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
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
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