying further. She found a sticky note and scribbled down her cellphone number. "Text me if you think of anything else. I shouldn't be gone long."

"I will. Thank you," he said quietly. "And before you ask, no, I won't stop thanking you. You saved the day today."

"Then I guess I'd better leave so you don't have the opportunity to keep saying it," she laughed, going to the back door with the dog at her heels.

 Letting Charlotte out was the work of the moment. The dog did her business quickly, looking at the sky apprehensively the whole time. Since moisture was still drizzling down, she again insisted on being toweled off when they got back inside, making Flora and Luc laugh. This done, Flora was speeding away to the nearest bookstore in no time. 

She took her time selecting a puzzle she thought would suit him. Nothing too feminine, no boring landscapes or movie stills. At last she picked out a colorful, abstract design that looked like it would be challenging but not impossible. She found ginger ale in a vending machine, and as an afterthought grabbed him a coffee from the bookstore cafe as well. 

Her errands complete, she soon found herself back in his neighborhood. So as to not arouse any more suspicion, and now that the rain had mostly stopped, instead of parking in his driveway again, she parked across the street and down a ways in the parking lot of a little public park, and savored the fresh, clean air walking back to his house.

She hadn't locked the door, so she let herself back in quietly. To her surprise, the couch was unoccupied and the main rooms dark. Locking the door behind herself now, she set down most of her purchases in the kitchen and went in search of her charge.

He wasn't difficult to find, for the next logical place to look for him was his bedroom, and there he was, huddled in bed with the lights off and Charlotte curled up behind his knees. He saved her the awkwardness of having to check if he was awake by speaking as soon as she entered:

"Welcome back. F-feels like you just left."

"It wasn't a long errand. But long enough for you to change things up on me, apparently. Got sick of the living room, no pun intended?"

He chuckled hoarsely. "I fell asleep again as soon as you l-left and woke up with a splitting headache. C-came back here because it's darkest."

She could sense he was struggling not to cough after such a long speech, in addition to shivering harshly, and he cleared his throat several times instead, arousing her sympathy (among other things) for the thousandth time or so that day. 

"So no puzzle tonight, then?" she asked.

"Not tonight. But there's always t-tomorrow. I can't wait to see what you p-picked."

"I got you a coffee, too, for the morning. Maybe it'll give you the boost you need to start feeling better. It's an Irish Cream Cold Brew."

"You're kidding!" His excitement was endearing, but of course the change in pitch made him cough pitifully. "How did you know my coffee order?" he asked when he could speak, hoarse and faint though it was.

"I've only seen you carrying it around church dozens of times," she laughed. "If you can't tell by now, being hyper observant is my brand of anxiety."

He laughed too, stifling another cough in the process. "You're incredible, Flora. I'm going to owe you for the rest of my life."

She flushed with pleasure. "It's only because you're so sick. You just keep tugging on my heart strings. Speaking of which, how's your fever?"

"Okay, I think." 

She confirmed with her hand. "I agree. It's okay. You don't feel like a broiler, anyway. Your cough?"

"Controlled. A little b-better, maybe."

"I'd agree with that too. Stomach ache?"

"About the same."

"And now a bad headache, too?".

"Unfortunately."

"Well, hopefully this will at least help both of the last two." She held out the bottle of ginger ale. 

"Oh my goodness, that is exactly what I need." He carefully sat up (disturbing Charlotte, who gave an annoyed huff), revealing that he was wrapped in a blanket underneath the duvet on the bed. He kept this around himself as best as he could as he reached for the soda, cracked it, and took several swallows. 

"That tastes amazing. It actually h-helps my throat, t-too. Th-thank you s-so much, Flora"

"No thanks necessary," she said, spreading her hands. "And you really don't have to keep thanking me. It's the least I could do. I wish it was more. You still look so miserable."

"Because I AM m-miserable," he chuckled. "I'm sick as a dog, no offense to Charlie. But I'm as comfortable as I can be now, thanks to you."

She couldn't have asked for a better segue. Seizing all her courage, she replied: "Speaking of comfortable… I can see one last way to help you tonight, if you're open to it. You haven't stopped shivering since I got here. It looks like it actually got worse from the cold drink. I think sharing body heat might be what you need, and I'm volunteering my services."

 She couldn't see his face well in the dark, so the long silence that followed her statement was excruciating. 

Finally, he took a careful breath. "We b-both know that wouldn't be appropriate, F-Flora," he murmured.

It wasn't a 'no', it was an obligatory statement of fact, and for that reason she tried again. "Nobody needs to know. Not a soul knows I'm here. My car isn't even in your driveway anymore. The only way anyone would find out is if you or I told them. The way I see it, 'appropriate' becomes null behind closed doors."

He chuckled, seemingly against his will. "You have it all f-figured out, don't y-you?" He fell silent again, and she followed suit, sensing he was gnawing his lip in thought. "You know we shouldn't," he said at last, though regret was plain in his voice.

Still not a 'no', so she kept pressing. "But Luc, you want to be held. It's all you've wanted all day, I've seen it plainly. And you should be held, because everyone should be held when they're so sick. And I'm right here. And I want to hold you. So let me." This time she held her arms wide, an open invitation, taking a tiny step closer.

More seconds passed, feeling like minutes, as Flora held her breath and held her pose. Then, slowly, Luc lifted his arms to mirror her, letting the blanket fall away from his shoulders. She flew to meet him. He let his weight fall against her, needy and wanting, burying his face into her shirt as she pressed her face into his messy hair. They found themselves in a tight hug that lingered for a long time. Then, in one motion she nudged him and Charlotte closer to the middle of the bed and crawled in beside him. She ended up mostly on her side but partially propped up against the pillows behind them while he was lying on his side with his face still tucked against her. They clung to one another as if they'd never let go. Here, in his bed, surrounded with the heady scent of him, she thought she'd never been closer to heaven. 

He was shivering harshly at first, but he soon began to still. She felt his tension ease, and after a few minutes he sighed contentedly, muffling the subsequent cough against her side in a familiar, cozy way. 

"Are you warmer now?" she murmured in the peaceful silence that followed. 

"Much. It's like I can feel my temperature rising. But in a good way this time. Going back to normal," he said, holding onto her all the tighter.

She pressed her lips to his hair again. Then, going slowly, giving him the opportunity to stop her, she slid her hand under his shirt so her fingers were against the warm, sweaty skin of his back. When he didn't protest, she began to run her fingertips up and down his spine, scratching and kneading. He groaned in ecstasy at the sensation. 

"I figured since everything else hurt, you'd be pretty achy too," she murmured. 

"So achy, all day. That feels incredible. Please don't stop."

She had no plans to do so, and his breathing quickly grew deep and regular. Soon he was asleep… or so she thought. Her hand continued to move, soothing herself as much as him. She was nearly asleep when he spoke, so softly that at first she thought she was imagining it. 

"This is going to be trouble, you know. One way or another," he breathed. 

She couldn't help but smile to herself. He was probably right. If they continued on this path, trouble would eventually find them. Yet she found she wasn't scared. She would embrace any sort of trouble involving him with open arms. 

She pressed her lips to his hair reassuringly, hugging him even tighter. "Nobody needs to know," she murmured. 

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Manner minded as got to be Father Luc, I bet he’s always so polite to Flora even when he’s really sick, always had a hanky with him and hates it when she has to do basic things for him.

Luc may seem very mannerly in the fics I've written about him because they're usually when he's "on" doing priest things or else with Flora, because especially in the early months, she brings out the best in him ❤️

But most days, he's just a normal dude lol. He'd sooner sneeze into the collar of his shirt than carry around a tissue or handkerchief. He would only use the word hankie if he was joking around. He definitely tends toward comfortable and casual rather than neat and precise in most things. Also, don't forget, he was an angsty punk rock lover in the 90's and 2000's. Had he not been religiously inclined from an early age, he probably would have landed somewhere on the angry hipster spectrum and exist exclusively in joggers or ripped jeans lol.

However, he IS always polite to Flora because he's crazy about her and wants the best for her. It's true that he goes out of his way to be especially kind to her when he's not feeling well, because he'd never want to go take out his bad mood on her. But after they're comfortable and established, he loves being babied a little and letting her take care of him (within reason). Definitely the "cuddle me until I'm better" type rather than "Stay away, I don't want to trouble you."

Thank you for your interest in my characters though ☺️ if you want to request something else from this list now that you have some more character detail, please feel free!

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

CW priest (my OC Father Luc). And also a poll!

So real talk, @sickhaze 's hot af priest posts really got me thinking, since I'm writing a priest thing myself currently... How do y'all envision Flora and Luc's story progressing, slow burn or hot and heavy ASAP? The poll results won't necessarily dictate what I write, but I'm definitely curious what you guys want and imagine.

And feel free to reblog and tell me in the tags why you answered the way you did and what you want to see! This is an AU that I still have open to a lot of interpretation

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Tickle in the Throat

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #26

Fandom/OCs: NEW Priest ‘Verse OCs. 

Title: Would It Be A Sin

Words: 1591

Inspiration: this ask requesting a sick priest 

Author’s comments: Set in a small town in the American Bible Belt. To say I’m smitten with Flora and Father Luc is a vast understatement. I adored every second of writing this and found it easier to get into their heads than most. I think Flora may end up being my first snz kinkster, but we shall see. Also, I effing love the ending to this one, I won’t lie, and I can assure you a follow-up story is on the docket. I hope you enjoy this pair as much as I do. 

Flora carefully fixed her hair and adjusted her dress before stepping into the cool, quiet church for confession. Though Father Luc couldn't see her today, God could, and really it was the principle of the thing. Best to look your best before confessing what a depraved sinner you are. 

When her turn came, she stepped lightly into the confessional, taking the proper, subservient position before she spoke. 

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she murmured as she had been taught. "My last confession was three months ago." From there she began to recite the litany of her sins from the past summer. However, she had hardly begun when she heard Father Luc softly clear his throat, evidently trying not to be overheard. Her ears were sharper than most, however. She continued on without comment. He did it again only a few moments later, shifting slightly so that the bench creaked beneath him. When it happened a third time, she sensed the desperation behind the action and paused.

"If you need to cough, Father, it's all right. I won't be offended, and I'm sure the Lord understands." She tried and failed to keep the smile out of her voice.

After a moment of silence, the priest did indeed erupt into a hoarse, barking coughing fit. 

"Excuse me," he rasped as soon as he could speak. "It seems I have a tickle in my throat today. Go on, my child."

Flora did as she was instructed, though she did have to pause and give him permission to cough once more, and that fit was even harsher than the previous. 

When she had finished her confession, Father Luc began to instruct her in his peaceful way. He noted that since many of her sins seemed to center on unkind thoughts and actions to others, for penance she was asked to read select stories from the Gospel of Luke focusing on compassion, and to pray blessings over a particular coworker with whom she struggled to co-exist peacefully, in addition to the usual Our Fathers. 

She listened well, and vowed to complete her penance faithfully. However, her attention was split, for Father Luc's hoarse, weak voice, more than hinting at a painfully sore throat, was a distraction. Her heart went out to him, having to hear confession in his current condition, and she made up her mind at once to do something for him.  By the end of her time in the booth, she knew just the thing, and she would have just enough time to see to it before confession hours were over. 

~~~

By the time confession hours ended, Flora had left and returned, and now sat waiting in her car in the church parking lot, her Jetta parked beside Father Luc's Sierra. She watched the leaves scudding around in the stiff, autumn breeze and wondered how long she should wait for the priest. Would he be likely to come out right away, or would he go work in his office afterward? If the latter, then this was a wasted trip, unless she went inside to find him. To her delight though, he stepped out of the church's back door less than fifteen minutes after confession ended. She hopped out of her car and stood waiting for him between their vehicles.

Father Luc was objectively, strikingly handsome, and less than four years older than herself. He was fresh out of the seminary, and she was fresh out of nursing school. Flora knew he and she would be a perfect match, with the priestly vow of celibacy as the only obstacle. Elderly Father Gregory, the previous priest, may have saved her soul, but Father Luc had won her heart, ever since the first time she saw him smile. Sin or not, she wanted him as her own, and she was determined to have him.

Today, however, it was obvious he wasn't well, and was not in the mood for smiles. He was pale and shaky, and was shivering just from the short walk to his car, though this early autumn weather was more windy than bitter. He coughed into his fist as he walked, pressing the other broad palm to his chest and shaking his head with a wince. She made a sympathetic face in response, though he wasn't looking.

In fact, he didn't see her until he was almost upon her, and he jumped when he noticed her at last, but she waved a hand in merry greeting to show she meant no harm. His face relaxed into an approximation of a smile, though the usual light in his eyes was absent. 

"Hello, Flora. What can I do for you this evening?"

"I actually came to ask you the same thing, Father. I heard you were under the weather today." Heard him coughing and sniffling with her own ears not an hour ago, more accurately. She was sure he knew she'd been in the confession booth today, but neither would ever mention that of course. 

He made a face. "Unfortunately true. It seems I've caught myself a lovely fall cold."

"Perhaps more than a cold. You're looking feverish to me."

"Am I? Well you would know best, of course. I feel rotten enough for it, if I'm being honest."

"May I?" She held out her hand to his face, close but not touching.

He hesitated, then nodded, his face inscrutable.

Flora pressed her palm to his sweaty forehead, probably too eagerly, and he leaned into the touch ever so slightly, giving her a thrill. They carefully avoided one another’s gaze. She pulled the hand away after an appropriate amount of time, though with no small amount of regret. 

"You're running a fever, Father. You should be home in bed."

"I'm headed there right now," he said with a miserable shudder. 

‘If only I was joining you so I could keep you warm,’ she thought to herself. She forced her mouth to say something different, however: "Is there anything I can do for you before you go? You have the medicine you need? I hate the thought of you going home to a cold, empty house."

"I have medicine, and I'll be sure to take plenty of it before I sleep. I'll be alright. Thank you, though, for your kindness. It isn't taken lightly." He expertly danced around any further mentions of his empty house and bed, and she followed his lead for the time being. 

"Well at least take this before you go." She opened the door to her backseat and pulled out a warm canvas bag, handing it over to him. "Chicken soup, corn bread, fried okra and a jar of blackberry jam. This weather already had me in the mood for comfort food, so I'd gotten all this going for supper first thing this morning. I believe you're the perfect person to share it with, as you're certainly in need of some good comfort food tonight yourself."

His eyes lit up as he took the bag, and she was sure she heard his stomach growl hungrily. He grinned at her now, the usual warmth in his gaze. 

"I hope you know you're my hero tonight, Flora. This is exactly what I needed. How can I ever repay you?"

���I could think of a few ways,’ she thought wickedly. Instead she said: "As long as it helps you feel better, that's all I care about. It was no trouble at all. My fee is this though: you must promise to call me if there's anything else you need. You mustn't be a martyr and suffer all alone in silence. After all, you do so much for the congregation. This is the least I could do, to make sure you're looked after as well."

She thought he reddened slightly, and he pulled his eyes from hers to look at the food, though he continued to smile. "Thanks isn't enough for such a wonderful gift, but I offer it many times over anyway. And I agree to the rest of your fee as well. I will let you know if there's anything else I need, I promise."

"Good, then I'm satisfied." She almost threw all caution to the wind and reached out to touch his face again. They're would be no convenient excuse for it this time, though. No reason to explain away such forward behavior. Yet the desire was so strong that her hand twitched at her side. She forced herself to keep speaking instead. "I'd better let you go home, though, while the food is still hot. I don't want to keep you standing out in the cold."

He gave her a grateful look. "I'll eat it as soon as I'm there. Thank you again, so much. I'm sure we'll speak again soon, and hopefully I'll be better company."

"All the best to you, Father. Take care."

"Same to you, Flora. Be well." 

They both got in their vehicles and started them. Father Luc drove off immediately, while Flora pretended to dig in her purse. She watched him go wistfully, hungrily. She wanted him badly. There had not been a man yet that had evaded her once she set her sights on him, and this beautiful priest would be no different. It would simply take time. The next step in her plan was obvious, though. With a fever like that, he was going to get worse before he got better, and he would almost certainly be home alone and sick tomorrow. She would make sure she found a way to keep him company.

[coughdontfeelwellcough]

This is a thing of beauty ❤️ I love Father Luc and Flora’s dynamic, the poor thing just wants to be cared for.

Only Wanna Be With You

At last my long-promised (emphasis on long) Priest/Flora fic is finished. I wanted to write a deep-dive on what their hidden relationship would look like if he got sick while preaching, and I think I accomplished that pretty well.

There are lots of religious elements in this story. Worship services, prayer, mentions of the saints, etc. There is a lot of "priest doing priest things" here, and I won't be offended if that doesn't suit many of you. But it's what my brain wanted to write, and I think it's important to the themes of these characters.

That being said, I might start writing things further down their timeline, so if anyone has any other ideas for these two (non-church encounters? free time? smut? sick Flora?), my ask box is open! Thanks for reading :)

Coming down with a cold is never convenient, especially for someone who makes their living by speaking. However, when Father Luc began to feel the telltale signs of burgeoning sickness the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, it was more than an inconvenience. In truth, it felt akin to a death sentence. 

Holy Week is the gauntlet every liturgical minister must run each church year. Palm Sunday was only the start. Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday would follow close behind, meaning Luc had to oversee and preach a total of six special, important services within four days. All of this of course was on top of the hundred other things a minister is expected to do each week. Even thinking about it was exhausting, and now he would be sick on top of it all.

He had been so careful, too, or he had tried to be. He took extra care to stay healthy in the weeks leading up to Holy Week so he would be equal to the huge task before him. He talked to so many people and shook so many hands every week, though. There was no way to say for sure when or where he picked up a bug. All he knew was that after the final Lenten service that Wednesday his throat felt tickly and scratchy, which he initially chalked up to dryness from preaching. However, by the time he went to bed that night he was chilled and sporting a headache, and he feared he was in for the worst. 

The cold had officially set in by Saturday night, and it was a doozy. His head and ears were packed tight and aching, his sinuses felt like they'd been filled with concrete, and his throat was raw from postnasal drip and the resulting persistent, irritating cough. Every few hours the nasal congestion transitioned from running out of his nose to swelling up in his sinuses, then transitioned back again (and he wasn't sure which was worse) but either way, this cold was noticeable and persistent. There was nothing to be done for it, however, and there was no hope of taking a sick day. Every priest in the country was just as busy as he with the upcoming week of services. Brutal head cold or no, he would be preaching Holy Week. 

Palm Sunday morning arrived right on schedule, and if anything his cold was worse, not better. Yet when the bells began to toll for the opening of the service, Father Luc was standing before the congregation just as he had every Palm Sunday since he was ordained. He may have been loaded with decongestant and DayQuil, but he was present, and that was a win as far as he was concerned.

He hadn't spoken to Flora since he'd come down sick. They didn't chat much as a rule in their day-to-day lives. It was safer and easier that way, with fewer messages to hide and fewer opportunities for others to ask awkward questions. Luc and Flora’s lives were already too intertwined in this small town, and the more they could avoid scrutiny, the better. Whenever he was sick, though, he wanted to be with her more than ever, and he knew she felt the same way. Still, he couldn't afford to be sneaking around with how much he already had on his plate this week. And what if he got her sick? No, it was better to stay safe. Until service time, Flora would have no idea he was under the weather. 

For that reason, he couldn't help but watch her out of the corner of his eye when he opened the service that Palm Sunday. She was easy to spot, sitting with her parents in their normal row. It would be obvious to her from his voice that he was sickly. How could it not be, between the dulled consonants and hoarse voice? And sure enough, before the end of his first sentence her head had snapped to attention and her eyes were boring into him. He flushed under her scrutiny. He longed to meet her gaze, but had to refrain, not knowing what his face might betray.

Somehow he made it through the service without incident, though he wasn't certain how, between his fixation on her and the demanding cold symptoms. Soon enough he was making his way to the back of the church to greet the people. Naturally, Flora and her parents were almost the first to reach him. His lover rushed to shake his hand, throwing nonchalance to the wind. At last he was forced to look at her, and the air rushed from his lungs in a moment of rapture and yearning, leaving him speechless. She was more focused, though, and her gaze probed his. 

“Are you feeling alright, Father? Your voice sounded a bit different today,” she said levelly, revealing nothing. 

“I've picked up a spring cold, I think. Nothing too serious,” he replied, hoping he seemed equally calm. 

“Oh dear. I do hope you feel better soon! We can't have you sick for Easter,” Flora’s mother tutted. 

“I'm sure I'll be fine in no time. But I appreciate your concern.”

Flora hesitated another moment; she was holding up the line now. Finally she squeezed his hand tightly. “Be well, Father.”

“Thank you, Flora,” he managed, flushing again. 

There was a text from her waiting on his secret phone when he arrived home after Sunday luncheon. “Why didn't u tell me u were 🤢?”

“There was nothing u could do,” he replied. “Just a cold. Has to run its course.”

“I could’ve kept u company tho.”

“I was busy every night this week. There wasn't a good time.”

“I'm guessing ur busy the next few days too?”

“Holy Week. Busy doesn't even begin to describe.”

“😞 Miss u. Meet up a week from tomorrow? Hotel on me.”

“👍 Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“❤️ it's a date. Try not to be too sexy until I'm with u, ok?”

He was grinning like an idiot as he replied: “I'll do my best ❤️”

With a sigh he locked the phone back up in his cabinet. This cold had come a week too early. There was nothing he wanted more on earth than to be lying in Flora’s lap as she stroked his hair, but he'd have to wait eight more long, exhausting days. Time couldn't pass quickly enough. 

~~~

He fully expected the cold to clear up by Holy Thursday for sure, but to his horror, it was holding on as fiercely as ever when that day dawned. The week of constant low-level headache, sneezing, sniffling, and coughing had sapped his energy stores, and he was going into his longest four days of the year running on fumes and feeling like garbage. There was prayer on his lips the whole day through to any saint who might be listening for strength, endurance, and perhaps a miraculous healing. 

Thursday's work day and evening worship service passed in a haze. He must have said the right things at the right times, but he felt disconnected from what was going on due to the sensation of his head being stuffed to bursting with cotton. He wasn't even excited to see Flora for once. There were still several days to go before they could spend some interrupted time together, and seeing her at a distance made the wait feel that much longer. He kept his eyes away from her all through the service to minimize his yearning. As he spoke the closing words at the end of the hour and made his way to the back of the sanctuary, he prepared himself to simply smile and nod at her like any other parishioner and avoid revealing how pathetic he felt. When she was several people back from him in the exit queue, though, he unintentionally caught a glimpse of her. Her eyes were full of tender love and concern, and his heart fluttered. He hadn't realized how desperately he needed to know she cared. She reached him a short time later, ducking in front of her parents to clasp his hand in hers, subtly scrutinizing him.

“You look tired, Father. And it sounds like your cold is still bad. How are you feeling?” 

The care was obvious in her voice and his heart fluttered again, but he almost chuckled at her frankness. She was close to going past the line of what they had agreed was safe to say in public to one another. Still, he couldn't bring himself to mind. 

“I AM tired, and my cold isn't any better. But I'm doing as well as can be expected.”

Flora’s forehead was furrowed with worry as her mother chimed in: “Oh dear, what an awful time for you to be sick. I'll pray even harder that you recover quickly.”

“I certainly appreciate any prayers on my behalf, and thank you for them gladly.”

“Do let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I'll bring ‘round some soup tomorrow if you're still not feeling like yourself.”

Like mother, like daughter. Luc almost laughed at the irony, and he could see Flora holding back a smile too. “I'll be sure to reach out if there's anything you can do. Thank you so much.” 

“Take care, Father,” Flora said, with one last meaningful look. He'd been chilled for a week now, but that long gaze warmed him for the rest of the night with a heat no sickness could touch.

~~~

Luc was not well come Friday morning. The congestion was lodged and unmoving in his nose and the back of his throat, making his whole face feel swollen and raw. The aches and headache had increased significantly. His cough had gotten worse, and now any time he inhaled too deeply or quickly he would spiral into a coughing attack. In short, he was in rough shape and all he wanted to do was wrap himself in an extra blanket, take a heavy dose of NyQuil and sleep the day away. Instead he got up, aching, shaking, and miserable as he was, and began to shower and dress like always. The goal for the day would simply be to survive. He couldn't manage any more than that. 

Just as he was about to leave his house, he heard the secret phone vibrating in his file cabinet. He unlocked it to find a text from Flora:

“Any better today?”

“No. Worse :( “ 

“Hang in there. I'll see you later and I'll make sure I get a chance to hug you somehow ❤️”

Luc couldn't think of a response that wasn't outright pathetic so he left it at that, locking the phone back up before getting the last of his things together and dragging himself out the door. 

He arrived at his office close to his usual time, and was glad to have accomplished at least that. Resisting the urge to immediately lay his head on the desk and fall asleep, he instead pulled out his notes for the day's service and tried to get himself in the proper mindset. He would lead worship services at 1 pm and 7 pm, but other than that, today he simply had to be present for any questions the staff members or parishioners might have, and do his duty as the church figurehead on this most sacred of days. There were a dozen other things he needed to work on in preparation for the upcoming weeks, but working ahead wasn't part of survival mode. The only thing he cared about today and tomorrow was trying to rest as much as possible so he was able to stand upright and speak come Sunday. Everything else would have to sort itself out.

His eyes were on the order of service and homily notes in front of him, but his mind was unfocused and he was comprehending maybe one word in ten. An unknown amount of time later, his secretary Rhonda‘s knock at the door startled him out of his stupor. 

“Come in,” he called, trying to make his voice sound normal. 

The matronly woman pushed the door open with her hip. In her hands was a to-go bag from Starbucks and a drink. She wore an amused expression as she placed the items in front of him. 

“You should've told us you were DoorDashing Starbucks. Jan and I would've gotten something too.”

Luc had not ordered DoorDash, but he had a good guess who had. He flushed and stammered for a moment, trying to cover his surprise. 

“Oh it was… a spur of the moment thing. I didn't even think to tell you. I just… really needed coffee, I guess.”

Rhonda raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Well you certainly look and sound like you need it, so I won't hold it against you. But that means you're treating next time.”

“Sure, sure. Thanks, Rhonda.” 

She gave him a last, searching look before making her exit, and Luc had a flash of anxiety. Rhonda was sharp, which made her very good at her job. He couldn’t help but wonder how much she knew about Flora and himself, or at least guessed.

He forced his thoughts away from such worries and turned his attention to the meal delivery. It was his exact Starbucks order, Irish Cream cold brew and egg bites, and he knew of only one other person who would know that. This wasn't the first time they had sent one another anonymous deliveries, though they couldn't do it often to avoid suspicion, but today he wanted to weep with gratitude. Those first few swallows of coffee might as well have been the nectar of life, because he immediately felt more awake and alive, and the egg bites were exactly the sort of simple food his body was craving. Dear Flora… she always seemed to know exactly what he needed whether she was present or not. He wondered if this was what she meant by giving him a hug today.

The sustenance (and the love behind it) gave him the boost he needed to push through until the afternoon service, and he actually managed to get a few easy things done that morning to boot. He ducked into the sacristy extra early, though, to avoid having to talk to anyone unnecessarily and hopefully save his voice. 

When the time came for him to emerge for the service, he couldn't help but scan the crowd for his girl. She wasn't present, but her parents were. She was working, then. At first he was disappointed, but that meant he would see her in the evening service instead. Leaning on that hope, he launched into his greeting, trying to display energy that he didn't feel, and hating the hoarse, congested sound of his voice and everything it revealed. 

The service was far from smooth, but he made it through. It hurt, though. His head hurt and his throat hurt and his joints hurt and his nose hurt. He was shaking by the end, but at least he didn't have to greet the people after this solemn, mournful service. He could slip quietly into the sacristy and remain hidden until everyone had departed. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief as the sacristy door closed behind him. Four more services to go. 

There was a single chair in this tiny room, and not a very comfortable one, but his body was screaming for a break, so without even taking off his robe he let himself fall into it, tipping his head back against the wall. 

He startled awake almost two hours later, completely disoriented. He staggered out of the chair, groaning as he freed himself from the sweaty, wrinkled robe. Less than ideal didn't begin to describe the situation, and the worst part was, he felt worse after the nap than he had before. He let himself out of the room and hurried through the dark, silent hallways of the church. He saw no sign that there was anyone else in the building. He had informed the staff that they could take the afternoon off, so this wasn't surprising, but he hoped they hadn't needed him for anything before they left.

He went straight to his desk once he was back in his office and dug out his phone. Sure enough, there were several confused texts asking where he'd gone, as well as a handful of new sticky notes from Rhonda on his computer. He quickly responded to the texts and made sure none of the notes were urgent, then collapsed into his desk chair, holding his head in his hands. He felt wretched in every possible way. Sick during Holy Week… this was his personal hell. This was punishment for what he was doing with Flora, he was certain of it, and, worse, he knew he deserved it. 

Thinking of Flora made his heart flutter in yearning, though, damnation notwithstanding. He needed her cool hands on his face and her soft lips in his hair, and her arms around him. There was nothing else on earth that would make him feel better at this point. 

After a while he lifted his head, and his eyes fell on the low bookcase across from his desk. Sitting on top of it was a travel mug and a canvas bag that didn't belong to him, and he went over to investigate. In the mug was hot green tea sweetened with honey. In the bag was an insulated container full of beef chili. What little he could smell of it made his mouth water. On top of the container was a note: 

“Get well soon, from the De Luca family.”

Luc was grinning like a fool as he sat down at his desk with his afternoon meal. 

“Flora De Luca, you are a lifesaver,” he whispered. While Flora’s mother Barb may have been responsible for the chili, he had a hunch her daughter had suggested the tea. He wasn't sure which part of this second "hug" he appreciated more, but either way he felt notably better after eating once again. He sipped at the tea for the next several hours, right up until he was dressing for the evening service, trying to help his abused throat in any way possible. 

With a feverish sense of Deja Vu, Father Luc was once again standing in front of the church at 7 pm that evening. His legs were already trembling beneath him and wished he was in bed, or really anywhere but here. He was sure he looked and sounded as sickly as he felt, but he was beyond caring. As the bells ceased pealing, he found Flora’s eyes in the crowd and clung to her gaze like a drowning man, drinking her in. Refreshed, he took a careful breath, being sure not to cough, and opened the service. 

He looked at Flora far too often during that service, but it was the only thing that kept him going, like sips of water in a trek through the desert. He wasn't sure what kept making him think of water metaphors, except that his throat felt like it was on fire before he was halfway through, and his voice grew more hoarse every minute. Also he was craving a shower after being covered in sickly sweat all day.

After another agonizing hour the service came to a close, and he could once again quietly escape to the sacristy. He was careful not to sit this time lest he sleep the night here, but snuck back to his desk by cutting around the outside of the building. He kept the shades drawn and the lights off in his office until the sounds of people departing had totally faded, than waited a further fifteen minutes to be safe before creeping out to the sanctuary of his truck and the road home. 

Of course there was a car parked beside his truck in the otherwise empty parking lot, and he almost turned around and went back inside, but then he recognized the vehicle. He quickened his pace until his open arms met Flora’s in a desperate embrace.

“I thought you fell asleep or something,” she whispered in his ear as her fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head. 

“Nearly. I'm beyond exhausted,” he croaked, letting his head fall onto her shoulder and nuzzling into her neck. 

“You poor, sick baby. I can't believe you're still preaching like this. You're burning up.” She let the back of her hand rest against his forehead to further confirm, tutting in concern. 

“I don't have a choice. I literally cannot imagine what would happen if I canceled church during Holy Week. I'd probably be burned at the stake and sent straight to hell.”

“They'd have to go through me first,” she said fiercely, giving him a possessive squeeze. “Oh, Luc. What am I going to do with you?” she sighed. “Only you would get this sick during your busiest week of the year.”

“Only me,” he agreed with a wheezy sigh of his own. He could feel himself starting to doze off on her shoulder, so he reluctantly stood straighter and pulled away from her, even as his legs shook. “But I've gotta get home. I'm honestly about to collapse right here.”

“Then you definitely shouldn't be driving. I can–”

“It's too risky, love. I can make it three miles to my place. I'll be alright.” 

Her face was crumpled in frustration, but she nodded, staring at the ground. “I hate this so much– all the hiding, everything being ‘too risky’. The only thing I want is to be with you, and you want that too. I shouldn't have to stay away. It's not right.”

“Nothing is right about this,” he whispered. “But it's all we have right now. I wish I could give you better. I'd give you the world if I could. But all I've got to give is me, holding your hand in the dark.”

“You're enough, and always will be. But I reserve the right to be upset that my guy is sick and I'm not allowed to take care of him.”

“Granted,” he chuckled, which turned into a cough. “As long as I can reserve that right too, considering I'm the sick guy in question.”

“I'll allow it,”she murmured, pulling him in for another long hug. After several moments, she sighed again. “But you'd better get going before I change my mind and kidnap you after all.” 

“Don't tempt me with a good time,” he groaned, pulling away from her warmth reluctantly. “I'm going, but I'll have our phone nearby tonight and all day tomorrow, so call and text whenever you can.”

“Will do. I'll see you Sunday okay? You better be feeling better by then. You're seriously worrying me….” she added. He imagined it was because he was visibly swaying where he stood. He had to brace himself against his truck to keep from buckling, but he hoped she didn't catch that part. 

“I just… need to rest,” he managed. “I have all day tomorrow to recover. I'll be okay… I think. Love you like crazy. I'll talk to you soon, okay?”

He blew her a kiss, then pulled himself into his truck, barely making it. He tried to catch his breath as he started the engine, waiting for the dizzy spinning in his head to stop. Three more miles, he chanted to himself as he put it in drive. Three more miles until he could collapse. 

Collapse he did, nearly as soon as he was in the door of his house. He didn't even bother to change or take a much-needed shower, just stripped down to his undergarments and staggered into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. His final, conscious thought was gratitude to Flora for convincing him to install a doggy door for Charlotte the golden retriever so she could let herself out whenever she needed to. 

~~~

Luc slept for a long time, but he was haunted by fever dreams all night. He couldn't remember the details other than a sense of rising panic for his loved ones that would bring him just to the edge of waking before shifting and changing again. He was also very hot, to the point that his dream-self was sure he was boiling alive because hell was coming to swallow him up for his sins. 

He woke up gasping around noon on Holy Saturday. He was shaking with chills yet simultaneously drenched in sweat, and for several moments he could only lay in bed and try to breathe. Charlotte was pressed against his side, and focusing on her solid presence helped to ground him. Eventually his breathing and heart rate stabilized, but this only served to show him how truly awful he felt. He couldn't even pinpoint what was worst–the respiratory symptoms, the sore throat, the fever chills, the body aches, the malaise–all were equally unbearable. He needed to take some medicine immediately, and probably drink and eat too, so he dragged himself out of bed though his deepest instincts screamed against this.

He pulled on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, then his robe and slippers when he couldn't stop shuddering, before making his staggering way to the bathroom. He had a well-supplied medicine cabinet, so he took a concoction of things that he prayed would do some good before continuing on to the kitchen. It was then that he remembered his promise to Flora and groaned when he had to double back to retrieve his secret phone. Sure enough, she had texted him several times and called him twice. He quickly pushed the button to dial her. She picked up on the second ring. 

“Luc, finally! Where were you?”

“Sorry, love. Just woke up,” he croaked, digging in the fridge for milk to make instant oatmeal.

“I was honestly about to come check to make sure you were alive. I’ve never seen you sleep so long.”

“Not sure I AM alive. I feel awful.”

“Worse than that chest cold when we first got together?”

“... Yeah. Worse than that,” he mumbled, leaning heavily on the counter as he stirred his cereal. He needed her, and he needed her now. He didn't know how he would survive the day otherwise. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to come take care of him like she had been begging to do, consequences be damned, but then he registered the background noises of her "Getting Ready" playlist, her quick footsteps, zippers being pulled, and a water bottle being filled. He recognized the cadence, and his heart sank.

“You're breaking my heart, Luc,” she was saying with a groan. “I can hear how much you're hurting from your voice. And of course I got called into work. But you need me. I can still cancel. I'll call them back, tell them I'm sick–”

“No, don't lie for my sake,” he cut in quickly. “They need you, too. Go save lives. I'll be okay.” The words sounded like a lie even to him but he forced them out even as a miserable tear or two rolled down his cheeks and his legs began to tremble. 

“If you're sure… If you want me to come get you, though, you have to promise to tell me. I have no problem leaving. I'll just tell them I got food poisoning. I can be with you in minutes.”

Luc couldn't help but smile as he dragged a kitchen stool over to the counter and sank into it to wait for his breakfast to cook. “Okay, hon.”

“And I'll call you on every break to check on you.”

“Maybe text instead of call,” he croaked. “Trying to save my voice for tomorrow.” Every word currently felt like a dagger in his throat. He tried not to imagine having to preach in his current state.

“Oh gosh, of course. Okay, well then I'll let you go. I'll be praying for you. Be good and take it easy and get lots of rest. I love you.”

“Not sure I can do much else. Love you too. Do good.”

“Bye, babe.”

“Bye.”

Luc let his head fall into his arms on the counter until the shrill beeping of the microwave roused him. He couldn't ever remember feeling so poorly. It was going to be a long day. 

~~~

One way to make a day feel shorter is to sleep through most of it, as everyone knows, and Luc embraced this solution willingly. After eating and showering and changing his sheets, he went back to bed and hardly moved for the rest of the day. It wasn't a light sleep, either–he was out cold for long stretches of time. He felt bad for Charlotte, knowing he'd hardly paid any attention to her all week, but she was faithful as ever, keeping him warm by staying cuddled up against him. When he did wake, usually to take more medicine, he made sure to send a few texts to Flora. Looking at the screen for long made his headache worse, though, so he kept his replies simple. He knew he was probably letting her down, too, but there wasn't much to be done about it, and he felt too horrendous to care much. 

He woke close to midnight. After getting water and meds yet again he returned to bed but found for the first time all day that he couldn't get back to sleep. He felt overly rested, in fact, and dread started to creep over him at this realization. He would need to be up in less than five hours for the sunrise service. Right now he should absolutely be sleeping, disgusting sickness notwithstanding, and instead he was wide awake and still feeling awful. Panic started to build in his chest.

Thankfully Flora’s shift ended at midnight, so he quickly fired off a text to her: 

“Please pray for me. Slept all day and now I can't sleep when it matters most. Very worried about tomorrow. I don't know how I'll manage preaching. My voice is basically gone.”

He had been sparingly using his voice, just talking to the dog every once in a while, and he had heard it declining all day until it was barely a hoarse whisper. 

Flora replied quickly: “Absolutely praying. I'm believing everything will work out. Just do what you can and leave the rest in His hands.” 

She also sent instructions for a throat soothing rinse, which he made and used right away. He wanted to keep texting her, but he knew she would get ready for bed and crash as soon as she got home, and he didn't want to keep her from sleeping even if he was wide awake. Mentally he wanted to watch TV or read but physically he knew this wasn't wise, so he lay in bed and tried to will himself to sleep. 

Time passed slowly, but he refused to look at the clock. There came a time, though, when he couldn't stand to lay in bed for a minute longer. After pacing a few aimless laps around the house, he found himself in the bedroom again. Instead of laying down, though, he knelt at the side of the bed, pressed his face to the sheets, and began to pour out his heart in prayer. He sensed the listening ears of the saints and was comforted immediately. He expressed his worries and fears and asked for any and all help they would be willing to give. As he closed his prayer a sense of deep peace settled over him, and he noticed the illness symptoms seemed a bit better. He was also sleepy again, so he crawled back into bed, closed his eyes, and was out like a light in moments. 

~~~

When his alarm went off a few hours later, he was more painfully aware than he had ever been before of how early it was. He dragged himself out of bed as the weight of his illness crashed over him yet again. However, he felt fairly steady on his feet, and his head and lungs seemed okay. Charlotte jumped down behind him, wagging her tail in greeting. 

Luc swallowed, noting the mild pain in his throat. “Good morning, Charlie.” 

To his surprise his voice was… okay. He still sounded sick and congested, but the strained whisper from the night before was replaced by something resembling his usual tone. He wanted to weep with relief. He could stand and he could speak. He could preach the Easter services. 

In a strange twist of fate, though he would never forget the circumstances of this particular Easter, he couldn't remember much of the detail of what transpired that day. He knew from the beginning that he was still running a decent fever, though he didn't bother to check how high it was, and he attributed his lack of awareness and memory to this. His body was almost moving of its own volition, taking him where he needed to go and doing what he needed to do with little external input needed. The one conscious decision he remembered making was to tell Rhonda that he would be taking a sick day tomorrow and to please clear his schedule. Other than that, he simply let the day unspool before him. He preached three services, presided over two Easter breakfasts, spoke to dozens of people, sniffled or coughed or wiped his nose hundreds of times, and somehow, though he would never know quite how, survived the whole ordeal. By 1 pm the church had emptied, his duties were complete, and there was nothing left for him to do except pack up and leave, which is exactly what he did. 

He had been invited to several Easter gatherings this year (including the De Luca’s), but between yesterday and today he had politely declined them all, stating his poor health as the reason, and of course everyone understood and wished him well. He was free to retreat to his quiet home, take a long shower, make a huge mug of hot tea, and not move or speak for the rest of the day if he chose. When he sank into his couch after the aforementioned shower and tea, the relief of this washed over him like a tsunami. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, allowing himself to simply breathe. 

It didn't take long before loneliness and self-pity set in, however. He was still sick and miserable and all he wanted–all he'd wanted for days on end–was for someone (well, one person in particular) to hold him and kiss him and take care of him. It seemed cruelly unfair that this wouldn't be possible for another twenty-four hours, and that he would only get maybe twelve hours of coddling out of the deal. He needed more than one night with Flora. Deserved it, in fact, after the horrible week he'd had. With this in mind he began to concoct a desperate plan, praying it would work. 

~~~

That Easter Sunday evening found Luc sitting in front of a rest area Starbucks, nursing a coffee and watching the door. He had been dropped off here by a confused Uber driver thirty minutes ago, and he'd been waiting ever since. Flora’s last update put her arriving any minute now, and he would have been bouncing up and down with anticipation if every joint didn't ache. 

Luc tried to distract himself with his phone, but he felt very exposed here, like every eye in the nearly-empty rest area was on him, a clearly unwell traveler sitting by himself. He was shivering worse than ever between the fever chills and the anxiety, and this made the aching, whole-body soreness nearly unbearable. Every moment he waited for her was agonizing on many levels, so when beautiful Flora breezed through the doorway, he leapt to his feet, almost sending his chair clattering, and ran to meet her, weak with relief.

“My Flora, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!” he murmured in her ear as she pulled him into an embrace. 

“You just saw me this morning,” she giggled, burying her face in his chest. He was glad he'd decided to wear a spritz of cologne at the last minute.

“Yes, but under very different circumstances. I couldn't even touch you then,” he whispered into her hair. 

“True enough.” She pulled back slightly to scrutinize him in her usual way. After a moment she stretched up to press a hand to his sweaty forehead, frowning at the obvious heat she felt. The frown only deepened when her hands brushed over the huge lymph nodes in his neck. “Come on, sick guy, let's get going. Meeting here was a brilliant idea, but I'm not wasting another second of our day together in this creepy place. I've always hated rest areas.”

She took him by the hand and tugged him out the door to her car. After making sure he and his luggage were secured, she climbed into the driver's seat and pulled out onto the freeway, heading toward the next major city, about an hour away. 

“So how are you feeling, love?” Flora asked once they were underway. “You look awful, no offense.”

“I feel pretty awful,” he agreed in a hoarse whisper, already fighting sleep. “But I'm already a bit better now that I'm with you.”

She gave him a concerned, sidelong look. “Is that really all that's left of your voice? You sounded fine this morning.”

He nodded. “I prayed hard last night that I would be able to preach today, and my prayers were answered. But I took a nap while I was waiting for you to be ready and this is how it was when I woke up. I think my body has reached its limit.” 

“Then shush, you don't have to talk anymore. I can't even imagine how sore your throat is. Just rest and let me take care of everything from here, especially you. For the next thirty-six hours, you're mine and mine alone.”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Luc mumbled with a smile, already drifting toward sleep.