Bundled still in her coat and scarf, Riza slips in the front door of Crane Law Offices. She doesn’t make a habit of visiting Roland at work and has only come at the behest of the young law clerk who typically worked the front desk. Said clerk peeks up from his work, a small frown on his face as he registers whose wandered into the building.
“Mrs. Crane,” Davis, the clerk goes by if she remembers right, is up in a flash and at her side. “Thank you for coming. I knocked on his door for ages, but he won’t answer.”
“Never mind that. Thank you for calling me, Mr. Davis.” They stand outside Roland’s office now, Riza slipping her gloves off and into her pockets. “If you wouldn’t mind, I think I can manage from here on my own.”
She doesn’t wait for Davis to answer, taking a set of keys from her bag and plugging one into the lock. The click is quiet as the tumblers slide into place; she stands silently until retreating footsteps head back towards the main desk. Knowing her husband likes his privacy, after stepping into the office she closes the door behind her once again and turns the lock.
Roland hadn’t put on much of an act that morning, and there was nothing about his current state that was convincing now either. His overcoat hung on the coat rack, still damp from snow. He’d shed his suit jacket some time during the morning’s work, the blue fabric sloppily folded over the back of a chair. The knot of his tie was crooked, as if he’d been tugging it loose. His desk chair was precariously tilted backward and arms crossed over his chest; even from the door Riza could see the flush of fever and thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He was sound asleep, and by his lack of movement she estimates that he had neither heard the clerk knocking nor her entrance.
Quietly, she crosses to stand behind him, pressing an open palm on his forehead. “You did a terrible job convincing me not to worry this morning, you know.”
A confused mumble is all she gets in return, followed by dazed dark eyes blinking blearily up at her. “Riza?”
“Your clerk called a nervous wreck about a quarter of an hour ago, frantic that you’d locked yourself in your office and didn’t answer when he knocked,” she replies quietly. One hand stays resting against his shoulder as she reaches for the suit jacket he’d discarded earlier. “Now up. We are going home.”
Finally waking up properly, Roland sits forward with a jolt, his head spinning as the chair lurched back into an upright position. “What? No. I have—”
“Don’t you start with me, Roland Crane. I see right through that act,” Riza quips. Roland finds it easy to forget about his wife’s extensive military background and despite the drops of water in her hair from the snow outside and the way her scarf was sliding off her neck, she looked every bit the part with her stern expression and commanding tone. “Put your jacket back on. It’s freezing outside.”
“Riza, I’m f—”
“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, frustration writ in her brow. “Jacket. Now.”
An appropriate level of chagrined, Roland takes the jacket from her hands. She leaves him to his task and fetches his overcoat, waiting with the coat over her arm as she produces a scarf and hat from her small handbag. While he buttons his suit she loops the scarf around his neck, and before he can protest she pulls the hat over his hair.
He considers protesting once again and is stopped by a hand in his face. “Not a peep,” she murmurs as he gets to his feet. Despite standing a proper head taller than her, Riza is still able to maneuver him into his coat before handing him a pair of fuzzy black gloves. Were he less focused on staying upright, he’d recognize that they were hers.
“Now come.” There’s something far gentler in her tone when she speaks again. “Can you manage an apology for Mr. Davis, or are you too dizzy? You’re very pale.”
More than thoroughly scolded, Roland nods weakly as she unlocks his office door. “A quick one.”
“Walk slowly so you stay upright,” she adds under her breath. He can just feel her fingertips ghosting along his coat as they step into the hall. “Try and keep your head up. I left the car out front. Not a long walk.”
She doesn’t allow them to be entangled by Davis’ nervous chatter as they walk past. Roland finds his head unpleasantly fuzzy as he hears her talking with the clerk: Thank you for calling, Mr. Davis. I think we’ll be headed home now. Her voice seems far away. With the oak of the desk obscuring her, she presses her hand squarely against his back to keep him upright.
“Sorry about this, Davis. Call if there’s an emergency.” It’s all he’s able to manage before Riza guides him out the office door, and he’s immediately thankful for the hat she’d brought as the cold hits him. As she’d promised the car is just out front, and she’s only just gotten the door open for him before he sinks into the seat. She hasn’t even made it around to the driver’s side before he’s asleep.
Edited 2019-04-18 01:24 (UTC)
LOOK THERE'S MORE I actually have known where I've wanted this to go *for ages*
He wakes hours later in bed, still fuzzy on the small detail of how he’d gotten there. He finds himself changed into pajamas, carefully tucked under the blankets. His joints ache, and he can barely muster the energy to sit up as he coughs wetly into his sleeve. As the blankets shift, he shivers in the warmth of their bedroom. His ears are too stuffed for him to hear footsteps approaching from the hall.
“You’re awake.”
Sick as he was, he didn’t initially register the note of concern in her voice. He does feel the smooth ceramic of a mug pressed into his palms and the mattress shifting under her weight as she sits beside him. “Tea. Careful not to spill it.”
Roland isn’t aware of how his hands shake until she’s wrapped hers around them, gently bringing the cup to his lips. “There you are. Honey and lemon, my mother’s recipe when I was little. It will help the coughing.”
“Thanks,” his voice is a croak before he takes a deep drink from the mug, only just realizing how thirsty he is. As promised, the tea soothes the pain in his throat and eases the cough that tries to work its way from his lungs. She waits until he’s finished swallowing the drink, greedily spilling it onto the five o’clock shadow he’d neglected in the morning, before taking it back and running a finger across his chin where he’d spilled.
“Relax, Roland. It’s not going anywhere,” she scolds, uncharacteristically sharp. Absentmindedly she licks the spilt tea from her finger; the slow inhale is the only indication he'll have of her attempting to collect her frustrations. “There’s water too, if you’d rather.”
“Sorry.” He sits back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut against the headache. To his hazy mind, it feels like just a minute later that a cool washcloth comes to rest over his eyes and forehead; it’s actually been several.
He hears Riza clear her throat from above him. Into his right hand, she presses two tablets. “Aspirin. For the fever.”
Only half aware of the action, he mechanically swallows the pills he’s been given. He can feel strong fingers guiding him back onto the bed, and the washcloth is re-situated to have the cooler side against him. The blankets shift around him, tucking neatly against the chills that were growing worse. Beside him, the mattress shifts again, and he feels a cooler form press against his side. Beneath his chin, he feels the tickle of familiar yellow hair.
He’s almost entirely asleep when she presses a kiss against his cheek. “Get some sleep, love.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
surprise it's a drabble in progress
“Mrs. Crane,” Davis, the clerk goes by if she remembers right, is up in a flash and at her side. “Thank you for coming. I knocked on his door for ages, but he won’t answer.”
“Never mind that. Thank you for calling me, Mr. Davis.” They stand outside Roland’s office now, Riza slipping her gloves off and into her pockets. “If you wouldn’t mind, I think I can manage from here on my own.”
She doesn’t wait for Davis to answer, taking a set of keys from her bag and plugging one into the lock. The click is quiet as the tumblers slide into place; she stands silently until retreating footsteps head back towards the main desk. Knowing her husband likes his privacy, after stepping into the office she closes the door behind her once again and turns the lock.
Roland hadn’t put on much of an act that morning, and there was nothing about his current state that was convincing now either. His overcoat hung on the coat rack, still damp from snow. He’d shed his suit jacket some time during the morning’s work, the blue fabric sloppily folded over the back of a chair. The knot of his tie was crooked, as if he’d been tugging it loose. His desk chair was precariously tilted backward and arms crossed over his chest; even from the door Riza could see the flush of fever and thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He was sound asleep, and by his lack of movement she estimates that he had neither heard the clerk knocking nor her entrance.
Quietly, she crosses to stand behind him, pressing an open palm on his forehead. “You did a terrible job convincing me not to worry this morning, you know.”
A confused mumble is all she gets in return, followed by dazed dark eyes blinking blearily up at her. “Riza?”
“Your clerk called a nervous wreck about a quarter of an hour ago, frantic that you’d locked yourself in your office and didn’t answer when he knocked,” she replies quietly. One hand stays resting against his shoulder as she reaches for the suit jacket he’d discarded earlier. “Now up. We are going home.”
Finally waking up properly, Roland sits forward with a jolt, his head spinning as the chair lurched back into an upright position. “What? No. I have—”
“Don’t you start with me, Roland Crane. I see right through that act,” Riza quips. Roland finds it easy to forget about his wife’s extensive military background and despite the drops of water in her hair from the snow outside and the way her scarf was sliding off her neck, she looked every bit the part with her stern expression and commanding tone. “Put your jacket back on. It’s freezing outside.”
“Riza, I’m f—”
“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, frustration writ in her brow. “Jacket. Now.”
An appropriate level of chagrined, Roland takes the jacket from her hands. She leaves him to his task and fetches his overcoat, waiting with the coat over her arm as she produces a scarf and hat from her small handbag. While he buttons his suit she loops the scarf around his neck, and before he can protest she pulls the hat over his hair.
He considers protesting once again and is stopped by a hand in his face. “Not a peep,” she murmurs as he gets to his feet. Despite standing a proper head taller than her, Riza is still able to maneuver him into his coat before handing him a pair of fuzzy black gloves. Were he less focused on staying upright, he’d recognize that they were hers.
“Now come.” There’s something far gentler in her tone when she speaks again. “Can you manage an apology for Mr. Davis, or are you too dizzy? You’re very pale.”
More than thoroughly scolded, Roland nods weakly as she unlocks his office door. “A quick one.”
“Walk slowly so you stay upright,” she adds under her breath. He can just feel her fingertips ghosting along his coat as they step into the hall. “Try and keep your head up. I left the car out front. Not a long walk.”
She doesn’t allow them to be entangled by Davis’ nervous chatter as they walk past. Roland finds his head unpleasantly fuzzy as he hears her talking with the clerk: Thank you for calling, Mr. Davis. I think we’ll be headed home now. Her voice seems far away. With the oak of the desk obscuring her, she presses her hand squarely against his back to keep him upright.
“Sorry about this, Davis. Call if there’s an emergency.” It’s all he’s able to manage before Riza guides him out the office door, and he’s immediately thankful for the hat she’d brought as the cold hits him. As she’d promised the car is just out front, and she’s only just gotten the door open for him before he sinks into the seat. She hasn’t even made it around to the driver’s side before he’s asleep.
LOOK THERE'S MORE I actually have known where I've wanted this to go *for ages*
“You’re awake.”
Sick as he was, he didn’t initially register the note of concern in her voice. He does feel the smooth ceramic of a mug pressed into his palms and the mattress shifting under her weight as she sits beside him. “Tea. Careful not to spill it.”
Roland isn’t aware of how his hands shake until she’s wrapped hers around them, gently bringing the cup to his lips. “There you are. Honey and lemon, my mother’s recipe when I was little. It will help the coughing.”
“Thanks,” his voice is a croak before he takes a deep drink from the mug, only just realizing how thirsty he is. As promised, the tea soothes the pain in his throat and eases the cough that tries to work its way from his lungs. She waits until he’s finished swallowing the drink, greedily spilling it onto the five o’clock shadow he’d neglected in the morning, before taking it back and running a finger across his chin where he’d spilled.
“Relax, Roland. It’s not going anywhere,” she scolds, uncharacteristically sharp. Absentmindedly she licks the spilt tea from her finger; the slow inhale is the only indication he'll have of her attempting to collect her frustrations. “There’s water too, if you’d rather.”
“Sorry.” He sits back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut against the headache. To his hazy mind, it feels like just a minute later that a cool washcloth comes to rest over his eyes and forehead; it’s actually been several.
He hears Riza clear her throat from above him. Into his right hand, she presses two tablets. “Aspirin. For the fever.”
Only half aware of the action, he mechanically swallows the pills he’s been given. He can feel strong fingers guiding him back onto the bed, and the washcloth is re-situated to have the cooler side against him. The blankets shift around him, tucking neatly against the chills that were growing worse. Beside him, the mattress shifts again, and he feels a cooler form press against his side. Beneath his chin, he feels the tickle of familiar yellow hair.
He’s almost entirely asleep when she presses a kiss against his cheek. “Get some sleep, love.”