[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.

Comments

[porcupineliz]

She gives a sigh, and closes her eyes. "Mkay."

She's vaguely thinking that she should eat something later, after she wakes up. She thinks about saying so, but she's already half asleep before the thought quite forms itself.



It takes about two more days for the flu to run its course. She spends most of it in bed, with the exception of infrequent trips to the restroom and one attempt to sit up in a chair to eat some soup. The chills drop off midway through the first day; the fever fluctuates within a degree and a half and then breaks on the second night.

By the next morning, Liz is feeling like she actually wants to get out of bed. And shower. God, does she want to shower.

But she's going to ask Jordie first if there's any reason that would be a bad idea.

[dr_j]

Jordie, reading yet another terrible romance novel, blinks and says that there isn't any he can think of, and the steam will help the congestion.

(There's a stack of romance novels ten deep on the coffee table.)

[porcupineliz]

It's about half an hour later when Liz emerges in a clean sweatshirt and jeans, hair still slightly damp and twisted into a knot, eyes brighter and more alert than they've been in days.

"Oh god I am feeling so much better."

[dr_j]

"Excellent," Jordie says, and stretches. "You look better, too. Like. Overall. Not because of the shower."

[porcupineliz]

"The shower helped," she says, moving a little further into the room and leaning on the back of a chair. "I'm not a hundred percent yet, but like ... I can stand up and walk around and not want to fall over. It's the best."

[dr_j]

Wry: "Expect to still sleep a lot. That's not going away."

[porcupineliz]

"... I hope there was a 'yet' being implied there," she says. "I'm trying to figure out if I feel well enough to fly home yet."

[dr_j]

"Well -- if you do... any time." Mild.

[porcupineliz]

"Let me see if I can make it downstairs okay? And then yeah, I think so." She gives him a rueful, half-apologetic smile. "You've been so great through all this."

[dr_j]

Lightly: "You visit a doctor, you should get some benefit if you get sick while you're there."

[porcupineliz]

A pause, and a sidelong glance.

"Is that another way of saying I shouldn't start thanking you again?"

[dr_j]

"You bet," he says easily.

[porcupineliz]

"Right then." She grins. "Let me just get my bag?"


And she does, in fact, manage to make it down the stairs to the bar without feeling the need to fall over. Or even sit down on the steps. It feels like a victory.

[dr_j]

A crooked smile. "Shall we?"

[porcupineliz]

She hikes her bag up on her shoulder and smiles back at him. "Let's shall."

At the door, she steps back to let him reach for the doorknob first.

[dr_j]

The house is just as they left it: quiet, peaceful. The sun spilling through the windows hasn't moved on the rug.

"So." Quiet. "I'm guessing you're not really up for going somewhere."

[porcupineliz]

"Probably better not," she says, with a touch of regret. "I don't wanna overdo it and have a relapse, or something."

[dr_j]

"Movies? Here, I mean?"

[porcupineliz]

"That sounds great." Happily; it's only since last night that she's been able to look at a screen for any length of time without the headache coming back.

[dr_j]

"You can't laugh at my Netflix queue," he warns, heading for the living room.

[porcupineliz]

"I promise not to laugh at your Netflix queue," she says solemnly.

[dr_j]

He gestures to the couch, picking the remotes off the coffee table. "Sit. Settle. Can I get you anything?"

[porcupineliz]

"I think I'm good for now," she says, settling obediently. "-- Can I appropriate the blanket?"

[dr_j]

"All yours."

The TV on, he settles on his customary end of the couch, and holds out the remote to his Roku box.

[porcupineliz]

She finishes tucking in the blanket around her knees, and takes the remote.

A little juggling gets her to his Netflix queue.