Prompt by curvingaway
It was just after eleven that morning when his cell phone began to ring. Berger sat across from him, attacking an article with her red pen and looked up briefly before going back to her editing, smirking slightly. Neither of them needed to look at the caller ID to know who was calling.
"Yep."
"Help."
"With what?"
"I've fallen and can't get up."
He pulled the phone away from his ear when a loud hacking noise filled the speaker. "And you sound horrible to boot."
"I feel like I'm drowning and freezing and dying all at the same time," she said, sounding comical rather than threatening with her stuffed nose, "Now shut up and come over here."
"Where is 'here?'"
"Where do you think? My apartment!"
"Is it an emergency or are you just being lazy?"
"Mikael…" She started to whine.
"Lazy I see." Mikael leaned back in his chair. He knew he gave in too easily where ever Lisbeth was concerned, but he didn't feel up to listening to whatever sound of pleading she was making now. "Fine."
"Stop at 7-11 on the way over?"
"I am not buying you cigarettes." He checked his watch. Hopefully he could be back in half an hour. "Be there in ten minutes."
Berger didn't look up from her work as he stood and walked around the desk to grab his jacket off the sofa. "Where are you off to?"
"Early lunch break," he said, brushing a hand lightly over her shoulders, "Back in a bit."
—-
Lisbeth must have dozed off moments after they'd hung up. The next thing she knew, two large arms wrapped around her midsection, lifting her back up onto the leather couch she'd managed to slip off of during her fevered thrashing.
She looked up with half open eyes to see Blomkvist dragging a blanket across her frame, softly chastising her. "You called me just so you could have me drag you back up onto the couch?"
"And stop at 7-11." She half-heartedly pouted, already turning her face into the warmth of one of the pillows she'd dragged out of the bedroom earlier that morning.
"I told you I wasn't going buying you cigarettes. Get over it."
"You negativity isn't helping my head."
"Sorry buttercup." Yeah right, she thought, pulling her quilt over her head.
He started scrapping all the used tissues off the coffee table into a fresh wastebasket when he noticed something odd. "Why aren't you on your laptop working?"
"The light's too bright and the screen's too big. The Egyptians are just going to have to deal with not having Facebook for a week."
"What?"
"Nothing," She said, dragging a sweaty hand across her face. She did notjust say that to practical pig Kalle Blomkvist. "Don't listen to me. Totally sick. Hallucinating. Can you make coffee?" And completely forget what I just said.
The last thing she needed right now was him poking around in her job. Again. Like the time he tried to use a butter knife to open her office door. Or when he erased her computer after maxing out her passord attempts to open her work files. For the most part he gave up after she booby-trapped her filling cabinet with one of those purple dye packs that they put in money bags, but since then she'd become her own worst enemy, occasionally slipping info about her latest projects or assignments.
Another massive quilt flew her way from the general direction of the linen closet that she snatched up gratefully. Blomkvist stood at the arm of the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're not very good at this sick thing. Tea or water? No coffee."
She found herself groaning something unintelligible into the quilt before yelling 'tea,' not sure where in the apartment he'd disappeared to. "This is worse than the fucking swine flu last year."
"I hope you can keep it to yourself this time," he said, placing a mug on the now tissue-free coffee table, scooted it towards the couch another foot just so he wouldn't get a call fifteen minutes later for another rescue up off the floor. "Can I go back to work now or do you need me to fluff your pillow for you, too?"
"Oh, can you do that for me?"
Blomkvist snorted and got up from where he sat on the arm of the couch.Guess that was a no. Damn.
"I think you're still hallucinating if you think I'm your slave every time you're sick," he said, walking around the couch to brush a strand of hair off her clammy forehead. "I'll swing by after work with food. Call Miriam if you want to contaminate anyone else in the meantime."