Chance to Be King (7 page)

Thomas watched in obvious amusement as Eric ate his way through his plate, seconds, and then eyed up the remains on Thomas' plate. "Here," Thomas said as he pushed over his plate, "I can't bear to see you go hungry."

"Hey, I missed a few meals," Eric protested as he stuffed his mouth with baked potato.

 

"Sure," Thomas agreed.

Finally, Eric scraped around his plate to capture the last bit of butter and sat back with a satisfied sigh. "That was… Texas," he admitted with a grin.

"My momma and pops come from Texas,"

Thomas said as he cleared up the table and began to load the dishwasher. "All our meals were like that."

"I ought to be doing that." Although, really, Eric wasn't sure he actually wanted to stir from his seat. He made a token effort to get up from his seat but Thomas waved him off and he slid back down with a sigh of relief.

"Nah, sit back and enjoy being a guest. You can make me dinner tomorrow. I'm gonna be out most of the day at a meeting with my publisher."

"Me? Cook? Are you sure you want to risk it?" Eric asked incredulously.

"You can't be that bad," Thomas commented as he continued loading up the dishwasher. "You haven't killed yourself yet."

Eric laughed. "That's because I never cook. Take-out is a wonderful thing."

 

"You should be twice the size you are if you only eat junk. I can't believe you stay in such great shape."

"That's the beauty of a personal trainer. He puts me through hell but the end result means I can eat lots of… well, just lots."

"I'll bet," observed Thomas in a wry tone. "I can see I'm going to have to go food shopping soon if you and the dogs are gonna be my guests for much longer."

Eric stared at him in surprise. "Is that an invitation?" It hadn't occurred to him that this was anything other than an overnight stop until he could make arrangements to go back to LA. He saw embarrassment spreading across Thomas' face.

Thomas coughed as if he was trying to clear his throat. "Well, you can, if you want to. You don't have to rush away." He finished loading up the dishwasher and closed the door. There was a slight delay and then the familiar low whoosh of the water filling the machine sounded in the kitchen.

"Thanks. I hadn't really thought about it, to be honest. Haven't really got my head around the fire at all." Eric felt rather relieved that he didn't need to make an immediate decision.

Thomas poured out a brandy and placed it in front of Eric. "As I said, you don't have to think now. Drink this. We'll go and crash in front of the TV. I'm sure we can find a movie or two you haven't appeared in."

"I'll be asleep if I drink that," predicted Eric. "Besides, we've got the dogs to bathe, remember?"

Grimacing, Thomas said, "I'd forgotten 'bout that." He looked down at Toby and Millie, who were sleeping peacefully by the range. Although they looked almost dry, both men could smell the distinct aroma of stinky, damp dog fur.

"Where are we gonna do this?" Eric asked as he heaved himself to his feet, leaving the brandy untouched on the table. It could wait until later.

"Hmm… Backyard with the hose, I guess. I'll collect the towels and shampoo. You persuade the mutts outside."

"Leave me to do the hard job," grumbled Eric. But he obediently whistled at the dogs. They opened their eyes blearily to see what their dad was calling them for. "Come on, time for a b-a-t-h."

"You're actually spelling it out?" Thomas asked in astonishment.

Eric rolled his eyes at the other man. "They're dogs, dude. They haven't learned to spell." he explained patiently.

"You do realize they can't understand what you say, either."

 

"Ya think?"

 

Thomas turned to see both dogs slinking off quietly in the opposite direction, towards the stairs.

"Toby, Millie! Come back here!" Eric ordered sharply. The dogs stopped in their tracks and slunk back to sit in front of him with their ears down and their tails between their legs. "Yeah, they don't understand at all," he said sarcastically.

Thomas chuckled "You win," and left the kitchen to find the towels. "I saw that!" he yelled as he went out the door.

Eric hastily tucked his tongue back into his mouth and tried to look innocent. "Don't know what he's talking about," he said to the dogs. "Ba— um… dinnertime, guys."

"Does your momma know you lie like a devilchild?"

Eric ground his teeth as the mocking question echoed from the hallway. It wouldn't be a good thing to throttle the man giving him shelter, would it? "It's not lying. It's merely manipulating the truth. It will be dinnertime at some point."

"You keep telling yourself that, princess. The dogs and I know different."

Half an hour later, and leaving two damp, fresher-smelling, and distinctly disgruntled dogs in front of the range to dry out, Eric and Thomas crashed in front of the TV with their brandies and a bag of chips.

Stretching his legs out, Eric sighed tiredly as he sipped at his drink. He would have liked to go to bed but it seemed a little rude to desert his host so quickly.

Thomas gave him a knowing look. "Tired?"

"Yeah," admitted Eric, fighting off another yawn. "God knows why, considering I've only been up since three. You should be more tired than I am since you had less sleep."

"I am pretty shattered," agreed Thomas. "I'm out early tomorrow but you don't have to rush up." "Good," Eric grunted. "So, what are we going to watch?"

 

"One of yours?"

 

"Hell, no," Eric snorted "Not unless you want me to be watching from behind a cushion the whole movie."

"Like you're gonna be awake beyond the opening credits," Thomas scoffed as he rummaged through his DVD collection. He eventually emerged triumphant with a battered copy of a film. "Heh! What about Brucie?"

"A classic."

Thomas popped it in the DVD player and they settled back to watch Bruce Willis save the world from Alan Rickman for about ten minutes. Before the hero laid eyes on the villain both men were fast asleep, snoring gently in their respective corners of the sofa.

Chapter 4

A pounding headache disturbed Eric's sleep. He really didn't want to open his eyes. Eric wasn't sure if he was going to be sick or not but he knew he needed to use the bathroom. Reluctantly, he opened one eye to discover he'd spent the night on the sofa; he was lying flat out upon with a blanket covering him.

Sitting up gingerly, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the change in position caused his head and stomach to go into free-fall.

"'Ric, you okay, dude?"

From beyond the pain, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder and opened his eyes a fraction to a worried look from his host. Eric's vision now had sparkling lights dancing around the edges.
Bugger. Gonna be a bad one.

"Bad headache," he gasped out. Even moving his jaw seemed to hurt.

The pressure on his shoulder increased slightly, then vanished as Thomas said softly, "Hold on." Eric wasn't going anywhere, full bladder or not.

A minute later, Thomas was saying, "Here, take these."

Eric opened his eyes a little to see a glass of cold water and a couple of tablets in Thomas' hand. He took them and swallowed them down, working hard to suppress his stomach's desire to hurl them straight back up in protest.

"Okay?" Thomas asked after a minute.

Eric nodded, then wished he hadn't as the crazy dancing lights started in his head. "Let's get you into bed."

Eric let Thomas help him up and they walked slowly to the stairs.

 

"Dogs." He knew they'd need a walk by now. Thomas' arm tightened around his waist. "I'll look after them, don't worry."

They continued up the stairs, one agonizing nail hammering into his head at a time. By the time they reached the top, Eric had broken out into a cold sweat and with each step he had to fight hard to control the nausea. Thomas guided him into his bedroom and towards the bed.

"Need to pee," he gasped out.
"Okay."

Thomas helped him into the bathroom saying, "I'll be outside if you need me."

"I'm not that helpless," Eric protested, and then belied his words by doubling over and heaving violently.

"It's not just a normal headache, is it?" Thomas observed when the heaves subsided for a moment. He sat on the floor with Eric, rubbing his back gently.

Eric was draped miserably around the bowl, waiting for round two. "'S migraine. Normally I take pills but they went in the fire. Just didn't think yesterday."

"Shit. You need to get more?" Thomas got up to get Eric a drink of water. He handed him the glass and sat back down again, his large warm hand resting comfortingly on Eric's back.

He sipped at the drink, grimacing at the taste of vomit in his mouth. "Need my prescription," Even trying to think in coherent sentences wore him out. God it was nice to have someone to help.

"I'll get my doctor out here. She can give you something until we can contact your own doctor."

Round two arrived with a vengeance and it was several minutes before Eric could say, "'S okay. You don't need to do that."

"Already done I'm afraid. I called her when I realized you were ill. She'll be here in about half an hour."

"But…"
"But nothing. Come on, you need to get into bed instead of lying on the cold floor. I'll get you a bowl."

"Need a piss first." Then Eric realized what had happened. "Oh… uh…"

"It doesn't matter, Ric, honestly," Thomas' voice sounded reassuring rather than annoyed, but as Eric sat on the floor in the borrowed clothes he'd vomited over and pissed in he wondered if he could feel any more humiliated. He could hear the sound of water running, then Thomas' hands were on his arms.

"I know this is probably the last thing you feel like, but have a quick shower to clean up."

Eric nodded wearily; he was too tired and sick to argue. He got to his feet and stripped off the soiled clothing, figuring as his dignity was already shredded, nakedness was not an issue.

Thomas didn't seem to pay any attention anyway, muttering something about getting fresh towels.

The water beating down hurt his head but he managed a quick shower, leaning against the cold tiled wall for support as he washed his body. He emerged to find a large, fluffy towel waiting for him and a pair of boxers; Eric's own, from the night of the fire. In the bedroom he discovered the drapes were closed and the bed turned down. Eric lay down carefully on the cool sheets, noticing with relief that the nausea had eased. The disco lights behind his eyelids were less vibrant as well, and the pain had dulled a little. It would be a while before he'd discover whether he was over the worst or in the lull between the storms.

"'Ric, the doctor's here." Thomas' soft, deep voice penetrated the light doze he'd fallen into. He struggled to open his eyes again, wincing as the light from a gap in the drapes hit his eyes. Thomas murmured an apology and pulled them tighter together.

"Hey, Eric, I'm Dr. Anthony. How are you doing?" He saw a soft, motherly-looking woman smiling at him.

"Better now that I've been sick," he said hoarsely, his throat sore from vomiting.

The doctor's fingers rested lightly on his pulse. "Do you think you're going to be sick again?" she queried.

"Not sure."

"Thomas tells me you're on regular medication for these migraines. Can you remember what you're taking?"

It was a struggle to concentrate but Eric managed to remember his daily medication and told her what pills he took and how many.

"That's fine," she said encouragingly, "And what triggers these attacks?"

"Many things, but stress mostly. I could feel one coming on before the fire but the shock and then forgetting I needed the tablets…"

She nodded, "That would do it. I'll give you something to ease the nausea and the headache, and then a prescription for your migraine medication. Thomas can get that filled this morning."

Eric tried to sit up. "But your meeting…?"

Instantly Thomas was at his side, easing him back against the pillows. "It's not an issue. I postponed it for a few days."

"I'm so sorry…" Eric began.

Thomas' hand stroked his head. "Nothing to be sorry for. I wasn't going to leave you like this. Besides, it wasn't important."

Eric lay back against the pillows. Even that brief movement had set his head pounding and the churning of his stomach in free-fall again.

The doctor looked at him shrewdly. "I think we might need that bowl, Thomas."

Not a moment too soon the bowl was put under his nose and he retched weakly. There was very little left to bring up and the action just left him sore and wrung out. He ended up tucked against Thomas' chest as the nausea subsided, wishing someone would put him out of his misery once and for all.

His eyes were closed and he was listening to the thump of Thomas' heart when he felt a sharp prick of pain in his arm.

"I've just given you a shot for the sickness and the pain," Dr. Anthony said as she dabbed the injection site. "This will help you sleep it off.

"Thank you," he whispered, just wanting to fall into oblivion. Eric knew he should move out of Thomas' arms but he was so damn tired… he'd just rest for a minute.

A minute turned into several hours judging by the muted light in the room. Eric came back to consciousness slowly and unwillingly, afraid of a repeat performance with the nausea and headache.

He opened his eyes with some difficulty as they were crusty, and he was conscious of just how rank he must be despite the earlier shower. A movement out of the corner of his eyes attracted his attention. Toby was slinking up to the bed as if he was worried about being reprimanded.

"Hey, boy," he greeted his dog, stroking his ears and paying him attention for the first time in an age.

"You're awake. How're you doing?"

Eric looked up to see Thomas standing over him, a worried look on his face. "Better." He licked his lips, aware of how dry his mouth was. Thomas leaned across and, taking a drink from the nightstand, helped him moisten his mouth. It even had a straw so he wouldn't have to raise his head too much. He managed to take a little water but then he had to lie back; even that small effort made his head pulse in time to his heartbeat.

Thomas was watching him closely. "Do you want to be sick again?"

 

"No, just so tired."