Ack. Sorry, random plot-bunny idea that came to me after almost a year's absence from this site... I'm really sorry, you guys. This past year's just been really, really, reaaaaaaaaally stressful. As in, preparing-for-senior-year-and-then-applying-for-colleges stressful. On the up side, I've gotten into 2 of the colleges I've applied to, and the ones I haven't gotten into, just haven't told me if I've been accepted yet. I will do my absolute best to update all my stories (or most of them, anyway) at some point in the next six months. But I must warn you, I'm a senior in high school. I love writing fanfictions, but they simply cannot be my absolute, top priority at this particular moment. This summer, I will be absolutely sure to write as much as humanly possible, but until that point, I will do my best to do maybe-monthly updates. I am very sorry.

The idea for this story sort of came from what I was perfectly convinced had happened to me a couple of days ago (as in, Christmas Eve). Yeah, I have health problems. And it doesn't help that I am apparently a sort-of hypochondriac (I don't actually go visit doctors, but I will have myself perfectly convinced I'm coming down with various, rare, and usually fairly serious illnesses).

Roderich had been sitting at his piano, waiting for inspiration to strike, for the past two hours. It had never taken him this long to come up with something before… He sighed and took off his glasses so he could rub his eyes – he could feel a migraine coming on, and it was only – here he squinted at his watch – 9:30. How was it still so early?... Oh, yeah, now he remembered. He had woken up at around 6 that morning because he couldn't sleep.

Roderich had woken up early that morning with a sore throat and a pounding headache. He knew he didn't have any plans that day, but he still didn't want to appear weak, as Elizabeta was supposed to be coming over, and he knew that Gilbert would probably be "visiting" at some point. He had been debating with himself on what to do about it.

Roderich arched his back – he was already so tired. He knew it was too early to take a nap or something. Wait, was that noise? He paused for a moment and listened. Suddenly, a loud crack resounded around the house, followed by an "Oy! Young Master? Austria? You here?" and a "Roderich, I know you're here somewhere".

Roderich groaned. Seriously? They both came, together? Of all things? He cleared his throat and called out, "I'm in the piano room," before collapsing into a slight coughing fit. He heard two sets of footsteps pound up the stairs and down the hall, into his safe haven.

Elizabeta gasped. "Roderich, are you alright?"

Roderich nodded.

Gilbert frowned. "You don't sound alright." He walked up to Roderich and looked at his face. "You look kinda … flushed to me."

Elizabeta followed behind Gilbert. "He's right, you know. Do you have a fever?" She reached up to feel his forehead.

Roderich pulled back slightly. "I'm fine, you guys." He silently cursed himself; his voice sounded so hoarse, he knew that they could see right through his lie.

Gilbert put one hand up to his own forehead and then rested the back of the other hand against Roderich's. He smirked. "Told you – you've got a fever."

Roderich scowled. "First of all, who said you could touch me? Second of all, please leave. And third, I am totally and completely healthy."

Elizabeta frowned. "No, you're not. If you don't stop, I'll get a thermometer and check your temperature for you."

Roderich glared at her. "Lizzie, please don't. I'm not up to an argument right now."

Elizabeta sighed. "I know, honey. Why don't you go back to bed? Gil and I will take care of you." She kissed her ex-husband on the cheek and rubbed his upper arms. "Poor baby." She turned to Gilbert. "Gil, can you please help me get him to bed?"

Gilbert nodded. He put one arm behind Roderich's back and the other under Roderich's knees. Roderich squeaked in protest. Gilbert laughed under his breath. "Relax, Roddy. I'm just gonna put you to bed." Roderich blushed. "Your face is turnin' redder by the minute." He turned his face towards Elizabeta's. "Lizzie, could you get a thermometer?"

Elizabeta nodded. "Of course. I'll be right back." She ran off to the downstairs bathroom to grab a washcloth, a thermometer, and ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet.

Roderich rested his feverish cheek on Gilbert's shoulder. Gilbert sighed and carried Roderich up the stairs and into his bedroom. He sat Roderich down on the bed, propped up against the pillows, and threw a pair of pajamas at him. When Roderich just stared at them pitifully, Gilbert sighed again. "Honestly, you're hopeless." Then he knelt down on the bed in front of Roderich and pulled his shirt off. "There. Was that so – holy shit!"

Elizabeta came into the room. "Okay, I've got the – oh, my God." There was a clatter as she dropped the thermometer, the bottle of ibuprofen, and the washcloth on the ground.

Roderich looked from one to the other in near-total confusion. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

Suddenly, Elizabeta and Gilbert looked at each other and then … burst into laughter.

Roderich started to cross his arms over his chest. "Stop laughing, and tell me what's … going … on." His speech slowed to a near-crawl as he decided to actually look down and try to figure it out on his own. For there, on his chest, his arms, and his belly, were … spots. Dozens and dozens of spots.

Roderich screamed.

Yeah, that's right. I was convinced I was coming down with chicken pox. Even now, I'm not completely sure... I saw some spots on my stomach and my ... chest and my arms while I was taking a shower, and now I'm kind of itchy in various places. I'm really hoping that it's nothing, though.

Just to let you know, any symptoms he's experiencing may or may not be completely correct. I'm really not sure - I've never actually had chicken pox, and to my knowledge, no one in my family has had them, either (well, my parents did, but I can't exactly ask them).