[pfsb+new mexico] achoo

[porcupineliz]

It's morning on the third day of a four-day visit, and they seem to actually be still enjoying each other's company. For a miracle. Today they're supposed to go exploring one of the nearby neighborhoods, and Liz went to bed last night in happy anticipation.

... and can't seem to pull herself out of the guest bed this morning.

Maybe it's got something to do with the cough and headache she seems to have developed overnight.

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[porcupineliz]

She's leaning against the doorjamb, fairly hard, as though needing it to keep her feet.

"Headache," she says, closing her eyes, "coughing, runny nose, and ... little dizzy. I'm afraid maybe fever. Shit. 'M sorry."

[dr_j]

Dry: "Because you totally did this on purpose." He points down the hall. "Go. Back in bed. I'll bring in a tray and some stuff. Fortunately you had the foresight to vacation with a doctor."

[porcupineliz]

"Smart of me," she mumbles as she obediently turns to head back to bed, with a few extra tissues clutched in her hand. "Only not so smart t' get sick inna first place."

[dr_j]

"Again," he says, light, "you totally did this on purpose. Shoo."

[porcupineliz]

"I am ... shoo-ing," she says, with a sort of muddled indignation.

And she is, although still moving rather slowly, bracing herself on the wall as she goes.

[dr_j]

Jordie moves quietly, waiting to hear a thud. Or another bad noise.

When he doesn't, he goes to pull a container of chicken soup out of the freezer, and starts water for tea. Then he digs around in his bag.

It's about ten minutes before he comes in with a tray: tea in one mug, soup in another (with a spoon), thermometer and two aspirin. Light: "Unless you request otherwise, I'm sticking with secular methods of treatment. Over the counter meds only. Tea is chamomile, with honey."

And bagged.

[porcupineliz]

She's propped herself up a little with pillows, including one small shabby pillow that Jordie hasn't seen before, and has the blankets drawn up under her chin.

When he comes in she opens her eyes again, and manages another wobbly smile. "Mundane methods 're totally fine," she assures him, and struggles to more of a sitting position. "'S do the thermometer first?"

[dr_j]

He pulls out the writing tablet from his desk, balances the tray on it (it's within reach of the bed) -- and holds out the thermometer. "I could do the honors if you don't want to."

[porcupineliz]

"Nah," she says, unbundling one hand from the covers and reaching for the thermometer, "I got it, thanks."

Carefully she slides it under her tongue, and then closes her eyes to wait for it to beep.

[dr_j]

Jordie, meanwhile, places the tray on the desk proper and pulls the two mugs onto the desk extension. Quiet: "Soup is chicken. No spice. If you don't feel up to it, that's fine -- it keeps well. Do you have anything in particular that you want?"

[porcupineliz]

She makes a muffled sound and subsides, gesturing to the thermometer in her mouth and holding up a finger for one second.

A quick run of beeping signals that the thermometer's done its work; she pulls it out and squints blearily at the numbers.

"Hundred and one point eight," she mumbles, "I think is what it says?

[dr_j]

Jordie gently takes it from her, squints at it. "Good call," he says cheerfully. "Looks like you'll live."

[porcupineliz]

"Hurray for me." She twirls one finger wearily. "And tea sounds really great right now. And the aspirin. Maybe the soup after that."

She fumbles for one of the extra tissues she brought from the bathroom, and wipes her nose. "D'you have a spare box of tissues?"

[dr_j]

"Sure." He straightens. "Back shortly."

[porcupineliz]

When he comes back, one of the aspirin is gone, and Liz is gingerly sipping tea, holding the mug in both hands like a small child.

"Thanks," she says again, lowering the mug to her lap and smiling, a little more awake-looking -- and also a little shamefaced.

[dr_j]

Jordie plunks down the box of kleenex on Liz's bedside. "Of course. Can I get you anything else?"

[porcupineliz]

"Is there a trash can I can put tissues in? Or a bag, or something?"

[dr_j]

Jordie bends and edges the trash can he keeps under his desk next to Liz's bed.

[porcupineliz]

"Ta-da," she says, with some faint vestige of her usual cheer coming through the muzziness and aches. "Thanks so much. For the ..." Waving one hand feebly. "Everything."

[dr_j]

Jordie laughs, low -- and goes to the bookshelf, where a small bell sits on the top shelf. He puts it near the tray, within reach. "If you need anything," he says.

[porcupineliz]

She laughs in turn -- at least a little, before it snags on a cough. "And here I was just planning to text you or something."

[dr_j]

"We believe in tradition around here." A crooked smile. "Rest up. I'll check in on you later, unless you ring first."

[porcupineliz]

"Yes sir, mister doctor." Liz mimes a salute, and settles further back against the pillows to finish the tea and take the second aspirin.

It isn't very long after that she's asleep again.

[dr_j]

And Jordie cleans -- quietly.

Reads, quietly.

Catches up on email, quietly.

[porcupineliz]

When he comes in to check on her she's still lying there, eyes closed.

She's also flushed, her temples just slightly damp, and muttering.