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World's Finest Writer's Corner BB: They Come in Threes (C)

Discussion in 'The Story Board' started by SilentBat18, Oct 15, 2011.

  1. SilentBat18

    SilentBat18 Hmm, so, yeah

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    ****So, i brewed this up earlier this year and thought it's time to post it before i forget that i had written it... again. Anyway, here's a little oneshot with Ter and Jazz; basically, he gets sick, and she takes care of him. The summary doesn't really do the story justice, so you'll have to read it to really like it :). Now enough talk, go on, read, review, and enjoy!****
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    “Hey,” Jazz greets Bruce when she walks into the kitchen, arms full of grocery bags.

    “You’re early,” he replies, glancing at a wall clock.

    “You’re complaining?”

    “No; just making an observation.”

    “Mhm,” she replies, while putting groceries away. “Do you need me to run any errands today before patrol?”

    “Check on McGinnis.”

    “What? Cause he’s late? But he’s always late,” she replies, her head in the fridge as she stuffs the vegetable drawers with produce.

    “No, I sent him home,” he explains, preparing a cup of tea.

    “Why?”

    “Not feeling well.”

    “He gets to go home because of the sniffles?” She asks, leaning against the counter.

    “Check on him and you’ll see.”

    -----*****-----​

    With a packed lunchbox slung on her arm, Jazz steps off the elevator and heads towards Terry’s apartment door. She knocks a few times and waits for an answer, but the door doesn’t open. Knocking again, she leans against the doorframe and waits a few more minutes before turning the knob herself. She finds it unlocked and steps into a very dark apartment making her frown.

    “Ter?” She calls out as she turns on the lights.

    “Off!! Turn it off!” His voice suddenly yells startling her before she flips the switch again.

    “What the hell’s your problem?” She scolds.

    “Shhhhh,” he replies.

    She follows the whisper to the couch, and with eyes adjusted to the light, she finds him lying there with face buried in the back of the couch and blanket covering his face.

    “Are you okay?” She whispers taking a seat on the coffee table.

    “Peachy; I’m doing cartwheels,” he bitterly replies.

    “No need to be sarcastic,” she scowls.

    “Why are you here?”

    “Bruce asked me to check on you.”

    “Go away,” he groans.

    “He said they come in threes for you,” she continues, ignoring him. “But I don’t know what that means.”

    “Go away, Douglas,” he repeats, rubbing his temples.

    “No,” she defiantly replies as she reaches for the lunch box.

    “Are you s******* me right now?” He complains. “Please leave.”

    “Why?” She asks as she pulls out a container of soup and a thermos of hot tea, setting them on the table.

    “Because I don’t want you here.”

    “Well, tough, cause I have no intention of leaving. Now will you please tell me what’s wrong so I can help?”

    “Holy crap, Jazz!” Terry snaps. “Look, it takes a lot of energy to deal with your stubborn need to help every living microorganism on this planet, and I don’t have that right now. So do me a freaking favor and go away.”

    Jazz sighs as she rises to her feet with the container of soup in her hand. After she walks away, Terry’s head curiously pops up and squints in the direction of the kitchen when he hears utensils clinking. Groaning as he gets up, he wraps the blanket around his shoulders and shuffles to the kitchen.

    “What the hell are you doing?” He asks, wincing under the florescent light.

    “Heating up chicken soup,” she replies emptying the contents into a pot sitting on the stove.

    Groaning again, he leans against the kitchen doorframe. “What’ll it take to get rid of you?”

    “Dealing with me; too bad you don’t have the energy to do that though,” she grins, making him roll his eyes. “So you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

    “No,” he grunts, turning away and moving back to the couch.

    Although she scowls at his unappreciative attitude, she continues stirring the soup waiting for it to warm up. Once ready, she ladles some into a bowl and brings it back out to the living room to find Terry lying on his back this time. He gives her an annoyed side-glace before turning away, stuffing his face in the cushions.

    “You need to eat something,” Jazz says, setting the bowl down on the coffee table and sitting beside it. He doesn’t move or say anything. “You make a horrible patient,” she sighs, crossing her legs and leaning on her hands as she stares at him.

    “I’m not a patient.”

    “Close enough,” she replies, shrugging.

    “You’re not leaving.”

    “Nope.”

    Letting out a very irritated sigh, Terry slowly flips to his back again and closes his eyes. “Migraine, stomach bug, and ear infection. Every year I only get sick once, but its always three things at a time. Last year it was an eye infection, bronchitis, and shingles; the year before, pneumonia, migraine again and tonsillitis; before that, strep, heat exhaustion, and hay fever. Hence, they come in threes and make me feel like death.”

    “Have you seen a doctor?”

    “Yes,” he sighs before pointing to the side table. “Recommended meds are over there.”

    Getting up, she moves to where he’s pointing and picks up the over-the-counter pain medication as well as saline solution eardrops.

    “He said the ear infection isn’t that serious, so the migraine meds will take care of the pain.”

    “Have you taken some?”

    “I swallowed it if that’s what you’re asking. Threw up a few minutes later; couldn’t keep it down,” he explains hiding his face in the crook of his arm. “Now that I’ve explained all of this, can you leave? I’m getting tired and my head’s beginning to implode.”

    To his relief, Jazz sets the bottles down, picks up the bowl of soup and returns it to the kitchen before she steps out the front door. Glad to be alone again, he curls up on his side and tries to get some much-needed sleep.

    -----*****-----​

    With his senses extra sensitive to light and sound on account of the migraine, Terry finds himself waking up a few hours later to the sound of an opening window. Pulling the blanket off his face, he spots a shadow sneaking in through the window before turning to close it. He recognizes the red bat across her chest and frowns when he notices a bag slung on her shoulder.

    Before he could ask her anything, a sudden wave of nausea overpowers him and he quickly stumbles off the couch and to the bathroom to throw up what little contents his stomach holds. Once finished, he flushes the toilet and sits back on his haunches as he rubs his temples trying to relieve the intense pain the sudden movement caused. He opens his eyes when he feels a bare hand cover his forehead and squints up to find Batgirl’s worried face watching him.

    “You’re burning up,” she states before helping him up. Slinging and arm around her shoulders and leaning against her, he allows her to lead him out the bathroom.

    “No, not the bedroom,” he says when he realizes where she’s taking him. “Neighbors are noisy.”

    Moving him back to the couch, she watches him gently lower himself onto it and lean over, holding his head in his hands.

    “You think you might throw up again?” She asks crouching down to look him in the face.

    “No, I’m fine now,” he replies, but his answer doesn’t reassure her when his body begins shuddering from the fever.

    “Lie down and let me take care of you,” she orders, pulling her mask off.

    “I don’t need you, I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

    “Or dead at this rate. Just trust me; lie down.”

    Looking up, he finds her grey eyes muddled with worry that force him to sigh with defeat and slowly rest his head against his pillow again. Picking up the bag she dropped earlier, Jazz moves to the kitchen and begins her preparations. Terry hears clinking pots, running water, and a chopping knife. He dozes in and out of consciousness while Jazz tinkers around in his kitchen before she emerges an hour later with a bowl of a tomato-based soup in one hand, and a mug of tea in the other.

    She sets them down on the coffee table and kneels in front of Terry. “You hungry?”

    “No,” is the curt reply.

    “You think you could at least try a spoonful?”

    “No.”

    “You sure?” She patiently asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.

    The touch seems to comfort him some, making him change his mind. He slowly sits up and takes the bowl.

    “What is it?” He asks when he sniffs it.

    “Supercharged tomato soup.” He raises a skeptical brow at her. “It’s got a lot of ginger and crushed garlic so it’s going to taste a bit weird, but it’ll break your fever in an hour and get rid of the nausea. Try a spoonful first and see how it sits with you.”

    Looking back down at the red soup with slices of ginger mixed in, he bravely picks up the spoon and slurps it down.

    “Holy crap that’s a lot of ginger,” he winces, setting the bowl down.

    “I did warn you,” she replies, getting up. “Give it a few minutes and you’ll start to feel your appetite come back.”

    She heads back to the kitchen leaving Terry to rub his stomach as he waits for this strange remedy to make him feel better. Just before his skepticism was proven right, Terry suddenly feels stronger, less dizzy, and… hungry.

    “Well?” Jazz asks as she walks back into the room, holding two other bowls of water in her hands. “You think you can finish it?”

    “I can try,” he replies picking the bowl up again.

    He takes a few more spoonfuls while Jazz retakes her seat on the coffee table, setting the water bowls down beside her and dipping a small towel in each. Reaching his limit for the moment, he sets the soup aside and leans back in the couch.

    “I also got you some chamomile tea sweetened with a bit of honey,” Jazz starts, placing the mug on a side table so it’s easier to reach. “It should relieve any stomach pains and help you fall asleep.”

    “Thanks,” Terry sighs, lying back down and closing his eyes again.

    “You okay?” Jazz asks.

    “Head ache,” he replies as a new wave of pain seems to push the sides of his skull together.

    A moment later, though, something cold and wet covers his forehead. Opening his eyes, he finds Jazz leaning over him as she straightens a wet towel on his face.

    “Close your eyes,” she orders before she covers them with the towel.

    The cooling effect of the cold compress relieves the painful throbbing. He lays motionless for a few minutes hoping the compress will absorb the nasty illnesses he’s procured.

    “How’s your ear?” Jazz asks, her soothing voice sounding like it’s right next to his face.

    “Uncomfortable,” he replies, slightly turning toward her.

    “Which one?”

    “Left.”

    He hears the sound of dripping water before he feels a wet but warm towel against the base of his ear.

    “Here?” Jazz whispers, her arm leaning across his chest and holding the warm compress.

    Terry takes the liberty to adjust her hand a little higher before replying, “there.” He takes his hand off hers while she keeps the towel gently pressed on his ear and watches his frame relax.

    “How do you feel?” She asks a few silent moments later.

    “Better,” he whispers almost smilingly. “What time is it?”

    “Three AM.”

    “Don’t you have an hour of patrolling left to go?”

    She shrugs. “Bruce let me off early when I asked to check on you again.”

    “I see,” he sighs, suddenly feeling grateful. “How was your night?”

    “Oh, you know, same old, same old till I freaked out a store clerk,” Jazz grins, dipping the towel in the warm bowl of water. Wringing it out, she holds it against his ear again before she continues. “I needed fresh ginger and happened to come across a 24-hour Chinese corner store after I was done wrapping up some Ts. I bet there’s going to be a YouTube video of the security footage: ‘Batgirl dines on fresh ginger’ or something stupid like that,” she jokes making him smile. “You know, come to think of it, I’ve never seen you sick before.”

    “Like I said, it only happens once a year. I got sick while you were on hiatus for three months last year.”

    “Eye infection, bronchitis, and shingles, right?” He nods once. “Really? Shingles?”

    “Flared up due to stress.”

    “You trying to lay on more guilt on me for leaving?”

    He smirks. “Wasn’t entirely your fault.”

    “Very reassuring, McGinnis,” she replies, playfully scowling at him.

    He feels her arm lift away before the wet towels are removed and placed in their respective bowls. As she wrings them out, Terry notices a large tear in the arm of her suit revealing the intricate red circuitry underneath.

    “What happened?” He asks nodding at it.

    “This?” She says, looking at it. “Nothing, just a tussle with a guard tiger, that’s all,” she explains before covering his forehead and eyes with the cold towel again.

    “Only in our line of work,” Terry replies with a chuckle, making Jazz laugh along when she realizes how ridiculous her statement sounds.

    They settle into silence where Terry, comforted by the relief from pain, slowly dozes off again finally getting some rejuvenating sleep. The next time his eyes flutter open, he finds the cold compress gone and the morning light trying to shine through the closed blinds. When he tries to sit up, he suddenly notices the arm with the torn sleeve resting across his chest.

    He turns his head to the left and finds Jazz’s hand still carrying the towel she’s no longer holding against his ear. Turning to the right, however, makes him smile when his face comes barely an inch away from touching the top of the raven-haired head. Tilting forward, he realizes Jazz, kneeling beside him now, must have fallen asleep against his shoulder while she was keeping his infected ear warm.

    “Hey,” he whispers, trying to wake her.

    He brushes her long bangs away from her eyes and rests his hand against her cheek. The gesture makes her lids twitch for a few seconds before they slowly slide open revealing the bloodshot, grey eyes behind them. Coming to her senses, she lifts her head and arm away and leans back against the coffee table.

    “What time is it?” She groggily asks as she stretches her legs out.

    “Not sure,” Terry replies, slowly sitting up.

    “How are you feeling?”

    “Better,” he says with a relieved smile.

    “Good,” she yawns, getting to her feet. She starts gathering the bowls around her, setting them on top of each other, before bringing them to the kitchen sink.

    “Thanks, Jazz,” Terry starts after following her.

    “No big deal,” she shrugs with a smile as she pulls her gloves on.

    “It kinda is, though. I’m not exactly pleasant company when I’m sick; even mom learned to stay away during the worst of it.”

    “You weren’t that scary.”

    “This coming from a woman who battled a tiger last night,” Terry quips, making her grin grow wider.

    “Anyway, now that you look and sound a lot better, I’ll get out of your hair,” she says, straightening up and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

    “You can sleep here if you want,” Terry offers, remembering how tired and red her eyes were when he woke her up.

    “No, I’ll be fine,” she counters, suddenly remembering Henry must be worried about her not coming back last night. “I’ll check on you later today?”

    “No need; I’m fine. I’ll see you at Wayne’s.”

    Nodding in agreement, she pulls her mask back on and heads to the window she came in from earlier.

    “If you start to feel queasy again, just heat up that soup I made and have a bowl.”

    He nods his understanding and watches the woman who has been brave enough to take care of him leap out of the window, smiling at her silhouette looking unusual in the bright, morning light.

    END​
     
  2. Theking

    Theking Very cute Lego Babe.

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    Well that was pretty good. I really enjoyed it.

    Good Going as always.

    TheKing
     

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