⇾ 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐘? | 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈𝐈

↠ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

She was dressed in her most comfortable nightgown, and George in his coziest pair of pajama pants, and the two of them had spent their afternoon in bed together. George had manned up at some point and managed to haul a small TV into their bedroom and had successfully set it up on their dresser, so they had been watching TV ever since they had woken up at about five. At five-thirty, Kathleen had brought them dinner, and at six-thirty, George had gone to a nearby store and gotten them each a tub of their favorite ice cream.

That ice cream was currently on the nightstand. George watched Alexandria as she gagged and gulped some water down in an attempt to rid her mouth of the bitter taste of the pill she had just swallowed. The look on his face gave away what he was really wondering: was she going to be able to keep this down? Would he have to lunge for the small rubbish bin underneath his nightstand? He contemplated the quickest ways to get it in front of her should it be necessary to.

In the middle of his thoughts, however, she flung her arm out to the side. "Ice cream," she commanded. "The taste won't go away."

"You're not going to vomit, are you?" George asked skeptically, eyeing the suspicious green tint of her face.

"Not if you give me that damned ice cream to get this rotten taste out of my mouth, ye twit. So, hand it over," she snapped.

George obliged with no further argument. With not a moment's hesitation, Alexandria opened her ice cream and began to eat. "Did I get the right flavor?" George asked, watching her face intently.

She looked over with a smile, any trace of annoyance gone. "Exactly the right flavor." She lifted it up and looked at the tub itself. "And the right brand," she added.

George nodded. Hell, he hadn't even been paying attention to the bloody brand. Who even looked at such things? "Delightful," he said, and feeling satisfied that she would no longer throw up, he went to work preparing his own ice cream for eating.

Alexandria scooped a spoonful of her ice cream into her mouth and leaned back against the headboard, reaching for the TV remote at her bedside. "What do we fancy watching?" she asked.

George shrugged and waited as she shuffled through a couple of channels, keeping his eye out for something that may be of interest to the two of them. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to be giving them anything interesting to work with. "Think this may be a dead end?" Alexandria asked.

George nodded. "Maybe we should do something else."

"Like what?"

George paused. "Well, you know what I want to suggest, but we can't do that."

"It is a bit awful being on bed rest and not being able to shag, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," George answered. "How long did they say we had to wait?"

"Doctor said they'll most likely clear me at my one week appointment," Alexandria answered.

"That's seven days."

"Yes, it is," Alexandria answered confusedly. "Thanks for reminding me, genius."

George reached over and took the remote from her hands and turned the TV off. Then, he sat his ice cream aside and stood. Alexandria watched as he went over and took a record from the small shelf in the corner of the room. He carefully removed the disc from the sleeve and placed it on top of the turntable. Static crackled for a moment, and then "Taxman" began to play.

Alexandria smiled. "Revolver?"

George grinned back. "Your favorite."

"Is there anything you don't know about me?"