#Started feeling rundown yesterday...held back sneezes all day

[maladyinpink]

Having a very real case of "Life Imitates Art"... After all the projecting onto comfort characters...they're projecting back onto me.

Sure, I mean...I'm not pregnant, or estranged from a badass twin sibling, fighting angel exorcists, or facing a giant three headed monster.

But with this month, chock full of personal bullshit, and the city, literally on fucking fire...it's sure felt like hell...And finally it culminated in waking up with a cold... Wah 😢

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

House Calls (2/2 )

Hannibal (TV)

This part took much longer than the first. The muse eluded me for quite some time but it has finally returned! And the fact that this beautiful gifset from the show is making the rounds again certainly helped. ❤❤ Shoutout to @mongooseblues for inspiration for and assistance with this fic! A small note for those that read part 1, I'm retconning the fact that Hannibal had a digital thermometer that beeps. He would definitely have a mercury one.

Read part 1 here. (Recommended, it is referenced quite a few times in part 2)

Read my other works here (works best on desktop) (Also on AO3)

My asks are always open for prompts!

For the second time in one week, Will Graham was awoken by the phone ringing. Granted, a week ago it had woken him because it rang at an unusually early hour. This time it woke him because he was still getting over the godawful bug he'd caught, and he was going to bed earlier and sleeping in later. 

He fumbled for the device and picked it up with a groggy " H'llo?"

"Will, it's Hannibal." The doctor paused to clear his throat roughly. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I have a favor to ask of you, if you're up to it." There was a strange noise on the other end of the line, a kind of shuffling noise-- or perhaps a sniffle?

"Sure," Will said with a yawn and a sniffle of his own, rubbing his eyes. "I've been feeling pretty good since yesterday. I can help with whatever you need."

"That's very promising. As to the favor...  It appears I've left my medical bag at my office." Here he had to stop to clear his throat again and cough before he continued. "I was wondering if you would be able to collect it for me and bring it to my home. I'm… well, it seems I've caught your illness and I don't believe it would be wise for me to leave the house."

By this time, Will had slid to sit on the edge of the bed as he listened, stifling further yawns. The damn flu still had him feeling so unbelievably tired and groggy. 

"I'll head out right away," Will replied, rubbing his face. "And… I'm really sorry to have put you in this position, Dr. Leh--Hannibal. I never meant to get you sick."

"Occupational hazard, and I don't regret any of my actions concerning your care. But I appreciate your assistance in getting my bag. I will see you soon I hope."

"See you soon." Will ended the call with a small sigh. Now he felt guilty *and* tired. He was almost glad there was something he could do for the doctor to help assuage his own conscience. 

Less than an hour later, Will arrived at Hannibal's stately house. It had been no problem to retrieve the black leather medical bag from Hannibal's office. Due to the late hour of their therapy sessions, Will always arrived after the office front entrance was locked, so he knew the code to the building’s back door. The bag had been hidden behind a table leg and it was easy to see how Hannibal had overlooked it  Now it was simply a matter of delivering it.

 Already a bit overwhelmed to be approaching such a house, Will hesitated after mounting the porch steps. Hannibal hadn't told him what to do when he arrived. If the doctor was sleeping he didn't want to rouse him out of bed, but he didn't want to just walk in either. However, the safest option seemed to be to bite the bullet and knock. As he raised his hand to do so though, he realized the door was slightly ajar. A man like Dr. Lecter wouldn't accidentally leave a door open, no matter how ill he was. It stood to reason, then, that it had been left open for him. With more than a little trepidation, Will pushed the door open and stepped in.

The house was dim and still, and just as stately and pristine as everything else of Hannibal's. Will heard the sound of a harpsichord from somewhere inside. Hannibal was awake, then. At least that was something. 

Will followed the sounds of the music, which led him into the cavernous kitchen. The stainless steel appliances were silent and eerie without Hannibal's bustling presence giving them life. The music was louder now, seemingly coming from the next room, and echoing slightly against the polished surfaces. A strange sixth sense kept Will from calling out that he had arrived, as if there was a spell on the house that didn't want to be broken. Will paused before he approached the corner that turned into the next room. As he did, the music stopped abruptly, and instead a different noise punctuated the air:

"HrrrrRRISHyuu! ErrrrRREISH-shooo! ISSSHH-chuhh! Hh'rrrsshh'CHHOOF!" 

It was of course Hannibal who had sneezed. Logically Will knew this was to be expected when a person was sick. Yet it seemed so strange to hear such a mundane noise from such an extraordinary person. It was as if he'd accidentally witnessed something exceedingly private. 

Still, the sneezing had broken the spell. The doctor said something in Lithuanian that sounded suspiciously like swearing, then began to blow his nose. As he did this, Will retreated several steps and reentered the kitchen more noisily:

"Dr. Lecter! I'm here! I've got your bag!"

"I'm in the study," came the congested reply, annexed by a chesty cough.

Will found the man where he said, seated in front of the instrument as he tended to his nose. Yet still, the doctor tried to smile warmly upon seeing him, though his shoulders had a limp sag to them, and he shivered as he sniffled into his handkerchief. He was wearing a fine blue silk robe with a plain white tee shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, neat but still a far cry from his usual suits. His hair was combed but lacked the crisp, styled look it usually had, hanging more naturally around his face. His eyes were fever-bright, and his cheeks were flushed from the same. He looked overall rundown and quite unwell. 

Will handed him the black leather bag right away. Hannibal took it, looking grateful. 

"Thank you so much for coming, Will. I didn't know who else to call." His voice was husky and thick, more than hinting at a miserable sore throat. 

"No problem. But what are you doing out here? I thought the reason I fetched this was because you were too sick to get out of bed."

"I'm really not very ill. I was merely trying to avoid getting anyone else ill by my going out. But you've already had this illness, so you are safe from infection, which is why I thought to call you."

"That's logical I suppose," said Will wryly. "You look pretty sick to me, though."

"I assure you I'm fie- fine…. '' Hannibal quickly disappeared behind the handkerchief again, his breath hitching to sneeze. His shoulders leapt violently several times, and the motion made his hair fall across his forehead. However, any other sneeze side effects were thoroughly stifled into silence. After finishing the fit, Hannibal wiped his nose and flipped his hair back again with a toss of his head. Noting how familiar the doctor seemed to be with the gesture, Will could only guess at the number of sneezing fits he had had prior to this one. 

Seeing the poor man’s sinuses take such abuse from the forceful stifles though made Will's own still-congested sinuses start dripping in sympathy. He hastily pulled out a tissue and wiped his nose.

"Ah, but you are still ill yourself. Where are my manners? I'll make us both tea." Hannibal quickly stood, but staggered before he could take a step, a hand going to his temple. 

"Dr. Lecter--!" Will was at his side in a moment to steady him, one hand on the doctor's arm and the other at his back, just as Hannibal had steadied him earlier in the week. Will was prepared to do whatever was needed to keep Hannibal upright, though his swaying made Will more than a little nervous, for Hannibal was much taller than he, and would more than likely take them both down if he fell. 

Thankfully, the doctor quickly righted himself, pulling away from Will's grasp. "Forgive me, I stood up too quickly." Dr. Lecter cleared his throat harshly, rubbing a palm across his eyes. 

"Are you sure you--"

"I'm fine, Will. Now, tea." He strode away to the kitchen, effectively ending the conversation, as was his talent. 

Will held his tongue for the time being and silently followed, sitting at the kitchen island while Hannibal puttered around making tea. The silence was companionable, only broken by the doctor's soft sniffles and coughs. At one point though, the doctor was overcome with a nasty coughing fit that bent him over at the waist as he grasped the countertop for balance. When the barking coughs subsided and he could breathe relatively normally once more, he flipped his hair back into place yet again and proceeded with what he was doing as if nothing had happened. Will noted all of this without comment. 

Once the tea was poured, Hannibal seated himself beside Will, and they sipped together in continued silence. Will found it odd, though not unpleasant, to be sitting next to Hannibal without speaking, for their usual interactions dictated that conversation was necessary. Will found the quiet enjoyable. Yet Hannibal could not relax, for he was forced to tend to another harsh bout of coughing, turned away from Will and muffled into his elbow. His lungs sounded as if they were trying to tear their way out of his chest. Will could only look on in concern, and it was several long moments before he quieted. 

"My apologies, Will," the doctor rasped as soon as he was able, the exertion having turned his face an even deeper shade of red.

"You don’t need to apologize. But you sound sick. And you look like you're running a fever. You should be in bed."

"I rest better down here with my music and my cooking. I couldn't lie in bed all day."

"I don't think you should do any cooking. You're shaking."

The doctor quickly hid his hands, which were indeed trembling with chills. "Even so. I find it hard to rest in bed during the day. I have trouble getting settled. It's too… quiet I suppose." He sniffled wetly, and was forced to dab at his nose with his handkerchief.

"Hmm." Will thought for a moment, studying his own hands, currently wrapped around his mug. "I suppose I have the same problem. And it's worse when you're not feeling well. But you helped alleviate that for me when I was sick." Will met the doctor's eyes, reddening slightly. "You should lie down after we're done with tea… and if you want, I'll stay with you for a while... If you think it'll help, I mean."

Hannibal regarded him in his penetrating way. "Are you that worried about my health, Will?"

"You're sick, Dr. Leh-- Hannibal. And I know how bad this flu is. I don't want to see you get worse."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, aside from another moist sniffle. "That is very kind of you to offer. I suppose you are right. Some rest would perhaps do me good."

Will nodded. "When we're finished, I'll stay here and do these dishes while you go get settled. I'll come see you as soon as I'm done. But let me know if there's anything else you need."

Hannibal gave a tiny smile. "Thank you, Will." With that, he obediently swallowed the last few gulps of tea and stood, moving toward the back of the house.

"Hannibal?"

The doctor turned.

"You don't… have to keep pretending you're fine. If you are pretending, I mean. I know how badly you're probably feeling better than anyone. You don't need to fake anything for my sake."

Will watched as Hannibal's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly--a thin crack in the veneer. The sick man gave the barest of nods, then proceeded on to what Will assumed was his bedroom. 

Will felt quite out of his element in more ways than one as he cleaned the dishes from their tea. Having no idea where anything went, he left it all out on a towel to dry. Once the kitchen was as clean as he could make it, he steeled himself to go check on his therapist.

The master bedroom was as luxurious as the rest of the house, and Will did his best not to gawk or make comparisons between this and his own tiny house. Hannibal had hung up his robe and was huddled in bed. He wasn't fully lying down, but was propped up against a stack of pillows, his breathing noticeably thick and raspy in the silent room. As Will expected, lying down evidently made the doctor feel the full impact of his symptoms (or perhaps he was simply done pretending). Hearing Will enter, he turned his head, lethargically opening heavy-lidded eyes. Against the cream sheets, the contrast between his pallor and fever flush was even more striking.

"It seems I'm more unwell than I thought," Hannibal murmured with a cough. "This is why I wanted to avoid lying down."

Will made a sympathetic sound. "That means you *need* to be lying down then. Have you taken your temperature recently? If not, we should."

Hannibal glanced at the medical bag he'd brought up with him. "The only thermometer I own is in there, so I have been unable to."

"A doctor that doesn't own a thermometer?" Will chuckled, moving to the bag. "I wouldn't have expected that."

"I do own one. I've never seen the need to own two."

Will deigned not to reply as he rummaged through the bag, quickly finding what he needed. He shook down the mercury as he returned to Hannibal's side. Hannibal held out his hand to take it, then shakily inserted it under his tongue. He leaned back to stare at the ceiling while Will stared at the floor, hands in his pockets.

Will waited what felt like an awkwardly long time before he finally shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. "How long does it take to get a reading? I've never--"

Hannibal held up a hand and waited a bit longer, then removed the device from his mouth, glanced at it, and handed it to Will without comment.

Seeing the reading, Will gave a low whistle. 104.1… that's high, Hannibal."

"My body temperature is always above average. This is more pronounced when I'm ill." 

"Do you have some medicine? You should probably take something. Or do you want a cool rag?"

"I have just taken medication." The doctor gestured to his nightstand with a thick sniffle where there was a small collection of unmarked pill bottles. "And there's no need for cooling methods. A fever is a natural physiological response to infection. Nothing to be alarmed about." He swiped at his nose with his handkerchief, stifling a cough.

Will was skeptical, but before he could respond, Hannibal jerked forward at the waist, pressing the handkerchief to his face again:

"Gghnxt! Kppshht!" 

The expression on the doctor’s face indicated that he could have (and maybe should have) kept sneezing, but he harshly pinched his nose with a wet squelch and blew, forcing the tickle to subside. 

Will sighed and shook his head, then made a face upon noticing the state of the handkerchief Hannibal was using.

"That handkerchief is...sodden. It's practically dripping. I'll get you a fresh one. Where do you keep them?"

"I only have 3 others and they are in worse shape than this one. I've rather been running through them."

Will chuckled. "I can't imagine why." He rummaged through his pockets, finally producing a nearly full, cellophane-wrapped travel pack of Kleenex which he handed to the doctor.

Hannibal made a face. "I despise using these." 

"I'm not sure you have an option right now. These have to be better than your soaking wet cloth ones."

"Debatable," Hannibal muttered. Still, he shook one out and gingerly brought it to his face. He gave several thick, gurgling blows, productive to the point of starting to disintegrate the tissue. Seeing this, Hannibal made another face.

"You really need to use 2 or 3 of those at a time," Will said, trying not to laugh. "But let me get you a trash can."

"There is one in the master bathroom," Hannibal croaked, looking peeved and sounding more congested than ever. 

Will quickly fetched the bin while Hannibal tried again to blow his nose, using 4 Kleenex this time. The 2nd round of blowing was equally productive. When he was finished, Will held the bin out and Hannibal tossed the tissues in as if he were tossing in a dead rat. 

"This is most unsanitary Will," Hannibal muttered with a slushy sniffle, yet still pulling out more to continue wiping his streaming nostrils.

Will only chuckled. Hannibal was breathing slightly easier now, but his eyes were heavier than ever. 

"You should sleep, Dr--Hannibal. You don't have to stay awake for my sake. I'll be here when you wake up."

The doctor nodded, obediently closing his eyes with a sigh. 

Will didn't expect such a quick response, and for a moment he watched the doctor to ensure he was truly going to sleep. When it appeared he was, Will perched on a nearby chair, unsure what else to do. It seemed he was to be staying with Hannibal in the most literal sense, for he wasn’t about to go wandering around this house by himself.

Half an hour passed, the minutes dragging slowly. The doctor lay perfectly still the entire time, but Will knew he wasn't sleeping. His frame was too alert. Meanwhile Will, with nothing to do except scroll through his phone and listen to Hannibal's deep breathing, was struggling to stay awake and wishing he too had a bed. Killing time was only making him more groggy, and his head was beginning to ache. 

Getting fed up with it, Will went with his instincts and tried something else. Swallowing a yawn and rubbing his eyes, he navigated to the e-reader app on his phone and pulled up one of his favorite novels. Clearing his throat, he began to read aloud: "The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten…."

As soon as there was another sound in the room, Hannibal began to visibly relax, angling his face toward Will even as he got more comfortable in the bed, though his eyes never opened. Slowly, slowly he sank deeper into the pillows as Will read on. Will sensed he was trying to follow the story, but it seemed the doctor's fatigue was overwhelming, especially since Will was trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. Within another 30 minutes, Hannibal's hand had gone limp around the Kleenex he was holding as he softly snored, sleeping at last. 

Will finished the chapter he was on, just to be sure the sick man wouldn't wake again, before he finally closed the book. His mouth was very dry and he needed a glass of water. Before he left the room though, he turned on the white noise machine he'd noted near the bed (he had a similar one in his own room), hoping some kind of continued noise would help Hannibal sleep longer. Will then tiptoed to the kitchen, pouring himself a huge glass of water right away. As he sat and drank it, he thought about what else he should do, for he didn't want to just continue sitting around. 

"What do you do for someone when they're sick?" he murmured to himself. Another moment later, he answered himself: "Make them soup, I guess." 

Hannibal's soup had been wonderful, but Will was no chef. He could prepare many basic things, but spices and seasonings, and thus soups, eluded him. He cringed at the thought of preparing something from scratch for a culinary master like Dr. Lecter. 

However, another idea occurred to him, and he smiled to himself as he considered it. It might work, but he would need to run an errand. He stood right away and strode to the front door, wanting to go and be back as quickly as possible. He only hoped Hannibal would sleep the whole time he was gone, for Will had promised to be there when he woke, and he intended to keep that promise.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hannibal didn't wake until many hours later, and Will was indeed at his side when he did. It was Hannibal's treacherous nose that did it. Will had noted subtle signs of him nearing consciousness again for a while, but the final straw was an uncontainable volley of sneezes:

"HRRIIZZSHH-uh! HhURRSHH-shuh! hrrRIIIZZSHHD! Hhh-KKRRCHHSSHHooo!"

The sighed exhale that followed bordered on a groan as that doctor shakily grabbed the tissues at his side and tended to his cherry-red nose yet again with several gurgling blows. Will had been at his side from the first sound, looking for any way to be useful. Eventually Hannibal met his gaze, taking a moment to survey the younger man. 

"You look tired, Will."

Will huffed a cheerless laugh. "You haven't doctored me enough yet this week?"

"A physician's nature doesn't change just because he's ill," Hannibal sniffled. "And you've also been ill. I don't want you to overtax yourself on my account."

"I'm fine. But you look tired too. How are you feeling?" 

Hannibal didn't reply immediately, seemingly taking inventory. A shaky breath caused him to cough harshly before he could speak, and Will winced in sympathy. 

"I feel thoroughly disgusting. And ill," Hannibal mumbled through congested-sounding consonants. "My head and chest feel achingly thick. Heavy." He put his own wrist to his forehead for a moment. "Feverish." 

"Here, you need to drink." Will handed the doctor a tall glass of ice water. Hannibal took it and drank it down with a grateful look, but the chill from the ice immediately caused him to cough into his fist yet again.

Will watched all of this, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm still sorry I got you sick, Hannibal. I hate seeing you like this."

Though Hannibal's eyes shone with fever, he eyed Will keenly. "This is not your fault. Illness is an expected part of the human experience. You must not blame yourself." It occurred to Will that congestion was not the only thing making Hannibal more difficult to understand--his Lithuanian accent was also far more pronounced than usual.

"I still feel terrible."

The doctor quirked an eyebrow at him, looking faintly amused. "What a coincidence. As I've just told you, so do I."

Will couldn't think how to respond, so they merely shared a wry smile. Then, without warning, Hannibal's torso whipped forward, and he exploded into another pair of thick, spraying sneezes:

"Hhht-KNNXT! hhnnxxt-CHUUHG!" Evidently his ability to stifle was weakening as his symptoms worsened. The sick doctor stayed hunched forward, blowing and wiping his raw nose for the hundredth time, looking utterly miserable as he shook the last few Kleenex from the package. 

"At least that's something I can help you with," Will said, nodding at the empty wrapper. He bent down and came back up with 2 new boxes of tissues. He opened one and handed it over. Hannibal took it reluctantly.

  "Those are the best ones you can get. They should be almost like real cloth."

"I rather doubt that," Hannibal muttered. "But I thank you nonetheless. They are sorely needed." 

"And I plan to take your cloth ones home and wash them and bring them back tomorrow. Including the one I still have. So you'll only have to deal with these for a bit longer," Will said with a little grin.

The doctor's eyes lit up in pleasure. "I would be most grateful for that."

"Is there anything else you'd like? Either now or tomorrow?"

Hannibal again coughed into his first before he spoke, sounding thoroughly phlegmy. "I should likely take some food. I'm feeling weaker than I ought to."

It was Will's turn to light up. "There's another coincidence… I have food ready for you. Some soup and stuff."

"I thought I smelled something simmering, even through this dreadful congestion. That explains why I'm suddenly hungry," Hannibal said with a thick sniffle, leaning back into his pillows. "Thank you for thinking of it. Though I would hardly call your predicting my needs a coincidence, but rather proof of your capabilities as a caretaker. Just something to think on.” The doctor gave him a pointed look even as he sniffled again. 

Will was now embarrassed and quickly moved to the doorway. "I'll go bring some for you now."

Hannibal let the subject drop and nodded weakly, closing his eyes as he massaged the bridge of his nose. Will hurried to the kitchen and ladled a bowl of chicken soup from the pot warming on the stove. He had the ingredients for grilled cheese ready as well, and a hot griddle waiting, so it was only a matter of minutes before he had a fresh, hot sandwich to accompany the soup. As a final touch, he peeled an orange and placed it on the plate with the sandwich, then grabbed the bottle of soda he'd bought, and transported it all to the sick room on a large tray.

Hannibal was clearly a bit taken aback upon seeing it all. "This is quite the spread, Will," he croaked. "Did you make all of this?"

"Define 'make', Will chuckled. "I turned the stove on, yes."

"The soup isn't yours then?"

"It's Campbell's chicken noodle, fresh from the can. The genuine, original sick day food. Grilled cheese made with the finest Kraft singles of course. An orange for the Vitamin C, no seeds. For the drink, we have ginger ale, the beverage that can cure any ailment. And for dessert, if you so desire, we also have hot chocolate."

Hannibal was speechless for a moment. Then, a tiny smile began to play across his features. "This is ...really something, Will. I haven't been served a meal quite like this in a very long time. I can't even remember the last time I had a cola." 

"Only the finest. Or at least the finest I could manage on short notice."

"You bought all of this just today?"

Will nodded. "This is what I used to like when I was sick. I figured I couldn't go wrong with classic comfort foods. I'm sorry I couldn't give you something higher quality. But I hope it still helps."

"Indeed." The doctor chuckled hoarsely. "This is quite satisfactory. I'm sure it will help. Thank you once again." Without further ado, the doctor dug into his feast.

To Will's surprise, the doctor easily finished not only the orange, but the soup and the sandwich as well, and seemed to enjoy them as much as could be expected. He was most skeptical of the ginger ale, but he finished half of that as well, pronouncing it "very interesting." Will also made sure he drank plenty of water to round it all out. Finally Hannibal pushed the tray away with a contented sound.

"In a practical sense, I always knew the restorative properties of chicken soup, but it's been many years since I experienced them first-hand," Hannibal managed, after blowing his streaming nose several times. "My throat and sinuses feel significantly better. As does my headache. Perhaps we should save the hot chocolate for tomorrow however, for I am comfortably full now." 

Will thought he was going to say more, for he paused oddly. Instead the doctor's breath hitched violently:

"Gihh-chuuh! Chnnggh!..." 

Only the first two in the fit were audible. He seemingly sneezed several more times, but he stifled them into oblivion, with only the movement of his head to indicate what was happening. Watching such forceful suppression was still painful, but it heartened Will slightly to know that Hannibal was feeling well enough after some food to worry about his dignity once more.

Finally the doctor ended his fit and fell back against the pillows with a weary sigh and a weak cough, flipping the hair off of his forehead yet again.

"That looked exhausting."

"Perhaps it would have been if I weren't exhausted to begin with," Hannibal mumbled, an arm over his face.

"Then you should sleep more."

Hannibal uncovered his eyes to meet Will's. "It would be terribly rude of me to sleep again while you are here."

Then I'll get ready to go. I'll clean up all of this then head out. Let you have some peace. But like I said, I'll be back tomorrow with your handkerchiefs." Will grabbed the tray, preparing to carry it to the kitchen. 

"Will?"

Will paused, turning around.

Hannibal looked slightly imploring. "If it's not too much trouble, would you mind reading a bit more before you go? I was quite enjoying the story."

Will couldn't help but smile. "It would be my pleasure."

[flipomatic]

Internship Chapter 6: Day 2 - Edric

Author Note: And here comes the second important original character.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

__________________________________________________________

The start of day 2 was almost the same as the first. Edric walked slowly to the jail, though this time wearing his new uniform. He carried the mask, enjoying the last part of his day where he’d be able to see properly. He held onto it with just enough force not to drop it, barely holding it between two fingers.

When he arrived, sighing at the sight of the building, Edric knew he was a few minutes late. Honestly though, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He walked slowly into the building, then through the Emperor’s Coven door. He only put the mask on when he entered the coven’s wing of the building, once again cutting off his peripheral vision.

After the long patrol in the market the day before, Mike didn’t tell Edric where to report the next day. He actually said he didn’t know what Edric would be doing, and suggested that he check with the dispatcher in the morning.

Since this was a suggestion and not an order, Edric didn’t feel obligated to obey.

After passing the offices, Edric went straight through the hallway intersection. It was time to see the staff lounge, since he hadn’t been able to go in there yesterday. He passed by a coven member on the way, who didn’t react to his presence. The mask helped with anonymity.

Edric opened the door to the staff lounge upon reaching it, entering the room. It was small, about the same size as the dispatcher’s office. There were a couple rundown looking couches near a table on one side, with an icebox and counter on the other. Only one coven member was inside when Edric entered, standing strangely near the door. He wouldn’t know who it was until they spoke.

The coven member watched Edric enter, before greeting him. “Good morning Edric!” He said loudly, allowing Edric to identify him as one of the patrol witches he met the day before. He was pretty sure that this one was Anderson.

“Morning.” Edric replied, not wanting to come off as rude but mostly not wanting to engage in conversation. He looked around the room, not impressed with the inside. It needed some color, he’d consult with Em later about which color would be best. It would be simple too apply it to the walls.

“I was just looking for you.” Anderson said, pulling Edric’s attention back to him. Edric didn’t believe that. He was supposed to go to the dispatcher, not to the staff lounge, so it wasn’t a great place to look for him. Unless, Anderson was one step ahead and knew he’d go there. How crafty of him. “My name is Frederick Anderson, we met briefly yesterday.” So, Anderson had been his last name. Edric made a mental note of it. “I have your assignment for today. Not just that, your assignment for the next few weeks.”

He paused for a moment, prompting Edric to ask, “What is it?” He had one eyebrow raised, though it wasn’t visible underneath the mask.

“I’ll be mentoring you. For the next four weeks we’ll go on patrols, hone our magic, and show the public just how great the Emperor’s Coven is!” Frederick pumped his fist with the last part, voice rising in volume.

So he was going to spend the next four weeks with this guy? Edric wasn’t thrilled; he seemed too gung-ho to match well with him. “Alright.” Edric responded simply, withholding a sigh.

“We’ll meet every morning by the locker room, then go to the dispatcher for assignment.” Frederick moved past Edric to the door as he spoke, opening it. “Which is where we’re going now.”

This time Edric sighed; his time to hang out in the staff lounge was vanishing before his eyes. He bit back a complaint and followed Frederick out. They walked back towards the intersection to head to the dispatcher’s office. Edric stayed behind him, out of sight.

“You go to Hexside, right?” Frederick asked as they walked. He was looking back over his shoulder; if Edric tried to do that while wearing the mask he would trip for sure.

“Yup, graduating next year.” Edric said with a nod, wondering why Frederick was asking.

“Feels like forever since I visited.” They turned the corner. “How’s principal Bump doing? Still hanging in there?” He sounded fond of the old witch.

Edric tried to keep his interactions with principal Bump to a minimum. “I think so, he’s still the principal.”

As Ed finished speaking, they reached dispatcher’s office. Frederick opened the door and entered, with Edric close behind.

The dispatcher was alone in the room, writing on one of the many papers that littered his desk. He looked up when they entered.

“Hello!” Frederick greeted him enthusiastically. “Where are we assigned for today?”

The dispatcher looked down and flipped through his papers, stopping on one and picking it up. “You’re off patrol for today, assigned to the training room.” Oh, training instead of patrol. For Edric, this could be way better than going on patrol, though it still sounded like a lot of work.

Fredrick flashed a thumbs up. “Thanks, we’ll be there if you need us.”

With a nod, the dispatcher dismissed them from his office. The pair left the room and started walking back across the building.

They were about halfway there when Edric had a random thought that he had to ask about. “Can I call you Fred?” It was easier to say than Frederick.

“No.” Frederick replied immediately, not even taking a moment to think about it.

Edric smirked, “Are you sure?”

This time Fredrick stopped, turning his head to look right at Edric. “Yes, I’m sure.” He said firmly, before continuing to walk.

Edric made a mental note of the exchange; this could make good prank material later.

A minute later the pair reached their destination and entered the training hall.

A couple coven members were already there training, but there was plenty of space for them too. Frederick walked to one of the empty corners, signaling for Edric to follow him.

“How much combat experience do you have?” Frederick asked when they stopped.

Edric thought about it. He had helped fight a slitherbeast before, but other than that he didn’t have any. “Very little.” He admitted, adding an additional detail. “And I can’t imagine fighting in this mask.”

“We can fix that.” Fredrick lifted one finger to casting position. “There’s an illusion spell that lets you see out, but keeps the outside solid.” Ooh an illusion spell. That was right up Edric’s alley. “Let me show you.”

Frederick spun his finger to cast the spell, making a small magic circle. A moment later the spell took effect, and Edric gasped audibly in shock. All of the sudden, his mask was transparent. He could see out of it in every direction, not just through the eye holes. He took it off and turned it around, but the other side was still solid white.

“Very impressive.” Illusion magic was the best; Edric fully believed that. He put the mask back on.

“You try it next.” Frederick canceled the spell, returning Edric to not being able to see.

Edric lifted his hand, carefully drawing the magic circle. When the spell activated, his mask again became transparent from the inside. It wasn’t as clear of an image as Frederick’s spell had been, but it was great for a first attempt. He would have to keep the spell up for a while, but if it failed he could always reapply it.

“It works.” Edric said with a nod. His animosity towards the mask was quickly decreasing, but he still planned to bury it after everything was over.

“Good work!” Frederick sounded excited, though it was hard to tell without being able to see his face. “So that’s one combat obstacle down. What kind of magic do you specialize in?”

Edric stood straighter as he responded. “Illusion magic, near the top of my class.” He bragged, which he felt was earned after performing that spell correctly on the first try. He also had earned a spot to intern at the Emperor’s Coven, which was nothing to sneeze at.

“That’ll be useful, we do a lot of illusion spells. What other types can you do?”

This was a point of shame. “None at all.” Edric shook his head with a derisive chuckle, he was terrible at other types of magic.

“We’ll see about that.” Frederick replied, something that Edric didn’t like the sound of. “Let’s start with illusions though. Do you know any rope or net spells?”

Edric drew a magic circle, summoning a rope illusion. “Rope, check.” He swung the rope overhead, like a lasso, then flung it in Frederick’s direction. Instead of wrapping around him as intended, it bounced off and vanished. Edric just stared in shocked silence.

“Magic ward.” Frederick said simply. “We’ll get to it someday. For now, I think you should learn a couple of other spells.”

“I really don’t want to.” Edric replied dryly. There was no way this would go well.

“That’s the spirit.” Frederick was undeterred by Edric’s lack of enthusiasm. “We’ll start with a plant spell.” He lifted his hand again to cast a spell, this time drawing a green magic circle. A few roots grew out of the dirt floor, reaching a few inches off the ground. “This spell can be used to grab the ankles of someone trying to escape. Go ahead and try it.”

Before so much as lifting a finger, Edric knew he wasn’t going to be able to do this spell. He had tried a plant spell once before, and couldn’t get a plant to wiggle let alone grow. He slowly lifted his hand, trying to create the magic circle. He made it about half way around before it wobbled and collapsed. Frowning, Edric tried again to cast it. He was able to close the circle, but when the spell activated it had no effect.

Frederick cast another spell, drawing a single root further above the ground. He left it there, sticking up. “Try again, focus on just this one.”

Edric sighed, but did as he was told. He remade the spell circle, focusing the spell on the one root. When it activated the root twitched, but otherwise didn’t move.

Each subsequent attempt reminded Edric why he didn’t bother with plant magic. It just didn’t work well for him, not at all.

They worked on the spell for a while, and eventually Edric was able to make the root move slightly. With that achieved Frederick was satisfied enough to let him move on to a different spell.

“Next, you need to be able to do a basic healing spell.” Frederick said, causing Edric’s stomach to drop even further. His healing magic was just as bad as his plant magic. “Just to heal small cuts, I’ll demonstrate.” Frederick first cut a small portion of the root, then made a small magic circle to demonstrate the spell. When it activated, it healed the root completely.

Frederick made it look easy, but for Edric it wouldn’t be. First, he tore a notch into the root again so he’d have something to heal. Then he spun his finger to cast the spell, luckily able to complete it on the first try. Unfortunately, there was no impact on the root.

Frustration growing, Edric tried again. His second attempt still had no effect; somehow this was worse than the plant spell.

“Try to remain calm.” Frederick couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to sense his irritation. “Healing spells don’t work if you’re agitated.”

Saying that did not help Edric follow through on it and his next few casts of the spell had similarly bad results.

They continued like this for some time, trying to get the spell to work. Edric had little luck, even less than with the plant spell.

“How about this.” Edric remarked after yet another failed attempt. “I’ll just use illusion spells instead.” He was getting nowhere with this.

Frederick was, unfortunately, turning out to be quite stubborn. “Not everything can be replaced with illusion magic.” He stated firmly.

“I disagree.” Edric wasn’t going to back down on this. “That plant spell, I can match it with an illusion.” He drew an illusion circle, which was wonderfully easy after struggling for so long with plants and healing. It triggered a wave of small illusion ropes, popping out of the ground. “Works just as well.” He crossed his arms.

“But if you lose focus, the spell will break.” Frederick countered with a shake of his head. “You still need to learn the plant one. And there’s no replacing healing with illusions.”

Edric grimaced beneath his mask, but couldn’t think of a good spell to counter with on the spot. “We’ll see.” He said, making a note to ask Em later if she knew of an illusion spell that could heal.

“For now, keep working on the two new spells. I’m going to be doing some training on my own, if you need anything come grab me.” Fredrick pointed to a spot about ten feet away, where he would go to train.

That was fine by Edric, time alone to work was way better than what they’d been doing. He nodded once, and Frederick left to do his own training.

Now on his own, Edric immediately abandoned the new spells. He worked on practicing his illusion based net spells, trying to find the best one that had a short cast time.

Edric kept his back to Frederick; he had no interest in watching the other witch train.

He also kept trying to think of how to replace healing with illusions, but didn’t have much luck with that.

Next Chapter

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember Prompt # 9: I’m Not Sick

Title: First Date Fever

Fandom: Jurassic World

Claire arrives at Owen's bungalow for their first date, and finds him sick. He convinces her to stay and spend time with him anyway.

(Author’s note: Not a very popular fandom I know, but it’s one I’m very familiar with, and I have a soft spot for these characters. Set before the events of the first Jurassic World movie--my version of Claire and Owen's first date. You don’t need to know anything about the movie for this fic.)

Claire Dearing was not the type of girl to meet men at their homes before a date. That was far too personal and risky. First dates were always in safe, public locations. However, she had decided to make an exception for Owen, since his bungalow was actually on the grounds of the park, and she knew many of his neighbors, the locals who ran the park behind the scenes. Owen had insisted she meet him here when she had called him earlier in the day to confirm the date, and wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. Since this seemed to be a safer place to meet than the average guy's house, and since military-man Owen was cuter and more desirable than the average guy, she had agreed.

She parked her Mercedes to the side of his bungalow, smoothing her new sun dress and checking her hair one last time as she stepped out. She knew this dress highlighted her best features perfectly, and she was excited to wear it on an actual date rather than a work outing. However, her excitement faded slightly upon seeing the state of the shabby, almost derelict yard. She hoped he intended to make her trip out here worth it. She picked her way carefully to the door of the house, sidestepping odds and ends and being mindful of the mud, making a face as she did so. She knocked sharply, arranging her face once more in a smile, trying to recover her eagerness.

Owen took his time answering the door. When he finally appeared, yawning, Claire's face fell again. He was disheveled and haggard, dressed in a ratty tee shirt, with bags under his eyes and a flush across his cheeks. His hair wasn't even combed.

"Hey, you're here! You look beautiful," Owen croaked. "Just give me a minute and I'll be ready to go," he said with a sleepy sniffle.

"Are you… hungover or something? You really don't look good. You haven't even showered."

"Not hungover, not at all. Haven't had anything to drink all week," he said, clearing his throat roughly. "I guess I accidentally fell asleep after work, so I'm still kinda out of it. I'm really sorry...  I just need a few minutes. You can come in if you want."

"I'm fine out here… thanks. I'll just… wait."

"I'll be quick." He ducked out of sight again, closing the door. 

Claire sighed, flopping onto the porch swing to wait. She really hoped this date was going to get better fast.

Owen reappeared in record time, looking much better in a button-down shirt and chinos, though still very rundown and tired. "All set?" he croaked, shutting the door behind him. Before Claire could reply, he hunched over to sneeze twice into his elbow, directing the spray away from her.

"Sorry, dust," he muttered, swiping his nose with his shirt cuff.

Claire backed away from him, wrinkling her nose. "Are you ok, Owen? You sound like you're coming down with something. Or already came down with something."

"Nah, I'm not sick. Like I said, just dust. C'mon, let's get going."

He held out a hand to help her down the porch steps like a gentleman, and she almost took his hand to let him, attempting to forget the strange start to the date. That is, until he sneezed again unexpectedly, directly onto her outstretched hand. She drew it back in disgust, immediately applying hand sanitizer from her bag as he apologized, then blew his nose, which turned into a cough.

"Owen Grady, you are sick! Don't lie to me. Why the heck are you trying to take me out when you're contagious? Are you trying to get me sick too?"

Owen shuffled to the porch swing and sank down onto it, looking defeated. "So maybe I did come down with something. It came on strong yesterday, but I didn't want to believe it. Feel like crap now. But… I  didn't want to cancel our date. I've been looking forward to it for weeks. Had it all planned out and everything." He coughed wetly into his shirt sleeve.

 Claire leaned against the porch railing with a sigh. "Well I was looking forward to it too. But we can't very well go out while you're sneezing and running a fever."

"I'm not running a fever."

She scoffed. "Whatever you say. Have you even checked?"

He reached up and touched his palm to his own forehead. "Feels fine to me."

"Well of course it feels fine to you. You can't check your own fever that way," she sighed, exasperated. "Do you even own a thermometer?"

"Nope."

"Ugh," she huffed again. Against her better judgement, she moved to his side and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead for a moment before quickly stepping away again. "You're definitely too warm."

"We can still go out. I'm fine." 

"No you're not." 

He almost certainly didn't hear her statement, since he sneezed several times right in the middle of it. 

"Case in point," she said as he wiped his nose, looking miserable. "We can't go out tonight." Try as she might, she couldn't keep a note of regret from her voice. "We'll try again another night. I should go… but I hope you feel better. Make sure you get rest and fluids and all that."

"Or you could stay for a while," he croaked hopefully. "I was really looking forward to spending time with you. I know I'm gross, but we can still hang out."

Claire smiled in spite of herself, leaning against the railing once more. "And why would I want to do that?"

"I mean, I shouldn't be left alone if I'm so sick. I can't be trusted to take care of myself. Pretty sure I took Nyquil instead of Dayquil earlier which is why I passed out. I need supervision."

Claire chuckled as she made her way back to his side. He was adorably pitiful and she couldn't help but humor him, especially since he was indeed looking very sleepy. "I suppose since you have a fever, I should keep you company for a while. Just to be safe."

He grinned happily as she sat down beside him on the porch swing. The swing was small enough that their arms brushed together as they rocked. Owen played the part of host well, getting them both snacks and drinks (and medicine for himself, at Claire's insistence), then keeping the conversation flowing, asking about her work and life and sharing about his, congested and hoarse though he was. Claire was happy to contribute, and they chatted comfortably for a while, but he clearly wasn't feeling well and wasn't up for much conversation, pretend as he would otherwise. Eventually the conversation faded, until the pair was rocking in silence, enjoying the tropical evening. 

Claire had taken over rocking the swing, letting Owen relax. In fact, he was so relaxed he began to doze off beside her. Claire simply kept rocking, even as he slowly shifted to the side, until he fell asleep against her, his head pillowed against her shoulder.

She found she didn't mind him lying there. In fact, his limp weight and hot, feverish cheek against her were somehow comforting as the evening cooled and quieted. She would make him move to bed soon, but she wanted to rock for a while longer. She had never had a first date quite like this, but she found she didn't mind that either.