I Will Be Here For You
Song prompt: "I Will Be Here For You" by Michael W. Smith
There were a million other places he could be right now, so why was he standing outside her door? That was the question Lionel Fusco had asked himself a hundred times over the course of an hour, but he still had no answer.
She's crazy and nutty as a fruitcake, he told himself silently. But she was also in need. So here he stood and readied himself for what ever might greet him. Then he knocked.
For a moment he thought she wasn't home, but then he heard the shuffling of feet on the wood floor. The sound of chains and the tumbler being turned, and the door was opened. A weary brown eye met his thru the crack.
"Lionel," Root sighed. "What are you doing here?"
"The streets have been a little quiet the past few days, and since there've been no reports of bad guys getting kneecapped...well, I wanted to check on you," he replied in a chipper tone. "Can I come in?"
"No. Go away."
"I can't," he argued. "I've been sent on a mission to help, and here I am."
Root coughed violently for a full minute. "Really?" she asked once she could catch her breath.
Lionel held up his phone to show the text message from the unknown source. "Scout's honour."
"Okay. Fine. Come in," she relented with vague reluctance. She pulled the door open wider to allow Lionel inside. The place was messy, but considering how ill she had been over the past week, she didn't care.
"Thought you'd never ask." With a slight spring in his step, Lionel walked into the living room. Setting the brown paper bags on the coffee table, he looked around. "A little spartan," he remarked.
"Oh, this coming from the guy who is using apple crates as his entertainment centre?" Root answered back.
"I'm not going to ask how you know that. Do you have any bowls?" he asked, changing the subject.
Groggy from lack of sleep, Root looked at him. "What?"
"Bowls. I guess they might be in the kitchen." Lionel picked up one of the bags and took it to the annex to his right. "By the way, you look like hell, fruit loops."
"That made me feel better. What are you doing here, Lionel?" Root asked. "Shouldn't you be home with your son?"
"Lee's got a Valentine's Day dance at school, and my ex is out on a date with some guy from her office." He should have felt lonely or sad, but he didn't. Not really.
"So you thought you'd come over and play doctor with me." Root rolled her eyes, but even that bit of sarcasm seemed to drain her energy.
"Don't flatter yourself. Like I said, I got a text at work telling me that you were under the weather and needed some TLC." Lionel busied himself with preparing the soup and setting the water kettle to boil.
"She overreacted. I'm fine," Root protested, then proceeded to sneeze six times in succession. She wiped her nose across the sleeve of her over-sized flannel shirt. Not very ladylike, but she didn't care. Every joint in her body hurt worse than being shot.
"Yeah, you sound like it." He pulled the box of Kleenex out of the bag and handed it to her. "Here. Use this." She blew her nose loudly and placed the soiled tissue in Lionel's hand. "Gee, thanks. I'll treasure it forever," he said sarcastically. "Feel better?"
"You almost sound like you care," she stuffily replied.
"Maybe I do." The microwave timer dinged. Lionel hurried back to the kitchen. He washed his hands. "Do you have any hot pads?"
Root searched her fuzzy mind. "Uh...no. I have a towel... I think." Closing her eyes, she felt the energy leave her body. She had never felt so bad in all of her life, and right now all she wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep for a week.
"Hey! Hey! Are you alright?" Lionel asked with concern and hurried over to the pale woman. He put his arm around her waist to keep her upright.
"Yeah. I'm just...just a little light-headed," Root replied. It was taking everything she had to let someone take control over her life.
"Come over here before you faint." He led her to the couch, helped her sit down.
"I'm not going to faint, Lionel," Root replied tersely. She leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes. At least the room had stopped spinning.
"Whatever you say, Cocoa Puffs. When was the last time you had something to eat?"
"I don't remember."
"Thought so. Here, eat this." Lionel thrust the bowl at her. "You're already skin and bones. The flu is kicking your ass enough as it is; you don't need to lose any more weight," he pointed out.
"You can't just come in and take over," she protested. However, the tone of her voice failed to match the relief on her face.
"Yes, I can," Lionel contradicted. Before Root could protest, he dipped the spoon in the soup and put it in her mouth. Shocked silent, Root chewed, swallowed, before sputtering, "What did you do that for?"
"No questions. Eat," he ordered in his best police officer tone.
Root shot him a glare before taking the spoon. Reluctantly she began eating. A moment later, she greedily slurped the noodles drowned in rich chicken broth.
"There is more."
Root wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "That was good."
"Refill?"
Root held out her bowl. "Please?"
Lionel raised an eyebrow. "Please? Wow. Maybe I should have brought you soup sooner." He took the bowl. "Stay there." He went to the kitchen, refilled the bowl. Handing it to her, he sat down beside her and began eating his portion. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied her.
"Where did you get this? It's delicious." Root attacked the second helping with as much enthusiasm at the first. Nothing she had eaten tasted as good as the surprise meal. Even the tea sweetened with honey and lemon, was a treat.
"I made it."
Root looked at him. "No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did," he boasted proudly. "Made it with my own two hands in my kitchen."
"Why? I mean, you could have gotten something from across the street, or bought a can."
"Yeah, I could have. But I thought you were sick enough already, and getting soup from a local deli that was made by a stranger probably wouldn't help; it might make things worse. And the can... Heh. How much more impersonal can you get? If you're going to do something, do it right."
"Yeah." Somehow his reasoning made sense - even to her feverish mind.
"It was my mother's recipe—passed on from her mother. It comes from the old country."
"It's good. You're a man of many talents. I wonder how she missed that."
"Maybe she was too busy trying to make sure you got taken care of, Samantha."
Root swallowed quickly. "How did you know my name?"
"I'm a detective, remember?"
"Is that what you call yourself?" she mocked and went back to eating.
"Hey, it pays the bills."
"So you know my first name. What else do you know?" she challenged.
"That you were born in Texas to a single mother who worked herself to death to provide a roof over your head. I know that you did well in school, and your only friend was murdered," Lionel listed the facts.
Root averted her eyes. "Heh. I don't think..."
"You ventured out on your own after your mother died, because you had no other reason to stay in Texas. You don't trust easily, but you are loyal to those who earn your trust."
"You've been paying attention."
"I know that you haven't gotten the flu in over twenty years, but when you did get it, your mother made you chicken noodle soup," Lionel continued. "And she gave you orange juice and wiped your brow."
"Please don't."
"I draw the line on some things." Lionel put the bowl down on the coffee table so he could reach into the other bag.
Curiosity got the better of her. "What's in there?"
Lionel pulled the items out one by one. "Nyquil. Benadryl. Something to break up the mucus and help you sleep. Orange juice. A little vapor rub...for your feet," he added quickly.
"Everything but the kitchen sink."
"I also have a couple of movies." He laid the DVDs on the table. "And one more thing." He pulled out a heart shaped box. "This is for you."
Root looked at it with suspicion. "What is that?"
"A Valentine."
Had she heard him correctly? "What?"
"Okay, a box of chocolates," he amended. Why did he feel his cheeks suddenly grow hot?
"Why?"
"Because it was something else your mom would give you on Valentine's Day. Always a card and a small box of chocolates—nougat filled. I know you loved your mom. And I know that it sucks to get sick on a holiday—especially when you had plans to go out and have fun," Lionel sympathised.
"What do you know?" Root asked, but she kept her eyes downcast.
"I'm a dad. And I'm a son...although my mom's been gone for a while. I still remember. Even the most well-trained killers deserve to have a nice Valentine's Day." Lionel picked up the DVDs. "That is why I brought some movies for us to enjoy. 'The Lake House'." He set the case down. "And...'Roman Holiday'." He set the case down on the first. "And last but not least...'Over The Hedge'."
"Lionel..."
"Close your eyes. One, two, or three?"
"Two."
"Yay. We get to start with a cartoon."
"You're twisted," she complimented.
"And you're insane."
"Must be why we complement one another."
Lionel twisted the cap off of the Nyquil and poured a generous amount. "Drink."
Root brought the plastic cup to her lips, paused briefly, then drank the contents. "Ewww." She made a face. "Now I know why I haven't gotten sick in decades."
Lionel reached over and pressed his wrist to her forehead. "You're still very warm. Stay here." He stood up. "Which one is your bedroom?"
"Second door."
Root closed her eyes and listened to the patter of Lionel's feet on the floor. She could feel herself fading out, but the feel of a blanket enveloping her brought her back.
"What is this?" she croaked. Between the soup and tea, the medicine and the kindness, she felt—dare she say, secure?
"Keep you warm and help break that fever." Lionel inserted the DVD and turned on the TV.
"You do care." Root yawned.
"Not really. Wonderboy and Carter are getting worn out trying to take on the bad guys by themselves. And I think Glasses misses you. Shaw too."
"Wow. If you ever get tired of playing cop, you should write greeting cards," Root teased.
"As long as I have a gun and a badge I'll never get tired of playing cop." He hit the play button. The movie started. He reached over and turned off the lamp. The opening song played.
"You never said anything," she murmured.
"Anything about what?"
"You missing me."
"I miss you, Cocoa Puffs."
"That's nice."
"Is it alright if I kick off my shoes and stay a while?"
"Sure. You'll be gone by morning any way." Her voice seemed to be coming from far away. Root put her head down on Lionel's shoulder. She yawned wide. "Thank you for the Valentine's..." Her words trailed off.
Drawing the blanket tighter around her, Lionel shifted his weight so he could lean back against the couch. "I will be here for you, I promise. Happy Valentine's Day."
The End.
Dedicated to Elizabeth Gail Lewis Hayes
24 August 1939 - 25 December 2016
Rest in peace Mom.