Guzma sickfic

Plumeria sighed as she made her way across the roof towards Guzma’s room, the medicine Nanu had given her clutched in her fist. It had been nearly a week since Guzma had come down with….something.  Something that had him throwing up nearly every bite of food, sent him into coughing fits, and kept him from sleeping until he was raging with furious exhaustion. He was in such a bad state that his Pokémon were panicked over it, to the point where Guzma had to be convinced to keep them in their Pokeballs until he got somewhat better.

But that wasn’t happening. After days of the Grunts doing nothing but freaking out and Guzma doing everything but getting better, Plumeria had felt she had no choice but to go to the grumpy old police officer for help. Nanu had handed her a vial of pink powder, claiming it had Chansey egg in it and would help. Plumeria wasn’t entirely sure she put it past Nanu to be fucking with them, but it was the best option she had. It wasn’t like Guzma’s precious Lusamine had even bothered to stop by and help with all her technology.

As she approached Guzma’s room, Plumeria suddenly had to dodge back to avoid the two terrified Grunts who burst out of the doors. There was the familiar sound of glass shattering against a wall as the two hightailed it down the stairs, scrambling over the fallen chandelier in their haste.

“Come back again and I’ll beat you down for good!” Guzma roared from inside. Despite the volume, Plumeria could immediately tell that he lacked his normal fire. She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose—it didn’t bode well for her if Guzma was in one of his stupid, stubborn, “I don’t want help” moods. But she’d never backed down from him before, and she wasn’t going to start now.

She stepped into the room and closed the doors behind her, mentally steeling herself for a fight. All that met her was the sound of wet heaving and the sight of Guzma—looking oddly small in just a sweat-soaked white tanktop and black boxers—pitched halfway over the side of the bed and puking his guts up into a trashcan. Threatening his Grunts seemed to have taken a lot out of him.

“You done?” Plumeria asked, cocking her hip to the side and crossing her arms over her chest. “Because if you yell at me, you’re not getting this medicine.”

Guzma struggled to catch his breath as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and collapsed back onto the bed. “Beat it,” he ordered, his voice considerably weaker than before. Plumeria could tell that there was no real bite to the words. Either he’d already given up on getting her to leave, or he wanted her to stay.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay. Just to piss you off,” she replied as she evaluated the situation. Guzma’s blankets were in a pile on the ground; kicked off of the bed. The pillows were scattered around the mattress, all three caved in from being pounded with frustrated fists. Guzma himself was lying on his side, a hand clutching his stomach as he breathed heavily and glared at her. He looked like shit.

“You look like shit,” Plumeria said, trying to ignore the way her stomach dropped at how not big and bad Guzma was right now. The Team Skull leader said nothing and turned away from her, his whole body seeming to sag. Plumeria’s eyes widened when his shoulders started hitching and she heard a soft hiccupping sound. Was he…crying? She had no clue how to deal with a crying Guzma.

"You wanna know the worst part about this?" Guzma asked after a long period of silence, sounding more beaten down than Plumeria had ever heard him. "I could die right here and I'd leave nothing worthwhile behind." He brought a shaky hand up to tangle in his mussed hair and pressed his face into his bicep. "Someone'll come across those dusty old bronze trophies back home one day and say 'oh yeah, that shitty kid'’. And that'll be it.”

He curled in on himself further, letting out a broken laugh that morphed into a cough. "How pathetic is that?"

Plumeria clenched her fingers into a tight fist and bit her bottom lip hard. Where the hell had that come from? Guzma never talked like this, at least not out loud. She struggled against the urge to hit the idiot, yell at him, curse at him, all of those combined. It wouldn't do any good right now.

"Shut up," she said calmly, walking over to the small table next to Guzma's bed. There was already a pitcher of water and a glass there—the other glass had been the victim of Guzma’s temper. She filled the intact cup with water, and then poured in some of the medicine. The pink powder quickly dissolved as she gave it a few swirls.

Guzma had been silent during the whole process, but then he snickered bitterly. "That's all you got to say, huh? Guess I shouldn't have expected more."

"I'm not going to join you in moping about how sad and meaningless your life is," Plumeria answered, stepping around to Guzma's side of the bed. "One, that's not my style. And two, you're wrong. Now sit up and drink this, you idiot."

Guzma didn't reply. He lifted his head, eyed the powder with a glassy gaze, then looked to the wall; anything to avoid eye contact. Now that Plumeria could see his face, she could tell that he hadn't actually been crying. That wasn't much of a comfort, though, considering the unhealthy flush in his cheeks and the sweat shining on his forehead. The circles around his eyes were much darker than usual, and any skin that wasn't flushed was pale and approaching grey.

"Get up," Plumeria urged again, unnerved by his silence. "Come on, don't make me pour it down your throat."

The bedsprings creaked as Guzma finally shifted and made an effort to sit up. Plumeria swallowed thickly as she watched her boss struggle to even lift his torso, his breathing far too ragged. She set the glass aside and wrapped her arm around Guzma’s lean waist, bracing herself with a knee against the mattress so she could heave him further upright.

“There,” she said, panting slightly from the effort. “Lean against me now.”

Guzma complied without a fight, which was incredibly worrying. He slumped forward against Plumeria’s chest, his arms limp at his sides. His weight wasn’t inconsiderable, but Plumeria managed to hold him there as she reached out to grab an abused pillow. She settled it behind Guzma and pushed him backwards so he was propped against it and the headboard.

“Drink,” she demanded again, picking up the glass and thrusting it forward. Guzma said nothing again but didn’t hesitate this time. He closed a large, trembling hand around Plumeria’s, bringing it and the glass up to his lips. Plumeria tipped the cup steadily, watching the sickeningly pink liquid drain out with every too-slow bob of Guzma’s throat.

“Fuck, that tastes horrible,” Guzma said once the glass was empty, finally breaking his silence, “You trying to poison me so you can be the boss instead? I always knew you were a snake.”

Plumeria couldn’t help but smile, even as Guzma lapsed into yet another coughing fit. She never thought she’d be so desperate to hear him open his big mouth. “Easy now, big guy,” she said, patting his back and tossing the empty glass aside carelessly. “Besides, if I wanted to kill you, you’d never see it coming.”

She moved to stand up again, and found herself immediately caught by the wrist. Huffing, she patted Guzma’s hand, wordlessly promising him that she wasn’t planning on leaving. Once he reluctantly released her, she walked around to the other side of the bed to kick off her sneakers and pick the discarded blankets up off of the floor.

“Oh yeah? How would you do it, then?” Guzma asked, following her movements and nearly swaying in place. The medicine seemed to have already helped his throat a little.

“Hmm,” Plumeria plopped down onto the bed next to Guzma, throwing a blanket unceremoniously over his bare legs. “I think I’d go to your old house, grab one of those dusty old bronze trophies, then sneak up behind you and hit you over the head with it.”

The hoarse but genuine laughter that met her reply was the best thing Plumeria had heard all day.

“Fuck you too, Plume,” Guzma rasped, nearly slurring from exhaustion at this point. “Your boy tries to get real for a moment and you just clown about it. Should’ve known better.”

“Yeah, you probably should’ve.” Plumeria reached out to grab Guzma’s shoulder and pull him sideways to lean on her. “And like I already told you, you’re wrong. You have a team of super strong bug Pokémon and a bunch of cute numskulls falling all over themselves to be your underlings and somehow you still think nobody cares. That’s the kind of downer shit I expect from Gladion.”

“That’s a low blow,” Guzma grumbled. He slumped against her and slid down until he was lying with his head resting against the side of her stomach. “But….thanks. I guess.”

Plumeria rolled her eyes as he nuzzled into her and brought her hand down to cradle his head. He was like an oversized Rockruff in those rare moments that he sought out affection.

“You’re welcome. I guess,” she said, pushing her fingers into his hair and gently combing it back from his forehead. The hair at his temples and in front was soaked in sweat and he probably needed a bath badly, but she ignored it for now. Instead she gently untangled the knots in the soft white locks, ghosting her fingertips over his scalp and smirking when he closed his eyes and let out a low moan. “Now shut up and rest. We need you to get better.”

“We?” Guzma asked, flashing her a tired, lopsided grin. Plumeria huffed and flicked his ear.

“Don’t push it.”

Guzma chuckled and settled down again, his body going lax and boneless as Plumeria continued to play with his hair. His breathing was raspy but relaxed, the medicine’s effects kicking in further. Plumeria wondered how long it had been since he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep.

“Someone’s gotta…feed Golisopod and the crew,” Guzma mumbled, half asleep. Of course that’s what he’d be thinking about while about to pass out from sickness and exhaustion.

“I’ll get a grunt to do it. Now go the fuck to sleep.” Plumeria was getting drowsy herself—Guzma was like Alola’s biggest hot water bottle against her side. But she wasn’t going to risk nodding off too while he was still in such a fragile state. Besides, she might ruin her makeup if she did.

It wasn’t long before Guzma was snoring against her side, deep in desperately needed sleep. Plumeria smiled and settled in, preparing to turn away any disruptive Grunts with nothing but a glare. If they woke Guzma up at this point, she might just kill them.

And if Guzma ended up getting her sick, she’d kill him twice as hard. Or at the very least make him dress up as a sexy nurse and take care of her.