The following two weeks were sent from hell, they were sure.
It started with Kevin calling in sick, then continued when whatever he had also infected three more members of his team. The remaining kitchen staff was reassigned and ended up spread pretty thin, and Boone even thinner. It wasn't just that he was now the sole chef in the kitchen, but also that he had to attend every single function at which actual on-site cooking took place. He was praying that nothing would befall any one else, because he really didn't know what he would do in that case. Terry even cut classes for a few days as the week drew to a close, something Boone definitely didn't approve of. He backed off when the kid told him he'd discussed the entire situation with his teachers and had been given grudging approval, providing he didn't fall behind with his assignments. Their willingness to let him help out was augmented by the fact that Terry had filled his favourite professors in about his accelerated future plans, and Boone's hand in them. If his mentor needed his assistance this badly, then they couldn't really see themselves denying the newly designated philanthropist a bit of the kids' time.
Lucy was positive she was going to see a grown man cry when one of them dropped an entire tray of seafood lasagne while removing it from the oven. But Boone just closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, bracing himself on his shaking forearms, fighting to compose himself. True to his nature, while the horrified girl babbled frantic apologies, he reassured her that everything was going to be okay, he wasn't mad; then he set her to making a replacement, assigning someone else to clean up the mess, knowing she'd feel better if she contributed to the solution.
At the beginning of the second week, Karma reared its' ugly head again and kicked them firmly in the ass once more.
The three staff members reported back to work, but when nine o'clock turned into ten o'clock and there was no Kevin, Boone started to panic. The call finally came at eleven, and the news was bad enough that Margie actually came to fetch him, wanting him to take the call in his office, personally.
A shattered sounding Kevin informed his boss that his aunt had died, completely unexpectedly, a stroke claiming her without warning. He had to go back east, and wouldn't be to work that week at all. Any thought of the impact this news was going to have on him didn't even enter Boone's head as he expressed his most heartfelt condolences. As he passed by Margie's desk he gave her a slip of paper with the woman's name on it, instructing her to find out the details, and make a donation in the name of the company, and another from himself, Shannon and Andrew.
Stumbling into Shannon's office, he collapsed onto her couch in exhaustion, as the full repercussions hit him, and told her about the call. Margie had already relayed to her that Kevin was on the phone with Boone, and it didn't sound good, but she didn't know the full details. Shannon sat beside him and rubbed his back, lines of worry creasing her forehead. He'd worked the previous two weekends and was on day twelve of uninterrupted toil. They were back to full staff, so that was going to make things considerably easier, but unfortunately they were fully booked for every night, with two events on Friday. She wasn't sure how he was going to manage that one, but had faith in him, as always, that he'd make things right.
That night he didn't even make it home. On arriving at the office in the early morning, she found him curled up on the extended sofa bed in her office, still fully dressed in his clothes from the night before, including his shoes. She removed them gently, though knowing that the chances of waking him were slim; then softly closed the door, wanting to leave him sleeping as long as she possibly could. She was seriously starting to become concerned about his mental state as well, knowing that fatigue could exacerbate his chronic condition and send him pelting pell mell into a full fledged depression, though they were kind of out of options.
He groggily meandered into his office about a half an hour later, looking a little glassy eyed and bewildered as he surveyed the litter of crap that she'd strewn about his desk top as she'd made herself at home in his Spartan work space.
"Tea?" His request was one word only; it seemed to be all that he could manage as he shuffled past her and into the bathroom. She heard the shower start up a few seconds later, and buzzed Margie on the intercom, requesting a tray of his favourite hot beverage and some food for his breakfast.
He emerged a little later, dressed in the change of clothes she'd brought from home and laid out for him on the counter, looking a hell of a lot better. Boone fell on the food and drink, wolfing them down with abandon. She kissed him goodbye as she left for a round of client meetings, a satisfied smile on her face at the sight of his empty plate. At least he was eating, she thought.
It was mid afternoon when the next catastrophe struck.
One of the girls was opening cans of Italian plum tomatoes, intended for the mole sauce Boone was making for a Mexican inspired meal. She was on her third can and had the serrated edges of the lid in her fingers, intending to fold it in half, as she had all the others. This time though, the sharply jagged metal sliced cleanly through her thumb and first two fingers. Her shock was so complete, that even with his back turned to her, Boones heightened senses picked up on it immediately.
He turned instantly, and sized up the situation. The blood was flowing in a most alarming rate from her damaged hand. He heard a thump as, quite stereotypically, the burliest guy on his kitchen staff slumped to the floor in a faint at the sight of the blood.
With a practised flick of his wrist, he sent his knife to become imbedded point first in his cutting board; then turned to the girl. He grabbed the fingers of the injured hand in both of his and squeezed his fingers around them firmly, thanking Jack and Sun most thoroughly for the first aid training they'd given him during his convalescence. Ordering someone to go and fetch the first aid kit he turned back to the girl, and brought her hand up to cradle it against his chest. She was staring at the blood seeping through his fingers in horror.
"You think I'm good looking?" Boone asked conversationally. "Cause, I mean, I've been told that I am. I don't see it, but what do you think?"
He received the desired effect as her eyes came up to his face, ceasing their terrified staring at her injury as she bled on his shirt.
He kept her focus redirected, chatting a bit uncomfortably about his looks as he successfully performed first aid with the supplies in the provided kit. Finishing his rudimentary patch job by securing her right wrist high up on her left shoulder, well above her heart, he sent her on her way to the hospital, getting another employee to drive her. During the procedure someone had managed to wake fainting beauty up, and had him sitting on a chair with his head between his knees. Seeing that all appeared to be under control, Boone gave them all a set of instructions, put Lucy in charge, and left to clean himself up.
He gave Margie a shake of his head as he passed her desk, clearing wondering what was next. Unbeknownst to him, he wasn't going to have to wait long to find out.
Flipping the light switch in his office bathroom, the room illuminated briefly; then with a slight pop plunged back into darkness. Cursing loudly, he crossed to the vanity knowing that was where the supply of replacement bulbs was kept and fished around in the cabinet. There was enough light coming in through the open door to the outer office that he could see dimly. Not being tall enough to reach the light fixture and not wanting to drag in one of his guest chairs to stand on, even Boone wasn't enough of a doofus to stand on his rolling desk chair, he clambered up to kneel on the vanity and changed out the spent bulb. Light restored, he slid backwards off the counter.
Unfortunately on the way down, the cupboard door handle snagged up under the cuff of his right pant leg, but the speed of his decent and gravity didn't give him the opportunity to free it. He tumbled to the floor, his left ankle twisted painfully underneath him, his right leg still hanging suspended from the I-shaped handle.
For a moment he just lay on the floor, frustration, embarrassment and anger with himself overcoming him briefly, before he sorted out his jumble of limbs and struggled to his feet. When he tried to put his weight on his left foot however, pain shot up his leg and he almost fell again. The string of epithets started out quietly and grew in volume as Boone got wound up, some of the words he used would have made a sailor blush. Down the corridor at her desk, Margie could only hear a muffled and lengthy bellow. Thinking that he was just frustrated with the situation and not hurt, though given his track record she probably should have know better, she didn't bother to go and check on him.
Once he got his emotions under control he regarded his reflection in the mirror and considered his alternatives. He was sure the ankle was just sprained and not broken; his natural clumsiness had exposed him to more than his fair share of broken bones as well as sprains so he was reasonably sure he could tell the difference. While he balanced on one leg and leaned against the counter for stability, he pulled his blood soaked t-shirt over his head, managing to get more of the substance smeared on his face and stuck in his hair. Boone ground his teeth in the realization that a full shower was now a necessity, instead of the quick wash up he'd planned, and somehow awkwardly accomplished the task without any further incident. On completion, it only took a quick scan of the bathroom for him to drop his forehead to his hand. In yet another moment of stupidity, prior to his shower, he'd neglected to retrieve anything to wear. He reached for the jeans he'd been wearing, but they had blood on them too, the girl had bled like a stuck pig, and far more than he'd realized. With a towel wrapped securely around his waist, praying to the island that no one would enter his office or walk past in the hallway and see him, he crawled on his hands and knees out to the closet to get his last set of clean clothes, and returned to the bathroom to dress.
He was now faced with the problem of mobility. Kneeling with his left leg on his desk chair, he experimented with pushing himself around the office. Realizing almost immediately that, while in principle the idea would work, the chair itself was far too large for practicality, Boone headed out the door and down the hall. Once he reached his intended destination, their startled accounting clerk was quickly upgraded to his large leather executive chair, as her far less cumbersome operators model became the stand in for his left shin.
As he headed back for his kitchen, Margie heard the rattle and look up in astonishment as he passed her desk, shaking his head again and daring her to ask what the hell he was up to.
"I wouldn't even think of it." She held her hands up, reading his expression.
Shannon's mirth knew no bounds as she stood in front of him in his workspace on her return. "Boone what have I told you about trying to walk and chew gum at the same time?" She commented then wrung the truth out of him, pronouncing it even funnier than what she'd said.
Still chortling to herself she left for home to retrieve his old cane for him, and a couple of tensor bandages.
He thanked his lucky stars when the rest of the day passed without any stabbings, drownings or blunt force trauma incidents occurring.
Boone stopped briefly in Shannon's office to kiss her goodbye as he wearily left for that night's event, the handle of the hated cane gripped securely in his hand. He wondered at the slightly smug expression on her face when she told him she'd be seeing him in a bit. Maybe she was going to stop by the venue later, he assumed, she sometimes did that.
When he got in his car he came to a sudden realization and the minimal satisfaction he'd had earlier in the day over injuring his left leg this time and not his right dissipated with his growing awareness. He couldn't drive. The pressure required to depress the clutch fully, caused more pain than he could stomach. If it had been his right ankle, he could probably have managed the much less force it took to work the gas and the brake, but there was no way for the third pedal. In a sudden fit reminiscent of a "terrible-two's" tt, he raised his fists and pounded on the wheel in frustration, his head lowered. Clenching his jaw and breathing deeply, he caught a movement in his peripheral vision off to his right. Turning his head he was met with the unwelcome image of Shannon leaning back against her drivers' door, laughing hysterically at him for the second time that day.
He ground his teeth and pushed the button for the passenger window. "Laugh it up Chuckles," he spat.
"Aw, is poor widdle Boonie having a hissy?" She asked, as if speaking to an enraged toddler, when she had her giggles under control.
"Piss off," he retorted, his anger slowly giving way to chagrin as an embarrassed flush crept over his cheeks.
"You finally figured out that you can't drive, didn't you?" She questioned knowingly, clearly having come to that conclusion some time prior.
He nodded, now completely mortified, and dreading the mileage she was going to get out of this one, the reason for her smug smile earlier dawning on him.
She read the realization on his face, "Why the hell do you think I followed you out here, once I knew you were far enough ahead that you wouldn't see me?" She'd eagerly awaited his reaction and had wanted to observe it unnoticed. "Come on, I'll drive you."
Boone hobbled over to the passenger side of her car, and climbed in wishing that a fault line would open under Shannon's feet and swallow her, her laughter really starting to grate on his very last nerve.
At the site of the event, after securing a promise from one of the guys to drive her incapable husband home after the party she left him behind his grill, once again kneeling one legged on a chair. At least this way, she'd be sure he'd actually come home that night. It might be the only silver lining to this day she reflected.