Chapter Thirteen
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Jimmy shifted uneasily on the foot of his son’s bed as he sipped his coffee, occasionally remembering to munch at the paper-wrapped carbohydrates—since he was not, after all, allergic to gluten… whatever that was. He usually remembered to make sure the food was unwrapped before taking a bite, but unfortunately got a very surprising, unappetizing taste in his mouth a time or two. His eyes drifted towards Robin, restlessly wandering over the machines. What did they all do again? Medicine, fluids, food, heart, air…
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Fozzie carefully balanced the styrofoam tray on his knees as he drizzled syrup over his pancakes, wondering whether he would be more helpful to Kermit by staying here, in the hospital, or by going to the theater and being in the show. Would Kermit be alright here? He seemed alright. Of course he would be alright. They would never let him be the only one here. …And yet, he was Kermit’s best friend. He was supposed to stay here. Wasn’t he? Besides, it was sort of his fault that any of this had happened… He looked up at little Robin, lying so very still in the big hospital bed. With a deep breath, he forced himself to look down and stab a plastic fork at his breakfast. The show must go on…
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Sweetums shifted his weight against the cold tile floor and gulped the second half of his coffee, wishing it was sold in larger servings. If he ever owned a coffee shop, it would sell gallon-sized cups. He crumpled the pathetic styrofoam in his hand and looked at his little buddy on the hospital bed. …Before long, he was going to have to excuse himself from here, and go find something to break. But he would come right back. In the meantime… throwing the car that had hit Robin sounded pretty good.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Miss Piggy uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, her eyes sliding over Kermit’s profile between sips of coffee. He had, essentially, dismissed her to the theater for the rest of the week. He didn’t need her here, apparently. He didn’t need her emotional support. …But it wasn’t that, really. There was no reason to be offended. If anything, she should have felt honored that he trusted her so much, that he was relying on her to carry the show. The show wouldn’t be the show without you. Well, it wasn’t going to be the show without him, either.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Kermit was very still, holding Robin’s hand, his eyes drifting over the ceiling. He was almost oblivious to the cup of tea in his hand. He took a long, slow, deep breath, and gently let it out. Then he sat up and looked at Miss Piggy. “How long, do you think, until the press catches on?” he asked quietly.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Miss Piggy bit her lip, sitting a little straighter. “…Kermie,” she said quietly, “They already know.”
He frowned. “…They do?”
“The reporters were already there, before the ambulance even left,” Fozzie said. He didn’t expect Kermit to remember that. In fact, he doubted Kermit had even noticed the reporters at the time.
“…Oh…” Kermit sighed and frowned, looking at his nephew. “…Have they been making a big deal about it?”
Miss Piggy and Fozzie looked at each other, each silently, urgently asking if the other had paid any attention to the press whatsoever. “…Um…”
“There haven’t been many reporters,” Miss Piggy said. “…Of course… Moi hasn’t been out much, during the day…”
Kermit nodded grimly and looked at her. “More than usual, though?”
“Enough to have to shoo,” she said. “Not enough for karate.”
Jimmy quietly cleared his throat, stood up, and slipped out of the room.
The room’s other occupants straightened up, seeing him go. Fozzie frowned. “…Kermit? Why—“
“He—He probably just—didn’t want to interfere,” Kermit said quickly, uneasily. “Show biz talk, y’know…” He remembered the tea in his hand and took a long gulp.
Fozzie caught a glimpse of Miss Piggy’s skeptical look. “…But—he wouldn’t have interfered,” he said. “We didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable—“
“I know. Don’t worry about it,” Kermit said hastily. He straightened up and carefully tucked the ball under Robin’s hand. “We’ll have to see how much the media knows already. They might push a little more, around the theater.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Sweetums? Could you—I mean… could you get the other monsters to—sort of—form a blockade, of sorts? For the theater, and… maybe here, or the boarding house…”
Sweetums nodded slowly. Kermit would stick by his little buddy at all costs, and in the meantime, this little assignment would be a built-in excuse for him to slip out of the way and find something to break.
“We’ll have to tell them something, Kermie,” Miss Piggy said softly. “I know… they don’t have to know every detail, but…”
“I know,” Kermit said. His eyes lingered on his small nephew. After a hard gulp, he very quietly added, “I guess, since Jimmy and Leaper are here, they should decide how much of—their son’s information, is released.”
Miss Piggy frowned, her blue eyes darkening. “Vous would know more about it than they would, Mon Capitan,” she whispered.
He nodded, and then shrugged. “He is their son…”
“And your nephew,” Fozzie said firmly.
“And our Robin,” Sweetums added in a low rumble that startled the others in the room.
“…Right,” Kermit said quietly, his eyes settling on the little frog beneath the tiny oxygen mask. “Of course… of course.” He was quiet for a moment. “…When Leaper gets here, could you have her and Jimmy come talk to me?”
“Oui, Mon Capitan,” Miss Piggy said softly, and she took another long swallow of her coffee.
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