(Warning: This chapter may induce hunger. Proceed accordingly.)
Chapter Twelve
Kermit smelled something good before he was even completely awake. Something… warm, probably, something that would taste good…
He shifted to see a big plate right in front of him, loaded with food. There was his favorite kind of donut, a bagel already fixed just the way he liked, a little cup of fresh cut fruit, and two sunny-side-up eggs. He hoped none of the chickens were around and picked his head up to see who was holding the plate.
“Good morning, Kermie,” Miss Piggy murmured, softly smiling down at him.
He smiled back at her. She looked nice and fresh and rested and clean and… how long had he been… where he was? It had been longer than usual since his last shower. “G’morning, Piggy,” he mumbled drowsily. His stomach growled.
She giggled softly and handed him the plate and a fork as she sat down next to him on the bed. “Moi brought coffee, too,” she whispered.
He was already shoveling the eggs into his mouth as he sat up. He swallowed, with some difficulty. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and he took another bite.
“…Well, don’t
choke yourself on it,” she said, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He shrugged and, slowing down a little, looked around the room. Fozzie was sprawled in the chair now, with one leg hanging over the armrest, still holding the rag of a hat in one hand. Sweetums had curled up even tighter, and was even closer to the hospital bed now. No sign of Jimmy. Kermit looked at Robin, glancing at the green lines on the heart monitor as he finished his eggs—obliterating any evidence the chickens could’ve used to hen-peck him.
“…I saw Jimmy in the waiting room,” Miss Piggy whispered, lightly rubbing his back. “Why was he there?”
Kermit swallowed hard and looked down at his plate. “…The machines bother him,” he said, and he stabbed his fork at the fruit.
She gave a non-committal hum and handed him a to-go cup of coffee.
“Oh—thank you,” Kermit said as he took the cup. He swallowed a gulp of coffee, and then looked at the plate she had brought him. He looked at her. “You know me really well, don’t you?” he said quietly, mildly.
“Mm-hm…” She slipped an arm around him. “Moi has made a point of knowing vous,” she said quietly.
He examined the contents of the plate again. “You probably didn’t make any of this yourself, didja?”
“Moi
put it on the
plate,” she quietly growled, and then she sweetly added, “Vous know
moi very well,
too, Mon Capitan.”
“Mm… Well… I appreciate it, Piggy,” he said quietly. He ate another bite of fruit. “…Do you want any?”
“Moi already ate, Kermie,” she murmured softly. “If moi had brought this to
share, there would’ve been at
least twice as much.”
“Mm.” He leaned against her, his eyes settling on Robin as he finished off the fruit.
She gently rubbed his arm. “…Scooter will bring something for Fozzie and Sweetums and Jimmy,” she said quietly. “Moi wasn’t sure what they would want.”
Kermit nodded. “They’ll probably wake up soon,” he said quietly, and he picked up the donut, examining it. “Was Jimmy awake, when you saw him?” He took a bite of the donut.
She hesitated. “…I’m… not entirely sure,” she said. “I don’t think so…”
“Mm.” He nodded and swallowed. “I guess it’s hard to tell with us, isn’t it?”
“The lack of eyelids
does make it a challenge,” she murmured dryly.
“Well, we do have nictitating membranes,” he said, his attention returning to the plate. When he had swallowed two more bites of donut and she still hadn’t answered, he looked at her again. “You can’t tell right now, but my eyes are actually closed.”
She continued to stare at him. “…Can
vous still see
moi?”
“Of course.”
“Then what does closing your eyes accomplish?”
It was his turn to stare for a moment. “…I… don’t know,” he decided. “State of mind?”
She stared back at him and decided to shift gears. “Moi just
loves your eyes, anyway…” she murmured.
“Aw, sheesh.” He scrunched his face and pointedly took another bite of donut, though he made no move to escape.
She kissed his cheek again and silently watched Robin, rubbing Kermit’s back as he ate and the steady beeps of the heart monitor filled the room.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Scooter arrived not long after Fozzie and Sweetums woke up, with a drowsy Jimmy warily stumbling in after him. “Morning, Chief,” the go-fer said as he set a fast-food to-go bag and a cardboard tray of styrofoam cups on the foot of the bed. “Morning, Fozzie. Sweetums. Hi Piggy.” He opened the bag and tossed plastic knives and forks, in their plastic wrappers, to Fozzie, Sweetums, and Jimmy.
“G’morning, Scooter,” Kermit said. He was sitting beside Robin on the bed now, shifting the ball in his hand. “I take it the house is still intact?”
“It was when I left,” Scooter said. “But Gonzo and Crazy Harry hadn’t been up very long…”
“Oh,” Kermit said mildly. “So it’s still about a fifty-fifty chance.”
Scooter handed Fozzie a covered styrofoam plate, two little things of butter—or something that claimed to be butter, anyway—and a plastic container of hot syrup. He tossed Sweetums three cardboard boxes—“Let me know if you need more”—and handed Jimmy something wrapped in paper. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, but I figured this was a safe bet,” he explained. “As long as you’re not allergic to gluten.”
Jimmy frowned. “I don’t even know what that is,” he said, unwrapping the paper.
“Well, then you’re probably not allergic to it,” Scooter concluded, and he examined the plastic lids on the styrofoam cups. “Do you want coffee, tea, or hot cocoa?”
Jimmy stared blankly at him, his jaw hanging slightly. “…Are you always this efficient?”
“Or slightly better,” Scooter said, minutely lifting his chin and pushing his shoulders back.
“I see…” Jimmy rubbed the back of his head. “I’ll take a coffee.”
“Do you want cream or sugar?” Scooter asked as he handed Jimmy a cup.
“Not today,” Jimmy mumbled, and he gave the machines a wary glance as he sat down on the foot of the bed.
“Tea, Boss?” Scooter asked as he approached the head of the bed.
“Sure,” Kermit said, reaching out to take the offered cup.
“Piggy? Coffee, two creams and a sugar,” the go-fer said, handing over another cup.
“Thank vous!” Miss Piggy uncrossed and re-crossed her legs from her new perch on the windowsill.
“Fozzie, hot cocoa.”
“Thanks, Scooter.”
“Sweetums, black coffee.”
“Thanks.”
Scooter set the empty tray in the empty bag and dropped both of them into the garbage can before stepping up to Robin’s side. “Good morning, Robin,” he said quietly, touching the little frog’s shoulder. “Feel free to wake up
any time today.” He looked at Kermit. “By the way, Boss, what should we do about the show this week?”
Kermit sat straighter. “The show…” His voice trailed away as he gave his nephew an urgent look. He could
feel that the entire room was at attention now. “…I’d… sort of forgotten about it,” he sheepishly confessed.
“So did I,” Scooter said. “But Lew’s been asking everyone today whether or not we’ll have a show.”
Kermit frowned, shifting the ball in his hand. “…The show must go on…” he murmured thoughtfully. He took a long sip of his tea and watched his tiny nephew.
“He won’t be alone,” Sweetums grunted from his seat on the floor. “No matter what.”
“…
I’m not going anywhere,” Kermit whispered firmly, a distant sort of coolness in his voice. He was suddenly very aware of his brother’s presence, and he pushed the thought away, gathering himself without tearing his eyes from Robin. “Piggy, you’d better go. The show wouldn’t be the show without you. You’ll think of some sort of act. Something great, I’m sure. Scooter, you’ll have to keep the guys in line.” Only then did he look up. “Do you still have my cell phone?”
“Rowlf has it, right now,” the go-fer reported. “We’re trying to rotate a little, to keep it out of the hospital, and turned on, in case the swamp calls.”
Kermit nodded. “Good. Keep doing that. We’ll call if anything changes.”
Scooter nodded. “Right,” he said. “Anything else?”
Kermit sighed, settling back against the raised head of the bed. He looked at the ceiling—the only boring part of the décor, some corner of his mind noted. How willing would his friends be to let him and Robin stay at the hospital without them? They would want to be supportive… but the stage would call to them… How many would answer that call? “…See how many of us
want to be in the show this week,” he said quietly. “We’ll go from there.”
Scooter nodded. “Sure thing, Boss! I’ll get right on it,” he said. “See you later, Robin,” he added, and he gave a quick nod to the rest of the room before zipping out the door.