FLU EVENT: Calling down the Wire (closed)

[John Thornton]

"Hello, this is Clarisse Prideaux. Unfortunatly I can not answer my phone now, please leave a message."

Febuary 10th, 8:46 pm

"What is thi- oh, ah, Doctor Prideaux, it's John, I mean, Mr Thornton here. I was wondering, what with that school dance, if you wanted to go out for dinner on the tuesday? I would have asked you in person but it seems you've been very busy... Ah, do I hang up now? Dratted thing, what do I-"

Beep.


Febuary 13th, 9:02 pm.

"Doctor, are you unwell? I haven't seen you at work, or heard back from you. I don't mind about dinner, I just thought it might be- never mind. I hope you're in good health. Sorry, Mr Thornton again. Calling, I mean."

Beeeep.


Febuary 23rd, 9:52

"Thornton here. I was glad to hear you've not been sick. One can only assume you're no longer using the staff room.

[pause]

Call me back. Please."

Beeeeeeep


March 1st, 10:17.

John had been staring at his phone for around an hour now. It had become rutine. He drove home, did reseach for lessons with his students, made dinner for one, cleaned the living room, made tea, watched the news, made tea, and stared at the phone.

There was a small change: a box of tissues was next to it. He'd never bought tissues before. One of the more pleasent side effects to his own sort of invincibility was that Thornton did not get sick. He had not, since he was 12. He was reminding himself of this fact, and telling his body that it was imagining the headache, and the slight ache he was feeling in his joints. He had not sneezed, it was something else. A spasm maybe. And it was just chilly because he never turned the heater on.

People had phantom pregnancies, why not a phantom flu?

There was a flaw in his reasoning somewhere. He would locate it later, when he wasn't so tired.

He felt miserable. Never one to put up with such self indulgence, the englishman was ignoring it, but the fact was he felt really really miserable. His body was getting confused, and he wanted to see Clarisse. It made no sense, why she was avoiding him. John had checked and double checked all the memories he had of Christmas and not once had he said something rude, or brutish....

At least, he was nearly positive.

And so his resolve was a little less firm, and the phone was just staring at him. His fingers were dialling her number before he could check them, and he listened to that damn voice mail of hers.

"Clarisse, are you there?" the Trainer finally asked into the receiver. "Pick up the phone." His shoulders were aching, trhobbing in time to his head. What on earth was happening to him? "Something's wrong," he went on, not sure if he was talking about her or the fact that he seemed to be dying. "And I don't understand why you're angry at me again."

beeeeeep

Slowly, replacing the receiver, John got up and sat on the couch. Maybe he should lie down for a little while. Just until the headache went away.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse ignored the phone ringing almost constantly these days. She just...was afraid to answer. When the machine clicked on, she paused over her baking, watching the red light wink at her from the stand.

John's voice on the other end was positively heart breaking. She closed her eyes against it and leaned on the kitchen counter. They hadn't spoken in months. There was really no reason, but she just couldn't---

He'd sounded so sad. And he was convinced she was mad at him.

She snatched up the receiver and dialed his number, closing her eyes at it rang. When he answered, She remained silent for a long while.

"M...Mister Thornton." She greeted. "Are you unwell?"

[John Thornton]

He had just pulled off his shoes, with every intention of swinging his feet onto the couch to lie dow (only for a moment) when the phone rang. Mr Thornton blinked, and absently checked to make sure his ears weren't blocked before leaping to his feet.

The room swum before him, and teh floor seemed to roll under his feet. How did people stand this? Ignoring that, and the throbbing in his cranium, he yanked up the phone.

"Hello, Mister John Thornton here," he said after a moment, wincing and sniffing to try and clear his nose. "Hello?"

Let it be her, he would so greatly appreciate if it was her....

That familar voice was so nice to hear, accent and all, and Thornton sighed and sat down at the counter. Supporting his torso with his free hand he took a moment, and grabbed a tissue then dropped them. "Doctor Prideaux," he said, and while his voice was a little rougher then normal it was possible to hear just how happy he was to hear from her. Also a little withdrawn. It had, after all, been months.

His frown resurfaced. "Unwell? What?" how could she tell? "I don't get sick," he reminded her, and his body. "It's just some sort of, complication. And I, I wasn't talking about me." He sighed and looked up at the shelf where his bottles were. It seemed to be miles away. "I meant, I meant you. Not that you're wrong. I just,"

He was rambling, but then he did still feel a little, well, a lot delerious. "Why are you avoiding me again?"

[Clarisse Prideaux]

“You said something was wr---…” She trailed off as he explained himself. He had meant her. Her jaw tightened as he tried to back pedal and recover his choice of words, but she didn’t bother listening. He was right. “Just because you don’t usually get sick doesn’t meant you…you can’t.” She explained, ignoring his questioning for as long as possible.

“It’s possible that it’s…more than…” As she tried to keep her voice as tightly professional as she could manage, a sniffle here and there edged into her speech, until she had quite lost herself. Tears rolled out of her eyes and she inhaled a raggedy breath.

“I’m af-fraid.” Clarisse keened quietly into the phone after a very long, painful silence.

[John Thornton]

"No, I can't," John insisted. "I haven't been sick in..." he calculated, or tried to, and gave up. "Since I was 12," he finished, and blew his nose. "I don't know what it is, it doesn't matter."

It really didn't. But she had stopped talking again, and all he could hear was breathing and what sounded like sniffing. Maybe she was sick too... but he wasn't sick. Ella had sneezed on him but...

Oh. Right. Ella's power suppression... He was going to kill her. But that could wait. He jolted as Clarisse finally spoke again, visions of gun men and knives and all those things that could hurt normal people far too easily in his very unimaginative mind.

"Are you safe?" he asked quickly, his face frozen. "Are you alright? Do you need help? What's scaring you? Don't," he took a breath through his mouth, his nose having given up, "Do you need help?"

His bones felt heavy, but if the french doctor needed them, they could be molten rock for all he card. He'd keep her safe.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

For such an insensitive, totally oblivious brute, John Thornton was far too sweet for his own good. Before she could inform him that the likelihood of him being very seriously sick was quite high, her resolve broke and she began to cry in earnest.

“No! No I don’t need help! I just…I just need something that I love to stay with me! I can’t be left behind anymore, John. I can’t be left behind.” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking. She covered her mouth to keep her cries off the phone, but the muffled sounds came over the line all the same. She wiped her eyes and sniffed pathetically.

[John Thornton]

Oh God, she was crying. He'd made her cry. "Doctor, Clarisse, don't cry," he said ernestly, "It's alright. No one's leaving you behind, it's-"

Wait. Wait. She'd said... her exact words. Someone I love. And she was worried he'd leave her behind. Did that mean... Had she, but that made no sense, it had been over two months since he'd seen her, if she...

She loved him?

The phone dropped from his hand and John cursed loudly as it slipped off the counter and clattered to the floor. "Bugger!" he groaned, bending down to try and pick it up. It took less than a second for him to register his centre of gravity had shifted very dramatically, and his side hit teh floorboards. One hand scrambled next to him for the phone before the englishman sighed and closed his eyes. The floor was actually very comfortable. He could just stay here for a little bit.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse barely registered his reply through her attempts to wipe the tears from her face, but his quick stammering came through for the most part. That is, at least until Clarisse’s head jolted back from the receiver at the loud clattering sound.

“J-john?” She stammered weakly. At the sound of a groan, she gripped the phone tightly to her ear. “John?!” She almost shouted. “That’s it. I’m…I’m coming over.” She murmured mostly to herself.

It sounded as if he had fallen, and if he actually was sick; well…

Clarisse snatched a small hand bag and quickly stuffed it full of the most hap-hazard flu kit she could manage before rushing down the stairs and to her car. She forgot a coat as well as the baking on the counter.

[Event !]

Thank you for your participation! This event is now closed.