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Wednesday's stomach grumbled quietly while she sat at the back of her Advanced Mathematics class. She breathed shallowly, through her nose: willing the rising feeling of nausea and malaise to cease and desist.
It did, very briefly, which made her concurrently relax the white-knuckled death-grip she had on her pen.
It was almost lunch and Wednesday was using what little was left of her concentration to focus on deeply regretting the errand that had taken her past The Weathervane that morning.
On her return from posting a package to Uncle Fester, via one of the Addams' family's many solicitors, Uncle Confusely, she had stopped in for what had seemed like a safe breakfast: quad over ice, sliced bagel, toasted twice.
She'd been their first customer of the day and had stood glaring silently at the baristas through the fogged, early morning, glass until they'd noticed her and scrambled to serve her as fast as humanly possible.
Over the next couple of hours, Wednesday began to feel that perhaps the standard of cleanliness at the Weathervane had slipped since the departure of her former boyfriend: confirmed sociopath and Hyde, Tyler Galpin.
Her Addams' immune system was strong, but even it had a bad response to people not washing their damn hands once in a while.
The bell signalling lunchtime rang and Wednesday rose from her seat like a gaunt ghost, ignoring the whims and words of her classmates in her attempt to get out of the classroom before her body started any involuntary, yet inevitable, spitting up.
As luck would have it, the hallway outside was already bustling with students. Wednesday was jostled a little by their number. She kept her head down, her hands gripping the strap of her bag tightly where it hung over one shoulder.
"Hey, Addams?" Yoko called from one side. "Enid wants to know if you're coming to-?"
Wednesday ignored the rest of the question and kept putting one foot in front of the other, making slow progress up the hallway, with the blood in her head singing unhappily to her about her approaching nausea.
"Miss Addams?" said a voice carefully, less than a minute later.
Wednesday blinked irritably without lifting her head. That was the last thing she needed right now.
"Wednesday, are you unwell?" Principal Weems said, her voice soft and quietly concerned but persistent: a warm hand catching Wednesday by the shoulder and stopping her progress to the stairwell.
This caused a pause from the rhythmic, anti-nausea breathing regime she had been trying to force on herself. It was enough to throw Wednesday's concentration and she instantly felt the rush of uncomfortable heat flush her cheeks and a shiver of nausea roll through her body... and then she was profusely spewing up over herself and the flagstones beneath her feet.
A sort of awed hush filled the hallway, as none of the students seemed to know exactly where to look. Wednesday was too busy leaning a hand on the door of one of the hallway lockers, breathing through flared nostrils to steady herself by this point to see Ms Weems shooing everyone away imperiously.
She vaguely heard the Principal muttering something, though her own breathing was still ragged. She retched again, before cocking her head to one side to observe that the woman was on the phone, talking softly to someone.
"Thank you, Kurt," Weems murmured, and hung up. "Upstairs, please," she added, scooping a hand under the back of Wednesday's armpit and taking her opposite elbow and steering her towards the back stairs.
"I've gotta clean that up," Wednesday muttered, sounding unlike her usual self for an instant.
"You absolutely do not have to clean that up: we employ several caretakers who are fully capable. Infirmary for you, at the double."
Wednesday wanted to argue, but she felt the retching starting again and managed to half throw up in a bin, and a little on herself once again, as they were passing.
Weems thumped her back and held her plaits out of the way understandingly.
"That's alright, get it all out of your system," she murmured, pulling Wednesday upright again and proceeding up the stairs with her.
They had to pause once more while Wednesday threw up a third time - now only bringing up bile - before they reached the sanctuary of the Infirmary.
While Wednesday flopped to the floor on her knees like a flightless, black, baby bird clutching a cardboard sick basin, Weems went off towards the nurse's accommodation to look for her colleague.
After a minute, she came back tisking and looking peeved.
"I'd forgotten, Nurse Helston is on a training course this week and Nurse Minnow has flu. Nevermind, we'll manage. Up on the bed, please, let's get you wrapped up, you're starting to shiver."
"I can look after myself," muttered Wednesday moodily, which was somewhat dampened by the fact that she immediately convulsed again and vomited another small mouthful of bile into the sick basin.
Weems didn't say anything, but leaned down and plucked Wednesday's slight form up by her underarms and plopped her gently on top of one of the cots.
Wednesday glared up at her weakly, her cheeks a little pink from the effort of being sick so many times in succession, her hands gripping her sick basin, her shoulders hunched sullenly.
"Fresh basin," Weems said calmly, switching the bowl in Wednesday's hands for a fresh one with hardly a wrinkle of her nose. "And let's get you a nightshirt," she added, glancing down at where Wednesday definitely hadn't managed to miss the front of her uniform with the trajectory of her numerous spit ups.
Wednesday sat rigidly on the edge of the bed and followed Weems with her eyes as the elegant Englishwoman crossed the linoleum with clicking heels and sought out a spare nightshirt and some flannels and towels.
Returning to Wednesday's side, Weems gave her a sweeping glance which calculated, correctly, that Wednesday was currently unable to change without assistance. Her arms and legs trembled, her body swayed woozily, and she still breathed shallowly through her nose.
"Blazer first," Weems murmured gently, stepping behind the cot and carefully extracting first one rigid arm and then the other from Wednesday's black jacket.
Wednesday didn't have the strength to argue when Weems settled herself next to her on the bed and began to unbutton and undo her cardigan, tie and blouse for her. The damp feeling of her own vomit had soaked through them and she felt unclean in a way she didn't enjoy at all because of the stench of regurgitated food and stomach acid on her uniformly neat, black clothes.
Wednesday let Weems peel her out of her blouse, then paused proceedings while she retched helplessly into another sick basin in her crop top and pinstripe trousers.
Once she was sure this particular bout of vomiting was over, Weems quickly hiked the crop top over Wednesday's head and replaced it with a nightshirt, which she had to gently direct Wednesday's shaky arms into. Then she drew back and lifted Wednesday's feet in turn to pull off her heavy black school shoes and the pop socks she wore with them.
"Let's get your slacks into the laundry too, and then it's bedtime for you," Weems murmured kindly, unbuttoning Wednesday's waistband and pushing her shoulder gently to make her lie back.
This facilitated the Principal hoiking her pinstripe slacks down and wrestling them easily off her ankles like the teen was no different to a tot on a change mat.
"There, now, let's get you a clean face and plenty to drink," Weems added, placing Wednesday's pinstripe slacks into the white laundry bin with the rest of her sicked-on uniform and moving over to a sink to change of her set of vinyl gloves and prepare a wet cloth.
Wednesday, irritably pushing down the nightshirt to cover her underwear and thighs, tried to feebly turn her face away when Weems began wiping it for her, but couldn't repress the irrepressible headmaster in this particular quest.
"Better," said Weems approvingly, once Wednesday no longer had traces of vomit on her chin. "Now, do you have any idea what's caused this?" she asked patiently, as she stacked comfortable pillows at the head of the bed and scooched Wednesday up to lie back on them.
Wednesday glared at her for a few moments.
"If I read your expression correctly," Weems replied calmly, laying a towel over Wednesday's pillow in case she didn't make it to a basin in time, "you ate something when you were somewhere you hadn't ought to be, while doing something you shouldn't have been," she concluded, giving a little sigh as she took a clean thermometer from a stack and popped it into Wednesday's reluctant mouth. "Under your tongue, and don't chew it: just because you can crunch glass, doesn't mean you should."
Wednesday made a face at that, but didn't crunch up the glass instrument - that was one of Uncle Fester's favourite party tricks, after all.
"Hmm, running hot for an Addams," sighed Weems, withdrawing the thermometer and placing it into the sterilising box. "Can you at least tell me what you ate during this illicit breakfast?"
"Quad over ice, bagel, toasted twice," Wednesday muttered.
"Gods, and they messed that up?" said Weems, looking righteously outraged that her student was sick over such a simple order.
Wednesday shrugged. She didn't want to open her mouth again: now that she was in fresh clothing, she wanted to stay that way for the foreseeable, if nothing else then to avoid being stripped by anyone else again.
"I may have to write a complaint from the school on your behalf. But for now, let's tuck you in," she said, her momentary fury forgotten as she leaned over and rolled Wednesday onto her side, pushing and pulling her legs up towards her chest so that she was in a foetal, recovery position.
"I don't sleep like this," muttered Wednesday peevishly.
"Perhaps not, but I don't want you to aspirate. Close your eyes, rest your head," Weems murmured, tucking the white sheets around the girl.
- - -
Larissa was seated at a temporarily Principal's desk in the Infirmary, which consisted of a small medical cart pulled close enough to a socket that she could plug in her laptop, balance her cup of tea and get some work done. She glanced up from her screen subtly on hearing Wednesday muttering to herself.
The girl had been intermittently asleep, waking and retching and sighing quietly, and was pale, sweaty and evidently hugely displeased at the inconvenience of being unwell.
"You haven't anything left, body, stop trying to hurl up last week's digestions," Larissa heard her muttering.
Smiling in soft, understanding empathy, Larissa took off her glasses and rose, coming across to perch on the edge of Wednesday's bed and hold up the large glass carafe and metal straw she had placed on the bedside.
"Little sips, please," reminded Larissa, coaching Wednesday to keep her hydrated.
Wednesday rolled her eyes and grumbled a bit, but let the Principal slip the straw into her mouth and sucked reluctantly on the cool liquid.
"Are you getting any rest, hmm?" asked Weems, beginning to rearrange Wednesday's cot so that there were fewer pillows under her head and she was encouraged to lie back down.
"Ms Weems!" muttered Wednesday, irritated, her arms pushing weakly against the Principal's.
"Hmm-hmm, I know, just getting you comfortable and tucked in again."
Wednesday looked sullen, but found herself duly lain down and tucked in once more.
"How's the belly now? Is it much the same?" Ms Weems checked, brushing Wednesday's sweaty hair off her forehead and pressing her palm there instead.
"I've been poisoned by someone else's lack of personal hygiene," said Wednesday pointedly, trying to lean away from Weems' soft hand.
"Yes, dear. But is it hurting badly? Do you feel like you might also have diarrhoea?"
"I bloody hope not," muttered Wednesday, thinking about how empty her stomach already was.
"Do you want a hot water bottle for the cramping?" asked Weems kindly.
"No, I'm enjoying it," Wednesday replied in satisfaction.
Weems' lips pursed at the knowledge that Wednesday was in fact hurting and Wednesday soon after found a hot water bottle being tucked in against her tummy and a couple of painkillers popped into her mouth, followed by some more water.
"No more arguments," said Weems, sitting back down and curling a hand onto Wednesday's side where the girl lay weakly in the foetal position to facilitate not having so far to move if she started vomiting again, "sleep, Wednesday."
Wednesday, despite her desire not to oblige Weems, found her eyes closing as the Principal slowly rubbed her back until she was out cold.
Between waking moments of nausea and vivid dreams brought on by her sweats, Wednesday didn't feel particularly well-rested when she awoke. She was pleased to see, however, that Weems had vacated the Infirmary - at least for the time being - and one of the prefects was sitting with a book propped up against her knees and a note pad pressed to her thigh, scribbling intently on top of the next cot.
"You're awake," noted the prefect in relief, getting up and bringing some more water from the Infirmary kitchen for Wednesday. "I'm Alicia. Ms Weems asked me to sit with you for a few hours, just in case your fever spikes."
"You may go. I do not require a babysitter," replied Wednesday coolly.
"Ms Weems said you might say that, so I asked if it would be okay if I brought some studying to do... that way, we could pretend we were hanging out. It's witch history, Enid says it's your favourite"
"You're a wolf too," sighed Wednesday tiredly.
"Yup, I'm a Dhirewolf though... so... not so popular," shrugged the prefect, picking up her books again and propping them back up against her legs. "Your little friend was around somewhere earlier: I heard him scuttling about the ventilation shafts."
"Thing," replied Wednesday reluctantly, "his name is Thing."
"Noted. Ms Weems said you probably wouldn't want to eat, but she's got you some electrolyte drinks and some glucose jellies and crackers, so I'm to keep offering you them until you say yes."
"She knows how to ruin a perfectly unpleasant illness," replied Wednesday.
"And if you haven't had any by the time she comes to check on you, she said she's not above spoon feeding you applesauce or making you up some baby formula," said Alicia, with consoling sympathy.
"She wouldn't dare," Wednesday growled.
"She probably would, actually," replied Alicia with a sigh.
"I'll drink that," Wednesday muttered, pointing to one of the flavoured electrolyte drinks.
Alicia handed it over eagerly and Wednesday bit the the lid open and gave the sweet, orange-flavoured liquid a few experimental sucks.
"This is truly revolting," she muttered, setting it aside with calculated disdain.
"Cracker?" offered Alicia hopefully, holding out the packet she was just opening.
Wednesday reluctantly took one and nibbled on the tiniest corner, putting the rest on a plate for later. With an impatient sigh, she lay back down and dedicated herself to staring at a spider that was spinning a web in the window.
- - -
Later, when night had fallen, Wednesday heard kitten heels quietly approaching her bedside. She opened her bloodshot eyes and looked up to see Ms Weems, dressed in a muted green dress, smiling gently down on her.
"How's that belly? Mind if I take a look?" she asked, already pulling back the blankets and scooting Wednesday's nightshirt up so she could carefully prod and press her palms directly onto the teen's pale belly.
Wednesday lay still while she was examined, glaring, but gave an involuntary hiss as Weems gently found a particularly inflamed area of her tummy.
"Sorry, darling," assured Weems, drawing the nightshirt back over her patient and tucking her in again. "Drink some more juice for me," she added, lifting the carafe and directing it towards Wednesday's lips.
The girl sucked reluctantly again on the straw and then shifted her head away.
"You can have more medicine now, it's ten o'clock," Weems added, popping some more pills out of a blister pack and depositing them in Wednesday's unhappy little beak.
"I don't need them," Wednesday argued, about to spit them out when Weems' hand caught her chin and gave her some juice to wash them down with instead.
Wednesday swallowed the painkillers obediently, acknowledging that it was probably the only feasible way to get this unrepentantly soft woman to cease touching her.
"Now, how are we feeling? Do you want a bathroom visit before you take another nap?"
"Stop coddling. It's increasing my nausea," growled Wednesday.
Weems ignored her and started to tuck the teen in tight again.
"I am capable-" Wednesday argued weakly.
"As I've told you before, Wednesday dear, I don't tire easily. I'm staying, and that's that. Now, eyes closed, no more chatter," said Weems firmly.
Wednesday obliged, feeling the painkillers slowly begin to tune out her pain receptors and tone down the feeling of her inflamed belly once more.
Briefly, she opened her eyes to check if she was alone once more.
She perceived Weems sitting on the next bed, leaning on one hand patiently, watching and waiting for the signs that her young patient had actually fallen into a nap again. Weems' face flickered into a brief smile again when she caught the gaze of open, red, tired eyes, but shook her head to indicate to Wednesday that she wasn't going anywhere.
Wednesday finally let the hot, tired, sleepy sensations of a sickness nap pull her under once more, silently plotting her revenge on the coffee shop that had cost her so much personal liberty today.