Post by ethan rafferty on Nov 11, 2011 22:08:20 GMT -5
[/font][/i]”
“You're actually insane.
No response. At least, not a verbal one – the blonde is busying herself around the kitchen, a batch of brownie batter in a glass bowl on one counter, a lump of dough studded with chocolate chips on another, flour everywhere and tins in the oven, pans on the stove-- it's hot and it smells good and it's the last thing Ethan expected to come home to today.
Rushing to the side of his supposedly ill girlfriend, Ethan puts a hand on her shoulder to still her. “Lottie, this isn't... You're throwing up everything you eat, this doesn't make sense![/font][/i]”
She glares at him as though he's stupid, and Ethan blames the fever.
“But you've still got to eat, Ethan. I'm not going to sit back and watch you dip pizza rolls into Ramen or whatever other culinary travesty you'd bastardize the concept of dinner with.[/font][/i]”
He's temped to smile and he does, it only intensifying her glare. “Charlotte. Stop. Besides, my eating-[/font][/i]” he stops, glancing around to try and get some sort of inventory on what she's making, “beer battered bread and brownies is hardly a nutritional triumph.[/font][/i]”
More glares, this time so hot he's surprised he hasn't caught alight.
“Smells amazing though![/font][/i]”
Glare, continued.
“Lottie...[/font][/i]”
This time her wrath is interrupted by a coughing fit, and Ethan pats her on the back a little too firmly, before guiding her to the couch. “Sit.[/font][/i]”
“But I'm not si--[/font][/i]”
“SIT.[/font][/i]”
The command does it, and though she does it with a pout, Charlotte does as she's told. There's flour all over her apron and even in her hair, but even under the coating of white powder her cheeks are flushed and it's obvious that she's not at her peak. When he returns to the living room he's got a blanket and an uncharacteristic amount of patience, a mug of hot lemon juice and honey in hand as an offering.
“Get this down ya, you'll be feelin' better in no time.[/font][/i]”
The dark look he gets in response is so childish it forces the corners of his mouth into a grin. He watches the woman as she inhales the steam wafting off the mug and takes a tentative sip, a feeling of true victory creeping through him as he notes her visible softening.
“I need to get back to the kitchen, the oreo-fudge-cookie-brownie-flapjack is going to burn--[/font][/i]”
“The what? Actually, I don't wanna know, just trust me to take care of it – don't look at me like that, I can manage to turn a fuckin' oven off! Just chill. Milk it, even.[/font][/i]” Forcing the blanket on her before she had a chance to object, Ethan couldn't help pinching her nose. “Aren't ya just the darndest thing?[/font][/i]”
Having made the choice to ignore Charlotte's muttered death threats (illness had seemed to induce a role reversal that he was actually quite enjoying), he fiddled with the dial on the oven for a few seconds, giving up on it in order to microwave some chicken soup. He'd been out to the store expressly to buy said soup, and it was something he almost regretted now, given that when he left Lottie was safely tucked up in bed with her stuffed giraffe, and it was only in the half hour he'd been out that she'd managed to get up to wreak this havoc.
Returning to the living room, Ethan's pleased to see that Charlotte's done away with the dirty apron and is nestled deep in the tattered couch, her hair scraped up into a messy ponytail that serves as a pleasant reminder of how comfortable she is around him. Her skin is clammy and patchy and he doesn't need to see the shadows under her eyes to know she was up half the night, since her tossing and turning guaranteed that he was too. Her vulnerability sent a pang of affection through the man, his hand scraping back the few remaining wisps of hair from her face. Just briefly touching his chapped lips against her forehead in a kiss lets him know she's burning up.
“Here, try to eat this if you can.[/font][/i]”
“... did you make that?[/font][/i]”
“These fair hands did put it in the microwave, yea.[/font][/i]”
She rolls her eyes but Ethan detects a half-smile, and half a smile is enough.
“Just work on getting better.[/font][/i]”
“Speaking of work, did you take a day off just for little old me?[/font][/i]”
“Don't make a big thing of it.[/font][/i]”
“But you never take time off work! Aw Ethan, I'm flattered, really. That Ethan James Rafferty-Kennedy would take a day off from ridding the streets of crime just to play nurse to me is really--[/font][/i]”
“You're not funny.[/font][/i]”
“So grouchy! Maybe we should get you a uniform. You'd look so cute in a little hat! You should stop dyeing your hair too, so the red could match the red cross that'd be on your dress.[/font][/i]”
Ethan feels himself heat up, unable to keep his temper down even if she's sick. “Charlotte, stop.[/font][/i]”
“Okay, okay,[/font][/i]” she concedes, holding a hand up in mock surrender. “So long as you feed me that soup. If you're going to treat me like a baby, I'm going to make you go the whole hog.[/font][/i]”
Sighing dramatically, Ethan takes the half-finished mug from her – another half victory – and puts it on the coffee table in front of her, next to the soup. He knows it'll be too hot just now, but even if it wasn't he'd probably do exactly what he's planning on doing anyway. Abandoning it, he clambered on top of her, sitting on her lap like he didn't weigh about three of her. Pushing his lips against hers, he can hear her protesting but it's lost in his mouth, his tongue pushing up against hers and tasting both Robitussin and Tylenol and not caring a damn that he's probably going to get sick.
“If this turns out to be aids I'm gonna be pissed,[/font][/i]” he says, breaking away with a smirk.
Charlotte smiles, and Ethan thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's seen all day. “Seriously though, I'm fine--[/font][/i]”
“Say that again and I'll stick Raffy in the blender.[/font][/i]”
“Okay, okay. Can I at least bake?[/font][/i]”
“No one wants your disease-ridden cookies, baby girl.[/font][/i]”
“Says the man who just stuck his tongue down my throat.[/font][/i]”
“Says the man who's going to make you take a week off work when he gets sick, and is gonna be a fuckload less gracious about it too.[/font][/i]”
“I can hardly wait.[/font][/i]”
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