[Original: Drabble] "Chicken Soup for the Vampire's Soul" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Chicken Soup for the Vampire’s Soul
Prompt: writerverse challenge #31 quick fic #10 (‘homemade’)
Bonus: gen/friendship
Word Count: 527
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: “Rookie, how did you get yourself into this situation?”
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
Chicken Soup for the Vampire's Soul
You’d think that being (semi-)undead, you wouldn’t be able to catch something like the flu.
You’d be wrong.
I woke up with a sore throat, a runny nose and a pounding headache, and it just got worse from there. I managed to call in to the precinct and let them know I wouldn’t be keeping the streets of Philly safe today, then made a strategic retreat straight back to bed. I thought about making myself a cup of blood-cider- my own recipe, two parts apple cider, one part pigs’ blood and a dash of nutmeg- but decided it was too much trouble.
I must have fallen asleep, because the I woke to the sound of my apartment door creaking open. I was just fumbling with the nightstand drawer where I kept my service weapon when a gruff voice called, “Rookie, are you decent?”
I had never been so glad to hear my partner’s voice. Well, except for that time in Kensington, with the drug dealers and the bathtub.
“No!” I called back, hoarsely. “But I do have clothes on!”
Officer Howell appeared in the bedroom doorway, scowling as always. “Rookie, how did you get yourself into this situation?”
“Oh, you know me, sir. I can’t do anything halfway.”
His expression softened, just a little. “I know. On your feet, Probationary Officer Jones.”
Despite his growl, he pulled me up, helped me into my robe and towed me to a chair at my tiny kitchen table.
“Sit,” he said. I should have come up with a snappy rejoinder, but the six-foot walk had tuckered me out.
“Um, sir?” I asked, when I realized that he’d produced a small saucepan from one of my cupboards and was fiddling with the stove.
“I’m not going soft on you, rookie,” said Howell. “The captain has me on desk duty until my partner is well again, so it’s entirely in my own self-interest to want you healthy.”
“Of course, sir,” I agreed.
A moment later, he set a bowl of piping-hot soup on the table in front of me. “It’s my mother’s recipe,” he said, the first time I’d ever heard him sound hesitant. “She always made it when my sister or I were sick.”
I smiled. “Thank you, sir,” I said, as sincerely as I could manage.
“Yes, well,” he said, putting a plastic container with more soup into my fridge. Then, he said seriously, “Hezekia, we are long overdue for a talk. But this is not the time.”
My brain wasn’t working quite at full speed, but in the short time we’d been partners, I’d learned to trust him, and nodded without giving it too much thought yet. “Yes, sir.”
Howell picked up his uniform hat. “Eat your soup. I’ll be back at suppertime, and I expect to find you alive.”
I nodded. “I mean it, sir. Thank you.”
He nodded, curtly, and left.
I ate the soup- the best chicken noodle I’d ever tasted- which gave me enough energy to microwave a mug of blood-cider and move my cocoon of blankets to the couch.
Maybe when my partner came back, he could join me for the Being Human marathon.
THE END
Current Mood:
grumpy
Prompt: writerverse challenge #31 quick fic #10 (‘homemade’)
Bonus: gen/friendship
Word Count: 527
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: “Rookie, how did you get yourself into this situation?”
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
Chicken Soup for the Vampire's Soul
You’d think that being (semi-)undead, you wouldn’t be able to catch something like the flu.
You’d be wrong.
I woke up with a sore throat, a runny nose and a pounding headache, and it just got worse from there. I managed to call in to the precinct and let them know I wouldn’t be keeping the streets of Philly safe today, then made a strategic retreat straight back to bed. I thought about making myself a cup of blood-cider- my own recipe, two parts apple cider, one part pigs’ blood and a dash of nutmeg- but decided it was too much trouble.
I must have fallen asleep, because the I woke to the sound of my apartment door creaking open. I was just fumbling with the nightstand drawer where I kept my service weapon when a gruff voice called, “Rookie, are you decent?”
I had never been so glad to hear my partner’s voice. Well, except for that time in Kensington, with the drug dealers and the bathtub.
“No!” I called back, hoarsely. “But I do have clothes on!”
Officer Howell appeared in the bedroom doorway, scowling as always. “Rookie, how did you get yourself into this situation?”
“Oh, you know me, sir. I can’t do anything halfway.”
His expression softened, just a little. “I know. On your feet, Probationary Officer Jones.”
Despite his growl, he pulled me up, helped me into my robe and towed me to a chair at my tiny kitchen table.
“Sit,” he said. I should have come up with a snappy rejoinder, but the six-foot walk had tuckered me out.
“Um, sir?” I asked, when I realized that he’d produced a small saucepan from one of my cupboards and was fiddling with the stove.
“I’m not going soft on you, rookie,” said Howell. “The captain has me on desk duty until my partner is well again, so it’s entirely in my own self-interest to want you healthy.”
“Of course, sir,” I agreed.
A moment later, he set a bowl of piping-hot soup on the table in front of me. “It’s my mother’s recipe,” he said, the first time I’d ever heard him sound hesitant. “She always made it when my sister or I were sick.”
I smiled. “Thank you, sir,” I said, as sincerely as I could manage.
“Yes, well,” he said, putting a plastic container with more soup into my fridge. Then, he said seriously, “Hezekia, we are long overdue for a talk. But this is not the time.”
My brain wasn’t working quite at full speed, but in the short time we’d been partners, I’d learned to trust him, and nodded without giving it too much thought yet. “Yes, sir.”
Howell picked up his uniform hat. “Eat your soup. I’ll be back at suppertime, and I expect to find you alive.”
I nodded. “I mean it, sir. Thank you.”
He nodded, curtly, and left.
I ate the soup- the best chicken noodle I’d ever tasted- which gave me enough energy to microwave a mug of blood-cider and move my cocoon of blankets to the couch.
Maybe when my partner came back, he could join me for the Being Human marathon.
THE END
Current Mood:
grumpy