SUE: Save Me [Ferris]

[Devon Wentsworth]

[Backdated to 5th June]

Devon absolutely detested having to take sick days at work, but this time he had absolutely no choice in the matter. Two days ago he'd had to go home partway through the day, because it was really difficult to teach classes when he was heaving every five minutes, and since then he had been stuck in bed with a bucket on the floor beside him.

Generally a fairly healthy person despite his chronic aches and pains, Devon had never been the sort to skip work because of a cough or cold. Sure when he had been at university he'd been a bit less hardy, because really, who could sit through a two hour seminar the morning after getting back from a festival? Since he had begun working, however, his mindset had matured massively and it took a lot more than a runny nose to cause him to call in sick.

The past two days had been miserable for the art teacher, stuck in bed buried under a pile of duvets and yet unable to get warm. He kept alternating between shivering and cold sweats, struggling to keep down anything that wasn't water, and unable to stand without getting dizzy and lightheaded. He hadn't even had the energy to go channel-surfing on the TV. Yesterday he had managed to get down to the kitchen and set down the bag of dry cat food on the ground, open so the cats wouldn't go hungry if he couldn't get out of bed to feed them, but then he had stumbled back into his room and turned off the light.

Devon was vaguely aware of his phone going off at some point earlier, but mustering the effort to answer it seemed like such a waste of what little energy he had. They would call back tomorrow if it was important, when hopefully he would be feeling a little less like death warmed up.

[Ferris Macklin]

Through the grapevine, Ferris found out that Devon had gone home sick. It explained why he hadn't come over for dinner three nights in a row. A record. He'd texted and called at various times, to see if the guy needed anything, even if it was just someone to come over and scoop cat crap. No answer meant that either the loopy Brit was too busy mainlining Netflix and ice cream to be arsed to answer or he was actually sick. The evening of the third night, Ferris whipped up a batch of chicken soup with rice, mild but with a good hit of salt for any sore throat, and separated out Devon's spare key on his ring as he trotted over. He called again as he locked his door, but there was no answer.

Letting himself in, Ferris was immediately greeted by a pair of cats, both meowing pitifully for overdue attention. He barely made it to the kitchen to set down the soup, both kitties bent on loving his legs so hard they practically shoved him around. Looking at the open bag of food he sighed. There were patches of cat yak too, where they had gorged and barfed. Gah. Devon. He could smell, too, that very specific odor of feline excrement.

Okay, first things first. Leaving the soup in the microwaved, where he knew the cats wouldn't get it, he spent five minutes giving them pets and cuddles and other things that left hair all over his shirt. They both trailed after him as he took the stairs lightly, two at a time. A new smell hit him on the second floor, the close, hot scent of illness and staleness.

In the bedroom, under a sort of reverse Princess and the Pea situation, he excavated his whiny British friend. Pale(er than usual), sticky with sweat, kind of ripe, and looking and sounding rather tragic. Ferris sighed, but he grinned too.

"Okay, Dev. Let's get you sorted, huh? C'mon." Gently, the chef levered his lanky friend up and got him laid out on the floor. Swiftly, he found new bedding and changed the sheets, reversing the order of the blankets. While Devon reclined, Ferris gave him a sponge bath and then dragged him back into his bed.

Bucket. Ew. "I've got soup downstairs. I'm gonna fix the cats up now that you're all pretty again, okay? And... take out your trash and start the laundry and stuff."

Finding a fresh bucket (well, fine, a wastebasket he'd put a new liner in), he took the old used one to the bathroom and rather against his will he scrubbed it. Downstairs, he cleaned the cat boxes, freshened the food and water and closed up the bags, and wiped up all the cat yak. Zapping the soup a bit, to make it warm but not hot, he carried a bowl upstairs with a glass of water.

Setting the bowl on the bedside table, he peeked under the covers. "Devon? You wanna try eating a little something? Soup. Homemade. What's got you under?"

[Devon Wentsworth]

As much as possible, Devon tried not to be around people when he was sick. He knew it made him whiny and irritable (though he would of course deny that fiercely), but also because so often his mother and brother had tried to make him take things. As someone who could rarely go a day without taking at least one painkiller, Devon had grown to hate medications and would fight them off at any possible chance. His rational mind knew they could help him get better quicker but his sick mind didn't give a shit about rationality; it didn't want to have to take yet ANOTHER pill, damnit!

In his half-asleep state Devon was vaguely aware of the sound of the door opening and movement downstairs, but it was the middle of the day and still light out so it was hardly likely to be a burglar. And even if it was, it wasn't really like he could fight them off right now anyway. Devon tugged the blanket higher over his head, cocooning himself and trying to get warm, and was mostly asleep when the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs disturbed him.

After a few moments, he felt himself being unwrapped from his snug little cocoon. The noise that left the Brit's lips was quiet and pitiful. “Nooooo, don't make me moooove!” Long fingers feebly grabbed hold of the blankets, trying to hold them around him, but he really didn't have the energy to fight and it wasn't long until Devon found himself sat on the floor in his 2-days-lived-in sweats and t-shirt, back leaning against the bed. “I don't have the strength to hate you, but if I did I would.”

Devon of course didn't mean it, but he was sick and grouchy and getting cold without his duvet nest to curl up in. Somehow he managed to work his way through the horror that his friend was putting him through, sulking and grumbling under his breath the whole time. What was probably the biggest tip-off for Ferris about just how sick Devon was, was the complete lack of crude jokes as Ferris helped him get washed up and resembling something approaching a human again.

The cleaning up and change of clothes did do a little to perk Devon's spirits though, as did the promise of Ferris-made food. Whether it would stay down or not was another matter, but no doubt it was be delicious while it lasted. Devon even managed something approaching a faint smile and a quiet chuckle. “Awww, you called me pretty.”

As Ferris went back downstairs to do the chores that had been desperately needing doing while Devon was sick, the Brit all but fell back into bed and propped himself up against the headboard. He felt absolutely exhausted and so cold, and he pulled the duvet up around his neck with one arm as he used the other to rescue the TV remote from the bedside table. He had to at least try to stay awake until Ferris left.

When Ferris returned Devon was flicking blindly through the channels, eyes heavy and skin still pale, but overall looking a bit less deathly than he had looked when his friend had first arrived. “If you made it, I wanna at least try an' eat it.” Even sick, Devon wasn't ever going to be one to pass up the offer of Ferris-made food. The day that happened would be the day he was actually dying. He settled with an episode of NCIS on the TV in the background, and shuffled to sit up properly so he could eat the soup without the risk of spilling it all over the fresh sheets. “Dunno. I felt fine an' then a couple days ago I started barfin', and haven't really stopped since. Feel like crap... Are the cats okay? I kinda haven't seen them since... what day is it? Feel like I've slept a month, but I'm so knackered.”

Taking the soup from Ferris with a quiet thanks, Devon sipped it slowly. He hadn't realised just how hungry he was, and despite the fact his stomach was still protesting it growled loudly at the delicious smell and flavour. “It's real good, thanks mate.” The soup was warm and tasted amazing after a few days of nothing much but water, and Devon made quiet, subconscious happy noises as he sipped at it. “What've I missed?”

[Ferris Macklin]

Unlike his melodramatic friend, Ferris had no qualms about taking a Tylenol or whatever. Part of that was his career; cooks, in particular, line cooks, simply could not get sick. There was never any backup that could be called in, and you were screwing the entire crew over. That said, he was also very aware of spreading any illness he had, and knew what precautions could be taken till he really had no recourse but to stay away. He'd met a lot of people over the years who needed things much more complicated than a pill to keep them on an even keel, and he'd gladly take using three seconds of his day to swallow a coated caplet over six hours of weekly dialysis. He could understand, to a point, people who didn't like taking medicine. But he guessed if Dev had to haul around a wheeled oxygen tank or use a colostomy bag he'd feel a little more disposed toward pills.

“Nooooo, don't make me moooove!”

"Oh my god, seriously?"

“I don't have the strength to hate you, but if I did I would.”

Grinning back, he said, "You know, I still haven't cleaned the catboxes. I have plenty of time to sprinkle cat poop in your bed."

Okay, while Ferris did not blame him one iota for this, Devon smelled like a gym sock discovered on the first day of school after fermenting all summer in a locker. And for privacy and sanity's sake, he only got Dev down to his undershorts to wipe him off.

"Pretty, yes. But still kind of smelly. Not gonna lie." A big improvement from before, but something only an actual shower would cure.

Chores done, house as tidied as he could manage without spending a whole day on it, Ferris went back upstairs with the afternoon's cuisine. As the Brit ate, his neighbor nodded. "Sounds like the crud that's been going around. At least you had the presence of mind to throw up into the bucket. Your cats didn't, but whatever. And yes, they're okay. Attention starved, much like their owner, but still alive and... catting. I cleaned up their stuff, put out fresh water, etcetera, etcetera. You've been asleep for... I guess two and a half days? Almost three? I dunno when you bedded down."

Blowing a short laugh out of his nose, he said, "Not much. The usual. High drama, low comedy, a steady stream of customers to Dr. Neville's office. I took a casserole over to Cee's along with instructions for how to warm it up. Planning the new canning. Thought I might go over to the 'Key and give that cheese-pickle thing another try. 'F I go, you want anything? That isn't liquor or women?"

[Devon Wentsworth]

As Devon attempted to rest in the bed while Ferris fussed around, he idly wondered how many times his mum or Cade had tried to get in touch with him over the past couple of days. He usually spoke with his mum on the phone twice a week or so, but barely a day when by that he didn't text Cade at least once. He stretched in the bed a little, trying to work a knot out of his protesting shoulders. Food first, then messaging big brother. Assuming he could keep his eyes open that long, of course.

Ferris' playful threat about putting cat muck in the bed earned him a mock-glare from Devon, but the Brit was too tired to hold it long and gave a weak chuckle, pulling the blankets closer around him. “Naaah, you wont. You love me too much.” He still felt utterly pathetic and sickly but the new bedding and wash had gone some way towards perking him up, and a little light had returned to his pale grey eyes. “Eh, I can cope wi' being' smelly. Blame bein' an otter or somethin'. Long as I'm still pretty, 's what matters.”

Devon managed another tired chuckling, settling down as Ferris finished off the chores that he really didn't have to be doing. It would take a lot of bread to repay this. Hell, Devon might even make some normal not-prettied-up loaves for him.

When Ferris mentioned that the cats had been vomiting a look of deep concern crossed Devon's pale features, but it faded back a little when the chef explained that they were okay. Devon had worried they might have gorged and been sick if given unrestricted access to the food, but what was he supposed to have done? He hadn't been able to feed himself every day, never mind the cats. He was just glad they were okay. Yes, he was even glad about Uno. “Thanks, mate. You're a star. If I didn't think I'd get ya sick I'd kiss ya.” He gave another quiet chuckle. “Also if I didn't think ya'd punch me in the ribs or summat.”

Sipping at his soup, Devon listened while Ferris spoke about the little adventures that he'd been having while Devon had been sick in bed. “You trusted Cohen with warmin' up a casserole? Brave man.” The soup was warm and slightly salty and, after a few days of no food at all, tasted like the best thing in the world, ever. Devon just hoped and prayed that he'd be able to keep it down. He gave a small smirk as Ferris specified what he would not be willing to bring back from the bar if he headed over there. “Awww, you just outlawed my two favourite things.” He took another spoonful of the soup, coughing slightly as it went down but otherwise surviving. “If I die will you tell that barman, you know, the one with the face? Tell him he scarred me for life.”

[Ferris Macklin]

He laughed. "That or I have too much respect for your cats. I'll let you guess."

It was gentle teasing though. Ferris did care a lot about Devon, even though he was... Devon.

"I wouldn't be putting my picture online or anything if I were you. Oh." He paused and took out his phone. The unmistakable ancient sound of shutter that the device definitely didn't have clicked. "Promised Cade. He texted me yesterday asking if I could see if you were recreating the Sistine Chapel in badgers on your ceiling or trapped under a medium-sized piece of furniture or something. I told him I heard you were sick and he immediately apologized and then gave me permission to shave your head if you whine too much."

Ferris made a face. "I can barely tolerate your hugs. Though I wouldn't mind punching you." He snorted. "You're welcome. Don't worry about it. You'd kind of do the same for me. I imagine it would be much more of a production."

Like, say, than this.

Shrugging, he grinned. "I left instructions with his kid. And it won't kill them if they eat it cold. It's cooked. It just has to be warmed up."

Okay, laundry, cat food, cat boxes, cat water, clean up, soup over, Brit cleaned, sheets changed, barf managed... he looked over when Devon spluttered. "My god, do I have to be your mother? Eat slowly. If you puke this up I'm going to let you lay in it awhile."

It was just chicken stock with rice, so he didn't think it would go over too badly. His next batch would have little bits of potato, carrot, and chicken too if this went over. "And yes, I'll tell him with the face that he damaged you and you're not forgiving him. I'm sure he feels the same."

Scratching his head, he looked around. "You need anything else? I'll come back when your washer's done and stick stuff in the dryer and then come back when that's finished and get it out of the way. Need any groceries, Nyquil, coloring books...?"

[Devon Wentsworth]

Devon managed a quiet, tired laugh. "Yeah, my cats love you too. Even Uno. Bastard." Whether the joking insult was aimed at the cat or Ferris was purposefully vague, as it was actually steered at both human and cat. Sod Uno for liking Ferris, and sod Ferris for being more popular to the cat than its own owner was.

The sound of the click from the camera on the phone caused Devon to groan in frustration and try to hide under the duvet, even though he was obviously very much too late to avoid the photo. Ferris' explanation was met with a hand appearing out from under the duvet, flipping the bird. "I hate you both. When I'm better I'm gonna turn into a badger and shit in your shoes or something." He risked peeking out from under the cover again. "And you'd have'ta kill me before you'd get anywhere near my hair with anythin' cutty."

It was all in jest of course, but Devon was too tired and groggy to be particularly eloquent or witty. He did manage a small smile, though. "Course it'd be a production. If you're gonna do somethin', might as well make a show of it."

The soup was good though, just as he'd known it would be. Sure it was probably never going to win any awards or anything, but to his parched throat and empty stomach it was like the greatest Michelin star meal ever. The scolding from Ferris was met with a slight glare when Devon had stopped spluttering enough to speak again. "I was coughing, mum. If I do puke it up, I'm aimin' for you."

Devon gave a nod of his head and a quiet chuckle when Ferris confirmed that he'd pass on the message to him at the bar in the event of Devon's sudden passing. "He'd cry. There'd be tears and tissues and everythin'. He might even hold a memorial. There'd be vodka and Muse playin' and pie and they'd plant a tree or whatever it is they do at memorials. It'd be awesome."

More of the soup slowly disappeared and it did seem to be having some effect on the Brit. He was definitely a little more animated than he had been earlier, and his skin was not quite so deathly pale. "Colouring books would be awesome, thanks." That had probably been meant as a teasing joke, but honestly, something to do other than sleep and sit watching TV sounded pretty good right now. "Some sandwich stuff'd be good too, please, just in case I can drag my perfectly sculpted arse out of bed tomorrow." Yep, he was clearly already feeling a little better, even if he did still feel and look like crap. "Could you maybe let Bliss in, please? I've missed her."

[Ferris Macklin]

"Wanker," he returned, almost automatically. Personally, Ferris thought Uno just had an unusually high BS detector. That, and it helped that he often smelled of cooked protein.

"Yeah, yeah, poop in the shoes, blah blah blah." From biking through Europe, Ferris had gotten into the habit of turning his boots over before putting it on to loose any lizards or spiders of whatever that might've crawled in during his sleep to camp out. "You threaten that a lot. Is there some British significance to excrement in footwear that I'm not aware of?"

He laughed a little at Devon's grumbles about his hair. Right now parts of it stuck up like they were gelled, and parts were matted down from being wet with sweat and then laid on. Sort of post modern five-year-old-got-into-the-scissors.

The soup was simple, but the broth had been boiled from a whole chicken and two extra batches of roasted bones plus a white onion, fat skimmed off and only a teaspoon of salt added. Some days the older man just craved that broth so bad he used up his whole store of it.

"Your idea of a memorial sounds more like a dinner party, except for the crying. Well, unless it's a dinner party on HBO. And then at the will reading we'd find out you'd left your estate to Bliss."

Yes, he had been offering the coloring books as a joke, but now that he thought about it, it was kind of a good idea. So sure, he'd get a few. Maybe some Play-Doh.

"Sandwich filling preference? I'm not commenting on your arse, it's too spoiled already." Ferris snorted. "I'll let in Bliss, but Uno might come in too. And not till you finish whatever you're eating of the soup. I'm not wasting any of that on a cat, or finding out they yak it up."

It didn't take long for the Brit to finish his meal, and after the dishes had been taken away, Ferris cracked the bedroom door to let in the cats.

[Devon Wentsworth]

Devon's sickness-ridden mind wasn't allowing him to be particularly creative with his insults or his threats, and shitting in shoes had been the best he'd been able to come up with at the time. He would probably be kicking himself over it later, but at that moment it was the funniest thing he'd said for days. “No. Is there some American significance to being mean to sick people? There should be laws about that kinda thing, y'know.”

As a general rule Devon didn't really care too much about his hair. As long as it wasn't all completely fluffed out everywhere he mostly let it do its own thing, cutting it when it got too long or when he had a reason to actually try and look pretty decent, which was admittedly rather rare. However, the thought of Ferris coming anywhere near it with clippers was a disturbing one. He'd probably just shave a cock onto his head or something. Not that he'd really blame him of course; given the chance and a good enough reason, Devon would probably do the exact same thing.

Devon actually laughed at Ferris' interpretation of his idea of a memorial. “Yeah. All the dinner parties I've seen on HBO end up with at least a couple main characters getting screwed over. Not as bad as weddings though; those things're lethal.” He gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, Bliss'd get everything. Don't worry though. If you're really nice to me, I'll let you inherit Uno.”

After pondering sandwich filler preferences for a few moments, Devon gave a quietly frustrated sigh. “I really, really want a doner kebab.” He hadn't had a proper kebab since he'd gone home over Christmas; you just simply couldn't get them in America. Well, not in Pilot Ridge at least, he didn't know about anywhere else. Just all that meat and salad and pita bread and mint yoghurt sauce... Sure right now it would make him hurl up a rainbow, but Christ, he missed them. “Or maybe just like, ham or chicken or something.”

Devon finished off most of the soup but stopped short of finishing it, as soon as he started to feel full. He really, really didn't want to push his stomach right now. Once the plate was moved and Ferris cracked the door open, Bliss predictably came bounding in and leapt onto the bed, purring her little head off as Devon gently fussed and scritched her back. She has always been such a cuddle demon. “Hey, I missed you too, girl.”

A few moments later Uno padded in, and also predictably padded over to Ferris and started rubbing against his legs. Devon gave a glare down at the grey tom. “I hate you so much. I hope you know that.”