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cornerofmadnessTitle: How to Survive Man Flu
author:cornerofmadness
Characters/Pairings: Malcom, Jessica & Jackie
Disclaimer: Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
Summary: Malcolm is sure he’s dying but Jackie and Jessica have ideas to help him get his mind off being sick.
Rating: teen
Notes: Written for classics_lover in comment_fic for the promptAny (please no SPN), any, it was acceptable in the 80s.
“You have a visitor, Malcolm.” His mother sailed into the sitting room with Jackie in tow.
He wanted to greet Jackie but his body failed him. Instead he coughed, wheezed a little and then blew his nose, tucking the tissue into the trash can he had next to the couch.
“Oh, you look so sick,” Jackie said, sympathy in her eyes.
“Last I checked he was going to be dead soon.” Jessica smiled. “Not destined to make it to his sixteenth birthday.”
He pouted at his mother, tucking himself deeper into the couch where he’d put some cherry red old sheets, Stasia, one of Mother’s house keepers had found in a linen closet somewhere. He wrapped himself up in fuzzy Harvard crimson blanket, Sabella had given to him. She had been sweet. He’d thought she really liked him. Maybe she did, but she had nothing in common with him, nothing they could converse about. She’d probably be at his sixteenth birthday part in a few weeks, provided he didn’t die. He didn’t like his chances.
“Poor baby.” Jackie shifted the canvas bags she carried to one hand, pressing her hand to his forehead much like his mother had. As a nurse, he trusted her assessment better. “You don’t feel feverish at least.”
“He made a nest there in front of the TV. I’ve been content to let him sleep, and if he dies like he says he will, we can just wrap him up in those old sheets and drag him out.” His mother grinned.
“If I die from this plague, you won’t be laughing.” He huffed at her, fetching another tissue.
“You have a cold but also have enough drama in you for it to be the Black Death.” His mother rolled her eyes as Stasia came in with a cup of tea.
“This will fix you up,” Stasia promised, glancing at his mother expecting further instructions.
“Would you like some tea or coffee, Jackie?” His mother asked.
“Tea would be great.”
“Two teas, please, Stasia.”
“Of course.”
“What’s in the bags,” Malcolm asked Jackie as he sipped his tea. Spice hit his tongue, making him widened his eyes. “What’s in this?”
“Cayenne honey. Jackie suggested it.”
“It opens the sinuses and lets them drain. The cayenne pepper oil numbs the back of the throat,” Jackie said.
“How can tiny glands in your sinuses make this much snot?” he whined, blowing his nose.
“That is amazing isn’t it?” Jackie grinned, sitting in a chair next to the couch. “Remember you said you wanted to help me put photos in an album? I thought you and I can sort today. Gil’s idea of photo keeping is to shove them in a box.” She thumped the bags on the coffee table. “I have different ideas. Also, his mother gave me more of them. I thought you could help me separate them into ones with dates and places written on the back and ones that don’t have anything. He can deal with those. He’d better do a better job of recording when and where with that new digital camera you gave us, Jess. That is a great gift, can’t wait to take it on vacation.”
His mother smiled. “I’m glad you liked it. I love the idea of being able to take as many pictures as you want and not having to worry there’s only three pictures left on the roll. I wish I had that when they were little. Should have had you bring it to take a few final pictures of him before the plaque kills him, though that red nose of his would be unfortunate.”
“Mother has no pity,” Malcolm whimpered, making puppy eyes at Jackie.
“Gil’s just as bad at he is about being sick.” Jackie laughed.
Malcolm sighed. “No pity anywhere.”
Jackie handed him a large wad of photos. “Take your mind off being sick.”
He hauled himself more into a sitting position on the couch, putting the photos on his belly. He sipped more tea. Stasia brought more for his mother and Jackie. His mother, and the woman he saw as his second mother talked about vacations and work. Well, Jackie talked work. Mother talked property owned and charity functions attended. They let him sulk in his sickly silence. He didn’t feel much like talking anyhow.
Malcolm built up two piles, one with Gil’s sloppy penmanship – did he write these with the pen in his teeth? – one with no markings. It was slow going. Most of these he’d never seen before. Others were of him, Jackie and Gil on various outings. He found an envelope stuffed with photos and negatives. He started on them, pulling out a photo which stopped him cold.
Malcolm’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen Gil so young. He could only be a few years older than Malcolm was now. He had on skin tight jeans and a loose print shirt in electric blue, neon yellow and hot pink. His hair, easily mid-back, stood up in a crazy fountain haloing Gil’s head. He couldn’t help himself. Malcolm laughed, wheezing and coughing with the effort.
“What’s so funny?” His mother asked.
Unable to talk, Malcolm held up the picture. Jackie plucked it from his hand and shared it with Jessica.
“Oh my god.” Jackie giggled. “That hair!”
“Did you know he had it so long once?” Jessica asked, and Jackie shook her head.
“Is he wearing guyliner?” Malcolm managed to ask.
“I think so.” Jackie beamed.
“Was he in a band in college?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you three in there?” Gil’s voice startled them. He peeked into the room and smiled seeing them. “I took off early to bring you some tinola,” he said, hefting a container filled with soup. “It’s chicken and ginger soup before you ask.”
In concert all three of them looked at him and burst out laughing. Malcolm laughed so hard he couldn’t get anything into his diseased airways but still he couldn’t stop. Gil eyed them like they were nuts, setting the soup on the table.
“What did I say?”
Jackie held up the picture and Gil’s eyes bulged. He snatched it from her.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was in the picture box.”
“That’s a side of you we’ve never seen, Gil,” Malcolm’s mother teased. Malcolm still couldn’t breathe and pile on.
“For good reason.” His face turned Christmas red. “I thought I destroyed these!”
“I found it, give it back,” Malcolm wheezed.
“Not on your life.” Gil narrowed his eyes. “Why do you even want it?”
“Blackmail.”
“Nice. And I made you get-well soup.” Gil shook his head. “We will never speak of this again.”
Jackie and his mother laughed, shaking their heads. “Oh, baby, we’re getting the whole story before this day is done,” Jackie said.
“Never.”
“I’m still working on those jeans.”
“Mother,” Malcolm groaned. “You should start with the shirt or the hair.”
“The shirt didn’t fit like those pants,” his mother argued.
“Yes, we’ll have to have a talk about your current wardrobe, sweetie.”
Gil tucked the photo into his jacket pocket. “No conversation about what was going on here, no tight jeans.”
“How about the hair then?” Malcolm asked.
“It was acceptable in the eighties to have big hair. It was practically mandatory,” Gil insisted. “I’m going to go heat up the soup.”
He swept out of the room.
Malcolm’s mother pouted. “You shouldn’t have let him get the photo, Jackie.”
“I can get it back.”
“If not.” Malcolm held up a negative from the envelope. “I have this, just don’t tell Gil.”
“Sneaky devil. You are so my son.” His mother stood and kissed his forehead. “I better get Gil some whiskey. He’s going to need it.”
“Oh definitely.” Jackie grinned. “He’s telling that story.”
“Tell him it’ll make me feel better.” Malcolm chuckled, breaking down into a coughing jag.
“He’s a little bit evil.” Jackie patted his knee.
“We blame his father for that,” his mother said, and he rolled his eyes.
“Or tell him I want to know what to avoid when I’m going to college.”
“That will be too soon,” his mother said, and Jackie nodded her agreement. “But it’s a time to be crazy and have fun, Malcolm. Don’t worry you’ll have photos of your own you’ll be hiding from your children one day.”
Malcolm laughed. He could only think of those words and shudder.
Consider this a late entry for the Red prompt in
author:
cornerofmadnessCharacters/Pairings: Malcom, Jessica & Jackie
Disclaimer: Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
Summary: Malcolm is sure he’s dying but Jackie and Jessica have ideas to help him get his mind off being sick.
Rating: teen
Notes: Written for classics_lover in comment_fic for the promptAny (please no SPN), any, it was acceptable in the 80s.
“You have a visitor, Malcolm.” His mother sailed into the sitting room with Jackie in tow.
He wanted to greet Jackie but his body failed him. Instead he coughed, wheezed a little and then blew his nose, tucking the tissue into the trash can he had next to the couch.
“Oh, you look so sick,” Jackie said, sympathy in her eyes.
“Last I checked he was going to be dead soon.” Jessica smiled. “Not destined to make it to his sixteenth birthday.”
He pouted at his mother, tucking himself deeper into the couch where he’d put some cherry red old sheets, Stasia, one of Mother’s house keepers had found in a linen closet somewhere. He wrapped himself up in fuzzy Harvard crimson blanket, Sabella had given to him. She had been sweet. He’d thought she really liked him. Maybe she did, but she had nothing in common with him, nothing they could converse about. She’d probably be at his sixteenth birthday part in a few weeks, provided he didn’t die. He didn’t like his chances.
“Poor baby.” Jackie shifted the canvas bags she carried to one hand, pressing her hand to his forehead much like his mother had. As a nurse, he trusted her assessment better. “You don’t feel feverish at least.”
“He made a nest there in front of the TV. I’ve been content to let him sleep, and if he dies like he says he will, we can just wrap him up in those old sheets and drag him out.” His mother grinned.
“If I die from this plague, you won’t be laughing.” He huffed at her, fetching another tissue.
“You have a cold but also have enough drama in you for it to be the Black Death.” His mother rolled her eyes as Stasia came in with a cup of tea.
“This will fix you up,” Stasia promised, glancing at his mother expecting further instructions.
“Would you like some tea or coffee, Jackie?” His mother asked.
“Tea would be great.”
“Two teas, please, Stasia.”
“Of course.”
“What’s in the bags,” Malcolm asked Jackie as he sipped his tea. Spice hit his tongue, making him widened his eyes. “What’s in this?”
“Cayenne honey. Jackie suggested it.”
“It opens the sinuses and lets them drain. The cayenne pepper oil numbs the back of the throat,” Jackie said.
“How can tiny glands in your sinuses make this much snot?” he whined, blowing his nose.
“That is amazing isn’t it?” Jackie grinned, sitting in a chair next to the couch. “Remember you said you wanted to help me put photos in an album? I thought you and I can sort today. Gil’s idea of photo keeping is to shove them in a box.” She thumped the bags on the coffee table. “I have different ideas. Also, his mother gave me more of them. I thought you could help me separate them into ones with dates and places written on the back and ones that don’t have anything. He can deal with those. He’d better do a better job of recording when and where with that new digital camera you gave us, Jess. That is a great gift, can’t wait to take it on vacation.”
His mother smiled. “I’m glad you liked it. I love the idea of being able to take as many pictures as you want and not having to worry there’s only three pictures left on the roll. I wish I had that when they were little. Should have had you bring it to take a few final pictures of him before the plaque kills him, though that red nose of his would be unfortunate.”
“Mother has no pity,” Malcolm whimpered, making puppy eyes at Jackie.
“Gil’s just as bad at he is about being sick.” Jackie laughed.
Malcolm sighed. “No pity anywhere.”
Jackie handed him a large wad of photos. “Take your mind off being sick.”
He hauled himself more into a sitting position on the couch, putting the photos on his belly. He sipped more tea. Stasia brought more for his mother and Jackie. His mother, and the woman he saw as his second mother talked about vacations and work. Well, Jackie talked work. Mother talked property owned and charity functions attended. They let him sulk in his sickly silence. He didn’t feel much like talking anyhow.
Malcolm built up two piles, one with Gil’s sloppy penmanship – did he write these with the pen in his teeth? – one with no markings. It was slow going. Most of these he’d never seen before. Others were of him, Jackie and Gil on various outings. He found an envelope stuffed with photos and negatives. He started on them, pulling out a photo which stopped him cold.
Malcolm’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen Gil so young. He could only be a few years older than Malcolm was now. He had on skin tight jeans and a loose print shirt in electric blue, neon yellow and hot pink. His hair, easily mid-back, stood up in a crazy fountain haloing Gil’s head. He couldn’t help himself. Malcolm laughed, wheezing and coughing with the effort.
“What’s so funny?” His mother asked.
Unable to talk, Malcolm held up the picture. Jackie plucked it from his hand and shared it with Jessica.
“Oh my god.” Jackie giggled. “That hair!”
“Did you know he had it so long once?” Jessica asked, and Jackie shook her head.
“Is he wearing guyliner?” Malcolm managed to ask.
“I think so.” Jackie beamed.
“Was he in a band in college?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you three in there?” Gil’s voice startled them. He peeked into the room and smiled seeing them. “I took off early to bring you some tinola,” he said, hefting a container filled with soup. “It’s chicken and ginger soup before you ask.”
In concert all three of them looked at him and burst out laughing. Malcolm laughed so hard he couldn’t get anything into his diseased airways but still he couldn’t stop. Gil eyed them like they were nuts, setting the soup on the table.
“What did I say?”
Jackie held up the picture and Gil’s eyes bulged. He snatched it from her.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was in the picture box.”
“That’s a side of you we’ve never seen, Gil,” Malcolm’s mother teased. Malcolm still couldn’t breathe and pile on.
“For good reason.” His face turned Christmas red. “I thought I destroyed these!”
“I found it, give it back,” Malcolm wheezed.
“Not on your life.” Gil narrowed his eyes. “Why do you even want it?”
“Blackmail.”
“Nice. And I made you get-well soup.” Gil shook his head. “We will never speak of this again.”
Jackie and his mother laughed, shaking their heads. “Oh, baby, we’re getting the whole story before this day is done,” Jackie said.
“Never.”
“I’m still working on those jeans.”
“Mother,” Malcolm groaned. “You should start with the shirt or the hair.”
“The shirt didn’t fit like those pants,” his mother argued.
“Yes, we’ll have to have a talk about your current wardrobe, sweetie.”
Gil tucked the photo into his jacket pocket. “No conversation about what was going on here, no tight jeans.”
“How about the hair then?” Malcolm asked.
“It was acceptable in the eighties to have big hair. It was practically mandatory,” Gil insisted. “I’m going to go heat up the soup.”
He swept out of the room.
Malcolm’s mother pouted. “You shouldn’t have let him get the photo, Jackie.”
“I can get it back.”
“If not.” Malcolm held up a negative from the envelope. “I have this, just don’t tell Gil.”
“Sneaky devil. You are so my son.” His mother stood and kissed his forehead. “I better get Gil some whiskey. He’s going to need it.”
“Oh definitely.” Jackie grinned. “He’s telling that story.”
“Tell him it’ll make me feel better.” Malcolm chuckled, breaking down into a coughing jag.
“He’s a little bit evil.” Jackie patted his knee.
“We blame his father for that,” his mother said, and he rolled his eyes.
“Or tell him I want to know what to avoid when I’m going to college.”
“That will be too soon,” his mother said, and Jackie nodded her agreement. “But it’s a time to be crazy and have fun, Malcolm. Don’t worry you’ll have photos of your own you’ll be hiding from your children one day.”
Malcolm laughed. He could only think of those words and shudder.
Consider this a late entry for the Red prompt in
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