(Original characters/story)
@mediwhumpmay
“How-” Tate cleared his throat, his voice rough with a sore throat. “How far is it now?”
Troy craned his neck to look at the IV bag behind Tate’s bed. “Not even close.”
Tate sighed and closed his eyes. “Sorry. You can go. You don’t have to stay until they discharge me.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean it, I-”
“Kid, I’m staying. Sharon knows where I am. Julia’s in bed. I’ve got nowhere to be.”
Tate sighed.
Troy added. “I want to be here.”
“Bull.”
The room was quiet but the rest of the hospital outside was loud with beeps and talking and fast-paced steps, despite the fact it was close to midnight.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Troy asked.
“Is it close to halfway?”
Troy didn’t bother looking, but kept his eyes on Tate. “Not even close.”
Tate grimaced as he swallowed. “I don’t know. Didn’t think I was that sick.”
“Your blood sugar was low. When did you last eat?”
Tate sighed. “What are you? My dad?”
Troy waited.
Tate thought back to the past day. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Just half a bagel. He lowered his eyes to his hands in his lap. “I ate breakfast.”
“Jesus, Tate, what the hell? I can’t work with you if you aren’t taking care of yourself.” Troy stood up and ran his hand through his hair.
Tate touched the spot where the IV entered his arm, wincing. “I had a bad day.”
“All it takes is one bad day!” Troy’s face was red.
“I’ll do better.” Tears started in Tate’s eyes and he wiped them away. He really didn’t want to cry in front of Troy. Not after all this. Fainting and being taken to the hospital was humiliating enough.
“I’ll do better.” He repeated.
“I’m sorry.” Troy crouched down by Tate’s bed. “Hey, kid, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“You can go.” Tate wiped his eyes one more time. “It’s fine.”
Troy nodded. “I know. But I’m gonna stay.”
“It’s fine.” Tate mouthed, finger tracing the tape that held his IV in place.
“Hey.” Troy nudged Tate’s shoulder.
Tate looked up.
Troy nodded at the IV bag. “It’s almost halfway.”
Tate smiled and swallowed hard.
Troy put the back of his hand to Tate’s forehead. “Fever’s down.”
“Thanks, dad.” Tate rolled his eyes.
“I’m not old enough to be your dad, kid.”
“Well, you’re acting like one.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Pizza after this?” Tate asked, unsure of Troy’s response. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m starving.” Troy settled back into the angular hospital chair.
Tate smiled and leaned his head back against the bed. “Awesome.”
“You’re paying though.” Troy grunted.
Tate grinned.