AN: A little one-shot to go alongside an older one-shot of mine (titled "Even Gentlemen Get Sick").
Enjoy!
And, it's gotten to the point where it goes without saying... That I don't own Professor Layton.
Even Ladies Get Sick
The London flat was two things in particular: small and cold. With Hershel being on a Professorship, and Claire being a Physics PhD student, money was limited, and therefore accommodation, being the most expensive thing, was not necessarily the most luxurious place in London. The flat was indeed small, but it was bearable. Upon entering the flat, one would be faced with the kitchen and the living room, which was indeed the same room, and about six metres by five metres in total. On the left hand side of the room, was a door which led to the bedroom, which was about half the size of the first room. Adjacent to the door that led to the bedroom, was another door that led to the bathroom, which contained a shower, toilet and a sink. Altogether, it was no bigger than a closet. The size of the apartment was more than bearable; it was, as Claire put it, cozy.
The temperature of the flat was occasionally an issue. A draft came in through a gap in the door, resulting in rather icy winds across the floor. The two had tried using pillows, cushions and blankets to cover the gap (and themselves) up, but nothing ever seemed to work. Though, of course, this was only in the Winter. In the Summer, this was rarely an issue (with the exception of the mornings when the living room floor could be cold due to night time breezes). However, today, a bright day in late June, it was far too cold for Claire.
"You're sick," Hershel had observed upon Claire's entrance to the room.
It was no puzzle at all, merely obvious. As a redhead, Claire was usually paler than most, but today she was as white as a ghost. Her body shivered, her arm covered in goosebumps, yet her forehead sticky with sweat. She'd entered the kitchen only moments ago, and she'd already had a minor coughing fit, and sneezed. Twice.
"Don't be rid-ridiculous, Hershel," Claire stuttered in response. Her voice was hoarse, too. What more evidence was needed. "I think it's allergies. Here, I-I think I saw a cat trail past the apartment last- ACHOO!"
Thrice.
Hershel shook his head in slight amusement at the scientist's stubborn behaviour- she was far too determined sometimes- and made his way over from the kettle to where Claire now stood, wasting no time in leading her over to the sofa. He could see her knees trembling, and with her pale face, he feared she may topple over at any second.
"You're being ridiculous!" Claire repeated with a snuffle, as he followed him to the settee with a sigh.
"I most certainly am not," Hershel replied with a slightly more firm tone, knowing Claire wouldn't protest anymore. "See now, what did I tell you when you insisted in looking after me whilst I was under the weather? That you'd get ill yourself." He chuckled.
Claire rolled her eyes, laughing too, although it did indeed result in another urge to cough. Quickly, Hershel handed her a tissue. Claire had taken to buying several boxes of tissues whilst Hershel had been sick. Admittedly, she'd bought far more than necessary, along with the excuse that they'd been on offer. Perhaps they'd come into use now.
With a nod, as if to say thank, Claire gratefully took the tissue and covered her mouth as she coughed. Soothingly, Hershel placed a hand on her back.
"Are you all right?" he asked, once her coughs subsided.
Claire nodded as she then proceeded to blow her nose on the same tissue.
"Yes, of course I am," she sniffed in response.
"Then by all means, let me help you back to bed," Hershel offered, standing up and holding out his arm for her. "I'll call your laboratory in afterwards to let them know you won't be able to attend today."
Claire paused. "There really is no convincing you that I'm fine, is there?"
"I would very much doubt so," Hershel replied."Now, come on, let's go back to bed."
AN: Yeah, this was kinda pointless and all... But it was cute, right?
Reviews make my day... :)
Nikki~~