[The Disgruntled Sick]


"Mikey? You're still in bed? You? Impossible!"

Mike cracked open an eye. Johnny loomed over him, a goofy grin on his face. "Dude, you look terrible."

"Thanks." Mike groaned, rolling over onto his side. "Leave me 'lone."

Johnny laughed, reaching down to ruffle Mike's thick hair. "Poor little guy."

"Get off." Mike growled, but made no move to remove Johnny's hand from his head. That required too much effort.

Johnny's hand moved from Mike's hair to his clammy forehead.

"Whoa, dude." Johnny's voice finally turned serious. "You're really burning up."

"I'm sick." Mike said, glaring up at Johnny, as if daring him to contradict him. "But you know what? That doesn't matter because I have a job to do. Bello wants me to meet him in…" Mike glanced over to look at the clock on his nightstand and then moaned, "…two hours." He buried his head deeper into his pillow; that little speech had taken too much energy.

Johnny bit his lip. "I'll be right back." He moved to the door.

"Please, just leave me alone." Mike tried to call after him, but it came out in more of a croak. He pulled his blankets over his head, plunging himself into darkness.

Blessed silence reigned over the room and Mike sighed in relief.

That relief didn't last long when a coughing fit overtook him. His whole body shook with each hack, until it finally subsided.

For a moment, Mike just gasped for breath, but then he declared aloud, "I'm dying."

"You're not dying." Johnny was back and Mike moaned in response. "You just can't think of anything better to do." Apparently Johnny's sense of humor was back.

Mike decided to ignore him and kept the blankets firmly tucked over his head.

"See! What did I tell you! Our little Mikey is sick." Johnny spoke again, this time to someone else.

"Johnny, I haven't even seen him yet." It was Charlie, which gave Mike some comfort. "Mike?"

"Go away." His voice was muffled by the covers.

"C'mon. I'm just gonna see how hot you are."

There was a snort from Johnny. "Charlie, gurl, we all know what's goin' on here."

A thump followed that statement, which then, in turn, caused Johnny to yelp. "Damn, Charlie!"

Mike managed to crack a smile at Johnny's pain.

"Come on, Mike," Charlie said, twitching at the covers.

Mike finally relented, peeking his head over the blankets. He stared up at Charlie with red-rimmed eyes.

"Shit." Charlie said, "You look like Death."

Mike nodded in agreement. He felt like death.

She reached down and placed a cool hand on his forehead. "Hmm…" Charlie said, frowning.

Johnny hovered over her shoulder. "What's the verdict, doc?"

Charlie was silent for a moment. She then pointed a finger at Mike. "You're staying in bed today."

"But," Mike started, "Bello needs—,"

"Not today." Charlie interrupted. "Call him up and tell him you're sick. You're in no shape for anything today."

Mike meekly nodded.

"I'm making you tea and some soup, and you're going to eat and drink it all. Understand?"

Mike grunted.

"Good." Charlie gave Mike a hard look. "You stay in bed."

"Yeah," Johnny piped up. "Stay in bed, son."

Mike shot Johnny a glare and with the little strength he had left, heaved a pillow up smacking it into Johnny's face.

Mike was rewarded with a surprised shriek from Johnny and a chuckle from Charlie.

Charlie grabbed a hold of Johnny's arm before he could retaliate and pulled him away from the bed-ridden Mike.

She shoved him out of the room as he called out, "When you're better, Mike, you're gonna regret that!"

Charlie slowly closed the door behind her, pausing to stick her head back through. "Get better soon, Mikey."

A/N: This is the first of (hopefully) many little one-shots of our favorite band of misfits.
It's my first Graceland fic, so the characters may be off (be nice, okay).
And, lastly, I hope you guys caught the "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" quote. It was too prefect not to use.