Okay, I don't know what made me want to write a Dogma fic, I'm more NCIS lol, but I just love Loki & Bartleby. They do well as lovers or friends, but in this fic, they're just friends I'm afraid ;)

I'm not sure when this is set, it's just some random thing, but we'll assume it's before they were chucked down to Earth ;)

Disclaimer: Don't own (If I did, Loki and Bartleby would so have gotten back home and everything would have been hunky-dory)

Bartleby tossed and turned for a while in his bed, wondering why he couldn't sleep. He gently humoured the idea that it could be because angels didn't actually need to sleep. They could, they just didn't really need to. It really just passed the time before the next day. They could get tired, to a certain extent, but that could take days.

No, it wasn't that, he decided, it was something else. He had a faint chill, as if knowing something wasn't right, but couldn't work out what. Because it was dark, and his hearing (As everyone's did) heightened somewhat, he heard a muffled moan from the bathroom.

He got out of bed quietly, wondering if he'd hear it again, and then he opened his door slowly, creeping out of it and down to the bathroom. Standing next to the door, he put his ear to it and heard another moan. Tapping softly on the door, he said,

"Loki? Is that you?" A small groan answered him, "You okay?" When he didn't get an answer, he tried the handle, kicking himself when he realised it hadn't actually been locked and he could have gone in at any time.

He swore when he saw Loki sitting on the floor, his pale and sweaty forehead resting wearily on the toilet bowl, his thin arms curling around his stomach in a pathetic sort of way.

"Shit, Loki I - what's wrong?" Bartleby knelt down next to his friend, who moaned again and shifted slightly so that Bartleby could get more comfortable on the cold, hard floor,

"Buddy, speak to me, what's wrong?" He asked again, and this time was rewarded with a small and weak,

"I feel dead." He gave a tiny chuckle before groaning again and gripping the toilet with both hands as he leant over it and started to wretch, eventually just hacking up some bile. He wiped his mouth with shaking hands and rested his head back on the seat,

"Come on," Bartleby said softly, "You can't be comfortable down there, let's go into the living room." At first Loki tried to break free from his friend's comforting grip, but eventually just gave in and was slowly pulled to his feet and led to a different room, which had a fire still going in the grate and had a nice, cosy feel to it. Resting Loki on the sofa and pulling blankets and cushions closer to him, Bartleby said,

"I'm going to get you a glass of water and a bucket in case you think you're going to throw up, okay?" Loki nodded and leant further onto the sofa, as if hoping to fall through it, "Then I'm going to find a doctor - you know it's not good if an angel gets sick." Loki nodded again and it was a sign of how bad he felt when he didn't try and argue. Usually Loki hated doctors. Ditto dentists, vets - anything else medical.

After Bartleby put both the glass and bucket on the floor next to his friend, he paused before leaving, turning back to smile sympathetically at Loki. He hated it when the blonde angel got sick, he always looked completely defeated and Bartleby always wished it was him that was the ill one.

Turning back he bent down slightly so that he and Loki were about the same height and cupped the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together to rest on each other gently. It was their age old comfort, brought about the first time one of them was feeling particularly bad, and it always made them, particularly Loki, feel better. When Bartleby pulled himself away Loki smiled wanly at him, causing Bartleby to say, in an almost motherly tone,

"That's better. Right, I need to go find that doctor, but I'll stick the telly on so you've got something in the background. Any requests?" Loki shook his head and let it loll off the side of the sofa. Bartleby shrugged but found some old, human cartoons that he knew straight away would calm Loki. Turning back towards the door, he said,

"I won't be long, just try and get some sleep." He smiled again before shutting the door and leaving Loki on his own.


"Let me get this straight," The Metatron said in his monotone like voice, "You want me to come and look the Angel of Death over - because he has a poorly tummy?" Bartleby felt dull anger rise up inside of him, but he forced his voice to sound calm and collected,

"Yes," He replied, "And he hasn't just got 'a poorly tummy', he's ill. You haven't seen him, he's barely talking, he's all pale and sweaty - he needed help off the bathroom floor. It's the complete opposite of Loki." Metatron rolled his eyes and looked over at God, who was watching with interest.

"Why did you come here first?" She asked, in a soft and lovely voice, "Why not go straight to a doctor?"

Because I don't trust just any doctor with my Loki. He needs to be with someone he can trust, and as much as I hate to admit it, Metatron seems to have some sort of knack for that.

"Because I… I - there were none who could come now." He said, hoping God would forgive him for this tiny white lie. Her eyes were dancing with amusement so he guessed She knew he'd lied, but She just looked over at Metatron, who rolled his eyes once more and cried out,

"Alright, alright, I'm going." Bartleby grinned and almost ran back to their house, and had to push down the urge to pull on his hand to drag him along like Loki would probably have done.

God giggled slightly as they both walked away. She had never told anyone, not even Metatron why she had chosen Loki to be the Angel Of Death, had never told anyone why she had chosen for him and Bartleby to room together. The fact is, Loki and Bartleby complimented each other in personality. Whereas one was childish, innocent (When he wanted to be) and endearingly optimistic, the other was collected, composed and wouldn't speak out of line. She knew they would be good friends, and She also knew they would do anything for each other.

Also, the thought of the Angel of Death with Loki's personality was merely funny to her. That and the fact that he'd have a better handle on things when he did them. Some would flood the whole world and leave one boat safe and then lapse into a depression for a few months, whereas Loki would simply grin, say, 'I hope they were wearing waterproof coats' and proceed to watch a film with his friend. It wasn't that he was heartless, far from it - he was the most selfless angel She had ever made, but it didn't get to him as much as it would someone else.

And this pleased Her.


Bartleby opened the door to their house and even Metatron was getting slightly worried. The way the watcher was going on, he made out that Loki was at death's door. Okay, so angels couldn't die, but he made it sound like he'd be eternally incapacitated.

"Loki?" Bartleby whispered, walking into the darkened room, the only light being the telly, glowing dully in the corner. He could feel Metatron's eyes in the back of his head, so he quickly walked over to the sofa, glad that it was dark so that the Voice of God had no idea how much he intimidated him.

"Loki?" He said again, putting a hand on his friend's forehead. The blonde angel made a small sound and twitched, taking Bartleby's hand and pulling it closer to his body, nuzzling it slightly,

"However poignant this is," Metatron said sarcastically, "Do you mind moving?" Bartleby smothered his grin and pulled away slowly, first moving Loki's hand so that it was clinging to his other one, effectively looking like he was shaking hands with himself.

Bartleby stood back and watched with almost baited breath and Metatron stood over Loki, every so often mumbling to himself and glancing over various bits of the man sleeping on the sofa,

"Is he okay?" Bartleby asked, unable to handle the suspense. Metatron tutted but looked around,

"He should be fine - it's a seasonal bug that hits angels around this time of year."

"I've never seen anyone have it before." Bartleby said, looking confused,

"It's quite rare, even here. Anyway, just let him ride it out, give him liquids etc etc. Now can I go?" Bartleby nodded and waved as Metatron left,

"Wow that was awkward." He muttered to himself, glancing over to Loki, who mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, his eyes blinking open,

"B…?" He muttered blearily, "What happened?" At once Bartleby went over, sitting next to his friend on the sofa,

"You're ill, remember? So I got you to sit on the sofa while I went to get a doctor."

"Oh…" Loki answered faintly, screwing up his face, "Oh yeah…"

"You had a bit of a fever," Bartleby told him quickly, in case he was panicking that he couldn't remember anything, "And you were pretty much out of it anyway. So I went to get Metatron…"

"Why him?" Loki asked, and for a second Bartleby beamed, hearing the fire and vigour in his friend's voice,

"Because he's the best when it comes to doctors," Bartleby told him softly, "And he said that you have a seasonal bug that's quite rare, but it hits angels around this time of year." He said, reiterating what Metatron had said. Loki had just nodded and said,

"I'm gonna sleep now."

Bartleby grinned, "That's probably best. I won't be very far away, so holler if you need me - okay?" Loki nodded once more and pulled at his friend's hand again, dragging it to his chest and cuddling it slightly as he fell back to sleep once more.

Only this time, Bartleby didn't pull away, and stayed there the entire night, hand clutched to Loki's chest.

So, I don't know if Metatron has any medical experience lol, but he seems like the kind of person who would surreptitiously know it. So really, I don't know where this was headed lol, but hopefully you'll find it in your heart to review and PLEASE bear in mind I was half-asleep while writing this, so please forgive any mistakes :)

Oh, and if you read this and for some bizarre reason you've also read my NCIS fics, I'm still sorry about the delay :(

Review? xx