"The Sickness of Sadness"
Summary: What mysterious ailment is keeping Payson Keeler housebound after the Olympics?
AN: I do not own the characters or the show, but the plot of this story is all mine and it is copyrighted.
"Payson?" Sasha called into the cold darkness.
"Under here." Payson raised a hand from beneath pillows and blankets.
"Payson, what's wrong?"
"I'm sick."
"You've never been sick for longer than a day in all the time I've known you. Now, would you like to come out and talk to me? It's been three weeks since you got back from London. Three weeks you've been sick. What gives?"
"The doctor doesn't know what I have. I'm just sick."
"At least come out and let me take care of you."
"It hurts."
"To sit up?"
"To do anything."
"When was the last time you ate?"
"You don't get hungry when you have the sickness of sadness."
"Is that an official diagnosis?" Sasha nearly rolled his eyes, but didn't.
"The doctor said."
"So, you have the sickness of sadness… The cure for that is to be made happy. I can do that! Don't move!" Sasha jumped off the bed and shouted the 'don't move' as he ran down the hallway.
"I haven't moved in three weeks. I don't think you have anything to worry about." Payson yelled back.
A while later, Payson didn't know how long—she'd given up on time soon after she arrived at the Olympic Village—Sasha reappeared with his weight on the edge of her bed and the smell of food invading her room.
The food, Sasha thought, smelled delicious. At least, he thought that until Payson rolled over, dry heaving over the side of her bed.
"There, now that we've gotten that out of the way, it's time to eat."
"You're crazy if you expect me to eat after I've just thrown up."
Sasha pulled the covers and the pillows away to look at Payson for the first time. "Payson, you have to." He whispered with a desperation even he found foreign in his voice.
"I don't want to talk."
"Just eat."
"Too much."
"I'll help. I brought two forks." Payson looked at the tray skeptically. "Start with the water." Sasha suggested.
"Tea."
"Good choice." Sasha smirked.
"Don't eat all the bacon." Payson warned.
"Do you like butter or jam on your toast?" Sasha asked as he spread butter over a slice for himself. Payson eyed the tray.
"I take it my mother went shopping?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I hate grape jelly. I'm the only one in our family who won't eat it."
Sasha began to butter toast for her. Payson took it from him and began to scoop eggs and bacon onto the bread, making a sandwich.
"Why didn't I think of that?" Sasha laughed.
"I shouldn't be eating all of this." Payson said, her mouth still full of sandwich, pointing to the bacon, sausage, and French toast still on the tray.
"You're not competing anymore, Payson. You don't' have to follow the diet." Sasha, Payson's friend, said.
"That's part of the problem." Payson looked on the verge of tears.
"How about I overlook this one dietary infraction simply because you need calories to get over this sickness of yours?" Sasha, Payson's coach, asked.
Payson's face brightened considerably. "Okay."