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The moment his eyes opened, Des Courtney regretted waking up.
He wasn't the type to catch every single illness that went around town. As a matter of fact, Des was much too tough to be brought down by a little germ. (He was.) Well, wait, that wasn't exactly true. He had caught that cold earlier in the spring, and he was pretty sure he'd had the flu over the Christmas holidays. And then he'd gotten that other thing he was pretty sure had been the bubonic plague at first but had turned out to be much less threatening (so much less that he forgot what it actually was in his relief that it wasn't the plague).
Either way, he was sick right now, and he was about seventy-nine percent sure he was dying.
When he tried to sit up to figure out what was going on, his stomach lurched, and Des found himself genuinely surprised he wasn't throwing up.
So maybe more like eighty-seven percent sure then.
Maybe even ninety.
He groaned, dropped back onto the mattress, and draped his arm over his eyes. Maybe if he didn't move at all, everything would be okay. Maybe he was just dreaming, and then he'd wake up and be fine. Maybe—
"Des!"
The sudden sound of Jake's voice from the other room made him jump and then groan at the way the scare had made his stomach lurch.
"Des, b'y, what're ya at? We got that thing, and you're gonna make us late!"
Oh, right. That thing. That stakeout he and Jake were supposed to be doing this morning. For that gorgeous client who was worried she was being burgled by one of the employees at her jewelry store. Right. But hot missus or no hot missus (and, unfortunately, it definitely was the former) Des was not about to get out of bed unless he was heading to the bathroom. Which, come to think of it, he was actually about to need to—
"Des!"
Des jumped again when Jake's voice was suddenly right in his ear. "Ow," he whined, moving his arm to glare at his offending roommate. "Jake, don't do that."
"What's wrong?" Jake frowned and crossed his arms. A flicker crossed his face with the words.
Des noticed it right away and grinned despite himself. "Aww, you're worried about me. I'm flattered, Jake, really."
"Shut up." Jake rolled his eyes. "I'm not that kinda worried. I'm the kinda worried where we're gonna lose this job if you don't get your butt outta bed and into the surveillance truck in the next two minutes."
"It's okay, Jake," Des assured the older man. "I know you can't really show your feelings, what with us bein' business partners and all, but I want you to know that I know that you really care about my well-bein' and that I'm touched."
Jake made a face. "What? Des, stop talkin' before you make this any more weird. Just… go get in the van. We don't have all day."
Nodding, Des started to do as he'd been instructed. Maybe that whole I-feel-like-I'm-gonna-puke thing would go away if he just ignored it. But the minute he sat up, another wave of nausea hit him, and he squeezed his eyes shut again. "Uhhh, Jake, I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Not on my floor you're not!" Jake didn't sound happy.
Of course he didn't sound happy. Des supposed he also didn't want there to be vomit on the floor (though he wasn't sure he really had the luxury of choosing at the moment).
"It's my floor, too," Des grumbled.
And then he felt something hit his leg. He opened his eyes to find Jake practically throwing a small trash bin at him.
"If you're gonna do anythin', do it in there," Jake ordered. "I told ya not to eat that leftover… whatever it was," he added.
"What?" Des blinked. "No, you didn't."
"Uh, yeah, I did. In fact, I remember specifically sayin', 'Des, don't eat that; it looks like it's been in there for at least a year.'"
Des wrinkled his nose. "But Rose cleans the fridge out, like, every week."
"Des, you found it in the very back of the fridge in the crack behind the drawer," Jake rebutted.
Okay. Jake had a point. Des sighed and leaned forward so his chin was resting on the lip of the plastic-lined container. He tried very hard to make himself look as pitiful as he felt (which was a hard task, but he thought he did okay at it). "Jake, don't make me go," he begged. "Please don't make me go. I'm jus' gonna just be sick all over the nice expensive surveillance equipment, and none of us wants that."
When there was no immediate reply, Des glanced back up to see Jake tapping something on his phone. Then Jake tucked the device in his back pocket and held out his free hand, palm facing Des.
"Okay; all right," he conceded. "You stay here. I'll pick up Dad to do the job with me. Rose is gonna come check on you. So don't get up, because I don't want her to have to clean up any of your mess when you try an' go do anythin' yourself, got it?"
Des smiled lazily at Jake. "See, you do love me. I knew you loved me. You're like the big brother I never had, Jake."
"I toldja don't call me that," Jake grumbled as he turned and walked back toward the main area of the office. A moment later, he reappeared with a glass of water in his hand. "Here. Rose'll kill me if she shows up and you're dead, so… just don't die before she gets here, 'kay?"
"'kay," Des nodded, still feeling miserable but maybe ever so slightly less so. "Thanks, Jake. Really. You're the best."
Waving him off, Jake pulled his keys from his pocket. "Yeah, yeah," he said, heading out of sight again. "Remember, no puke on the floor!" he called back, then Des heard the office door open and shut.
Alone again, Des sighed and flopped backward, trash can still on his lap. He honestly didn't feel like moving at all, so that last part was probably doable. Maybe he'd be lucky and Tinny would come over with Rose. The Doyles really did all love him (Des was sure of it), probably as much as he loved them. Maybe more, but they had their own funny ways of showing it and would never actually admit it out loud. But that was okay. Des knew it deep down, and that was all that really mattered.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard noises downstairs. Might've been a few minutes, but he also might've fallen asleep a little (and he was grateful for that because at least then he wasn't having to deal with his stomach doing backflips) but the sound of someone bumping around downstairs made him realize Rose must've come check on him like Jake had mentioned.
Des was very glad she was there. He wasn't feeling all that hot, and the idea of someone to tut over him and maybe make him some tea or soup was very welcoming.
And then a voice drifted up the stairs, sounding like it was on the phone, and Des suddenly remembered Kathleen was supposed to do inventory for the bar that morning.
Maybe she would come check on him if he asked very nicely, Des decided, swallowing against his complaining stomach and shifting under the blanket. She had made him that chicken soup that one time that tasted just like the kind his dad used to make when Des was sick (the kind in the can that was amazing).
Des was pretty sure he could convince Kathleen to help him out… he just had to get her attention first.
"Kathleen?" he called, then winced at how low and rough his voice sounded. Nothing like being sick to make you sound helpless. And Des wasn't helpless, thank you very much, but he did really just need someone to come check on him— and maybe make him some soup.
He made a heroic effort and pushed himself to his feet, only staggering a little bit, and then nodded in satisfaction when he was finally standing.
"Right, okay," he muttered, swallowing hard when his stomach started doing flips again. All he had to do was make it downstairs to find Kathleen, and then he could come back to bed.
But… he'd probably better take the trash can with him, just in case. Jake had said not to make a mess of the apartment, and Des didn't want to make Jake mad or have to clean anything up, so he figured he'd better do his best to comply.
Somehow, he managed to make his way to the stairs without incident. Putting a hand up on the wall to steady himself, Des slowly took the first step. He had to pause while the world finished spinning, but his stomach seemed to still be intact after that so he took a deep breath and then continued on, still hugging the trash can to his chest with his other hand.
He was halfway down the stairs when he heard the sound of breaking glass.
Des blinked. He might not be in full control of all of his faculties, but that definitely wasn't right.
And then he realized it wasn't the sound of breaking glasses behind the bar (at least, not what he would expect that to sound like). More like a window breaking. Which… wasn't good at any time, but especially not when no one was there except Kathleen and Des.
And while Des liked to think he could take on at least one angry burglar, maybe two if he was in top shape, he was not, in fact, in top shape. He was barely in any sort of shape at the moment.
He swallowed and contemplated his options, but they weren't many. He'd left his phone upstairs, he might pass out any minute, and he didn't exactly have any weapons on hand.
But he also couldn't just leave Kathleen to fend off burglars on her own. What would Jake say?
What would Tinny say?
"Oh gosh I gotta do somethin'," he fretted, glancing around as if an idea on how to save the day without losing whatever was left in his stomach might be hanging on the wall nearby.
Unfortunately, ideas were in short supply. Des took another deep breath, tightened his grip on the trash can, and quietly started back down the stairs.
After all, Des Courtney wasn't going to just sit around while some punks wrecked the bar. He was just as heroic as Jake was, maybe more, even with food poisoning. And maybe it would prove to be his secret weapon, like some comic book hero Des was too sick and disoriented to actually name at the moment.
Stumbling the rest of the way down the stairs, Des rounded the corner just in time to see two guys with bandanas around their faces trying to pry open the cash register behind the bar.
Typical hoodlums.
"Hey!" Des croaked, mustering all of the gruffness he could manage to find. "What're you b'ys at? Ya'd better leave before…" He trailed off, searching for a proper threat and finally settling on just brandishing his trash can as intimidatingly as he could.
The men turned, surprised, but then they both just grinned.
"Before what?" One of them smirked. "You don't even look like you should be walkin' around."
Oh, these buddies were clearly not impressed by Des's very impressive display of bravery.
Des sniffed. "I'm fine, but you're about to not be if you don't leave!" Wow, that didn't even sound threatening to him. How did Jake do it? He huffed and took a small step forward for emphasis. His stomach protested violently, but he ignored it as best he could. 'Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up!' he repeated to himself.
"Yeah, you looks like you's about to keel over," the other man chortled.
How dare they question his resolve to protect the bar! Des clenched his jaw, summoned all of his strength, and hurled his only weapon at the two men—
—and missed both of them by a mile.
Des winced as the bin crashed into the pint glasses, taking the entire shelf and all of its contents down to the floor with a deafening crash of breaking glass.
Definitely not the same as the sound of the window from a few moments before. And… definitely not what he'd meant to do.
And then Kathleen burst from the back room with a shotgun braced against her shoulder. "Oi, you idiots! Get out of my bar!"
The masked burglars didn't need to be told twice. They were gone almost before Des had a chance to blink.
Relief coursed through Des, who suddenly felt the need to sit down at the nearest table. He wanted to commend Kathleen on her bravery (unneeded though it was, since he would've still been able to handle the situation, of course) but he somehow couldn't quite form any words.
"Nice, uh, job," he finally mumbled. Oh boy, he really shouldn't have thrown his trash can quite so far away.
"Des…," Kathleen paused, then continued with worry replacing her frustration. "You don't look so good. Are you okay?"
"I'm…" Wow, no, he really wasn't okay. "I have food poisoning," he finally offered pitifully.
"Well, that explains so much," she replied with a sigh. "Don't throw up until I get your trash can."
He didn't think he could nod and not puke, so he settled for waiting until Kathleen came back with the plastic bin— except his stomach had other ideas.
Oh man.
He absolutely did not mean to be sick all over the nice, clean floor, but his stomach hadn't left him much choice in the matter. Throwing up was not fun, and Des hated every second of it just a little more than he did looking up when his stomach was finally done wringing itself out to see the way Kathleen was watching him.
Des blinked. "I… uh… I can clean that up." This wasn't good. Des wasn't even that great at cleaning when he didn't feel terrible. How was he supposed to mop up the floor when every movement made his stomach slosh around like he was out on a boat? (There was a good reason he didn't like going on boats.)
He moved to grab a towel someone had left sitting on the bar— and was promptly sick all over the floor again.
"Des!"
Oh, Kathleen did not look happy.
Oh boy. Tinny was gonna kill him later.
"Des, just… just sit down!" Kathleen practically pushed him into one of the nearby chairs as she shoved the trash can into his hands. "Stop tryin'a do anything; you're just making more of a mess."
She made a fair point.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, thanks," Des mumbled, relinquishing the towel he'd been holding as she took it from him. Then the thought occurred to him, the reason he'd come downstairs in the first place (though robbers breaking into the bar was a valid excuse for forgetting). And he might as well ask for it now before the thought ran away on him again. "Uh… soup?"
"What?" Kathleen tilted her head, looking up from where she had dropped the towel over part of the mess on the floor.
"I was gonna ask if you'd make me soup," Des explained, putting on the most sorrowful look he could muster in hopes she would take pity on him and feed him. He didn't even have to try that hard. "It's why I came down here in the first place.)
But before she could respond and graciously offer to make him a whole pot of chicken soup, Des heard the door open.
Footsteps crunched in the broken glass.
"Des? Why is the bar window busted?" Jake's stern shout carried down the hallway.
Des slumped back, all visions of soup fleeing his mind. "Oh man… he's mad, isn't he?"
In response, Kathleen just lifted an eyebrow.
"Jake, it wasn't me, I swear," Des explained hurriedly when Jake appeared in the doorway a second later.
Des had to admit that Jake did not look happy. But then again, Jake had just come home to find his windows smashed in, which Des figured was enough to make anyone unhappy. Except that he really wished Jake's glare wasn't directed at him. It wasn't like Des had done it on purpose— or at all. And he had saved the day.
Someone owed him at least a little credit.
"Well who was it, then, Des?" Jake demanded, eyes sweeping the damage behind the bar and then turning to take in the disheveled Des and the trash can beside him.
Des sat up straighter, ignoring as best as he could the way his head swam. "Hey! I saved the bar, Jake!"
"Wha— you saved the bar?"
"I did." Des gave a small nod. "And I didn't even die before Rose got here either, jus' like you said before you left, y'know?" He turned to look at Kathleen. "Kathleen, tell him how heroic I was!"
From behind Jake, Kathleen nodded slowly. "You were very heroic, honey," she said gently, "but not as heroic as I was cleaning up after you missed the trash can."
Jake frowned. "Wait, you made my sister clean up after you?"
Oh, Jake was mad. Of course he was mad. Des didn't expect him to be happy about the mess, but Des had tried to take care of it himself. Jake could understand that. Des had taken care of stuff for Jake before, so Jake should get what had happened while he was gone. (Right?)
Des swallowed. "Well, I did try cleanin' up first, but then I got sick all over again what with all the movin' around and stuff, and she kinda took over."
"I toldja not to make a mess," Jake growled.
Des blinked. "But you said don't make a mess of the apartment. And I didn't!"
"Not makin' a mess of my bar should go without sayin', Des!"
"Well, I had to do somethin', Jake!" Des defended himself indignantly. "There was a robbery!"
That caught Jake's attention. "Wait." He paused and looked between Des and Kathleen. "What?"
"Oh yeah," Des said, nodding seriously. "A whole robbery with two bad guys and everythin'."
"It was hardly a robbery," Kathleen sighed, jumping in to explain. "More of a burglary. I don't think they expected anyone to be here, and they didn't see me anyway."
Jake rounded on Des again. "You let burglars break into the bar while you were lyin' around?"
"Now that's not fair, Jake," Des gulped. "You know I'm sick! I was supposed t' be getting' rest and all, not stoppin' burglars I didn't even know would be here." Speaking of being sick, he wasn't feeling all that hot again just now. It felt like the room was swaying around him— or maybe he was swaying in his seat. It really was hard to tell the difference. His stomach was churning, and his head felt ten times heavier than normal.
Before Jake could respond, the door opened again, accompanied by more footsteps crunching on glass.
"What on earth is going on in here?" Rose asked in surprise. She quickly took in the chaotic scene, nose wrinkling ever so slightly at the sight of the mess on the floor, and then looked at Des in a way that made him feel very much relieved and just a little more hopeful that he might get soup out of all of this after all.
"Burglary," Jake offered. "Des tried to stop it with a trash can," he added, directing a very pointed look in the younger man's direction.
Des frowned. Why did everyone keep saying that like it was a bad thing? He liked to think he'd been resourceful, thank you very much.
"A trash can?" Rose repeated incredulously. She gave Jake a stern, raised eyebrow, then turned back to Des. "And no one thought to get him upstairs? Look at him! I'd say you're lucky if this is the only mess that came of it."
Without waiting for Jake to respond, Rose moved over to Des's chair and put a comforting arm around him. "Come on, honey," she encouraged. "Let's get you back up to bed, hm?"
"I did save the bar," Des defended himself, even as he let Rose help him up out of the chair. He wasn't actually sure he could get his feet underneath him on his own (he was sick, after all), so he was grateful for the assistance.
"Okay, honey, but let's go get some rest so you can tell me all about it later, okay? Come on. Up you go." Rose pushed him toward the stairs with a gentle hand on his back. "I'm sure Jake can clean up this mess while you recuperate, hm?" She turned to shoot a look at Jake, who scoffed defensively.
"I— yeah— okay, fine, sure," Jake grumbled.
From behind him, Des was pretty sure he heard something about 'milking this for a week' but couldn't quite find the energy to respond. Jake would come around. After all, Des had saved his bar. With a little help from Kathleen, sure, but he had saved it.
And then Rose was lifting the blankets and helping Des tumble back into bed, and he gratefully flopped onto the very welcoming mattress.
"Rose, can I have some soup?" Des asked, visions of a steaming bowl dancing in his head.
"Sure, honey," Rose said gently as she tucked him in. "Just close your eyes and get some rest."
Des sighed happily and let his eyes drift closed. Being a hero wasn't so bad after all, especially if it came with soup.