It's not super-important how old Phineas and Isabella are in this one, but they aren't yet together and Isabella is living alone, so probably sometime after college. Figure, oh, 24 or 25.
Did I Leave the Oven On?
Isabella always knew when she was about to get sick.
Granted, Isabella was always a very health conscious person. Sure, she knew all the tips and tricks of sickness prevention from her time with the Fireside Girls, but sometimes, these things happen anyway.
It was always the same. First, sometime in the late afternoon, her muscles would start to ache, and she would feel sapped for energy. By the evening, she would be so achy and weak that even standing at the counter to make dinner left her exhausted.
Next came the worst part. Lightheadedness and insomnia would plague Isabella all night, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. Eventually, she would start to shake from chills. Somehow or another, she would always fitfully fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning and then wake up miserable and sick.
So when Isabella felt herself feeling achy on her way home from work one day, she groaned. It wasn't so much the getting sick part that she hated. For one thing, she would be able to get out of work for a day or two, and she rather enjoyed sleeping all day, but she hated the uncomfortable, sleepless night leading up to it.
Dropping her things on the kitchen table in her tiny apartment, Isabella leaned on the counter, breathing hard. Yup. I'm gonna get sick. Great. Her cell phone sat on the backsplash beside the sink where she'd forgotten it that morning.
Missed Call and Voicemail: Phineas Flynn
Normally, a call from her long time best friend and secret love would have brought a smile to her face. Not today, though. Regardless, she dialed.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Phineas," she moaned.
"Hey, Isabella. Are you okay?"
"No...I'm getting sick."
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that."
She moved to the table and sat down, leaning her head in her hand. "I already feel lousy. Which means tonight I won't sleep and tomorrow I'll be sick."
"I'm sorry, Isabella. I was calling earlier to see if you wanted to hang with me and Ferb tonight, but I guess not."
"No...I wish I could."
There was silence on the line for a moment.
"Well...if you're sick...is there anything I can do for you?"
The question didn't really seem to sink in. "Uh...I don't know..." Isabella thought hard, which was difficult when she felt so weak. She felt like her head was spinning. "Do you think...I'd hate to get you sick, too, but...do you think you could just come over and keep me company for a while? I always feel really alone when I'm sick."
"Sure, Isabella. I'll be there in a few minutes. Did you eat dinner yet?"
"No."
"I've got one of those frozen pizzas you just stick in the oven. Want me to bring it and we can share it?"
Isabella smiled. "That sounds great, except I don't have an oven."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that."
"This tiny little apartment sucks."
"Okay...how about I heat it up here and while I'm waiting, I'll build a teleporter and zap myself there when it's hot?"
"It does not surprise me that you can build a teleporter in the amount of time it takes to heat a frozen pizza."
Phineas laughed. "I'll see you in a little bit, then?"
Isabella tried to laugh back, but didn't have the energy. "It's a date," she joked, for the first time remembering her affection for her best friend.
"Right on!"
Isabella hung up the phone and retreated to her bedroom to change into her pajamas before Phineas materialized into her apartment. Leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor, she begrudgingly pulled on her light purple pajamas and her old bunny slippers. Then she trudged out into the living room and flopped down on the couch to wait for Phineas. She dug the remote out of the end table and flicked on the TV.
About fifteen minutes later there was a sudden flash of light in the middle of the room, fading to reveal Phineas holding a pan containing a pizza. "Hi, Isabella," he greeted simply. "How do you feel?"
"Blehh..." she moaned, sticking out her tongue.
Phineas quickly headed into the kitchen and set the pizza down on the counter, then returned and sat down next to Isabella. "Explain."
She gave him a confused look. "Explain what?"
"Explain the meaning of 'Blehh...'"
Isabella smiled and leaned her head on Phineas's shoulder. "I just feel bleh. Like I'm getting sick but not sick yet. Just...achy and drowsy and...you know, bleh."
Phineas nodded with understanding. "Ah. Gotcha." He stood up again and returned to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned carrying two paper plates each containing a slice of pizza. He sat beside Isabella again and handed her one of the plates.
"Thank you, Phineas. You're the best."
He chewed and swallowed a bite of pizza before answering. "I try."
When they finished their pizza, Phineas grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it over Isabella, who was already beginning to shiver. She snuggled up against him, trying not to breathe in his direction. He responded by wrapping one arm around her.
They sat in silence for a long time, watching TV until there was nothing on but infomercials. Isabella's uncontrollable shaking became progressively worse as the night wore on.
Phineas looked at the clock. It was almost one in the morning. "Do you want to go to bed?" he asked her.
"Yeah," Isabella sighed. "But I'll n-never g-get to sleep. I n-never sleep the n-night before I g-get sick. It-t sucks," she said through chattering teeth. "I c-can n-never g-get c-comfortable." She pressed her body against his side even more. "And I d-don't want you to leave."
They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Then Phineas stood, pulling Isabella to her feet. She swayed and moaned in protest. He supported her with one arm and they made the short trip down the hall to Isabella's bedroom.
"No..." Isabella croaked.
Phineas pulled back the covers and guided Isabella to the bed. "Come on."
She didn't have the energy to fight it, so she laid down and let Phineas cover her. She grabbed the comforter with her hands and pulled it tighter around her freezing body.
"Goodnight, Isabella," Phineas whispered, starting to walk out of the room.
"Wait," she called as loud as she could. He turned around to face her again. Isabella's eyes were wide, pleading. "Please don't go."
Phineas looked at his best friend laying sick in bed, her eyes about as big as dinner plates.
"Please...stay...I don't want to be alone."
He nodded slowly and walked around to the other side of the bed. He kicked off his shoes and crawled into the bed beside Isabella.
The clock read 3:23am. Phineas was laying on his back, sleeping soundly, his breathing quiet. And Isabella...was still awake. She tried laying on her stomach, on her back, on her side, but could not find a comfortable position.
She turned over again, lying on her side facing Phineas. She traced the geometric outline of his head with her eyes and watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. I'm so thankful for Phineas...even if we are still just friends.
She turned over onto her back, trying to mimic the position Phineas was lying in, hoping it would be more comfortable. It was a little better, but not much. She shifted again, and her finger tips brushed against something. It was Phineas's hand.
Isabella wished that she could take hold of that hand, squeeze it. But she didn't want Phineas to wake up, especially not to find her holding his hand.
Then again...we did hold hands a lot when we were kids...and he had his arm around me earlier. Maybe...maybe it would be okay.
As gently as she could, she slid her hand on top of his. He didn't react to the contact, and Isabella breathed a sigh of relief.
Even though it was lying limp, his hand was still firm, strong. It was a bit rough from years of use, constructing his and Ferb's many inventions with care. But it still felt gentle and nimble, perfect for wielding a mechanical pencil or strumming a guitar string.
I wish it could be like this all the time. I miss hanging out with Phineas every day. We text back and forth all day and hang out when we can, but it's just not the same. Isabella looked over at his face again. I should tell him. It's been too long. She let out a deep breath. I just wish I knew how he'd react.
Maybe...If I woke him up...and saw how he reacted to holding hands...
She leaned toward him, whispering, "Phineas...Phineas."
He slowly opened his eyes. "Hmm?" he asked sleepily.
Isabella realized she didn't actually have anything to say to him. Think fast. Think of something. Anything! But it's hard to think clearly when you're sick. "Did I leave the oven on?" she blurted out.
Phineas closed his eyes again. "You don't have an oven."
"Oh, yeah. Right." She rested her head back on the pillow, waiting.
Phineas shifted slightly, suddenly uncomfortable just from waking up. He noticed the weight resting on his hand and wiggled his fingers.
Isabella's heart skipped a beat.
He let go of her hand.
Isabella was just about to lose hope when she realized that Phineas was turning over onto his side, facing her. "C'mere," he said quietly. He hesitantly slid one arm behind her neck, across her shoulders, and draped his other arm across her waist, pulling his body up against hers. He briefly nuzzled his large nose in the hair above Isabella's ear, then let his head drop to the pillow and fell back to sleep.
Isabella smiled, her heart now pounding. She lifted her right hand up onto her stomach and took Phineas's hand. In his sleep, he wrapped his fingers around hers.
Well...I guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow.
Isabella closed her eyes. Finally, cradled in Phineas's arms, warmed by his embrace and her own heart, she was able to conquer her insomnia and fall asleep.
I tried writing a one-shot a few months ago where Phineas and Isabella were both sick, but it just didn't work. I like this one better.
Wow! The fourth one-shot in a row without the Ford Torino. Whatever Isabella has, I must have caught it.
