-7-

It would go to say that Chucky was always miserable, but today, he was especially in that sort of state. He woke up that morning in all sorts of chills and was hot all at the same time, and his head was pounding as if he were extremely dizzy. He cursed silently to himself, thinking that he should have known that his immune system had begun to fail him- his recent hurricane of emotions was usually a sign that he was physically becoming ill. Shamefully (at least to himself, no one else would really point any sort of fingers), he was prone to becoming more vulnerable to these sorts of things when he fell sick.

His throat was burning; he swallowed thickly before feeling the most aggravating spasm in his nose and he rubbed at it and his body was merciful enough to let him sneeze.

"God…!" his foul string of words were cut off with yet another sneeze, and it prompted a series of coughs to follow soon after. He shivered and pulled the sheets around him, even as he sat up to try and pretend that he wasn't so suddenly uncomfortable. In hindsight, perhaps he shouldn't have gone outside the other day when it had been snowing so hard.

"I blame you, Andy Barclay," he muttered to no one in particular, seeing as Andy had been gone at work already for quite some time now. He rubbed his now running nose in frustration, and almost wiped his dirty hand off on the covers, but stopped himself just in time to realize that it could be him touching that later on.

What was one supposed to do when they got sick? He didn't actually have a real clue. He knew you were supposed to have tea and stay warm- but were you only supposed to eat soup, or could you still have other things? He didn't particularly know, and it frustrated him even more so, and he sneezed again irritably.

He groaned and rolled out of the bed onto the cold floor, bare feet sorely hating him for it, I'd say. He was a rather pretentious sort, and he liked to believe that nothing could bother him all too much.

Unfortunately, it seemed life wanted to put upon him a hard lesson, as he felt the disequilibrium take over and he held onto the covers in a solid grip of support. A string of curses flew out of his mouth.

Stumbling into the kitchen proved to be a feat, and he felt very proud of himself for making it, gloating to himself as if he'd just won a marathon. Now to find the tea…

He absolutely detested being short. And when I say detested, I mean truly hated the fact that he was so inconvenienced by his lack of height. He would always complain about it to Andy, and believe me, when I'm around, he often would expostulate on the subject to me.

Not really much of my concern- he should really just come off it and find some sort of peace in who he is now- but I suppose that will take some time.

But to be getting back to the subject, it was one of those times where he absolutely wished he wasn't so very small. I suppose it was something that was hard to become accustomed to because once upon a time, he could reach cabinets and tear tea packets with no struggle. Climbing off the bed wasn't something that happened with him- he would just simply slide off and hit the floor. There was a time he'd felt invincible.

And now, here he was, scraping an old wooden chair across linoleum, and all to get one tea packet. He sneezed loudly and groaned.

It didn't help that he used to be able to just take-and-toss relationships, and now he was here, stuck in this confusion of how he felt here with the young man who had taken him in, despite all they'd been through.

He was contemplating it now, as he brewed the tea, an introspective sort of scowl on his face.

There was the simple problem, at the root of it all, that he didn't even feel worthy of holding Andy's friendship. In his mind, he'd already severed that bond years ago, when he'd manipulated the boy and taken his trusting heart and crushed it. So he'd thought- because here we are, with Andy still picking him up and telling him I love you as if not a day had gone by since they'd first met.

Speaking of which, he felt so inferior when Andy picked him up. It wasn't as if he truly hated it, as much as he voiced it so. It was more of the fact that he felt as if by now, he should be the one holding Andy and taking care of him. Not the other way around. Being the size he was made him feel like he couldn't do much of anything at all, and he absolutely hated that.

It was a pride issue; I think I've well elaborated the fact that our dearest ex-convict here had an issue with that quality. A dominant personality having to conform into a more submissive sort of life.

He sneezed yet again, and nearly fell down the chair looking for a tissue box, which proved to be another feat of its own.

By the time Andy had returned from work, he had retreated to the couch and was sitting there quite sullenly, curled up and self-wallowing in pity for his tragic state physically and emotionally.

"I'm home!" Andy called out cheerily, not quite yet noticing the lifeless lump on the couch. He would in a moment.

"Shut the fuck up, your voice is hurting my ears," Chucky snapped at him. Andy jumped in surprise. "Why, Chucky!" he exclaimed. He took off his coat and cantered on over to the couch's arm to lean over and get a better look at what was in front of him. "You look awful."

"Yeah? Well at least it's just today," the doll bit back, blue eyes sparkling angrily. "Imagine what it'd be like looking like you every day."

Andy laughed softly, a sign that he knew to not tease for too much longer. He leaned over to feel the doll's forehead, much to his dismay. "You're hot."

"Thanks, I know," Chucky retorted. "I knew you kept me around for some reason." He was going to continue, but another sudden horrid sneeze interrupted him and sounded all sorts of pitiful. The look on Andy's face made his scowl grow.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that!" he protested. "You do realize I just have a damn cold, right?" He shoved Andy's hands away, muttering something along the lines of if you were sick you wouldn't let me fuss over you either, you stupid idiot.

Andy sighed and shook his head. "Alright, alright, I get it," he surrendered, taking his hands away. He sat back and gazed at him for a moment before seemingly brushing whatever worries he'd had off. "Just- at least let me make you something to eat, okay?"

There would have been a sort of argument, but a sudden loud sneeze caught the both of them off guard before Andy headed into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder about options for dinner.