Shayera strolled along the street, trying to keep her eyes focused straight ahead. The people around her were distracting in the very worst of ways. She didn't understand how these people could live their lives while holding such resentment towards others, namely her. Heading to the apartment didn't hold much distraction for her though, considering John wouldn't get off of his monitor shift for another three hours and she would have his place to herself. Sleep was always a welcome reprieve.
She mentally counted the steps as she hopped up them and pulled out her key from her pocket. She was slightly excited that she had actually remembered it. Most days she had to get John to open the door or have Mr. Terrific beam her inside.
When she opened the door she was surprised to see John lying on the couch, watching television.
"Why are you here?" She asked as she slowly closed the door behind her. "I thought you had monitor duty."
"You're the detective; you figure it out." He replied rather curtly. "Besides, last time I checked, I was allowed in my own home."
"Intelligence agent," She corrected him, moving no further into the room. "Well I can see that you're sick, obviously."
"Then why did you ask?" He turned his head to face her.
"Ok what I meant was why did you let me in here? You run the risk of me becoming a carrier of your illness."
"Well I'm sorry, Shayera, if my inner bacteria offends you. And how was I supposed to know to not let you in when I'm sick?"
"That's your issue," She said taking a wide berth around the couch. "Common sense should have told you that."
"It's just a cold," He replied with a sniffle, turning back to the television. "Even if you were to catch it, you wouldn't die."
"Nevertheless," Shayera said crossing her arms. "I have no desire to carry your sickness around and infect others."
"Most people don't," John mumbled.
"I heard that," Shayera said. She took an awkward step closer as if the virus would just spring out of John and attack her.
John slowly turned from the ridiculous talk show and looked over at her. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"I'm attempting to determine your stage of illness to decide if the best course of action would be for me to just go home to the Metro Tower."
Lantern rolled his eyes, "Well if you really feel like that's the best option, why don't you? We can't have you getting sick, you know." He sarcastically added on. He knew Shayera was not worried of catching whatever he had as her immune system was much more efficient than an average human one. This however didn't mean that she wasn't a bit of a germaphobe.
She raised an eyebrow but did not move from where she was, "You know as well as I do that it is nearly impossible for me to get sick."
"That's not helping me," John said quickly.
"Fine," Shayera moved towards the window and put a finger to her ear. "I'll just ask for help."
John looked at her dubiously, "Are you serious Shayera?"
Shayera ignored him and turned to look at the city below them, contemplating the radius of infection based on the range of John's coughs and used tissue. "Hey Wally, I need some help."
"What is it? Where are you; want me to come?" The Scarlet Speedster replied.
"No you don't have to," Shayera stated as she continued, "John's sick. What do I do?"
It was a few seconds before the commlink buzzed again.
"Are you serious? Make some coffee or something. Or just give him some NyQuil and let him sleep it off."
With a furrowed brow, Shayera appeared in John's line of vision again. "Do you want coffee or NyQuil? I think I can make coffee. It can't be that hard."
John rubbed his nose with a tissue and wondered what the odds of Shayera unintentionally poisoning the coffee were. He knew she wasn't going to be too helpful by stepping foot in the kitchen. The woman could barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on her own let alone make coffee.
"I don't have any NyQuil but coffee actually sounds pretty good right now, thanks." He said it more warily than he intended. "Just make sure you don't make something that can kill me."
"Right," She rolled her eyes. "Give me a minute."
Shayera went into the kitchen and began searching through the cabinets for coffee. She had absolutely no idea where the coffee actually was. John bent his head over the couch and watched her with an amused grin.
"This may take a little longer than I thought," She called over her shoulder as she bit her bottom lip. "I'm having a little trouble finding this stupid coffee." She then bent over to open the cabinet below the sink and heard a shuffling of steps on the floor next to her.
"Shayera, why on earth would I keep the coffee below the sink? Even your mind must find that odd."
"John," Shayera said sternly as she cast him a light glare. "You're sick. You shouldn't be up and about."
John shook a little container on the counter with a teasing smile. "In the amount of time it would take you to find this, I would be over this cold."
Shayera scowled as she leaned against the sink. "Not my fault you put it someplace stupid."
"You know," John started. "For an intelligence agent, you're a little off your game."
Her scowl only deepened as she muttered, "Oh no."
John was setting the coffeemaker up as he looked over, "What?"
"I must be getting sick." Shayera's hand reached involuntarily to her throat, sending John into a small fit of laughter. It was short lived though as it turned into a hacking cough.
"What would I do without you, Shay?" John mumbled as he pulled a cup from the cabinet and sent it down on the counter.
"Your life would be considerably more boring," She offered with a smirk.
Smiling, John poured himself a cup of the steaming liquid and shuffled back into the living room. Shayera followed at a safe distance.
"Better?" She asked as he took a drink and laid back on the couch.
John nodded and pulled a pillow under his head. Shayera nodded slowly, remembering Wally's advice. She walked back into the kitchen to get herself a cup of coffee. She hoped that the warm liquid would feel good against what she believed to be her worsening throat.
It wasn't long before John was alerted to the sound of Shayera's yelp in the kitchen, theorizing that she burnt her mouth on the coffee. Just before he strained his burning throat to ask if she was alright, he heard the sound of the cup falling and shattering on the ground accompanied by a slew of Thanagarian curses. Sighing heavily, John pulled the pillow over his face in an attempt to filter out some of the dissonance. Baby steps, he thought, baby steps.