Strep throat.

AKA, your worst enemy at the moment.

Of course you would come down with one of the most annoying viruses the week of girl's night. And not just any girl's night. The first girl's night since your best friend, Emily, returned to the team.

They reassured you that there would be plenty more girl's nights in the future, and even offered to reschedule at one point. You refused, and made them promise to do a round of shots for you while you were stuck in bed.

The only thing keeping you from being totally miserable was your loving boyfriend, Spencer. That golden retriever of a man tended to your every need and whim, fetching you bowls of hot soup, tea, ice cream, and anything else he could think of to soothe your aching throat. He made sure you took your prescribed medications on time, writing down the time you too them in a little chart he made in his nearly illegible handwriting.

He made sure you were comfortable at all times, practically suffocating you in the amount of fluffy blankets and pillows he brought. He would then panic and remove half of them, saying that you didn't need to overheat your body, even with chills from a fever.

He gave you all the cuddles you could handle and watched countless reruns of your favorite show with you, and you appreciated every second of it.

Yet you still suffered from a teeny tiny case of the dreaded FOMO.

He noticed your pouty expression as he held you between his legs, back against his chest, head leaned back on his shoulder, "I'm sorry, bub, I know you're missing your friends."

You feigned denial, shaking your head, "I'm perfectly happy here with you."

He rolled his eyes, "I know you are, but you're still allowed to be sad that you're missing your plans, you know? And you're sick, so you have two excuses to be sad."

"Spencer Walter Reid," you croaked with a playful smirk, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you want me to be sad."

He frowned genuinely, "I do not. I just want to make sure that you know that you don't have to feel obligated to be content right now. Even if part of you is. You can feel more than one emotion at once."

You sighed, tucking your head into the smooth curve of his neck, the top of your head snugly fitted against his jaw, "Okay, maybe I am a little sad. If it was any other girl's night it might not matter as much, but it's Em's first one back with us. I hate that I'm missing that."

"I know," he nodded, turning his head to kiss your hairline, "What do you guys do at girl's night anyways?"

You looked up at him innocently, "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

He laughed, flashing his dorky grin that you adored, "I love you, you know that?"

"No," you pretended to be shocked, placing a hand over your heart, "it's not like you tell me every single minute of every day."

He just smiled and rubbed your shoulder, "So you really can't tell me?"

You thought for a moment, "We really don't do that much. We go out for drinks to get a little happy buzz going and then head over to Em's or Garcia's and watch some chick flicks. Sometimes we go full on high school and do each other's nails, put on face masks, and braid each other's hair."

"That's an odd combination of events," he noted aloud, his 'thinking wrinkles' appearing on his forehead.

You giggled, "It's not everyone's cup of tea and it's highly stereotypical, but we enjoy it."

He nodded with his thinking face still on. You could almost see the gears turning, "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Your head was too cloudy to connect the dots until he emerged from the bathroom with your bucket full of nail polish and two packages of face masks.

"Aw, Spence, you don't have to do any of this-"

"Ah ah ah, I want to. If you can't go to girl's night, I'm going to bring girl's night to you," he said, his face beaming.

How could you say no to that?

He asked you what movie you wanted to watch and you picked out your favorite romance film. He then settled in the bed next to you, moving all the blankets and laying a towel down so the nail polish didn't get on the bed sheets. Then he lined up all the colors in rainbow order.

"What color would you like, bub?" He asked.

You smiled, running your fingers over the bottles before setting on a deep navy color, "This one."

"Good choice," he nodded sagely.

Ask you watched the movie, he took your hand gingerly in his. His shaky fingers moved to swipe the paint over your nails with utmost focus, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth cutely.

"You do a better job than I do," you said softly, "I'll have to have you paint them more often."

"Anytime, my love," he said with the warmest smile you could imagine.

Once two even coats of color plus a clear coat were applied, he held your hands in his to make sure you didn't mess them up as they dried. That drew a giggle out of you, which then turned into a coughing fit.

He looked into your eyes sadly, "Are you sure you feel up to this?"

"Of course," you nodded, voice coarse and gravelly, "I feel better already."

He nodded, though not thoroughly convinced, "When we're done, you'll get some good rest, yeah?"

"I promise," you grinned, offering him your pinky as a promise, careful not to touch the paint.

Once it was thoroughly dry, you came up with an idea.

"Spencie?" You asked, your voice sugar sweet, "Can I paint your nails?"

He looked at you with wide eyes, "My nails?"

"Yes, that's what I said," you chuckled.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before he shrugged, "Why not?"

"Yes!" You cheered, peeking up as much as possible in your sickly state.

He picked the same color you had so 'you could be matching.' You held his hands in yours, carefully painting the nail on each of his long fingers. His nails were stubbier than yours and not as well groomed, but that was to be expected of a guy.

You already adored his hands, but when his nails were painted, you nearly went feral.

"Oh my gosh, Spence," you stared at his hands in awe, "we are going to have to paint your nails more often. It looks so good on you."

His cheeks turned pink and he looked down at them bashfully, "You really think so?"

You groaned approvingly, "Mhmm."

He saw the effect it had on you and gazed at you with a playful gleam in his eyes, "How long do they take to dry?"

You noticed the look he was giving you and smirked. You took one of his hands in yours, testing his thumb to feel the paint, "They're already dry."

He smiled, leaning in to mouth at your jaw lightly before speaking lowly, "Then why don't we put them to good use and make you feel a little better about missing girl's night, yeah?"

He didn't have to make that suggestion twice.