Chapter 5: Sunday

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.

Italics= SpongeBob's thoughts

Underlined= Sandy's thoughts

SpongeBob put his hand back down to his side; he had to control himself to some extent. He slowly walked away from her bed, his shoes making small squeaking sounds as his feet carried him closer to the door. He looked over his shoulder one last time before leaving the room. Wondering outside to grab his karate gloves; he looked over to the last weed and walked to Sandy's front door. Kneeling down, he picked up the pair of gardening gloves that lay on the grass. Slipping one glove on each hand, though they were a bit big for him, he gripped the stem of the nasty prickle and gave a slight tug. At first nothing happened, so he re-gripped it and pulled harder. This time he felt the weed loosen its grip on the dirt. The sponge lifted his knees from the ground to give him more weight to pull with, tightened his grip and gave one almighty yank.

Blurred vision and the sun in your eyes was not a good combination to wake up to; a slight throb situated in the back of his skull. He looked around. Why was he laying near Sandy's front door? He shifted his gaze down to his hands; he was holding a big nasty looking weed. The twenty-something year old sponge quickly remembered the task he had been preforming. He assumed that he had pulled too hard on the weed, causing him to topple backwards and bump his head on the ground. He ignored the dull pain and got back to his feet, tossed the weed onto the pile opposite him and turned the door handle. He walked into the living room, peering over to the clock. It was now quarter to one; time for lunch.

SpongeBob was a bit hesitant on whether or not he should use Sandy's kitchen. He thought it was rude of him to just start using someone else's ingredients, in someone else's kitchen without asking. He debated this, but he was sure that Sandy would be thankful of him making lunch for her. It took him a while though, to find the pots and cooking utensils. He found a suitable soup pot and filled it with water. He carried the large pot over to the stove, some water sloshing out of the pot and onto the floor as he stumbled along. The sponge flicked through the pages of a cookbook he had found lying on the counter.

While the water heated up, SpongeBob started cutting up some vegetables that looked similar to the ones in the picture. He had found a suitable recipe called 'vegetable soup', perfect for helping someone get better from a common cold. He diced the carrots and put them in the bowl with the celery, potatoes and onion. He added the stock to the pot and poured the vegetables in after it. After a quick stir, the sponge went and sat down on the sofa.

The soup should be done in about 30 minutes. What should I do? He looked around and spotted a photo album resting on a shelf near her television. He got up and sauntered over the medium sized brown folder; in gold cursive writing it had 'Memories' written on the front cover. Though he felt guilty for being curious; he flipped it open slowly and looked at the first few photos. They contained Sandy at a younger age, about fifteen he guessed, standing with about three other people. He presumed the two older people to be her mother and farther; the younger child looked to be younger sibling, perhaps a brother. He flipped the page and saw more pictures of Sandy and the three other people. One was of Sandy's graduation; another of her brother's fifteenth birthday. On the next page was a picture of Sandy leaving Texas, the family looked to be crying, so did Sandy. He flipped the page and spotted a picture of him and Sandy. He remembered when she took that photo. It was the first time he had been to Sandy's tree-dome, just after she had filled his bubble helmet with water to be exact. They had finished drinking their tea; Patrick had left some time before and it was just him and Sandy. She told him to wait there as she went and fetched her camera. He was so nervous that day, he had almost died on account of his politeness and pride, but he loved that memory; the glee showing plainly on her face when he first walked in the door. He wished he could bring her many more great things to remember. I know I certainly won't be forgetting this incident any time soon.

He looked down at his watch; the soup should be just about done. He slowly lowered the delicate front cover of the leather photo album. Stepping around the couches and weaving past the counter top, he reached the stove. He turned the dial down until it was off, lifted off the heavy pot and placed it on the counter top. The steam rose out of the pot; the aroma lured him in, his mouth starting to water. It can't hurt to try a little…just a spoonful. He dipped a spoon into the liquid and sipped the warm soup. It was delicious! Sandy was absolutely going to love this soup. He gave himself a mental pat-on-the-back and grabbed the bowl sitting on the counter top. Dipping the ladle in, he drew out soup, poring it into the bowl till the adequate amount was present. He turned and leaned; opening a draw, he took out one soup spoon and put it on the tray next to the bowl and cup of tea.

He steadied the tray and started his accent up the stairs, nearly dropping the bowl twice. He, once again, managed to open Sandy's bedroom door and shut the door behind him with his foot. She looked so peaceful sleeping there, he almost wished he could just watch her sleep all day, but that would be kinda creepy. He rested the tray on the bedside table and sat near the foot end of the bed, he really didn't want to wake her up, but she had to eat if she wanted to get better… O well. Just ONE small tap…

Was he ever going to learn?

Sandy sat up right, swingy her arms around wildly. She thought someone had broken into her house, but when she looked at the cowering yellow sponge, she stopped and looked down at her bed-sheets, a small rose colour flushed onto her face.

"Sorry SpongeBob, I thought you were a burglar or some thin'. I wouldn't 'ave swung if I'd known it was you."

She looked to her left, spotting the bowl and tea. A warm feeling flushed into her chest and she felt truly thankful of her friend. He really did care for her to make her lunch. SpongeBob noticed Sandy staring at the soup and lifted the tray onto her lap. She licked her lips and lifted a spoonful of soup to her mouth, but it didn't even leave the bowl. Even with her great strength from fighting and training, she was finding it extremely hard to lift the spoon. A yellow hand lifted her fingers away gently and drew the spoon of soup nearer to her mouth. She felt like a child, having to be hand fed, but when she looked up at SpongeBob's reassuring smile, she was soon thankful instead. He fed her the soup, making sure not to drop any on her sheets. A little soup dribbled off the spoon and just under her lip. Before she could lift her hand to wipe it away, she saw a flash of yellow and could feel a something grip her chin lightly. A thumb brushed under her bottom lip, grazing it lightly caused a slight tingle to spread throughout her body. He took his time sliding his thumb but stopped and let his hand linger there. Redirecting his gaze, his bright blue irises met the brown one staring at him. They held the stare a few moments until SpongeBob realized he had crossed a boundary and was invading her personal space.

He drew his hand back, as if her chin was acid. Muttering some sort of apology, he wiped his thumb on his pants. He stood up and asked Sandy if it was alright for him to sleep on the couch tonight as he was worried about her. She nodded, telling him where he could find the blankets. He retreated out of the room. This was definitely going to be one complicated situation, and he had a bad feeling about tomorrow…

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