One-shot.
"Hi, Rusty, how did it go with Kris's parents tonight?" Sharon asked, when Rusty got home from dinner with Kris's family that night.
"Fine. Um, I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
Sharon looked at Rusty, surprised. It was only 8:30. Is he feeling all right? His voice sounds a little scratchy. She thought to herself. She hoped she hadn't been too hasty in brushing off his purported "illness" that morning. Sharon went to touch Rusty's cheek to see if he felt feverish, but he ducked away from her. "Goodnight," he said, before walking down the hall to his bedroom.
"Goodnight. Sleep well. Remember that you can wake me if you need anything," Sharon said, concerned. Rusty had turned away from her before she could get a good look at him. She hoped he wasn't coming down with something. Would he tell her if he wasn't feeling well? Well, if he feels comfortable enough with me to fake being sick, then he's surely comfortable enough to tell me if he's actually sick, she mused. She wrote Rusty's behavior off to him being annoyed with her for insisting that he go to Kris's house for dinner that night.
Rusty quickly changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed, not feeling very well. His throat was starting to hurt, and he was achy all over. He almost wished he had told Sharon he wasn't feeling well, but he felt guilty for trying to fake being sick that morning. Now that he was actually sick, he was reminded of what a burden a sick child is for a parent. Well, for his mother, anyway. It would be easier if he knew how Sharon would react. Would she insist on staying home with him? Would she drag him to the doctor, which cost money that Rusty would never be able to repay Sharon, right away? Surely, I can take enough Tylenol and avoid Sharon long enough to get over whatever I have, Rusty thought to himself. He could wake up early in the morning and take some. Sharon was always so busy in the mornings, anyway, and probably wouldn't notice that he was feeling a little off if he didn't tell her. Rusty rolled over onto his side, burrowed under the covers, and went to sleep.
Sharon sipped a glass of wine and watched TV for a while before going to bed. She was having trouble falling asleep. Rusty's odd behavior that night was weighing on her mind. She decided to go check on him. She stood outside of his door for a few moments, trying to decide if he was sleeping. She heard a few coughs, and then silence again. Deciding he was asleep, Sharon quietly entered his room and approached his bed. She could see his face from the hall light streaming in, and he looked a little flushed. Sharon felt Rusty's forehead. He was a little warm. Sharon stood there for a couple of minutes, trying to decide whether to wake him. He seemed to be sleeping comfortably, so Sharon decided to let him sleep.
Sharon went to the kitchen for a glass of water and some Tylenol. She placed both on Rusty's nightstand for when he woke up. She found the thermometer and put it on her nightstand, so she wouldn't have to dig for it when Rusty woke up. She left both of their bedroom doors open, so she could hear him if he woke up and moved around, or if his coughing got worse. After sitting up in bed and listening for Rusty for a few minutes, she lay down and went to sleep.
Sharon woke up at 3 AM to Rusty coughing. She slipped into his room, thermometer in hand. She sat beside Rusty on his bed, patting his back as he coughed. She had no idea how he was sleeping through this. However, he woke up a few minutes later, and looked up at Sharon with fever-glazed eyes. He didn't have the presence of mind to wonder what she was doing in his room. In his sleepy and feverish state, his plan to feign wellness was forgotten.
"I don't feel good," Rusty mumbled, after his coughing fit was over.
"I can see that," Sharon said softly, pulling him close to her. With Rusty's head on her shoulder, she pressed her chin against his forehead. "You have a fever. Open up," she said, and placed the thermometer under his tongue. His temperature was 102.6. Sharon decided to take advantage of Rusty's drowsy state, knowing he would be honest with her, whether he wanted to or not. "Rusty, were you really feeling sick this morning? I'm so sorry I didn't believe you if you were."
"No. Totally faking," Rusty replied, and Sharon sighed in relief. "Please don't make me go to the doctor," Rusty said, snuggling closer to Sharon.
"We'll see how you're feeling in the morning. My family doctor is male, but there is also a female doctor in his practice, if you would rather see her," Sharon said, thinking that Rusty's abusive experience with his father the year before might have something to do with his apprehension for going to the doctor.
"It's not that," Rusty mumbled. "Too much money."
"Rusty, honey, you don't need to worry about that. I added you to my health insurance soon after you moved in with me," Sharon said. "Even if I hadn't, your health is much more important to me than money."
"Thank y-" Rusty started to say, before he began coughing again. Sharon patted his back until he was finished. Sharon pulled away from Rusty to get the Tylenol and water from his nightstand, and Rusty started shivering. Sharon quickly gave him the Tylenol, wrapped the covers around him, and cradled him in her arms, trying to warm him up. They were both asleep within minutes.
The next morning, Sharon woke up at 8:00, still holding Rusty in her arms. She held her hand to his forehead, and he felt like his temperature was higher than it had been the night before. She managed to get the thermometer under his tongue without waking him, and his temperature was 103.6. She gently lay Rusty down, and got up to go call off of work and to call the doctor's office.
Two hours later, Rusty was sitting on an exam table in Dr. Sherman's office, and Sharon was sitting in a chair as close to the exam table as she could get. Rusty was gripping her hand when the doctor walked in, looking at the list of symptoms Sharon had reported to the nurse.
"Hi, Sharon. And you must be Rusty," Dr. Sherman said. Rusty nodded as Sharon said hello. "So, I take it you're not feeling too well," he said, as he approached Rusty. Rusty shook his head miserably. Dr. Sherman did a quick exam, asked a few questions, and diagnosed him with the flu.
An hour later, Sharon and Rusty were home with a prescription for Tamiflu and some groceries. Sharon gave Rusty his first dose of Tamiflu, first thing. She made a bed for Rusty on the couch and put on one of his favorite movies before heating up some soup for their lunch. Rusty lay down on the couch while Sharon put away their lunch dishes and changed into her sweats. She walked back into the living room, and saw that Rusty was shivering. She covered him with another blanket, but he still couldn't seem to get warm. She held her hand to his forehead, and the warmth she felt reminded her that she hadn't given him any Tylenol since the night before. She gave him two pills, then held him close to her, trying to help keep his chills at bay. Within minutes, Rusty was asleep, leaning against her chest. After Rusty had been asleep for several minutes, Sharon put his pillow in her lap, and lowered his head to the pillow and gently stretched him out. Sharon sat with Rusty on the couch, stroking his hot forehead and reading, until he woke up four hours later.
Rusty woke up at 5:30, but didn't open his eyes. Sharon's hand felt amazing on his forehead, and he knew that he would have to eat and take medicine and stuff once Sharon realized he was awake. He just wanted to stay in her lap, at least for a little while. However, a few minutes later, a wave of nausea hit him. His eyes shot open, and he took slow, deep breaths, trying to avoid getting sick. Sharon noticed his distress right away. She didn't even have to ask what the problem was. She helped Rusty up and led him to the bathroom, getting there just in time before he began emptying his stomach into the toilet. Sharon wiped his face with a cold cloth and patted his back until he was finished.
"Here, rinse your mouth out," Sharon said, handing Rusty a glass of water. He rinsed, then took several slow sips. Sharon wiped his mouth with the cold cloth, and guided him back to the couch. Once he was lying down, she placed the back of her hand to his forehead, and realized it was time for more Tylenol. He was shivering again, so she wrapped him up and held him close to her, gently rocking back and forth. Rusty lay heavily against her chest, with a dazed look on his face.
"How did you know?" Rusty asked, after they had sat in silence for a few minutes.
"Know what?" Sharon asked, confused.
"That I was about to throw up," said Rusty.
Sharon smiled. "I've already raised two children, Rusty. My throw-up radar is impeccable."
That concept was lost on Rusty. His biological mom would have had no idea. Not that she ever came near him when he was sick, anyway. Seeing the surprised look on his face, Sharon surmised that his mom had never taken care of him when he was sick. Her heart broke for him. Being alone and having to take care of yourself when you're sick as an adult is bad enough, but she couldn't imagine Rusty having to go through that as a little boy. Sharon held Rusty more tightly, and stroked his forehead with her cool hand. "I love you, Rusty," she murmured softly, kissing the top of his head as he drifted off to sleep.