It was the middle of the school week, a hot sunny Wednesday after a boring lunch spent chewing brainlessly on a day old loaf of bread, a steal from the local bakery at half price, and obnoxiously slurping cold tea from an old, banged up sippy cup, because all the travel mugs were either lost or moldy.
Mr. Harris, Tom to his friends, was busily writing with a dying black pen on a whiteboard the differences between 'there' 'their' and 'they're' to a class of thankless, napping teens.
'Because high school students need to know the differences between these three vastly different and misused words.' Mr. Harris had announced to his students after the ringing of the bell and final trickle in of lackadaisical teenagers.
The reason for his impromptu, kindergarten level lecture? At least two-thirds of the students that had turned in their 'Is Torture Effective?' essays butchered the uses of 'their' 'there' and 'they're'.
So it was up to Mr. Harris, as a teacher with his students' futures in mind and high hopes for the few that wanted to succeed in life, to bore those who hadn't made such mistakes and bore those who had with an impromptu lesson on the three 'there's.
"While 'they're', the compact version of 'they are' is used as in 'They're going to the park after school to play football', merely an informative form of speaking, 'their' is purely possessive, most of you will recognize the usage in day to day life here at school: 'That was their fault, I didn't force drugs onto th-" A cell phone cut him off, blaring out a low quality rendition of a TV theme song. Mr. Harris' back stiffened and he stared at the class accusingly. "Who's phone?"
At that everyone was awake, suspected students checking their pockets then looking back at Mr. Harris with expressions of triumph, 'not today Mr. Harris' they projected through smug smiles and half lidded eyes, while others grinned with realization and looked pointedly at their stern faced English teacher.
"It's your phone, Mr. Harris." One student pointed to his desk with a grin. "Sweet ringtone, by the way. I love that show, too." As though she should earn extra credit or lenience because she made a connection between her and the strict, assumed to live at the school, teacher.
Mr. Harris gave her a strange look, he didn't care about her choice in ringtones and in no way was he going to be lenient or give something even remotely similar to 'extra credit' and turned to check his desk where he'd thrown his phone that morning after a harrowing call from the devil. Sure enough there sat his flip top cell, lighting up urgently and skittering in a frantic circle as it vibrated and rang incessantly.
"Thanks, Sadie." He said half-heartedly, grabbing the phone and checking the caller ID dismissively, prepared to silence it and move along with no more fanfare then froze.
In black pixels and blinking like the countdown numbers on a bomb, 'Bond JR' was scrawled across the display screen. Mr. Harris' heart stuttered to a halt and his mouth went dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Disobeying all that he stood for as a teacher and example to the future tax payers of Great Britain, Mr. Harris flipped open his phone and pressed it to his ear, moving to the temporary cover of the corner by his desk and hunching his shoulders.
From their desks the students strained forward eagerly and silence fell suddenly as everyone sought to hear the conversation that would make Mr. Stick-Up-the-Ass ditch his class.
"Tom." A familiar voice rasped in a breathy whisper, distorted by the cheap cell speaker and almost unrecognizable. But it was unmistakable as a voice he hadn't heard in 5 years, a voice he hadn't expected to hear ever again. "Tom, I-I need y-your…help." The voice of Alex Rider.
Bracing himself against his desk with one hand, the other shaking as it held the phone to his ear, Tom loosed a shuddering breath he'd been holding in. "Can it wait?" he hissed and started at the hoarse quality of his own voice, tongue and mouth clearly no longer synced with voice box.
There was a seconds pause on the other side. "Not if you want me to…to bleed out on-on your c-carp-pet," a gasp of pained laughter, and eruptive coughing made Tom's eyes widen in alarm, but before he could express concern Alex continued in a more subdued tone, "Y-you…uh…still t-taking…those f-first aid cla-asses on the-on the side?"
"Er, yeah." Tom's thought process was slowly shutting down. There he was, talking almost calmly with his bleeding out ex-buddy in the middle of a class in which every student was now watching him intently and with bated breath as his face drained of color. Realization slammed into him with the force of a speeding train. "Shit, Alex, you don't mean-"
A collective gasp. Mr. Harris swear? Unheard of! Light whispering broke out across the room: 'Do you think-' 'I think-' 'Holy shit!' 'Isn't that against-' 'Shhhhh, we're trying to listen!' 'You shhhhh!' 'Sh!'
"Y-y-yeah-yeah I-I do…mean…" The line fizzled off and for a few seconds Tom stared blankly at his phone. Mind whirring faster than ever and shuddering to a halt in one instant.
"Mr. Harris, are you okay?" Sadie piped up, breaking the silence that had fallen. Tom jerked away from his desk, facing his students with a look akin to that of a deer in head lights, brain jumpstarting as a litany of plaintive voices erupted from the silence.
"Mr. Harris, what happened?" "Who called?" "Can I use my cell phone?" "Can I go to the bathroom?" "What was your ringtone from?" "Seriously, my bladder feels like it's got tiny little elves running around in it punching everything." "Did someone die?"
Tom blinked then used his special teacher powers to fake a recovery, fixing a stern countenance over the shell shocked . "I'm leaving, family emergency. A sub will be sent in shortly, Mr. Slivka or Ms. Kipling." he said in as normal a tone as possible as he grabbed his coat, bag and moved to the door, looking one last time at the class. "Don't make trouble or all your grades are dropping, very very low."
He didn't know if it was his white countenance, despite all efforts to appear otherwise, or the urgency with which he spoke, but the class nodded almost in unison, a few agreeing verbally.
"What about the bathroom, Mr. Harris?" "Not my problem, Jim, pee in a cup if you can't hold it longer." There was a collective 'ew' and Jim's face was aghast. Mr. Harris sighed. "Fine, go."
Jim jumped up and ran out of the classroom before Tom, followed by muffled laughter from classmates. With one last small nod and a stern 'don't-you-dare-screw-up-anything' look, Tom left, walking until he was sure no one could see him then breaking into a hurried not quite run-but faster than a jog.
He stopped by the front office to say that he had to leave, family emergency being the reason given, and a teacher with a free period was called in to cover the rest of his classes.
Tom didn't wait any longer. He said a hasty goodbye, nodded absently to the well meaning words the new secretary sent him ('I hope they're okay' 'Take as long as you need off'), and ran to his car. Within minutes he was speeding to his flat, praying to the heavens that speedometer wielding cops weren't parked along his route.
….
Tom parked his car with little care next to the curb in front of his flat, turning off the ignition and making it to the door in record time.
Trying the door knob, he found it was unlocked, no surprise if Alex really was there. Tom threw his keys into a bowl by the front door as he hurried straight to the living room, the only carpeted area in the flat he could think of that was close enough to the door for an injured person to reach.
"Alex!" Tom exclaimed, seeing the slumped and curled up form of the spy on the living room floor. He'd half doubted the validity of the phone call, pranksters were getting more and more clever these days, but seeing Alex's blond hair matted down with blood, head curled against a chest also cradling a crooked, bent arm and hearing shallow, gasping breaths as cracked ribs tried to make room for expanding and depressing lungs disallowed any conspiracy theories.
Tom nearly had a heart attack. "Shit…Alex…" he stumbled back against the doorframe and stared unblinking at the crumpled shape.
"-ohm…?" clothing rustled as Alex struggled to raise his head and brown eyes fixed blearily on Tom's frozen figure. A bloody, chipped tooth smile spread over the spy's face for a second before it hurt too much and the head fell back down onto the ground with a soft thump. "Kn-knew…you'd…c'm…"
Brain jumping into hyper speed, Tom released his death grip on the doorway and moved slowly, as though approaching an injured animal, to kneel at Alex's side. "I-shite, man, bloody shite Alex." He muttered, hands twitching over Alex's torso.
It looked so bad, so…fatal. Tom froze again for a good fifteen seconds, until Alex moaned and in one effort managed to roll his body to face the teacher. "W'll?"
"It…um, shite man, I'm going to have to take you to a hospital, my training does not cover gashes needing stitching and broken bones." Tom brought his hands back to his sides, fingers tensing in spasms as his gaze looked over the injured mass that was his ex-best friend.
"N-no." Brown eyes stared desperately up at him, surrounded by black bruising and hollow they gave off a feeling of urgency, of desperation at the height of seriousness. Tom flinched and stood.
"Fine, fine." He muttered. "I'll just go get my kit then, yeah? Don't die while I'm gone." he was only gone for a good half a minute, the first aid kit luckily being in a kitchen drawer maybe 10 yards away from where Alex had fallen. Coming back with the white box in hand, Tom dropped to his knees and touched Alex's shoulder. "I'm going to, uh, roll you slowly onto your back, any major injuries I must know about?"
Beads of sweat had formed on Alex's brow and he gasped a bit before he could speak. "N-no, and…m-my r-ribs are…j-jus-st br-bruised. 'M j-just ti-tired-d…"
After that the only sound was quiet, muffled moans and hissed cussing as Tom did his damn well best to clean and bandage the spy.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Tom sat back on his heels and let out a huge gusty breath. "Bloody hell, you are such a pain in the ass." He said, wiping his brow with a sleeve. Alex, now lying on his back as immobile as possible, wheezed out a chuckle and a sliver of a smile stretched his lips.
"A-always." He sniped, reminding Tom of the good old days nursing sprains and bruises after football practice. Tom smiled nostalgically, those really were the best years of his life, and looked around at the mess he'd made of the first aid kit, contents strewn about the floor after an incident earlier when he'd been looking for something and that something just wouldn't be found.
"Well, think you can make it to the couch?" he asked, "I have to clean this mess up and you're rather in the way."
Alex opened his eyes to slits and smiled weakly. "If you lend me half your body and all your strength…prolly." Tom nodded and stood, rocking back on his heels then stretched, feeling his joints pop and creak.
"I'm getting old." He sighed, rubbing his lower back where an ache was slowly blooming, and looked over at the couch. "Take it slow, yeah?"
Alex's eyes closed again and his chin tilted towards his chest in a tiny nod. "Th-that would be, eh, would b-be g-great." He labored a deep breath and gave up, face twisting with pain, and resumed shallow gasping.
So Tom leant back down, carefully looped one of Alex's arms around his shoulders, securing it with a hand, and gently heaved the spy up to rest heavily against him. Alex's breathing deteriorated further; he was no longer taking shallow, but safe breaths. Rattling gasps shook his already shaking body, and Tom tried to keep himself from hurrying the man to the couch a mere two feet away just to get the scare over with.
"Sh-shite." Alex mumbled as Tom helped him take slow, dragging steps across the carpet. "Th-this is" *gasp* "harder th-han" *gasp* "I-I-I'd i-imag-gined-d." Tom could only echo the sentiment by grunting, too out of breath to say much apart from 'Don't talk, move'.
Finally they reached the couch, it felt like they'd traveled miles and while Tom was all for dropping the injured spy onto the couch with no more than a 'howdy do' and collapse to the ground himself, he couldn't.
Instead he had to carefully lower Alex onto the couch, straining his once young and supple muscles in the effort to go slow and not injure him further. Alex's grip on his arm was tight and white knuckled, he exhaled hisses of restrained pain every few seconds when Tom accidentally jostled bruises and injured limbs.
When Alex's bum touched cushion there was a unanimous sigh of relief. Tom let Alex sink into the couch, grabbing a pillow to shove under the spy's neck from the foot of the couch then lifting Alex's feet to the end when torso and head were safely positioned.
That done, Tom collapsed where he'd been anchored and breathed out a heavy sigh. "Gods Alex, must you weigh so much?" he asked, half joking. An exhausted, strained smile passed over Alex's lips.
"It's-it's all m-muscle." He said weakly, the corners of his eyes crinkling humorously. "I un-unlike y-you, a-am f-f-fit-t."
Tom laughed and wiped sweat from his brow. "Oh please, I'm confident that I felt a jelly roll when my hand groped about your midsection for purchase." He snarked back.
Alex winced visibly. "B-b-butter f-fingers-s." he replied after recovering from a small coughing fit, Tom supposed that was all he could manage for laughter, or he was dying. It really was a toss-up at that point.
"Am not." Tom sniffed and crossed his arms. The façade malted away in a matter of seconds as pout turned to grin and he dissolved in laughter, Alex laughing/coughing/dying alongside.
"I-I think I'll just clean up…now." Tom said after a few good minutes of busting his sides with laughter, gasping a bit as he recovered his breath. A hand over his heart, as if to brace it, Tom stood with considerable effort and looked at the scattered band-aid cartons, surgical scissors and other medical paraphernalia.
A minute passed.
Finally Tom made a sound in the back of his throat like a dry gurgle and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Eh, it'll be there later." He looked back at Alex, who was watching him through half lidded, hazy eyes. "I think I have some soup left over. From…a few days ago, I think?"
Without waiting for an answer, Tom made his way laboriously into the kitchen and opened the fridge, collapsing against the open door as he peered owlishly inside.
"Soup, soup, soup, soup." He murmured. "If I were soup, where would I hi-ah!" with a cry of success, Tom rescued a cylindrical tupperware container out from under a foul smelling sandwich he'd forgotten to wrap up in plastic wrap days ago.
Closing the fridge door, Tom poked his head around the doorway and looked over where Alex was blinking furiously, as thought trying his best to stay awake. "I found the soup, and I think it's still good too," Tom screwed off the lid and sniffed, making a face at the smell then pasting a confidence-inspiring smile on top of that, "Definitely still good."
"N't h'ng'y." the caterpillar shape that was Alex slurred out. Tom sighed and looked back down at the soup in his hand.
"Well, I'm not eating it." He announced, screwed the lid back on, and dumped it back in the fridge. A muffled grunt from the living room was the only reply. Looking in, Tom noticed that Alex had turned his face into the pillow supporting his head.
With a sigh, Tom turned back to the fridge and stared at it for a couple seconds.
"I'm hungry." He said, then raised his voice. "And you used to be so cute, what happened?"
The sound of hushed, and rather labored, but clearly audible snores reached his ears.
Tom sighed and shook his head with a rueful half-smile, closing the fridge after a gulp of milk from the carton and snagging a covered bowl of ravioli. "This looks edible." He muttered after careful examination.
The snores on the background steadily grew louder, interrupted regularly by coughs and wheezes, as Tom reheated the ravioli and sat at his small kitchen table to eat. The smile, small as it was, never left his face.
A sort of one shot while I work on the next chapter of Five Years.
This is listed as complete because while there are two-ish other chapters to it, I don't think it needs them and don't want to disappoint if the other two don't get posted. (There, is however, hombre-a-hombre attraction in the other two. And an ex-wife. Haha)
Sorry if the mumbled garble of Alex is hard to read.
Thanks for reading!
-Fridgeworks