A drabble thing I wrote at three in the morning while sick and drugged on Nyquil.

Disclaimer: DC owns these characters.

The female was feeling under the weather, a mountain of blankets piled upon her lithe body, head just barely peaking out from the center of them. Her face was paler than normal, her dark eyes fixated on the soft glow of the TV, though she was not actually paying attention to the brightly colored cartoon character who was currently flipping hamburgers at the "Krusty Krab". If she had been, she probably would have questioned how the stove was even working underwater, or why there was a talking sponge on her screen-it was not even a sea sponge, it looked like the sponges you bought at the store.

Instead, she was sulking, shifting her aching muscles slightly as she sniffled, her nose clogged with snot. Her head felt heavy and she allowed it to droop a little, chin resting upon the blankets in a pathetic display of sickness. This was torture, she hated being idle, she wanted to train, to fight, to be useful. Not to sit here and wince every five minutes as she listened to the slew of curses from the kitchen.

"FUCK! Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck!" As if on cue, the deep male voice rang out again, causing the female to release a light sigh, untangling herself from the mass of comforters and hobbling into the kitchen, one thin blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders still.

A tall, muscular male stood in front of the stove, a frilly pink apron wrapped around himself (he claimed to "make it look good"). He was leering down at a pan, which currently had black smoke pouring out of it, one hand attempting to fan the fumes out the window. Cassandra could not tell if she was overwhelmed, or underwhelmed, so instead she just settled for being whelmed. It was obvious the male had yet to see her enter as he threw the pan into the sink with a clatter, turning the cold water on, causing more fumes to rise into the air, several more colorful words being released from his lips.

It wasn't until he turned around to march back toward the cupboard that he finally noticed her standing there. "Cass? What're you doing up?" he asked, eyebrow corked, hands going straight to his hips, and she couldn't get over how maternal he looked. "Smelled smoke," she replied hoarsely, grimacing at the sound of her own voice.

"Oh, that? That was just practice. I'm really making your dinner now," he responded smoothly, giving her an even smirk, though she was unimpressed. "Going to burn apartment down," she spoke bluntly, and the dark haired male gave her a hurt look. "C'mon, babe, I'm not that bad," he protested, swaggering toward her and wrapping his arms around her waist, eyes glinting dangerously. Unconsciously, Cass leaned into his embrace, ignoring the fact that it was probably a little too tight and a little too possessive.

"You're worse," the Batgirl stated, though with no malice, her body melding into his easily, and she feared if she allowed herself to become to comfortable she would fall asleep right there. Instead, she focused on his expression, which was one of mock hurt. "Order out?" the suggestion was light, but she was not about to take "no" for an answer. Both of them were hopeless in the kitchen, and this was almost a daily routine, one would become determined to cook a meal, and they would always either end up eating Ramen Noodles or getting take-out.

Jason seemed to be contemplating the idea when Cassandra curled her arms around his neck, bringing him closer to her. Their faces nearly touched, but she resisted the urge to kiss him, not wanting to get him sick as well. That seemed to help him make his mind up, though, hands slipping down her body rapidly and squeezing her backside playfully, causing her to release a small noise, still not used to being touch in such ways. It made Jason smile predatorily. "Go lay down, I'll order us some Chinese food."

Quietly, she did just that, padding into the living room and crawling back into her little blanket cocoon, though it was not long until she was joined by another, the males weight causing the couch to groan slightly. "Should be here in about twenty minutes," he commented, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She made a light "hm'ing" sound, but was otherwise silent, eyes once again staring blankly at the TV.

Maybe it was the drugs, the fact she was half asleep, or just her being all around ill, but she had somehow failed to miss the males hand slowly slipping under sheets, fingers brushing against her thigh. Instinctively she jerked away, giving him a stern look. "I'm sick," Cassandra croaked, though Jason merely shrugged, sidling up closer to her. Leaning back, her eyes narrowed even more. "Don't want to get you sick,"she continued, as if talking to a child, but he was obviously not in the listening mood, and with a sudden movement, his large body was pressing hers down onto the couch. "I wouldn't mind having your germs, babe," he grinned widely, hand traveling to her side, and she felt her body temperature spike, though not from her fever.

Neither of them even heard the loud knocking on the door, nor did they even remember they had ordered food until the next morning, bodies tangled together on the floor.

Cassandra was startled awake by loud coughing, groggily looking up at her lover, who looked a bit pale, and from the sounds of it mucus was clogging up his airway. Jason glanced down at her, smirking despite himself. "Morning Sleeping Beauty," he spoke, his voice sounding even coarser than hers had last night.

"Still don't mind my germs?"

"Never."

I'VE GOT NOTHING. I feel like they're kind of out of character, but...oh well. Also, what are plotlines? lolol.