Rorie O'Bannon (roriemccool) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2012-08-25 22:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | garret, rorie |
Wednesday September 25, 2019
Who: Garret and Rorie
What: Taking care of sicky Rorie
Where: Rorie's apartment
When: Evening
Word through the grapevine was that Rorie had been sent home from work on Tuesday morning and he hadn't been seen since. He had looked downright awful on Monday at lunch, so by Wednesday Garret decided to pay him a visit. After all, he didn't know how many people Rorie had around here except his daughter, and Elieen was probably banned from being around her sick, grouchy dad.
With a pint of hot soup, a small bottle of ginger ale and a bag of Milano cookies (because who didn't love those?), Garret knocked on Rorie's apartment door then phased his way through. "Delivery boy!" he announced with a small smirk. "I hope you've got some alternative way of paying me..."
Rorie had felt bad Sunday, worse Monday. Tuesday he had a fever and a headache from hell. Wednesday he felt like his body was on fire and was having small twitches in his face and limbs. His bites and scratches hadn't healed and didn't look good. All he did was keep rebandaging them. Lying in his bedroom in his boxers with the fan directly on him at high and the air on full blast, Rorie felt like he was in a sauna.
Hearing the knock, he planned on ignoring it and hoping he'd get some sleep. Nope. Not happening. When Garret's voice rang through the silent apartment, he slowly made himself open his eyes. The usual vibrant colors of grass green and golden honey that were mixed beautifully were fogged over. Huffing, he pushed himself up without answering and a minute later was shuffling to Garret, only he ran into the wall on the way first. Muttering about someone fucking with him and moving the door, he came in and saw Garret. He gave him a small wave before coming over. His skin was bright red like a sun burn and he had dark, dark circles and bags from no sleep since Saturday night. "Hey," he croaked.
Setting down the soup and soda, Garret puttered around the kitchen, hearing Rorie shuffling out from the bedroom. He was good at lifting peoples' spirits, and a sick Rorie was the kind of person who was moody times a thousand. But when he heard that croaked voice, and turned to look at his little patient, Garret almost dropped the bowl he'd grabbed from the cabinet. "Oh!" he gasped, starting. "Ahm I mean... um... How-how are you feeling... today?"
"Like hell." Looking the food, Rorie wasn't sure he wanted it or if he was starving. It was hard to tell. "What're you doing here?" Confused, even as he looked at the food. He had planned on riding this out in bed and sleeping when or if he could. "I gotta piss," he said before Garret could answer and shuffled off to the bathroom again. He took a moment to do his business before coming back out. "So. . . Why are you here again?"
Watching Rorie shuffle away, Garret had to take a moment to compose himself. Rorie looked atrocious, and he needed to be taken to a healer right now. But Rorie hated seeing doctors, and he hated healers, and he would have to be dragged kicking and screaming. It was harder to drag him anywhere since he became a lycan.
Sitting on the counter, Garret had to swallow down a grimmace as he saw Rorie emerge from the back room again. He looked really, truly awful, and preparing himself for seeing the sickie again didn't help any. "I um... I brought you soup, and ginger ale... and I think you really need to go to the infirmary. You looks like walking death."
Looking at the food, he nodded. Maybe he should eat something. At the mention of the infirmary though, he grimaced. "No. I'll just ride it out. It's just the flu," he said. It should have occured to him though, he shouldn't be getting the flu. In fact, he shouldn't really be sick at all unless it was a supernatural virus again.
"The flu," Garret said skeptically, giving Rorie the eye. It occurred to him that Rorie shouldn't get the flu, and the way that he looked seemed a lot more severe than just a flu. "Um, why don't you drink some ginger ale and maybe get a little blood sugar in your system, I'm gonna..." Sliding off the counter, Garret was at Rorie's side in two steps, grabbing the younger man's chin and tilting his head slightly. "What the hell is that?" he demanded, squinting at the angry red marks on Rorie's neck.
"Mkay. . ." Rorie said before his chin was moved. "What?" He grunted, pulling back. The bite was on his shoulder towards the back and looked worse. His hand was still bandaged as well as his shoulder. "They're just scratches," Rorie said as he pushed Garret's hands away. "What's the deal?" He was almost angry that Garret was here, looking at his injuries and concerned for him.
"You tell me what the deal is!" he replied, incredulous. "Rorie, your neck looks like your frickin veins are infected! What the hell happened to you??" The closer Garret got, the worse it looked beneath the collar of Rorie's shirt, which made him worry as to how bad it really was, since what he could see looked pretty damn bad.
"It's nothing!" Rorie yelled. "It's none off your damn business! So, piss off!" He was getting closer, almost in Garret's face like he would fight him. Growling, he turned and walked a few steps away. "It's just a fuckin' raccoon. I was changing a tire after I got a flat. I heard some noises in the woods by the road and it was just a raccoon. I spooked it out of a tree and it bit me slightly. That's it."
Taken aback by Rorie's sudden surge of aggression, Garret couldn't even think to smack the guy in the face. It occurred to him a few seconds later, but the moment had passed by then. "That's it? Rorie, I think it's infected. You need to see a healer and get this taken care of before you die! I mean have you seen yourself?? You look... well it's scary, looking at you. You're a lycan, you shouldn't get this bad from just a bite. Are... are you sure it was a raccoon?"
"I'll heal on my fuckin' own. I don't need to see anyone. I'm fine," Rorie growled, glaring at Garret. He didn't know why he was so mad at him for being concerned. He felt cornered slightly. "I'm fuckin' sure it was raccoon! I've got two goddamn eyes, Garret!" He snapped. Eileen had been staying with her mom pretty much all the time this week with Rorie being sick and it was probably a good thing since anything was setting him off.
Jaw set, eyes narrowed, it was really, really hard for Garret not to tell Rorie to stop being such a stubborn douchebag. But he didn't. Instead, he exhaled slowly, and sighed. "Okay," he said softly. "Fine. I'm sure you'll be fine, you just need to rest a bit. Will you at least lay down on the couch and have some soup?"
"I was resting," Rorie said. Rubbing at his eyes, he sighed as he visibly calmed down. Shuffling back to the food and drink, he sniffed at it. Judging whether or not he'd eat or if he could, Rorie picked up the soup and sipped it a bit. Mmmm. Tomato. Going to the kitchen he pulled out a bowl and poured it into that. "It's fucking hot in here," he mumbled before going to the freezer and opening it and standing in front of it to cool off.
With a surpressed grunt, Garret rubbed his forehead wearily. "Okay, yes," he admitted. "You were resting. You're right. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm worried about you. So... soup, and then you can lay down, and... we'll go from there." Garret went through the kitchen drawers until he found hand towels and grabbed one. Stepping around Rorie, he went into the freezer and pulled out a bag of corn, wrapping the towel around it. "Go lay down, we'll put frozen corn on you and you'll cool down really quickly. Okay?"
"Okay," Rorie nodded. He forgot about everything else and walked to his bedroom and laid down in the freezing room. It was like the freezer itself almost. He'd taken off his shirt and laid down on his back, but the streaky red lines from his shoulder were visible as the wrapped around to the front. Pulling the ice cold blankets up to his chest, he waited for Garret. The confrontation was over and he was tired again.
This wasn't good. Carrying the soup and soda and corn, Garret followed Rorie into the bedroom, frowning. It was cold in here, and while it might have felt good to Rorie now, but dropping his bpdy temperature too much would make him a whole lot worse. "Baby, this is... really... you can't have it this cold in here, you're sick. You need heat." Setting food onto the bedside table, he sighed. "Lift your head, we'll put corn behind it. That should cool you down some. Then some soup, then ginger ale."
"Too hot otherwise," Rorie grumbled. "Got my blankets, I'm fine. Just need to sleep it off." Of course he'd been trying to sleep it off all week. It had only gotten worse. The fever and slight delirium were making him off kilter and he thought he'd be fine with rest. Of course he kept getting confused and was too tired to try anything else. His overall hatred for anything medicine around him that wasn't Mandy was keeping him from going to the infirmary unfortuntely.
After getting Rorie set up with a cold compress, and setting up his soup and drink for easy access, and turning down the air conditioning in the room, Garret sat on the edge of Rorie's bed, looking down at him. "Hey," he said with a small, concerned smile. "You need anything else?"
"Sleep," Rorie snorted, sipping a bit of the soup after he was settled. "Thanks. . . For coming by. I didn't meant to get mad at you earlier. You know how I get when I'm sick. I'm all moody like I'm pmsing," he chuckled slightly, giving Garret a tired smile.
Brushing his hand over Rorie's hair, Garret bent low to press a cool kiss to his sweaty forehead. "I know," he whispered. "But it's okay. Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes, and I know you don't have many people here. I'll do the best I can for you. You just get some rest. Promise?"
"Kay. I will," Rorie said. "Could you turn the tv on so it's not so quiet in here?" He asked as he settled, somewhat comfortable enough to at least rest his eyes. He was getting to the point of just passing out from lack of sleep and he wasn't entirely sure that was a bad things.
Watching Rorie for a minute, Garret wanted to scoop him up and bring him to the infirmary, or call Wesley and drag him down here and get his healing on. But if Rorie did the same to him, Garret would have been furious. Rorie was an adult, and he got to make his own decisions, and Garret was going to respect that. Even if he totally, completely and wholeheartedly disagreed. "Goodnight, baby," he murmured, turning on the television and setting it low. He would have to check on Rorie again tomorrow. Or maybe later tonight.