A/N: Reviews, pretty please! :) -Dl
Chapter 7
Tim was nearly shaking with nervousness as he approached the group of guys that Adrian was standing with. He felt sick. He hoped distantly that he didn't blow it by throwing up all over Adrian's shoes when he tried to ask the man out. He heard what the man standing next to Adrian was saying to him as he drew nearer: "How about Thursday night? At seven? I know this great restaurant we can go to."
"Sounds good," Adrian replied. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"Do that. You have my number," the man indicated the napkin that Adrian was folding up with his long fingers.
Tim stopped in his tracks, his stomach sinking toward his shoes. Adrian had a date with someone ALREADY?! Oh, hell, why was he surprised? The man was gorgeous. Just about any gay guy would say yes if Adrian asked him out - well, except for him. While he didn't regret that first refusal, he DID regret making it clear to Adrian that they could only be friends. But he'd made his bed, and now he'd have to lie in it. He couldn't ask Adrian to cancel his date with somebody else, just because he'd finally changed his mind when it was too late. Tim moaned and turned away to head for the bar. Low tolerance for alcohol or not, he needed a BIG drink right now!
Tim leaned against the bar, peering blearily down at his empty glass. "Gimme another," he slurred to the bartender.
"I can't do that, Tim. You're drunk. I can't serve you anymore," he heard Jack's concerned voice say.
He scowled. "I wanna 'nother drink!" he shouted, loudly and petulantly.
"I'll call you a cab," Jack replied firmly.
"Tim? Are you okay?" he heard a familiar voice asked. He turned his head, squinting at the face of the tall man standing next to him at the bar.
"Ish you," he slurred. "Mishter Hottie. Go away. 'M shure you got lottts of other guysh to hu-hang on you."
"You're drunk," Adrian said incredulously.
"Yeah, he's really drunk. I've called a cab to take him home," Jack said to Adrian.
"NOT drunk! Jusht a wittle tipshy, thash all," Tim said stubbornly.
A sigh. "I'll take him home in the cab when it gets here," Adrian told the bartender.
"Thanks. I hate having to fight with drunks to get them in the cab," Jack replied gratefully.
"Not drunk," Tim muttered mutinously, hating everybody in the world right now. But especially Jack, who wouldn't give him another drink; and Adrian, who was hot and sexy and dating another guy. He scowled, slumping over at the bar. He sniffled, a deep depression descending on him. Life sucked. It really sucked. He wallowed in self-pity, feeling utterly miserable.
Finally, a strong hand gripped his shoulder and drew him to his feet. "Come on, Tim. I'm taking you home," Adrian's voice said.
He fought against the hold, but he was too weak. Adrian began to steer him out of the club. "Don' wanna go! Want 'nother drink!" he cried, tugging at the hold that Adrian had on his arm.
"You don't need another drink. You're drunk enough as it is," Adrian replied in exasperation. Tim found himself pushed into a cab, will he or nil he. The door closed behind him, and before he could fumble for the handle Adrian had already gone around and gotten into the other side.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked.
"Where do you live, Tim?" Adrian asked him.
"Not telling," he pouted.
"God, you're a lousy drunk," Adrian sighed. "Here," and before Tim could ward him off, he began to search his pockets.
"Hey!' he yelled, trying to fend off the hands.
"Stop it. Where is...Ah, here we go," Adrian liberated his wallet from his pocket, in spite of his efforts to stop him.
Adrian gave the driver his address, and the cab started up. Tim glared at his fellow passenger. "You suck," he snapped.
"Yeah, I'm sure that you think that right now. But I'm also sure you'll change your mind when you're sober," Adrian remarked dryly.
"No, I won't," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Why the hell did you get so drunk in the first place? Did somebody turn you down at the club?" Adrian asked in puzzlement.
"No," he slurred, his head falling almost to his chest. "Di-didn't get the chanshe t' turn me down..."
"What do you mean?" Adrian asked.
He didn't want to answer this question. His alcohol-fogged brain was squalling at him in warning, telling him to stay quiet. But Tim was a voluble drunk; he always had been. "You," he rasped. "Ish all yer fault."
"What's all my fault?" Adrian asked.
Tim blinked owlishly at him. "Wash gonna ashk you to go out with me," he began. "But you wash wish shome guy. He wash talkin' about yer date. Didn't wanna inter-inter...get inna way. Know I meshed up," he continued, his shoulders wilting. "Ashked you ta be friend. Shoulda tol' you that I wanted ta..." his head began to wilt forward, nodding as everything started to go dark.
"Tell me that you wanted to do what, Tim?" Adrian asked him urgently. hands shook him. "Answer me! What did you want to do?"
"Wanted ta be wish you," Tim muttered, his voice trailing off. "Not friends," he added, in a surprisingly clear voice. "Not friends..." he passed out, snoring loudly.
Adrian laid him back against the seat. He frowned as he glanced at Tim. It looked like Tim had changed his mind about their just being friends. And apparently he'd been about to tell Adrian and ask him out, but he'd heard Luke(the guy who had given Adrian his phone number) talking about the date they were going to go on. Being Tim...i.e., a nice guy...he'd backed off immediately and had gone to drown his sorrows instead.
He debated what to do. He liked Tim; he had since he'd first seen him in his brother's clinic. At the time, of course, he'd just thought that they'd go out to dinner, then have sex afterward. That was all he'd wanted. But now that he'd decided to try for a real relationship with somebody, why shouldn't that somebody be Tim? He'd have to call Luke in a bit and tell him that the date was off. And after Tim had sobered up, Adrian would ask him out yet again. This time, he was sure, Tim would say 'yes'...
Tim woke up slowly and awfully. His head hurt; his eyes hurt; his very BONES hurt! He groaned miserably, blinking eyelids open over eyes that felt like sandpaper. Dear God, what had happened? Sunlight lanced through the blinds and into his eyes, and he whimpered and threw an arm over them. He couldn't recall feeling this bad since...hell, he didn't think that he'd EVER felt this bad in his life. He could just die right now and that would be good.
A meow made him lift his arm a bit and squint. Abbott was sitting near his arm at the edge of his bed, watching him. The cat meowed again, insistently, demanding his morning feed at a volume that made Tim's head throb and his ears ring. "Abbott," he whispered. "Please be quiet. You're killing me."
The cat purred and butted his head affectionately against Tim's arm. "I think this is a hangover," Tim continued, with a mouth that felt like cotton wool was stuffed in it, "But I don't think I've ever had one this bad before. How much did I drink last night? And why?"
"You drank a lot," a familiar voice remarked from the doorway. "You told me you have a low tolerance for alcohol, yet I saw at least eight glasses in front of you when I found you at the bar. You were completely plastered."
Tim's eyes widened and flew to the doorway. He saw Adrian Freemont standing there, with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen in his hands. "I thought you might need these," he added, holding them up.
"What are you doing here?" He whispered.
"I brought you home last night when you were drunk as a skunk. I didn't want to leave you alone. I hope it's okay; I slept on your couch."
"It's okay," Tim said. "But you didn't have to do that..."
"I know I didn't. But friends should always take care of each other, right? Here. Take two of these and drink some water. You'll feel better," he carried the glass and the pills over to the bed.
Tim tried to sit up, but fell back groaning. "Oh, God," he said weakly.
Adrian set the glass on the nightstand and reached out to help him sit up. He tried hard to ignore the funny feeling in the pit of his stomach at the touch of that strong hand on his arm, but it wasn't easy. "Thanks," he said feebly as Adrian picked up the glass again and handed it to him.
"You're welcome. But I'm hoping that you'd do the same for me if I ever got that smashed."
"I can't believe I got that drunk. I'm an idiot," Tim said, lifting the pills to his mouth and putting them on his tongue. He swallowed three-fourths of the water in his glass, greedily, feeling almost immediately a little better. He'd been terribly dehydrated. "Oh, that hit the spot," he continued.
"When the pills kick in, we'll see about some breakfast," Adrian remarked. "Even if it's just dry toast to settle your stomach."
Tim couldn't even bear to think about food at the moment, though he was sure that his empty stomach would definitely want something in it when it finally settled down. For now, though, he put a hand to his forehead and slumped over in his bed. "I'm sorry for putting you to all of this effort, Adrian," he said pathetically.
"I told you it's all right. Besides, I've got to get you feeling better so we can go on our first date," Adrian remarked casually.
Silence. Then Tim's head flew up, and he grabbed it in both hands as he stared wide-eyed at the vet. "What?!" he yelped, then winced and squinted his eyes half-shut.
Adrian was smiling slightly, a somewhat wicked expression. "You told me last night that you wanted to be with me," he said to a shocked Tim.
"I WHAT?!" Tim cried, then wanted to cry at the lance of pain that shot through his skull. "Really?" he whispered feebly.
"Yes, really," Adrian replied. "You were so drunk that you honestly told me WHY you got drunk in the first place when I asked."
"Shit," Tim said in horror.
Adrian shook his head. "So, I guess you got drunk for nothing," he said.
"I just...you were going on a date with another guy...I didn't want to get in the way," Tim said.
"Don't you think that it should be me deciding whether you were getting in the way or not?" Adrian asked him impatiently. "Because in a choice of going out with that other guy or you, I chose you. I called him and told him I couldn't go out with him last night before I crashed on your couch. He wasn't happy, but it's not like you were breaking up an established relationship or something. Unless you WANT me to call him back and say I made a mistake, that we can still go out? It's up to you."
Tim felt Abbott butting his arm again, and reached out blindly to scratch the fat cat's ears. "No, I don't want you to do that," he said. "I may be selfish, but..."
"Sometimes selfish can be good. All right. We'll go out on our first real date tomorrow night. Okay?"
Tim found that he was smiling. It was more than okay, it was awesome! "Okay," was all he said aloud, though. Because that was enough.
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Chapter 7
Tim was nearly shaking with nervousness as he approached the group of guys that Adrian was standing with. He felt sick. He hoped distantly that he didn't blow it by throwing up all over Adrian's shoes when he tried to ask the man out. He heard what the man standing next to Adrian was saying to him as he drew nearer: "How about Thursday night? At seven? I know this great restaurant we can go to."
"Sounds good," Adrian replied. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"Do that. You have my number," the man indicated the napkin that Adrian was folding up with his long fingers.
Tim stopped in his tracks, his stomach sinking toward his shoes. Adrian had a date with someone ALREADY?! Oh, hell, why was he surprised? The man was gorgeous. Just about any gay guy would say yes if Adrian asked him out - well, except for him. While he didn't regret that first refusal, he DID regret making it clear to Adrian that they could only be friends. But he'd made his bed, and now he'd have to lie in it. He couldn't ask Adrian to cancel his date with somebody else, just because he'd finally changed his mind when it was too late. Tim moaned and turned away to head for the bar. Low tolerance for alcohol or not, he needed a BIG drink right now!
Tim leaned against the bar, peering blearily down at his empty glass. "Gimme another," he slurred to the bartender.
"I can't do that, Tim. You're drunk. I can't serve you anymore," he heard Jack's concerned voice say.
He scowled. "I wanna 'nother drink!" he shouted, loudly and petulantly.
"I'll call you a cab," Jack replied firmly.
"Tim? Are you okay?" he heard a familiar voice asked. He turned his head, squinting at the face of the tall man standing next to him at the bar.
"Ish you," he slurred. "Mishter Hottie. Go away. 'M shure you got lottts of other guysh to hu-hang on you."
"You're drunk," Adrian said incredulously.
"Yeah, he's really drunk. I've called a cab to take him home," Jack said to Adrian.
"NOT drunk! Jusht a wittle tipshy, thash all," Tim said stubbornly.
A sigh. "I'll take him home in the cab when it gets here," Adrian told the bartender.
"Thanks. I hate having to fight with drunks to get them in the cab," Jack replied gratefully.
"Not drunk," Tim muttered mutinously, hating everybody in the world right now. But especially Jack, who wouldn't give him another drink; and Adrian, who was hot and sexy and dating another guy. He scowled, slumping over at the bar. He sniffled, a deep depression descending on him. Life sucked. It really sucked. He wallowed in self-pity, feeling utterly miserable.
Finally, a strong hand gripped his shoulder and drew him to his feet. "Come on, Tim. I'm taking you home," Adrian's voice said.
He fought against the hold, but he was too weak. Adrian began to steer him out of the club. "Don' wanna go! Want 'nother drink!" he cried, tugging at the hold that Adrian had on his arm.
"You don't need another drink. You're drunk enough as it is," Adrian replied in exasperation. Tim found himself pushed into a cab, will he or nil he. The door closed behind him, and before he could fumble for the handle Adrian had already gone around and gotten into the other side.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked.
"Where do you live, Tim?" Adrian asked him.
"Not telling," he pouted.
"God, you're a lousy drunk," Adrian sighed. "Here," and before Tim could ward him off, he began to search his pockets.
"Hey!' he yelled, trying to fend off the hands.
"Stop it. Where is...Ah, here we go," Adrian liberated his wallet from his pocket, in spite of his efforts to stop him.
Adrian gave the driver his address, and the cab started up. Tim glared at his fellow passenger. "You suck," he snapped.
"Yeah, I'm sure that you think that right now. But I'm also sure you'll change your mind when you're sober," Adrian remarked dryly.
"No, I won't," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Why the hell did you get so drunk in the first place? Did somebody turn you down at the club?" Adrian asked in puzzlement.
"No," he slurred, his head falling almost to his chest. "Di-didn't get the chanshe t' turn me down..."
"What do you mean?" Adrian asked.
He didn't want to answer this question. His alcohol-fogged brain was squalling at him in warning, telling him to stay quiet. But Tim was a voluble drunk; he always had been. "You," he rasped. "Ish all yer fault."
"What's all my fault?" Adrian asked.
Tim blinked owlishly at him. "Wash gonna ashk you to go out with me," he began. "But you wash wish shome guy. He wash talkin' about yer date. Didn't wanna inter-inter...get inna way. Know I meshed up," he continued, his shoulders wilting. "Ashked you ta be friend. Shoulda tol' you that I wanted ta..." his head began to wilt forward, nodding as everything started to go dark.
"Tell me that you wanted to do what, Tim?" Adrian asked him urgently. hands shook him. "Answer me! What did you want to do?"
"Wanted ta be wish you," Tim muttered, his voice trailing off. "Not friends," he added, in a surprisingly clear voice. "Not friends..." he passed out, snoring loudly.
Adrian laid him back against the seat. He frowned as he glanced at Tim. It looked like Tim had changed his mind about their just being friends. And apparently he'd been about to tell Adrian and ask him out, but he'd heard Luke(the guy who had given Adrian his phone number) talking about the date they were going to go on. Being Tim...i.e., a nice guy...he'd backed off immediately and had gone to drown his sorrows instead.
He debated what to do. He liked Tim; he had since he'd first seen him in his brother's clinic. At the time, of course, he'd just thought that they'd go out to dinner, then have sex afterward. That was all he'd wanted. But now that he'd decided to try for a real relationship with somebody, why shouldn't that somebody be Tim? He'd have to call Luke in a bit and tell him that the date was off. And after Tim had sobered up, Adrian would ask him out yet again. This time, he was sure, Tim would say 'yes'...
Tim woke up slowly and awfully. His head hurt; his eyes hurt; his very BONES hurt! He groaned miserably, blinking eyelids open over eyes that felt like sandpaper. Dear God, what had happened? Sunlight lanced through the blinds and into his eyes, and he whimpered and threw an arm over them. He couldn't recall feeling this bad since...hell, he didn't think that he'd EVER felt this bad in his life. He could just die right now and that would be good.
A meow made him lift his arm a bit and squint. Abbott was sitting near his arm at the edge of his bed, watching him. The cat meowed again, insistently, demanding his morning feed at a volume that made Tim's head throb and his ears ring. "Abbott," he whispered. "Please be quiet. You're killing me."
The cat purred and butted his head affectionately against Tim's arm. "I think this is a hangover," Tim continued, with a mouth that felt like cotton wool was stuffed in it, "But I don't think I've ever had one this bad before. How much did I drink last night? And why?"
"You drank a lot," a familiar voice remarked from the doorway. "You told me you have a low tolerance for alcohol, yet I saw at least eight glasses in front of you when I found you at the bar. You were completely plastered."
Tim's eyes widened and flew to the doorway. He saw Adrian Freemont standing there, with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen in his hands. "I thought you might need these," he added, holding them up.
"What are you doing here?" He whispered.
"I brought you home last night when you were drunk as a skunk. I didn't want to leave you alone. I hope it's okay; I slept on your couch."
"It's okay," Tim said. "But you didn't have to do that..."
"I know I didn't. But friends should always take care of each other, right? Here. Take two of these and drink some water. You'll feel better," he carried the glass and the pills over to the bed.
Tim tried to sit up, but fell back groaning. "Oh, God," he said weakly.
Adrian set the glass on the nightstand and reached out to help him sit up. He tried hard to ignore the funny feeling in the pit of his stomach at the touch of that strong hand on his arm, but it wasn't easy. "Thanks," he said feebly as Adrian picked up the glass again and handed it to him.
"You're welcome. But I'm hoping that you'd do the same for me if I ever got that smashed."
"I can't believe I got that drunk. I'm an idiot," Tim said, lifting the pills to his mouth and putting them on his tongue. He swallowed three-fourths of the water in his glass, greedily, feeling almost immediately a little better. He'd been terribly dehydrated. "Oh, that hit the spot," he continued.
"When the pills kick in, we'll see about some breakfast," Adrian remarked. "Even if it's just dry toast to settle your stomach."
Tim couldn't even bear to think about food at the moment, though he was sure that his empty stomach would definitely want something in it when it finally settled down. For now, though, he put a hand to his forehead and slumped over in his bed. "I'm sorry for putting you to all of this effort, Adrian," he said pathetically.
"I told you it's all right. Besides, I've got to get you feeling better so we can go on our first date," Adrian remarked casually.
Silence. Then Tim's head flew up, and he grabbed it in both hands as he stared wide-eyed at the vet. "What?!" he yelped, then winced and squinted his eyes half-shut.
Adrian was smiling slightly, a somewhat wicked expression. "You told me last night that you wanted to be with me," he said to a shocked Tim.
"I WHAT?!" Tim cried, then wanted to cry at the lance of pain that shot through his skull. "Really?" he whispered feebly.
"Yes, really," Adrian replied. "You were so drunk that you honestly told me WHY you got drunk in the first place when I asked."
"Shit," Tim said in horror.
Adrian shook his head. "So, I guess you got drunk for nothing," he said.
"I just...you were going on a date with another guy...I didn't want to get in the way," Tim said.
"Don't you think that it should be me deciding whether you were getting in the way or not?" Adrian asked him impatiently. "Because in a choice of going out with that other guy or you, I chose you. I called him and told him I couldn't go out with him last night before I crashed on your couch. He wasn't happy, but it's not like you were breaking up an established relationship or something. Unless you WANT me to call him back and say I made a mistake, that we can still go out? It's up to you."
Tim felt Abbott butting his arm again, and reached out blindly to scratch the fat cat's ears. "No, I don't want you to do that," he said. "I may be selfish, but..."
"Sometimes selfish can be good. All right. We'll go out on our first real date tomorrow night. Okay?"
Tim found that he was smiling. It was more than okay, it was awesome! "Okay," was all he said aloud, though. Because that was enough.
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