A fun little story with characters belonging to Miss. Salina
and myself.
and myself.
“AAAAACHOOOOO!”
A large pile of used tissues fly through the air as the lump curled in the middle of a bed gives a loud sniffle.
“New 'obby?” A smooth voice asks in a rough cockney accent.
The lump shifts as a messy array of spiked pink hair appears from under the covers long enough for watery brown eyes to glance at the smirking man standing in the doorway, a glowing paragon of undead health.
“Mm’sick Blaise,” the lump grumbles pulling the blanket over his head.
“That why you haven’t been round lately, Hawkeye?”
Crossing the room in three steps Blaise plops on the bed next to his queasy companion. Hawkeye rolls away, mumbling incoherently, trying to pull the covers closer. His efforts wasted as the blankets catch under the other man’s weight.
“Get off,” Hawkeye orders, staring owlishly out of his comforter cocoon.
“Can’t,” Blaise says brightly, folding his arms behind his head.
A sharp tug.
“I’m cold.”
Frowning in mock sympathy the blonde shakes his head.
“How sad for you.”
“Ngh. Stop it, I’m sick,” Hawkeye growls, kicking at Blaise.
Grinning, Blaise chuckles, delighted, “My heart bleeds for you, really. Absolutely terrible.”
“Bllllaaaiiiissse,” a wailing whine of frustration.
“Yeeees?” Comes the singsong reply.
“Would you get—huaghk,” Hawkeye starts, cut off as his lungs contract in a round of bone shattering coughs.
Blaise’s grin fades at the sound of the wet hacking rattle in his friend’s chest.
“All right?” He asks after a moment, sapphire eyes dark with concern.
“Yeah,” Hawkeye wheezes.
“Good.”
Quiet as they lounge side by side, half curled towards each other, punctuated by the sound of Hawkeye’s breathing slowly calming.
“Where’s your wife?” Blaise asks softly, noticing the hollow hush in the rest of the apartment.
“She got an emergency call from people in need of a psychic.”
“And Stephanie?”
“Helping Maren.”
“You’re all alone?”
“Eh,” a shrug. “Maren made me soup.”
“That’s nice.”
Minutes pass in a comfortable lull as Blaise smokes and Hawkeye blows his nose.
“I missed you,” Blaise mutters dropping his cigarette butt in an empty teacup. “It’s not the same without you around.”
“Awww, it’s nice to know I’m appreciated,” Hawkeye says with a beaming smile.
“Yeah, well, the girls aren’t half as much fun to pick on, and they hit really bloody hard,” he replies, tone semi-petulant.
“Ah,” a roll of the eyes, “that miserable without me, huh?”
A grin as Blaise stands, stretching with a loud pop.
“What’s a bloke to do without ‘is best mate?”
“Recover,” Hawkeye replies, snickering.
“Well, you’re in luck, mate, ‘cause I’m gonna nurse you back to health.”
“Uhhh,” Hawkeye begins warily, watching Blaise come around the bed, “you don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to get sick.”
“That’s why I’m the perfect one to help you,” Blaise purrs, grinning wickedly, “I can’t get sick.”
Evening as Maren and Stephanie enter the dark apartment after a successful exorcism and a trip to the grocery store.
“Hawkeye, we’re home,” Maren calls out walking towards their bedroom. “I got jell-o with fruit in it like you wanted.”
“Is he feeling better?” Stephanie asks minutes later, putting away groceries as Maren walks into the kitchen.
“He wasn’t in the bedroom.”
The women exchange a look as low voices are heard from the living room. They stop in the doorway, not bothering with the lights as the glow of cartoons from the TV illuminates the room. Strewn across the coffee table are used tissues, a half-eaten bowl of soup, and a bag of mini marshmallows. Sitting on the couch, feet propped up, are Blaise and Hawkeye, both sound asleep. Blaise’s arms and head rest along the back of the couch, mouth wide as he snores like a jackhammer. Hawkeye leans against Blaise, head against his shoulder, a thick trickle of drool dribbling down his chin to soak lovingly into the other man’s shirt.
Stifling giggles Maren and Stephanie leave them to rest, certain that Hawkeye is feeling better if the marshmallows wedged in Blaise’s nose are anything to go by.
