FicWad

"My bloody head. Oh..." John groaned in his bed. He had been feeling feverish all morning and decided to skip work that day. Now, he was acquiring a nasty headache, and the sound of Julian's shrieks coming from the kitchen were not helping it go away one bit. As he pulled the covers over his head in hopes to block out the noise, Paul walked through the bedroom door.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey. How are you feeling, John?" he whispered.
"Like shite. What did you expect? Did you want me to hop outta me kip and kiss you good morning?" John barked as Paul approached him.
"Geez. Just wanted to know how you're feeling. You missed work today, y'know."
"Sorry son. Just sick of being sick is all," he replied pulling the covers off his head.
"It's alright. I mean, you do have a right to complain. No one likes feeling this way."
"You can say that again." Paul placed his palm on John's forehead.
"Hmm. You do have quite a temperature."
"Well, thank you Dr. McCartney for clarifying that." Paul laughed at his mate's sarcasm.
"Y'know, when I was a boy, I wanted to go in the medical field."
"You did?"
"Yeah. I wanted to be a doctor."
"Huh. I never would have guessed. You a doctor. What made you change your mind?"
"Well, lots of things," Paul said as he sat at the edge of the bed. "For one thing, it reminded me too much of me mother."
"Oh. I see."
"Mhm. Second, I didn't have the grades to pass as one."
"Haha! Yeah right, Macca."
"No I mean it. You weren't the only slacker in school, Johnny." John threw a playful punch at Paul's ribs. "He he. The other reason why I quit that dream was because I met this older kid who let me join his band."
"Really?" John asked sitting up. "Tell me more about this older kid."
"Oh, he was really great. We met at a church fete after one of his gigs. He didn't know how to play the guitar very well, but I showed him a thing or two. Eventually, we became good friends and, later on, wrote songs together."
"I think I like this story so far. Well, go on!"
"He's probably one of the best rhythm guitar and harmonica players I know. He's also very clever with words."
"I bet he is."
"Oh yes. An' he also has the funniest-looking nose I've seen, too," Paul pointed to John's nose. John wrinkled it.
"Hey, I'm sure it's not that funny-looking."
"It's better than being called the ugliest-looking," Paul laughed. Before he could continue, John smacked his cheek, hard.
"You're quite daft, y'know that?" he said crossing his arms and looking the other way.
"Geez! What was that for?" Paul asked rubbing his face in shock.
"Before you start making fun of the rest of me body parts, why don't you make yourself useful and check on Julian? Better yet, tell Cynthia to check on him and go home." Paul tilted his head in confusion.
"But, John, I was only kidding. I--"
"Just get out."
Paul sat motionless for a moment, then stood up and left the bedroom. He knew how sensitive John was when it came to his nose, but did not expect him to take his jokes to heart. He stood outside the door to think a bit, then headed to the kitchen.
Later, John was still sitting in bed as he did when Paul left. The only times he moved around were to sneeze, blow his nose, and drink the water Cynthia had left for him earlier that day. He felt sore from Paul's joke, but not nearly as sore from hitting him. He had never laid a hand on his best mate like that and somehow regretted it. As he placed the almost empty glass back on the dressing table, he heard a knock at the door.
"Come in," he answered assuming it was Cynthia coming to check his temperature for the millionth time. But when he looked up, he saw Paul closing the door and holding a tray with a bowl of soup and a cup of tea on it. Unsure of how to begin his apology, Paul turned to face the older man.
"Cynthia needed to buy more medicine. So, I stayed here to watch over you and the baby."
"Oh."
"Um, here. I made you some chicken noodle soup and tea," he said placing the tray on the dressing table and picking up the glass of water. He fiddled with the glass trying to think of what to say to break up the silence.
"Thank you," John mumbled taking the bowl and spoon.
"You're welcome." John blew on the steaming soup and took a sip. It tasted great, but burnt his tongue in the process.
"It's good," he said wincing from the heat.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
They remained silent before they looked at each other and said at the same time, "Look, about earlier, I didn't mean to, I...I'm sorry." Silence briefly crossed them again until Paul spoke.
"I didn't mean to make fun of your nose. Truth is, I thought you'd take it lightly. I promise never to do it again."
"Don't worry 'bout it, son," John assured him. "I'm sorry I hit you. I don't know why I got so damn upset over a stupid joke. I know you didn't mean it. Forgive me?"
"Only if you forgive me," the younger mate shrugged. John stretched out his hand. Paul took it, but fell into John's arms as he pulled him down and hugged him. He blushed and grinned returning the hug. John finally let go of him and let him stand up after a moment.
"Well, since you're playing doctor while Cyn's gone, you can help me out with this," John said placing the bowl back on the dressing table.
"With what?" Paul asked. A devilish grin spread across John's face as he grabbed a thermometer and a tiny container of petroleum jelly.
"I think it's time for Dr. Paulie to take little Johnny's temperature," he chimed waving the thermometer. Paul laughed so hard, he almost hit the table.
"In your dreams, Lennon!" he giggled.
"What's wrong, Macca? I thought you'd enjoy sticking this thing up me arse hole." Paul shoved a spoonful of soup in John's mouth.
"Finish you soup, first. Then, maybe we'll talk," he winked at John who in return raised his eyebrows up and down.