Megan & Francisco - 3 - Returning the Favor

[angora48]

Here's the next installment in the tale of Megan and Francisco! This is set shortly after the last story I posted, and as promised, it's time for Megan to get in on the cold action. 😈

Links to the previous stories in this series:

1 - An Honor Just to Be Nominated

2 - Ideal Sick-Day Viewing

Here's Part 1. (Side note: this is the first section I've ever written from Francisco's perspective, and I quickly realized that my incredibly-meager Spanish isn't nearly enough to fake my way through anything on his side. So, anything from his perspective will use the old "write in italics to indicate that characters are speaking another language" convention.)

 

When Francisco Morales got the opportunity to present at the Oscars, his greatest moment of visibility in America so far (outside of maybe his four minutes of screentime in Arc Runner 3,) he hadn’t planned on his two minutes in the spotlight going quite like this. He hadn’t planned on coming down with a cold the day before he and his best friend Arturo Casilla flew out to Los Angeles from México City.

Luckily, he made it through the ceremony mostly intact – feeling sick but not miserable, his cold apparent but not blatantly obvious. Of course, he would have preferred it if he hadn’t sneezed right in the middle of presenting his award. Ever since, family and friends had been sending him the YouTube video, most of them time-stamped for right when he sneezed. If people were going to come away from the Oscars talking about him, he wouldn’t have wanted it to be for that.

Still, it could’ve been worse, and Francisco was able to enjoy the glitz of the evening and the fun of the after-party that followed. His cold didn’t get too bothersome for him the next couple of days, when he took meetings with a few big names in Hollywood, not celebrities in front of the camera but the people who could put an actor there, make him a celebrity. He doubted any of the meetings would amount to much, but at least his cold didn’t get in the way.

No, his cold didn’t give him a hard time until after he got a call from his agent about a meeting the next week with Elizabeth Vega, at which point he promptly started to feel very sick. Even as he changed his flight plans and booked himself into a cheaper hotel to eagerly await his meeting with one of his favorite Latina actresses in Hollywood, he was turning into a coughing, sneezing mess. By the time Arturo, who kept their original flight back to México, left, Francisco was feeling awful.

Then, alone in Los Angeles, Francisco faced the prospect of spending the next six days worrying that he would still be that sick when he met Elizabeth Vega. He tried his best to rest and get better, but his nerves made it almost as hard to sleep as his cold did, and he passed several days curled up in the bed of his hotel room, feeling sick and lonely and sorry for himself.

Francisco had a bit of luck, though, when his new friend Megan Shelstad contacted him. They’d met at the Oscars after having worked on the same film together (Papi’s Stories from Sundown – her sound editing was nominated, his acting was not,) and Francisco had suggested to Arturo that they bring her with them to the after-party. After a few days of being alone and kind of miserable, it was good to hear from a friend, and when she heard how sick he was feeling, Megan offered to come by his hotel room and keep him company.

She came with tissues and medicine, as well as a lot of kindness and patience. She didn’t mind that his cold was so bad or that he was in a low mood, and she did everything she could to cheer him up and help him feel better.

If it hadn’t been for Megan’s help, Francisco didn’t know how ready he’d be to be meeting with Elizabeth Vega today. It seemed to him that her visit was the boost he needed to get over the worst of his cold and slowly start to recuperate. Now, as he rode in an Uber, watching the houses scroll by on his way to Elizabeth Vega, he was still sick but feeling much better than he had lately.

The car made the final turn, and Elizabeth Vega’s house came into view. It wasn’t as mammoth or sprawling as some of the houses Francisco had seen here, but she was clearly doing all right for herself (the No Second Chances movies could finance a nice property.) Bright and well-kept, the house had what Francisco was tempted to call a lively quality to it, though he couldn’t say exactly why.

Thanking the driver, Francisco got out of the car and stood before the house. He thought he’d better give himself one last examination and pulled a packet of tissues from his pocket to blow his nose. Once his nose had been seen to, he cleared his throat a few times and said, “By dame is Francisco Borales.” He grimaced a little at the slight scratchy quality in his voice – he coughed into his fist, then tried again. “By nabe is Francisco Borales.” Better.

Francisco drew in a breath that was mostly excited and only a little nervous. It was time.

When Elizabeth Vega greeted him at the door, the excitement won out all the way. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “Glad to you made it.” She was dressed casually but neatly in a long maroon T-shirt and dark jeans, her sleek black hair pulled back into a knot.

“Yes!” Francisco enthused back. She held her arms out to him, and they gave each other a friendly embrace. “Thank you for idviting be,” Francisco said as they parted. “Whed by agent called be, I couldn’t believe it.”

“For real, are you kidding me?” Elizabeth asked, gliding between English and Spanish. “I’m a huge fan of yours. Come on in.”

As Francisco followed her inside, past an airy living room and down a hallway to a comfortable-looking office, she continued, “My mom loves you, by the way, and all my aunts.”

“Well, I’be a big fad of you,” Francisco told her. They settled in, not at the chairs by the desk, but on a long sofa beneath a large window. “I think you’ve bed wodderful since the first time I saw The Odly Words, add I was so thrilled for you add proud whed you started doing Doh Secodd Chances.”

“God, thanks,” Elizabeth replied. “I love those movies. A big action role like that, you just – you feel like you could punch the sun or something, you know what I mean? Plus, the money from those films gives me the space I need to keep doing indie stuff.

“Speaking of indie darlings,” she went on, “look at you! Papi’s Stories from Sundown was fantastic. People are still kinda sleeping on you over here, but a performance like that is just the thing to get them to wa-”

Francisco’s nose had started to itch while she was talking, and as much as he didn’t want to interrupt her, wriggling it only held the sneeze back for so long. “hehhhhhh-CHUHHHHHH!” he sneezed, cupping his hands over his nose and mouth. “IHHHHHH-hehhhhh-shhhhhh!” He sniffed, feeling a slight self-conscious flush in his cheeks.

“Bless you,” Elizabeth said.

“Sorry,” Francisco told her. “I’ve bed sick, add I’be still kide of-”

“Oh, right,” Elizabeth broke in. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she remarked, “I saw you at the ceremony.”

Francisco laughed, a little sheepishly. “Dod’t rebide be,” he said, though he was mostly joking. He was still sounding very stuffed up; he sniffled again.

“Hey, it was memorable!” Elizabeth offered. “There are still a lot of Americans who don’t know you yet, and this way, at least they noticed you.”

“Yes, a perfect way to be doticed,” Francisco agreed. His nose was still in need of attention. Fishing a fresh tissue from his pocket, he said, “Sorry, if I have to-” he gestured to his nose with the tissue, “-sobetibes, but it’s better thad just beig a mess, so….”

“Don’t sweat it,” Elizabeth assured him. “Do what you need to do – happens to the best of us.”

As Francisco wiped his nose, Elizabeth pivoted from his more recent American work to his Mexican films. “I mean, obviously Hapless is awesome,” she was saying. “I remember watching that, and my sister turning to me and just saying ‘How is he so charming??’ It was during the breakfast scene, by the way. But then you do something like After Dark, and you can hardly recognize it’s the same person!”

Francisco wasn’t embarrassed to admit how good it felt to hear her saying such great things about him. During his meetings last week, everyone he talked to brought up The Starlit Path, which was the Mexican film that started to put him “on the map” in the U.S., but they hadn’t given much of an indication of his work outside of that. Francisco thought Henry Silver seemed a little nervous about that fact, because the director started talking about Alfonso Cuarón movies (none of which Francisco had been in) and wouldn’t stop. But Elizabeth wasn’t kidding when she said she was a fan.

“Okay, and can we talk about Louder than the Ocean?” she continued. “You were how old in that? 20, 21?”

“Twedty,” Francisco supplied, turning to stifle a cough into his shoulder.

“20 goddamn years old,” Elizabeth breathed, “and yeah, you were still green as an actor at that point, but still, you just had IT, you know? Couldn’t hide it if you tried.”

Francisco laughed, happiness with just a hint of modesty, but it made him cough again. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Crazy that you’re talkig about be whed your first boovie was How to Stadd Survival. I bean, you want to say abazing?”

On they went like that, talking about one another’s movies and sharing impressions and memories – Francisco seeing her on the big screen for the first time at a cinema in Zacatecas, Elizabeth and her cousins piled onto one big sofa during Christmas watching him on DVD. Her commanding presence, his nimble delivery, her nuance, his romance.

Francisco had never been to a Hollywood meeting quite like this before, and even apart from the treat of getting to meet Elizabeth Vega, it was shaping up to be his favorite. He’d have gladly spent the whole afternoon like that, just complimenting each other’s work, reciting classic lines to one another, and swapping stories. But eventually, Elizabeth made it around to her main point.

“So, I just started my own production company,” she said. “I’ve spent the last few months getting it off the ground, and I’m really excited about it. It’s called Sandbox Productions.”

Francisco frowned. “Sad Box?” he asked, sniffling as he gave his nose a quick rub.

“Sand-Box,” Elizabeth repeated, enunciating. “You know, like…?”

“Oh, right!” Francisco replied. “Like for kids playi- playing outsi-iide-” He broke off as a strong itch flooded his nostrils and he turned away, muffling a “hhhhhhhh-SHHHNNNFFFFHHHH!” into his hand.

“Bless you,” Elizabeth said, “and yes, exactly. The idea is, like, I want marginalized actors to be able to have access to the full sandbox to play in, space for us to make the kind of movies we want to make. Like, do we need a buddy-cop movie starring Oscar Isaac and Mahershala Ali? Maybe! Or what about a lush period romance with Lorraine Toussaint and Viola Davis? Why the hell not?”

“I like that,” Francisco told her, “very cool. Bore like for be, working in Béxico, I’be just- I’be an actor, I could be id any boovie. Add, I bean, I love being Bexicad, I’be so proud! But it’s odly id Aberica that I’be a ‘Bexican actor.’”

Elizabeth nodded. “That’s exactly it,” she replied. Though her comfortable posture on the sofa hadn’t changed, her energy had, and she gave the impression of being ready to leap to her feet at any second. “That’s what I want it to be like, for us to have opportunities where we’re just ‘actors.’ Actors of color, queer actors, actors with disabilities, whoever! And crew too, writers, directors, production teams, all of it.”

“It’s a beautiful dreab to bake happen,” Francisco said, very sincerely. “I thidk you- you caa… hehhhhhhhh….” His nose wouldn’t leave him alone; Francisco fished in his pocket for a tissue. “Hihhhhhh-tschiiaaahhhhhhh! Aaah!” he exclaimed, sniffing as he wiped his nose. “Sorry – I thidk you cad bake so banny great boovies with that cobpany, add I’ll watch all of theb.”

Elizabeth’s smile was tinged with pride. “Thanks,” she answered. “Now, I know you already have a sandbox of your own in México, so you’re in a different boat than a lot of folks around here, but anytime you want to come play, we’d love to have you.”

At Hollywood meetings, Francisco was so used to listening to directors and producers talk vaguely about “the perfect role” and “global audiences” and “the right time” that he almost didn’t hear the offer when she made it. “I- yes, of course!” he replied. “Are you kidding me? I, uh, I haved’t played a lot id an Abericad saddbox,” (so stuffed up – he sniffled,) “and I think it souds abazing.”

Elizabeth beamed at him. “Good,” she said. “I want everybody in America to see what you can do – what all of us can do.”

As she continued to outline her vision for her production company, Francisco settled in more comfortably on the sofa, content to listen. His throat was a little irritated, and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a cough, but for the moment, he wasn’t bothered by his cold. There were far more interesting matters to focus on.

 

[snowshie]

Oh, I'm so glad you've decided to continue in this universe. (Sandbox? haha) I love these two so much already. I can't wait for Megan's part, but love the POV switch and seeing his perspective on the events.Thank you for writing and sharing!

[Jettous]

I’m so glad you decided to continue in this verse. I can’t wait to see where you take this. 

[ID2006]

Yay

[angora48]

Thanks for the comments! I am ALL about these two being sweet and sick, and it makes me happy that others like them too. We needed to start with Francisco's meeting, since worrying about it was a major part for him in the last story, but from here on out, it's all Megan/Francisco cuteness and sniffles!

Part 2.

 

After Megan’s – let’s face it – blissful Friday night with Francisco, borderline-cuddling with the miserably-sick movie star in his hotel room until he nodded off (holding her hand!) during a Star Wars marathon, the happy-shiny-lovely portion of her brain had been on overdrive.

When she finally left the hotel that night, Francisco’s congested snores telling her he was out cold, Megan sent him a quick “get well soon” DM that included an oh-so-nonchalant remark that she would gladly come back to see him again if he was still feeling sick and needed a friend around. The next day, he replied with a dizzyingly-sexy video message. He filmed himself at an angle because he was still in bed, his dark, tired eyes blinking into the camera and his congested sniffles positively delicious.

He thanked her, repeatedly, for coming over. “Last dight, I wasd’t so happy,” he explained, “so it was good to have you- have you co-obe… ahhhhhh… hehhhhh…” Megan loved that she had the quavery intake of breath on video. He turned to muffle a forceful “kkksssshhhhh-HHHNNNFFFFHHHH!” into his pillow. Luckily, he wasn’t holding his phone when he recorded the message – he must’ve had it propped up on the nightstand or something, because the screen didn’t shake at all when he sneezed. “It helped a lot to see you, add I really appreciate it add all your help,” he managed in a weak voice, rubbing his nose.

In the video, he assured her that he didn’t need her coming back to the hotel to look after him, that he figured he could put himself on the road to feeling better. “I’ll just sleep a lot add use your bedicide,” he said, “add I doh you’re busy.” (Point of order, Megan was never too busy to look after a sick Francisco Morales.) But, spectacularly, he said he did want to see her again before he returned home to Mexico. “Sobetibe od Bodday, after by beetig with Elizabeth Vega? I dod’t d- doh what it’ll be like,” he paused to cough into his fist, “or how I’ll feel with by cold, add I’ll probably wadt to talk about it with sobewud. Is that okay?”

Only hell yes. Megan couldn’t make herself wait any longer than four minutes before replying, “Sounds great! Call me sometime on Monday, and we’ll figure out when and where.”

So now it was Monday. To be fair, Megan hadn’t just spent the day lying around daydreaming and waiting to hear from Francisco. She had it bad, but she was also a grown woman and knew how to make herself function when necessary. She spent a good chunk of the day in her bedroom/office/home studio – it was exactly as cramped as it sounded – editing sound for a couple commercials she’d booked. People would be surprised to know just how much thought goes into choosing the optimal car-door-slamming audio. But, to be even fairer, she had peeked at her phone no fewer than a dozen times since lunch.

Francisco wasn’t the only thing competing with work for her attention, though, at least not directly. She’d woken up that morning with her eyes feeling a little bleary, as if she’d stayed up half the night staring at her phone screen instead of sleeping in until after 9, and by late morning, she’d noticed a slight ache in her throat when she swallowed. Given that, in the last week, she’d spent most of one night at an Oscar party with Francisco Morales and his cold, and then the better part of another evening sitting on the bed with him in his hotel room, it didn’t exactly take Basil Rathbone or Benedict Cumberbatch to deduce what was going on here.

By now, she could definitely feel it in her throat and in that particular flavor of tired that felt like it settled in your bones. Bit of a headache too, and her right ear was just a little plugged up – she had to press her headphones close to her ears while she worked to make sure she was hearing sharply enough. No cough yet, and nothing with her nose, but she knew it was only a matter of time.

It was a little after 4 in the afternoon when Megan’s phone screen suddenly illuminated beside her on the desk (strictly sound-off while she was editing) – incoming call from you-know-who. She hastily saved her file, pulled her headphones off, and grabbed the phone. “Hey,” she said, biting her tongue to keep from sounding too excited and/or preemptively-aroused.

“Baygad, hi!” came Francisco’s stuffed-up voice in reply. He still sounded unmistakably sick, but he seemed a lot brighter than he’d been the other night, when his cold was really taking it out of him and had him feeling down. “How are you doing?”

“I- good,” Megan hedged, putting aside for the moment her tiredness and the ache in her throat. “What about you? How was your meeting?”

“Oh, good – really good!” Francisco enthused. “I wadt to tell you everything. Do you wadt to get didder? Are you hungry? I d- I dod’t know wha-at tibe it ih-ihhhhh…” Megan could tell he was trying to let his energy push him through to the end of the sentence, but his nose had other ideas. “Huhhhhhhh-CHIIUUHHHHH!”

“Salud,” Megan told him.

“Gracias,” Francisco replied, with a wet sniffle into the receiver. “I dod’t doh what time it is, maybe you’re dot-”

“Dinner would be great,” Megan broke in. From the sound of it, Francisco wasn’t too far from cloud 9 himself. “At your hotel?”

“Actually-” Francisco broke off, coughing, “-do you wadt to go out? I saw there’s a taqueria a few blocks frob by hotel. We could go there.”

Francisco’s cold wasn’t the only thing that was infectious; Megan felt herself grinning just listening to him, despite a small twinge in her throat. “Sounds perfect,” she said.

Francisco quickly related the details to her, and soon Megan was preparing herself for meeting up with Francisco Morales for a third time. Working at home and not feeling great, she wasn’t exactly “presentable,” so she started rifling through closet as fast as she could while also corralling her curly brown hair into what she hoped would be a cute-messy bun and not just a messy-messy bun.

As she got ready, Megan’s thoughts kept drifting to her previous encounters with Francisco. Him seeking her out in the crowd of celebrities at the Oscars to congratulate her on her nomination. Her blushing at his side at the after-party he took her to as he told Zoe Saldana how great her sound-editing work was in Papi’s Stories from Sundown, not letting his cold get in the way of raving about her to anyone he could. Her wincing in sympathy the other night as he blew his nose for the umpteenth time, his nostrils chapped and sore. Him resting his exhausted head on her shoulder and her listening to the quiet crackle in his breath. Him taking her by the hand as he sank into sleep.

Putting on a little makeup in the bathroom, Megan realized that she was finally starting to feel stuffed up. Just a tiny bit, but there was no mistaking it. Frowning, she looked through the medicine cabinet, but the only cold medicine she had was the package of Nyquil she’d brought back from the hotel after Francisco admitted his throat was too sore to swallow them. Crap, she thought. If I was gonna buy him pills he couldn’t take, couldn’t I at least have gotten something non-drowsy?

Megan popped a quick aspirin in the hope that it would bully back her mild headache. As she grabbed her keys and headed for the door, she crossed her fingers that her just-starting-to-develop cold wouldn’t give her any trouble until she got back home.

[ID2006]

Oh, I'm definitely looking forward to this. Can't wait til he figures out she is sick and wants to take care of her.

[angora48]

Glad you're liking it, @ickydog2006!

Part 3.

 

The restaurant was in a squat, nondescript little building, the type of hole in the wall that either portends complete culinary indifference or the best-kept secret in LA. It was just turning 5 as Megan pulled in, so it was early for dinner, but she didn’t care. Certainly not when Francisco was outside, leaning against the wall and absentmindedly rubbing his nose. He looked like he was feeling quite a bit better than he had on Friday night, although she could still see the fatigue around his eyes.

Megan got out of the car and waved to Francisco. He lit up when he saw her, and Megan thought again of meeting him on Oscar night, of the effect of being in such dangerously-close proximity to that smile. “Hi!” he said as she walked over to him. “Are you huggry?”

When he was looking at her like that, who cares? “Sure,” Megan replied, smiling back. He held the door open, and they stepped inside the restaurant.

Given the hour, no one was there eating yet, and while Megan heard the bustle going on in the kitchen behind the counter, she could only see the flashes of movement as the cooks jostled past each other.

It was while they stood at the counter, waiting for someone in the kitchen to realize they were there, that Megan’s nose decided it was done feeling stuffed-up for the time being and it was going to run for a while. She pressed what she hoped was a discreet finger to her nose, trying to sniffle as softly as she could.

Francisco was looking at the menu board, but while his eyes flicked briefly toward her, he only said, “Do you doh what you want?”

“Uh, carditas,” Megan said, biting back a grimace as she heard a whiff of congestion in her voice. “They’re by favorite.”

“Yes, very good,” Francisco agreed. “I will buy it, to thadk you again for all your help the other dight. I was feeling so sick when you cabe over, add, you doh, kind of lonely? Add I really liked having you there.”

Megan was still a bit preoccupied with her nose, but she smiled at him. “I liked being there,” she replied. Was that flirting? Did she just flirt with Francisco Morales? Megan swore she surprised even herself sometimes.

Her nose itched suddenly, and she gave it a hasty wriggle. “Are you okay?” Francisco asked, looking curiously at her.

“Yeah,” Megan replied, rubbing her nose to try and pacify the itch. No good. “J- juhhhst…” She wasn’t going to get out of this. She turned and buried a “hiiishhhhhhh-uhhhhhhh!” in the crook of her arm.

While Megan would always choose an attractive guy’s sneezes over her own, her own were nothing to sell short, and she normally wouldn’t mind having a cold. But while out to dinner with Francisco Morales? Not ideal.

“Salud,” Francisco said. “Are you sick?”

“Uh, yeah,” Megan admitted, still wriggling her nose as she came out from behind the crook of her arm. She could feel her cheeks tinging a bit pink. “Yeah, a- a little.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Francisco replied in an offhand way. “You’re getting by cold, baybe.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Megan agreed weakly. She was willing herself not to cringe.

Megan sniffed lightly, and Francisco exclaimed, “Aaahhh, what ab I doing?” to himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his travel packs of tissues. “Here, please,” he said, holding them out to her.

“Th- thadks,” Megan said, managing a tiny smile as she took a Kleenex and tried to wipe her nose as unobtrusively as possible.

Francisco moved to put the Kleenexes back in his pocket, then thought better of it and grabbed one for himself as he drew in a sharp breath. “Ahhhhh… hihhhh-uhhhhh-CHUHHHHH!” he sneezed, sniffling into the tissue.

Megan’s smile felt more genuine now. “How about you?” she asked. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, okay,” Francisco told her. “Still kide of sick, but dot so bad now.”

“That’s good,” Megan replied warmly, and she meant it. Francisco with a bad cold was just ungodly levels of hot, but she’d seen how miserable he was the other night, not to mention how worried he was that his cold would mess up his meeting with Elizabeth Vega. For his sake, she was glad he was starting to feel better.

And for hers, she was glad he wasn’t all the way back to 100% yet. He rubbed his nose, flashing her a grin, and it was all she could do not to shiver.

“I-” Megan began, but at that moment, someone in the back finally noticed their presence.

“Buenos tardes, hello,” the employee said, switching between languages like he was the Emcee in Cabaret, or maybe Christoph Waltz in Inglourious Basterds. Megan caught his next words in English, which were, “What will you ha-?”

At the sight of Francisco, though, he stuttered, going silent for a fraction of a second before leaning across the counter and saying something in Spanish that ended with, “…Francisco Morales?”

Francisco, smiling, gave a reply, and the employee lost it. He started shouting back to the others in the kitchen, and that’s when it really kicked off. Four more workers hurried up to the front, between them running the full gamut from psyched to star-struck. The air was filled with what sounded like excited babbling, awed stammering, and astounded enthusiasm, and Megan suddenly felt like she was rolling with a Hollywood Chris. We’re talking Pine levels at minimum, possibly Hemsworth.

By this point, most of them had come out from behind the counter to shake Francisco’s hand and/or hug him in turn. Francisco was gracious and winning in the middle of it all, responding to each in Spanish or English according to their language of preference. Then the phones started coming out for the selfies.

Megan loved that she was getting to see this. Francisco and his friend Arturo may have been the life of the Oscar party they went to, but that was a powerful combination of natural charisma and the hipster factor of being actors who haven’t quite blown up yet in Hollywood. When Tom Hardy told Francisco they ought to work together, he was getting in on the ground floor.

But this was the full Francisco Morales effect, maybe something more like the buzz he got back home. And beyond his considerable acting talent and literal movie-star good looks, it was easy to see why he was so beloved. Even only understanding a portion of what was being said, Megan could tell how Francisco was warm and generous toward his fans.

He was on his third selfie when Megan caught Francisco’s hazy-eyed look and soft gasp. He murmured a quick apology to the thrilled-looking young man beside him and withdrew his arm from around the guy’s shoulder, taking a step back to sneeze a strong “HUHHHHHH-chiiiaaahhhhhh!” into his hands.

This drew a chorus of remarks from the employees, and Francisco’s reply was sheepish but good-natured – in among the back-and-forth between Spanish and English, Megan definitely caught, “Only a cold. He offered a bashful laugh as he pulled a fresh Kleenex from his pocket and wiped his nose. The oldest of the gathered workers, a woman who was probably in her late 60s, approached him in a very grandmotherly manner, fussing and tutting and waving him off when he (presumably) tried to argue that she didn’t need feel his forehead. It was distractingly adorable.

After Francisco resumed his selfie duties and got through individual shots with everyone there, they all crowded around him for a group photo. As they tried to finagle everyone into the shot, Megan stepped forward, clearing her throat quietly. “Would you like me to take it?” she asked.

This earned her a handful of “thank yous” and “graciases,” and Francisco got them to elect one phone for the task instead of making Megan take a separate photo with each one. She couldn’t help smiling at everyone’s beaming faces, at how earnest Francisco’s grin looked in the middle of them.

Megan snapped several photos for safety, then handed the phone back over so the group could appraise her work and deem it satisfactory. While waiting to see if she’d be called back in for another round, she was hit with a tickle in her throat, and she gave a short, hard cough into her fist. She noticed the grandmotherly woman look her way and then say something to Francisco. Francisco replied, and the woman’s voice took on a tone that about 85% stern, 15% playful. Francisco’s, in turn, was chastened, and he turned to Megan and called out something to her in Spanish.

“She said I deed to say sorry for baking you sick,” he added in explanation. “She asked if I had a cold frob you, add I said, doh, just the opposite, it was my fault.” He sniffled, rubbing his nose, and the woman patted his cheek in a nurturing way. (Side note: did Latinx grandmothers have all the luck?)

Eventually, once the photos had been checked over and approved, the older woman took charge, leaving one of the workers to take their order while she sent the others back to the kitchen, where Megan could see them marching to the sink to dutifully scrub their hands. Francisco’s order was fairly elaborate, involving multiple varieties of taco, while Megan piped in, “Three carnitas – thadk you!” when it was her turn.

Francisco gave her a glance. “Do you wadt to take the food back to the hotel?” he asked. “Bore comfortable, baybe, if you feel sick.”

The thought of Francisco expressing concern for her gave Megan a warm feeling in her stomach (she thought back to Oscar night, when Arturo confided that Francisco’s decision to bring her along to the after-party was clinched when she didn’t win in her category.) She decided that maybe having a cold in front of him wasn’t so bad. “Okay, sounds good,” she said. “Dot to bention, if we stick around here, you’ll probably get mauled every tibe sobeone comes in.”

Francisco turned to speak once more to the guy at the counter, who ran their order back to the kitchen, then he looked back at Megan, frowning. “What’s ‘bauled’?” he asked.

“Surrouded by people who love you and wadt a piece of you,” Megan told him – not a precise definition, but apt in context.

“Ah,” Francisco said, nodding. “Yes, baybe.” He pulled out his wallet and stuffed some $20s into the tip jar. “They’re all very dice and friendly, but they dod’t wadt to let me buy addything,” he explained to Megan.

Because Megan’s nose wasn’t going to leave her alone now that it had started up, she felt another tickle. “Hehhhhh…” she gasped as it flooded her nostrils. “Ihhhhhhh-tschiahhhh!” she sneezed, into the crook of her arm again. “Mmb, sorry,” she mumbled, sniffling.

Francisco tsked lightly and wrapped his arm around her, and Megan considered it a credit to herself that she didn’t melt away then and there. While her inner voice was running around her brain screaming, This is not a drill, people!!!, Megan allowed herself to sink into the cozy, affectionate warmth of Francisco’s arm. He turned to cough into his shoulder, and Megan felt how it shook through his body.

Because she was learning that she could be stunningly bold when she wanted to be, Megan reached over to place her hand on Francisco’s chest, rubbing it gently with her thumb. He looked back at her, gave her a squeeze, and smiled. Francisco’s smile at that range definitely packed an extra punch, and it was a good thing his arm was around her because she might have actually gotten weak at the knees.

She could’ve stood there like that with him forever. He was taller than her, but only by a few inches, and while they waited for their order to come up, he rested his head lightly against hers. But making tacos only takes so long, and all too soon, the guy returned to the counter with a pair of Styrofoam containers, a paper bag full of chips, and a shit ton of napkins to bag, and the whole kitchen trailed back out to the front to see them off.

But not before the older woman appeared with two more containers, cylindrical ones weren’t for holding tacos. She had a brief exchange with Francisco, and they were alternately a little argumentative and majorly effusive with each other. Finally, Megan caught several “graciases” from Francisco as the containers were loaded into a second bag for them.

“Soup,” Francisco explained to Megan. “She wadts to give it to us for our colds.”

“That’s so sweet!” Megan exclaimed. She smiled at the woman. “Gracias,” she said.

After Francisco went through another gauntlet of hugs and handshakes, he and Megan carried their food out to Megan’s car. “Let’s get this stuff back to your hotel,” Megan said. “It smells abazing.”

Francisco smiled sheepishly. “Ah, I thidk I’be still a little bore sick than you,” he remarked, sniffling. “I cad’t smell it so good. But I’be huggry. Let’s go!”

[ID2006]

Awww, that's super sweet, and them back at the hotel sounds excellent 

[angora48]

Thanks, @ickydog2006! Here's Part 4. ☺️

 

Megan wasn’t sure Francisco would want them to sit on the bed in his hotel room again to eat. Room service with plates and silverware was one thing, but fully-loaded tacos dripping sauces and toppings everywhere? But Francisco just grabbed a fresh towel from the bathroom, laid it down on the bed, and beckoned for Megan to join him.

Instead of sitting against the headboard facing the TV like they did the other night, they faced each other, sitting cross-legged with the towel spread out between them. It was perilously close to a 16 Candles tableau, albeit with the addition of a Kleenex box by Francisco’s knee. Megan wasn’t sure what her life had turned into the last week, but she was totally down for it.

Francisco waited until Megan bit into her first carnitas taco, letting out the kind of sound you only make when you’re eating something delicious or majorly aroused (and for Megan, it was a little of both,) before he said, “Okay, cad I tell you about Elizabeth Vega dow?”

Megan held her taco awkwardly in one hand so she could cover her mouth slightly with the other while she swallowed. “Are you kidding me, yes!” she told him. “That’s what we’re here for, right?” She sniffed. “Tell be everything!”

That was all the encouragement Francisco needed, and he launched into a play-by-play of his afternoon between sneezes and bites of taco. When he expressed surprise at how big a fan Elizabeth Vega was of his movies, Megan laughed, which made her cough – she quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe her mouth before she pressed the back of her hand against it. “Obviously,” she said, clearing her throat. “All you have to do is look at her to doh she’s a womad of taste. Of course she dohs incredible acting whed she sees it!”

Francisco tsked in a chiding way. “All day, people are so dice to be,” he commented. “Y- you’re goii-ihhhh…” He paused, gasping as he reached for a tissue. “Ahhhh-hehhhh-ihhhhh-SHOOOOO!” He sniffled, coughing a little. “You’re going to bake be too proud.” He sniffled again and wiped his nose.

After Francisco spent about half of Oscar night singing Megan’s praises, it was funny to see him get a little shy at someone’s compliments to him. “I thidk you’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Megan told him, adding, “Uh, you’re too sbart for that,” when she realized she didn’t know how well the idiom would translate.

As he told her about Elizabeth Vega’s new production company, a few things struck Megan. 1) She was glad he was so excited about this. Eating tacos when she was starting to get a cold wasn’t the smoothest move one could pull in front of an attractive movie star, and it helped to know he was so wrapped up in this story that he wasn’t paying much attention if she dripped sauce on her pant leg or had to wipe her nose. And 2) she wasn’t sure which was hotter, the miserably-sick Francisco of the other night or the effervescent and kind-of-sick Francisco sitting in front of her. Right now, he was maybe just slightly better off than he’d been on Oscar night, and certainly not sick enough that he was going to let it get in the way of talking her ear off about this amazing experience he’d had. Sniffles and coughs and sneezes into tissues (they both quickly realized that with greasy taco fingers, it was best to go for the Kleenexes straightaway,) but also So. Damn. Happy.

Between Oscar night, caring take of him in his hotel room, and now hearing all about the forthcoming Sandbox Productions, Megan found that she had so many feelings for Francisco, they were tripping over one another. It was all just cold sexiness and artless charm and infectious enthusiasm, the way he seemed unbelievably cool and wonderfully down-to-earth at the same time, his eyes killing her dead every time he looked at her.

“That souds awesome,” Megan told Francisco. “I doh the meetings you had last week,” she sniffed, wriggling her nose, “weren’t the best, so it’s great that this wud was so amazing.” She sniffled again, wiping her hands on a napkin before grabbing a Kleenex.

“Yeah,” Francisco agreed. “Add it’s so cool how she wants to user her fabe add, um, add her position t- to- hiihhhhhh….” He turned, burying a “huhhhh-shuhhhhhhh!” in his shoulder. “Mbb,” he mumbled, stifling a cough. “…To just bake good add different work with so bany other people, add make opportudities for people who baybe don’t have a lot.”

Megan made to reply but was cut off by an itch flaring in her nose. “Ahhhh-hehhhhh-SHOOOOO!” she sneezed, blushing a little behind her Kleenex.

“Salud,” Francisco told her.

“Thanks,” Megan said, wiping her nose. “I was gonna say, right, it’s really cool. You remebber a few years ago, whed there was this picture of Lupita Nyong’o and Rihadda at sobe event sobewhere, and sobeone tweeted that it looked like they were id a movie where Rihanna was rudding cons od rich guys add Lupita was like her techy best friend?” She cleared her throat. “And thed Lupita add Rihadda were like, ‘We’re in!’ and Issa Rae add Ava DuVerday got od board to write and direct, add then Detflix actually bought it? It’s like if you take that energy add make a whole production cobpany with it. Just, ‘What do we wish we could see odscreen? Okay, let’s do it!’”

Francisco nodded, popping a last bite of taco into his mouth and reaching for a Kleenex. “I’ve always wadted just to act,” he said, wincing a little as he swallowed, “but talking to her, I udderstand bore why actors decide they want to produce or direct or write.”

Eventually the meeting talk turned into talking more generally about Elizabeth Vega, then their favorite action scenes from the No Second Chances movies, then the buzz about the upcoming Marvel phase and their favorite Best Picture nominees that didn’t win Best Picture. And then, they left movies altogether and ventured into just about everything else.

Non-industry-related hobbies (although quite a few of Francisco’s wound up being things he could pull out of his back pocket as “special skills” for movies.) Travel, favorite foods, pet peeves. Streaming shows: binge or savor? Everyday dress: function or fashion? (Francisco maintained that you could do both.) Favorite people in the world, including people they knew personally as well as people they didn’t.

Even though Francisco had gotten more tacos than Megan, he finished before her – she was glad his appetite seemed to be back to normal, and that his throat wasn’t bothering him too much when he ate. He unsealed one of the Styrofoam soup containers and held it up to his face, doing his best to smell it. Sipping the broth, he smiled. “Oh, that’s so good,” he said, rooting through the takeout bags for a plastic spoon. “It’s like, it has a good hobe taste.”

His delight made Megan smile. “That was so dice of her,” she remarked. “I feel kinda bad, though – I dod’t think I cad eat all this id one sitting.”

“Eh, that’s okay,” Francisco told her. He swallowed another spoonful and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Have the tacos dow add just try a little soup to see how great it is. It will stay good id the re- refrigehhhhh….” He paused, hitched, but seemed to lose it; after a few seconds, he let out a long, mildly-congested exhale; so damn hot. “…Id the refrigerator for a few days, so you cad keep it for later. Whed you’re more sick, you’ll be very happy for it.”

“Good point,” Megan agreed, wincing a little as she cleared her throat.

They came around to family stuff, and Megan told Francisco about her parents back in Pennsylvania who called her every Sunday, who constantly worried that Hollywood would leave her destitute.

“They doh you were dobbinated for an Oscar, right?” Francisco asked, amusement in his smile. By now, they’d finished eating and washed up, and now they were just lounging on the bed together. Megan sat against the headboard while Francisco stretched out, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Oh, that doesn’t stop them,” Megan replied. “Every now and thed, I’ll wake up and see that by dad Venboed be, like, twenty dollars. With a text saying, ‘Just id case you need groceries!’, as if a twenty will buy more thad like three bangoes id LA.” Francisco laughed at that, and Megan joined in until it made her cough.

Francisco sat up, tsking. He was the one closest to the nightstand, so he reached for one of the water glasses they’d set there and handed it to Megan. As she took a long, slow drink, he touched one of her curls that had come loose from her bun, tucking it softly behind her ear.

“Thadks,” Megan said quietly, handing him the glass so he could return it to the nightstand.

“Of course,” Francisco told her, sniffling. His hand found his way to her back and he ran his fingers along it lightly, his fingertips electric. “If it’s by fault you are sick, I deed to look after you tonight before I leave.”

Megan grinned at him. “What a gentleman!” she remarked.

“Yeh-yehhhh…” Francisco tried to say but trailed off. He cupped both hands over his face, rocking forward with a hard “huhhhhh-CHOOOOO!” When he emerged, his smile was sheepish. “Yes,” he agreed ironically. “A total gettleban!” Megan held the Kleenex box out to him and he pulled two tissues from it, using one to wipe his hands and the other his nose.

“You okay?” Megan asked. She sniffed as he settled in beside her. He put an arm around her, playing distractedly with a few more loose curls.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’be dot so sick, really. A lot better thad I was before. What about you? How’s your throat and your dose?”

Megan smiled. “A little sore add a little stuffed up,” she replied, “but dot bad.”

“Good,” Francisco said. “Try to keep it like that. Brothers add sisters?”

He flipped the subject so quickly, Megan had a hard time keeping up. “What? I- uh, yeah,” she said, and she told him about her brother, who was two years younger than her but steadily employed, which led to her parents making frequent comments about, didn’t she ever consider going into insurance like Jonathan? She’d be so good at it!

Francisco had four brothers and sisters. “There’s by older brother Jairo,” he began, counting them off on his fingers, “thed by sisters Naeli and Luz, thed me, add then my yougger brother Sibón.” He sniffled, wriggling his nose.

“Big fabbily,” Megan remarked. “Are any of theb in the iddustry too?”

“Doh,” Francisco told her. “Jairo acted in school, but dever for work.”

“What did your parents thidk?” Megan asked. “Whed they found out you wadted to be a-aahhd-ehhhhh-shiiaahhhhhhh!” The tickle snuck up and her, and she just barely had time to steeple her hands over her nose and mouth.

“Salud,” Francisco said. If he noticed Megan’s blush as she reached for a Kleenex, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Are you okay? Baybe you’re getting tired add want to-”

Megan hastily finished wiping her nose and answered, “I’m all right. I’be good.”

Francisco’s smile was an odd but lovely mix of sheepish and fond. “I’be a little tired,” he admitted. “I feel better today, but I was doing a lot too, dot just staying in bed, and my flight is toborrow….” He trailed off, letting the statement hang in the air, and his smiled shifted all the way over to sheepish.

“Totally get it,” Megan replied, immediately moving to get up. “I’ll let you get sobe sleep – I’m sure you wadt to be well-rested before your flight.”

“Thadks,” Francisco said. He hopped off the bed and walked to the mini-fridge, where they’d stashed the leftover soup. Megan’s container was still mostly full while he’d eaten about half of his, and as he followed her to the door, he pressed both containers into her hands. When Megan made to protest, he said, “Doh – I’m almost dud being sick, but you’re just starting dow. You’ll need it bore thad me.”

Megan lowered her eyes, a little self-conscious, but they quickly found their way back to his face. “I’ll make you that blaster video,” she said, remembering her earlier Star Wars marathon-induced promise to show him how you could make a metal slinky sound like a blaster firing. “Sometibe this week.”

Francisco grinned at her, and Megan could have melted. “Good!” he replied. “You cad do things with souds that are so cool, and I’d like to see it.” With her hands full of soup containers, Megan wasn’t exactly equipped for a goodbye hug, but Francisco put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in, planting a kiss on her cheek that was dizzingly close to the corner of her mouth. “Talk to you very sood in DMs, okay? And I’ll see you dext tibe I’be in Los Angeles!”

After that very unexpected kiss, Megan’s brain full-on glitched and she couldn’t get past the stuffiness in his voice to actually comprehend his words. Somewhere in the back of her head, she must’ve been on autopilot, because she felt herself moving forward to return the gesture. Her lips met his in such a way that Megan couldn’t tell whether or not either of them had meant to do it, but then Francisco grinned and tucked his hand to the back of her neck, leaning in for one final deliberate kiss on the mouth.

“G- good dight,” Megan heard herself saying as they parted. “Sleep well.”

If she hadn’t been careful, his smile could’ve knocked her clean off her feet. “You too,” he said. “I hope you’re dot too sick.” And then he was holding the door open for her and she was walking down the hall with two Styrofoam containers of soup and an inner voice that was squeeing to high heaven.

[ID2006]

Awww, how sweet. Wish they could have spent more time together 

[Jettous]

Aww this is so adorable and fluffy. I think I am falling for Francisco just as fast as Megan is. 

[angora48]

Thanks! I appreciate the comments. And @Jettous, he is awfully lovable, isn't he? 😉

Here's Part 5, the end of the story. Thanks for reading "Returning the Favor" - hope you enjoyed it! (BTW, I have ideas for more Megan/Francisco stories, but I'm going to give them a breather for now. Basically, my fetish brain has been on overdrive lately with ALL the fic ideas, some original, some fanfic, so I'm going to focus on some of the others for a while before swinging back around to these two.)

 

By morning, Megan’s cold had decided it wasn’t messing around. She woke up feeling foggy, with a sore throat and a runny nose that didn’t know when to quit. She groped on her nightstand for a Kleenex but didn’t manage to get her hands on one before an “ehhhhhh… haahhhhh-ihhhhh-SHOOOOO!” got the better of her.

Finally seizing the Kleenex box, Megan grabbed a few tissues and sank back onto her pillow with a congested sigh. She blew her nose, coughing a little as a tickle flared in her throat.

Job done, Megan gave her nose a final wipe and realized she should’ve thought to bring her wastebasket over to the bed before she turned in last night. She’d done the Always Be Prepared thing in other ways – water bottle, Kleenex box, aspirin, Nyquil – but the wastebasket had slipped her mind. Granted, said mind was slightly occupied with other thoughts, but the oversight was biting her in the ass now, because she certainly wasn’t in the mood to get up yet just to grab the wastebasket.

“Later,” Megan said aloud to herself, noting the scratchy stuffiness in her voice. Coughing again, she crumpled her Kleenexes and set them on the nightstand for now. She propped herself up on her elbows so she could get a drink of water, then slid back down onto the mattress.

Under the right circumstances, Megan enjoyed having colds. Sure, if Francisco was anything to go by, she might be slightly miserable in a few days, but there was something satisfying in just wallowing in feeling a little icky. As long as she didn’t have any obligations to fulfill, she could curl up in bed and listen to music or get into a streaming binge, or maybe just go down a YouTube rabbit hole watching late-night interviews with her favorite actors. She could wrap herself up in her coziest afghan and sneeze to her heart’s content, letting an itch build unti- (“Hihhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!”, speaking of itches) – until it filled her and overwhelmed her senses.

And this was a pretty ideal day to indulge in feeling crappy. Megan half-dozed for a while longer, then pulled on a thick, soft pair of socks and padded to the kitchen, her curls sticking out in every direction, to make herself some breakfast. Tea with honey and an English muffin, which she brought back to bed, but not before stopping by her bookcase to grab The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. She’d probably read it a dozen times, but a baker’s dozen never hurt anybody.

Her nose started tickling again on her way back to the bedroom. With her mug in one hand, her plate in the other, and her book tucked under one arm, she wasn’t flush with options, and so she directed a loud, uncovered “HAAHHHHHH-chiiiaahhhhhh!” down at the floor. As she sat in bed, sniffling and wincing as she swallowed nibbles of her English muffin, she was doubly grateful for the leftover soup in her fridge.

It was a day to do mostly nothing, which was all right by Megan. Around 11, she got up to retrieve her laptop so she could finish editing the sound for the second commercial she’d been working on, but that was her only foray into productivity. Today was hers, and she was going to do precisely what she wanted.

While not actively on her “lazy sick day to-do list,” it turned out that a not-inconsiderable amount of what she wanted to do was think about Francisco. Flashes from the last week popped into her head as she swallowed a few aspirin to ward off her achy feeling, as she lay on her stomach holding her pillow and reading Hitchhiker’s, as the steam from the reheated soup made her nose run, and as she contemplated whether to watch a fifth episode of Scrubs season 1 or take a nap.

Images, memories. Francisco’s sheepish grin after he sneezed during his award presentation at the Oscars. Francisco sneezing into his hands at the party afterwards, bending forward at the force of them. Francisco’s chapped nostrils in his hotel room the other night, his stuffed-up half-moans as his cold took a lot out of him. Francisco holding her hand as he fell asleep, Megan’s fingers on his feverish skin. And last night, Francisco putting his arm around her at the restaurant when she sneezed, giving her a small kiss goodbye at the hotel. Whatever else Megan did to occupy herself, it wouldn’t take long before her brain would smack in the face with some Francisco thoughts and be like, Is this not simpler? Is this not your natural state?

Other thoughts too, fantasizing thoughts that took the hand-holding and arm-arounding and small-kissing and extrapolated them out to further conclusions. Megan wasn’t greedy, and she knew she’d basically hit the fetishy fangirl jackpot over the past week, but she was also an adult woman with adult woman thoughts, and the heart wants what it wants. All sorts of imaginings that involved sexy times and mutual caretaking – yum.

Megan had woken up from a nap and was walking, sniffling, back to the kitchen to get some dinner when her phone buzzed in the pocket of her pajama pants. When she saw the notification on her screen, she grinned.

She’d been thinking about making an omelet to save the rest of the leftover soup for tomorrow, but not anymore. There was a new video message from Francisco, and there was such a thing as priorities. Veering off from the kitchen, she instead moved to the adjoining living room and plopped down onto her two-seater couch. Stifling a hasty cough into her shoulder, she tapped the notification to open the video.

She felt cozily warm as Francisco’s face filled the screen. He looked tired and had that rumpled, worn, travel-day look as he said, “Hi, Began!” He was still a little stuffed up, and his voice, while not as low or scratchy as it was before, sounded a bit weak.

“I’be finally back in Béxico, and I’m happy to be back home,” he went on. “There were so bany good and amazing thigs in Los Adgeles, like the Oscars add meeting Elizabeth Vega, and I’be so glad we met add started getting to doh each other. You’re such a talented soud editor add I- add I thii-iihhhhh….” He briefly lifted a “one moment” finger to the camera and then pressed his wrist to his nose, letting out a “haahhhhhh-shiiooooo!” He was holding the phone this time around, and the picture definitely bounced as he sneezed, but not as much as Megan would’ve expected – but then, she supposed a celebrity was a pro at handling phones for videos and selfies, as he proved at the taco place.

Sniffling, he rubbed his nose and looked back at the camera with a sheepish grin and said, “I really like how you doh so buch about soud and the creativity that you deed to put idto it,” (Megan cleared her throat, rubbing her nose, her eyes locked on the screen,) “add I think you’re just a cool person. Thadk you for everything you did for be with my cold – I’be still a little sick, but I feel buch better, and-” he sniffed, “-I don’t doh if I would without you.”

Megan felt a heady tickle in her nose, and she quickly jabbed her thumb at the screen to pause the video, not wanting to miss a second. She’d left her Kleenexes in the bedroom, so she caught a “haahhhhhh-ihhhhh-CHIIUUHHHHHH!” in her hand. Stifling a cough as she sniffled, she rubbed her nose and hit play.

Not much left, but still enough to make Megan melt. “I’be tired after by flight – it was a log day – and I’be feeling a little sick,” Francisco went on, “so I think I’be just going to get sobething to eat add thed go to bed.” He gave a wet sniffle, complete with nose twitch, gaahhh. Clearing his throat, he smiled at the camera and said, “Let’s keep talking id DMs, okay, add I hope I cad see you again the dext tibe I’m in Los Adgeles. Good night, feel better for your cold!”

Megan saw him move to tap the “end record” button, but at the last moment, he glanced back up at the camera. “Oh, add I can’t remebber the dame of the bovie you told me,” he add with another sniffle. “The Hong Kog one, what was it?” He grinned. “See, dow you have to talk to be, at least to tell be that. Good dight!” And that was it.

Megan fell back onto the couch, letting her legs dangle over the end. Who needs an omelet when you have video DMs from sexy, sniffly movie stars? She was well aware that she most likely had a painfully-stupid grin on her face. She was okay with it.

Coughing into her fist a few minutes later, she pulled herself out of her reverie and headed back toward the bedroom, her supper temporarily forgotten for now. Megan moved to her closet and rummaged through the stacks of plastic storage drawers she had in there, filled with random objects she kept around in the event of a bit of needed foley art. She was good at creating sounds, but subpar at organizing, and it took her a little while to find what she sought. But when she finally found the right drawer, she managed a smile before giving into a strong nose tickle, letting out a loud “HUHHHHH-ehhhh-shooooooo!”

Before long, she had everything set up in her studio area and was ready to go. She thought about doing her hair first, or at least brushing her hair, but decided that if Francisco could send her a video straight home from the airport without any freshening up, it wouldn’t kill her to record in her pajamas with bedhead. Propping up her phone on her desk, she reached up to start recording.

“Hey, Francisco,” she said, smiling. “Glad you bade it back all right. Get lots of sleep so you cad get over your cold! Add thadks for giving be all the leftover sou- sooo-oup…” Giving a small gasp, Megan turned away a little, cupping her hands over her face. “Hihhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!” she sneezed. She sniffed, wiping her nose and hoping she wasn’t turning pink. “Sorry,” she murmured softly before repeating, “-the leftover soup. It’s idcredible add really hits the spot!

“Dow, first of all,” she continued, sniffling as she gave her nose a quick rub, “the bovie is Chugkig Express, add it’s awesobe. I’ll sedd you the IMDb link.” She cleared her throat. “Add secodd of all…” She slid out of the way to reveal her surprise, a metal slinky suspended above her head and stretching down onto the floor beside her. Megan held up a handheld mic, tapping it to show that it was hot and gesturing to it with the flair of a magician’s assistant. She was being silly, and she could picture it making Francisco laugh when she sent him the video.

“…Who’s ready to bake a Star Wars blaster?”

Megan did her thing, being weird and sound-editor nerdy in what she hoped was a cute way. She only sneezed once more during the recording a stifled “hihhhhh-shnnkkhhh!” into her hand, and she managed not to cough at all. She sent the video, along like Chungking Express’s IMDb link.

She’d made it back to the kitchen and was just getting started on her omelet when she got another DM. No video this time, just the words, “WOW, so amazing!!!”, accompanied by a shocked-face emoji, four hearts, and a Stormtrooper gif.

Megan stared dreamily down at her phone, grinning her widest fangirl smile as she sniffled absentmindedly. No matter how crappy she might start to feel in the coming days, this right here was the only medicine she was going to need.

[ichixshiro14]

Ahhh this was so amazing!!! 😍👍🙌👏❤

[Hovercuke]

Oh I am obsessed with Meghan’s sneeze spellings. Keep it up!

[Jettous]

So cute. Congratulations on a story well done.

[Kolen]

This is AMAAAAAAZIIIING!!!😍🥰 very well written 

[starpollen]

These two are super cute.  I really liked the care-taking in part 2, but I also really like how un-self-conscious Francisco is.  You definitely get the whole "light bulb" feeling about him: bright energy, charismatic.    I'd have loved to be in that hotel room with him, too!  

Oh, and being someone with a technical theatre background (and taught theatrical design for years) the fact that you referenced Ben Burtt really made me happy.  You've seen the documentary they did about him when he worked on Wall-E I assume? 

Great story! ❤️

Edited August 25, 2021 by starpollen

[EveP]

My heart jumped for joy when I saw this thread had been bumped up, and I hope you have another story about these two coming soon. I can't wait for Francisco to come back to the US and look Megan up, perhaps they could work together, get close and there could be one or two other women wanting Francisco to themselves that try to separate them. Ok, I should probably go write on my own stories instead of trying to guess yours. Keep up the good work! 🙂 

[angora48]

@starpollen WALL*E is how I became acquainted with Ben Burtt - I loved with the way the sounds in that movie really shaped those characters/that world. Then, after I learned more about the sounds in the film, I found out that Ben Burtt also did Star Wars and was thoroughly impressed.

@EveP I'm not working on a new Megan/Francisco story at the moment, but I do have ideas in the pipeline for more adventures with these two!

Thanks for the comments, they made my day!

[Evian]

Exceptionnal

[treehouse]

All three of these stories were so delightful! Thanks so much for sharing them. 

[Evian]

I like this thread

[solitaire-au]

🥰

[nyeee]

I love this series so much!!