Fic: Midnight Emergencies
Title: Midnight Emergencies
Author: shana
Dedication: To liroa15 for being the most amazing beta and doctor_denmark for being the voice of reason with Taylor Hall....
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. Also, not true. I made it all up.
Pairing: implied Anton Lande/Magnus Paajavri, unrequited Taylor Hall/Jordan Eberle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6084
A.N:
It's weird to hear noises other than snoring or moaning coming out of Ebs's room in the middle of the night. Ebs has a girl with him sometimes; Taylor never sleeps well on those nights. He always has to stop himself from imagining what dumb faces Jordan's probably making to go with his stupid-sounding moaning. Ebs says he doesn't pick up more girls because of the team's image, but Taylor thinks Ebs is full of shit. He can't really call Ebs on it because he's using the same excuse to cover the fact he seriously wants to get with Ebs, even if it's only for a night. He covers that with the fact they're almost dead last for the second straight year, and he needs to work on his maturity, hockey, and life skills. Or whatever other bullshit he can think of when someone asks. No one needs to know he wants to get it with his best friend.
Even if he didn't know Ebs had stayed in, Taylor would've doubted Ebs was having a good time. The noises coming from behind the closed door are ridiculously unsexy.
They're really more the hungover noises he hears some mornings after a big victory, but he knows Ebs wasn't drinking last night because they stayed in. All they did was play NHL 12 and eat KD and stuff about which they're never telling the team's nutritionist. If Ebs has a secret stash of chocolate on his room, Taylor's going to be pissed.
That's the sort of thing good line mates and roommates are supposed to share.
He pushes the door to Ebs's room open and peers inside. It's messy, but not as bad as he was expecting. There's a pile of laundry in the corner, and there's not enough money in the world to get Taylor to touch it. He's pretty sure he sees the corner of shirt Petry vomited on like three weeks ago on their way home from a bar. Not enough money in the world, but it would make a good drunk dare for when Petry, Nugent-Hopkins, Maggie, and Lander are over for a Call of Duty marathon, and it would embarrass Ebs.
Ebs is in his bathroom, the lights are on, the door's open, and he can see Ebs on the floor. Ebs looks like shit. He's leaning over the toilet, and it sounds like he's heaving up everything in his stomach. It's a disgusting sound, and it might even be what woke Taylor up. He's blaming Ebs anyway.
He leans on the doorframe and waits for Ebs to take a momentary break from puking his guts up to speak. "Man, that's nasty. You want a water or something? That's got to taste like ass in your mouth."
Ebs nods, and Taylor can see him better now that he's got a clean line of sight into the bathroom.. Ebs looks rough. He's all pale, and Taylor's pretty sure he just saw Ebs's hands shake just a little. He also looks like someone kicked his puppy.
"Okay, dude. I'm only doing this once once though, so don't get used to it and don't die when I'm in the kitchen, yeah?"
Ebs flips him the bird, but it's a weak response, and Taylor can clearly see that his heart isn't in it.
"Whatever, man. I don't care if you're dying, you can do better than that."
"Fuck off, Hallsy. Not dying."
"Dude, you can't see yourself. If you could, you'd be chirping yourself."
"Fuck yourself, Hallsy. It's too late and my throat hurts too much to be fucking doing this with you."
"That's not a nice thing to say to the guy who's going to hold your hair out of the way while you puke, Ebs. I should make you get your own water."
Ebs shoots him a glare, groans, and turns back to the toilet.
Taylor takes that as his cue to head to the kitchen, and he's proud of himself because he doesn't stop to throw up in the kitchen sink as he listens to Ebs retch. His stomach is rolling in sympathy, and it's a lot like when the first guy starts hurling during a bag skate. Everyone starts to feel sick.
The noises have stopped by the time he heads back into Ebs's washroom, thank God.
"Man, what the fuck did you even eat to still be hurling? How much? I mean you're kind of short, so you've got to be done." Taylor hands the water over while he chirps Ebs. They both know he's just trying to lighten up the mood.
Ebs cracks the water bottle open with a practiced flick of his wrist, and Taylor can't help but wonder, despite how inappropriate the situation is.
"Fuck off, Hallsy. I was fine when I went to sleep, but I woke up feeling too hot, and I was kicking my blankets off when I suddenly felt like I was going to hurl."
"Well, you're not fine and stop talking. Haven't you heard silence is golden? Do you think I should like call my mom and see if she knows anything?"
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Don't call your mom. I bet it's just something I ate. Your mom is two hours ahead of us; it's the middle of the fucking night for her."
"So? She's still my mom. She like has to answer the phone in cases of emergency or whatever."
"You've obviously been hit one too many times, Hallsy. I'm feeling better, and your mom will be pissed if you wake her up."
Ebs's is barely done saying he's fine before he's grabbing for the toilet again. Taylor secretly thinks it's karma for lying, but he's worried that the three or four swallows of water Ebs managed to drink are coming back up. He's going to be dehydrated soon.
Worse yet, once Ebs is done throwing up the water, he moves on to some seriously painful-sounding dry heaving.
"Ebs, you're such a fucking lair. I'm calling."
"Call mine. She's in Calgary. It's better."
"No way. Imagine it. It'd be super weird and totally awkward. I totally don't want to your mom to hate me. Besides, she totally got me a better Christmas present."
"Dude..." Ebs stops because he's busy throwing up again, and that's gotta hurt.
"Shut up, and don't move. I'm not cleaning up your puke. That's way too much to ask."
"Non-beauty," Ebs groans.
"I'm about to get in trouble and save your life," Taylor counters. "I'd say that's pretty beauty."
Ebs sends a look Taylor's pretty sure should be registered as a weapon his way. He decides discretion is totally the better part of surviving Ebs when he's pissy and steps back into Ebs's room. Then he realizes his phone is still in his room, and he feels like a complete idiot. He tries to be quick so Ebs doesn't realize he's trying to call his mom without his phone.
Ebs isn't going to die or anything while he does this, but he still wants some answers and maybe to hear his mom say that Ebs isn't going to die.
His mom answers after three rings, and he's kind of glad he doesn't have to call more than once and wake everyone up for this.
She sounds tired and cranky though, which isn't what he wants. "Why are you calling so early? Or is it so late? What time is it even, Taylor?"
"Just past one here, I think."
"Taylor, honey, you know I love you, but why in Heaven's name would you think it's was a good idea to call at after three in the morning? Are you dying? Have you suddenly lost all the limited good sense you had?"
"No, Mom, but Ebs is. Like he's throwing up and can't even keep water down."
"Then he's sick, Taylor. Call me back at a decent hour."
"Mom, please," Taylor whines; he knows he whines. He's been using the same whine since he was five and wanted to stay out on the ice longer. It stops her from hanging up, and Taylor has to stop himself from celebrating like he just scored a goal.
"Give him watered down juice to try to keep his sugars up, Taylor. But make sure you wait half an hour from the last time he throws up, okay? His stomach needs to settle. And only give him a couple sips at a time," she pauses. "Do you need to write this down, honey? I don't want you calling me back because you forgot something."
"No, Mom. I'm paying attention. I swear. Wait half an hour and give him watered down juice, but only a little at a time."
"Okay. After the first time, wait ten minutes, and then give him some more. If he doesn't throw up drinking the juice for an hour, he's through the worst of it. It's probably something he ate."
"We ate the same things, and I'm not sick."
"Well, once you get him to stop throwing up, put him to bed, and let him sleep. If you're not sick, he's probably got a stomach flu or something like that. You should check to make sure he doesn't have a fever."
"Okay, Mom. I'll check."
Taylor heads back into the bathroom. "Dude, let me feel your forehead. Mom needs to know if you have a fever."
"Fuck off, Hallsy."
"I'm serious, Ebs."
It takes a moment, but Ebs totally gives in and lets Taylor lay the back of his hand against Ebs's forehead.
"He's not warm or anything. He does feel kind of sweaty and gross if that helps?" Taylor asks his mom.
"Okay, honey. Let me talk to Jordan for a moment," his mom basically commands.
He pokes Ebs's in the shoulder a couple times to get his attention. "Mom needs to ask you some questions to figure out what's wrong with you," he says and then he passes the phone over.
He's not surprised when Ebs starts by apologizing for waking her up. Ebs has always been a goody two-shoes. He answers whatever questions his mom has with short answers. A lot of yes and no, and a couple times where he tells her what Taylor already knows, that Ebs just woke up and felt warm and like he was going to throw up.
Finally, Ebs hands the phone back and rests his head on the toilet seat, which is really gross, but kind of okay because Ebs looks really gross too.
"Okay, honey. It definitely sounds like a stomach flu, especially since you don't have it. Give him the juice, make sure he doesn't throw up, and call your team doctors in the morning. And Taylor?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"If he throws up six times in the next hour, you call 911 because he's going to be dehydrated and whatever's going on isn't just a simple stomach flu. I don't care if he doesn't want to go. Make him, okay?"
"Yeah, Mom, I will. And thanks, you know, for not hanging up and all the help." He's rubbing the back of his head, and he knows that he probably looks pretty silly.
"Taylor, do you think you can manage this?"
Taylor blinks. He feels like he's about ten steps behind his mom. "I can manage juice, Mom."
"I'm not talking about the juice, honey. I know you care about Jordan. He's your best friend. Do you think you can manage seeing him sick like this? It's always hard to see someone you love sick."
"Mom," Taylor whines automatically, then he's quiet for a moment while he actually thinks about her words. "I think I can manage. It's not like I'm in love with him or anything, and I'd like to keep it that way. He's my best friend, and that's way too important. So, yeah, I can manage. It's just juice, after all. Besides, he's really gross looking right now."
"If you say so, honey. Try to stop panicking though. It's not helping either of you. Honestly, if you want to keep it a secret, you're going to have to calm down."
"Mom, seriously, there's nothing there. I just really don't know what to do with sick people."
"Give him the juice. Sit with him. Talk to him. And, honey, don't call me again unless you're heading to the hospital. It's past three in the morning here, and I'd like to get some sleep."
"Thanks, Mom."
"You're welcome, honey. You should consider telling him, even though you're being dumb about it. Not tonight, but soon. Jordan's a nice young man. It's not going to ruin anything between you two."
"Moooom," Taylor whines.
"Just think about it, Taylor. And remember, if he throws up six times in an hour, what are you supposed to do?"
"Call 911, and take him to the hospital."
"Good. You're both going be just fine."
"Thanks, Mom."
Taylor swallows heavily and runs his hands through his hair before he goes back into the bathroom to check on Ebs.
"How are you feeling right now? Like you're about the throw up?" he asks, leaning on the door frame.
Ebs isn't leaning on the toilet any more. He's curled up into a tight ball on the floor instead, looking miserable.
"What is it, Ebs?" he asks, walking into the bathroom to crouch down beside his teammate.
"Nothing, dude. Cold now."
"I'll grab your blanket. I don't want you leaving the bathroom. I remember my mom complaining about cleaning vomit off the carpets and our beds. So not doing that. And. I mean, do you even have extra sheets?"
"You suck, Hallsy."
"You only wish you could suck right now, Ebs. Green really isn't your colour."
Ebs just flips him the bird again, which makes sense. Talking's got to hurt.
"Whatever, man. I need to go get you some juice."
"Juice?" Ebs sounds confused. Apparently, Mom didn't fill him in on the whole plan.
"Mom says you have to drink watered down juice for the sugars. It's supposed to be like every ten minutes for an hour to prove you're not going to keep hurling. Then you go back to bed and sleep whatever the hell this is off."
"Doesn't make sense."
"Ebs, my Mom said to do it. Beside the fact she's completely awesome, you just don't argue with my mom, okay?"
"Your mom's not even here."
"She's my mom, Ebs. She knows this shit. Just stay here with your damn blankets, and let me find the juice."
"Yeah, fine, whatever. Feel better anyway."
Taylor snorts and is saved from saying something stupid by having to fight with Ebs's comforter.
"Freak," Ebs calls out to him.
He takes a moment to reply. "I'm a freak? I'm not the one who's got his blankets so twisted up they're like impossible to get off."
It's a good deflection. Ebs is too busy being sick to realize he's only like this because he's worried. He's pretty sure Ebs would chirp him for forever for being this worried over a little stomach bug. It's not like it's appendicitis or anything. The team is still giving him shit for that one too.
He does a mental inventory of their fridge as he wrestles with Ebs's comforter. It's heavy and big and awkward, but it should keep Ebs plenty warm. And he can send it out for dry cleaning if Ebs pukes on it.
He drops the comforter on top of Ebs, who seems content to make a little nest out of it.
"How long since you threw up last? Mom said I had to wait half an hour so you didn't throw it all right back up before you start asking why it matters."
"Don't know. Twenty minutes. Jesus, Hallsy, Didn't look at the clock."
"Fine. We'll wait fifteen more minutes. I'm going to look for juice. Maybe we have some hidden behind all the take out containers and that junk."
The fridge is every bit as bad as he was expecting. It's a wasteland of takeout containers with milk, some veggies, peanut butter, and a couple other jars in the back that he's not sure what are. There's no juice though. How the hell do they not have juice? He opens a couple cupboards and finds Gatorade. Can he use Gatorade? It should do the same thing, but his mom said juice. He should probably stick to juice. How the hell is he supposed to make Ebs drink watered down juice when they don't have any?
He could go get some, but that would be a totally non-beauty move. He's starting to panic, just a little, when he remembers that Maggie is actually in the building. Maybe Maggie has juice. If he doesn't, maybe Taylor can bully him into getting some. Or he can make Maggie sit with Ebs and listen to him puke. Maggie's sort of got to do one or the other because it is for Ebs, after all.
He hits Maggie's number before he can reconsider and start feeling like a dumb ass. It rings like four hundred times, which makes him nervous. What if Maggie doesn't answer? What if Anton answers? What the hell is he supposed to say to one of his best friend's on-and-off boyfriend?
"Vad?" an irritated voice asks. It's hard to tell exactly who it is, and Taylor starts to sweat.
"Maggie?" he tries, hesitant. This is going to be sort of really awkward if it's Anton.
"Ja." There's a moment of silence and the sound of rustling sheets comes over the line. Maggie's obviously getting out of bed so he doesn't wake Anton up. "What did you need at like 1:45 in the morning, Hallsy? You better not need me to come pick you up. Get a cab."
"Do you guys have any juice in your apartment?"
"What?"
"Juice, Maggie. Like apple or orange or even cranberry. That sort of stuff."
He can hear Maggie groan. "You call now for juice? Are you drunk? Stupid? What, Hallsy?"
"No. Ebs is busy trying to puke up everything he's ever eaten. I called my mom, and she said to make him drink juice. Only we don't have any juice. I thought you guys might."
"What do you want me to do about this problem?"
"Bring some juice, Maggie. It's not even the weirdest thing I've asked you to do, and you're just upstairs, so deal with it."
"Fine. I will think about it. You called your mother?"
"Shut up. You'd call your mom too if it was like Anton or Linus, and you know it. Second, it's not that hard. You walk some juice to our apartment."
"I'm not your servant, Hallsy."
"I'm not asking for me, dumb ass. I'm asking for Ebs. I mean, you can come sit with him and listen to him hurl, and I'll go buy some fucking juice if it matters that much to you..." he stops because he hears Ebs voice. Ebs is saying his name, and he sounds all weak and shit. "Look, I can't stand around and argue with you, Maggie. Ebs is saying my name, and it sounds like he's dying. Just bring the fucking juice, okay?"
"Seriously?" he hears Maggie ask, but it's sort of distant because he's already lowered to phone and started back to the bathroom.
Ebs is leaning against his toilet, looking a little like a weak kitten and a lot like death. His head is resting on the toilet seat again, which is still all kinds of nasty.
He sets his phone down, and it's not like he means to leave Maggie on the line. It's just that he stops thinking about it and starts worrying about whether or not he should be taking Ebs to the hospital.
"You look like shit, man. Like even more than before."
"Water," Ebs groans.
"Yeah, no. Not happening, Ebby. You're gonna throw it right back up and that'll be even grosser, and Mom said nothing until you stop throwing up for a whole half an hour."
"Need to get the vomit taste out of my mouth, asshole," Ebs mutters.
"Fine. But it's like a rinse and spit only," Taylor mutters, feeling justified in his position. His mom said not to drink anything for a half an hour. He feels unreasonably angry. He's not even sure with whom he's angry: Ebs for being sick, the world for letting Ebs get sick, himself for not being able to do anything, Maggie for giving him shit...
Maggie could be laughing at him for all he knows, but he doesn't reach for his phone again until he's seen Ebs spit out the water. He looks at it to find out Maggie's hung up on him.
Asshole.
He's contemplating phoning Maggie back to bitch him out, or better yet, phoning and waking Anton up just to get Maggie in shit, when his phone starts ringing. He looks at it, and it's Maggie. He shoots Ebs a covert look, but it's not like Ebs notices. He's got his blanket up over his shoulders, and he's gazing into the toilet bowl like he's fallen in love with it.
He steps back into Jordan's room and hits answer.
"I am standing outside your door with a carton of orange juice. Open the door. I am not going to stand here looking foolish for long. You have one minute, Hallsy."
Taylor hurries towards the door. He's pretty sure Maggie's joking, but it's hard to tell when he sounds so cranky. He opens the front door to find Maggie in his pyjama pants, feet shoved into untied shoes, with an unzipped jacket thrown over top. He looks like... Taylor's actually not sure what he looks like, but he's not going to chirp Maggie 'cause he's still got the juice Taylor needs to force down Ebs's throat.
The juice is rudely thrust at him. "This is what you need, ja?"
Taylor nods.
"Good." Maggie turns away. "I am going back to bed. I wish to sleep some before practice in the morning."
"Shit," Taylor mutters. "Fuck, practice."
Maggie laughs at him and heads for the elevator.
"Thanks, Maggie," Taylor calls down the hall, trying not to be loud and wake their neighbours. Maggie must hear because he makes some weird hand gesture in response.
He stops in the kitchen for a glass and another bottle of water because he's not sure about making Ebs drink tap water. Ebs can be kind of a health nut.
He sets it all up on the bathroom counter, mixes the juice and the water together, and settles in to wait. He's got like twenty more minutes before he can make Ebs drink it.
Ebs looks up somewhere around minute fifteen, reassuring Taylor he's not actually a zombie and sees the juice.
"We don't..." he starts, and Taylor cuts him off because really now isn't the time for Ebs's dumb voice.
"Maggie brought it down from his and Anton's place. Apparently, in Sweden, they teach you to have juice on hand for when your teammates spend all night hurling their guts out."
Ebs groans at the horrible joke.
"You know you love me, dumb ass. I mean, what's not to love? I'm handsome, I've got a great personality, I play hockey, and I'm awesome. Of course you love me."
Ebs just looks at him with his most shocked stare. Finally, he musters up one word. "Crazy."
"Yes, I know you're crazy for me, Ebs."
All that gets him is the middle finger, so Taylor lets Ebs go back to being miserable in peace because he is awesome.
They sit, mainly in silence, but Taylor does try to liven it up a few times and make sure that Ebs hasn't fallen asleep. If Taylor's going to have to be up to do this, Ebs isn't going to get to sleep either. Besides, sleeping like this would totally fuck up Ebs's back.
Finally, it's a half an hour since Ebs's last threw up everything he hasn't eaten today, and Taylor can thrust the glass at him.
"Drink this, but you know, slowly, and only a couple sips," he commands, and Ebs's shoots a tired glare his way. As glares go, it's not very effective.
"Shouldn't have called Maggie," Ebs manages after he hands the glass back.
"Mom said you hand to drink, okay? I'm not having anyone say I made you worse or something."
"Calling?"
"He was just upstairs, dude. Makes sense."
Ebs's rolls his eyes and waves a hand at Taylor in a weak motion.
Taylor grins. "I'm not catching any more shit from Renney because I didn't take care of you."
Ebs chuckles, remembering their coach asking how Taylor could have missed the signs of appendicitis, but he stops like right away, and it becomes a drawn out groan. Ebs squeezes his eyes closed tightly.
"Don't laugh then, dumb ass," Taylor suggests helpfully.
They sit for a few more minutes, and then Taylor shoves the glass at Ebs's. "Time for you to drink again. You manage an hour of not throwing up, and I get to go back to bed."
Ebs's doesn't do anything. He looks completely exhausted.
Taylor settles onto the floor with Ebs and talks about lines, the power play units, and what they should be doing with their penalty kill to keep it from going to shit. Ebs nods or shakes his head every once in a while. Actual conversation seems beyond him now.
Ebs fights with his blanket a lot. It's like he's too hot and cold in turns. They manage forty minutes of small sips of juice, Taylor talking, and Ebs fussing with his blankets like a little kid. Taylors starts to think they're going to done with this whole ordeal soon. He can drag Ebs back to his bed and get some sleep so he's not useless at practice.
Then Ebs grabs for the toilet.
Taylor mentally curses, and gives Ebs the water bottle to rinse his mouth out. Then Taylor starts mentally counting down again. Practice tomorrow is going to kill him. Another hour to get through before he can sleep.
Looking at Ebs, Taylors pretty sure Casper's got more colour than his line mate. Ebs's looks like he's been on a binge for the last couple days, rough and nasty.
Ebs only makes twenty minutes before he's throwing up again this time. Taylor sighs a little, and Ebs shoots him an apologetic look.
"Don't worry about it, dude. You'd do the same for me."
"You should go get some sleep," Ebs grits out, and Taylor sort of laughs hollowly at him.
"You still look like you're two seconds away from choking on your own puke, Ebby. I'm not going anywhere, and you can just deal with it. I'm not letting you die. The guys would never let me live it down."
Taylor refuses to get his hopes up when Ebs makes it back to forty minutes. He's bracing himself to see Ebs puking in the toilet again, but he's also getting really tired of listening Ebs dry heaving. If he has to listen to much more, he might be shoving Ebs out of the way and throwing up himself.
Like a hockey game, this is sixty minutes, he reminds himself when Ebs doesn't immediately start puking. He almost doesn't believe they've done it when Ebs manages to reach sixty minutes, but he's too tired to celebrate. He's long since run out of dumb TV shows, video games, hockey moves, and childhood stories about which to talk, and he's got no energy left to try to think of something.
He's secretly thrilled when they reach fifty minutes, and he smiles a little to encourage Ebs. They're doing a little better, but both the stress and the amount of time they've being doing this are taking their tolls. He's having trouble keeping his eyes open, and Ebs's is practically asleep in his blanket. Taylor's pretty sure he should make him wake up some, but that's total non-beauty.
They get to last time, and Taylor has to shake Ebs's just a little to get him to take the glass. "How much more, Hallsy? I just wanna sleep," Ebs whispers, taking the glass.
"I know, Ebby. I know. If you can manage this one and not hurl, you can go sleep in your bed, okay?"
Ebs nods and drinks the juice. Then he clears his throat a little. "Thanks for this, Hallsy. I mean, you totally suck with sick people, but I know you didn't have to."
"Ungrateful jerk!" he teases. "I do not suck with sick people. See if I ever sit up with you again."
Ebs smiles, but it doesn't reassure Taylor because it looks weak and pained, and it makes Ebs's face look all pinched and sick. Taylor doesn't need any more reminders that Ebs is sick.
They sit through the last ten minutes, waiting in silence. Taylor doesn't have any energy to say anything, and Ebs looks completely done in. They're the longest ten minutes in the history of... ever. Finally, they're done, and Taylor can see the end of this thing.
He suddenly has even more respect for his mom. She's even more awesome than he knew.
"Okay, man, you're done. Can you get up and walk to your bed, or am I going to have to do that for you too?"
Ebs just gets up and stumbles into his bedroom, too tired to even chirp back. Taylor grabs the blanket up off the floor, and his arms seriously feel like he's been bag skated or something equally shitty. This is worse than his first few weeks in the NHL, and he's totally going to ride Ebs's ass when he's over this.
Because this getting sick thing... total non-beauty move.
He tosses Ebs's blanket sort of over him. He hits the bed at least, and Ebs grumbles and grabs the thing, pulling it back up over him, which is good enough at this point. Ebs can fix it if it bothers him that much. Taylor's going to bed to get more than an hour and half of sleep tonight.
Let Ebs's feet get cold. Not his deal.
He brings a big glass bowl from the kitchen and leaves by Ebs's bed. They really have to get some plastic ones, but it's not a thing because they never use the damn things anyway. He puts a bottle of Gatorade beside it, but leaves the juice in Ebs's bathroom. Ebs can clean up after himself tomorrow.
He's not that good of a friend.
He makes sure he still has his phone, sends a text he's only sixty percent sure makes sense to Renney asking him to send the team's doctors over tomorrow to look at Ebs. It makes sense to him, and that's good enough right now. He sets his alarm as late as he thinks he can get away with and tries not to think about how little sleep he'll be getting.
He listens for sounds from Ebs's room. He's left both their doors open so he can hear, but there's no vomiting noises. He tries to stay awake because that's what his mom would be doing in this situation, but he's too tired. It's somewhere after four but closer to five when he lets himself close his eyes.
The next thing he knows his alarm is screaming at him. It must have been doing for it for a while since it gets louder if he doesn't hit snooze or turn it off. He turns the fucking thing off, and forces himself not to collapse back into the bed. He sits up, even if his head is pounding like he had too much to drink. Next, he drags his ass to Ebs's door to check on him.
Ebs is still asleep, lucky bastard.
Taylor heads into the kitchen and shoots the coffee maker a glare. Ebs usually makes the coffee because he's up first, and though Taylor knows how to use it, he's not sure he knows how to use it.
Fuck Ebs.
Denying him coffee is totally non-beauty.
He needs coffee today.
Double fuck.
He heads back to his room, grabs some clean looking clothes off the floor, his phone, rubs the rest of the grit out of his eyes, checks on Ebs one last time--still sleeping peacefully--writes a note letting Ebs know not to lose his shit, sticks it to Ebs's forehead, grabs his keys, and nearly walks straight into Maggie, who's waiting just outside their door.
"Coach said to bring you to practice. They do not want an auto accident."
That statement is greeted by silence. Taylor knows he's supposed to be chirping Maggie back, but he's really more interested in a nap.
"Are you even awake?" Maggie asks, leaning down to peer into his face.
Taylor swats at him because, really? Some things are just going too far. A man's gotta have some respect for himself.
"Coffee," is all he can muster. He knows he sounds grumpy, but fuck it all, he is grumpy. He's tired, and he wants to go back to bed. Maggie can just deal and get him some damn coffee.
"We will stop. Try to be awake when we are on the ice, yeah?"
He nods and lets Maggie guide him to the Swede's car. He's too tired to think about which one is Maggie's anyway. He may feel like shit, but hockey and the team come first. Always.
Practice is awful. The coffee Maggie gets him helps some but not enough, and he knows he's playing shitty. His passes aren't connecting, and he's out of position more often than he's in position. His mind is half with wondering how Ebs is doing and when he can go back to bed.
Renney isn't too hard on him. He still gets told to go sit on the bench about half way through practice, which is embarrassing, but he understands. He's throwing everyone else off their game too.
Before he leaves, Renney pulls him aside and tells him the team's doctors have diagnosed Ebs with a stomach flu. He gets told to stay healthy, go to bed early, and eat something other than the power bars in Maggie's car.
Maggie's waiting for him outside Renney's office, which is really embarrassing.
Maggie just shrugs it off with a smile. "I brought you, ja? It's obvious I have to get you home. It's a good thing we live in the same building."
He's half asleep with his head against the passenger's window when Maggie stops the car. He's surprised to find they're at Safeway when he opens his eyes.
Maggie answers the question that hangs unspoken between them. "You need some more juice, maybe something Ebs wasn't vomiting up last night. I don't want another call in the middle of the night, ja?"
Taylor feels himself nodding, but Maggie doesn't make him go in, which is a relief. He's still more than half asleep when Maggie practically shoves him through his own door, muttering in Swedish. He can't really blame Maggie because he fumbled getting the keys in the lock at least five times.
"Go to bed, Hallsy. You're worse than useless. I'm not sure how you haven't hurt yourself today." Maggie commads.
"Groceries," Taylor mutters through a yawn.
"I think I can manage. Your kitchen can't be any worse than getting you and everything else up here. Ebs is on the couch, don't sit!"
Taylor looks down to realize Ebs is on the couch. He's not quite sure how he missed that, but Ebs doesn't really look like a comfortable seat. He also doesn't look dead. Therefore, Taylor's doctoring skills are totally beauty, and he's going to chirp Ebs for forever about this.
"He's fine, Hallsy. You aren't. Go to bed," Maggie commands, and Taylor wonders who decided Maggie got to be his mom. He has a great mom already. She's the best.
He's got to think about eating something, like Renney said, but he's too tired to wait up for delivery. He'll call some place after he gets up and get something Ebs can eat when he's better.
He never realized just how exhausting looking after sick people is. He's glad he's a hockey player instead.
He lands on his bed face first and just lets it all go. Ebs isn't dead. That's totally good enough, but once he's better Taylor's making him do all the laundry and the dishes.
Fini.
Notes:
1. Swedish used in this fic breaks down to vad? as what? and ja as yes.
S
Author: shana
Dedication: To liroa15 for being the most amazing beta and doctor_denmark for being the voice of reason with Taylor Hall....
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. Also, not true. I made it all up.
Pairing: implied Anton Lande/Magnus Paajavri, unrequited Taylor Hall/Jordan Eberle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6084
A.N:
It's weird to hear noises other than snoring or moaning coming out of Ebs's room in the middle of the night. Ebs has a girl with him sometimes; Taylor never sleeps well on those nights. He always has to stop himself from imagining what dumb faces Jordan's probably making to go with his stupid-sounding moaning. Ebs says he doesn't pick up more girls because of the team's image, but Taylor thinks Ebs is full of shit. He can't really call Ebs on it because he's using the same excuse to cover the fact he seriously wants to get with Ebs, even if it's only for a night. He covers that with the fact they're almost dead last for the second straight year, and he needs to work on his maturity, hockey, and life skills. Or whatever other bullshit he can think of when someone asks. No one needs to know he wants to get it with his best friend.
Even if he didn't know Ebs had stayed in, Taylor would've doubted Ebs was having a good time. The noises coming from behind the closed door are ridiculously unsexy.
They're really more the hungover noises he hears some mornings after a big victory, but he knows Ebs wasn't drinking last night because they stayed in. All they did was play NHL 12 and eat KD and stuff about which they're never telling the team's nutritionist. If Ebs has a secret stash of chocolate on his room, Taylor's going to be pissed.
That's the sort of thing good line mates and roommates are supposed to share.
He pushes the door to Ebs's room open and peers inside. It's messy, but not as bad as he was expecting. There's a pile of laundry in the corner, and there's not enough money in the world to get Taylor to touch it. He's pretty sure he sees the corner of shirt Petry vomited on like three weeks ago on their way home from a bar. Not enough money in the world, but it would make a good drunk dare for when Petry, Nugent-Hopkins, Maggie, and Lander are over for a Call of Duty marathon, and it would embarrass Ebs.
Ebs is in his bathroom, the lights are on, the door's open, and he can see Ebs on the floor. Ebs looks like shit. He's leaning over the toilet, and it sounds like he's heaving up everything in his stomach. It's a disgusting sound, and it might even be what woke Taylor up. He's blaming Ebs anyway.
He leans on the doorframe and waits for Ebs to take a momentary break from puking his guts up to speak. "Man, that's nasty. You want a water or something? That's got to taste like ass in your mouth."
Ebs nods, and Taylor can see him better now that he's got a clean line of sight into the bathroom.. Ebs looks rough. He's all pale, and Taylor's pretty sure he just saw Ebs's hands shake just a little. He also looks like someone kicked his puppy.
"Okay, dude. I'm only doing this once once though, so don't get used to it and don't die when I'm in the kitchen, yeah?"
Ebs flips him the bird, but it's a weak response, and Taylor can clearly see that his heart isn't in it.
"Whatever, man. I don't care if you're dying, you can do better than that."
"Fuck off, Hallsy. Not dying."
"Dude, you can't see yourself. If you could, you'd be chirping yourself."
"Fuck yourself, Hallsy. It's too late and my throat hurts too much to be fucking doing this with you."
"That's not a nice thing to say to the guy who's going to hold your hair out of the way while you puke, Ebs. I should make you get your own water."
Ebs shoots him a glare, groans, and turns back to the toilet.
Taylor takes that as his cue to head to the kitchen, and he's proud of himself because he doesn't stop to throw up in the kitchen sink as he listens to Ebs retch. His stomach is rolling in sympathy, and it's a lot like when the first guy starts hurling during a bag skate. Everyone starts to feel sick.
The noises have stopped by the time he heads back into Ebs's washroom, thank God.
"Man, what the fuck did you even eat to still be hurling? How much? I mean you're kind of short, so you've got to be done." Taylor hands the water over while he chirps Ebs. They both know he's just trying to lighten up the mood.
Ebs cracks the water bottle open with a practiced flick of his wrist, and Taylor can't help but wonder, despite how inappropriate the situation is.
"Fuck off, Hallsy. I was fine when I went to sleep, but I woke up feeling too hot, and I was kicking my blankets off when I suddenly felt like I was going to hurl."
"Well, you're not fine and stop talking. Haven't you heard silence is golden? Do you think I should like call my mom and see if she knows anything?"
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Don't call your mom. I bet it's just something I ate. Your mom is two hours ahead of us; it's the middle of the fucking night for her."
"So? She's still my mom. She like has to answer the phone in cases of emergency or whatever."
"You've obviously been hit one too many times, Hallsy. I'm feeling better, and your mom will be pissed if you wake her up."
Ebs's is barely done saying he's fine before he's grabbing for the toilet again. Taylor secretly thinks it's karma for lying, but he's worried that the three or four swallows of water Ebs managed to drink are coming back up. He's going to be dehydrated soon.
Worse yet, once Ebs is done throwing up the water, he moves on to some seriously painful-sounding dry heaving.
"Ebs, you're such a fucking lair. I'm calling."
"Call mine. She's in Calgary. It's better."
"No way. Imagine it. It'd be super weird and totally awkward. I totally don't want to your mom to hate me. Besides, she totally got me a better Christmas present."
"Dude..." Ebs stops because he's busy throwing up again, and that's gotta hurt.
"Shut up, and don't move. I'm not cleaning up your puke. That's way too much to ask."
"Non-beauty," Ebs groans.
"I'm about to get in trouble and save your life," Taylor counters. "I'd say that's pretty beauty."
Ebs sends a look Taylor's pretty sure should be registered as a weapon his way. He decides discretion is totally the better part of surviving Ebs when he's pissy and steps back into Ebs's room. Then he realizes his phone is still in his room, and he feels like a complete idiot. He tries to be quick so Ebs doesn't realize he's trying to call his mom without his phone.
Ebs isn't going to die or anything while he does this, but he still wants some answers and maybe to hear his mom say that Ebs isn't going to die.
His mom answers after three rings, and he's kind of glad he doesn't have to call more than once and wake everyone up for this.
She sounds tired and cranky though, which isn't what he wants. "Why are you calling so early? Or is it so late? What time is it even, Taylor?"
"Just past one here, I think."
"Taylor, honey, you know I love you, but why in Heaven's name would you think it's was a good idea to call at after three in the morning? Are you dying? Have you suddenly lost all the limited good sense you had?"
"No, Mom, but Ebs is. Like he's throwing up and can't even keep water down."
"Then he's sick, Taylor. Call me back at a decent hour."
"Mom, please," Taylor whines; he knows he whines. He's been using the same whine since he was five and wanted to stay out on the ice longer. It stops her from hanging up, and Taylor has to stop himself from celebrating like he just scored a goal.
"Give him watered down juice to try to keep his sugars up, Taylor. But make sure you wait half an hour from the last time he throws up, okay? His stomach needs to settle. And only give him a couple sips at a time," she pauses. "Do you need to write this down, honey? I don't want you calling me back because you forgot something."
"No, Mom. I'm paying attention. I swear. Wait half an hour and give him watered down juice, but only a little at a time."
"Okay. After the first time, wait ten minutes, and then give him some more. If he doesn't throw up drinking the juice for an hour, he's through the worst of it. It's probably something he ate."
"We ate the same things, and I'm not sick."
"Well, once you get him to stop throwing up, put him to bed, and let him sleep. If you're not sick, he's probably got a stomach flu or something like that. You should check to make sure he doesn't have a fever."
"Okay, Mom. I'll check."
Taylor heads back into the bathroom. "Dude, let me feel your forehead. Mom needs to know if you have a fever."
"Fuck off, Hallsy."
"I'm serious, Ebs."
It takes a moment, but Ebs totally gives in and lets Taylor lay the back of his hand against Ebs's forehead.
"He's not warm or anything. He does feel kind of sweaty and gross if that helps?" Taylor asks his mom.
"Okay, honey. Let me talk to Jordan for a moment," his mom basically commands.
He pokes Ebs's in the shoulder a couple times to get his attention. "Mom needs to ask you some questions to figure out what's wrong with you," he says and then he passes the phone over.
He's not surprised when Ebs starts by apologizing for waking her up. Ebs has always been a goody two-shoes. He answers whatever questions his mom has with short answers. A lot of yes and no, and a couple times where he tells her what Taylor already knows, that Ebs just woke up and felt warm and like he was going to throw up.
Finally, Ebs hands the phone back and rests his head on the toilet seat, which is really gross, but kind of okay because Ebs looks really gross too.
"Okay, honey. It definitely sounds like a stomach flu, especially since you don't have it. Give him the juice, make sure he doesn't throw up, and call your team doctors in the morning. And Taylor?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"If he throws up six times in the next hour, you call 911 because he's going to be dehydrated and whatever's going on isn't just a simple stomach flu. I don't care if he doesn't want to go. Make him, okay?"
"Yeah, Mom, I will. And thanks, you know, for not hanging up and all the help." He's rubbing the back of his head, and he knows that he probably looks pretty silly.
"Taylor, do you think you can manage this?"
Taylor blinks. He feels like he's about ten steps behind his mom. "I can manage juice, Mom."
"I'm not talking about the juice, honey. I know you care about Jordan. He's your best friend. Do you think you can manage seeing him sick like this? It's always hard to see someone you love sick."
"Mom," Taylor whines automatically, then he's quiet for a moment while he actually thinks about her words. "I think I can manage. It's not like I'm in love with him or anything, and I'd like to keep it that way. He's my best friend, and that's way too important. So, yeah, I can manage. It's just juice, after all. Besides, he's really gross looking right now."
"If you say so, honey. Try to stop panicking though. It's not helping either of you. Honestly, if you want to keep it a secret, you're going to have to calm down."
"Mom, seriously, there's nothing there. I just really don't know what to do with sick people."
"Give him the juice. Sit with him. Talk to him. And, honey, don't call me again unless you're heading to the hospital. It's past three in the morning here, and I'd like to get some sleep."
"Thanks, Mom."
"You're welcome, honey. You should consider telling him, even though you're being dumb about it. Not tonight, but soon. Jordan's a nice young man. It's not going to ruin anything between you two."
"Moooom," Taylor whines.
"Just think about it, Taylor. And remember, if he throws up six times in an hour, what are you supposed to do?"
"Call 911, and take him to the hospital."
"Good. You're both going be just fine."
"Thanks, Mom."
Taylor swallows heavily and runs his hands through his hair before he goes back into the bathroom to check on Ebs.
"How are you feeling right now? Like you're about the throw up?" he asks, leaning on the door frame.
Ebs isn't leaning on the toilet any more. He's curled up into a tight ball on the floor instead, looking miserable.
"What is it, Ebs?" he asks, walking into the bathroom to crouch down beside his teammate.
"Nothing, dude. Cold now."
"I'll grab your blanket. I don't want you leaving the bathroom. I remember my mom complaining about cleaning vomit off the carpets and our beds. So not doing that. And. I mean, do you even have extra sheets?"
"You suck, Hallsy."
"You only wish you could suck right now, Ebs. Green really isn't your colour."
Ebs just flips him the bird again, which makes sense. Talking's got to hurt.
"Whatever, man. I need to go get you some juice."
"Juice?" Ebs sounds confused. Apparently, Mom didn't fill him in on the whole plan.
"Mom says you have to drink watered down juice for the sugars. It's supposed to be like every ten minutes for an hour to prove you're not going to keep hurling. Then you go back to bed and sleep whatever the hell this is off."
"Doesn't make sense."
"Ebs, my Mom said to do it. Beside the fact she's completely awesome, you just don't argue with my mom, okay?"
"Your mom's not even here."
"She's my mom, Ebs. She knows this shit. Just stay here with your damn blankets, and let me find the juice."
"Yeah, fine, whatever. Feel better anyway."
Taylor snorts and is saved from saying something stupid by having to fight with Ebs's comforter.
"Freak," Ebs calls out to him.
He takes a moment to reply. "I'm a freak? I'm not the one who's got his blankets so twisted up they're like impossible to get off."
It's a good deflection. Ebs is too busy being sick to realize he's only like this because he's worried. He's pretty sure Ebs would chirp him for forever for being this worried over a little stomach bug. It's not like it's appendicitis or anything. The team is still giving him shit for that one too.
He does a mental inventory of their fridge as he wrestles with Ebs's comforter. It's heavy and big and awkward, but it should keep Ebs plenty warm. And he can send it out for dry cleaning if Ebs pukes on it.
He drops the comforter on top of Ebs, who seems content to make a little nest out of it.
"How long since you threw up last? Mom said I had to wait half an hour so you didn't throw it all right back up before you start asking why it matters."
"Don't know. Twenty minutes. Jesus, Hallsy, Didn't look at the clock."
"Fine. We'll wait fifteen more minutes. I'm going to look for juice. Maybe we have some hidden behind all the take out containers and that junk."
The fridge is every bit as bad as he was expecting. It's a wasteland of takeout containers with milk, some veggies, peanut butter, and a couple other jars in the back that he's not sure what are. There's no juice though. How the hell do they not have juice? He opens a couple cupboards and finds Gatorade. Can he use Gatorade? It should do the same thing, but his mom said juice. He should probably stick to juice. How the hell is he supposed to make Ebs drink watered down juice when they don't have any?
He could go get some, but that would be a totally non-beauty move. He's starting to panic, just a little, when he remembers that Maggie is actually in the building. Maybe Maggie has juice. If he doesn't, maybe Taylor can bully him into getting some. Or he can make Maggie sit with Ebs and listen to him puke. Maggie's sort of got to do one or the other because it is for Ebs, after all.
He hits Maggie's number before he can reconsider and start feeling like a dumb ass. It rings like four hundred times, which makes him nervous. What if Maggie doesn't answer? What if Anton answers? What the hell is he supposed to say to one of his best friend's on-and-off boyfriend?
"Vad?" an irritated voice asks. It's hard to tell exactly who it is, and Taylor starts to sweat.
"Maggie?" he tries, hesitant. This is going to be sort of really awkward if it's Anton.
"Ja." There's a moment of silence and the sound of rustling sheets comes over the line. Maggie's obviously getting out of bed so he doesn't wake Anton up. "What did you need at like 1:45 in the morning, Hallsy? You better not need me to come pick you up. Get a cab."
"Do you guys have any juice in your apartment?"
"What?"
"Juice, Maggie. Like apple or orange or even cranberry. That sort of stuff."
He can hear Maggie groan. "You call now for juice? Are you drunk? Stupid? What, Hallsy?"
"No. Ebs is busy trying to puke up everything he's ever eaten. I called my mom, and she said to make him drink juice. Only we don't have any juice. I thought you guys might."
"What do you want me to do about this problem?"
"Bring some juice, Maggie. It's not even the weirdest thing I've asked you to do, and you're just upstairs, so deal with it."
"Fine. I will think about it. You called your mother?"
"Shut up. You'd call your mom too if it was like Anton or Linus, and you know it. Second, it's not that hard. You walk some juice to our apartment."
"I'm not your servant, Hallsy."
"I'm not asking for me, dumb ass. I'm asking for Ebs. I mean, you can come sit with him and listen to him hurl, and I'll go buy some fucking juice if it matters that much to you..." he stops because he hears Ebs voice. Ebs is saying his name, and he sounds all weak and shit. "Look, I can't stand around and argue with you, Maggie. Ebs is saying my name, and it sounds like he's dying. Just bring the fucking juice, okay?"
"Seriously?" he hears Maggie ask, but it's sort of distant because he's already lowered to phone and started back to the bathroom.
Ebs is leaning against his toilet, looking a little like a weak kitten and a lot like death. His head is resting on the toilet seat again, which is still all kinds of nasty.
He sets his phone down, and it's not like he means to leave Maggie on the line. It's just that he stops thinking about it and starts worrying about whether or not he should be taking Ebs to the hospital.
"You look like shit, man. Like even more than before."
"Water," Ebs groans.
"Yeah, no. Not happening, Ebby. You're gonna throw it right back up and that'll be even grosser, and Mom said nothing until you stop throwing up for a whole half an hour."
"Need to get the vomit taste out of my mouth, asshole," Ebs mutters.
"Fine. But it's like a rinse and spit only," Taylor mutters, feeling justified in his position. His mom said not to drink anything for a half an hour. He feels unreasonably angry. He's not even sure with whom he's angry: Ebs for being sick, the world for letting Ebs get sick, himself for not being able to do anything, Maggie for giving him shit...
Maggie could be laughing at him for all he knows, but he doesn't reach for his phone again until he's seen Ebs spit out the water. He looks at it to find out Maggie's hung up on him.
Asshole.
He's contemplating phoning Maggie back to bitch him out, or better yet, phoning and waking Anton up just to get Maggie in shit, when his phone starts ringing. He looks at it, and it's Maggie. He shoots Ebs a covert look, but it's not like Ebs notices. He's got his blanket up over his shoulders, and he's gazing into the toilet bowl like he's fallen in love with it.
He steps back into Jordan's room and hits answer.
"I am standing outside your door with a carton of orange juice. Open the door. I am not going to stand here looking foolish for long. You have one minute, Hallsy."
Taylor hurries towards the door. He's pretty sure Maggie's joking, but it's hard to tell when he sounds so cranky. He opens the front door to find Maggie in his pyjama pants, feet shoved into untied shoes, with an unzipped jacket thrown over top. He looks like... Taylor's actually not sure what he looks like, but he's not going to chirp Maggie 'cause he's still got the juice Taylor needs to force down Ebs's throat.
The juice is rudely thrust at him. "This is what you need, ja?"
Taylor nods.
"Good." Maggie turns away. "I am going back to bed. I wish to sleep some before practice in the morning."
"Shit," Taylor mutters. "Fuck, practice."
Maggie laughs at him and heads for the elevator.
"Thanks, Maggie," Taylor calls down the hall, trying not to be loud and wake their neighbours. Maggie must hear because he makes some weird hand gesture in response.
He stops in the kitchen for a glass and another bottle of water because he's not sure about making Ebs drink tap water. Ebs can be kind of a health nut.
He sets it all up on the bathroom counter, mixes the juice and the water together, and settles in to wait. He's got like twenty more minutes before he can make Ebs drink it.
Ebs looks up somewhere around minute fifteen, reassuring Taylor he's not actually a zombie and sees the juice.
"We don't..." he starts, and Taylor cuts him off because really now isn't the time for Ebs's dumb voice.
"Maggie brought it down from his and Anton's place. Apparently, in Sweden, they teach you to have juice on hand for when your teammates spend all night hurling their guts out."
Ebs groans at the horrible joke.
"You know you love me, dumb ass. I mean, what's not to love? I'm handsome, I've got a great personality, I play hockey, and I'm awesome. Of course you love me."
Ebs just looks at him with his most shocked stare. Finally, he musters up one word. "Crazy."
"Yes, I know you're crazy for me, Ebs."
All that gets him is the middle finger, so Taylor lets Ebs go back to being miserable in peace because he is awesome.
They sit, mainly in silence, but Taylor does try to liven it up a few times and make sure that Ebs hasn't fallen asleep. If Taylor's going to have to be up to do this, Ebs isn't going to get to sleep either. Besides, sleeping like this would totally fuck up Ebs's back.
Finally, it's a half an hour since Ebs's last threw up everything he hasn't eaten today, and Taylor can thrust the glass at him.
"Drink this, but you know, slowly, and only a couple sips," he commands, and Ebs's shoots a tired glare his way. As glares go, it's not very effective.
"Shouldn't have called Maggie," Ebs manages after he hands the glass back.
"Mom said you hand to drink, okay? I'm not having anyone say I made you worse or something."
"Calling?"
"He was just upstairs, dude. Makes sense."
Ebs's rolls his eyes and waves a hand at Taylor in a weak motion.
Taylor grins. "I'm not catching any more shit from Renney because I didn't take care of you."
Ebs chuckles, remembering their coach asking how Taylor could have missed the signs of appendicitis, but he stops like right away, and it becomes a drawn out groan. Ebs squeezes his eyes closed tightly.
"Don't laugh then, dumb ass," Taylor suggests helpfully.
They sit for a few more minutes, and then Taylor shoves the glass at Ebs's. "Time for you to drink again. You manage an hour of not throwing up, and I get to go back to bed."
Ebs's doesn't do anything. He looks completely exhausted.
Taylor settles onto the floor with Ebs and talks about lines, the power play units, and what they should be doing with their penalty kill to keep it from going to shit. Ebs nods or shakes his head every once in a while. Actual conversation seems beyond him now.
Ebs fights with his blanket a lot. It's like he's too hot and cold in turns. They manage forty minutes of small sips of juice, Taylor talking, and Ebs fussing with his blankets like a little kid. Taylors starts to think they're going to done with this whole ordeal soon. He can drag Ebs back to his bed and get some sleep so he's not useless at practice.
Then Ebs grabs for the toilet.
Taylor mentally curses, and gives Ebs the water bottle to rinse his mouth out. Then Taylor starts mentally counting down again. Practice tomorrow is going to kill him. Another hour to get through before he can sleep.
Looking at Ebs, Taylors pretty sure Casper's got more colour than his line mate. Ebs's looks like he's been on a binge for the last couple days, rough and nasty.
Ebs only makes twenty minutes before he's throwing up again this time. Taylor sighs a little, and Ebs shoots him an apologetic look.
"Don't worry about it, dude. You'd do the same for me."
"You should go get some sleep," Ebs grits out, and Taylor sort of laughs hollowly at him.
"You still look like you're two seconds away from choking on your own puke, Ebby. I'm not going anywhere, and you can just deal with it. I'm not letting you die. The guys would never let me live it down."
Taylor refuses to get his hopes up when Ebs makes it back to forty minutes. He's bracing himself to see Ebs puking in the toilet again, but he's also getting really tired of listening Ebs dry heaving. If he has to listen to much more, he might be shoving Ebs out of the way and throwing up himself.
Like a hockey game, this is sixty minutes, he reminds himself when Ebs doesn't immediately start puking. He almost doesn't believe they've done it when Ebs manages to reach sixty minutes, but he's too tired to celebrate. He's long since run out of dumb TV shows, video games, hockey moves, and childhood stories about which to talk, and he's got no energy left to try to think of something.
He's secretly thrilled when they reach fifty minutes, and he smiles a little to encourage Ebs. They're doing a little better, but both the stress and the amount of time they've being doing this are taking their tolls. He's having trouble keeping his eyes open, and Ebs's is practically asleep in his blanket. Taylor's pretty sure he should make him wake up some, but that's total non-beauty.
They get to last time, and Taylor has to shake Ebs's just a little to get him to take the glass. "How much more, Hallsy? I just wanna sleep," Ebs whispers, taking the glass.
"I know, Ebby. I know. If you can manage this one and not hurl, you can go sleep in your bed, okay?"
Ebs nods and drinks the juice. Then he clears his throat a little. "Thanks for this, Hallsy. I mean, you totally suck with sick people, but I know you didn't have to."
"Ungrateful jerk!" he teases. "I do not suck with sick people. See if I ever sit up with you again."
Ebs smiles, but it doesn't reassure Taylor because it looks weak and pained, and it makes Ebs's face look all pinched and sick. Taylor doesn't need any more reminders that Ebs is sick.
They sit through the last ten minutes, waiting in silence. Taylor doesn't have any energy to say anything, and Ebs looks completely done in. They're the longest ten minutes in the history of... ever. Finally, they're done, and Taylor can see the end of this thing.
He suddenly has even more respect for his mom. She's even more awesome than he knew.
"Okay, man, you're done. Can you get up and walk to your bed, or am I going to have to do that for you too?"
Ebs just gets up and stumbles into his bedroom, too tired to even chirp back. Taylor grabs the blanket up off the floor, and his arms seriously feel like he's been bag skated or something equally shitty. This is worse than his first few weeks in the NHL, and he's totally going to ride Ebs's ass when he's over this.
Because this getting sick thing... total non-beauty move.
He tosses Ebs's blanket sort of over him. He hits the bed at least, and Ebs grumbles and grabs the thing, pulling it back up over him, which is good enough at this point. Ebs can fix it if it bothers him that much. Taylor's going to bed to get more than an hour and half of sleep tonight.
Let Ebs's feet get cold. Not his deal.
He brings a big glass bowl from the kitchen and leaves by Ebs's bed. They really have to get some plastic ones, but it's not a thing because they never use the damn things anyway. He puts a bottle of Gatorade beside it, but leaves the juice in Ebs's bathroom. Ebs can clean up after himself tomorrow.
He's not that good of a friend.
He makes sure he still has his phone, sends a text he's only sixty percent sure makes sense to Renney asking him to send the team's doctors over tomorrow to look at Ebs. It makes sense to him, and that's good enough right now. He sets his alarm as late as he thinks he can get away with and tries not to think about how little sleep he'll be getting.
He listens for sounds from Ebs's room. He's left both their doors open so he can hear, but there's no vomiting noises. He tries to stay awake because that's what his mom would be doing in this situation, but he's too tired. It's somewhere after four but closer to five when he lets himself close his eyes.
The next thing he knows his alarm is screaming at him. It must have been doing for it for a while since it gets louder if he doesn't hit snooze or turn it off. He turns the fucking thing off, and forces himself not to collapse back into the bed. He sits up, even if his head is pounding like he had too much to drink. Next, he drags his ass to Ebs's door to check on him.
Ebs is still asleep, lucky bastard.
Taylor heads into the kitchen and shoots the coffee maker a glare. Ebs usually makes the coffee because he's up first, and though Taylor knows how to use it, he's not sure he knows how to use it.
Fuck Ebs.
Denying him coffee is totally non-beauty.
He needs coffee today.
Double fuck.
He heads back to his room, grabs some clean looking clothes off the floor, his phone, rubs the rest of the grit out of his eyes, checks on Ebs one last time--still sleeping peacefully--writes a note letting Ebs know not to lose his shit, sticks it to Ebs's forehead, grabs his keys, and nearly walks straight into Maggie, who's waiting just outside their door.
"Coach said to bring you to practice. They do not want an auto accident."
That statement is greeted by silence. Taylor knows he's supposed to be chirping Maggie back, but he's really more interested in a nap.
"Are you even awake?" Maggie asks, leaning down to peer into his face.
Taylor swats at him because, really? Some things are just going too far. A man's gotta have some respect for himself.
"Coffee," is all he can muster. He knows he sounds grumpy, but fuck it all, he is grumpy. He's tired, and he wants to go back to bed. Maggie can just deal and get him some damn coffee.
"We will stop. Try to be awake when we are on the ice, yeah?"
He nods and lets Maggie guide him to the Swede's car. He's too tired to think about which one is Maggie's anyway. He may feel like shit, but hockey and the team come first. Always.
Practice is awful. The coffee Maggie gets him helps some but not enough, and he knows he's playing shitty. His passes aren't connecting, and he's out of position more often than he's in position. His mind is half with wondering how Ebs is doing and when he can go back to bed.
Renney isn't too hard on him. He still gets told to go sit on the bench about half way through practice, which is embarrassing, but he understands. He's throwing everyone else off their game too.
Before he leaves, Renney pulls him aside and tells him the team's doctors have diagnosed Ebs with a stomach flu. He gets told to stay healthy, go to bed early, and eat something other than the power bars in Maggie's car.
Maggie's waiting for him outside Renney's office, which is really embarrassing.
Maggie just shrugs it off with a smile. "I brought you, ja? It's obvious I have to get you home. It's a good thing we live in the same building."
He's half asleep with his head against the passenger's window when Maggie stops the car. He's surprised to find they're at Safeway when he opens his eyes.
Maggie answers the question that hangs unspoken between them. "You need some more juice, maybe something Ebs wasn't vomiting up last night. I don't want another call in the middle of the night, ja?"
Taylor feels himself nodding, but Maggie doesn't make him go in, which is a relief. He's still more than half asleep when Maggie practically shoves him through his own door, muttering in Swedish. He can't really blame Maggie because he fumbled getting the keys in the lock at least five times.
"Go to bed, Hallsy. You're worse than useless. I'm not sure how you haven't hurt yourself today." Maggie commads.
"Groceries," Taylor mutters through a yawn.
"I think I can manage. Your kitchen can't be any worse than getting you and everything else up here. Ebs is on the couch, don't sit!"
Taylor looks down to realize Ebs is on the couch. He's not quite sure how he missed that, but Ebs doesn't really look like a comfortable seat. He also doesn't look dead. Therefore, Taylor's doctoring skills are totally beauty, and he's going to chirp Ebs for forever about this.
"He's fine, Hallsy. You aren't. Go to bed," Maggie commands, and Taylor wonders who decided Maggie got to be his mom. He has a great mom already. She's the best.
He's got to think about eating something, like Renney said, but he's too tired to wait up for delivery. He'll call some place after he gets up and get something Ebs can eat when he's better.
He never realized just how exhausting looking after sick people is. He's glad he's a hockey player instead.
He lands on his bed face first and just lets it all go. Ebs isn't dead. That's totally good enough, but once he's better Taylor's making him do all the laundry and the dishes.
Fini.
Notes:
1. Swedish used in this fic breaks down to vad? as what? and ja as yes.
S