I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury
Dom and Fran are adorbs.
Places in Books
Nurse Frannie To The Rescue
"Dom?"
He hasn't been himself for at least an hour or two.
Maybe all morning.
Barely touched his breakfast.
Gait now heavy and plodding, missing the usual Dom-like bounce and assurity.
Face a strain he cannot brush off.
Clenched, determined jaw. Furrowed brow.
"You okay?"
He thinks she doesn't notice.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
But she does.
"Okay. If you say so."
She recognizes the signs.
Or thinks she does.
And finally . . .
"Dom? Hey. What's wrong?"
. . . she gently prods the truth out of him.
Right there on some sunny, cobblestoned Spanish sidestreet in Barcelona.
He sighs. Stops his relentless trudge to wherever the heck they've been resolutely heading.
And turns to her.
"I've, uh, I've got a migraine. It's, uh, it's fine."
And she instantly surges into soft motion.
"Dominic, if you've got a migraine, you are certainly not fine. Come on."
She's found them lodging, pretty sure she overpaid the guy . . .
"-treinta y . . . cinco?"
. . . but really doesn't care.
"Here, here, lay down-"
And now they're in a quiet little room tucked very much away from any hustle and bustle that might keep Dominic from the peace and quiet that he needs to rest and recover and simply survive a head-splitting, nausea-inducing migraine.
Or that's been her experience anyway.
There's only one bed in the small space and it's a narrow double.
And she's practically pushing . . .
"Let me get your shoes; you know the few times I've had a migraine, I wanted someone to just kill me-"
. . . Dominic down on to it.
As gently as she can.
And stubborn Dom, of course . . .
"Fran, you don't have to . . . I can handle it fine . . ."
. . . is trying to maintain.
As if she's going to buy that.
Buddy, you just don't know who you are up against.
"Just because you can handle it, Dominic Hargan, doesn't mean you should have to. Now just relax, please, and let me take care of you."
Shoes off, curled onto his side, as if trying to shield himself from the pain, Fran carefully wraps him in the blanket that's on the bed.
Closes up the curtains to shut out as much of the evil, spiking light as possible, and . . .
". . . do you have any medication for it?"
"Yeah. I'll-"
And she's soft and gentle.
"No."
But Francis Faye Fugleman is firm.
"Tell me and I'll get it."
And the powerful White Rhino Ranger . . .
"It's in the small zipper pocket. But it makes me sleepy so-"
. . . has no choice whatsoever . . .
"Good, . . ."
. . . but to submit.
". . . that's exactly what you need."
And she carefully digs through the bag.
-odorant, shaving kit, hairbrush, shampoo, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, aha-
And finds the packet.
A fresh bottle of water.
Methodically replaces everything just as it was before.
"Now rest. I'll be right back."
And heads off to complete part two of the Take Care of The Sickie Master Plan.
She's procured ice.
"Hielo? Er, uh, paquete de . . . hielo?"
"Si."
"Gracias."
"De nada."
Wrapped up in a cloth.
"Dom, I'm going to put this on the back of your neck for about twenty minutes. You just rest and I'll take it away when it's time, okay?"
"O-okay."
And carefully held in place in by Nurse Frannie.
Who sits as still and quiet as she can . . .
"Frannie?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Dom."
. . . on the bed next to him.
He sleeps for two hours and a half hours.
And Fran, ice pack duties completed, comfies herself in a chair by a crack in the window curtain . . .
"And sin, young man, is when you treat people like things."
. . . to pass the time reading.
It is really a wonderful book.
It's interesting to her to think she's never read it before.
Never ever heard of the author until this very trip.
"This is Morbidia," said Vlad.
And finds he is just the most delightful satirist . . .
"Although she's been calling herself Tracy lately, to be cool."
. . . she's ever read.
. . .wore their hair long like a poet who hopes that romantically flowing locks will make up for a wretched inability to find a rhyme for 'daffodil'.
And she's completely caught up so much so that . . .
"Hey."
"Oh. Dom."
. . . she almost doesn't hear his low murmur when he speaks to her.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better. Hungry."
And she places down the book quiet and pops up, already ascurry.
"I can help with that."
Because she's prepared for this in advance.
"Here."
And she's all ready.
"This will help with the migraine nausea."
Dom shifts up on one elbow, takes the banana and slowly begins to unpeel.
Through the first mouthful, he manages to speak.
"How did you know to do all this?"
She, reseated some space away to not overstimulate his migraine-sensitive senses, responds quietly.
Dropping her voice lower than her usual brittle (yes, she is aware) chatter.
"One of my roommates in Ocean Bluff gets migraines."
He nods, continues chewing.
And Fran tries . . .
"Do you know what causes them?"
. . . to keep her low murmur.
Dom shakes his head a little, seems to regret the movement.
And responds.
"No. I've had them as long as I can remember."
Even able to summon a wisp of a grin around the banana.
"Back in the academy, RJ used to tease me that it was my rhino horn trying to push through."
And they share . . .
Oh, RJ.
. . . a quiet smile between the two of them.
Fran makes him drink more water.
Makes him lay back down.
And makes him . . .
"I'll be right here if you need anything."
. . . attempt to sleep the rest of his migraine off . . .
"Don't worry about a thing."
. . . for a few more hours.
"Thank you, Frannie."
"You're welcome, Dominic."
Life can be so grand.
And when it's not, it's good to have the support you need. :)
Thanks for reading!
