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freddieslater · 5 months

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I’m seriously missing Booby & Freddie on ee 😭 can you please write a fic where they make up and are cute and happy again? (Obviously in your own time, if you feel like it of course 🫶)

Okay, SO, I know it took me WAY too long to get to this ask, and Freddie and Bobby have already made up (though I'm not entirely satisfied with how it happened, but I guess I'll take what I can get), but I have FINALLY written a little something where our boys make up with a twist. Someone on ao3 asked me for a fic where Freddie is sick and Bobby takes care of him, so I took some creative liberties and combined the two into one. I will admit, it isn't necessarily a fic with a happy ending, so I do apologize in advance for that... I hope you enjoy anyway! <3

Freddie doesn't get sick. Ever. Even when he was younger, the cold couldn't touch him and allergies bounced straight off of him. His mum has always been so overprotective and forced a jacket around him whenever he's tried to go out on a grey day with just a hoodie and he's never understood it because he doesn't get sick.

When he says just that to Alfie, he's met with a disbelieving chuckle. He tries to get up out of bed but Alfie places a hand on his shoulder and gently stops him, easing him back down. Admittedly, it's a relief when his head hits the pillows again. It's weirdly heavy today, like he's lugging around a bowling ball on his shoulders.

'Alright, alright,' Alfie says. 'I believe ya, Fred, but we gotta look at the facts, alright? You're pale as a ghost and you're burning up bad. You even sound like your throat's been grated on sandpaper, alright, so I think, just this once, you might have a little bit of a cold, yeah?'

It doesn't make any sense. He never gets sick. He tries again to sit up -- Alfie doesn't need to stop him this time. He can barely move his upper body, a ginormous weight pressing down on it until he's forced to concede. He flops back down with a sigh.

'Alright,' he says, slightly breathless. He closes his eyes against the black dots threatening to creep into view. 'You might have a point, Alf.'

It's hard just to breathe, now that he thinks about it. Half of his nose is blocked and his throat is a bit raw.

He hears a sigh beside him. Alfie pats his leg through the covers and says, 'Right. I can't leave you like this. I'm going to cancel my appointment, stay home and make sure you're alright. You get some rest.'

Freddie forces his eyes open and stops him. 'Wait, Alf, no. You can't cancel your appointment.'

'Fred, I can't leave you like this,' he repeats. 'I don't know how long I'm gonna be at the hospital neither. What if you need something, or you get worse?' He shakes his head, pursing his lips. 'Nah. I'll just reschedule it, it'll be alright.'

'Seriously, Alf, I'll be fine. I'll just sleep the entire time, please, don't miss this appointment 'cause of me.'

'Fred--'

'It's just a cold,' Freddie insists. 'I'll be fine. Seriously, Alf, you gotta go.'

Alfie hesitates, looking doubtfully at him. He hums and haws, and he gnaws at his lip momentarily before finally, he sighs and points at him. 'Alright. Alright, fine, but I'm not leavin' you by yourself. No arguments. Kat would have my head if she thought I wasn't looking after you properly.'

He doesn't bother arguing further. It wouldn't work; Alfie's already pulling his phone out and holding it to his ear as it rings. Freddie isn't sure who exactly he calls, because he passes out a moment later.

His head is damp when he comes back round. Not just from sweat (though there's a thin layer of that clinging to his skin as well), he realizes when he reaches up groggily and finds a cloth on his forehead. It's still got a bit of coldness to it. It's actually kind of soothing.

He drops it back onto his forehead and closes his eyes with a quiet groan a second after trying to open them. Even the minimal effort drains him to the point of wanting to just go back to sleep. He rolls over, clamping a hand over the cloth to keep it in place.

Drifting in and out for a few minutes, he jolts awake when he hears a noise from somewhere else in the flat. It doesn't register as weird to him right away. He just chalks it down to Alfie crashing into things like usual, the clumsy bloke. A few beats pass as he settles back into his pillow.

Alfie should be at the hospital. There's no way he should be back yet. Which can only mean...

Groaning quietly, he forces his eyes open and pushes himself out of his bed, despite every protest from his lead-filled limbs. He nearly trips over on his way to his door. He swallows down the nausea rising like a wave in his throat and yanks the door open, admittedly using the wall for support as he makes his way down the hallway.

'Alf?' he calls out and is met with a rough, nails-on-chalkboard sound that is dragged out of him. He grits his teeth through it and tries again as he stumbles on. 'Alf, I told you not to worry about me. You should be at the--'

He comes to a stop in the kitchen. Standing by the microwave as it bzzz's away is not Alfie. It's Bobby. He looks over at him now, and while his face remains the way it's been for the last few days, there is a slight twitch in his eyebrows.

'You shouldn't be out of bed,' Bobby says, turning away from him again. 'Alfie called me and asked if I would come over to make sure you're okay while he's at the hospital. He should be back in a few hours.'

The explanation still doesn't really feel like it explains anything. Freddie stays, swaying and confused, staring at Bobby in bewilderment until he chancs another glance at him.

'You don't look good,' Bobby says. Maybe Freddie's hopeful in his sick, delusional state but it almost sounds like he's concerned. 'Go back to bed. I'm just heating up some soup in case you're hungry, but you should really be trying to sleep as much as possible. I also put a glass of water on the drawers next to your be, so you should have a few sips and take the painkillers I put there as well if you haven't already.'

It's weird how formal he's being about it, yet Freddie can't bring himself to care about that. This is the most that Bobby has said to him since... since he slept with Anna. A well-timed wave of nausea washes over him again and he steadies himself with a hand against the wall.

'Bob, why are you...' He swallows thickly, breathing only through his nose for a moment. When he speaks again, it's through clenched teeth in the fear that something other than words might slip out otherwise. 'Why are you doin' this? I thought that you never wanted to--'

'I'm here because Alfie asked,' Bobby cuts him off. He folds his arms around himself and stares firmly at the countertop as he lightly shrugs. 'He's like family to me and I care about him. I know he's going through a lot right now, so I'm not going to make it harder on him by letting my personal problems get in the way of his.'

Freddie closes his mouth. He nods, not trying to plead his case again. He's honestly too drained. Instead, he just says, 'Well, I appreciate it anyway. I'm gonna go lie back down, like you said.'

He pushes away from the wall, swaying, and holds onto it for a moment until the dizzyness passes.

Bobby notices. He hesitates, then moves towards him with a sigh. 'I'll help you. You look like you're about to collapse.'

'I feel it as well,' Freddie says, chuckling lightly. The noise is far away in the distance from his own ears and he's not even entirely sure any of this is actually real. He blinks and he's being lowered back into his bed by a seemingly invisible entity.

His eyes fall closed again and the darkness swallows him back up.

This time, when he wakes, he's drawn to consciousness by the smell of something spiced and savoury. It's funny because for a moment, lying there with his eyes closed, inhaling the familiar scent, he's sure he's back at his mum's as she boils soup to heat them both up through the winter. A smile has already found its way onto his face as he rolls over -- only to be hit with a wave of dizzyness. It comes back to him in a tidal wave that pushes him under with an unbearable weight.

He opens his eyes and inhales sharply. It's a difficult feat; he can't even breathe in through his nose. How do people cope with this? He's never felt so bad in his life. It crosses his mind that he might finally have been tracked down by Covid but he brushes it off, too tired to wonder how or why. It's probably just an average cold, even though he never gets sick.

Something else crosses his mind. Bobby. He was there, in the flat, earlier.

Freddie is tempted, momentarily, to get out of bed again and see if he's still hanging around. However, a deep ache in his limbs stops him from moving. If he's light-headed just from rolling over, there's a good chance he'll faceplant straight into the wall if he tries to stand up.

Fortunately, he doesn't need to test it. The floorboard outside his room creaks and before he can see if his aching throat will allow any sound out, his door softly opens and Bobby pokes his head inside. His eyes widen when he finds Freddie staring back at him already.

'You're awake,' he says, taking a step into the room. 'Erm, I was just checking if you were okay.'

'Didn't die in my sleep,' Freddie says, and lifts a lead-filled hand to give him a thumbs up. It drops back onto his stomach immediately. His face scrunches. 'How long was I asleep for? Felt like ages.'

'Only about an hour, I think.' Bobby toys awkwardly with the silver bracelet on his wrist. 'You should try and get some more sleep, you still don't look well.' His brows furrow as he speaks, and he steps further into the room, coming closer to him. 'Have you got a fever?'

As he asks, he gingerly presses his hand to Freddie's forehead. It's freezing against his clammy skin. Disappointment swoops down on him when he takes it away with a concerned hum.

'I'm going to get you another cold cloth to try and take it down.'

'You're a right proper little nurse, ain't ya?' Freddie jokes, attempting a grin. As Bobby averts his eyes and goes to leave, panic grips him for some reason, and all of a sudden he's holding onto his hand. 'Wait. I, erm...'

He swallows thickly and regrets it. It feels like he's swallowed glass.

'I'll be right back,' Bobby says softly. He even gives his hand a light squeeze before taking it back and leaving the room. Sure enough, he returns quickly -- or maybe it just feels that way in Freddie's slightly delirious state -- holding a new facecloth.

Freddie watches him as he gently smooths back his hair from his forehead and lays the cloth on it. Once again, the cold is soothing. He actually finds his eyes wanting to remain closed when he blinks, an odd sense of relief washing over him. At least, over his head, which felt like it was filled with an angry beehive a moment ago.

'Thanks,' he murmurs, though he's not positive the word actually leaves his mouth.

'Do you need anything else?' Bobby asks.

Freddie swallows again, this time trying to disloge the words that want to spill out. More than anything, he knows what he wants right now. What he needs. But it would be selfish to ask now for Bobby's forgiveness. He's too kind, his heart too big for his own good, one day it'll explode from trying to hold love for everyone and everything. He'd give him his forgiveness, but only because he feels bad for him, seeing him so weak and vulnerable.

It's not fair and it's selfish. Two things that only really occur to Freddie after the fact.

He looks up at him, his face dropping as another wave of panic washes over him at the thought of Bobby leaving the room again. Leaving him. Being alone has always been too hard for him to deal with, it drives him mental.

'Can you just... can we talk? Or you can talk and I'll just lie here,' he offers.

Bobby looks away from him, just like in the cafe, just like every time he's tried to talk to him since that day in the Vic.

'Bob, please,' Freddie says, even though every word is another mouthful of glass. 'I get that you can't forgive what I did, and you don't need to. I just... I need you. I need my best mate.' He bites his bottom lip as Bobby's mouth twitches. 'You can even sit here and tell me how much you hate me if you want. Just don't go.'

Something he said must've worked because Bobby sighs but he doesn't leave. Instead, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, his hands braced on his knees as he stares at the floor, shaking his head.

'I don't hate you,' he says like that should've been obvious. 'It's just... what you did, it really hurt me, Freddie.'

'I know that,' he says but he fails to think of something to follow it. Any excuse feels like just that. An excuse. 'I'm sorry. I am, I swear to you. I wish I'd never done it, Bob, and I know Anna does too. I never wanted to hurt you.'

Silence falls over them as the words hang between them. Freddie knows that they don't matter. What does matter is that he did hurt him, and he has no idea how to fix it. He can't take it back, and it's not like he can just make him a cup of tea and buy him some flowers and everything will be alright again.

Bobby sighs again. 'Look, you're ill, we don't need to talk about this. It's not like it really matters now, anyway.'

'Course it matters,' Freddie says, his brows furrowing. 'I can't stand this. I need to make it right, Bob.'

To his surprise, Bobby shakes his head. 'No, you don't.' He finally looks at him directly. 'You made a mistake, Freddie. I can't exactly hold that over you with my own track record. I just... I wish that it had been you who told me, that's all.'

'Me too,' Freddie says sincerely. 'I wanted to, for weeks.'

'But my dad beat you to it.' Bobby face contorts. 'I'm really sorry about that, by the way. About him. He should never have said those things about you, or about Anna, especially not in front of everyone like that. I think he thought he was protecting me but he embarassed the two of you, and I didn't want that.'

Freddie's confused by the sudden turn of the tables. How did they go from barely talking to Bobby apologizing to him? He manages to push himself up slightly on his elbows, groaning behind clenched teeth as it takes a good chunk of his energy to do so. Still, it's worth it. Until the cloth falls off his forehead.

'Here,' Bobby says, already scooping it back up and pressing it gently to his skin once more. He holds it there. 'You really don't look well. Have you talked to a doctor? Or Sonia. She's a nurse, she might be able to help. Actually, let me call her, she might be able to come over.'

Freddie barely has time to process what he's saying but quickly stops him when he pulls out his phone. He can't help it; he smiles, big and stupid, because it hasn't been like this for ages. 'Nah, no need. Just a cold, innit?'

'But you told me you don't get sick,' Bobby argues, growing visibly more concerned.

'I don't, usually. Guess I just got unlucky this year.' He shrugs. 'Maybe it's Karma.'

The words slip out before he can think about them. He worries that they'll drive Bobby away again, not finding any humour in the situation, and why should he? Freddie's the idiot for thinking it's alright to joke about, but he's sick and his brain doesn't work at the best of times, never mind when it's covered in germs.

Germs. He stares at Bobby in confusion, still holding the cloth to his forehead. Sitting on his bed, right beside him. Touching him.

'Hey, I thought you didn't like germs and you know, things like this,' he points out. 'Your OCD.'

It only occurs to him after he's said that maybe bringing it up could trigger it if Bobby hadn't thought about it.

If that is the case, he doesn't let it show much. Bobby's expression twitches a little, and he nods, raises a shoulder, and he says, 'Yeah, I don't, but... I can keep it under control when it's not too bad. Besides, I'm not that scared of getting sick. It might mean I don't have to sit through another True Crime documentary at Sonia's.'

Freddie cracks a smile. He has a thought but it doesn't make it beyond that stage, cut off as Bobby speaks again.

'And... somebody has to look after you,' he says, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth.

'Well, I'm glad it's you.' At Bobby's quizzical expression, he lightly raises a shoulder. 'No one else around here's got a great bedside manner, if I'm honest. Alf tries but the bloke makes me more worried about him half the time.'

It isn't funny, even he knows that, yet Bobby laughs like it is. Ducking his head, shoulders shaking with mirth as he lifts his eyes back up to him, sparkling, pressing his lips together like it'll do anything to contain it. Even if it worked, nothing could tone down the pink that rises to his cheeks automatically.

It's something that Freddie's noticed before. The way he literally lights up when he's genuinely happy. He hasn't seen it in a while. Before he knows what he's doing in his somewhat delirious state (or at least that's the excuse he'll use if Bobby asks for one), he's reaching out and touching the back of his fingers lightly against the faint blush.

Bobby freezes, his eyes darting to his hand. When they slide back over to Freddie, though, he doesn't say a word about it. He presses his lips together again in a faint smile before taking his hand gently in his own and readjusting the cloth on his forehead like some nurse in a World War 2 movie. Freddie remembers watching a lot of those for school. He always reckoned it was pretty romantic; having someone care that much.

A completely mental thought crosses his mind. It's one of those ones where he'd just do it, let impulse take over, then take the consequences later because he can't quite compute that maybe he shouldn't. Except, he can barely keep his eyes open at the moment, let alone move his entire body. He has to settle for squeezing Bobby's hand.

'You look tired,' Bobby notes. His eyebrows have once again knitted in concern and Freddie wants nothing more than to smooth it back out with his fingers. He starts to move his hand to do it but stops when he remembers it's already being held.

''M okay,' he mumbles, but one blink feels like ten minutes of darkness. He tires not to blink at all. 'Just a bit cold.'

He hadn't realized it was true until he said it, but his body is overcome with a deep shiver in his bones, and all of a sudden it's like he's outside in the rain in just his underwear.

'That's good,' Bobby assures him. 'It means your body is fighting it. I'll see if Alfie has a thin blanket somewhere.'

Freddie mumbles something, even he's not sure what, just that it's a protest. He shakes his head and holds on tighter to Bobby's hand, stopping him from leaving despite him not actually moving yet.

'Nah, don't need to,' he says. 'Just, erm...' He blinks rapidly and does his best to keep Bobby's face in sight. 'Just keep talking, I don't wanna go back to sleep just yet. Talk to me. 'Bout anything, doesn't matter what.'

Bobby flounders, as he usually does when put on the spot. But after a moment, he inhales, and he says, 'Erm, okay. Right, well... I've seen some stuff about a new movie that I kinda wanna see. It's a prequel in a series that I actually really enjoyed. I didn't even know they were making one, or that they'd released a new book, either. I want to go and see it in cinemas but, well, I'm not really good with places like that, to be honest.'

'We can go together,' Freddie says immediately. He shifts his body to be laying on his side, tucking his free hand beneath his head as he looks up at Bobby. 'Yeah, it'll be a laugh.'

'Well, the movie's not really a comedy,' Bobby says nervously. 'It's actually a little dark, from what I've heard.'

Freddie shrugs. 'We'll still have a good time. We always do, you and me.'

'Yeah,' Bobby says, and his mouth curves into a faint smile. 'Yeah, we do.'

'Hey, Bob? I know I said no to the blanket, but could you get in here with me? I'm freezing, and I just need something to, like, I don't know what the word is, but I just think it'd help a bit, you know? Is that stupid?'

He somehow manages to keep his tongue tied enough not to admit that he just wants to be close to him. It's not a new feeling. Honestly, since the day he met him, all he's wanted is to be near him. It's like some kind of magnet, drawing him in. Right now, it's so intense he feels like he meet explode if he even lets go of his hand. Maybe that's completely mental and a bit pathetic. He doesn't care.

It takes Bobby a moment to answer. Or maybe it's only a second. It's hard to tell.

But no matter how long it takes, when he speaks, it's to say, 'No, that's... that's not stupid at all. Yeah, of course.'

It doesn't really register with Freddie that he didn't reject the request until Bobby is carefully climbing onto the bed that used to feel a lot bigger. Not that he's complaining. It's actually a relief to be so close to him as Bobby positions himself to be half-sitting, half-laying with him. Just enough for him to keep adjusting the cloth on his forehead and for Freddie to sluggishly pull his own body a few inches closer to press his head into his side.

He was right. The ticking time bomb inside of him cuts out. There's only a heavy relief and comfort as he splays his arm over him and takes a deep breath in time to the beat of his pulse. Not slow but not fast, either. Even the pressure of his ribs against his forehead is soothing.

He says something. What, though, he has no idea, because a moment later, he is asleep. For how long, he also has no idea. When he next opens his eyes, it's like it's been ten minutes and ten hours. Either way, his limbs ache a little less but are weighed down with exhaustion still.

He wonders if maybe that's why Bobby is still in the bed with him. Maybe he didn't know how to slip out of his grasp without disturbing him, and knowing him, he'd rather suffer in discomfort for hours than maybe someone else uncomfortable. Then again, he doesn't look so uncomfortable with his eyes closed, his head tilting slightly to one side as he breathes deeply. Sound asleep.

Freddie decides not to bother him. He just closes his eyes again and lets his mind and body win out this time without a fight, drifting right back off.

It's only about a day before Freddie is back to being himself. There isn't a single trace of sickness left in him as he zips right up out of his bed and into the kitchen to grab breakfast. He does have to crack his neck and stretch his limbs out a bit more than usual after being in bed for about three days straight, but aside from that, he would be willing to believe that he was never actually sick at all.

Some tupperware sitting on the side labelled "soup :)" proves otherwise. He smiles to himself. He has no idea if he actually ate any of it while he was sick, but he makes a mental note to try and remember to thank Bobby for it later all the same.

But when he sees him just two hours later, he has a much more pressing thought on his mind, pulled forth from his somewhat delirious state by the tupperware. It sits at the ack of his mind, tickling away at his brain like an itch he can't reach no matter how hard he tries.

To his relief, Bobby smiles when he sees him. So, it was definitely real. They're friends again.

'Hey,' he says immediately, stopping right in the middle of the market despite his hands being loaded with bags. 'Alfie told me you were feeling better. I was gonna come over later and see how you were doing.'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Thanks, Bob.' He wets his lips, his impatience getting the better of him as the itch begins to grow irritable, demanding attention. 'Erm, I was just wondering, though... did I say anything? You know, anything, like, weird or something? 'Cause, I just have this feeling like I did but I can't remember what it was and it's driving me mental.'

'Oh. Erm.' Bobby averts his eyes. 'Not really, no.'

Freddie stares at him. 'Come on, Bob. Now I definitely know I did or you wouldn't be actin' so weird about it. What was it? Look,' he presses on before he can get a chance to speak, 'whatever it was, I'm sorry, yeah? I was so out of it, I've genuinely never felt like that before and I think it was making me a bit... well, mental.'

Bobby glances up at him. His lips quirk ever so slightly at one side. 'Right. Yeah.' He shakes his head and chuckles, straightening up. 'Yeah, of course. No, it's totally fine. You're good, it doesn't matter.'

'You sure?' Freddie asks, raising his eyebrows. 'But I did say something, then?'

'Yeah, but it was just... like you said, you weren't yourself,' Bobby says quickly. 'The fever. It's fine, Freddie, really.'

He wants to protest and push him for an answer, slightly irritated that he still doesn't know what exactly it was that he said. It feels important; his stomach flips like a pancake when he thinks about it and his heart starts beating way too fast, and it's unnverving him a bit, actually.

Either he can see this or he just knows him too well, Bobby rolls his eyes and sighs. 'You just...' He lowers his voice, leaning in slightly even as he avoids looking directly at him. 'You said that... that you love me. Well, more that you were in love with me, actually, but it really doesn't matter. You were really sick, you'd probably have said anything.'

A flash of something comes back to him. Him, curled into Bobby in his bed, trying to get as close to his heartbeat as he physically could. Hearing the beat of it. Wanting to be in sync with it. To be with him.

Oh. Shit.

'Wait. Bob, I--'

'Freddie, it's fine,' Bobby cuts him off quickly, grinning. 'Really, it didn't bother me. Don't worry about it.'

'But, Bob, I...' His voice trails off.

Bobby is smiling at him. Talking to him. Last week, he was sure that would never happen again an he had blown any chance of ever being able to fix things between them. So, he does something he's never usually able to do. He stops himself from saying something that might undo it all.

Smiling back at him, he forces a chuckle and nods. 'Thanks.'

For a moment, they're just looking at each other. Freddie's mind is in even more chaos than usual, trying to round up every rogue thought desparate to make its escape. He's beyond grateful when Bobby snaps out of it first and remembers he was on his way somewhere before running into him.

'I need to get these to Sonia's,' he says, nodding towards her house across the square. 'But, I'll see you later, yeah?'

The four words are just enough to reinforce it in Freddie's mind. He clamps his mouth shut and nods enthusiastically, only just managing to say, 'Yeah, absolutely!' without anything else slipping out. He turns and watches him walk away, grinning. It begins to fade the further he gets and all of a sudden he's cursing himself.

He is a terrible liar, especially around Bobby. What was he thinking? How is he ever supposed to stop himself from blurting out that he might actually be completely, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with him? His shoulders sink and he closes his eyes, sighing in anguish. He is so screwed.

#oh look a wild anonymoose #ask away earthlings!#eastenders #frobby #frobbie #bobby x freddie #freddie x bobby #freddie slater #bobby beale #sickfic #light angst

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