Slumber

The 5th installment of Bless!

It's just a filler at the moment, because this is such a slow story, but I've mapped out the rest of the story so it definitely is coming together :)

Enjoy!
And to all the Canadians: HAPPY CANADA DAY!!!

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Sam pauses his knuckles over the grain of Sarah's apartment door, twisting slightly to procure his cell phone from the pocket of his sweat pants to check the time. He sucks in a breath at the late hour, glad he hadn't knocked, in case they are asleep. Stepping back, he scrummages for the nick in the door frame, tongue peeking at his intense concentration as he feels the boards making up the frame with his fingertips.

Dropping his duffelbag onto the floor, he snags the thin string painted the same colour as the boards, and hooks it with his pinky. Tugging the key out of the hidden nook, he chuckles in triumph.

"That little sneaky creature," he playfully chides as he sticks the key into the doorknob and unlocks the door with a congratulatory ping of successfully interlocking metal hooks. 'Always thinking up new hiding places. Hasn't changed a bit.'

Softly, he peels the door open, surprised the lights of the apartment are all on. He recognizes the blaring of infomercials from the living room and he frowns, hoping she hasn't waited up for him.

Locking the door behind him and abandoning his bag with his shoes, his frown lifts at a corner when he enters the scene. Holding back a chuckle, he tiptoes to the T.V. to switch it off, silencing the incessant chattering and revealing the snores escaping from the couch.

For a moment he just watches, absorbing the oblivious couple tucked into the cushions. 'No wrinkles', he marvels, relieved to see his childhood friend as she was years before the worry and stress inhabited her thin shoulders and collected on her brow.

Her hair is tousled, splayed out around her face like an aura to highlight her cheekbones and jaw. A strand tickles her temple and she absently scrunches her face to deter the offending lock. She has slid down the couch to lay across the length of the furniture, her right arm tossed above her head, and her left wrapped around the boy snuggled deep into her chest.

A spark of jealousy spikes through his veins and he remembers the challenging stare the "innocent angel" had displayed.

"You damn cheat," he hisses, and attempts to wipe off the pout that wants to settle on his lips. Instead, to break the losing battle and to satisfy the jealousy building up inside his chest, he pokes Sarah in the cheek, none-too-gently, to wake her up.

After the fifth poke, all unforgiving, she starts to move, although only to shift away from the attack. "Leave me alone," she mutters in her sleep, slipping her arm from around Blue and flipping away to face the back of the couch. "I'm sleepy."

He almost doesn't contain his laughter when Blue is effectively tossed off the edge of the couch from her roll. Managing to stifle his laughter to a smug grin, he remarks, "Looks like both of us are on our own tonight."

Noticing her struggle to curl up against the couch, he twists his mouth before scooping her up into his arms. She doesn't move a lid as she settles into the crooks of his arms as he transfers her into her own bed. Automatically, she sinks into her familiar duvet and pillow, ignoring the feelings of the man watching over her.

Sighing, he pivots on his heel, ready to make himself comfortable on her couch, when he realizes who is making his way to the bedroom.

"Oh, no, you don't," he whispers, wrenching Blue out of the doorway and into the living room. "You get the love seat and I'll take the couch, you sneak," he announces, waiting pointedly for Blue to obey.

As if taking the moment to think over the demand, Blue slowly complies and lays on the cushions, not meeting Sam's eyes as he stares off at the ceiling. Taking this as a sign of obedience, Sam retrieves the spare blankets and pillows from her hallway closet and tosses one of each to the motionless boy before settling himself on the couch so his long legs hang off an armrest with minimal discomfort.

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YGMM: Crowded

JournalWord: In sickness.

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Jones tips his head back so it drapes over the back of the couch, letting off a throaty groan and pathetic sniff.

"We can hear ya," Tristan calls over the running water. He dries the last plate after Chris hands it to him and stacks it onto the dish rack to be dealt with tomorrow. "I've got you, Jonesy," he reassures as he wipes his hands on a clean towel and heads for their room. 

Chris dries her hands as well, wiping off the spilled water around the sink before hanging the towel up. She hears a series of shuffling from the living room as she heads to her own room. Without shutting the door, she gathers her patient files, pen, and notebook swiftly and turns back into the hallway. 

Jones has dropped himself to cover the length of the couch, and when Chris walks in, he is busy kicking his long legs over the back and arm as he fights for a comfortable position. He frustratingly grunts at the effort before giving up and throwing an arm over his eyes and allowing his other arm to dangle so his knuckles rest onto the floor. 

Chris settles her files and notebook onto the coffee table, and using the blunt end of her pen, pokes him  in the shoulder. "Shove over you," she commands.

He peeks from under his arm at her with irritation fixated in his expression, but grudgingly shifts to sit up so she has room. 

Tristan had walked in as well during the scene and deduces that Jones couldn't be too angry at her, because as soon as she is nestled into her seat and her work, Jones rests his head on her shoulder.

"If you drool on me, I'll murder you," Chris warns, but otherwise leaves him to close his eyes as she starts writing in her notebook.

Tristan tucks the blanket he has secured from their room around Jones, whom grunts with appreciation without opening his eyes. Figuring that he can't pass this moment by so easily, Tristan approaches the other end of the couch and, yawning widely, settles himself down and nestles his own head onto her free shoulder.

Immediately, Jones's eyes snap open to glare balefully at him. "Idiot, don't you have something else to do?" his scratchy voice demands.

Tristan replies by childishly sticking his tongue out at him. "Nope, took the day off too. I wanted to spend time with my dear Chrisy."

"Your dear Chrisy is going to maim the both of you if you don't quiet up while I'm working," she threatens, not pausing her pen. Although she was annoyed to have been called off of work to take care of Jones, she's more irritated by how much control these two boys have over her superiors in deciding when she should take a day off. 

Jones makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes once again.

A scratchy throat and stuffy nose does not entail as an "emergency", or a reason to cancel her appointments and responsibilities for the day to shove lunch and medication down Jones's throat.

Tristan muses as he examines Chris's jawline and focus, having realized she's really not as angry as she portrays herself to be. Sure, she was angry initially when he had convinced Alice that Chris should tend to an emergency at home instead of dealing with work. And who knows, if Chrisy hadn't come home and taken over the nursing of poor, old Jonesy, he might have taken a turn for the worse. 

Well, at least there's no need to worry now, Tristan speculates and comfortably curls into Chris's side. How lucky they are to have someone drop their day just for them, and to have someone to rely on in times when neither are capable.

"Thank you, Chrisy," he whispers into her collarbone as he shuts his eyes for a nap as well.

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I've been fighting (and failing) a series of persistent headaches, only to find out that I am having tension headaches induced by stress. So hopefully now, with the pain and dizziness under control, I can figure out what I want done :)

It seems like I'm a giant ball of stress. Maybe I'll end up popping, or blowing a blood vessel, before I can write up all my stories and ideas!

Who knows :P
Mera.

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