.
SORE LOSER
A Maverick story
By Deana
Disclaimer: I don't own Bart or Bret Maverick. (I wish I owned Bart. LOL)
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"What bad timing," Bart Maverick moaned, as his brother Bret practically dragged him into their hotel room.
Bret had to agree. They'd traveled from Denver to San Francisco to get involved in a poker competition, but along the way, Bart had come down with a cold…a pretty bad one. With a sigh, Bret guided his brother to one of the beds and sat him down. "Very bad timing," he answered.
Bart coughed into the handkerchief that he was holding, closing his eyes when it made his head pound. He groaned and shifted to lie back on the bed.
Bret quickly pulled his brother's jacket off and had to steer him the right way when Bart nearly missed the pillow. He tossed Bart's hat onto a nearby chair and removed his brother's boots.
Bart coughed again, barely having the energy to cover his mouth with the handkerchief. He painfully swallowed with a wince.
Taking off his own hat, Bret grabbed a chair and brought it over to the bed, sitting down and watching his brother for a minute. "Anything you need?" he asked.
"A miracle," Bart miserably answered.
Bret smiled at that. "Unfortunately, that's not something that I'm capable of…but I can get you some food, it's suppertime."
"I'm not hungry," Bart told him, eyes closed.
Bret frowned. That wasn't like his brother. "Not hungry? Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Not even for soup or something?" Bret said. "You know the phrase; 'feed a cold, starve a fever'…or is it, 'starve a cold, feed a fever'?" He frowned. "I guess it depends on which one you are." He reached over and put a hand on his brother's forehead. "A little warm," he said. "So do we feed you or starve you?"
"Don't know."
Bret had tried to get a laugh out of his brother…even a chuckle would do, but it didn't work. He hadn't expected to find a fever, either, and now he was worried. He put his hand on Bart's forehead again to try to figure out how bad it was.
Bart shifted slightly, though not enough to dislodge his brother's hand. "Stop it. Just let me rest, I'll be fine."
Bret made a face. "I'll hold you to that," he said, removing his hand. The fever wasn't high…at the moment, at least. "I'll have the kitchen make you some soup," he said, deciding that his brother needed nourishment.
Bart's only answer was a mumble.
Bret stood and headed for the door. "I'll be back."
Bart repeated the mumble.
Bret headed downstairs, smiling at women along the way. Reaching the front desk, he said to the clerk, "I need a bowl of soup sent up to my room."
The man frowned. "Soup?"
Bret nodded. "My brother is sick." At the clerk's look of alarm, he quickly added, "He just has a cold…our journey was long and he's too tired to come down for supper. Can you send up some aspirin, too?"
The clerk nodded, grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil. "Will you be eating in the dining room?"
Bret shrugged. "I guess I'll go stay with him. Got steak tonight?"
The clerk nodded.
Bret smiled. "That's what I'll have, with all the trimmings." He suddenly wondered if Bart's appetite would return once he caught a whiff of the steak. "Can they cook up an extra piece of steak? A small one? Just in case."
The clerk nodded, still writing. "How do you like it cooked?"
"Make the small piece well done, but I like mine a little redder," Bret told him.
The clerk nodded. "I'll have it brought up as soon as it's ready."
Bret nodded. "Thanks." He walked away from the desk and looked around the dining room: the place was packed, in anticipation of the poker games starting the next day. It seemed guaranteed that Bart wouldn't be playing, but that didn't mean that Bret couldn't…though with Bart having a fever, he wondered if he really should leave him alone.
With a sigh, Bret turned and went back up to the hotel room. Heading inside, he found that Bart had fallen asleep fully clothed. He did nothing about it though, knowing that his brother would soon be woken by the arrival of the bellhop anyway.
It wasn't even twenty minutes before there was a knock on the door, and Bret opened it to find the bellboy with a wheeled cart. "I'll take it," he said, handing the boy a coin.
The boy took it eagerly, with a smile. "Thanks!" he said, before bounding away.
Bret smiled and took the cart, wheeling it over to the bed. "Wake up, brother Bart," he said. "Time for din-din."
Bart's answer was a coughing fit.
Bret walked over to the other bed and took the pillows off it, before going over to his brother, taking his arm, and pulling him upright as if he weighed nothing. He stuffed the extra pillows behind him so he was sitting up, grabbed the bottle of aspirin, and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the cart. "Here," he said, handing it to him and shaking two pills out of the bottle.
Bart took them and drank the water. The coolness felt good on his aching throat. "Thanks," he said, his voice sounding hoarse.
Bret went back over to the cart and took the covers off the trays before finding what he was looking for. He took one of the trays off the cart and sat it on his brother's lap. "Here you are, sir," he said, as if he was a waiter. "The soup of the day."
It smelled delicious…but Bart didn't know that, with his stuffed nose. He just stared at it for a moment.
Bret gave him a stern expression. "Now you listen to me," he said. "You better eat that soup, or else."
"Or else what?" Bart asked.
"Or else you can't have the piece of steak that I got you."
Bart looked up at him, to see the dish he was holding that contained a beautiful, perfect piece of steak. He loved steak just as much as his brother did, and Bret knew it. He sighed, mentally debating on what to do: he really had no appetite, but who could resist steak, hungry or not? Looking down at the soup again, Bart had to admit to himself that it would do him good, so he picked up the spoon and started to eat it.
"Wise decision," said Bret, putting the dish back on the cart until Bart was ready for it.
They ate in silence…most of the time, until a cough or sneeze from Bart interrupted it.
"There's a lot of people downstairs," Bret eventually said. "For the competition."
Bart nodded, not surprised. "I don't see myself playing…not tomorrow, at least."
"I figured that," Bret said.
"But that doesn't mean that you can't," said Bart.
"Oh, don't worry," said Bret. "I fully intend on making us some good money."
Bart smiled at him. "I can always count on you, Bret."
Bret smiled, but it faded as he watched his brother for a minute. "That's if your fever doesn't get worse."
Bart looked at his brother with a frown. "I'm fine," he said, just before breaking into a coughing fit.
Bret nodded. "Yeah, you sure sound it," he said, sarcastically.
It took a minute for Bart to stop coughing, and he reached up to feel his own forehead. "It's not bad."
"Not right now," said Bret. "But it might be later." He saw that his brother had finished the soup, and reached out to take the bowl before putting the piece of steak on Bart's tray.
Bart made no move to eat it at first. He'd had to force himself to eat all of the soup, and as much as he loved steak, he really didn't see how he was going to fit it in his stomach.
Bret mistook his hesitation to mean that his brother didn't have the energy to cut it, so he took the plate and did it for him, before putting it back.
The gesture brought back memories to Bart of his big brother helping to take care of him on the occasions when he was sick as a child…it made him smile.
Bret watched as his brother ate a piece of the steak. Satisfied, he placed his own plates on the cart and moved it back near the door.
The steak was good, and enticed Bart to eat a few more pieces, but he couldn't finish it, no matter how hard he tried.
"That's good enough," Bret said, seeing his struggle. He put the plate on the cart before going back to the bed.
Bart's eyes were half-closed and he looked very sleepy. He sniffed ineffectively, sluggishly raising his handkerchief to wipe at his nose.
"You should go to sleep," Bret said. "Maybe you'll be better tomorrow and can play after all." He doubted it.
Bart doubted it too. "I can't breathe through my nose. How am I supposed to sleep?"
Bret thought for a minute. "Maybe a hot toddy will help." The two of them generally didn't drink, but a hot toddy in case of emergency certainly wasn't a forbidden prescription.
Bart tiredly blinked. His nose was so stuffed that it was making his face hurt. His head was aching and felt full of cotton and his throat was sore. He could feel congestion in his lungs; something that hadn't been there during the day, and that was definitely the most worrisome symptom aside from the fever. "All right," he told his brother.
Bret nodded and left the room, heading downstairs to the front desk. He waited for the clerk to finish with the new customer, before saying, "Can the kitchen make a hot toddy?"
The clerk nodded. "Of course. I'll send it up."
"Thanks," Bret said. He walked around for a minute again, looking again at all of the people. There were some women, but mostly men: gamblers hoping to make a small fortune.
Bret wished the same thing himself.
He looked around longer than he thought, for suddenly the clerk was calling him over. "Mr. Maverick?"
Bret saw the same bellboy holding a small silver plate, upon which sat something tall with a napkin draped over it. It was obviously the toddy, and he headed over. "That was quick."
The clerk nodded. "Did you want to take it with you, since you're still down here?"
Bret reached for it, before remembering the dining cart. "You might as well come up and take the cart," he told the boy. "Thanks again," he said to the clerk, who nodded.
As Bret reached the door, he could hear Bart coughing. It sounded worse than before, and he quickly unlocked it and stepped inside.
Bart's hand was laying atop his chest, his eyes closed.
The sight made Bret frown. He took the toddy from the boy, pushed the cart into the hall, and handed him a coin before quickly closing it and heading over. "Bart?" he said.
As if not realizing that his brother had returned, Bart quickly removed his hand and opened his eyes.
"How are you feeling?" Bret asked, thinking that he looked worse than he had before he'd left the room.
Bart's answer was another coughing fit.
Bret put the toddy down and headed over to his suitcase that was still sitting on his own bed. Opening it, he took out his clean handkerchiefs and headed back over to his brother, sticking one into his unoccupied hand.
Bart immediately dropped the old handkerchief onto the floor and held the clean one over his mouth instead. Once he stopped coughing, his hand dropped down again. "Thanks," he whispered.
Bret nodded—not that Bart could see him with his eyes closed—and grabbed the toddy. He held the warm glass to his brother's lips. "Here."
Bart was still reclined sitting up and blearily opened his eyes. He reached for the glass but dropped his hand when his brother didn't let go, and sipped it before making a face.
Bret smiled at the sight.
Bart sipped it again, not making a face that time. "It's good," he decided.
"I'm glad," said Bret. "Because you're going to drink it all."
Bart again reached for the glass and Bret let go. He continued to sip it, relishing in the soothing heat that it provided. It took a while to drink it all...neither brother had a high tolerance for alcohol, and it quickly made him feel lightheaded.
Bret took the empty cup from him and put it on the nightstand. "Come on, Bart," he said, taking his arm. "You're still in your clothes."
Bart's eyes were closed again, and he was obviously tipsy from the alcohol in the toddy. He mumbled a response that was so intelligible, it could've been in a different language.
Bret helped his brother change before putting him back to bed, keeping him reclined upright to help him breathe better. "Comfortable?" he asked. "Can you sleep in that position?"
"Yeah," Bart mumbled, half-asleep.
"All right, then," said Bret. "Sleep well."
Bart gave no reply, asleep already.
Bret carefully felt his brother's forehead and found the fever still low. He was relieved at that, and headed over to relax on his own bed, hoping that Bart wouldn't get worse overnight…
TBC
