This barely qualifies as a story. Mostly my muses just think they’re being clever. But this is a reasonable facsimile of what the muses and I have been doing this week. This story is actually dedicated to all of the people that listened to me bitch and whine about being sick this week. Everyone very kindly ignored my obsession with the topic (I’ve never been this sick this long, honestly. It was new to me and sent lots of well wishes and kind words. I appreciate them very much. Methos and Richie aren’t mine, but the mistakes in the story are. Be sure to direct any vegetable missiles to the muses — I blame this entirely on them. Feedback, however, will be happily accepted Email Nikki Enjoy.
Richie shook the unconscious form on the bed, frowning worriedly when all the lump did was moan, fumble for the box of Kleenex, blow heartily in the general direction of the tissue, and lay its head back down. He turned to his companion and sighed, “Meth, she doesn’t look very good. I’ve never seen her this way. You have to do something.”
“Me?”
“You’re a doctor, right? Or you were, anyway.”
“Yeah, a doctor, not Jesus Christ. I don’t work miracles.”
“Are you saying she’s dying?”
“I’m saying she’s got a cold and we’re just going to have to wait it out.”
“But there’s only the one sex scene left, and that little bit at the end. If we could just get her to sit up long enough, I’m sure she could get it done.”
“Oh, sure, if you want it to turn out like that first one nearly did. Just keep handing her the Kleenex, Brat. That’s the best thing we can do for her now.”
Richie scowled, then rolled his eyes when Methos pulled out the desk chair, propped his feet up on the wooden surface, and went to sleep. His glare had turned into absorbed contemplation of his sleeping lover when a weak hand fumbled groggily for a tissue and knocked the box out of his hand. He hurried to retrieve it, and sighed with relief when the figure slipped back into an uneasy sleep. She just has to get better soon, he thought as he resumed his vigil. She has to.
A week later.
“R... A...” Richie breathed into the ear closest to him. He saw a flicker of response and cried out, “Hey, Old Timer, she blinked!”
“Give it up, Richie.”
“No, I’m serious! Watch.” He leaned down and whispered, “Beneath his ear, Richie could hear Adam’s heartbeat slowly returning to normal...”
Methos watched, amazed, as the previously comatose figure in the bed cocked its head toward the sound of Richie’s voice and frowned in its sleep. “You might be right,” he admitted. Hardly daring to hope, he crouched down and murmured, “Richie lifted his head just far enough to see the lazy, satisfied smile on Adam’s face.” He was encouraged when he got a sigh in response, but then the still pale face snuggled more deeply into the pillow. Oh no you don’t, he thought, getting very close and continuing with his recitation. “Richie felt Adam shift underneath him, and asked, “Am I too heavy?”
“Damn it, Methos,” a scratchy voice groaned before sleep-heavy blue eyes slitted open. “I was finally sleeping.”
“You have had seven entire hours of sleep tonight, young lady.”
“Yes, but I’m recouperating!” Rolling her head farther to the side, she shifted her gaze to Richie. “I suppose this was all your idea?”
“It’s just a sex scene, Nikki, that’s all. You can do that.” When his author showed no sign of relenting, he reminded her, “I brought you Kleenex.”
A reluctant smile twitched at the corner of Nikki’s lips as she admitted, “Yes, you did.” Wiping vigorously to get the sleep out of her eyes, she sighed and sat up. Throwing back the covers and setting her feet on the floor, she carefully stretched the kinks out of her neck.
“Well?” Richie asked when she didn’t say anything.
Nikki attempted to arch an eyebrow and smile enigmatically at the two men, but the effect was spoiled by a cough. She sighed and stood up, pushing her muses out of the way so she could go to the bathroom. “All right,” she agreed, “I’ll get back to work on RA.”