Disclaimer: Not mine.
Helpless 4
Rubber duckie's magic
"Now look what you've done! Are you all right?" Marron leaped toward her employer who lay quite still, sprawled inelegantly on his stomach.
"No," his muffled voice answered carefully. "I am not all right. Not only am I in considerable pain, I am apparently unable to manage something as fundamental as reaching the bathroom. I am also finding it a little difficult to hold an intelligent conversation with my nose buried in this rug, which smells of used cat litter, by the way."
"Here, let me help you." Marron grasped his shoulder with the intention of rolling him onto his back.
Trunks, however, seemed to have a violent objection to being touched. Shaking off her hold, he struggled into a sitting position and looked balefully up at her. "Just give me a minute. I'll manage."
There was only one course of action, as far as Marron was concerned. When someone behaved like a child, he deserved to be treated like one.
Folding her arms, she adopted a tone that had always worked well for her in the past. "Mr. Briefs, I'm not here for the fun of it. I'm supposed to help you, and you are making it very difficult for me to do my job."
"I apologize for that, Miss. whatever your name is- "
"Chestnut."
"Thank you. I'll try not to forget again. However, I assure you I can manage to get myself to the bathroom. I manage to get myself to the bathroom. I managed it quite well before you got here."
"You don't seem to be doing such a good job of it now," Marron calmly observed.
Trunks' face turned a dull red. "Oh, all right. Give me a hand here to get on my feet."
"Please."
"Please give me a hand to get on my feet," he muttered through gritted teeth.
Hiding a grin of triumph, she stepped behind him, grasped him under the armpits and shoved. It took a moment or two of struggling- Trunks' lean build was deceptive. He had to be carrying a lot of muscle weight. Eventually, however, after a lot of groaning and cursing on his part, she had him upright again and leaning heavily on his crutches.
"How did you manage to hurt your foot anyway?" She asked him when she was sure he was balanced securely.
He avoided her gaze, concentrating on maneuvering the crutches. "I fell off a ladder."
Poor man must have been trying to fix a hole in the roof, Marron thought, feeling a stab of sympathy. He probably couldn't afford to have someone do it for him.
She watched him take a step forward, terrified he might fall again. "Just be sure and lift the crutches high enough to miss the rug," she warned, braced to grab him just in case he might topple over.
Without answering her, he hopped his way across the floor, then shuffled sideways through the door into the bedroom.
Marron followed him, keeping a wary eye on his progress.
Trunks halted at the door of the bathroom and peered at her over his shoulder. "I'll have to leave the crutches with you. There isn't enough room to move in there as it is, without these two damn broomsticks getting in the way."
She took them from him, and then waited in an agony of apprehension until she heard the reassuring sound of the toilet being flushed.
A moment later the door opened and Trunks stood in the doorway, supporting himself with one hand on the frame. "Are you still here?" he mumbled, sounding as if he hoped she'd vanished into thin air.
Marron sighed. The truth was, she was feeling more than a little sorry for him. Apart from his injury, it was obvious some other misfortune had happened to him, and it must have been substantial.
His speech and lofty attitude clearly told her that at one time he'd been used to a more comfortable lifestyle. Yet there he was, not only reduced to living in appalling conditions, more than likely half starved, but temporarily crippled, as well. Obviously his company must have felt sorry for him and hired him a temp.
It had to be terrible for a man like Trunks Briefs to have to deal with such a comedown. No wonder he was so defensive and irritable. Marron's kind heart ached for the poor man. "You'll feel better when you've showered," she said soothingly.
He looked as if he would like to strangle her. "Miss Chestnut," he said, speaking slowly and distinctly, "in case you haven't noticed, there is no shower in this miserable excuse for a bathroom. Even if there were, I would not be able to use it with this lump of plaster on my foot."
If his voice rose a fraction, Marron chose to ignore it. Meeting his gaze without flinching, she said calmly, "You could use the tub if you drape your foot over the edge."
"I could, if I were a contortionist, which I am not. Nor do I have any desire to learn how to be one. I'm afraid you'll have to put up with my disheveled, unwashed state for the time being."
She gave her head a decisive shake. "I'm sorry, Mr. Briefs, but I'm afraid I must insist. Not only will you feel better, it will help achieve a more professional atmosphere."
His eyebrows arched. "I'm sorry that you find my appearance offensive. Maybe I'd better find someone less particular."
In spite of her sympathy for his plight, Marron was beginning to lose patience. She took a couple of steps toward him. "You know very well you'd have to wait another day to replace me. In the meantime, you'd lose valuable work time. Besides, I doubt very much if you'd find anyone else willing to take care of you like this. I'm breaking all the rules, you know."
Trunks frowned. "If you must know, Miss Florence Nightingale, I know plenty of women who'd jump at the chance of taking care of me. Now please hand me my crutches. I'm tired and I want to go back to that uncomfortable lumpy couch and read the newspaper."
Ignoring his wishful comment about the other women, she said evenly, "Not until you've bathed."
"And just how am I supposed to accomplish that?"
"I'll help you."
A gleam appeared in the ice-blue eyes. "Well, that should prove interesting, to say the least."
Feeling she'd stepped on shaky ground, Marron lifted her chin. "I'll fill the tub for you. If you sit on the edge and swing one foot in, you should be able to ease yourself down in there, leaving your injured foot hanging over the edge."
For a moment he held her gaze, while she wondered frantically what was going on in his mind, then he let out a long sigh. "All right, I can tell you're not going to stop whining about it, so let's get it over with. Though I warn you, if I get stuck in there, you'll have to haul me out."
"I'm sure you'll manage beautifully."
Trunks grunted. "You'll find a large bath towel in the chest under the bed. Get it for me, will you?"
She waited politely until he muttered, "Please," as an afterthought. Wondering if perhaps she hadn't taken on more than she could handle, she went down on her knees and peered under the bed. When she stood again, the striped towel in hand, Trunks had disappeared from the doorway.
For a moment she thought he might have managed to get back to the couch without his crutches, but when she looked in the bathroom she found him sitting on the toilet, his face white and drawn.
"Are you all right?" She asked anxiously.
"A little light-headed, that's all."
"I'll cook you a meal just as soon as you get dressed," she promised. "You'll feel better when you've eaten something."
He looked up at her, and she felt an odd tug at her heart. Right then he looked for all the world like a helpless, sulky little boy. "That's if I manage to survive this torture," he muttered.
She smiled. "Don't worry. I'm quite sure you'll be able to handle things just fine."
He studied her in silence for a long moment, and then said quietly, "Your family must miss you a great deal."
Surprised by the comment, she shrugged. "I know I miss them, but I have to admit, it's not nice to be constantly at their beck and all."
"They don't live here?"
"Sagittarius. Still in the country, but not close enough to drop in on me everyday."
"Your husband must like that."
"I don't have a husband," Marron said, ignoring the little skip of her heart. She handed him the towel, then edged past his knees to turn on the faucets in the tub. Her mouth twitched when she envisioned Mrs. Morris' reaction if she walked in on them now.
She'd probably lose her job, Marron thought as she tested the water gushing out of the tap. After adjusting the temperature to her satisfaction, she placed the stopper in the freshly cleaned drain, and then straightened.
Unnerved to find Trunks watching her with immense interest, she dried her hands on the hand towel. "There, that should do it."
"Thank you, Miss Chestnut."
She frowned. "I'd rather you call me 'Marron' if that's all tight with you?"
"I think I can manage that, if you'll call me Trunks."
She thought about that. "I guess that's okay, though I don't think Mrs. Morris would approve."
"Mrs. Morris?"
"The battle-ax who owns the Guardian Angels Agency. You know, Guardian Angels. You must have talked to her when you called."
He shook his head. "I didn't call. That was Paresu. She's, er, the boss' secretary."
"Oh." She wasn't going to say so, but it seemed to her that if the boss could afford a secretary, he could at least pay his employee enough for him to find a decent place to live instead of this damp, rundown old boathouse. Obviously draftsmen didn't earn as much as he thought they did.
"I didn't see any soap in here," she said, watching the water rise steadily up the sides of the tub.
"There's some in the kitchen."
"I'll get it. Don't move till I get back."
"I have no intention of moving," he said grimly.
Marron hurried back into the kitchen, wondering what on earth she'd do if he couldn't get himself out of the tub. She wasn't feeling nearly as confident as she'd like him to believe.
In spite of his shabby surroundings, Trunks Briefs still managed to present a formidable front. She couldn't help wondering just what tragedy had reduced such a seemingly powerful man to living apparently on the edge of poverty.
Perhaps he was paying out alimony and child support to an ex-wife, and that was why he couldn't afford a decent place to live.
Deciding that was it, since he obviously didn't have a wife to take care of him. Marron found the soap and headed back to the bathroom. Trunks sat where she left him, watching the water gushing into the tub.
Marron dropped the soap into the water and turned off the faucets. "Now," she said, beginning to feel more than a little awkward, "you should be able to manage the rest by yourself."
He uttered a grunt of derision. "I'll yell if I get stuck. Just remember this was all your brilliant idea."
Praying that she wouldn't have to help him out of the tub, Marron scrambled out of the bathroom and left him to it.
She spent the next several minutes pacing back and forth in the tiny bedroom, listening to the sounds of splashing from the bathroom and tensed to leap in there at the slightest sound of distress.
To her immense relief, when the summons came, Trunks was already out of the tub. Still looking far too pale, he sat once more on the toilet seat. With nothing but the towel wrapped around his waist, he still managed to intimidate her.
Tiny drops of water slid down his sculpted abdomen. Marron noticed before she snatched her gaze away. "Are you all right? Can I get you anything?"
"Clothes would be nice."
"Oh, of course. Where will I find them?"
"I keep a sweat suit and clean underwear in the chest where you found the towel."
"I'll get them."
Glad for an excuse to leave, Marron hurried back to the kitchen. She was fast discovering that all her years of administering to her brothers and sisters had not prepared her for this particular situation.
While he was getting dressed, she examined the contents of the refrigerator. There didn't seem to be much else in there except eggs, bacon and a carton of milk.
The freezer, however, held several frozen dinners, a couple of packets of hamburger, frozen vegetables, and a large carton of ice cream. Sorting through the packages on the counter, Marron found a box of spaghetti and a jar of pasta sauce.
At least she had the makings for a decent meal, she thought as she collected what she needed. The microwave, much to her surprise, actually worked. It looked so ancient she imagined it had to be one of the first ever made. She threw the hamburger in there to thaw it out, and then went back to the bathroom to check on Trunks.
He was waiting for her in his usual spot on the toilet seat. With his hair neatly combed, he looked a lot more presentable. In fact, now that she took the time to really notice, Trunks Briefs' good looks would rival any of those hunks in the TV commercials.
Even the black sweat suit couldn't detract from the imposing air with which he greeted her. "I was beginning to think you'd quit."
"I'm not a quitter, Mr. Briefs."
"So I see. And I remember that we agreed on a first name basis."
She didn't know why she was having such a hard time using his first name. His home was certainly unimpressive, and her wasn't even paying her salary. She had no need to feel intimidated by him."
She got the crutches for him and helped him back to the couch. She knew by the way he sighed when he collapsed upon it that he must still be hurting. It would be another three hours before he could take more medication, she thought, glancing at her watch.
Trunks leaned back and closed his eyes. "Thank you," her murmured. "I do feel better now that I'm smelling sweet and clean again."
Aware that he was making light of the situation, Marron studied him with apprehension. His face was still white and drawn with pain. "I'll have a hot meal ready for you in a short while," she said, hoping that would help. "Perhaps you could take a nap while you're waiting."
Trunks nodded. "Good idea," he murmured, his tone suggesting he was already half asleep.
Marron crept away to prepare the meal.
Thank you to all those who reviewed! I have to go now. I must get up really early tomorrow to go to an island and take photos of it. It's also supposed to be haunted. Anyway, ja ne!