*For those not familiar with my series, this could get confusing. April and Marcus. What? No Casey?! Nope. Got nothing against the guy. I just chose not to use him early on, and it didn't make sense to introduce him late in the game. So if you can get past that detail...please enjoy the chapter. I also don't own House. Or Animal Plant. Or the Puppy Bowl for that matter. For the record.
April gave Michelangelo an incredulous look as the turtle came out of the kitchen with another grocery bag in addition to the crock pot. "Just how long do you think we'll be cooped up in the condo?"
Mikey grinned. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared. Besides, Marc will probably eat this."
"If you made your famous chicken noodle, I'm sure he'll be tempted," she agreed.
"I'll come up with you to help carry everything," the orange-masked turtle offered.
She shook her head. "I've got it. Been meaning to work on the biceps anyway, so-" A tremendous bang cut her off from finishing, and April jerked in the direction of the dojo from which it had come. A ripple of apprehension had her darting for the hall, where Raphael had traveled only a moment before Mike came out of the kitchen.
Michelangelo's hand landed on her shoulder, spinning the woman around. "Let it go, Ape. It's only Leo getting some payback."
The red-head rolled her eyes. "Will it ever end?"
Mike shook his head. "I doubt it. Are you sure you've got everything okay?"
April wordlessly took the bag from him to shove over her shoulder along with the other three grocery sacks, and held out her arms for the crock pot. "I've got good balance for an 'old lady', Mikey."
He looked like he would protest, but the slam of a door made him take a step backwards instead. April's head turned against her better judgment, and she found herself staring at the bulky frame of the red-masked turtle. He was dripping in a beige colored-substance she couldn't name, but the mud caked over his face was easier to identify. Raphael paused to give the younger turtle a murderous glance.
"What?" Michelangelo squeaked. "I had nothing to do with it! Leo bought his own bisque – I didn't even assist him there."
"I don't know how he found a soup that smells worse than your rotten chicken chowder," Raph retorted.
Mike snickered, despite the danger. "Some people are big fans of my soups, Raphy."
"Not when they're swimming in 'em," he glowered. "Outta my way, Pipsqueak." He stalked to the steps without waiting for the orange-masked turtle to move, nearly running him over in the process.
April backed toward the door. "I better go too. I haven't heard from Marc in a few hours. Need to make sure my husband is still alive."
"Okay, April. Lemme know if you guys need anything else."
"I'm sure we're covered, but thanks a lot, Mike."
Michelangelo got the door for her, and she headed for the elevator. Juggling the crock pot, bags, and buttons inside made her wish she'd accepted the turtle's offer of help, but the woman managed to keep her supplies intact over the short ride in the glass elevator to the sixth floor of Yousai.
Getting into the condo proved trickier, since she'd locked the door behind her from years of habit when she left for the morning. With Donny's security net, it's probably one of the most secure buildings in New York City, but old instincts are hard to shake. April ended up lowering the crock pot to the floor so she could get the door unlocked, and then hoisted it back into her arms with the rest of the bags.
The condo looked exactly the way she'd left it about nine hours before, which gave her hope that Marcus was resting properly. She carried her load into the kitchen and plugged in the crock pot to start reheating the soup, leaving the rest of Michelangelo's "gifts" on the counter.
Then the woman headed down to the hall to the bathroom, where she took down her hair and collected a small stack of bobby pins on the back of the counter. She reached for the flannel pajama bottoms hanging on the back of the bathroom door and stripped her work clothes in favor of her soft undershirt and fluffy bathrobe.
April stopped by the utility closet in the hall to drop off dirty clothes, and froze in her stride when she noticed the figure in the living room draped over the leather recliner. The dark-haired man appeared asleep with his eyes open, and she had to wonder how he'd even gotten there.
"Marc? When did you get up?"
"I heard you come in," he replied hoarsely.
"That wasn't an invitation for you to be out of bed," she chided.
He glanced up at her pitifully. "I've been lying in bed for three days. It's not comfortable anymore."
"It's better for you than that chair."
Marcus shifted like he would rise, but then slumped back heavily in the recliner. "Sick of being cooped up."
April gave him a sympathetic smile while dropping onto the adjacent couch. "You never like to slow down. But when you're sick, you don't have a choice. That's how you get better. As one of our own medical members, you already know that."
"Doesn't mean I like it," he muttered. "Are you going to banish me again?"
She stretched a hand over to brush hair off his forehead, and frowned at the faint heat that still met her touch. "I probably should send you right back to bed, but I guess you've earned a little time off. Long enough to try and eat something?"
He grunted under his breath. "Not hungry."
"You sure? Mikey set me up with his homemade chicken noodle, along with a few other goodies from the girls. I think it'd be good for you to try."
The man stifled a yawn. "I'll give it a shot."
"Marc, I don't want you falling asleep in that chair. I won't be able to carry you to bed."
"I won't sleep."
"Can you promise me that?"
He closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No."
April got back to her feet and patted his shoulder. "What am I supposed to do with you?"
"Take me to the Brooklyn bridge so I can jump off," he grumbled.
"That seems like a permanent solution to a temporary problem."
"Don't care." He crossed bare arms over each other, but the move didn't seem like an act of rebellion.
"Are you cold?"
Marcus gave her a pained look.
April crossed to the closet for a blanket, and turned up the thermostat a couple degrees on her way back. "We can do this one of two ways, buster. You can let me take care of you properly, or you can go right back to bed. Choice is yours. I'm only giving you...an hour out here, max. Better decide fast."
"You have to ask me to do something fast now?"
The woman gave him a small push as she tucked the blanket around him. "You could just surrender. Doesn't that sound easier?"
"Mmhm."
"Good. I'm going to check on the soup. Would you like to have any more tea?"
"I've had all the tea I can handle from Leo. He dropped by this afternoon and force-fed me."
She chuckled. "Why does it seem like doctors make the worst patients?"
Marcus gave her a withering glance. "That's a stereotype."
April motioned to him. "This is not a stereotype. It's a man being difficult. Would you like some juice?"
He shook his head. "Water's fine. Thanks."
"And we're getting somewhere. I'll be right back. Don't go to sleep."
Marc's head shook once more. "I'll just...sit here."
"And keep your eyes open."
"Okay."
Something in his weary tone told the woman not to dare take her time in the kitchen, or risk losing her husband to the recliner. She checked the crock pot and removed the lid to savor the delicious-smelling steam. April picked out a mug from the cabinet and filled it halfway with the broth and smaller-shell style pasta Michelangelo favored when people were sick. She grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and hurried back to the living room.
Marc's head was drooped forward dangerously when she entered the room, but he'd straightened by the time she reached him.
"Both hands," she commanded, not releasing the mug until certain he had it. She set the water on the side table to his left, and sat back down on the couch.
"Don't suppose you're going to take care of yourself," he complained. "You worked all day, April."
"I'll get food in a couple minutes. First I want to see you try to eat, and maybe find us something to watch. The DVR is getting pretty full with all those House episodes." She raised her eyebrows at him.
"He's a bad patient."
"Soup, Marc," she reminded.
"Right." He took a careful sip of the hot liquid, and nodded. "Mike hasn't lost his touch."
"Keep working on it, okay? Is there any particular episode you want to watch?"
"Nothing medical," he half-pleaded. "I'm not in the mood."
"Is there anything you would like to see?"
"You pick something," he instructed, settling against the back of his chair before taking another sip.
April clicked on the TV and ignored the pre-recorded programs. Instead she flipped on the guide and began searching for something that might strike the man's fancy. A snort erupted when she noticed Animal Planet was replaying the Puppy Bowl, and she couldn't resist turning it to the channel.
"How does this work for you, Marc?"
The man's forehead creased, as if the baby boxer and golden retriever puppy fighting over a squeaky toy made no sense. "What is this?"
"It's a cute program they put out every year around the same time as the Super Bowl, and then repeat a couple more times for puppy lovers everywhere."
He shrugged. "Watching puppies beats being grounded."
"Don't get too comfortable, buddy. You're still going to be returning to bed."
Marcus gave an exasperated sigh. "Can't you let me enjoy the puppies in peace?"
"Sure, you can enjoy them. In fact, I'd be happy to delete some of these House episodes and record every bit of the puppy action. It gets better though."
"It does?"
"Yup. There's a kitten half-time show."
"No kidding."
"Nope." April eyed Marcus as he took another small drink, and set the mug down. "Are you done?"
"Not quite. It's good, but I'm...tired. Probably shouldn't have got up."
"You think?"
"It's getting lonely back there," he said wistfully.
She shook her head. "I'm not abandoning you, Marc. We could both go back to the bedroom, and pick up the puppies from there."
"Only if you come too. But you don't have to sit so close."
April smiled and squeezed his hand. "I'll take my chances."
He made a face. "I don't want you getting sick."
"I'm not letting you be lonely either. You wanna pack up the picnic and head back?"
"I guess," he relented.
The woman scooped up his mug before he could lift it. "I'll take this back for you. Then I'm going to check out the rest of the goodies Mike sent."
A glint of interest entered the man's tired eyes. "What'd he do?"
"I haven't dug into it yet, but I'm pretty sure I saw him pack up some of Karina's double chocolate chunk cookies. Does that sound doable to you?"
"I'd sure like to try."
She laughed. "I should have brought up chocolate sooner. Of course it puts you in a better mood."
"You put me in a better mood, April."
The woman wrapped an arm around his shoulder and smoothed her fingers across the faint stubble on his chin. "Go on back. I'll be there in a couple minutes."
