Hey everybody, Chantal here! This is my very first fanfic, so I apologize if it's super-bad! Teehee... I am a *huge* fan of MR, so I decided to try a fanfic. Tell me what you think! :)
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I rubbed at my gritty eyes, glancing over at the clock. 8AM. On a Monday morning. In the summer. Why was I up?
Fang, something's wrong with Max, Angel thought into my head. I looked up to see her standing in the door.
"What so you mean?" I asked. I untangled the sheets around my legs and sat up. She gave me a worried look.
"She said we could go strawberry picking today," Angel confided, "But she won't wake up." I was out of the room and down the hall in about three seconds. I knocked quietly on the door.
"Max? Is something wrong?" I called softly. I heard a low moan from within the room. I pushed the door open.
"Faaaang," she said, "I think I'm siiiiick." I looked her over: red face, messed up hair, fetal position. I placed my hand on her forehead- she was burning up.
"Holy crap, Max, what'd you do- eat a jar of hot peppers or something?" I joked. She rolled over and moaned in a response. I sighed, "Hold on, hold on. Lemme get a thermometer." I walked back out into the hallway and into the bathroom. I rummaged through the medicine cabinet until I found a bottle of Moltrin and the thermomter.
Is she okay? I found Angel hanging in the doorway.
"I think she's sick, sweetie," I said calmly, "So why don't you wake Iggy up and ask him if he'll make breakfast for you. Then we'll see what we can do about strawberry picking." She skipped down the hallway, her blonde ringlets bouncing as she went. I smiled a little bit and went back to Max.
"Here," I said, handing her the thermometer. She stuck it under her tounge lamely. After a moment, it beeped and I took it from her.
"A hundred and three point seven," I declared, "There's no way you're leaving this room."
"But... but... Fang, I've got... a lot... to dooo," Max stressed. She tried to get up, but I pushed her softly back against the bed. I tucked the covers back up to her chin and handed her the Moltrin.
"Now now..." I chided, "You rest and stay in bed. I'll take care of everything. I swear." I tossed in my crooked, half-smile that I knew made her knees weak. She'd have to give in. With a little bit of a pout, she turned on her side, defeated.
"Fine. But can you get me some water?" she asked, and then went into a coughing spasm, "And maybe some cough drops too?" I nodded, patted her back, and left the room. My week as Mr. Mom had officially begun.
***
So what did you think? Let me know by clicking that little green button! *points to little green button with shiny sign* Teehee... if I get at least 5 *good* reviews, I'll continue the story. Otherwise, it will just sit her and decay happily.
xoxo, Chantal