Accident-Prone - Balthazar / Reader

Date night with Balthazar was always perilous. When he had first broached the topic of having a set date night, you had rolled your eyes. How boring, you thought, how predictable. A few months into your relationship with the angel, and already you were slipping into the doldrums of routine. You hadn't thought he would be this dull. Still, you humored him because you knew it would make him smile - really smile.

You really hadn't been expecting your date night to be set in sixteenth century Denmark, though.

Balthazar had worked his magic on some nobles and he had them thoroughly convinced that you were the Guildenstern's, on a diplomatic mission from Norway. The two of you had the best treatment the country had to offer at the time and for once Balthazar didn't even have to lift a finger to make the night perfect. He had a well deserved rest as the two of you dined under the stars. It was all very romantic.

Until you got dysentery.

He dismissed this as a one time thing. Just a little mishap. It wouldn't slow the two of you down. He had healed you and taken you back to your apartment, figuring after that experience, you had had enough of sixteenth century Denmark. He was right, of course. You hadn't been able to stomach Hamlet ever since – and whenever he attempted to quote it, you would always chime in with 'Oh, something was rotten in Denmark all right, but it wasn't the murder plot!'

Next week, after some convincing from your angel, you tried again. Once more, you had a delightful evening in the dark ages as he explained to you what exactly the angels had been doing at that point in time.  Dad had recently left the building, so it seemed like a lot of partying until Michael was sober enough to tell them all to knock it off and get back to work.

As a precaution, you pointedly avoided the food, and he promised to take you out once you were home. Until then, you were having a lovely time observing all the plight.

And then you contracted the bubonic plague.

Balthazar had panicked for the briefest of moments. The bubonic plague had been the angel's reset button. Realizing that you had it was frightening. Of all the things in his life that he wanted to reset, you were not one of them. He hastily took you home and healed you of your ailment. You were highly confused. The symptoms hadn't even begun to show yet. You had no idea what had gone wrong. You knew that look in his eye, though, and you knew better than to badger him.

The next week, you had to badger him to take you anywhere. That hadn't ended well, either. You had managed to contract Ebola.

In pre-colonial Mesoamerica, you had gotten Malaria.

While visiting King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain in the fifteenth century? Small Pox.

Currently? You weren't sure what you had. All you knew was that it probably wasn't life-threatening, because Balthazar hadn't cleansed you. No, instead you were hunched over the toilet in your apartment, violently retching up the contents of your stomach.

“Really, darling, I can't take you anywhere.” Balthazar grumbled as he held your hair away from your face for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Anywhen.” You corrected, your voice reverberating off the porcelain of the toilet bowl. Balthazar rolled his eyes.

After a few more minutes of dry heaving, you slowly pulled your head from the toilet. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and Balthazar handed you a wet wipe. You glared at the angel.

“Couldn't you have just healed me?” You groaned. Balthazar gave a short laugh and shook his head.

“And what would that have taught you?”

You glared at him, astonished.

“Oh, so now it's my fault?”

“Well, you did eat the fish, darling. I warned you about the fish.”

“You never said anything about the fish, you pretentious asshole! You ate the fish and you're fine!”

The angel rolled his eyes. “Of course I'm fine. I'm an angel. How do you think we would keep going to these places if I weren't an angel, out of curiosity?”

You wanted to hit him, but you knew full well that would only result in a broken hand. You pushed yourself up, ready to storm out of the bathroom on shaky legs, but your stomach revolted against you. Your insides churned and a hand flew to cover your mouth. You spun back towards the toilet and dropped to your knees. The angel behind you reacted nearly as quickly.

Balthazar shoved your head back in the toilet and hissed, “Not on the shoes!”

Oh, you were going to hit him.

Finally finished for what you hoped was the final time, you crawled away from the toilet and pressed your back against the cabinets. Balthazar sat down next to you – though not before checking the floor to make sure that he wasn't going to be sitting in anything unpleasant – and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You were mad at him, of course, but you were also tired. Your head dropped against his shoulder and placed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You sat in the sour-smelling bathroom on the verge of sleep – though you knew that Balthazar wouldn't allow to sleep on him in a bathroom of all places, because that was disgusting and vile, and some other derogatory thing. He could surely find something else to be discontent with – he always could.

“Hey, Zar?” You finally muttered? He hummed and rested his head on top of yours. “Next week, can we just go to London?”

“Of course,” he replied, his voice surprisingly soft, “which century? Would you like to meet Queen Elizabeth? The first, of course.”

“Actually, I was thinking we could go see Queen Elizabeth the Second.” You smiled softly. “I've had enough time travel, for a while.”

Balthazar smiled and rubbed your arm.

“Anything for you.”