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theatrical_muse | #271. Sick
Feb. 28th, 2009 12:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texas33forever#271: Talk about a time you were sick
Tim was once again back to watching the door of his hospital room. This time, there was no blank, restless hope that someone would walk through the door (or wheel, in Jason’s case) to come and keep him occupied. Hell, he had even gotten to the point where he welcomed someone coming in to lecture him because it distracted him from the fact he was basically hog-tied to a hospital bed. He hated it. Sure, he knew he felt like shit and that was generally the reason why people where in the pits of hospital hell, but he didn’t care.
His eyes narrowed as he counted to ten in his head. Last time Six had sprung him trying to get out and that was all a huge failure. He couldn’t handle this anymore. Hadn’t they fixed the problem that made him puke blood in the first place? He didn’t feel like he was being stabbed in the guts anymore, so as far as he was concerned, that was a huge plus. He was once again about to peel the stiff white blanket back from his legs to attempt another escape route when a swarm of blue jerseys appeared in the doorway. “Thought ya’ might be needin’ some distractions, Riggs,” one of Tim’s ex-Panthers teammates said with a smirk.
Tim’s blue eyes analysed them for a moment before his own smirk appeared. “What ya’ bring me, Howie? Porn? Booze?” he asked, unable to filter the hopeful edge from his tone.
Howie sniggered and nudged his mate beside him, who stepped forward proffering a brown paper bag in Tim’s direction. “Hoarded in a twelver, dude,” Pete said smugly and lifted a twelve pack of beer from the depths of the shopping bag. “We’ve come t’get ya’ outta this place. What’ya say? Jones’ havin’ a party as his place t’night. Though ya’ might needa lift. Panthers always look after their own, dude.”
Tim’s eyes couldn’t leave the pack of beer and his mouth was already starting to salivate in response. This was it. His Crossroads of Morality. Did he stay in hospital like a good little boy to keep going through hell of booze withdrawal while everyone tried to fawn over him and tell him how wonderful it would be if he gave up, or did he go and drown himself in enough Budweiser to feed a small country, the fuck with the inevitable hangover?
Maybe all of five seconds passed before Tim pulled himself up onto the side of the bed and shoved the blankets out of the way. “I’m in,” he drawled with another smirk, already reaching for his own Panthers jersey draped over his bag on the chair beside the bed. Yeah, he was leaving against medical advice, and so fucking what?
Jason/Six is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
itwontstopme and referenced with permission
Word Count | 459
Tim was once again back to watching the door of his hospital room. This time, there was no blank, restless hope that someone would walk through the door (or wheel, in Jason’s case) to come and keep him occupied. Hell, he had even gotten to the point where he welcomed someone coming in to lecture him because it distracted him from the fact he was basically hog-tied to a hospital bed. He hated it. Sure, he knew he felt like shit and that was generally the reason why people where in the pits of hospital hell, but he didn’t care.
His eyes narrowed as he counted to ten in his head. Last time Six had sprung him trying to get out and that was all a huge failure. He couldn’t handle this anymore. Hadn’t they fixed the problem that made him puke blood in the first place? He didn’t feel like he was being stabbed in the guts anymore, so as far as he was concerned, that was a huge plus. He was once again about to peel the stiff white blanket back from his legs to attempt another escape route when a swarm of blue jerseys appeared in the doorway. “Thought ya’ might be needin’ some distractions, Riggs,” one of Tim’s ex-Panthers teammates said with a smirk.
Tim’s blue eyes analysed them for a moment before his own smirk appeared. “What ya’ bring me, Howie? Porn? Booze?” he asked, unable to filter the hopeful edge from his tone.
Howie sniggered and nudged his mate beside him, who stepped forward proffering a brown paper bag in Tim’s direction. “Hoarded in a twelver, dude,” Pete said smugly and lifted a twelve pack of beer from the depths of the shopping bag. “We’ve come t’get ya’ outta this place. What’ya say? Jones’ havin’ a party as his place t’night. Though ya’ might needa lift. Panthers always look after their own, dude.”
Tim’s eyes couldn’t leave the pack of beer and his mouth was already starting to salivate in response. This was it. His Crossroads of Morality. Did he stay in hospital like a good little boy to keep going through hell of booze withdrawal while everyone tried to fawn over him and tell him how wonderful it would be if he gave up, or did he go and drown himself in enough Budweiser to feed a small country, the fuck with the inevitable hangover?
Maybe all of five seconds passed before Tim pulled himself up onto the side of the bed and shoved the blankets out of the way. “I’m in,” he drawled with another smirk, already reaching for his own Panthers jersey draped over his bag on the chair beside the bed. Yeah, he was leaving against medical advice, and so fucking what?
Jason/Six is
itwontstopme and referenced with permissionWord Count | 459
