Problem Children

Chapter Twenty Four

"Fuckin' hell," the young man swore as he lay in his bed the next morning. The bright, winter sun had barely come up over the neighboring houses leaving the room dim in comparison. Activity downstairs settled on his already pounding head, the alarm clock soon to follow. An overnight glass of water stood on his nightstand, offered to his lips, then placed back where it was. A freight train of a sneeze came from the room across his and he frowned. "Thanks a lot, Mal."

Angus was sick.

A slight fever had him out of bed earlier than he would have liked, and sleep never came to take him back. With a blanket draped around his shoulders he made the trip to his parents' room, and woke up his mother. She gave in to his puppy eyes and found some medicine in the cupboard. One tablespoon and a gag later he was sent back to bed with a short visit every ten minutes. In fact, right that minute another was due in three, two-

"One more tablespoon, Angus, then I'll let you rest again." The boy sat up in bed with a groan. His shirt had been tossed on the floor in a fever induced sweat but now he was shivering. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders again and grabbed the spoon from his mother's hand. The medicine was green-currently his least favorite color, though he no doubt figured his pallor held some as well. Downing it in one try, he handed back the spoon and collapsed into bed. His mother's warm hand pressed against his forehead and cheek. Angus knew in the back of his mind that he had always taken his mother for granted. He promised he never would again.

Another promise had been made as well, one that hadn't been kept. It couldn't be. Not with him ridden with fever. His empty glass was taken off the nightstand and his mother stood a distance from the bed. "How're you doing?"

"Dunno," he mumbled. "Dizzy."

"Anything hurt?" A nod. "What?"

"Everything." He earned a look of sympathy.

"I'm sorry, son, try to get some sleep, okay?" Angus didn't answer. He knew he wouldn't get any. "I'll get you some more water." Her footsteps left the room and Angus curled himself more into his blanket. He considered grabbing his shirt from the floor but he wasn't willing to leave the bed for a second. Besides, he was too exhausted anyway. Malcolm never got this sick. Then again, Malcolm was one of the toughest guys he knew. Colds were but an inconvenience, he'd never let one cripple him. It had been a long time since Angus had one, he almost forgot how to be sick. Or at least, how to deal with it.

"Here Mum, I'll give it to him."

Speak of the devil...

"Hey, Angus," a slightly better than hoarse voice said. A groan came from inside the blanket. "You up for a walk today? Here's your water."

"I feel like complete shit, Malcolm."

"So do I, I never let it stop me."

"I have a fever. You didn't. And right now my balls are freezing over under this blanket and will break off if I leave. So." Angus pulled the blanket over his head as Malcolm ripped it completely away. "The fuck are ya' doin'?"

"Come on, we've got to get goin' to Hannah's, we'll get your scarf and hat on, let's go."

"I am stayin' right in this bed, now give me the fuckin' blanket." Angus made a grab for it but only managed to snatch a corner and lose it. "Come on, let go!"

"Angus, you promised!" The older boy almost sounded like a child with his whine. The game of tug of war only proved their youth.

"I'll see her this afternoon!"

"When it's probably too late? We'll just go now an' go together." Angus once again grabbed a hold of the blanket and grasped onto more than a corner.