Eggnog
...
Wednesday 5th December
On reflection, Grace grimly and rather desperately thinks, she really should have known better than to ask why, exactly, Kat was grinning quite so enthusiastically when they all arrived for work this morning.
…
"I made Eggnog last night," Kat explains eagerly, pulling a sealed jug out of her bag and holding it up while the rest of them look on with expressions ranging from mild disgust through to curious interest.
"Revolting stuff," Spence immediately declares before walking off to get the morning coffee started.
"It's a bit of a strange colour, isn't it?" Eve points out, leaning in for a closer examination. Kat shrugs, unconcerned, and sets her prize down on the nearest desk.
"It's dairy-free. I made it with soymilk, almond milk, pasteurised eggs, cinnamon and nutmeg. Oh, and rum! Possibly slightly more than a splash of brandy, too."
"Interesting," offers Grace diplomatically, determined not to voice her thoughts on the relatively questionable list of ingredients.
"Nutmeg and cinnamon?" asks Eve, clearly doubtful, but still not totally deterred. There is, thinks Grace, such a thing as too much scientific curiosity. But, still inherently inquisitive, Eve continues to dissect the recipe.
"Rum and brandy? Isn't that a little much?" She's wonderfully frank, is Eve. No qualms whatsoever about dressing up her concerns. Grace looks up at Boyd, sees him shake his head at her behind Kat's back. Clearly his thoughts are running firmly in the same direction as hers.
"Not at all, it's wonderful!" grins Kat. "I make it every year for my family, and I brought plenty with me, so you can all try it too." Turning to Boyd, she produces a collection of plastic cups, also from the depths of her bag. "Would you like some, sir?"
Suppressing a grin, Grace watches with a good deal of amusement as he flounders – just for a moment – for the right response, evidently not quite ready to deal with the thought of such an assault on his taste buds quite so early in the day.
"Later, Kat. We'll try it later. I haven't even had a decent cup of coffee yet."
…
And as she clutches the edge of the lab sink and heaves once again, Grace can't help wishing that later had never come along. That Boyd had bluntly told Kat where to take her concoction and that Eve wasn't quite so open-minded and inquiring. It's no consolation either that beside her, Eve is clutching the waste paper basket that normally lives at the foot of the desk, knuckles stark white and clenched in a death grip, her face hidden from view as she too suffers the violent and unquestionably disgusting after-effects.
Her legs are trembling, and Grace leans heavily on the sink, turning the cold tap on and cupping water in her palms to rinse her mouth out. It's an effort to hold her hands steady enough to sip the water and most of it splashes away into the depths of the drain. She's shivering intensely too, and so, she discovers, when she risks a sideways glance, is Eve.
Eve looks up from the bin and her expression is every bit as pitiful as Grace feels. Her sleek, elegant hair is defiantly escaping from its immaculate braid in wispy, sweaty, rebellious tendrils. Her face is flushed and her eyes are dull with that grim despair of uncontrollable sickness. She looks every bit as bad as Grace suspects she herself does.
"I'm going to kill her," Eve whispers hoarsely. In response, Grace turns quickly and desperately back to the sink.
As promised, it really didn't taste that bad. Not quite pleasant, but not horrible enough that they were willing to risk hurting Kat's feelings by refusing to finish the generous measures she poured out for each of them, with the exception of Spencer, who whether in wisdom or just better taste, flatly refused even the tiniest of sips.
But now, sitting side by side on stools and half lying across the empty lab table, faces pressed to the cool, solid surface, they are both feeling entirely indifferent toward those feelings. Behind them a pneumatic whoosh of air heralds a new arrival; neither of them so much as attempts to look up and see who it is.
"Grace? Eve?" croaks a familiar voice. Eve manages a vague moan of acknowledgement. Grace doesn't even try. Boyd staggers over to the table; he grips the edge, swaying slightly on his feet. There's a light sheen of sweat visible on his brow, his shirt is untucked and his sleeves are haphazardly rolled up.
Grace screws her eyes tightly shut and takes a long, steadying breath.
"Where is she?" she rasps.
"Out with Spence, interviewing Jonas," he replies darkly, and promptly lets out a miserable groan as his inside twist and churn horribly.
"How long until this day is over?" Eve mumbles, one hand clutching her stomach, the other pressed determinedly against her pounding temple.
"It's over now," Boyd tells her, decisively. "I called a cab; let's go."
…
Eve is feeling far too wretched as she gathers her things to notice the way he gently peels Grace off the lab table and helps her to her feet. Everything is hazy enough as they gather coats and bags and stagger out of the building to wait that the way the two of them are clinging rather desperately to each other doesn't really register. Especially since she is leaning just as much on Boyd as he is on her as the three of them stand huddled together, effectively propping each other up in the dark frosty chill of late afternoon.
The cold air seems to help a little though, because when the promised taxi finally arrives, she really can't help but notice that he immediately gives her address to the driver, rather than his or Grace's. Even in her sickness induced state of abject gloom, she can't fail to find that interesting. Neither can she fail to be intrigued by the way Grace slides into him as the vehicle rounds a corner and gravity exerts its forces. Slides into him, and stays.
Grace leans against his shoulder, hands pressed tightly to her face and Boyd simply wraps an arm around her, eyes firmly closed, head reclined back in his misery. It's an automatic movement. The sort of thing that established, familiar couples do. Slumped in her seat opposite them Eve smiles, feeling just the tiniest bit better.