i was indeed pretty sick when i first wrote this; thankfully, it came and went and left this story here for me.
Worse than any battle, trickier than any capture, more frustrating than any Gold is the struggle taking place on the worn battleground of her enflamed throat. Crystal tries and, again, fails — she swallows and wants to cry from the sudden scraping inside. The most annoying factor of this already terrible situation? That she'd been just fine all of yesterday. Just fine. Leisurely, in fact, and had expected nothing less than to finish this week strong.
So much for that, since she's too miserable to even haul out of her bed, never mind across town for a day. She's had plenty of sore throats but also plenty of strep, which is contagious, so she'll have to just sit on her illness for now.
"Ah...ah...wachoo!" Okay, so maybe she just has a nasty cold. That's totally possible. "Achoo!"
At least Green got my message, Crystal thinks grimly. Scratch the earlier bit about being taken by surprise — missing work is the worst part of today.
Rolling unhappily onto her side, Crystal checks the clock in vain hope of time for more medicine. It's not, of course, but she lifts her head anyway and-
Where is it? She cranes her neck, wincing, but neither mug nor pill bottle is present at all. She groans inwardly.
Fantastic. Sick, tired, hungry, and utterly deprived. Plus, her office is to the left and her kitchen is to the right, so that just about doubles her time limping around her own house.
What kind of dummy leaves her water mug on the other side of her house when she's sick? Crystal grumbles. Her impatience and unreasonableness stack on top of each other, building a wall of displeasure that sits heavily on her exhausted nerves.
Which, of course, is when the doorbell rings. Crystal elects to ignore it. Silver might be helpful right about now — if he doesn't do that thing where he stares at her in his silent panic mode — and so would Green. Maybe Yellow, too, now that she thinks about it. Anybody else would do more harm than good.
The doorbell rings again and again and again and again and Crystal shouts Go away! in her best telepathic voice. There's a three-knock delayed reaction, but her psychic-type work must be dusting itself off because the knocking does indeed go away after awhile. She sighs in relief and closes her eyes.
If it were an injury plaguing her, she would seriously consider getting herself out of bed for the sole propose of giving them what-for, since she's used to that, but sick is another matter entirely.
At least now she can regenerate for the day and hopefully feel well enough to go in tomorrow. It's not the first time germs affected her work day; the first time, she goes in sneezing and sneezing until the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes again is Green's back, pointing emotionlessly to the front door. She knows better now, knows the value of patience and of time management.
RI-I-I-I-IP! THUD! Bang! "Oof! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow."
Crystal sits bolt upright, the shock causing her to fall into an out-of-control, terrible, coughing fit that hurts horribly. She's hacking her lungs out, and it is not pleasant in the slightest. In between coughs, she manages to hear scraps of a familiar voice:
"...ang, that hurt...uch a great idea after all...where's my...? Whoa, what happen...ere? You...eally bad, S...erious...al!"
"Here, drink this," it says, and Crystal feels something being cool and metal pressed into her hands. "It's hot," the voice cautions, helping her lift the - what was it? A cup? Probably. - cup to her lips gently. Crystal involuntarily frowns as she drinks; it doesn't taste very good. But she can recognize it easily; hot honey-water. Eyes watering, she carefully pushes the drink away, grateful that at least the foul-tasting drink successfully quenched her throat. She's stopped coughing now, but it's a struggle not to start up again when she gets a good look at her strange and unofficial visitor.
"Gold?" she asks hoarsely.
"Heya, Supes Serious. Senior Green told me you called in sick. Or something. Thought I'd drop by." His grin is undoubtedly the brightest thing all day, bringing with it a miasma of emotions: shock, happiness, and a good dose of irritation. It warms her up better than the honey water.
At last she nods, a smile of her paled face.
"Sore throat?" he guesses. She nods again and he pumps his fist. What. Crystal stares at him, and he puts his hands up palms open. "Not what I meant. Just glad I brought the right stuff. Hey, why is your room so empty and organized?"
Oh. Right. Gold is in her room
right now. That's just great.
She rolls her eyes and opens it's more obvious than her blush.
"And where's your water?"
That's what I want to know, she thinks darkly.
Gold waits. Understanding dawns. It's a slow process.
"You can't talk," he realizes. "Here, I got some paper with me." Gold digs around in his pockets for a frightening amount of seconds before producing a small notepad and chewed-looking pen. Lucky boys and their huge pockets.
"First, why do you have this in your pocket? Second, I left my water on my work desk and fell asleep here. Third, did Green send you to pick up some papers?" she writes.
It would be just like Gold to forget the one thing their researcher friend sent him for, but she finds that she can't hold the possibility against him. He did bring her honey water, after all.
"Eh, you never know what you'll end up needing, right? And it came in handy. So I guess that means I'm right. Heh." It's a good thing that Gold likes talking a lot. "And I told you, I just came by to see how you're doing. No Green involved. Well, not really. He did tell me to leave, but he didn't specify. And I hate being sick, so voilà. You want me to go get your medicine and stuff?"
A bit taken aback, Crystal nods again, and he takes off through her cramped house. Sure, he's always been...nice, but this is something else. Chivalrous, she supposes.
It's not unpleasant.
She listens to the rattle of items and his quick footsteps and smiles despite herself.
Then she notices the state of her room — or, more specifically, of her window. That night, when she'd first felt the dredges of illness take her in a chokehold, she'd left her window open to air out the room. It was summer, after all, and wouldn't do her any more harm. Now, somehow, the screen has popped out — and with a massive hole in the middle to boot — and sits on her floor in a mess of clothes knocked down from the rack of hooks on the wall.
At least she knows how he got in.
"I'm back, Crys!" Gold announces, a couple small bottles of pills in his hands, though he pauses when he sees where her eyes are. As she turns to him, unimpressed eyebrows raised, Gold chuckles sheepishly.
"Heh. Sorry, Crys."
She shakes her head and sighs before unscrewing the cap and popping a single pill. She wishes it would clear her new headache; this screen will not be fun to repair.
"Thanks for the meds," she writes. "And the honey water, even though it's gross."
"It is, isn't it?" He shrugs. "I dunno. Yellow said it was good for sore throats. Thought I'd bring some over."
"Thank you."
"Yeah, no problem!" he says enthusiastically and sits on the edge of her bed. "You're sick. Figured you deserve some time off from yelling and kicking me - neither of which you're actually capable of doing at this point," he jokes.
She eyes him for that fiercely, and Gold stops smirking. "Okay, so maybe I shouldn't doubt the second part," he concedes. He keeps talking, spinning out stories, and soon she feels herself getting more and more drowsy. Eventually, she's spending too much time keeping her eyes open and almost none in following his words. She's too sleepy to feel guilty.
He stops. "Hey, Crys. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll be right over here if you need anything. Look, I even brought a book!"
That wakes her up, even for a second. It is a book, miraculously. One about type analysis. She's impressed, and tries to convey it with her face. "So we good?"
Yeah. We're good.
She falls asleep smiling.
(It's tempting, so tempting to reach out and brush his hand against her head, to feel her hair between his fingers and soothe her hot skin. But he refrains, content enough to be her company, and to pretend he's reading an actual book.)