OOO

James woke up again, the light through the window faint. Twilight. Not as good as midnight but almost. After inventory –his head hurt less, his ribs more, however that worked, throat worse, fuck, everything worse and he felt horribly sick- he lay for awhile, puzzling over the man. Edga- Eddy. Weird. Names... A rose by- names- a rose. A rose is a rose is a rose is by any other name would smell as sweet is a rose. What light through yonder window…? Where the fuck had that come from? Fucking school. He was thirsty. The blankets weighed too much. He was burning up…fuck, as if he needed a fever. Fucking school. Fucking faggot. Water…he'd kill for a soda. A rose by any other name.

"Hey-?" He tried to call, his voice cracked painfully. Throat hurt. Shit…He was thirsty. From what he knew his newest fuck-up would be sucking the juice out of him to heal. He just wished it didn't have to hurt so much…yeah, in the gloom he could see the dying ditched blood under his skin, big-ass bruise spreading beyond where the man had bandaged him. Purple already, how long had he been out? Was it still the same day? What light- shut up. Not helping. Could he get up? Ow, fuck. Yeah. Jam- Jimmy, he liked the sound of that, had a ring. Sounded tough, Jimmy my boy, frag this bastard. Get. Up. Yeah, ech, the floor was cold. Bastard took his socks, sneakers. He'd liked those sneakers. When had he gotten this fucking fever? Hot, too hot. Floor felt good…fuck you, James, Jimmy, get the fuck off the floor and get some water. You're fucking pathetic. Get up.

Jimmy made it to the door, shaking, bad fever. Couldn't remember it ever being this bad. Did the man infect him or something? Maybe he worked for a chemical plant, something like that. Poisoned him like a rat. That's what he was, a white lab rat with little whiskery fucking cheeks. Used for fucking experiments. He was going to find the faggot and bury his burning foot in the bastard's ass for this. Fucking lab rat. White rat. White rose, by any other name- shut up. Shut up, get up. At the door…Jimmy glanced around. Hallway, bathroom on the left, turn on the right. He staggered to the bathroom, got to the toilet in time to throw up. What was in the fucking soup? That had to have been it. He retched again, then rinsed his mouth out in the sink, spat, flushed, saw the shower. God, he was hot. Turned the faucet on, stared at the stream for awhile. What had he been doing? Oh. Shit, shit, this was bad. This was really bad. Poisoned soup. The water felt so good…

Heard footsteps above him, hand on his forehead, colder than his skin and warmer than the water, ahhhh. Felt weird. Felt kinda nice.

"You're burning up. I didn't know you had a fever. Is that why you were wandering?"

"Don' touch me." He muttered. Keep holding my head. Feels nice. He hurt all over… "Lemme 'lone." He tired to open his eyes, managed a brief smeary blur of the ceiling, the top of the open shower stall's door, Eddy with worried eyes and a towel, turning off the water. "Don't turn'a water off."

"You'll only get sicker. You shouldn't have even gotten out of bed, I heard you." Hand on forehead again, ah, fingers peeling back his lips, checking his tongue. "That's a flu if I've ever seen one. You'll get pneumonia…look, walk with me, you can do that, sit on the toilet."

"Fuck you." Jimmy sagged against the wall. He wanted back in the shower, under the cool water. Darkness behind his eyelids itchy and red. Pills in his mouth, pressure on his sore throat and he swallowed them. Tylenol, god, he hoped it was something like that. He didn't have the money for E or anything…

"Hold your arms up."

"I don'-"

"Do it."

Whoah. Jimmy held his arms up, let the man peel off the soaked gauze. Hurt. New stuff being wrapped on, fuck- He hissed. Why would this guy have bandages for a broken rib? Maybe he was being held for some fucked up experiment.

"Shhh. It'll be okay, You can't go to sleep with wet bandages. Okay, you're set. Come on, we have to get you back to the bed. You can do it." Talking to a baby, god, that really pissed him off. Did he look like a baby? Hanging on the guy's shoulder, shaky steps back to his room. Felt so good to lie back down, he wasn't hot anymore, trembling, needed more blankets.

"You'll be okay, Jimmy. Go to sleep."

OOO

He woke up again.

And again. He didn't know what time it was, where he was, what was going on except fever, fever, god he was going to die, he wished he were dead already but he'd never finish that one knife and he couldn't just go out like that, pathetic little flu. It should take more. He woke up screaming. He woke up crying. He woke up bolting down food he couldn't taste and food that made him want to freeze time it tasted so fucking good, he woke up retching again and again. He woke up clinging to the man's shirt, not sure if he was retching or sobbing or if the constant litany –I hate you I hate you I hateyouIhateyouhateyouhateyouhate- was being said aloud or wrapped though every shred of his existence or even who was saying it to whom. And in between the nightmare thorns of consciousness were long, twisted vines of terror and dreaming where he was knee-high again and something huge was stalking after him, full of booze and boiling fury, where he walked though halls of mocking wraiths that broke and scattered like poisoned shadows.

It broke, finally, and James- Jimmy- woke up one morning with a foul taste in his mouth and an exhausted body worn hollow by the fight. But no fever. He'd won and he could think again. He laughed, weakly, with triumph if not amusement and pushed himself to his feet, ribs screaming but he didn't give a damn.

Clutching his side he staggered out –right, this time, to the end of the hall. He was sick of being sick in that bare-ass little room.

There was a little kitchen, all white paint and shiny silver- coffeemaker, blender, microwave, fancy looking buttons, clean plastic. New models, sweet- expensive as hell. Faggot was loaded. Fridge, yes yes thank you, god- soda. Cherry soda. Jimmy snagged one, gulped half of it in one pull. A far cry from booze but the caffeine might as well as been liquid gold for all he cared. Made him feel human again. He finished the can off, checked for a trashcan but gave up. Who knew what it even looked like in a room like this? He left the can in the sink and got another one. And in the sleek little designer cupboards there were bags of stuff, stuff with salt and grease and food-coloring: health-food chips, 'potato flavored pressed rice crackers'- Jesus, robot food. Jimmy found a few bags of popcorn –hah, soda wasn't the only little sin the fucker indulged in, was it?- and jammed two in the microwave, fiddled with the buttons until the timer started counting down from five.

"You shouldn't be up."

"Yagh-!" Jimmy nearly hit the ceiling, throwing by reflex what he had in his hand directly at his attacker's face.

Only it wasn't an attacker, it was just that guy, Eddy, the guy who's soda he'd just bounced off the dude's skull and spattered all over the floor, the wall, and their clothes. Well, Eddy's clothes and Jimmy's bandages. And pants. And feet. Bleagh. Jimmy tried to see through the constellation of little stars prompted by the ripping agony jarred loose by his throw. His heart sent judders of fire against the inside of his chest every time it beat, which it did far too fast. He'd slid against the wall without noticing it…

"Correction," Eddy said dryly, "You shouldn't be up, and you shouldn't be drinking soda. Caffeine has a detrimental effect on the healing process. I suppose I don't have to tell you not to make sudden wrenching movements with your arms, do I?"

"Hhhhhh." Jimmy wheezed, scrabbling at the cupboard handles beside him to lever himself up. "What are you, a fucking em-dee?"

"Was. Now I'm just the man who's got to change those oh-so-tasty-bandages you've got. Your ribs are never going to heel with all the fuss." In a few deft movements the man had levered Jimmy up and onto the countertop, one hand around his shoulders and the other on his forehead. The feeling was oddly familiar, and Jimmy wondered how many times Eddy had done this to him. Bleary memories of gulping down water, soup, cool hands.

"Don't t-" But Eddy's hands were already gone as the man held them up in an I-surrender-pose, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

"You're lucid, at least. I suppose the fever's broken, though you're still warm. Sit there and try not to throw anything else at my head while I get a mop."

"Wai-"

Eddy stuck hi head back through the door. "Yes?"

"How long have- have I been out?"

"Seven days exactly, actually. Pretty typical for a case like yours. Hold on."

The man returned quickly with a mop and bucket, began sopping up the pink stain on the checkered linoleum. "So as I was saying, you're…what? Seventeen?"

"Twenty –five."

Eddy shot him a look, that faint smile and raised eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm that stupid?"

"Ye-" Jimmy hesitated mid-word, glared. Fuck. "Alright, twenty one."

"You haven't even got shoulders to fill into, and if you're legal age to be as skunked as I saw you I'm queen of England."

"Pleased to meet you, your majesty." Jimmy said acidly. Eddy nodded amiably.

"I'll accept nineteen."

"Well isn't that decent of you, letting me be the age I am."

"You're welcome."

"It's only two years, you know. No big deal."

"To twenty one? Tell it to your liver."

"Fuck my liver."

"You're doing a good job of that yourself. And when was the last time you brushed your teeth?"

"Fuck you."

Eddy finished with the last of the pink stain.

"So, now what?"

"You tell me."

"Gimme another soda."

"Get it yourself."

Jimmy shifted his weight, winced. Eddy had effectively trapped the young man there- it would hurt too much to slide off the counter, even though his feet were only half a foot off.

"You're the one who said I shouldn't be moving."

"And you're the one who moved anyway. You're having something with actual protein in it, if you're hungry, then you are brushing your teeth, and going back to bed."

Jimmy snarled quietly. "I'm sick of that crappy little room."

"So stay there."

Jimmy kicked his heels in irritation, then stopped hastily.

"Fine. What's for dinner?"

The microwave took that moment to catch on fire. Both of them stared at it in surprise for a moment, then Eddy deftly jammed on the open-button on the door with the mop handle, scowling. With a gleeful sizzle the machine opened, pouring out billows of greasy smoke and blackened popcorn. Coughing, the man turned and ripped the window over the sink open, waving away the smoke. Jimmy sat on the counter, not sure whether he should feeling guilty or what. After a moment of reflection, watching the split smoking bags of popcorn twitch and jerk on the floor amid still-popping kernels, he chose sadistic amusement and doubled over laughing, as Eddy gingerly disconnected the microwave with the mop handle, levered it on its back, and poured a bowlful of water inside. After the pain outweighed the amusement Jimmy's laughter trailed off, and he looked up to see the taller, bigger, and stronger man standing with the mop outstretched like a sword, a very unhappy look on his face.

Shit.

"You owe me a new microwave, young man." Eddy declaimed with odd formality. "And two bags of popcorn."

Shit!

"What for?" He snapped. "It's your fucking microwave that couldn't cook two bags of your popcorn!"

"And you are the little shit-for-brains who put it in on five minutes."

"So? Youtrapped me on the counter, why didn't you take them out?"

"Because you were distracting me."

"Oh, so it's all my fault then?" Jimmy asked, as sarcastically as he knew how.

"Yep."

Awww, fuck. "Fuck you!"

"You and that phrase. Now then-" Eddy glanced around at the wreck of the kitchen, "You are going back to bed."

"Why can't I stay up?"

"Because you've done quite enough damage for a mere quarter of an hour, and talking to you is giving me a headache. Now go."

"Get me off this counter."

"I thought you didn't want me to touch you."

Jimmy sneered. "Ha ha, smartass. Now come and get me off."

Eddy eased him off the counter with surprising grace, let him walk down the hallway himself, herding him into the bathroom. Jimmy scowled when a toothbrush –black, though- was held menacingly in front of him.

"Just do it already. I can wait all afternoon."

Jimmy stuck his tongue out at him with deliberately childish satisfaction, then snatched the toothbrush and scrubbed at his teeth for awhile, leaning his forehead against the cold mirror. Even the short outing he'd made from his cell had left him trembling...

"Happy now, mother?" He finally said, rinsing the toothbrush out and slapping it down on the counter. But Eddy had already left, down the hall and off to wherever he spent his time while not pissing Jimmy off.

Jimmy staggered back to his room and his cot and drifted off, strangely disappointed.

OOO