75 Godiva Street, Saturday

[vdistinctive]

Eliot's phone had stopped ringing. That was awesome. On the other hand he felt like he'd gotten thrown around by a carnival ride -- again -- and there seemed to be a weight sitting right on his chest.

Val lapped at his chin. The weight on his chest was his small-for-her-breed-but-now-full-grown puppy.

Alrighty then.

[ooc: expecting one, but also open]

Comments

[geniuswithasmartphone]

Hardison was a gift that kept on giving, honestly.

"Cause I'm a damned genius, that's why! Smartest man you know, remember?"

Huh. Why did Eliot have two thermometers? Was one oral and the other one--you know, he was just going to put that back where it was. He'd gotten Eliot a thermometer, he didn't need a second one.

[vdistinctive]

"Yeah, well, that was before you put orange slices in your damn soda."

Eliot was going to go back to hiding under his covers. Oh yes he was. Maybe this was a fever dream and his partner wasn't really this ridiculous.

[geniuswithasmartphone]

If this were a computer virus Hardison would have fixed it within seconds! It wasn't his fault Eliot expected results from the two stats Hardison had tanked most: kitchenware and bedside manner!

"You were gonna complain about how unhealthy it is," Hardison retorted, returning triumphantly with a box of tissues and some Advil. It was a fever reducer! "Oranges upped the Vitamin C levels. Now stop fussin' and' tell me what's your temperature?"

[vdistinctive]

"You could have just brought me an orange." That would also have plenty of vitamin C! "And I don't know, Hardison." He shook the meat thermometer in Hardison's face. "I'm not a turkey!"

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"You need fluids!" Hardison argued. "That's important, Nana always said so! An' what the hell--" He paused. Looked at the weird thermometer. Thought about where he'd found it. Actually used that genius-level IQ he was always bragging about. "That's a food thermometer," he guessed.

[vdistinctive]

"Ya think?!" Eliot would have more patience if his face wasn't full of phlegm. "That's why it's sharp!" He tossed it onto the bed and rubbed his hand down over his face. "An' glorified sugar water ain't the kindsa fluids your Nana was talkin' about, man. Jus' -- gimme a bit and I'll make myself some tea."

A minute, a few hours. . . . He'd get out of bed eventually. He always did.

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"Oh yeah, cause that's exactly the best thing for you," Hardison said, wrinkling his nose. "Hackin' all over the food, spreadin' germs where we eat. Aww hell naww. I ain't lettin' you anywhere near your kitchen. Gimme a minute, I can handle dunkin' a damn tea bag in some hot water."

Which would work, if only Eliot were the kind of man who used teabags...

[vdistinctive]

"You can't kick me outta my own damn kitchen!"

Eliot closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Yelling just made his head hurt.

"At least google how to make a proper cup of tea," he growled. "I'm sure there's videos on facetube or whatever."

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"Youtube," Hardison corrected, though his voice was softer. Eliot was grimacing again and it was his 'in pain' grimace, not his 'annoyed at Hardison' grimace. A moment later, his cool hand was brushing Eliot's damp hair off of his forehead, delicate fingers moving in small circles to chase away the pain. "How 'bout this?" he suggested. "First I get you a nice glass of cool water so you can take them pills an' also a damp washcloth to put on your forehead to cool you down some?"

And because Eliot was really sick, he wasn't going to point out that Hardison actually could kick him out of his own kitchen right now, because Eliot looked like he'd buckle fighting with Val right now.

[vdistinctive]

Eliot had taken down trained soldiers in worse condition -- but it wouldn't do any of them any good, so, no, he wasn't actually going to fight Hardison on it.

Especially not if he kept brushing his hair out of his face like that.

Eliot leaned into the touch, relaxing by degrees. "Yeah. 'Kay."

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"You hungry?" Hardison asked, keeping his voice gentle. "Anythin' else you need while I'm up? I'm serious, Eliot. If you need it, I can figure out how to get it for you."

It might involve a few emergency calls to the diner, but he'd get it!

[vdistinctive]

"What you're doin' now is good," Eliot mumbled, leaning a little more into the touch. "Recovery really is mostly 'bout relaxin'."

[geniuswithasmartphone]

Right. Which Eliot was generally great at, really.

"You know," he said, moving his fingers over to rub at Eliot's temples, "I could hook up my laptop over here. Play Rudy for you if you want."

Which Hardison would hate, but he'd suffer through for love.

[vdistinctive]

"And hear you rantin' about it for the next two months?" Eliot snorted, then coughed. "Don' need entertainin', s'okay.

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"You ain't about to get all antsy an' grumpy cause you have to rest an' relax, insteada jumpin' up to do a hundred different things?" Hardison asked. He sounded skeptical about that, but only because he was incredibly skeptical about it.

[vdistinctive]

"Not 'til I start feelin' better," Eliot admitted. "Gimme a couple days, and I'll start scalin' the walls."

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"An' once we get that far, I'mma park you in front of Rudy an' every other sad-underdog-plays-sports movies and leave you there," Hardison grumbled. "An' if I catch you tryna make a break for it, I'mma change that to reality cookin' shows instead as punishment."

Though Eliot would probably entertain himself yelling at the chefs for their innumerable screwups.

[vdistinctive]

It was a guilty pleasure.

"Long as you don't start threatenin' to cook for me."

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"That's why you own a diner, man," Hardison said, leaning back a little and trying not to breathe the same air as Eliot. "Why should I cook when we can just order takeout we ain't even got to pay for." He paused a moment. "Or tip, cause they're just doin' their damn job."

[vdistinctive]

"Don't you dare not tip my staff!"

[geniuswithasmartphone]

Hardison laughed, giving up the argument quickly. He'd gotten the reaction he'd wanted, there was no reason to draw it out and waste Eliot's energy. "Nah, nah, they're in food service," he said, placatingly. "That's different."

[vdistinctive]

"Ain't nothin' different 'bout it," Eliot grumbled, curling up against Hardison. Had he realized he wasn't going anywhere yet? "Don' know where you get your weirdass ideas."

[geniuswithasmartphone]

He was starting to get that idea. But then, he was a genius.

"Yo, waitstaff get paid a pittance to work an' need tips to make up the difference," Hardison said, falling into the natural rhythm of the conversation. "Regular delivery folks who ship mail an' stuff? They make enough they don't need tips."

It was actually that single individual that Hardison had refused to tip, but this had grown so much bigger than the mere reality that had sparked the debate in the first place.

[vdistinctive]

Eliot harrumphed. "You say I don't pay my people a livin' wage?"

Luke's had some of the best paid diner staff in the country. Hell, most people only really had to work there once a week to be doing okay. . . .

[geniuswithasmartphone]

Hardison rolled his eyes. "I'm sayin' that's true for most waitstaff," he said. "Man, don't even expect me to explain the economics of this island. It makes my head hurt." But unable to help himself, he added with a sly smile, "Though if you pay 'em so well, why am I s'posed to tip 'em?"