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perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

Note

I am formally here to request 💊📎 for Shmolly? ~KB

Thanks, KB!

Prompts:

💊 coughs & colds

📎 working through the holidays

Fandom/OCs: Shane & Molly

Title: Let Your Heart Be Light

Words: 1445

Inspiration: Read an answered ask about more of Shane & Molly's backstories here

Author’s comments: Shane and Molly finally told me how they met! And why they haven't let me write a Christmas fic for them yet 😉 Because they met while working on Christmas Day! Here's the story:

Even on Christmas Day, the ER was busy, and that was just fine with RN Molly. That was why she had picked up this shift, after all, because she needed to be busy. Holidays had not gotten one bit easier in the ten years since her dad died, and rather than mope around home, she wanted to keep her mind occupied. For her, working the ER was the perfect way to spend the holidays.

The wintry weather and holiday stress had apparently hit their city with a vengeance, because it seemed like all the patients they were seeing had coughs and colds on top of whatever else they had come in for. Molly was thankful for her mask and gloves even more than usual as people sniffled and coughed on or around her, but the risk of contagion here was the definition of an occupational hazard.

Things were going smoothly overall, though. The competent senior residents running the ER today had things well in hand. She hadn't really gotten to know any of the residents well yet, having just started here a month or so ago, but she knew many of them on sight. Today's docs were bitchy brunette, skyscraper with glasses, and blond jock. Of course she made sure to refer to them as doctors Schmidt, Del Rosa, and Mitchell when talking to the patients. Whatever their names were, they had been trained well and were running a tight ship, and that was all that mattered in the ER.

Time moved quickly, and before Molly knew it, ten of the twelve hours in her shift had passed. Around the ten hour mark she seized the opportunity to make a supply run, wanting to get a bit of a breather, and took a shortcut through the hospital's back hallways to the storage closets. As she walked past an inconspicuous door, she was startled to a stop at the sound of a series of wet sneezes coming from behind it. She backed up a few paces, her curiosity getting the better of her, and hesitantly knocked.

"Umb… cumb ind?" came a croaking voice from within.

Molly pulled the door open to reveal “blond jock” doctor, red-faced and watery-eyed, holding a tissue to his nose. He gave her an awkward wave.

"Oh, Doctor Mitchell! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… barge in, I guess. I just wanted to make sure you weren't a rogue patient or something."

"Ndo, ndo, you had every right to chegck. Idt's pretty stupid to be hidi'g ind a closet sndeezi'g. Seemed like the best place adt the time, though."

With a final gurgling nose blow, he shoved the tissue in his pocket and stepped out, applying hand sanitizer immediately from the nearby station, giving her a sheepish smile. "Sorry you had to see thadt ndastiness."

She couldn't help but laugh a little. "It's okay. I have a hunch it was more unpleasant for you."

"Just mbaybe." He laughed too, then sighed, which turned into a pitiful cough. "Ugh. Sorry again. I can't waidt for this shift to be over. Usually I love the ER, budt nodt today."

"I can see why. Looks like the doctor has become the patient."

He groaned good-naturedly. "I guess you can only gedt sndeezed on so mbany times before idt's you doi'g the sndeezi'g. Idt's so embarrassi'g. Everyone is either grossed oudt or teasi'g mbe."

"Well hopefully you can go home and rest for a few days when you’re done here," she said, taking a few steps in the direction she was originally heading before he had sidetracked her. Dr. Mitchell was cute, but it was weird to be making small talk with the doctor in the hallway when they both had patients to see.

"Yeah, I wish I could. Thadt would be ndice." A miserable look crossed his face, and for a second he looked so boyish and forlorn that Molly's heart went out to him.

"Can I… at least get you a coffee or something, doctor? I know how much it sucks being sick at work."

"I would actually really appreciate thadt. Kinda starti'g to feel like I've been hidt by a trugck, and I've still godt two hours to go," he croaked.

"Hey, I'm off at 8 as well." She didn't know why she said that, and wanted to clap a hand over her mouth immediately. She wasn't in the habit of letting strangers know her work schedule, even if they were physicians. She was apparently way too comfortable with Dr. Mitchell already. She quickly spoke again, not giving him the chance to respond. "I guess I didn't know residents had similar schedules to nurses. But anyway, let me finish what I was doing, then I'll go get you that coffee. I'll meet you at the nurses' station with it."

"Yeah, I suppose a rendezvous here at the closet would be a little weird," the sick doctor agreed, his eyes twinkling in merriment.

Molly snorted out a laugh at the unexpected joke. So he was cute and funny, then. "Yes, exactly," she said. "Like I said, I'll be back as soon as I can." She turned and began to stride down the hallway at last.

"Thangk you so mbuch, Molly," she heard him say behind her. She almost turned at the sound of her name. She didn't expect him to know her name, since she knew full well her badge was hidden under the fleece jacket she was wearing. Residents never remember nurses' names, especially not float nurses.

Molly finished her errand at last, checked to ensure all was well on the floor, then clocked out for her overdue break, getting in line at the coffee stand immediately. Thankfully the wait was short, and in no time she had two coffees in hand and was scurrying back to the nurses' station.

Dr. Mitchell was not there waiting for her, and it took some doing to track him down as he had apparently jumped back into the flow of work. However, she at last caught his eye as he was hurrying past and beckoned him over. He took the proffered cup with earnest gratitude, taking a long pull immediately. His eyes lit up as he tasted it.

"Carambel mbocha?" he said. "How did you know I love that flavor?"

"You look like a caramel mocha guy, what can I say?" she laughed. "I worked as a barista for years. I know how to pair a customer with the right coffee."

"Incredible," he shook his head. "We jusdt mbet and you're already readi'g mbe like a boogk. What do I owe you for the coffee?"

"Some people are easier to read than others," she laughed again. "And the coffee is on me. Just pay it forward and do something kind for another nurse when you're feeling better."

"Deal," he said with a tired smile, swiping under his nose with a tissue, then taking another drink.

Molly eyed him in her periphery as she sipped her own drink. She guessed they were very close to the same age, though he looked older tonight with his tired eyes and messy hair. He had the physique of a long-time athlete and the brain and (someday) wallet of a doctor, with kindness and humor as an added bonus. A desirable catch by any standard. She wondered what his girlfriend or wife was like.

They sipped in companionable silence for a bit longer. When he had downed about half his coffee, he turned to catch her eye. "I should get bagck to idt. Thangk you again, Molly. I really ndeeded this. Hopefully I can return the favor someday."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not holding my breath. This isn't my usual department, you know that. You probably won't even see me again before your program ends."

He quirked an eyebrow, smirking. "I guess we'll jusdt have to see. Budt either way, have a good resdt of your shifdt if I don't see you again tonight."

"Same to you, doctor."

"Idt's Shane, please. Since you're apparently a coffee mbind-reader, you should at least call mbe somethi'g besides doctor," he said, stifling a cough, but still smiling.

She smiled too. "Same to you then, Shane. I hope your cold gets better soon."

"Thangk you. I hope so too." With that he walked away, and Molly couldn't help but watch him go. What a strange night this had been. Did flirting with hot doctors count as Christmas miracles? In someone's world probably. Certainly not in hers. It did break up the dull routine, though.

Her break was nearly over, so she downed the rest of her coffee and made her way to the time clock, humming along with the music overhead as it played "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas."

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

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@sicktember Prompt # 20: Doctor Visit/Checkup

Title: The Best Medicine

Fandom: N/A

Based on this post by me. (Sick doctor)

A physician leaves work miserably sick. His RN girlfriend takes care of him.

(Author’s Note: This breaks the rule I set of less than 2k words but I wrote it before I decided to do this challenge and thought it worked well here. I just needed a sick doctor having PE performed on them ok 😅)

Due to the fact that it was 6:30 AM and she was still more asleep than awake, it took her a while to realize the man she was dating was standing behind her as she waited in line for coffee. However, in her defense, she had never seen him in this coffee line at this time of day before (and she herself was here at this time every day).

It wasn’t until she heard a familiar, sniffly yawning noise that she turned and caught his eye.

“Shane? What are you doing here? You’re usually sleeping right now.” She didn’t go to greet him right away, mainly because she didn’t want to lose her place in line, and only two people stood between her and caffeination.

He too looked startled, though happy to see her. “Molly, hey,” he said. There was a squeaky rasp to his voice and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Had an early meeting that got cancelled at the last minute. Since I was already awake, figured I’d come into the office early and clear out my inboxes.”

“Gotcha. Well cool, that means I get to treat you to coffee for once. You find a place to sit and I’ll get the drinks.”

He shot her a grateful look and stepped out of line.

Molly ordered, received, and paid for the coffees quickly, tipping generously, before going to join Shane. He kissed her on the cheek as he took his cup, and they shared a warm smile as they made their way to a little sitting area, sharing a bench against the wall.

“Kathy’s coffee is the best in the hospital. You’ll love this.”

“So you’ve told me many times. I’m glad I finally get to try it. What did you get me?”

“A surprise. You’ll like it, trust me.”

“Cheers, then.” With another smile, they tapped their cups together before taking long pulls of their beverages.

“This is delicious,” he said after a moment. “Best I’ve ever had from here. Thanks, babe.”

“My pleasure.” They sat for a bit in companionable silence, sipping their drinks. However, Molly couldn’t help but cast sidelong glances at her partner with increasing frequency. Now that she was next to him, she saw he looked quite unwell. He was pale and shivery, with a flush over his cheeks and ears, and looking overall rundown and uncomfortable, a far cry from his usual easy smile and warm, steady demeanor.

“Is everything ok, doc? You really don’t look good.”

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

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Sicktember #19

Prompt: Curled Up With a Pet

Fandom/OCs: Priest ‘verse OCs (Luc and Flora)

Words: 2530

Sicknario inspo: 'Have you taken anything for that fever?' from this post and caught in the rain scenario from this post.

Author’s comments/background: Ah my sweet babies, in the honeymoon of their relationship. This is tooth rotting fluff, giving a new meaning to the idea of sickly sweet, but it’s definitely sickfic and easily one of my favorite things I wrote this year. Another prompt that just needed some characters to bring it to life, though, which made writing this easy. Enjoy the continued progression of Luc and Flora’s relationship. I set myself up perfectly for some romantic sickbed sex as the next chapter. We’ll see if I have the b*lls to write that, though.

~~~***~~~

The last week in June was always when Father Luc took his summer vacation. He had rented an isolated cabin by a lake in a different state this year, ensuring the lowest possible chance of meeting someone he knew, which enabled Flora to join him along with Charlotte, his golden retriever. The pair had been scheming and anticipating the trip for months. Days of uninterrupted time together, not having to hide or cover their whereabouts, was something they had only dreamed of. Now they would actually experience it.

The first few days of the trip were blissful. They spent hours basking in one another's company, talking about everything and nothing, elated not to be watching the clock or looking over their shoulder constantly. They ate every meal together, swam at all hours of the day, cuddled on the couch, stayed in bed for hours, explored and memorized every line and curve and expression and breath… perfection was the only word they could find to describe those first days.

Around midweek, though, Flora was going a little stir crazy. It was decided that she would run to the nearest town for a grocery run and some window shopping. Luc despised shopping of any variety, so he opted to stay back and go for a hike with Charlotte on the nearby paths. It would be their first time apart in days, and Flora felt a little strange leaving them in the rearview mirror. She felt almost exposed without the warmth of his solid presence only a touch away. She decided she wasn't going to linger long in town, not wanting to waste a single moment of the blessed week.

Luc, too, missed Flora the moment her car disappeared, but he had been looking forward to hiking since they'd gotten here. Flora was not an outdoors girl, though he knew she would've toughed it out just to please him, so he seized the opportunity to go while she was otherwise occupied.

In his eagerness to get a few miles under his boots, he didn't look at the weather before starting off, which proved to be a huge oversight. The first half of the hike was perfect. He set a challenging pace, but didn't push himself and eased up when he needed to, though he refrained from taking any long rests. Charlotte trotted along with him merrily, enjoying her investigations along the path but never straying far from his side.

The hour he'd set for his midway point arrived, and since he was feeling great, he decided to go just a bit further. The moment he made this decision, so it seemed, the rain clouds rolled in with frightening speed. Within minutes the first fat drops were falling. Luc groaned and turned around immediately, knowing it was probably too late. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes rain was falling steadily, surprisingly cold for the month of June. He had a cheap plastic rain poncho in his pack and he threw this on, knowing it would do little good in this, heavy, soaking rain. He tried to keep up the same pace, and even sped up where he could, but the path was steep and slippery in many places and he was forced to slow down for the sake of safety, so in the end he lost time. He avoided any injury, but he still slipped and fell more than once, and soon he was muddy on top of everything else. Any enjoyment he'd gotten from the first half of the walk was quashed by the cold, wet second half, and he was beyond relieved when the cabin appeared over the rise. Charlotte started running when she saw it, desperate to get somewhere dry, and he wasn't far behind.

Even though they returned almost forty-five minutes later than he intended, shockingly Flora hadn't returned either. He realized she was likely trying to wait out the rain, since driving in inclement weather made her anxious as it was, and this was unfamiliar territory to boot. Relieved not to have worried her, he toweled off himself and the dog, threw his filthy clothes in the wash, and hopped into a hot shower.

He felt worlds better when he emerged, except that the damp chill seemed to have settled in his bones. Donning a sweatshirt and sweatpants, he planted himself on the couch to await the return of his beloved.

About an hour after the rain had slowed to a drizzle, Luc heard the truck in the driveway. She had texted him when she was leaving town that she was on her way and that she'd picked up frozen pizzas for dinner, so he had the oven preheated and the pans ready. He waited just inside the door for her, and the moment she entered they collapsed into each other as if their absence had been months instead of hours, a hug so tight that neither knew where one of them ended and the other began. He breathed in the sweet scent of her, relishing the tickle of her hair against his neck.

"I don't know how I'll get used to not being able to touch you in public again," she murmured in his ear, echoing his thoughts exactly.

"We won't deal with that until we have to," he murmured back.

They continued with similar sweet nothings while they moved as one into the kitchen and got the pizzas into the oven, unable to keep eyes and hands away from one another.

"How was town?" he asked after a while, in the midst of making sweet iced tea to go with the pizza.

"Adorable. It's cliche, but the best word to describe it is quaint. They have little shops for everything. The grocery store was very overpriced, but they did have a lot of good stuff. I definitely splurged a little. How was your hike?"

He made a face. "Wet. Well, breathtaking at first. The trails are wonderful. But we got caught in the rain and got drenched before we could get home."

"I wondered why Charlie was looking all bedraggled. And why you chose to shower without me," she said, nudging her hip teasingly against his. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know you were really looking forward to that."

He shrugged. "Maybe I'll get another chance before we leave. But next time I'll actually check the weather first."

The rest of the night passed similarly. The rain never stopped with only the intensity varying from hour to hour. After their first day out of the house in days, the pair was tired and spent a languid evening watching movies on the couch. Flora sat in Luc's lap, her head on his chest, with a blanket covering them both. Luc was thankful for all the extra warmth keeping him from shivering, since he still couldn't get warm. They both dozed off and on, but during one interlude between movies, Flora made Luc promise to take her out to lunch the next day and go with her to a bookstore cafe she'd seen for dessert. Because Luc's only objective for the whole week was to make Flora the happiest woman alive, of course he said yes.

~~~

In the wee hours of the next morning, Luc woke out of nowhere. Usually a hard sleeper, at first he was confused as to why he was awake, until he realized the pillow was unpleasantly wet under his face because apparently his nose was running. He gingerly lifted his head to find one nostril was completely clogged while the other was already tickling furiously, as if a dozen sneezes wanted to get out suddenly. He crept out of bed, careful not to disturb Flora. Charlotte raised her head to look at him from her bed on the floor, then laid back down with a huff of annoyance.

He tiptoed around the foot of the bed, scrubbing at his nose until it squelched which only served to make him want to sneeze more, and over to the ensuite bathroom. Once the bathroom door was shut behind him, he blew his nose several times, then finally gave in to stifle a smattering of fittish sneezes into a towel. Another round of nose blowing, which triggered a little coughing fit, and at last he felt better. Opening the bathroom door, he was startled to see Flora half sitting up, blinking at him in confusion.

"Are you okay?" she mumbled, fuzzy with sleep. "Heard you coughing."

He frowned. "I didn't mean to wake you. I'm fine. Just a tickle."

"Heard you sneezing too. Are you coming down with something?"

He shrugged. "Maybe a little chill. All the rain yesterday and such. Nothing to worry about."

Flora nodded, already coasting back to sleep. She was out before he had gotten under the covers. Before he could settle, he again had to scrub at his nose and was annoyed to find that it was already feeling drippy. He laid down with a huff reminiscent of Charlotte's and closed his eyes. He too was asleep again in moments.

~~~

The couple slept in the next morning, as had been their habit this week. By late morning, though, Flora, more of a morning person than Luc, was flitting around like a butterfly getting ready while the priest hadn't yet managed to get out of bed.

"Why are you getting all dressed up?" he mumbled, still half asleep.

"Because you promised to take me to lunch, silly! It's already brunch time as it is."

He ran a hand across his face, suppressing a groan. "Right, right. Okay, then I need to start getting ready too." He tried to keep his tone positive, but going into town was the last thing he wanted to do. Anything beyond moving from the bed to the couch was the last thing he wanted to do. But he could never disappoint Flora, not during their magical getaway. He was sluggish getting ready. His nose and throat still bothered him, his eyes felt puffy, and now he had the makings of a headache too. Yet he didn’t complain, smiled at Flora whenever he was near, and tried to act as if nothing was wrong.

He couldn’t hide anything from perceptive Flora, though. He hadn’t made much headway in getting ready, and had only just made it out of the shower when she stopped him with a gentle touch on his arm. “Are you okay, Luc? You look pretty out of it.”

He sighed, choosing truth over a white lie. “I think that hike yesterday really took it out of me. I’m exhausted. Got the sniffles. Just really don’t feel great. But hey, I can still take you out to lunch, don’t worry. I want to make you happy and make the most of our time here."

Flora gave him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t do that to yourself. I can see in your eyes that you really don’t want to go out. You stay here and rest and hold down the fort. I’ll run up there and grab a book or two and some lunch and coffee to go for us. You don’t need to make yourself miserable for my sake.”

He chuckled softly. “I would never be miserable if I was with you. But if you’re sure, then I’ll take you up on that offer. I know you’re getting bored just hanging around here. And all I want to do is go back to sleep for a while. I promise I’ll be better company when you get back.”

“Especially if I bring you some caffeine,” she laughed. “Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll see you in a few hours, then. Enjoy your rest.”

“I’ll miss you the whole time,” he said softly. He hated that he would have to watch her drive away again, but knew he wouldn’t feel any better if he were with her in this case. It was for the best for him to stay here, so he could get himself into shape to enjoy her when she got back.

~~~

Flora was back by late afternoon with a bag full of books, and a bag full of takeout, plus a carrier of drinks. Luc wasn’t in the living room, and she had a strong sense of deja vu, recalling the official beginning of their romance when she nursed him though a horrible chest cold. She set the food in the kitchen and the books in the living room, then poked her head into the bedroom, smiling at the sight that greeted her.

Luc was wearing the same clothes he had been when she left, and it looked like he had turned around and laid down as soon as she was gone. He was on top of the bedspread, but covered in the blanket she always traveled with, snoring deeply and curled up in a “C” shape around Charlotte, who was also snoozing. Unlike the first time she had nursed him, though, she wasn’t about to let him sleep all day, not when they only had a few precious days left alone together. Plus, she was hungry, and she assumed he would be too.

She perched on the side of the bed and ran her hand up and down the length of his leg. When he didn’t stir, she tried gently shaking his arm. He shifted and mumbled, immediately scrubbing his nose, which she noted was an angry shade of red, into his shoulder with a snuffle. She went to brush the riot of dark curls away from his forehead, but frowned when her palm made contact with his skin. She shook his shoulder again, softly calling his name. His eyes flickered open and lit up upon seeing her. They shared a tiny smile.

“Hey, sleepyhead… Have you taken anything for that fever?” she asked softly, trying not to let worry color her tone too much.

“Fever?” he mumbled. “What fever?” Luc slowly sat up, rubbing a palm into one eye and sniffling, only to be wracked by a harsh shiver a moment later that made him hiss in discomfort.

“Oh no, are you cold?” Flora asked, though the answer seemed obvious, scooting closer to him and lifting her arm invitingly.

“Freezing,” he said, and she thought she heard his teeth start to chatter as he pulled her blanket closer around himself, then sagged against her with a sleepy yawn, his heated skin making the hair on her arms prickle. She simply sat and held him for a bit, weighing their options.

“Looks like I might be making another run into town,” Flora murmured. “I’m not sure how much medicine I brought. I think I just have Tylenol and Ibuprofen.”

“Don’t go again,” Luc mumbled, still half asleep against her. “I’ll be fine. I just want you here with me.”

Flora laughed softly. “If you insist. Your wish is my command.”

“All I wish is that we go watch more movies with coffee and dinner.”

“Call me Jeanne, then, because I think I can make that happen. As long as you promise you’ll take some medicine and not get any worse.”

“Your wish is my command,” Luc echoed sleepily, his dimple flickering in a smile.

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

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Feel My Temperature Rising

Set the day after this story, the first thing I wrote for them.

Also, I have decided Burnin’ Love by Elvis is officially Flora and Luc’s song.

CW: Dubcon-ish elements, but s*x doesn’t actually happen, just cuddling. Also, obviously, priest things and religious elements.

If anyone ever asked about everything that transpired on that pivotal day, she would insist she hadn’t been looking for him, because it was true. She hadn’t been. She was coming back from the library, and she always took that route to and from the library to avoid the traffic on the main roads.

Now of course she knew he lived in that area, because of course she had looked up his information in the church directory, so sure, whenever she drove through this neighborhood she had one eye on the sidewalks in case she passed him walking. Who could blame her for that? Still, she never expected to actually find him, that day of all days, so she couldn’t possibly be blamed for the subsequent events. She was simply a victim of fate.

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

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Sick of It

Prompt from @chestcongestion “The siblings and their partners had just purchased their property and were trying to get moved in, only for JB, Theo, and Padma to start coming down with something while the property didn’t have proper heating.“

Sick ones (as requested): Theo (primarily), kinda JB and Padma

Caregivers: Audra (primarily), kinda everyone.

Inspiration: This post about drunk sneezes and this post about being happy-drunk.

This takes place just before the Tenbusch family builds their homestead, so later-ish in the timeline, about 5 years before what I’d consider "present day”. Thalia and Padma, age 25 here, are not even in their “official” relationship quite yet. (They have been FWB on and off since college.) Theo and Audra are 30, getting settled in their professor roles and looking to get tenure, and JB and Thad will soon be starting their own consulting firm. This is a fun and exciting period, but also a very stressful one for everyone. They try to make the best of it as always.

CW: Drinking, being drunk, and hangover descriptions. Emeto-adjacent, but doesn’t actually happen.

“Ready?” Audra whispered to Theo as they approached the door of the restaurant, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Ready as I’m gonna be,” he laughed, wrapping his arm tighter around her for a quick hug. “I’ve heard they’re determined to get me drunk, so my glass is never leaving my hand."

"Good idea. I’ll help you guard it. I refuse to let you be hungover tomorrow. That would ruin everything.” The pair paused at the threshold, looking back toward the others.

~~~

“Ready?” Thad asked JB as the taller man unfolded himself from the passenger side of the car. “I’m sure you’re dreading this. But I really appreciate you coming.”

JB rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m an introvert, not a vampire, Thad. I’m not afraid of bars and groups of people. Honestly, I’m somewhat looking forward to this. We haven’t gone out for drinks in forever. And I’d never miss your brother’s birthday party.”

“Birthday party part one,” Thad reminded him, locking the car.

“Oh trust me, there’s no way I could forget,” JB sighed, checking to make sure the ladies were right behind them.

~~~

“Ready?” Thalia asked Padma, squeezing her hand as her eyes danced with excitement.

“I hope so,” Padma said serenely, though Thalia thought she saw a flicker of anxiety deep in her eyes. “I am sure we will have fun. It will be a great weekend.”

“Especially because you’re here,” Thalia murmured, bumping her shoulder against Padma’s.“I still can’t believe you agreed to all of this.”

“I’m so glad you invited me! I am happy to be here for your brother’s birthday with your family. It is all very special for me."

"Oh it’ll be special all right,” Thalia laughed. “Just wait and see.”

~~~

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

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Miserable At Best

Welcome to my CottageVersity AU. I’m very please to introduce the Tenbusch family in their first 6.8k word story. Meet them here. Any prompts, thoughts or questions for these characters are more than welcome!

The illness started with Theo. Of course it did–illnesses always started with Theo, because he was a walking health hazard for most of the colder months. Not only because he and his wife Audra were the only ones who left the property and interacted with the public on a daily basis, but also because Professor Theodore Tenbusch had an affinity for teaching 100 and 200 level classes despite his predisposition to catching every bug he came across. Theo was the last person who should have volunteered to be around germ-laden college freshmen for forty-plus hours weekly, but he loved his job and loved his students. For that reason, every illness always started with Theo.

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

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A Virus for the Vicar

Guess what… I inspired myself with this post to write my first drabble! Also, this had to be written because @gr0ss-enby asked so nicely, and @oh-no-my-hand-slipped had such awesome sickly Victorian prompts. So, here’s ~3000 words of a flu-ridden, regency-era clergyman.

Feedback welcome! But please be a little gentle. This is my first short fic, as short isn’t usually my jam. But maybe it will be going forward, as I had a lot of fun with this one.

*****

Lydia Lennox sat darning her husband’s stockings in the sitting room, humming idly as she stitched. She was startled out of her reverie by a commotion on the stairs. It seemed her husband, the vicar, was coming down in a rush. As this was usually the hour he usually closed himself away in his study to prepare his sermon, she was concerned. She rose to see what was the matter, but he appeared in the doorway just then, buttoning his coat with one hand as he held a handkerchief to his streaming nose.

“Mrs. Ames is being buried today. I must go perform the service,” he said with a sniffle. “I shut my eyes but a moment in my study and it seems I fell asleep, and now I am behind my time. I must dash.”

She bit her lip as she looked outside at the chillyA, drenching rain that had been falling for days. She knew he would not be dissuaded from going, despite the dreadful cold he had picked up, so she refrained from voicing her concern. He would only become frustrated if she tried to stop him. After all, burials were part of his duty as a clergyman.

“Do take care, Mr. Lennox. Come back as quick as you can. I’ll have tea waiting for you.” She forced herself to leave it at that.

His only reply was a sharp nod and a grunt as he strode to the door. He pulled it quickly open, then shut again, taking himself, hoarse voice and chapped nose and all, out into the downpour.

Lydia seated herself again with a sigh and resumed her mending, spending some time musing about her husband of 5 years. If one were to meet the vicar by chance, or only saw him on Sundays when he preached, that person would think him a stern man, or even a harsh one. It was true that he held himself to the strictest standards as a member of the clergy, and that carried into his interactions with everyone he met. He could be severe and intractable when he was in one of his moods, expecting perfection from himself and everyone else. There were times his eyes burned with such fire when he was preaching that she herself was a little fearful of him.

Yet she also saw the tenderness in every inch of his frame when he baptized an infant, or blessed a child, or took the hand of an elderly person to greet them. She got to witness firsthand his serenity as he tended his garden, his boyishness when he was spending time with his brother, and his gentleness and devotion during their own intimate interactions.

He often seemed fierce, keeping most people, including herself at times, at arm’s length in deference to his duty as a man of the church, always mindful of how he might be perceived by his parishioners. Yet she knew there was more to him, and she loved him passionately, for all his own fiery passion for righteousness and zeal for his duty.

~~~~~~~~~~

Some hours later, the door banged open, and the steady patter of water dripping off of a coat onto the floor of the foyer heralded the vicar’s return. That, and a thick, wet sneeze.

“HET’kiihh’shuuh! HET’chooff! “HEHHHT-CHOOO!”

She rang for the tea she had prepared for him, then hurried to his side, blessing him in earnest as she helped him remove his sodden coat. His hair and clothes hung limply on him, and he stood dejectedly, trying to wring himself out, his handkerchief again pressed to his nose.

“Oh, my dear! Go quickly and put on some dry things. I’ll have your tea brought up to you there. You look half-frozen.”

“That I am,” he croaked wearily. “And half drowned at that. Never saw such a muddy burial. But the good woman is laid to rest as she should be, and that’s what matters.”

“Indeed,” she said, refraining from sighing. “But now go and tend to yourself, for that is what is called for here.”

“As you say,” he grunted. “I’ll be back down in time for supper, but for now I’ll go to my study. I need to catch up on my reading. The whole day is nearly gone as it is.”

“Couldn’t you take some rest? I’m sure the reading could wait another day.”

“There’s no need for it to wait when I can do it now just the same. As I said, I’ll be down for supper.”

He shuffled wearily to the stairs, coughing wetly as he went.

Once again she bit her tongue and said nothing further. When his mind was made up, there was no arguing with him. So, she went about the usual dinner preparations, fretting the whole time, and all the more so every time she heard him cough or sneeze, which was not infrequently.

Always true to his word, he reemerged 5 minutes before supper was to be laid out, looking drier but otherwise no better. He shivered faintly in the temperate air, wiping wetness away from his eyes and upper lip. She wished she could go hug him, and offer him any and every comfort she could, for he looked miserable, but she knew he would not allow it. She kept her eyes averted for the most part and tried not to fuss, for he would be quite embarrassed if she did. When the food was laid out, they seated themselves. They bowed their heads and he said grace as he usually did, though his voice was jarringly different. His usually rich, mellow tone was husky and strained, his consonants dulled with congestion and fatigue. Even before the final hoarse “ambend,” she wanted to reach for his hand and squeeze it, and tell him it was fine to not be fine. That he wasn’t any less even though he felt unwell. That she was here for him, no matter what.

The meal was a quiet one, aside from his stifled sneezes and soft coughs. After one particularly harsh stifle, she timidly looked up at him.

“You sound unwell, my dear. Is there anything I could get for you?”

“No,” he shot back quickly, averting his eyes and stuffing his handkerchief out of sight. “No, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit under the weather is all.”

“Please do let me know if there’s any way I can be of help to you,” she bravely tried once more. He fidgeted with his fork, still turned away.

“You are always a help to me, dear. But I am in need of nothing just now.”

She quickly nodded, then let her own eyes drop to her plate. They ate in silence until they were finished, then retired to the sitting room, he with a book and she with her needlework. This is how they ended their evenings, in companionable silence or quiet conversation until they went to bed. Tonight though, she knew there would be no conversation. They had both perched on the settee, only a few feet apart, and she quenched the urge to close the distance between them and rub his shoulders and neck. He allowed minimal physical contact between them anywhere besides their bedroom. The servants were watching, after all.

As she sewed, she watched him in her periphery. He looked to be absorbed in his book, but through the entire hour they sat, he did not turn a single page. She studied his profile fondly, if also worriedly: His long longs, stretched out, but limp with weariness, his fine brow, now clammy-looking, his deep eyes, hazy with illness, and his well-shaped nose, the tip of it red and glistening. Every line of him spoke of fatigue. As she watched, she saw his eyelids drooping even as he fought against it.

She knew he would not go to bed before she, no matter how tired and ill he felt. It was improper. So, she feigned fatigue herself, yawning softly and stretching, before announcing she wanted to retire, almost an hour earlier than usual.

He looked startled, but grateful as he offered to accompany her, and of course she accepted.

They made their way upstairs, and he seemed to be moving almost in a daze. As they prepared for bed, his fingers were clumsy, and he was hampered by having to tend to his constantly dripping nose. She hovered at his elbow as he went through the motions, silently imploring him to admit how he was feeling and allow her to assist. Of course, he did not.

Once they were both in their night clothes, she watched him as he lingered, sitting on the edge of the bed and blowing his nose. She perched at his side so their knees touched; he shifted his away.

“You look quite ill, my dear. Pray tell, how can I help you?” She began to gently caress his back, a gesture she knew he loved when he was weary.

Yet he twitched away from her touch, a flash of anger in his eyes.

“Leave me be! I’m alright. I’m only in need of a good night’s sleep."

With a huff he yanked back the bed clothes and proceeded to cover himself with them, keeping his back to her whenever he could.

Now she was frustrated too. With a scowl she moved to her own side of the bed.

"Your stubbornness will be the death of you, Nicholas Lennox. Just because you’re miserable, you needn’t make me so as well, when I’m only wanting to help. But have it your own way.”

He did not reply, and continued to keep his back to her. She turned away from him as well when she lay down. They both held themselves stiffly still, as far apart on the bed as they could be, until they fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

This was not the case when they woke, however. Upon opening her eyes the next morning, Lydia found she had rolled onto her back as she slept. Looking around as she roused herself, she was startled to find her husband still fast asleep beside her. Usually it was his stirring that woke her each day, or the sound of the door shutting behind him as he left.

Nicholas too had shifted in his sleep, and was lying on his stomach, his face toward her, his arm stretched across the center of the bed and resting an inch from her shoulder, as if he was reaching for her.

Any hard feelings that lingered from the night before instantly melted as she watched him sleep. He looked so pitiful and pale, and she heard his breath wheezing in his chest. As she stared, deciding what to do, he suddenly twitched once, then again, then he sprang awake, pressing a hand to his nose, but too late:

“Hehhgg'CHOOOF!” A wet, spraying sneeze exploded out of him, down the front of his shirt. He scrabbled desperately for his handkerchief, his breath hitching for another sneeze as he turned away from her. He couldn’t grasp it in time.

“Hih-KIHT-chuuhh! Heht'kih'SHOO!” He sneezed miserably into his elbow, rough sneezes that seemed to scrape his throat harshly as they were expelled. He grabbed his handkerchief at last in a defeated sort of way, and wiped and blew his nose. With a weary groan he fell back against his pillow, throwing an arm over his eyes.

She watched this whole performance with widened eyes. All the years they’d been married, she had never seen him ill like this. She observed him for another moment, then nodded to herself, her mind made up. Regardless of how he would fuss, she was making him rest today, no matter what it took. She opened her mouth to address him when he again jerked forward, breath hitching desperately, handkerchief over his mouth:

“Hiihh'shieww! Hnnxxt'CHUUF! AhKT-CHOOOO! Oh blast it all,” he mumbled thickly, the closest he ever came to cursing. He gingerly wiped his poor, red nose, eyes scrunched closed in pain. Yet he would have no rest, for he immediately began to cough.

She crossed the distance between them on the bed to put a hand to his shoulder. He jumped in fright, as though he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. Upon seeing it was her, he relaxed slightly, and didn’t pull away, but acknowledged her with a little grunt. Encouraged by this, she pressed against his side and began to rub his back tenderly. He groaned softly in pleasure as she did, letting more of his weight rest against her. After a moment he had to hunch forward to stifle another hoarse coughing fit into his arm before leaning back into her touch, rubbing his chest with a grimace.

He was overwarm. She could feel the heat through his shirt. She pressed her palm to his forehead, then his cheek, clucking her tongue softly.

“I am most poorly today. Every inch of me aches or burns. My head pounds so, I can hardly think,” he muttered, answering her question before she had to ask it.

“I shouldn’t wonder, with how high your fever is. You’re not to leave these rooms today and I’ll not hear any argument.”

“As you say,” he mumbled with a cough.

She wanted to be suspicious of his unexpected pliability, but looking at him, she only saw misery in every feature, so perhaps he was simply feeling badly enough not to complain.

She pressed a kiss to his hot temple. “Lay yourself back down and rest while I dress, then we’ll see what we can do for you. We’ll ring for tea, for starters.” She rose, donning her dressing gown. “And I may have Dr. Barcliffe call ‘round as well. I don’t like the sound of that cough one bit,” she said, as he erupted into another hoarse fit.

“There’s no need to involve Dr. Barcliffe,” he croaked, lying back down with a wince, rubbing his chest again. “I shouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Hm,” she murmured, moving to his side. She brushed the sweaty hair from his forehead, and he sighed in pleasure at her touch, his eyes drifting closed. “We’ll see how it goes. But I shouldn’t think tending to the vicar would be a bother to the doctor.”

If he heard, he did not reply, and seemed to fall asleep again immediately. She dressed efficiently, and just as she finished, one of the servants arrived with a tray of tea and toast. The commotion roused the sick man, and he shook himself awake with another bout of hacking coughs as the servant departed. Lydia moved to his side and rubbed his back again. He leaned his head into her side wearily as he quieted.

“Poor man, I’ve never seen you so ill. It seems you’ve picked up something nasty–likely from your niece and nephew last week. I thought they were looking a bit peaky, and there you were, rolling around on the floor with them.”

A muffled grunt was his only reply. She served his tea, and helped him sit up to drink it, though he tried to protest.

“I’d rather not take tea now. I only want to sleep some more hours yet.”

“You must drink aplenty today. You’ll only feel worse if you don’t. We can’t have you getting parched.”

He mumbled a few more weak arguments, but when she pressed the streaming cup into his hands, he obediently drank. Of course, the hot beverage made his nose run in earnest, but he seemed too weary to care. She plied him with toast also, but he only managed a few bites, claiming his throat was too raw and painful to eat any more. With a sigh, she set it aside.

He was visibly trembling as he finished the tea, and the hectic red spots showed ever brighter on his cheeks. She assisted him in lying down once more, and covered him warmly, though they were slowed in the process by yet another coughing fit. She let her hand linger on his arm after he was settled.

“Is there anything else you want, my dear?”

He turned to look at her, his fever-hazed eyes imploring:

“Only to rest a while, with you by my side.”

She tilted her head in confusion. “You-you’re asking me to sit with you while you sleep?”

He nodded. “I’ll sleep better if you’re near. Would you come sit beside me, just here on the bed?”

“That I will,” she complied willingly, flattered as well as flustered. She would never have expected such a request from her independent, private husband. She hopped up to sit beside him, arranging herself comfortably. She reached out to cover his hand with her own.

“If I could trouble you for one more thing… could I lay my head just there?” He gestured to her lap.

She reddened. “If you think it would help you sleep, I shan’t say no. For you do look so miserable, after all,” she managed.

“Nothing would help more.” They carefully rearranged themselves to his desired configuration. Lydia was quite taken aback by these developments, though they were far from unpleasant. She studied her husband’s still form for a bit, making up her mind as he continued to settle. Haltingly, she moved her hand to his head and began to stroke his hair with the lightest touch. His free hand found hers and gave it a grateful squeeze. Encouraged, she continued her ministrations with confidence.

“You’re positively trembling with chills,” she murmured, almost to herself. “After you rest a while, I’ll have Hannah draw you a hot bath. Then a compress for your chest after a long soak I think. How does that suit you?”

A snore was the only reply she would receive, for the dear vicar was already sound asleep.

#reblog your old stuff

107 notes · View notes

perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

Note

Can I request some Victorian era sickfic content?

Thank you for the ask! Sorry for the long wait on this ask, but the prompt was a bit... vague. Lol. I had to wait for some inspiration to hit. Inspiration came in the form of music, and this fic is based on one of my favorite lines from a musical some of you may know:

Intelligent eyes and a hunger-pang frame

And when you said hi I forgot my dang name.

Also, to the anon who asked, feel free to check out my other Victorian/historical fics here !

To everyone else, my asks are always open for new prompts.

Another long (5k) fic with a little spice/borderline (but not quite) NSFW at the end. Please enjoy!

Violet hummed as she skipped her way to the river. The weather was still wet and drippy, but the rain had mostly ceased, and she was happy to be getting a breath of fresh air. She hadn’t seen her willow tree in almost 2 weeks and she was desperate for a sight of it.

Violet was the town doctor’s daughter, and her father’s father and his father before him had been doctors here for generations. She had grown up in the little cottage on the outskirts of town, and ever since she was a girl, as soon as she was allowed to roam about the neighborhood freely, she had been fascinated by the willow tree by the river.

It had started with the spooky rumors of the tree being haunted that she’d heard from some of her schoolmates, and a dare from a boy she hated that she would be too scared to go sit in its branches. Violet knew even then that most of the boys thought her silly, but she was also brave. With her nose in the air, she took the dare with hardly a blink. After all, trees can’t be haunted.

That very afternoon, with a few of her schoolmates watching, she marched down to the riverside, dropped her things unceremoniously on the ground, and climbed up without a glance behind her. The first time she climbed the tree, she stayed all afternoon, long past the time she should have been home, and long after her classmates had given up and left, after calling for her to come out many times. Violet’s mind was always spinning and tripping, never able to land on a thought for more than a minute. When she was in the willow though, everything was quiet. In the willow, she learned the meaning of peace.

She earned herself a whipping from her mother more than once when her dress showed signs of her climbing adventures, for ladies shouldn’t climb trees. However, nothing could keep her from returning to her most sacred place.

She usually avoided the river when it rained, for not only could she not climb the tree for fear of being soaked, but the river was dangerous when it was high, and if a person fell in, it would be the end of them. Yet today she felt an overwhelming need to go see it anyway. Her mind became all the more restless in the rain, and her feet itched for a walk.

She was lost in her own thoughts as she walked, and it wasn't until she was almost upon the tree that she realized someone was already under it.

Noticing this, she almost leapt out of her skin, for never once in all the years she'd been coming here had she ever seen anyone else there. On instinct, she ducked behind the low stone wall that marked the edge of the village to observe the intruder from a distance.

It was a young man, and he seemed to be getting a drink from the river. He was very still, and she was worried about him falling in for how close he was to the water's edge. However, when he hadn't stirred at all after she had been watching him for several moments, she became even more concerned.

Rising to her feet, she closed the rest of the distance to the tree in a rush. The young man was sprawled at the river's edge where it appeared he had collapsed while trying to get a drink. He seemed to be unconscious, and one hand hung in the water.

She paused just before she reached him, her breath catching in her throat. Perhaps it was the fact that for the first time she was seeing someone else in her most sacred place, but she was struck by his perfect, statuesque beauty. Except for his hair blowing in the breeze, his pale, fine features could have been sculpted from marble.

After a moment of breathless, unintentional admiration, she shook herself and hurried to kneel at his side. First she pulled his hand from the water, for it was blue with cold. After that she hesitated, unsure what to do next. Then, her medical background came flooding back. She had dogged her father's steps as often as she could from the time she could walk, and she knew how to assess a patient. Uncertain at first, but gaining confidence as she proceeded, she efficiently went about performing a thorough medical examination.

He had no external injuries or visible trauma, but he had a raging fever, enough to make her draw her hand back with a start due to the heat coming from his face, especially compared to the cold air around them. Not only that, his heartbeat was faint and quick, and his breath was strained and ragged. He was shaking with chills so much that he seemed to vibrate.

When she touched his face, his eyes fluttered open weakly and found hers, making her jump.

"... help…" he rasped, before his eyes drifted closed again.

She leapt up, looking around for assistance, for she had no way to move him. At that moment, Barty Holmes appeared from around a corner, trundling his wooden cart, which likely had recently been full of manure. Still, she had never been happier to see the bumbling fool, for the chances of anyone else being out in the rainy weather were slim.

She hailed him eagerly, gesturing for him to approach, which he did, looking terribly puzzled. She explained as quickly and simply as she could that she needed help transporting the sick man to her father's house.

He willingly helped her lift the boy into the cart. She was shocked at how light he was--he seemed to weigh almost nothing. They arranged him as best they could in the cart, but it was far too small for his long frame, and his limbs and head were at awkward angles against the sides. He didn’t stir again throughout the entire process however, aside from his trembling. The boy had no coat, and his patched and dirty clothes did little for him for warmth, she was sure. His only possession was a small, ragged rucksack that clinked and ratted when she put it in the cart with him.

The drizzle was becoming more persistent, and the air temperature was dropping. Without hesitation, Violet removed her coat and started to cover the young man with it, for she still had her umbrella. Seeing what she was doing, Bart stopped her and instead removed his own coat, laying it over the boy tenderly. Dirty and misshapen though it was, it certainly looked much warmer than hers and was far bigger. She gave him a grateful smile, then gestured urgently.

“That’s the best we can do, I suppose. Now quick, Bart, let’s get him to my father.”

Bart eagerly began to push the cart and she led the way to her home. In a small way she was grateful the rain was keeping most folks and their nosy questions and eyes indoors, for they certainly made an odd party. She wasn’t sure she had ever spoken to Barty before this day and previously would have avoided being seen in his company -- not to mention the oddity of the boy in the manure cart. However, Barty was helping them both, and at the moment that was all that mattered.

The walk to her home was short. Violet directed Bart around the side of the house to the rarely-used, enclosed lean-to, where they always put patients who were brought to see the doctor and needed to lie down. Three pallets were laid on the ground and various blankets and medical paraphernalia were scattered about. They lay the boy on the pallet furthest from the door. Violet used one blanket as a pillow for his head, and covered him with 2 more. He seemed oblivious to all this. Even when she touched his burning face again, he did not respond. His left hand was still freezing cold, more so than the rest of him, and unthinkingly she held it against herself as she gazed at him. He was hardly older than herself, and looked so small and frail. She lost her heart to him immediately.

Suddenly she realized Barty was still in the doorway. She quickly rose, returning his coat to him. “Thank you for your help. Truly, I appreciate it more than I could say. But I’ll wait here for my father. You can go now, Bart.”

“Yes ‘m,” he grunted with a little nod. He turned around and left them, and she heard the cart’s squeaky wheels going away. She again turned to gaze at the beautiful man’s face. Then she hurried inside.

She knew her father was with another family in the village and had been gone all day. However, he would likely be back any time now. While she waited for him, she prepared a hot water bottle, some tea, and a basin with a rag. Transporting these to the lean-to, she placed the hot bottle at the young man’s feet, then began to bathe his face and neck with cool water. Dust and grime came off of him in streaks, and he shuddered violently when the rag touched him, but his eyes did not open.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure this is miserable for you. But we must get your fever down, or else you won’t last long,” she murmured gently. She was unsure if he could hear her or not, but she knew she would want someone to talk to her if she was in his position.

She finished bathing his face, and was debating removing his shirt to continue the bath, when she heard her father’s carriage in the yard. She leapt up and ran to meet him.

“Father, father you must come! There’s a sick boy in the lean-to! I found him by the river, and he has a terrible fever. You--”

“Hold on there, child! Let me catch my breath, for I’ve been around sick boys all day. I’ll wager he won’t die in the minutes it takes me to refresh myself. I’ll be in shortly but I must rest a moment.”

“Yes, father,” she mumbled. He would give her no further attention until he was ready, so she returned to the lean-to, dripping cool tea onto the boy’s tongue until her father joined them.

He quickly performed the same exam she herself had done not long before. However, he did not hesitate to peel off the young man’s tattered shirt and examine his torso carefully.

“No rash then. Thank God, it’s not Scarlet Fever, for ‘tis all over the countryside right now. But there’s not an ounce of fat on him, and plenty of signs of harsh treatment. It’s been many moons since this lad has had a decent meal. What’s his name, my girl? … Violet, answer me now!

Violet shook herself, for she had been mesmerized by the young man’s perfect chest and had not heard the question at first. “I apologize, father. I don’t know his name. He was all alone and has been unconscious since I found him. Barty Holmes helped me carry him here in a cart.”

Her father tsked softly, taking up the basin Violet had prepared and bathing the man’s armpits and chest gently. He then applied a poultice for his fever, wrapping him up warmly once again once he was through.

“We’ll see if we can’t find some decent clothes for him in the charity closet at the parish. There’s not much else to do. If I bleed him, it would finish him, for he is too weak to survive. Violet my girl, you seem to have taken an eager interest in his care. Would you be willing to keep an eye on him? He needs to be kept warm, but not overly so, or the fever will take him. He’ll need to be bathed regularly to keep his temperature low, and he needs to be kept from dehydration.”

“I will look after him, father.”

“Good girl. Now I need to rest. Don’t fetch me unless he worsens.”

With that, he stumped away wearily, leaving Violet alone once again with the handsome young man.

~~~~~~~~~~

Violet hardly left his side for the next several hours, except to fetch more things for his care. She could never focus on one thing for more than a minute at a time usually, but her attention did not waver from the young man. Late that evening, her attention was rewarded. She had just brought the rag to his face to bathe him yet again, when his eyes shot open and he broke into a tremendous coughing fit.

Violet at first leapt back with a start, then crept forward and placed a soothing hand on his chest, rubbing gently until the coughing eased. He looked at her with wide, fearful eyes as he panted for air, so she drew her hand back quickly, embarrassed at her own boldness.

“Who ‘re… you?...” he gasped between breaths.

“My name is Violet. My father is a doctor. We’re looking after you. You lost consciousness by the river, so we brought you here. It seems you’re quite ill.”

“So it seems indeed,” he muttered, struggling to sit up. Violet assisted him gently. He started whenever she touched him, but he allowed her aid.

“Here, drink. You are dehydrated.”

“That I am,” he agreed, accepting the drink gratefully. They sat in silence as he drank, for Violet was suddenly nervous, unsure what to say. She pulled her knees up to her chest and stared at her hands.

“If your father is the doctor, why are you the one here with me?” he asked eventually, his voice almost too faint to be heard.

She sensed some kind of challenge in his voice. Her fists clenched, and she still did not look at him. “Because I’m his daughter, and he trusts me to look after his patients when he cannot.”

“I’ve never known a woman doctor before.”

She raised her eyes to meet his, ready to argue, but she didn’t see argumentativeness in him. Or pride, or teasing. He was simply stating a fact. Challenging her to defend herself.

“Women are just as capable of being doctors as men. In fact, women know far more than men about some things. Childbirth, for example. I have watched my father treat patients my entire life. I know more about being a doctor than anyone else in this village.”

“Good answer,” he murmured, lying back down as if compelled by gravity, his eyes drifting shut again.

“Wait, what’s your name? Don’t go back to sleep yet….” He had only been awake a few moments, and she had spent it arguing with him.

His eyes fluttered open. “My name is Peter Cooper,” he rasped. “ ‘m so tired, Miss Violet. I must sleep again. Will you be here when I wake?”

“...yes. I’m looking out for you.” Her heart felt as if it were being squeezed. She didn’t want him to sleep again, for what if he didn’t wake up?

“Good answer,” he mumbled again, already nearly asleep.

“Just… please make sure you wake again soon,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

“I will,” he breathed, so quietly she wasn’t sure she heard it. Yet she clung to that as she again began to keep a vigil at his side.

However, he did not wake again in the next few hours. Long after dark, her father came to find her. He looked the boy over once more, then urged her to bed, lest she take ill herself, sitting in the cold, dark lean-to with only her coat for warmth. He was confident Peter would last the night and did not need someone at his side every moment.

Violet did as she was bid reluctantly, but hardly slept a wink for worry. At dawn’s first light, she jumped out of bed and dressed, rushing down to the lean-to right away.

It seemed overnight, his chill had turned into an awful cold. Even before she opened the door, she heard him coughing, which was immediately followed by sniffling, which quickly became:

“Ihh’kkchoo! Ih’kih’choo! Heh-chooo!”

Violet threw open the door, running to his side. “Oh, Peter! You sound awful!”

His eyes were hazy and half-lidded as he turned to look at her, but he smiled in recognition nonetheless. He was a sickly-looking mess, however. His blankets and hair were equally tousled, his nose was dripping freely, and his cheeks and ears were flushed bright red.

“Violet. I thought you’d left me.” His voice was sweet and gentle, though the consonants were barely distinguishable through the congestion and fatigue. He coughed weakly as she worriedly felt his face.

“Not by my own choice. Father made me, even though I promised you I would stay. I’m terribly sorry,” she said, straightening the blankets around him and tucking him in better.

“ ‘s all right.” He blew his nose productively into the blanket she had just fixed. Violet looked away with a grimace as he did.

“Sorry,” he coughed, his face reddening as he noticed her expression. “I don’t have anything else to use.”

“We’ll find you some handkerchiefs right away. And we need to get you something to eat. You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, and this time it was his turn to look away. “I don’t need to eat much.”

“You’re not fine, you’ve got an awful cold,” Violet replied sternly. “And it seems it’s up to me to take care of it.” She felt his face and cheek again for a fever. He closed his eyes, and weakly leaned into her touch, making her heart skip beats. He opened his eyes as soon as she pulled her hand away.

“You just did that. Did the fever change in the past minute or so? Snff. Or have you other reasons for touching my face?” he asked, gently teasing.

It was her turn to redden. “No. But I just wanted to be sure the warmth wasn’t from your sneezing. The fever seems better than it was last night, though.”

“Well that’s good news.” He coughed weakly into his elbow. “I believe I feel better as well.”

“Good. As it should be.” She stood, brushing the dust from her skirt to hide her embarrassment. “Now you stay right here while I go fetch some things for you.”

“I hardly think I’m in much of a state to walk away. There’s no need to remind me to stay,” he said, a little smile playing around his lips.

She met his eyes, ready to give a sharp retort. However, the eye contact with him yet again made every thought fly from her mind. She had never seen another person’s mind so clearly visible through their eyes before. It was as if his eyes held the depths of the ocean, and the wisdom of 1,000 years. She felt she would have known exactly what he wanted to say even if he hadn’t spoken a word.

“...There’s no need to be smart,” she finally managed, a little breathlessly, trying to return his smile. “I can’t help it, words just fall out of my mouth without my permission at times.”

“I ah- uh- apolog- gize--” he said, his breath hitching into a sneezing fit. “Ehh’chieww! Eh’kkttCHOO! Eh-EHH-chiieew!” He fell back into the blankets after the outbursts, looking spent. “My sneezes are equally unruly. They come out of nowhere, as if they had minds of their own,” he muttered wearily.

“Oh Peter,” she sighed, kneeling to straighten his blankets again. “You poor, dear thing. I’m going to find you some handkerchiefs. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll wait here,” he mumbled, bundling himself up with a shiver and a cough and closing his eyes again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the day was spent in much the same manner. Her father came to look in on the young man first thing in the morning, advised her to continue doing what she had been doing, for it was having good results, and disappeared for the rest of the day to see other patients.

Though her father had said little, Violet was pleased with the praise, and did exactly as he said. For the rest of the day, she ran all over the house and village, fetching things to ease Peter’s cold. His fever trended downward steadily (though he kept commenting on her frequent checks of it) and he slept as much of the day as his cold would allow, though the sneezing and coughing were troublesome. He clearly felt better and better as the day progressed. The speed of his recovery impressed Violet, as well as saddened her, for the sooner he was well, the sooner he would leave.

After supplying him with a stack of clean rags to use as handkerchiefs first thing, Violet’s main focus throughout the day was feeding the poor boy. Every few hours, she made sure to bring him small meals to keep his strength up. He ravenously ate whatever was put in front of him, as if he hadn’t seen food in months. She had to urge him to slow down, or else make himself a different sort of ill. He tried to heed her, but his appetite often got the better of him.

Late in the evening, Violet was sitting at his side as he wolfed down the small bowl of stew and bread she had brought him.

“This is delicious, Miss Violet,” he said around a mouthful of bread.

“Your nose is stopped tight, how can you even taste it to know it’s good?” she giggled.

“I don’t need to taste it. Snxt. I feel in my being that it’s good,” he said jovially. He licked out the last dregs from the bowl, then pushed it aside with a contented sigh, even as he had to tend to his nose. He lay down on the pallet again, and tried to get comfortable.

Violet eyed him coyly, a surge of confidence swelling in her breast. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable lying in my lap for a spell? Your neck is likely stiff from lying on the ground for so long.”

He turned to look at her, his expression impassive. “Would that be part of your father’s instruction, Miss Violet?”

She met his gaze boldly, though she couldn’t stop the blush creeping across her cheeks. “Father is abed for the night. I heard him turning in as I fetched your stew. He would want you to be comfortable, by whatever means I can provide.”

“Hm. Indeed.” He stared at the ceiling briefly, pondering. She still couldn’t read his expression. Then he looked at her again with a little smirk. “That does sound tremendously comfortable. Snrrk. If you’re willing to oblige, I believe I could rest very well lying there. Thank you for offering.”

“My pleasure.” Violet dared not say more, lest her voice reveal her overwhelming emotions at this development.

With a little maneuvering, they arranged themselves as Violet had suggested. Peter heaved another contented sigh once his head was pillowed in her lap. “This is indeed a wonderful improvement. Thank you, Miss Violet.”

“There’s no need to thank me, for I only wish to see you well again.”

“But what are we to do when I have to sneh- snee- hih- sneeze?” he gasped, holding a finger to his nose.

“Let it out, sir, for you’ve been sneezing around me all day and I haven’t stopped you yet,” she giggled. “Just keep a rag handy.”

“Yes ma’am,” he snuffled, pressing said rag to his face as he gave in to the overwhelming tickle. “Hegg’chuhf! Heh’kih-CHUHF! Heh’CHUUHHF! Ugh,” he groaned, blowing his nose miserably. “I don’t remember sneezing being so painful.”

“It’s only painful with a bad cold.” She gently stroked his hair as he continued to blow his nose. He seemed to enjoy this immensely, closing his eyes with a small sigh, even as he tried to stifle a stubborn cough.

She examined his fine features one by one, committing them to memory. Even with all of him reddened or moistened or tousled with his dreadful cold, he was the most beautiful boy she had even seen.

“Peter, where did you come from? How did you come to be at our village?”

He kept his eyes closed as he replied, as if he were too comfortable to move. “I’m making my way to London. It is my life’s dream to hear a lecture by Thomas Huxley, for I wish to become a biologist. Snf. Perhaps I’ll even get to meet Charles Darwin. I lived in a small town, far from here, but as soon as I read Darwin’s books, I knew my life’s calling was to follow in his footsteps. Snff. I would do whatever is necessary to get there and begin my studies.” He dabbed his dripping nose gingerly, for it was quite raw by this time.

“You have great aspirations,” she murmured. She realized her hand had paused from stroking his hair when his eyes opened to meet hers. She quickly resumed the motion, averting her eyes. “There’s no one in this village that would dream of such things.”

“You do.” She met his gaze again. He was looking up at her earnestly. “I can see you wish to be a physician like your father. And you have a gift for it. I believe that is a great aspiration.”

“Is it? I’ve been told my whole life it’s a foolish aspiration. My mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I was even speaking such things aloud. She hated me in life, and I’d prefer she didn’t hate me in death as well. She told me time and again, a woman’s only place is in the home. I’ve had plenty of whippings to remind me of it too.”

His hand found her free hand, lying near his shoulder, and he grasped it warmly. “Don’t let another soul tell you what your soul needs to feel alive.”

His eyes were equally tender and commanding. She tried to focus on what he was saying, however the drip hovering at the edge of his nose was highly distracting. She forced herself to look away, and thankfully he wiped his nose again.

“Thank you, Peter. I won’t forget your words.”

“You’re weh- wel- hiihh- welcome,” he managed, though the last word immediately led into a sneeze. “Ehhkg’chuh! Kih’shEEw! KNXXT’chuhh!”

Violet realized her hand was covering her mouth as she watched, trying not to laugh. “It’s very difficult to have a serious conversation with someone who can’t stop sneezing. At least it is for me,” she giggled. “I’m sorry. You’re so pitiful, I don’t know why I’m laughing.”

“Try being the one doing the sneezing,” he sighed, which of course turned into a cough. He also chuckled, however. “And I’m not pitiful. Sniffly would be more accurate I think.”

“Have it your way, then,” she giggled again.

They passed a few more hours just like that. Both were quite comfortable, and they stayed in the same position as they continued to talk. He taught her a little biology, and she taught him a little medicine. She felt his warm head growing heavier in her lap all the time, but she was loath to leave him. And each time his breath began to scissor for another sneeze, she couldn't help but giggle, for she was over-tired. Eventually he started doing the same. Finally he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and he fell asleep mid-conversation, snoring gently. With a deep sigh of regret, she lifted his head from her lap and placed it back on his makeshift pillow. She stood and stretched her stiff muscles, then shuffled to bed as well, with a last wistful glance behind her at his sleeping form.

~~~~~~~~~~

Violet woke with a start a few hours later. It was still pitch dark and morning was far away.

She had been in the throes of a nightmare. The image of Peter, blue and cold, floating face-down in the river was now burned into her memories. She felt the overwhelming need to see him alive, so she quickly dressed and dashed out to the lean-to.

She opened the door to the shelter as softly as she could, but still a startled, “Who’s there?” greeted her before she could enter.

“It’s me, Violet,” she whispered. “Are you well, Peter?”

“Violet.” She heard him breathe a sigh of relief. “You frightened me. What are you doing here at this hour?” A muted cough followed his voice.

“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to come and see if you needed anything.”

“I need nothing. Snf. But I’m glad you came, for now I can say goodbye properly.”

“Goodbye?” She came closer, and saw he was standing up and fully dressed in the warm clothes her father had found for him. “But you’re still ill! You can’t leave yet.”

“I am well enough to travel, and I’ve already lingered too long. I want to get to London before winter fully sets in.” He suddenly pinched his nose, and she sensed he was trying to avoid sneezing. After a moment, he removed his hand again, though his consonants were even more dulled. “My cold is much improved, thanks to you. And your father. Please give him my thanks for all he’s done.”

“But… Peter….” she took a few more steps until she was standing inches from him. “I don’t want you to go so soon.”

He gently caressed her jawline and brushed her hair behind her ear before grasping her hands in his. “I must follow my calling, Miss Violet. Otherwise everything will have been for naught. But I won’t forget you or the kindness you’ve shown me.”

Before she knew what was happening, he pressed his body against hers, a firm hand at the small of her back, and his full lips met her open mouth. The sweetness of the taste of his mouth overwhelmed her and she gasped, pressing in for more. She clutched at his shirt desperately, wanting him to hold her like this forever, never wanting the kiss to end.

After several blissful moments, he reluctantly pulled away, dabbing his nose with his handkerchief as he strode to the door and pulled it open. “I must go, Miss Violet. Snxt. But we may meet again someday, never fear. Perhaps someday you’ll find me again, waiting for you under the willow.”

#reblog your old stuff

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 26 days

Note

Here’s a prompt for you, my well-written friend:

A plague doctor visits a small town, and, of course, everyone avoids them for infection. They stop by a small inn on a stormy night, soaked to the bone. When they sit by the fire and promptly start coughing, you would’ve thought they were an evil spirit. Everyone and their goat hurried away from them, afraid that he’s carrying some horrible disease. All except this bartender, who has seen it all and done it all. The bartender, well, tends to the doctor, and, little by little, develops a relationship with them.

Caretaking, a little spicy if you want, but definitely wholesome.

Thank you for this wonderful prompt! I was right up my alley :)

I really can’t do short, so this ended up being 5,600 words (eek. But also, sorry not sorry). But I couldn’t find a good place to stop except... the end of the illness? And I couldn’t do spicy with this prompt, all I could picture was the poor, sick, lonely doctor who just needed a friend.

I really wish I could draw, because this is the first thing I’ve ever written that I wish I could make into a graphic novel. Also, Hamish is my favorite character I’ve written in a long time. I hope you enjoy him as much as I did!

Strange things happen in storms, me old mother used to say. I could just about hear her speaking it in me ear as I watched the lightning flash through the window, though she's been dead these 20 years. I’ve not found that saying to be particularly true in these parts, but leastways, I like to believe it’s true elsewhere. Regardless, meself, I always feel a little more alive on a night that’s dark and stormy.

One thing is certainly true in these parts though: storms are bad for business. So, when I heard the inn's front door creak open that same stormy night, of course I turned ‘round right away to greet my guest, polishing a fresh glass for whomever it was, as is my custom.

At the sight of the figure in the doorway, I couldn’t help but step back a pace, for the newcomer was a Plague Doctor. The appearance alone of the visitor was enough to send a chill up a man's spine, with the fearsome beak and billowing cloak, but meself, I’d never seen a Plague Doctor in person. This area hasn’t yet been much affected by the plague, saints be praised, so such folks are a rare sight herabouts. The dark rumble of thunder as the cloaked figure closed the door only served to make the spectacle more frightening for those of us within.

It seemed I felt a slow chill fill the room, as one by one the other patrons turned to stare. The person in the mask, laden with a long cane and a large rucksack, shuffled their way to the fireplace in the corner, dripping rainwater all the way. The other customers pressed themselves as far away from the figure as possible. Even Grandma Brigg's batty goat skittered into the opposite corner from the doctor, hiding behind its owner.

The newcomer was clearly heading for the two tables in front of the fire. Willie Dugan, who occupied one of the two, leapt up, nearly spilling his ale, and hustled to the other side of the room as fast as his fat legs could carry him. The doctor gave him but a glance, then continued toward the fireplace. Reaching it, he dropped the burdens he carried and collapsed into a chair like a deeply weary man, though he made not a sound, at least not one I heard. Everyone continued to stare as the doctor pulled his black cloak closer with a shiver, slid as close to the fire as he could, and stretched out his hands to the flames.

However, folks had the fear of God put in them when out of nowhere, the doctor bent forward and let out a thick, hacking cough that seemed to come from deep in his lungs. Grandma Briggs screamed when she heard that cough, and clattered her skinny legs right out the door, goat and all. Mr. Grimes too quickly stood, donning his cap, and left posthaste with a fearful glance at the cloaked figure. The 4 remaining customers pulled themselves as tightly to the opposite wall as they could, turned their backs to the doctor, and commenced pretending he didn’t exist.

I must admit, for a moment I was afeared. After all, a man didn't see a Plague Doctor in his inn every day. Yet still, a customer was a customer, and I would have no one calling Hamish a coward, or a rude innkeeper. Plus, in spite of meself I was curious about this visitor, and I wasn’t convinced he had the Plague, not from what I knew of it. So, I hitched up my trousers, smoothed my apron, and went over to greet the arrival.

I wagered he couldn’t see well in that mask, so I made sure to make a wide arc and approached him from the front so as not to startle him.

“Greetings, master Doctor. Terrible weather tonight, ain’t it?”

The doctor answered with the barest nod, and I couldn’t quite tell if he was looking at me or not. Seeing he didn’t plan to elaborate, I took a deep breath and tried again.

“Listen, we don’t get folks such as yerself ‘round here often, and I’m right pleased to serve ye. I must ask though, ye been treatin’ them plague victims recently? You ain’t been around sick folks before coming into my inn, have ye?”

The doctor gave a firm shake of his head.

“No, no, of course you ain’t. I thought as much, but a man must ask such things in these times. Well, me name’s Hamish Burnshaw and I’m the proprietor of this fine Berryhill Inn. What can I be gettin’ ye to warm yerself on this stormy night?”

The doctor gestured with his hand and shook his head--he wanted nothing. A few more barking coughs burst out of him before I could reply, and while I couldn’t help but jump back-- as I say, a sign of the times-- I also felt sorry for the man, for he sounded most unwell.

“I see, I see-- then it’s a room ye be needin’? I would hate to see a man in yer state go back out into the rain tonight, if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so. You sound right poorly, master Doctor.”

The doctor hesitated, then gave a weak nod.

“That’s right, then. Take yer ease here in the warm and dry off a bit. I have the perfect little room to suit ye. It’s right behind the kitchen chimney and stays toasty warm all through the day. I’ll have it ready for ye in a blink. Wait here.”

I proceeded to call my daughter Eliza and have her freshen the Chimney Room, as we called it. She’s a quick girl and had it done in double time, with an extra blanket and fresh water to boot, along with a mug of tea. This wasn’t our usual accommodations, mind, but the poor man seemed in need of something of that sort.

When I informed him his room was ready, he gave me another one of his little nods and slowly stood, taking up his things, but I couldn’t help but notice the wobble in his legs, and how he gripped the table to help him stand. He was almost knocked over again as soon as he was on his feet by another awful coughing attack. Without thinking, I grabbed his elbow, for I feared he would land himself on the ground otherwise. I made note that he let me support him for an extra moment even after he had caught his breath before freeing his arm.

That being the case, I stuck close to his side as I showed him to his room. He seemed to lack the strength to even lift his feet, and he kept a hand pressed to his chest as he shuffled behind me, for he kept coughing as we went. It seemed now that he had started, he couldn’t get the coughing stopped. I went as quick as I dared for his sake, for he needed to be lying down hours ago, so it seemed.

And indeed, as soon as we entered the room I’d be letting him, he went straight for the bed, and with a little start, I noted he was removing his mask. ‘Twas only natural, for of course a man wouldn’t want to sleep in such a contraption, but it was a strange moment for this old barkeep to see a man emerge from inside a plague doctor, odd as that sounds. He carefully, if shakily, placed the mask, pack, and cane at the side of the bed, though he kept the cloak on, and as he went to lie down, I saw his face at last.

He was only just a boy, barely able to grow a beard, with fine, sandy hair and bright blue eyes. And perhaps the eyes seemed all the brighter from the fever flush over his cheeks. For indeed, he looked more sickly than anyone I’d seen in some years, though lacking those terrible boils from the Plague o' course. He had a gentleman’s face and posture, and it seemed he had been brought up well. He dropped onto the bed like a sack of potatoes, wrapping his cloak tightly about himself along with both blankets, groaning weakly. Now I tell ye, me old heart just melted for the lad, alone and sick without a friend in the world, so it seemed. As we regarded each other, I saw he too was afraid. His eyes pleaded for aid of any kind, and it seemed I was to be the one to give it.

I quickly fetched him the tea my girl had prepared, and as he took it, he spoke for the first time since we’d met:

“Thank you, sir.” His voice was deep, but barely more than a croak. I wagered he had coughed his throat raw enough that he could hardly speak. Sure enough, he sipped the hot tea with a look of relief, as if some pain was eased from drinking it.

“You’re most welcome, master Doctor. You look as if you needed it, and I’m happy to oblige. Listen here though, lad, I’m insisting you’ll stay here at my inn until you’re well. For seeing yer face now, I’d be right distraught to think of you going back out into this winter weather with that chill o’ yourn. You stay here in this bed and me and me girl Eliza will look after ye until yer feelin’ yerself again. I won’t hear a word of anything else.”

A look of gratitude washed over the doctor’s face, and he nodded weakly.

“Good, then it’s settled.” A thought occurred to me, and before I could talk meself out of it, I put a hand to the boy’s face to feel his fever, just as my sweet Margery did for me and the children many a time when we were poorly. Indeed his skin felt like fire under my hand. The lad was very still as I went about this, and I heard the rasping in his chest as he breathed.

“You’re full of fever, master Doctor. I’ll see if I can’t round up some herbs to ease for ye, so ye can rest more easy. Is there anything else yer needin’ in the meantime?”

He shook his head, taking another sip of tea. “You’ve done more than enough already.”

“Well, we're all God’s creation at the end of the day, ain’t we, and the Lord in heaven likes us to care for the sick, as I’m sure you’re well acquainted. 'Tis no trouble. Ye got a name, sir, so’s I ain’t always callin’ ye ‘master Doctor’?”

He took a breath to answer, and instead coughed again. I waited as he caught his breath and tried once more: “Alastair. My name is Alastair Clayton,” he rasped weakly.

“Alastair. That’s a good name ye have, master Alastair. It’s a pleasure to meet ye. Well, as I said, I’ll be around to check on ye again, or else Eliza will. Meantime, try to get yer rest. I must be gettin’ back to the other patrons for a bit.”

“Thank you kindly. Master Hamish?” The lad sat up as high as he could, and raised his voice so I could better hear him: “I don’t have the Plague, I promise. I haven’t been around any Plague for more than 3 months. I just wanted to tell you that.”

“Of course ye don’t, lad. I know ye don’t have the Plague, otherwise I wouldn't have let the room. Seems to me I can smell when a person has Plague on them, and you don’t smell like Black Death. So we’ll just keep an eye on this fever o’ yourn and have you back to doctorin’ right quick.”

He nodded, sinking back against the pillow. He swallowed the last dregs of tea and lay himself back down as I made to leave. The last glimpse I saw of the lad was his eyes drifting closed to sleep.

Before returning to my bar, I rounded up Eliza and asked her to keep a special eye on master Doctor, for I knew I had too much work to be giving him the care he should have. Eliza, being as brave (or foolhardy) as her father and kind as her mother, took to the idea gladly. She ran up to go meet him straightaway, though I cautioned her he might be sleeping. She paid no mind, and I let her be.

Knowing he was in good hands, I proceeded to go back to the bar and wait on the remaining patrons and close down for the night as usual. I wagered there'd be whispers all over town about there being Plague in my inn after the spectacle he'd made, but all the folks around knew the best ale to be had was at my inn, so I hoped business wouldn't be much affected.

It seemed I had picked the right person to look after master Alastair, for when I tried to go peek in on him once more before I turned in, I passed Eliza going the other way, and the girl shooed me away from his door, whispering that he was sleeping and not to be disturbed. Knowing my daughter was not to be argued with, I did as I was told, though I did have meself a chuckle as I went.

~~~~~~~~~~

Next morning, first thing I did, even before opening the inn, was to go look in on the doctor. All of this is a bit above our normal hospitality, mind, but the look in the boy's eyes when he first took off that mask had stuck with me, and I was going to make certain he had all his needs met as long as he was here.

As expected, master Alastair was sleeping. He was still wearing his black cloak, wrapped tight about himself, along with both blankets, and he seemed to be near shivering where I was near sweating in the warm room. His face was more flushed than ever, his lips were cracked, and his breathing was raspy.

Even as I watched, his shoulders began to twitch with coughs, though he wasn’t yet awake. That changed promptly, for the coughs came more and more harshly until he was jerked awake to tend to them. He coughed so badly that I had almost made up my mind to go sit him up and make sure he caught his breath when they started to subside, though the poor man was left gasping for air. After he composed himself some, he finally noticed me standing there, and tried to sit up to greet me. I quickly urged him to stay as he was and moved to his side, seeing how his limbs trembled and chills wracked him.

“Master Alastair, how do ye fare today?” I murmured, clasping his shoulder.

“ ‘m very dizzy, sir and my bones ache deeply. The room spins around me," he mumbled faintly, eyes heavy-lidded and fever-bright.

“Ach, now that's right troubling. I’d wager your fever’s just a-roarin’ now, for I feel it through yer clothing. I fear I won’t be much help to ye. But just say the word, I’ll fetch ye anything ye desire, long as it’s in my power.”

Alastair shifted carefully, and it seemed every movement pained him in some way or other. “I’d much appreciate something to drink,” he rasped, licking his dry lips."

“Right you are, lad. I’ll have a beverage up for ye in a blink. Don’t stir an inch.”

I trotted my way down the stairs, and who did I meet coming the other way again but Eliza, up and about far before her normal time. Knowing where she was heading, I quickly passed along what I knew of master Doctor, and asked her to fetch his beverage, for indeed the inn was needing to be opened along with 1,000 other tasks, and there was no one to do them but me. She dashed off straight away, and once again I knew he was in good hands.

Sure enough, I got so busy, I didn’t see him again until late. I passed Eliza once, coming up from the cellar with bundles of herbs in her arms. She informed me she was making a poultice for the doctor’s fever, as he was near delirious with it. I gave her my blessing, saying I had hoped she would do that very thing, as she had inherited the knowledge of healing herbs from her mother, my dear Margery, and I knew she would do far better at such things than I would have meself.

It was not until long after dinner, when most folks had gone to their own homes, that I found a chance to go see him again. Eliza was already with him when I peeked in. She was seated at his side, a bowl of water in her lap, and bathing his face with a cool rag. The lad appeared to be asleep, breathing thickly. Eliza turned to me, worry creasing her brow.

“He’s so feverish, papa. Nothing I do seems to help. He’s having the most awful nightmares.”

“Keep your chin up, dear heart. Fevers pass in time. He seems a strong lad, and with you helping, he’ll shake it sooner or later. I’m sure you’re doing a fine job tendin' to him. Ye be needin’ anything while I have a moment?”

She shook her head, turning back to her charge. So, I too turned and left, a knot of worry in me own heart, especially as I heard master Alastair start one of his terrible coughing fits as I shut the door. I hated to burden my daughter with undue concern, and I dearly hoped the poor boy would pull through. ‘Twas a sad day indeed.

Late that night, Eliza joined me just as I was finishing closing down the inn, and she helped with the chores as she always did, saying master Alastair was asleep for the night. As we worked, she told me what she had learned of him through the day.

She said he spoke little, often only replying in nods or shakes of the head, but was always the perfect gentleman. She said though that when he woke from his nightmares, he spoke some, wanting to explain the dreams. The reason he hadn’t been around any Plague for 3 months was that his young wife had been with child, and he had quarantined for the required 40 days so he could meet his offspring at the birth. He had arrived just in time, but sadly his wife had died giving the child life. He never even got to see her before she passed. His son, a sickly thing, died a few days later, for he wouldn’t suckle or swallow any food. Master Alastair, having nothing else to do aside from mourn, was heading back to the cities to again help Plague victims. He had got caught in the rain some days back and caught a chill, and he had been unable to shake his cough ever since.

I had little to say upon hearing such a tale of sadness. It seemed to me if any man had a right to some comfort and rest, it was master Doctor. I was again glad that I was the one able to be giving it to him, and I could tell Eliza felt the same. We fell to bed that night with our hearts still heavy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Next morning, I again went to check on the doctor first thing. The sight I saw upon entering was almost the opposite of what it had been the day before; master Alastair had flung all his covers off, his cloak tangled around his legs, and his limbs flung wide. He was snoring loudly, and I feared for how his poor throat would feel as he woke. Most importantly though, he seemed to be sweating profusely. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad meself, but any change from his fevered shivering was worth being noted. As I watched, he rolled over, muttering in his sleep, and buried his face in the pillow with a sigh. The change in position eased his snoring, and I quickly petitioned the saints on his behalf for restful, healing sleep.

This day was less busy than the one before, so I could go look in on him more often. However, every time I did so, he was deeply asleep, usually with Eliza nearby. In fact, Eliza reported that his fever was lessened, but he could hardly keep his eyes open and only wanted to sleep the day away.

I sensed she was worried, and again reassured her, for sleeping was a part of illness and if his fever was down, all the better. She seemed little comforted, but nodded resignedly.

The final time I went to see him before I turned in, he was at last sitting up in bed, sipping a bowl of broth, Eliza at his elbow. Both greeted me with tired smiles. I could do naught but smile in return.

"So it seems we're serving supper in the middle of the night now, Eliza?"

"He just woke but half an hour ago, and was famished, papa. I didn't think you'd mind.

"Well, such things aren't our normal accommodations, you see, but I suppose exceptions can be made," I said with a chuckle. "Master Alastair, it's good to see you're awake. How do ye feel?"

"Some better. It seems the fever has mostly gone, though I'm weary to my bones."

"That's good to hear, for I believe Eliza would have it no other way than to see ye on the mend. You've deprived me of me girl, master Doctor, for she’s hardly stirred from your side for 2 days, and it's been left to me to run me inn all alone."

Eliza shot me a look that said she wished I would be quiet, while master Alastair reddened in embarrassment. As he stuttered to find something to say, I stopped him with a wave of me hand and another chuckle.

"Settle yerself lad, I was only having a bit of a jest. I asked her to look after ye, and she's done a fine job. But I'm mighty glad to find ye feeling better, for 'tis a shame to see a doctor be ill."

"I'm most grateful for everything you've both done for me," croaked the doctor. "I can't imagine where I would be without your aid."

"Concern yourself with naught but resting now. We're happy to be looking after ye."

"Your kindness won't be forgotten," he managed, though the last word was cut short with a barking cough, followed by several more. His face was red from exertion as he quieted and gasped for breath.

"I'll stop talking yer ear off and leave ye to rest yer voice. Rest well, master Doctor."

He nodded limply, looking exhausted. Eliza and I exchanged a glance, and I knew she'd be following behind me as soon as he was sleeping.

AsI walked to me own chambers, I had to chew me lip a bit, for I wondered how master Alastair was to be paying for his room. I hadn't yet seen a hint of coin on him. I had to let it be, though, for in all 'twas merely a room, and if I was to be givin' it to him as charity, so be it. After all, that's as the Lord in Heaven would have it, carin' for the sick and all.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the 3rd morning of his stay, I was quite in the habit of looking in on him before I started choring, and on that third morning he looked at peace in sleep for the first time since I’d known him. Imagine my chagrin, then, when a cold draft blew in the door from behind me and stirred the lad awake with a start.

I hastily whispered my apologies for waking him as he stirred groggily, rubbing his face with a shiver.

" 'tis no harm, master Hamish," he yawned. "Can I do something for you?"

"No, no, master Doctor, not at all. 'Tis I who should be asking that of you, for that's why I disturbed ye. Is there anything I could get ye?"

He shook his head, gesturing to a plate of biscuits and a full mug sitting on the floor nearby. "I have all I need. You've been too good to me."

"Not at all, sir. Think nothin' of it. But I'll leave ye be to get back to yer rest. Again, I'm right sorry to have woken ye. 'Twas not my intent."

" 'S no trouble," he mumbled, rolling over, already nearly asleep again.

I left him be, still kicking myself. Serves me right for being nosy.

The day passed slowly, and I didn't see Eliza once. Around noontime I made my way up to the sickroom, for lack of nothing else to do and also to make sure all was well with the two of them. Master Alastair was alone, however, looking absorbed with his thoughts. He sat on his bed, leaning against the wall. A book was spread across his lap, and it seemed he had been writing in it before I came in. Seeing me though, he set aside his quill.

"Master Hamish. What can I do for you?" he asked. His voice was still hoarse, but the strongest I'd heard it yet.

"Comin' to see ye lad, and me daughter. Is she anywhere hereabouts?"

"She left some time ago. I thought she was going to you, for I told her I had need of nothing."

"You're feeling better then, master?" I came closer to better scrutinize him. He had vivid circles under his eyes, and he was far too pale, but the feverish cast to his eyes was gone, and he looked alert and rested.

He nodded in reply.

"Cough ain't botherin' ye none?"

"Some. Better than it was, though. It’s been a relief to not wear the mask for a few days. And Miss Eliza made a tonic for me which helped greatly."

"She's a good girl, and I've her mother to thank for it. Well, I mainly came to check on yer health and it seems all is well on that front, so if there’s nothin’ ye need, I suppose I'll go see where Eliza got to. I don't mean to disturb ye."

"Wait, master Hamish." The lad sat up straighter, something clearly on his mind. "May I ask you a question?"

"O' course, master Doctor."

"I fear I may sound ungrateful, and nothing could be further from the truth, but a question has been running in my mind the entire time I've been partaking of your hospitality these three days, so I must ask it: Why have you done so much for me while I've been here? I doubt my own kin would give me such care, were I to be ill while staying with them. Yet I am here with you, only a stranger, and you've cared for me like your own son. What has inspired you to such kindness?"

"Well, I can't speak to the care yer own kin would give ye if ye were ill, but I haven't treated ye any differently than I would any man who came into my inn in the state ye were three nights ago. As to why though... I s’pose it’s due to the fact that I know what it’s like to be the person in a room that everyone's either starin’ at, or pretendin’ doesn’t exist, just as happened to ye when ye first stepped in the door. Yes, I've been that man a time or two as well, and there’s nothin’ on earth that makes a man feel lonelier. I vowed it would never happen to another person in any room where I stood. That, and my dear wife Margery, she’s passed now, but if ever she knew of a soul in need of some comfort, she would be first in line to give it. So I try to do the same, in honor of her memory.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for telling me that. Well, as I’ve said many times, I don’t know how I can ever repay you. All the words in the world couldn’t express my gratitude.” He stifled a little cough as he reached out to shake my hand. I took it gladly. His hand was strong and warm. A better handshake I’ve never had.

“I dunno about all the words in the world, master Alastair, but there ain’t no need for such thanks. I should hope any good Christian would do the same, and it was no trouble to do it. If yer feelin’ up to it, we’d love to have ye in the tavern for supper. It would greatly please this old barkeep to chat at length with ye around a meal. But for now I won’t keep ye from yer work there, and I’ve yet to see my daughter. We’ll speak again soon. Until then.” I tipped me cap and took me leave, truly thinking I’d see him again after a while. However, that was to be the last time I spoke with him.

It seemed Eliza had gone to lie down that afternoon, which is why no one could locate her. I eventually found her curled up fast asleep on some grain sacks in a corner. I feared she had been taken with master Alastair’s sickness, but she laughed at my worry as she got up, saying she was merely tired from being up early as well as late, and running up and down the stairs so much. She was without fever, so I had to take her at her word, though I cautioned her not to overtax herself.

That evening, Eliza reported to me that the Doctor had again taken a bit of a chill and his fever had returned. Not much, but enough to make him tired and without desire to eat, so he would be spending another evening in his room. I was mighty sorry to hear that, and I wished him good health, by means of Eliza. However, due to the rain finally subsiding after weeks of it, my tavern was packed for supper. I could hardly keep my head as I served everyone, and the poor Doctor didn’t cross my mind again until I was turning in many hours later. Eliza was already abed. I debated going to see master Alastair once more before I retired, but I was bone weary, and not to mention afraid of accidentally waking him as I had that morning. So, it seemed best to me at the time to go to bed meself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Even the pre-dawn darkness felt fresh after the rain the next morning. Winter was not yet over, but spring felt just a bit closer. I whistled softly to myself as I crept up the stairs to see the doctor. I only hoped he hadn’t taken a turn for the worse again. Making sure no errant breeze would enter this time, I cracked open his door and peered in.

To my shock, I found his room standing empty. The bed was made, and everything was as it had been when I first brought him here, aside from a large pouch and a sheet of paper lying on the bed. Striding to the items, I first opened the pouch. It was overflowing with coin, at least three times the amount needed to cover his expenses. This alone overwhelmed me, and I had to compose myself for a moment before I took up the paper. It was a letter addressed to Eliza and myself. I read slowly, several times over.

It was written in a fine, straight hand, exactly the script I would expect from such a man. He spent the majority of the lines thanking us yet again for the kindness we had shown him from the first moment he was at our inn until the last. He hoped the payment he had left was enough, though nothing could repay what he owed us, so he said. He made special mention of the fact that he had arrived here while in his life’s lowest point, but it was us who had helped him back on his feet. He apologized for leaving without saying goodbye, but he felt it was best. At the very end, he mentioned that he didn’t know when he was to return, but we could count on meeting him in the future, if we would have him, for he would greatly like to remain in touch and see us again one day.

As I finished reading it, Eliza entered the room behind me. She looked around the room, her face expressionless.

"He's gone, then?"

"Aye. He's gone."

"I had a notion he would leave today. Well, I suppose it was to happen eventually. He'll be back."

I glanced at the letter, then back at her, knowing she hadn't read it. "How do ye know that, lass?"

"Because he knows he's safe here. He needs to do his work. But when he wants to be safe again, he'll be back." She shrugged as she spoke, as if everyone should know such things.

I could only chuckle and shake me head at the insight of women. As we headed back downstairs, I said a prayer for master Doctor's safety, already missing his gentle presence and looking forward to the day we would see him again.

#reblog your old stuff

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