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The Oddest Discovery	By : BernieLaraemie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Elton John Views: 1392 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Elton John. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Oddest Discovery
- 1
Title: The Oddest Discovery
Author: Heh Pox
Summary: And Elton thought that white chocolate biscuits were odd...
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Elton John/Bernie Taupin (implied)
Feedback: Yes, please
Characters: Elton John, Bernie Taupin, Elton's parents.
Betas: Captain Spastastic
Author’s notes: Elton's mother, Shelia, re-married after Elton's father left and thus her name is Mrs. Shelia Farebrother. Also "Derf" is Elton's nickname for his stepfather. For those of you who think Elton is just a little cracked calling him that, it's his name spelled backwards.
Disclaimer: Not making money off of this. Really, I'm not sure how I could make off of this. Real person slash (implied), M-Preg.

"Biscuits!"
"Goddammit, Reg, you've already had a batch yourself this morning."
"Bernie," came the whine, "how can I let these poor new, fresh and tasty biscuits go to waste? They'll feel unloved."
"Yes, Reg, and without your influence they'll find themselves in the home for wayward biscuits." Bernie snapped the plate away, covered it and put it on the highest shelf—well, the highest one he could reach, anyway.
Elton pouted. "Good Lord, but you're trying."
Bernie raised an eyebrow. Elton speculated as to why Bernie only had one; Lord, but that bothered him. "Listen, Reg, look at yourself," Bernie pinched Elton's stomach. "Any more biscuits and I swear it's a baby."
"Baby? I'm not pregnant!" he yelled with the hint of a shriek. "I just want another biscuit."
"You know what, Reg, I think that's it." Bernie went back to the cupboard and pulled the biscuit tray back out with some effort and placed it on the table. "You're eating for two. You better have a few more biscuits, Reg."
Pause.
"Bernie!"
The pout became a whine, became a sort of strangled whimper. "Bernie," he sobbed, "I'm not fat."
"Of course you're not fat. You're pregnant."
"Bernie! I'm not pregnant." He looked at the biscuit plate morosely. After a moment he pushed it away. "I'm not hungry."
"Of course not."

Cosmically, things are actually generally normal, on the regular, average normal scale. But...well, it's not easily explained, but who's ever upstairs seems to appreciate poets and irony. If there's any irony to be found, of course.

"Mam!" Elton put his hand dramatically over his forehead. "Mam!"
Bernie sat in the corner, reading.
"Mam!"
She came down the stairs in good time, swishing past Bernie and heading for Elton, prostrate on the bed. "What is it, Reggie?"
"Mam, I don't feel so well. My tummy hurts," Elton whined.
Bernie rolled his eyes.
"Oh, you poor Reggie. Would you like me to make you some soup? Some soup will make you feel all better."
Elton thought a moment. "Yes. Some soup will be sufficient." His mother turned and walked away, and Elton almost forgot to call out, "oh, and don't forget lots of crackers!" but thankfully this most important piece of information was not forgotten.
Bernie turned a page.
"Ooh," Elton moaned. "Ooh, I don't feel so good."
"Well."
"Well what?"
"Well," Bernie repeated. "I don't feel so well."
Elton snorted contemptously. "I was making a statement, Bernie, not rap-dising on my general what's-ma-call-it."
"Rhapsodising."
"Bernie!"
"It's not my fault you don't speak English so much as chew it up and spit it out—like everything else," he added.
"That's not very nice, Bernie."
"Nope."
Another page was turned.
Elton crossed his arms aggressively, and then looked to see if Bernie had noticed. He hadn't. Elton did it again. Dammit! This wasn't going to work if Bernie wasn't going to look at him. He did so again, and huffed this time. The huff produced no result.
Another page was turned.
Good Lord, but he read too much. Elton quickly bored of trying to provoke a reaction from Bernie and looked around for something to do. It couldn't be too strenuous; he was sick, after all. There was a magazine he'd left on the nearby night table, filled with women's frilly dresses and so many other things on in-vogue fashions. He reached for it, but it was inches from his fingers. He tried a few more valiant struggles and reaches, but all in vain.
"Engh," he grunted. "Engh." The magasine was still too far. "Engh!"
Bernie turned another page.
"Engh, dammit!"
Bernie didn't look up from his book. "Is there something you would like?" he asked, sticky-sweet.
"I want my magazine, dammit!" Elton pouted and crossed his arms. "It's too far away."
"So it is."
Elton frowned deeply. "Dammit, Bernie, I want my magazine!"
"So you've said." He turned another page.
"Argh! Dammit, Bernie, get me my magazine!"
"What do you say?"
Elton frowned even deeper, somehow. Bernie didn't look up and waited patiently. Elton huffed. "Bernie, may you please get me my magazine, dammit."
Bernie shook his head.
"What?!"
"You didn't ask correctly."
"What!? Dammit, Bernie, one of these days I'll—"
"It's quite simple: Bernie, would you please stand up and pick up my magazine and hand it to me so I can read it because I'm too much of a lazy bastard to do it myself?"
"Bernie...." Elton's whine became a frown. "I'm not lazy, I'm ill."
"Of course you are." Bernie put his book down and walked to the table, handing Elton his magazine. "There you are. A little help for the expectant mother."
"Bernie! I'm not pregnant!" Elton huffed, and when Bernie returned to his book, Elton opened up his magazine.
Bernie only smiled, unseen by Elton, and returned to his book.

"Argh!" Elton came out of the washroom and puffed down the stairs to the room he shared with Bernie, and went to sit on his bunk (the top one, of course) with crossed arms. "Argh."
"What seems to be the problem your highness?" Bernie asked, looking up from his scribbles.
"I'm sick again. And, for your information, it's 'your majesty'. I'm a princess."
"That's not the word I'd use."
Elton ignored him and continued his tirade. "I don't see the use! What kind of God would put biscuits on this earth and then make me throw them up all the time? And you're certainly not pampering me, so there's no use in being ill. I ask you this, Bernie, what kind of God?"
"All trials a new mother must endure for her baby," Bernie commented, crossing out a few words and writing similar yet different ones above them.
"I am not pregnant! It's just an upset stomach. Maybe that last batch of biscuits wasn't prepared so well."
Bernie shrugged. "Denial will only help you so long, Reggie."
Elton sighed, kicking off his fuzzy slippers and lying down. "Boys can't get pregnant, Bernie. Being farm muck I'd think you'd know that."
"Farm muck beats London gutter trash, Reggie."
"Muck," he repeated stubbornly, pulling the sheet up to his chin. "Ooh...I feel so...ick."
"How eloquent."
"I just don't see why my biscuits and sam'iches and cheesies and crisps and pickled herring and chocolates won't stay in my tummy where they belong. Ooh! Ow...I've tummy pain, Bernie...." Elton continued to whine and moan.
Bernie sighed. "I can tell you your problem right there, Reggie. Eating all that is certainly bound to make you sick, I mean, between the sugar and stuffing your—wait...pickled herring?"
Elton shrugged. "There was a jar in the fridge with that yesterday...but not today! Ooh...I don't feel so good.... There was nothing else to eat."
"Well, I guess all those hormones floating around, you're bound to eat oddly. They say it's common. When Mrs. Flemming had her third—"
"Hormones?"
"You know, for the baby."
"I AM NOT PREGNANT!!!"
Bernie rolled his eyes. "No need to yell."
Within moments dutiful feet stomped down the step and there was a knock at the door.
"Dear, are you all right sweetie? Did you call for me?"
"Well, no, Mam, but I'm not feeling good. My tummy has pain," Elton cooed in baby tones.
"Ooh, dear, well, you get some sleep tonight and I'll take you to Dr. Madison to-morrow."
"But Mam! I've got to play at the Elwhis to-morrow!"
"But nothing, Reg, dear. You need to get better and Dr. Madison will fix you all up." The dutiful steps returned up the stairs.
There was silence for a little bit, and then Elton turned to where Bernie sat. "Bernie?"
"Mmm?"
"Could you go to the Elwhis to-morrow and tell 'em I can't play?"
Bernie flipped a page in his notebook. "Guess I could. Jay's not going to be happy."
"No, but my tummy has a lot of pain. It's making me dizzy."
"How many months are you along?"
"At the Elwhis? Been playing there a year—"
"No, no," Bernie started, "the baby, I mean. How far?"
"Argh!" Elton rolled over. "I'm not talking to you."
Bernie shrugged, unseen, and returned to his poem.

It was around ten when Mrs. Farebrother* marched into Elton's bedroom to get him off to the doctor.
"Time to get up and see the nice Dr. Madison, Reggie," she said, giving him a little shake.
"But Mam, I don't want to go to school."
She laughed lightly, giving him another little shake. "Come on, get dressed."
Elton opened his eyes warily. "I don't want to move," he moaned. "Ugh."
"Now come on," she nudged. She stepped off the ladder and walked to Elton's chest of drawers. Opening them, she pulled out something comfy for him to wear. "Here you are, Reggie, dear."
Elton shook his head, warily climbing down the ladder. "I want to wear my pyjamas." To emphasize his point he crossed his arms stubbornly.
Bernie looked over from his corner at his desk.
"Darling, those pyjamas," she began as tactfully as she could, "well, they're lovely and I'm sure they feel nice and they're quite flattering, but...." She sighed, searching. "Reggie, dear, you can't wear them outside."
"Why not? It's not like I'm going anywhere fancy."
"Dear...they're not suitable for outside. They've got...fittings inappropriate for outside."
"You let me wear my tractor jammies to the doctors."
"Dear, you were five and they only had tractors on a plain blue print...this, well...."
Bernie piped up. "She means you'll look like a queer, Reg. They've got lace."
"Bernie!" Elton crossed his arms again. "I am not a queer."
"Well, regardless, dear," his mother said, "you can't wear them outside."
"Hmph," Elton stated, marching out his door, silkly lace jammies in check.
Bernie didn't look up from his poem. "Guess you can't teach a bald queer new tricks."
"Bernie," Mrs. Dwight started, "you shouldn't—"
"I AM NOT BALD!

Elton arrived at Dr. Madison's in style, showing all the other little kids who had shown up likewise, in their pyjamas. No one was ever going to complete with midnight blue and ivory lace. Although, that little girl with the yellow Little Bo Peep set was coming close. Very chic.
With his hand on his offending stomach Elton put on a good show. He moaned when the receptionist walked by, to show the urgency and sincerity of his case. He, after all, was no longer faking it for attention. He grunted randomly, timing it as he was sure sharp belly pains are timed. He bored shortly and after two minutes he picked up a Happy Family publication. That champion diver on the cover sure was cute.
"Dwight," called the receptionist.
Elton sighed, putting back the magazine and keeping his dramatics close at hand. He followed the receptionist, named Beth, he noted, into the small room.

A little boy at the ocean, reaching into the water. It was a nice little picture, this one that hung on Dr. Madison's wall. Elton looked at the picture of a hamburger next to it. Ooh...he was so hungry. No use eating, though. Could barely keep anything down, after all. Wait—why did Dr. Madison have a picture of a burger on his wall? It didn't seem a very doctorly thing.
"Hello, Reginald."
Elton turned away from the cruel burger portrait. "Hullo, Dr. Madison. Ooh...." he moaned, convincingly, too.
"What seems to be the problem?" Dr. Madison asked, seating his white coat vested self across from the bed.
"My tummy hurts. And I feel dizzy. And I feel sick. And I feel warm. Do I have cancer? Is it serious? Am I going to die? I'm too young to die, doctor, and besides, Bernie and I are going to see a film Tuesday and I've been waitin' a long time to see it."
Dr. Madison raised his eyebrows, but not so high. He had been dealing with these theatrics since long before that day. "Oh, I'm quite sure you'll make that film, Reg." He put a hand under Elton's shirt, moving a stethoscope around and getting Elton to breathe at regular intervals.
"Is it hepiti-tit-what's it...hepit-it-it-titus?"
"Hepititis, and no." Dr. Madison continued the search for the problem around Elton's chest and stomach with very cold hands, Elton noted.
"Meninigitis?"
"No."
"Mumps?"
"No."
"Maybe it's malaria."
"No, I don't think—"
Dr. Madison stopped, listen intently. "Breathe again, would you?"
Elton did as bade, choosing to look past Dr. Madison's cold hands and particularly receeding hair line.
Dr. Madison stood a moment, a puzzled expression on his face. "Heh," he said finally.
"Heh? Just heh? What's that? Is that a type of pox? Scurvy? Polio? Oh no! It's mono, isn't it? Oh, no! I've got the Heh Pox! I'm going to die..." Elton began to cry.
"Calm down, Reginald." Dr. Madison still looked puzzled, but pulled one of his books off the shelf and flipped through it. After he skimmed a few pages he put it back. "Reg, I'm going to do a few tests, all right? I think I know what's the matter."
"Am I going to die?"
"Well, no."
"Is it serious?"
"You'll be fine, I'm sure."
"Am I going to die? Doctor, please tell me, what's wrong?"
"You'll live and in one piece, I assure you, but...well, I don't want to say anything until I've some test results for you."
Elton slumped. He knew it. He was going to die! Oh, Lord, but he was too young! Would he ever see Bernie again? And his mother, she'd be heart broken! Oh, no, oh, no....
"Reg?"
Elton snapped out of his tirade, Dr. Madison waiting for him to be lead away to the test room. "Oh, right."

Elton endured the car ride home. "You don't understand, Mam, I'm going to die!" He put his head in his hands. "Oh, no, what do I tell Bernie?"
"You're not going to die, Reg. We can go back for the test results in three days the doctor said, and I'm sure you're not dying."
Elton continued to wail.
"Reg, calm down." Mrs. Farebrother put a comforting arm around him. "You're not going to die yet. You need to be famous and meet the Beatles and buy all the pretty houses and things you want and enjoy them for decades and decades before you die. You know that."
Elton shrugged. "I have the Heh Pox. It's lethal, Mam."
"First of all, diseases are fatal, or terminal, and weapons are lethal. Certainly living with a poet should have helped you by now. Second, Reg, there's no such thing as the Heh Pox."
"But there is! I have it, too. Dr. Madison even said."
"Reg, you need to stop telling tall tales. There's no such thing as Heh Pox."
"When we go back for those tests, it'll be clear as day: Heh Pox."
Mrs. Dwight just sighed. It was no use. Heh Pox.

The Heh Pox debate continued until Elton and his mother returned to the house. Elton bounded down the stairs and into the room.
"I have Heh Pox!" he declared.
Bernie sat, scribbling and reading. "I hear that's fatal."
"Bernie! I have Heh Pox!"
"I heard you."
"I'm going to die!" Elton cried.
"Maybe."
"Bernie!"
"Mmm?"
"I'm going to die," Elton repeated, morose. "Do you know what that means? No more Elton. No more me! Oh, Bernie...."
"I heard you: Heh Pox."
"Yeah, and I'm goin' to die! Bernie!"
"I heard you the first time."
"Don't you care?"
"Yeah, I care."
"Then why don't you...don't you...."
"Don't I what?"
"Do something, I don't know Bernie, I'm going to die."
Elton sat on Bernie's bunk, lacking the energy in his display to climb to his own.
"I heard you," Bernie repeated.
"No more Elton," he sobbed. "Bernie doesn't even care."
"Of course I care. Not much I can do, so I'm not going to get all fussy over that. My Aunt June was like that. Even cried over her rabbits."
Elton sobbed louder.
"Now my mother, wouldn't cry over a rabbit, a horse, a dog. She didn't cry when Dad died...she's always been tough like that. I guess I take after her."
"Oh, Bernie...I'm going to die of Heh Pox! Oh dear...oh dear...."
"Jay said it's all right."
Elton stopped in his fluttering about. "Jay? Hmm?"
"At the Elwhis."
Elton looked puzzled.
"You were supposed to play there to-night...."
"Oh, right, that." Elton stepped on the ladder, then put on one of his fainting spell shows. "Ooh...I don't feel so good, Bernie."
"As you've been saying."
Elton walked over to Bernie at his desk. "Bernie," Elton put a hand on the poet's shoulder. "Bernie, can I sleep in your bunk? Saves me the climb up the ladder."
"And get Heh Pox? Are you insane? Mind you, I've probably got it from you already. Just use your own pillow."
Elton smiled, fetching his pillow and throwing Bernie's to the top. "You get to be on top to-night," Elton commented in an innocent tone that wasn't.
"Goody," Bernie replied, monotone.
Elton curled up, adjusting to the new altitude. Bernie's bunk was comfortable, and it felt cozy. Ew! It smelled like Bernie. "Don't you ever bathe?" Elton asked with an upturned nose.
"When it's absolutely necessary." Bernie tore up a piece of paper and started a new one. "Honestly, you city people."
"You'd better be joking."
Bernie shrugged.
Elton turned over. Why did poets have to be so aggrevating?

After three days of being "on the bottom" as Elton enjoyed putting it, he and his mother ventured to Dr. Madison's so that Elton's burning question could be answered: Just what is Heh Pox, anyway?
"Reg, your tests came back, and I'm sure I know what's being giving up that upset stomach."
Elton looked hopeful, but also despairing. "Heh Pox. I knew it. I have resigned to my fate...."
"It's not Heh Pox."
Elton smiled. "Really? Oh, doctor! You don't know what this means! I'm not going to die! Oh my, oh my! I have to tell Bernie, and Mam, of course." Elton almost jumped off of the table when that queasy feeling returned, reminding him of why he was there. "Ooh...then, doctor, what's wrong? Why does my tummy have pain?"
"Well, Reg, you're pregnant."
Elton's eyes went as wide as pie plates. "What!?"
"You're going to have a baby."
"But...but...doctor?"
"Yes, Reg?"
"I'm...I'm a man." Elton looked puzzled. "At least, I think I am." Elton looked down at himself. He was a man, right?
"Well, yes. It's rare, but it happens."
"It happens? How come I never heard about it?"
"It's very rare. Have you ever heard of a colonic irrigation?"
"Well...no."
"Exactly. There are a lot of things we never hear about." Dr. Madison turned to his shelf of pamphlets and books. "Now, you're going to have to do a bit of reading. As a new mother you're going to make some decisions."
"But...doctor! All right, all right, I get it." Elton rolled his eyes. "How much did Bernie pay you?"
"Bernie?"
"Yeah, I know Bernie's behind this. It's always Bernie. Let's face it: I'm not pregnant."
Dr. Madison returned with pamphlets and leaflets and other assorted -lets on pregnancy. "But you are."
"No, I'm not," Elton affirmed with force.
"Reggie, I wouldn't lie to you. This is why you're getting queasy in the mornings and a little dizzy."
"I'm not pregnant!"
Dr. Madison sighed and grabbed his stethoscope and put it on Elton. "Here, listen to your heartbeat."
"Yeah, I hear it."
"Now, listen behind your heartbeat. Do you hear anything?"
"I hear those biscuits I was eating, and that little scratchy noise the 'scope makes when you move it. And I hear another—"
Elton's pie plate eyes returned. "Oh, God."
Dr. Madison took his stethoscope back. "Now, I need you to read this," he handed Elton some of the papers. "And this. You're about three months along." He sighed, putting a hand on Elton's shoulder. "This is going to be odd and very hard for you, Reg. You need to make some decisions, but I want to give you time to think about everything. Don't tell very many people, just those close to you. And, out of respect, you should also tell the father."
"The father? Aren't I the father?"
Dr. Madison shook his head. "You're the mother."
"But, how is that possible? I mean, I haven't...." Elton's eyes went shifty. "Oh."
"Yes, well, be sure to tell him."
"Can't I just say I'm pregnant? I don't have to say it's his, right?"
"Reg, that's not very honest or respectful."
"But...well...."
"I'll leave to make your own decisions. You need to do a lot of thinking."
Elton looked down at his tummy, putting a hand on it. "You mean there's a baby in there?"
"That's right."
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
Dr. Madison laughed. "I don't know. The only way to find that out is wait until after the birth."
Elton smiled weakly. His smile fell into horror. "Wait, we're just going to assume you're right for argument's sake, that I really am pregnant. How the hell am I supposed to give birth?"
"You won't. We can do an operation to remove the baby."
"Oh...I guess that's all right." Stunned, Elton stepped down from the table. "Thank you, Doctor, I guess...."
"Good luck."
Elton swallowed. "Yeah."

Some mintues had passed during the car ride home before Elton's mother brought it up. "What did the doctor say, Reggie, dear?"
"Erm...not much."
"What's wrong? You've been ill for a week. Certainly it's more than a little bug."
"Er. That is...I don't have the Heh Pox."
"Well," she began with a light chuckle, "that's certainly a good thing."
"Yeah."
"So, then, what's been upseting your stomach."
"Mam," Elton began, unsure of what to say. "Mam...well...."
"It's nothing serious, is it?"
"Well, sort of...." Elton looked out his window. "It's...it's weird."
"Well, all right. But what is it?"
"Mam...I'm pregnant."
The tree was very glad that, even though Mrs. Farebrother swirved violently, she did in fact miss the tree. The park bench next to it, however, was not so lucky.
"What?"
"I'm pregnant."
She laughed nervously. "Pregnant? Reggie, that's impossible."
"Yeah...that's what I said. But Dr. Madison said it wasn't and he said they did a test and he can hear a baby heart beat and—"
"Reginald Dwight, I will not tolerate this from you further. That whole Heh Pox affair was one thing, and that was fine. But pregnant? You have got to stop these lies. Honestly, Reginald, how old are you?"
"But Mam!"
She pulled back onto the road, checking to see that no one had seen exactly who it was who had driven into the bench. "I'm calling Dr. Madison when we get home and he's going to tell me what's wrong with you."
"Mam—"
"Not another word, Reg."
Elton frowned and crossed his arms stubbornly.

With heavy steps Elton marched down to the room. He put his hand on his belly, noticing that slight curve that just hadn't seemed right on him. He had to tell Bernie. What exactly was he going to say?
He pushed the door open. He looked around, but there was no Bernie.
"Bernie?"
He looked around for evidence, a note, something that would let Elton know where Bernie had gone off to. Nothing.
He marched back up the stairs. After a quick search of upstairs he found no Bernie. He was about to complain to his mother, but she was on the phone. Best to not be in the room.
"Dr. Madison, hello," she began, "I understand—"
Elton made himself scarce, sitting in the living room.
"Afternoon, Reg."
Elton almost jumped out of his chair. "Derf**!" Elton turned to his stepfather. "Didn't see you there."
He laughed behind his paper. "I'm in disguise."
"Oh, I see."
"Bernie went to the stables, by the way."
Elton huffed. "He likes to spend more time with those horses than he does me. What, does he think they smell better than me? Lord knows."
"Why don't you play me a song, Reg?"
Elton only nodded and went to the piano. "Anything in particular?"
"Nope, just anything you'd like to play for me."
Elton started up, and was halfway through the song when his mother came in the room, white as a sheet.
"Shelia, is there a problem?"
Elton looked up from the piano, his song unfaltering.
"I just got off the phone with Reg's doctor."
"Is this about that stomach ache he's been having? It's not serious is it?"
Mrs. Farebrother bit her lip. "Reg, maybe you should tell him."
"Mam, how come I have to tell him?"
"Because, dear," she said sternly and warily, "it's your news."
"News?" asked the confused stepfather.
Elton stopped playing and turned around on the piano bench, staring at the floor. "I'm pregnant," he mumbled.
Derf laughed. "What was that? I don't think I heard you right."
Elton looked up, making eye contact. "I'm pregnant," he repeated clearly.
Derf looked to Mrs. Farebrother for confirmation. She nodded shortly.
"Pregnant? But—"
"Dr. Madison said it's possible and the test was done several times. Reg is definitely pregnant."
"You can't blame me for this," Elton said quickly. "I mean, it's not like this happens every day."
"No, Reg." Shelia's tone harshened as she continued. "But you may want to explain to me how you got pregnant."
"How am I supposed to know? I mean, I don't know how guys get pregnant. Maybe God had a hangover and forgot I'm a bloke."
"Reg, Dr. Madison explained that you are the baby's mother, and that the father was...an outside influence, shall we say. Explain that one to me."
"I don't know! I'm not a girl, I don't know how blokes get—"
"You got pregnant the same way any girl gets pregnant!" Shelia sat down across from Elton who was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "You told me you'd...stopped that foolishness."
Elton smiled nervously. "I...yeah," he explained.
As supervised by the God of Perfect Timing, Bernie stepped in the door at that point. As Elton's parents looked over at him to see who it was, any lights that were not already on snapped to highest brilliancy in a flash. "Hi?" Bernie asked, unsure of the attention.
"Hello, Bernard."
Uh oh. He was Bernard. Nothing was ever good when he was Bernard.
Nothing.
"Bernard, we'd just like to have a little chat," Shelia said, patting the chair in what may have been considered an inviting manner under other circumstances. "Have a seat."
Bernie swallowed, sitting down hesitatntly. This was bad...very bad.
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The Oddest Discovery