Tu Es Ma Lumière

138 - Illness *Modern*

Francis comes down the spiral staircase, fixing his tie and suit jacket in a way that was more vanity than practicality. He strolled at the rapid rate he had made all of his own, haulting in his steps as he reached the doorway to the kitchen-dining room areas. Standing by the stove was his former nanny-turned girlfriend. Her stance was languid and slumping, her black hair was messy and tangled, pushed uncaringly behind her shoulders as she continued stirring a bubbling pot. One hand held a wooden spoon, the other one supporting the limp figure of his five year old son. 

Jean was practically liquid in Mary's arms. He hung loosely, still clothed in his sleepwear. Blonde curls were now a murky brown. From his vantage point, the child was shuddering. He began coughing suddenly, shaking his little body even more. Mary cooes at him, kissing his nose, although she hardly looks better. He held her limply, his small hands wound loosely around Mary's neck and shoulder. Jean was hauled over Mary's left shoulder, her left arm supporting his lower back, small legs wrapped loosely around her waistline, holding himself there as his fathers' girlfriend continued to stir in the big pot.

"Hey?" Francis asked, coming into the room. "What's wrong?" he asks, frowning, coming over towards them both. Mary sighs, passing Jean from her left arm to his fathers'. She looks at him, and he realises how exhausted she looks. There are purple bags under her eyes, her hair is unkempt and she wears no makeup. This is strange to the blonde, for Mary had always taken pride in her appearance. Even when she had woken up, her hair was always brushed and styled, her skincare routine and things like that already done before she went to make everyone breakfast. She never looked sloppy. But, here Mary stood, seeming to not have a care in the world for her appearance.

"He's sick." she reveals, pushing matted hair from Jean's head. Weakly, Jean coughs, proving the ravenette's words. "Poor baby's been up all night with me. Neither of us slept a wink." she says. "He's taken as much medication as I can give him, but he's still running a fever. He's got a cough, sneezing, congested. He tells me his head hurts and his throat hurts. Nothing's worked, poor baby." she says, running her hand down Jean's back, trying to comfort him, as the child made grabby hands in Francis' black shirt.

"Has he eaten or drunk anything?" Francis asks, adjusting the child on his hip, lightly rocking him from side to side. Jean leans his head upon Francis' shoulder, letting out a small mewl of discomfort. The elder of the two brushed a kiss to his son's head, clutching him tighter despite the sweat leaking through Jean's small sleepwear.

"A little. I got some warm tea down him at around four, a little bit of warm water. We're trying to get some porridge down him." she says, going back to stirring the water and oats.

"Papa," Jean wheezes. His voice is congested and thick, his nose and cheeks red, blue eyes glazed over as he looks up at Francis. His father looks down at him in concern, placing the back of his fingers onto the boy's forehead. He had a fever. "I-I don't feel good." he croaks. The blonde could hear the wheeze and thickness in his sons' breath as he inhaled harshly.

"I know, mon petite. Mary'n I'll take care of you today." he says, leaning his cheek on Jean's forehead. The small child closed his eyes.

"You're not going to work?" Mary asks him, taking a sip of the hot coffee in the polka dot mug.

"How can I with my little man like this?" he asks. "Besides, you haven't slept, been up with him for hours. How about you go upstairs and take a nap? I'll stay with him." Francis says. Mary raises a brow.

"Are you sure? He might want us both." she says. "And I've-" she trails off.

"No, it's fine. You've been with him for hours, and I'm his father. It should be me taking the night shift when he's sick, anyway. This is the least I can do." the blonde says, leaning Jean's head up from his shoulder so the boy might be able to take the spoon full of porridge Mary had extended out towards the child.

Jean blew on the hot porridge, reluctantly taking it into his mouth. The child made a small noise as he swallowed, tiredly closing his eyes after his father began rubbing his back, making sure his small offspring didn't choke.

"Good?" Mary asks. The blonde boy hummed in response. "I'll put some more honey and lemon in it, make it taste better." she says, reaching up to the cabinate. She found the farmers market honey that Jean so adored, put a few tablespoons in the bubbling oats, before squeezing some lemon juice into it. A little more antibiotic never hurt anyone, especially a sick little boy.

"Better?" she asks, after feeding the child another spoonful of the food. He sniffles, making another noise, his body beginning to relax in Francis' arms. The man began humming a soft French tune, the one that always put his boy to sleep when he was a child. Jean sighed, closing his eyes.

"You mustn't sleep yet, baby." Mary says gently, pouring the porridge into the bowl. "We have to give the medicine some food to work with, hmm?" she asks. Francis leads them towards the couch. He holds the boy, whilst Mary spoon feeds him his breakfast. It was warm enough that it didn't sting going down, cool enough not to burn his little mouth. And made with water so it didn't aggravate the childs' undoubtable sick stomach.

"Enough." Jean coughs, turning away from the porridge. Mary nods, deciding not to fight it, the child had taken a dozen spoonfuls of it, anyway. The boy began fanning himself frantically, so his father pulled off his long sleeved shirt and placed one of his discarded comforters on his son instead. "I'm tired, Papa." he whispers, rubbing his eyes with the back of his little hand.

"Okay," he says. "Go to sleep, bud. I'll be right here when you wake up." he settles him on his lap, hums the tune until the child has fallen asleep in his arms and on his lap. "Mary," he whispers, still dabbing Jean's face with the cold flannel. "why won't you head upstairs to bed? I can handle him for now." he says.

Mary doesn't respond.

Francis looks her way, smiling fondly when he realises that his little French tune lulled Mary to sleep, as well.

~~

Once again, like my other AU with Jean being sick, it's not a reference to the current pandemic. It's been in my to do's for months, longer than the pandemic has been going on for.

This isn't the last instalment of this AU, I've got around two more scenarios with sick little Jean and doting Frary parents, more if I get a prompt for it. So, keep your eyes pealed!

I'm gonna try and update another couple times today, but in the meantime, please check out The Winter Queen. I worked really hard on it and would love to see what you guys think of it.