Mergers & Acquisitions (m, original)

[murphy dee]

I started this story in 2013 and every once in a while I'd open up the document, add a line, lose motivation, and close it.  But recently @Icarus Rex really inspired me to get back into the original sickfic game, so I revisited this with renewed vigor.  Enjoy 3350 words of sick handsome businessman on a nonstop flight from Phoenix to Chicago and the lucky young woman sitting beside him.  Also I'm totally planning to write more of these two because I think they're perfect for each other.    (and judging from the way this ends, there's more story to be told...)

 

=+=

 

“Excuse me, I have the window seat.”

I looked up from my book to see a dark-haired man in a suit and glasses standing in the aisle, a laptop bag slung over his shoulder.  He had his cell phone to his ear and an irritated scowl on his otherwise handsome face. “Oh, okay,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt.  “Lemme get out of the way for you.”  

He slipped past me impatiently and continued whatever conversation he was having on the phone. From the tone of his voice, I assumed the person on the other end was an employee of his, or at the very least someone he seemed to regard as an inferior.  I side-eyed him and started in on my book again.  It was just my luck that I ended up seated next to some smug jerk my very first time flying first-class.

The flight attendant came by before we took off.  “Can I take your drink orders, folks?”

“Just a Coke for me, please,” I said.

The man in the suit beside me held his cell against his chest and barked, “Scotch. Neat.”  

I could’ve sworn I saw the flight attendant roll her eyes as she wrote his order down.  “All right, we’ll get those out to y’all soon after we’re off the ground.  And sir, you’ll need to finish your phone call now.  Thank you.”

He grumbled to the person on the other end and hung it up.

The plane took off and I chewed gum and read my book.  I’d forgotten to bring the romance novel I was right in the middle of reading, so I had to settle for buying something at the airport bookshop.  Some political thriller.  It was dense and difficult to follow, and every couple of minutes a quiet sniffle from the man in the suit wrecked my concentration.  My fingers flexed as I gripped the book tighter and tighter with each sniff.  If he was going to do that all the way to Chicago I would probably end up killing him somewhere over the Texas panhandle.

Our drinks came as the plane began to level out.  He sipped his scotch, clearing his throat after each swallow.  And then I heard him take in a deep, sudden breath.  “iiahKCHhiu!”  His entire body contracted forward with the force of the sneeze, and the scotch sloshed a bit in its glass.  He set it down and fished a handkerchief from within his suit.

“Bless you,” I said.

He didn’t reply, only wiped at the nostrils of his straight-angled nose.  I watched as, again, his chest expanded with another deep breath.  The buttons on his waistcoat strained as he inhaled.  “ihhGKCHiiu!”

“Bless you,” I repeated, and just like last time he refused to acknowledge me.

Well that’s just fine, I thought, I know when I’m not wanted.  And I resolved then and there not to pay any attention to him for the rest of the flight.

The flight attendant came around to collect cups and to inform us that we were three hours away from our destination.  “Can I get a blanket?” asked the dark-haired man.  “Your plane is freezing.”

How could he possibly be cold?  I was in a t-shirt and feeling warm.  He was in a three-piece suit.  My resolve broken already, I paid him a bit of attention.  Just a smidge, really.  

He wormed the blanket up around his shoulders and opened a thick magazine he grabbed from his laptop bag.  The sniffling started again, wet and frequent and fruitless.  The more he did it the worse he seemed to get.  He finally took out the handkerchief once more and pressed it to his troublesome nose, but that only triggered the sneezing.  “iighSCHhu! Hh…iiiihKCHHhiu!”  He kept the handkerchief pinched over his nose for another second or two as if he were anticipating another sneeze.  A look of relief swept over him, though, and he put the handkerchief away.

I almost didn’t say anything.  Almost. “Getting sick?” I asked with a friendly laugh.

“No,” he snapped, opening up the magazine where he left off.

I bit my tongue. What a dick.

For the next hour or so we both read in silence save for the occasional sneeze and the frequent sniffling.  The flight attendant wheeled the trolley through the aisle to pass out snacks and more drinks.  I took another Coke and this time the man asked for a coffee and bottled water.  By the time the sun started to go down outside, he was clutching the blanket to himself and the magazine was long forgotten in his lap.

I couldn’t help the next words out of my mouth.  “Y’know, I’ve got Tylenol in my purse if you’d like some.”

He glared at me. Like, actually glared.  “What the hell for?”  He had attempted to put as much venom into those four words as possible, but it was obvious that he was tapped out for the moment.

“I think you’ve got a fever,” I said, even though I knew for certain that he did.  Getting him to accept my charity seemed a tricky thing, though, and I’d need to watch my phrasing.

“I’m f-fine.”

Or maybe it would be easier than I thought.  The irritated lines of his face softened a little as he realized he’d given himself away with a single stutter.  His shoulders dropped.  Without another word, I fetched the pills from my purse and poured three into the hand he poked out from the warm cocoon of the blanket.  He tossed them towards the back of his throat and chased them with a sip from the bottled water.  

This time when he looked at me the muscle in his jaw tightened.  “Thanks.”  

I could tell he hated having to say it, and I’d never felt more victorious.

I smiled at him. “No prob.  Hope you feel better.”

He settled in against the window, fully enveloped in his blanket burrito, and tried to sleep. I watched him for a few minutes and then returned to my book.  It was actually getting decent.

Every so often I could see him shift uncomfortably in my peripheral vision, and after about a half hour he peeled the blanket away from himself and rubbed the back of his neck. He was breathing hard and his face was colorless.  Sweat dampened his hairline and left wet spots on the collar of his dress shirt.

“Could you let me up?” he asked.  

“Oh, sure.”  I unbuckled and stepped out into the aisle.

The man clung to the chair in front of him and pulled on it as he struggled to stand, muttering a breathless “sorry” to the older lady who turned around to frown at him. He staggered past me and headed to the restroom.  I sat back down and waited.  I ended up waiting for nearly ten minutes.

When he exited the restroom, he had his suit jacket slung over his arm.  The first two buttons were undone on his shirt and his tie hung loose around his neck.  He looked an absolute mess, sweaty and pale and barely able to keep himself upright. I let him back into his seat and he collapsed into it with a groan.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Fever broke,” he said.  “How long till we land?”

I checked my phone. “Not even an hour.  Maybe forty-five minutes?”

He sighed and it seemed to exert every muscle in his body.  For a long time he rested back in his seat, eyed closed, breathing shallow. I tried to read again but I was too distracted by worry.

“Why are you headed to Chicago?” he asked suddenly, his voice strangely soft.  “Do you live there?”

I stared at him for a second before replying.  “No, I have to go to a wedding tomorrow afternoon.”

He cracked an eye open.  “Oh? Whose?”

“Old high school friend.”

“You don’t sound very excited.”

I shrugged.  “Weddings aren’t really my thing.  And I’m going by myself so I’m just gonna be a fifth wheel.” He went quiet again and I figured he stopped listening, but I wanted to keep talking.  Conversing with him was halfway decent.  At least it was better than just watching him suffer.  “So why are you headed to Chicago?”

He sniffed and swiped at his nose, letting his breath go in a congested huff of air.  “I split my time between Phoenix and Chicago for work. In another two months or so I’ll be on this plane again headed in the other direction.”

“That sounds stressful,” I said, “This is my first flight in years and it’s stressful enough.”

“I’ve grown accustomed to iiii—to it—excuse me—”  He went through his suit jacket and found the handkerchief, holding it to his nose and mouth in preparation.  His eyes went unfocused and damp, and his breathing came faster in frantic little hitches.  He heaved one desperate gasp and crumpled into the sneeze.  “iiihAHCHhu!” For a moment or so afterwards he kept his eyes shut, and then his chest seized mid-inhale.  “Hiiuh—iiktSCHIU!”  He sniffled miserably into his handkerchief.

“Bless you,” I told him.

The older lady seated in front of him turned around in her chair a second time, frowning even harder than before, but he didn’t notice her.  He was too busy rubbing viciously at his nose until his poor nostrils bloomed bright pink.  I tried not to stare but something about him was suddenly so endearing and a lot less intimidating.

The captain came over the loud speaker to inform us that we were making our descent into Chicago and would arrive shortly at O’Hare.  Our flight attendant came by one last time to collect trash and make certain we were buckled.  The man beside me threw his suit jacket back on, worming uncomfortably inside of it. He was still pale and looked clammy to the touch, and it took him a considerable amount of effort to shove his magazine back into his carry-on.

Once we landed everyone started unbuckling and standing to gather their things from the overhead compartments.  The dark-haired man adjusted his glasses and shakily rose to his feet, again using the older lady’s seat as leverage.  This time, however, she was already standing.  I still saw her give him the stink eye, though, as he continued to lean his weight on it.  I wanted to tell her to chill out.  It was obvious he was really sick and needed the chair’s support.

As we made our way single-file out of the cabin and towards the gate, I could hear him sniffling away behind me.  The cool blast of air that waited for us at the gate was like a blessing.  

But not for him. “iihhxCHHu!  Haa—hiiigKCHHu!”

I turned and saw him lingering at the entrance as people passed around him, one arm pressed to the wall to keep himself upright, the other arm covering his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow.  I took a step in the direction of the baggage claim and stopped.  I felt silly.  He wasn’t my friend.  I didn’t need to look after him.  I didn’t even know his name.  At the same time, the sight of him leaning heavy against the wall, drawn and ragged in his three-piece suit, stopped me from leaving for the escalator.

“Bless you,” I said, coming to stand beside him.  “You gonna be okay after that rough flight?”

He lowered his elbow. Behind the lenses of his glasses I could see flecks of tears in his eyelashes.  “Nothing I can’t sleep off.”  He pushed away from the wall but his knees started to buckle.  I shoved myself under his arm to keep him propped up and helped him to one of the empty seats at the gate.

“You need to take it easy,” I told him.  “Is there anyone coming to pick you up?”

He shook his head. “I take a taxi.”

“Well, I’ll be renting a car.  Let me at least drive you wherever you’re headed.”

He went silent. I hoped he was seriously considering the offer.  His expression pinched in confusion for a second or two, but at last he exhaled and gave me a nod.  “All right, I accept.”

My victory was interrupted by one of the airport employees, a middle-aged women pushing an empty wheelchair towards us.  “Do you need any assistance getting to baggage claim, sir?”

He sniffed indignantly and forced himself to stand.  “I’m fine.”  As he brushed past me he turned to regard me coolly over his shoulder, though he said nothing.  I smiled at the woman, readjusted my carry-on bag, and headed after him.

We took the escalator down without incident, though he wobbled a little as he stepped off and let go of the moving railing.  He fell into a chair near the carousel and we waited for our bags.  Suitcases rolled past, all blurring together into a smear of black and gray after a while, and I wondered which one was his.  I glanced back at him to ask but he sat slumped in the seat, arms folded across his chest, breathing slow.  People bustled around the baggage claim, calling out to each other, wrestling heavy luggage, and somehow he’d managed to fall asleep in the middle of it.

I found my suitcase and rolled it over to him.  I touched his arm.

“Hey,” I said as he opened his eyes with a start.  “Tell me your name.  I’ll find your bag.”

He pushed limp hair back from his forehead.  “Rhys. Rhys Howard.”

“Rhys,” I said, testing out how the name felt in my mouth.  It fit him decent enough, I decided.  I searched out the suitcase with his name written on the luggage tag. His handwriting was uniform and without flourish.  

I wheeled his bag over and he took the handle in his pale fingers.  “Thank you,” he said, eyes downcast.  No doubt he hated needing to rely on me, but I was glad he seemed to have put a cork on being a jerk.  At least for the time being.

He fell asleep in the lobby of the car rental place, too.  I almost didn’t mind the long line because it meant he got a good half hour nap. By the time I got the key and we hauled our bags to the parking lot, I could tell he was about to crash entirely. He hadn’t said a word since baggage claim and his focus was shot.  I put our stuff in the trunk and showed him to the passenger seat, all but moving his limbs into the car for him.

“Rhys,” I said as I got in behind the wheel.  He sniffled, coughed, and dragged his eyes towards me.  “Where am I taking you?  You know the address?”

He told me and I typed it into the GPS console in the car.  Of course it was in the heart of the city.  He probably had some swanky upper class apartment.  “You can just…drop me off outside the building,” he said, sounding tired.  A hand disappeared into his suit jacket and produced his handkerchief again.  It lingered there, just shy of his nose, as if he were waiting for the sneeze to sneak up on him.  He didn’t need to wait long.  I pretended to fiddle with the GPS but I could see the struggle mount in him—the delicate flaring of his reddened nostrils each time his breath snagged, the wetness gathering in his eyes, all illuminated by the dim yellow lights of the parking lot.  Finally he gasped, shoulders hunching, and snapped forward into the handkerchief.  “iiietgKCHiu! Hh…h-ihhtsSCHuu!”

“Bless you,” I said. He was so much louder without the white noise roar of the plane to muffle him, and I could hear the congestion in his head as he breathed hard afterwards.  He made some sort of exhausted sound as he adjusted his glasses, something nearly like a moan but not quite as vocal.  His head fell back against the seat.  In the darkened space of the car this almost felt intimate. Romantic, in a weird way.        

“Thanks, uh…” His brow furrowed.  “You didn’t tell me your name.”

I smiled and put the car into reverse.  No, I hadn’t. I’d been waiting for him to ask. “Jenna Kyle.”

This seemed to satisfy him, and he closed in eyes.  It only took him a minute or two to fall asleep, and I drove silently east into the heart of the city with only his gentle snoring and feminine voice of the GPS to keep me company.  Every few minutes I turned to watch him, the angles of his profile backlit by the glow of the streets.  I started to hate that I would have to say goodbye to this man.  He wasn’t so bad after all.

The GPS announced pleasantly that we had arrived at our destination, and I put the car in park. “We’re here,” I told him, which roused him from his nap.  He reached under his glasses to rub at his eyes and then set them back squarely on the bridge of his nose.  “West Hudson Avenue, right?  Looks nice around here.”

He exited the car and I followed him to the trunk to help him with his luggage and walk him to the door of the apartment building.  I stood there, knowing we had to part ways, but not knowing how.  I thought he’d just take off without so much as a goodbye, but he stayed.  And then he went for his wallet.  He was going to pay me.  He was actually going to pay me money for driving him.  I couldn’t believe this was happening.

I started to refuse it preemptively.  “Please, you don’t have to—”

He pressed a business card into my palm.  “Here.  As thanks.” Thick, off-white paper.  It even had a watermark.  What the hell was ‘mergers and acquisitions’?  I read his name and phone number over a few times and looked up at him, curious why he’d given it to me.  Was he offering me his services?  Whatever they were?  “A solution, perhaps, to feeling like a fifth wheel.”  

The card shook a little in my hands.  “Wh-what?” He was offering to be my date to the wedding?  To keep me company even though he was sick?  It was the single kindest thing a stranger had ever tried to do for me, and I suddenly lost the ability to express my gratitude with any elegance. “Thank you, but…are you sure? Will you be feeling better by tomorrow evening?”

Brief amusement tugged at his lips.  “It’s only a cold, of course I will.  I wouldn’t have offered if…if Ihh…if I didn’t—hihh—”  He held up a finger as a nonverbal ‘pardon me’ and smothered the outburst against his wrist.  “iitCHhuhh!  Haaah—hh-ahiiihHKCHHiuhh!”  He bent over, forearm to his nose and mouth, his other hand pressed to the door to keep himself upright.  Whatever energy he’d recovered from napping in the car was depleted now.  His body appeared just about ready to give up on him.

I blessed him and ushered him into the apartment building with the promise that I’d call him in the morning.  “But not too early,” I said.  “You need to sleep, okay?”  He smiled over his shoulder at me and my heart leapt at the sight.  He had no right to be so stupidly handsome even while red-nosed and disgustingly sick.  He rolled his suitcase into the elevator under my watchful eye, giving me a short wave as the golden doors shut.

“Goodnight, Jenna Kyle.”

Later that night, I laid on the firm hotel mattress and brushed my thumb over the embossed letters of his business card.  My dress for tomorrow was hung over the back of the desk chair.  Here I was, excited for my friend’s wedding, which was the last emotion I had prepared myself to feel when lying awake the previous night agonizing about this trip.  Tonight, it seemed, I would be lying awake for a very different reason. And I didn’t mind in the slightest.

Edited January 9, 2017 by murphy dee

[SneezyHolmes]

Holy cow this was amazing! Your sneeze spellings are to die for and Rhys sounds like a total hunk! I'm almost jealous of Ms. Kyle~!

[RiversD]

*enthusiastic pom-poms* <- that's me being very happy you've ventured back into original-sickfic land, but not having good words to express my internal flailing.

So!

I really enjoyed the gradual transition from jackass in the next seat to actually quite nice but pathetically ill businessman. This exploits my soft spot for watching the arrogant get levelled by illness, without making me dislike him enough as a person that it kills the mood.

Additional highlights:

12 hours ago, murphy dee said:

He kept the handkerchief pinched over his nose for another second or two as if he were anticipating another sneeze.  A look of relief swept over him, though, and he put the handkerchief away.

I'm dying. you're killing me here.

12 hours ago, murphy dee said:

This time when he looked at me the muscle in his jaw tightened.  “Thanks.”  

I could tell he hated having to say it, and I’d never felt more victorious.

Ah, my favourite type of initially-dislikeable character. Break him, Jenna, break him.

12 hours ago, murphy dee said:

When he exited the restroom, he had his suit jacket slung over his arm.  The first two buttons were undone on his shirt and his tie hung loose around his neck.  He looked an absolute mess, sweaty and pale and barely able to keep himself upright. I let him back into his seat and he collapsed into it with a groan.

Ooooh... *shameless ogling*

12 hours ago, murphy dee said:

“I’ve grown accustomed to iiii—to it—excuse me—”  He went through his suit jacket and found the handkerchief, holding it to his nose and mouth in preparation.  His eyes went unfocused and damp, and his breathing came faster in frantic little hitches.

Uhmmmm... uh... words are a thing I'm sure I had a few moments ago.

12 hours ago, murphy dee said:

For a moment or so afterwards he kept his eyes shut, and then his chest seized mid-inhale

....               

Have mercy.

 

Lol, his indignation at the sight of that wheelchair.

awwh at him falling asleep all over the place. Poor human disaster that he is.

12 hours ago, murphy dee said:

 It lingered there, just shy of his nose, as if he were waiting for the sneeze to sneak up on him.  He didn’t need to wait long.  I pretended to fiddle with the GPS but I could see the struggle mount in him—the delicate flaring of his reddened nostrils each time his breath snagged, the wetness gathering in his eyes, all illuminated by the dim yellow lights of the parking lot.  Finally he gasped, shoulders hunching, and snapped forward into the handkerchief.  “iiietgKCHiu! Hh…h-ihhtsSCHuu!

hnnngh. That slow wait for the inevitable, though.... it is my jam.

12 hours ago, murphy dee said:

Brief amusement tugged at his lips.  “It’s only a cold, of course I will.  I wouldn’t have offered if…if Ihh…if I didn’t—hihh—”

Yeeeeah. I'm not certain you will, boss. But I'm not sure Jenna would mind....

I really enjoyed this (could you tell?). Thanks for sharing it!

[Dusty15]

Mhhhmmmm I do LOVE a good "strangers on a plane and one is sick" fic! <3 That was lovely and sexy and fun  

[Chickadee365]

jeijwfkwfdsdn this is so hot. I don't know what it is about the ol' sitting-next-to-a-sexy-sickie-on-a-plane scenario that's so endearing, but your amazing writing (your sneeze spellings and great characters and plot) just manages to turn up the heat tenfold. I loved this a ton and I really hope you continue writing it!! I'd love to see Mr. Rhys soldiering through the wedding with his nasty cold . 

[Juniebee]

MMmmmmm <3  A stiff business man losing his composure to become a sneezey, sniffley mess? Yes, Please.  I wasn't a fan of his initial attitude, but he redeemed himself in the end, and I love how he decided to accompany her to the wedding aahh! Those sneeze buildups were delicious I love a nicely dressed man fumbling for a handkerchief and his breath hitching and just aaaahhhhh <3 

[starpollen]

Looking forward to more.

[queenie]

This is a delight. 

[M214186]

Oh yes this is great.

[murphy dee]

OH DANG!!  Thank you everyone!  Aww I appreciate all these kind words so much, makes my heart happy.    Don't worry, there will definitely be a sequel story that takes place at the wedding and will feature a very unwell Rhys whose medication wears off over the course of the evening.  Definitely looking forward to writing it.  :3  Thanks again y'all!!!

[camillapapen]

Strong people being dragged into weakness by illness is basically my favourite thing. This was so well done. Looking forward to reading more.

[Salamander]

Waaaaah I fricking loved it

[macrotwentytwo]

this is a good one

[allergyboy2001]

Very nice.

[Shamaël]

I just discover this story and I absolutely love it! It is great! Your characters are really interesting and their interaction is very well-written.

On 09/01/2017 at 7:03 AM, murphy dee said:

“I’ve grown accustomed to iiii—to it—excuse me—”  He went through his suit jacket and found the handkerchief, holding it to his nose and mouth in preparation.  His eyes went unfocused and damp, and his breathing came faster in frantic little hitches.  He heaved one desperate gasp and crumpled into the sneeze.  “iiihAHCHhu!” For a moment or so afterwards he kept his eyes shut, and then his chest seized mid-inhale.  “Hiiuh—iiktSCHIU!”  He sniffled miserably into his handkerchief.

That was just... just... amazing. I almost died while reading it.

On 09/01/2017 at 7:03 AM, murphy dee said:

He was so much louder without the white noise roar of the plane to muffle him, and I could hear the congestion in his head as he breathed hard afterwards.  He made some sort of exhausted sound as he adjusted his glasses, something nearly like a moan but not quite as vocal.  His head fell back against the seat.  In the darkened space of the car this almost felt intimate. Romantic, in a weird way.

You don't say! Of course this is romantic!!!

On 09/01/2017 at 7:03 AM, murphy dee said:

“It’s only a cold, of course I will.  I wouldn’t have offered if…if Ihh…if I didn’t—hihh—”  He held up a finger as a nonverbal ‘pardon me’ and smothered the outburst against his wrist.

And here I died completely. I can't wait for the wedding! Thank you very much for sharing.