Thank you so much Nonnie!! And thank you for the prompt, it was so great to write! Sorry it’s late, I hope it’s what you had in mind.
Don’t Breathe On Me
The sun is shining through the high windows of the new DSM studio, reflecting off the mirrored wall and illuminating the Starry Night mural opposite of it.
Pieter ignores the beautiful scene, choosing to pace instead.
Luisa, always prompt and punctual and never accepting anything less than perfectly on time Luisa, is late.
It’s cause for worry.
Pieter can hear the group’s gossiping chatter, it does nothing to calm his troubled thoughts.
He calls her cell phone for the fifth time, hanging up in frustration when he reaches her voicemail.
The studio door opens and he almost sighs in relief as Luisa walks in.
“Kommissar, you’re-” he’s fully prepared to give her a stern reprimand when he notices her appearance.
Rumpled clothes, messy hair, red eyes and a blotchy nose.
“You look terrible.” He states bluntly.
“Thank you, Pieter.” She says sarcastically, her voice nasally and congested. “Nice to see you too. My weekend was great, thanks for asking. I’m fine, by the way.”
“No you’re not. Go away. No one wants to catch your cold.” He says, completely ignoring her sass.
“I don’t have a cold.” She denies. “I never get sick.”
“Then what would you call this? A freak attack of allergies?”
“Luisa, you don’t have allergies. Go home, get some rest.”
“Rest is for the losers.” She mutters.
“Then get used to being a loser for a couple days.”
“I’m not sick.” She says resolutely, as if saying it aloud will miraculously cure her.
“Why did the maus even let you out of the house?” Pieter asks, Luisa rolls her bloodshot eyes at the fatherly disapproval in his voice.
“It’s not like the tiny maus could stop me. Besides, she’s in L.A. right now.”
“Leaving me with you. Figures.”
“I’m fine. And as long as I’m already here, let me work.”
Pieter sighs in defeat.
“The Kommissar has arrived, time to get started.” He says to the DSM members. “Our leader seems to have an extreme case of allergies today, so practice will be light. Also, don’t let her breathe on you, apparently this case of allergies is contagious.”
“Very funny, you’re hilarious.” She says.
“I know. Now be careful, you sicko, don’t strain yourself. And don’t get anyone else sick, especially me.”
She coughs right in his face.
Pieter reels back in horror, an undignified shriek escapes his mouth.
She chuckles, then genuinely coughs from the action.
“Now that,” she says between coughs. “Was funny.”
So maybe coming to practice was a bad idea.
Five minutes in of warming up and already she’s gasping for breath.
They’ve barely even started their normal conditioning routine but her lungs are burning.
Somewhere in her muddled thoughts she wonders if someone’s set her body on fire.
It would explain all the sweating.
A break would be very much appreciated right now.
Nevertheless, she’s here, so she needs to work as hard as everyone else.
Also to brush away Pieter’s concerned gaze.
Even if she wasn’t, she has an image to maintain.
She’s the fierce, tough as nails Kommissar.
Internally though, she’s just Luisa, and every inch of her body is screaming.
She gets through conditioning, sucking half of her water bottle down instantly during the two-minute break.
It doesn’t last long enough.
Pieter directs them through the first routine, she must admit she’s grateful not to be leading.
Even though she just drank water, her throat is as dry as every desert combined.
And things are only getting hotter.
They’re not singing yet, only going through the motions to the blaring speakers on the ceiling, Luisa wonders if she can make it through the song, what’s more the entire practice.
Images are blurring, and the room is starting to spin.
Her head pounds along with the beat, everything sways around her unsteadily.
Her foot catches on something, she feels herself falling.
She tries to catch herself, she feels her ankle twist.
Her breath is knocked out of her lungs.
Muted, as though from a great distance away, she hears her name called out in panic.
Then the pull on her eyelids is too strong, she closes them.
She wakes up cradled in strong arms, too large and muscular to be Beca’s. She nearly pouts at the realization.
Her eyes aren’t willing to open quite yet, but awareness of her surroundings comes back to her.
Someone is muttering “Damn you, you stubborn moose.” under their breath.
That would be Pieter.
She opens her eyes.
50 eyes stare back at her.
She risks a glance at the two connected to the arms holding her.
Pieter doesn’t look happy.
He looks very much not happy.
She closes her eyes again.
“I saw that.”
She sighs, letting her eyes open fully.
“Allergies are a bitch.” She says, smiling weakly as those around her laugh.
Pieter releases a deep sigh in relief.
“You’re an idiot.” He says in exasperation.
“Watch what you say to your Kommissar.”
“Kommissar, you’re an idiot, and you’re going home.” He says, getting up and helping her stand.
She hisses in pain when she puts weight on her foot, Pieter grabs her waist to steady her.
“Practice is over, everyone.” He says, addressing the singers. “See you tomorrow.” He turns to Luisa.
“Not you. You’re getting rest.”
She says nothing, internally sulking as he helps her limp to the door.
“Where’s your car?” He asks, she points to it, he laughs.
“Your parking sucks.”
She smacks his shoulder, she’s still lightheaded so it doesn’t hurt.
Pieter helps her hobble to her car, plucking the keys from her hands as she unlocks the doors.
She groans when he’s closed her door.
“Still saying you’re fine?” He says as he gets in, chuckling at the mortified blush that’s starting to spread across her face.
“Nothing like fainting in front of your crew to make them cower in fear and respect.” He says merrily.
She glares at him, he just smiles cheekily.
“Now I’m not one to say I told you so-”
“Then don’t.” She says, crossing her arms. “Where’s the concerned Pieter? I’d like him back, he wasn’t such an ass.”
“You don’t deserve concerned Pieter.”
She huffs, breathing a sigh as he pulls into her driveway.
“And that is how you park a car.” He says, giving her a significant look.
“Just help me to my house.” She says, her ankle starting to throb in time with her head.
“Carry me?” She asks when he opens her car door.
He sighs but picks her up, careful not to jostle her ankle.
“Only because you’re an invalid.”
It’s not until later when Luisa’s lounging on the couch, her ankle elevated with an ice pack, a box of tissues nearby, chicken soup on the table beside her, that she starts to feel better.
Pieter is excellent at taking care of her.
Whether or not he grumbled the whole time even though she didn’t ask for any of those things is another matter entirely.
She’s cuddled up with a blanket and watching some movie about sharks when Pieter sits next to her.
He sets a mug of hot chocolate next to her soup as he takes a sip of his own.
“Is this my good hot chocolate mix?” Luisa asks.
“That was expensive.”
“It was my payment.”
“With friends like you, who needs taxes?” She mutters, his smile is mischievous and covered with whipped cream.
They watch the movie together, laughing at the horrible acting and pointing out the flaws in the plot.
“Danke,” Luisa says as the final credits roll. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
He turns to her, smiling sincerely, patting her blanketed legs.
“Want to stay for this movie’s sequel?”
“Stay another two hours for a horrible plot with terrible actors? Of course.”
She laughs and he smiles, then he turns her head back to the screen.
“You’re still sick, don’t breathe on me.”