Must I put disclaimers on every chapter? It get's rather tiring if I do say so myself. Wouldn't you think that if a person did own this stuff, they would be off writing something brilliant to make some money, not sitting in their pajamas eating ice cream?
Chapter 7-- Miracle Cure
"Now do you need anything? Like medicine…did you take any this morning or eat anything? You should eat. I sometimes get dizzy when I haven't eaten before going in to work." She asks, watching him walk over to the living room couch and sit down. He doesn't answer. She walks over closer to him and asks again. "Did you hear me?" She sits down beside him, hoping he could hear at least that far. "Do want me to do anything for you?"
He lies down, resting his head in her lap and his feet on the arm of the opposite end of the couch. "Well...that depends..." He says with a devilish grin.
"Mr. Sanders...even when you're sick, that's still all you think about?" She speaks down to him, gently stroking his hair. "And you can spend an hour in front of the mirror, but you can hardly walk without falling over. I've got to get back to work. Go on, get your pajamas on and off to bed. Are you sure you don't need me to get anything?"
"No mom!" He says lifting his head slightly off its pillow.
"Okay, I get it." She heads toward the door. "I'll check up on you later, all right." Sara opens the door and shuts it behind her, leaving Greg for a day off work. Too bad he had to spend it alone trapped in his apartment.
Sara parks her car in the parking lot near Greg's apartment at the end of a long day trapped in the lab analyzing confusing case evidence. She grabs a grocery bag from the passenger seat and uses the remote to lock the doors behind her. Grissom had ordered her to leave work a bit early to check up on Greg, not knowing that she'd end up going there either way. She had also made a quick stop at the store to pick up some chicken noodle soup.
She walks down the hallway, room 102. She raises her hand in attempt to knock on the door. She figures he's probably still dozing on the couch in front of the television. She, instead of disturbing him, turns the knob and opens the door herself. As she does, she hears the sound loud music playing and Greg in the middle of the kitchen trying to dance.
"Darling you gotta let me know...Should I stay or should I go?" He drops the cereal bowl into the sink, keeping the spoon in his hand belting out the lyrics into it. "If you say that you are mine...I'll be here 'til the end of time...So you got to let me know." He opens the refrigerator looking around for something. "...Should I stay or should I go?"
Sara still stands in shock, attempting to hold back laughter. She's silent, hoping Greg wouldn't notice her standing there. He had always been a bit odd at work when he knew people were around, but she never could guess what he was capable of doing when he knew he was alone.
"Always tease tease tease...You're happy when I'm on my knees...One day is fine, next is black...So if you want me off your back...Well, come on and let me know…" He sings loud and a tad off key in front of the open refrigerator. He pauses to take a drink straight out of the orange juice container. "Should I stay or should--" He turns around to face Sara still standing in the doorway. He drops the orange juice when she startles him. It spills all over the tile floor. "...I...go," he finishes, frozen in place like a deer caught in the headlights. The door is closed behind her, so at least his neighbors hadn't witnessed his humiliation as well.
Of course the whole situation would be a lot less embarrassing on Greg's behalf, if he had been in more than just his shorts. "I can explain..."
"What...high off cough medicine?"
"I just got out of the shower and...And I was feeling better." He stutters before turning off the radio. His hair is still wet and hangs loosely, not standing on end after his half an hour in front of the mirror every morning as she's accustomed to seeing it.
"Yeah...I really... should go." He manages to get out before scurrying back into his bedroom to make himself more presentable.
Sara sets the can of soup on the countertop and takes a roll of paper towels before getting down on her hands and knees to clean up. "The flu...really?" She says to herself.
A minute or so later he comes back out to the kitchen after slipping in to an old tee shirt and pajamas, still baring his toes. He hadn't bothered with his hair either.
"So this flu was more like a...twelve-hour flu? Remind me next time to bring my own orange juice."
He hops up on the countertop beside the soup, looking down to Sara wiping up the last remains of the spill. "I couldn't sleep so--"
"--You decided to play the home version of American Idol instead? And please, stick to Sinatra. At least you can sing that stuff."
"Yes Simon, you eat when you can't sleep, I make a fool out of myself in the safety of my own home, plus you don't like when people sing with the radio, and since I can do it any other time..."
"How do you even know all the words to a Frank Sinatra song? It's not exactly your thing."
"Nana Pernilla is a big fan. Papa Olaf and I still haven't convinced her that he's dead and has been for eight years now. She made me listen to it...all the time. She told me if I ever planned on winning over a woman, I should practice up." He glances up towards Sara and laughs to himself. "But, it 's not like it's still the fifties..."
"But entertaining none the less. Nice...legs, Greg." She says getting up off the floor and throwing the towels in the trash.
"Yeah, they're not exactly one of my best physical attributes. Note that's plural, as I have many." He picks up the can beside him, looking at the label suspiciously.
"Ooh, alphabet noodles."