After carrying the lethargic (and somewhat heavy) Edward-clad in some tailored green silk pajamas with little black question marks peppered on them-to the front room, and depositing him on the couch, he hadn't stopped complaining.
First, it was medicine.
"Jonyyyyyyy. Don't we have Tylenol? Or Aspirin? Child's medication! Strong Scotch for Pete's sake!"
"Right Edward," Jonathan said, rummaging around in all their kitchen drawers and coming up short. With as much vehemence as he could muster he continued, "I must have decided to mix it with my latest batch of poisonous chemicals... Let me make you some."
Then it was tea.
"We don't have chamomile. We have green or lemon."
"But can't you go to the store and buy some?"
Trying to keep the exasperated tone out of his voice, Jonathan replied, "I hardly think I could just walk straight into a supermarket without causing at least a little bit of a distraction, Edward. Or have you already forgotten our latest excursions?"
When Jonathan finally made him some hot chocolate-found at the bottom of an old, forgotten junk drawer, filled to the brink with hammers, saws and other less-than-atrocious objects, he was aggravated yet unsurprised when it still wasn't enough for ole' Eddie.
"There's not enough marshmallows Jonny."
"They're dissolving because you're not drinking it fast enough."
"It's hot. I could burn myself."
Another thing about Edward being sick was that he thought he was King of the Abode.
"Could you move the coffee table over a little, I feel too crowded."
"It's fine where it's at." Jon replied, squeezing the bridge of his nose, peeking over at the tousle-haired Edwards who was squeaking out commands.
"I'm claustrophobic."
"Move it yourself."
"I'm sick." After another long pause he stated, "the TV's too close also. Maybe a little to the right?"
Jonathan didn't know all that much about 24 hour colds, but he was starting to hope this was one of them. It was beginning to look like a very long day.
