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Who: Cheryl Blossom (

sweetwater) & you
What: catch-all
When: October Where: her apartment, around town, etc??
Warning(s): will edit as needed

closed to Peter Parker - early/mid Oct

Cheryl was right about the mysterious flu-like illness. Though she'd normally like to gloat about being right, she's not really in the proper state to do that. Between the moodiness and general disorientation, it's been a rough week or so at the Parker-Blossom household.

"Peter!" she greets him at the door, beaming. "Nana Rose came to visit. Isn't that wonderful?"

A glance around the apartment does not reveal an elderly woman. Cheryl does not seem to be swayed by this piece of information.

"She must be in the other room. She's very quiet when she wheels herself around." It's fine. This is fine. Totally fine.

"We'll all have lunch and I'll introduce you," Cheryl continues as she takes Peter's hand. "I told her you've taken very good care of me."

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He's wearing his weariness when Cheryl greets him at the door, and to be honest he's not listening entirely when she greets him, depositing what little food he's managed to find in their tiny kitchen. Food is getting sparser and sparser, and the fare is getting poorer and poorer. He's going to have to start asking around for food, because if he doesn't beg off the kindness of strangers, Peter worries there's going to a point where they don't have any.

It's only when Cheryl mentions someone wheeling off that Peter forces himself to stop fretting about food and pay attention to the very sick girl that is going on about Nana's sneaking off into other rooms.

He looks heartbroken as Cheryl takes his hand, as Peter likely has a better idea of what is happening than she does. "Cheryl," He starts, feeling a little pained, but maybe he's wrong. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe... Yeah, because the likelihood of an old woman in a wheelchair making it to their apartment without any help is incredibly high. Peter lets Cheryl lead him, anyway, because he wants to be wrong and he wants her to be okay, even though he knows she's not.

She squeezes his hand. "It's okay, Peter. You don't have to be intimidated by her. Nana Rose is as sweet as the flower she was named after. And don't worry if she calls you Jason. It's just the dementia." That's supposed to be comforting, but it's probably not.

Cheryl leads him out of the kitchen and towards her bedroom., calling for her grandmother. "Nana! Are you resting? Peter's home." There's no response as she knocks lightly on the door, pushing it open.

The bedroom is empty. Cheryl's brow furrows in confusion. "She was here, Peterkins."

It's been an exhausting few weeks, and if she could will herself better it would have already happened. Instead things are worse - she's not eating as much as she should, disoriented, occasionally very cranky. It can't be fun for Peter, though that's not something she's been worried about.

He wanted to be wrong. He really, really, wanted to be wrong. The empty bedroom that greets them pairs uncomfortably with that cold feeling down his spine, as well as the confusion Cheryl is wearing as she looks through a room that never held anything in the first place.

"I know, I know. It seemed like she was." And he's not saying that to disparage her. Peter probably should have warned her sooner about symptoms he's seen during his work, he just thought it'd be easier if she didn't worry about what she couldn't control. "It's part of VIOLET, that's all. It makes you see things that aren't there, Cheryl, I'm sorry."

There's no telling if she'll believe him over what she hoped was family, but the fact she still has his hand hopefully will remind her that at least he was present. If that helped at all.

She doesn't want that to be true. Cheryl frowns, and doesn't respond. Could she have imagined it? It all seemed so real, but she knows Peter wouldn't lie to her. So if Peter said it's a hallucination, she thinks she can trust him.

"It seemed so real." She ducks her head, defeated. "Are you sure?"

Cheryl doesn't need to wait for an answer. Of course he's sure. When she lifts her head again there's a stray tear on her cheek. "I should rest."

"Yeah. I've seen it happen." He's sure, more sure than he wants to be. While Peter hasn't lied to Cheryl, exactly, he also hasn't been as honest as he could have been. He wonders if that was the right thing to do, when she could have put a little doubt in what she was seeing if she had known what might be coming.

She looks down and he can't help but feel guilty in the obvious disappointment and loss she doesn't want him to see. He didn't need to see the tear to know she was upset, and yet the reminder that even Cheryl Blossom is more human than she lets on is hard to just ignore.

Peter isn't exactly a hugger. Back home, he got hugs from his aunt and maybe an occasional arm around the shoulders from his uncle, a long time ago. Gwen had hugged him but even Gwen he'd had to learn that proximity through trial and error. He's not a hugger and he certainly is not practiced in comforting people, either, just ask Gwen about how he dealt with her mourning. Still, for once he actually tries — sick or not, he wraps his arms around her. The hug is for her, and honestly, it might be a little for him, too.

"I'm sorry." For not saying something sooner, for the reality she has to miss her family in the first place, for not magically concocting a cure to make her better. He's sorry for all sorts of things. Peter just wishes sorry actually helped her, and he knows that it doesn't.

She appreciates the hug and returns it as she buries her face into his shoulder. She's tired. Tired of being in an unfamiliar world, tired of not knowing what to expect out of life, tired of being sick.

"It isn't fair." She just wants to get better, and sometimes it feels like that might not happen. "Is it going to get worse? No details. Just yes or no."

The details would drive her crazy, just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. She'd prefer to not fill her hours by dreading what was yet to come. It won't be a good surprise but she's okay with that.

He holds her a little tighter when she accepts the embrace. Maybe a part of him expected her not to. It isn't fair is a pretty childish complaint, though right about now Peter can't blame her for it. None of this is fair. Being dragged from her life without anyone that mattered to her, slapped into a world she didn't belong in, and now stuck with a disease thanks to some crazy attack she had nothing to do with. She was right; none of this was fair.

"Yeah. It's going to worse the longer it remains in your system." There's no skirting around it when she asks him point-blank. There are some ugly symptoms he can describe and some he can only imagine, thanks to the fact everyone contracted VIOLET at the same time. They only had a small window into what might be, based on those that were getting sick faster.

"Just try and rest as much as you can. Just because it can get worse, doesn't mean we have to make it easy." What more can they really do? Cheryl is already resting, already doing everything she can to fight the virus. It isn't helping, but he has to say it anyway, because a part of him has to hold on to the idea that both of them have some power in fighting all this.

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im so late im sorry!!!

fired, obviously

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