Do I really have to tell you all that this is fanfiction and I am not making money?
I got some requests for a part two to my story Illness, so if you requested it-here you go! If not, I hope you enjoy the story anyways.
George Wickham felt awful. His nose was running; his eyes were watery; his fingers and toes were numb.
He had finally returned to his wife after spending six months travelling between his female friends. He'd arrived home late the night before, and she had welcomed him home with open arms—silly girl.
He'd planned on leaving again in a few days, but it didn't seem like that plan would be possible. He felt too weak to get out of bed.
"Hahaha!" Lydia Wickham flounced into the bedroom from the other room of their apartment. She leaned over her husband to pinch his cheeks, "Now I have you trapped for sure!" She winked at him. Then, turning suddenly more serious, she grumbled, "Georgie, it was very mean of you to leave me for so long. I don't intend to let you leave me for that long ever, ever again!"
"Really?" Wickham growled. "What do you intend to do about it? You can't stop me from leaving! And trust me, I'm going to leave as soon as I can!"
"I FORBID IT!" Lydia screamed at the top of her lungs, stamping her foot angrily. She dropped into a chair near the bed, sobbing like a child and banging her feet on the floor in a tantrum.
Within moments, Lydia had returned to her normal, naïve, bubbly self. Pouting at her husband, she folded down the blanket a bit, asking sweetly, "Can we cuddle, Georgie?"
Her exhausted husband growled, "Why would you ask that?"
Lydia blinked at him sadly. "I don't understand. You just returned home, I know that you missed me as much as I missed you!"
"Lydia, do not touch me," Wickham began. "You are an insipid child. Leave me be."
Charles Bingley had never felt so bad in his life. He was feverish; he had a horrible cough; and he couldn't seem to keep any of his food down.
He had no idea how he'd gotten so sick. A few months prior, his wife had been sick, and he had greeted Jane with the joking words, "You look terrible." She had promised him that when he was sick, she would tell him how horrible he looked.
At that moment, Jane entered to do just that. She sat down on the edge of the bed. "My sweet, you look awful!" She teased then pouted deeply. "I'm so sorry you've taken ill."
Her husband shrugged, then lurched toward the basin settled next to the bed. When he'd settled back in his place, Jane soothed his brow his her fingertips.
"I had intended to get my business settled in the next few days," Bingley groaned. "I know how much you want to move to our new estate, and I hoped we could do so within a fortnight, but I'm not sure now that it's going to happen," he apologized.
Jane kissed his cheek, "Don't fret, my sweet. There is plenty of time to relocate, and in the meantime we can enjoy some quiet time alone together." She giggled to herself, then teased, "Now I have you trapped for sure!"
Bingley smiled weakly. "Perhaps I can get out of bed tonight and complete some of my work." He dearly hoped to keep his beautiful wife happy.
"I forbid it!" Jane scolded, "You can't get out of bed until the doctor and I both agree that you're well again."
Her husband relented good naturedly. "Very well." He moved his hand on top of the covers to hold Jane's. "Janie, you know that I love you, right?"
Jane smiled tenderly at him, "Why would you ask that?" She squeezed his fingers gently, "Yes, of course I know. Just as you know that I love you." She watched affectionately as her husband closed his eyes and sank deeper into his pillow.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was ill. He had horrible shakes; his pale skin was flushed with fever and a mild rash; his head pounded painfully, and his ears were impossibly clogged.
Elizabeth had hardly left his side for the three days of his illness, but eventually she had to relent to Georgiana and the maids' insistences that she leave her husband in favor of a good meal and a warm bath.
Darcy balled the bedclothes tighter around his body, shivering uncontrollably. The door swung open, and Darcy found the strength to open his eyes. His beloved shut the door behind her and crossed the room to her husband's side.
Darcy smiled weakly at her, moving onto his back and shifting to the middle of the bed so that his wife could sit next to him.
Instead of sitting next to him, Elizabeth kicked off her house shoes and crawled into bed, whispering, "Fitz, you're not leaving my side. Ever."
"Sounds fantastic to me, Lizzy," the sleepy man murmured, nestling his head into the side of her shoulder.
Elizabeth shifted an arm and a leg over her husband's body. "Now I have you trapped for sure!" She teased as she pulled her body tightly next to his.
"And what if I escaped? Or trapped you?" Her husband asked, finding the energy to roll himself over on top of his lithe, gorgeous lover. The effect was ruined slightly by his cold sweat and puffy eyes and nose, but he knew his wife would never hold it against him.
Elizabeth giggled, pressing a gentle kiss to her husband's neck before pushing him off of her and settling him back into the soft pillows. "I forbid it," she whispered, punctuating each word with a kiss to either of his cheeks and to his forehead.
Darcy slid an arm around Elizabeth's shoulder, "Can you stay with me?"
Elizabeth had already settled into the bed, snuggling into her husband's warmth. "Why would you ask that?" Elizabeth teased into the side of her sweetheart's chest. She tugged the blanket up over their bodies, and—smiling—the couple fell into a restorative sleep.