Chapter four: Massage

Jonathan came home around eight o' clock the following morning. With him, he had the herbs he needed, and a couple of more he just couldn't resist taking while he was at it. He found the house in good order, considering the conditions; the other two had had the decency to throw the empty bottles in the trashcan, anyway, and that counted as an effort, Jonathan ruled. The rest, he could deal with. No vomit anywhere. At least that was something to be glad about.

He brewed himself a cup of coffee. Normally, he didn't drink coffee, but he figured the other two probably had terrible headaches, and himself? Well, he could definitely have felt better than he did. Nausea had overcome him, and he didn't know exactly why.
He drank from a small porcelain cup, his face askew with disgust. How anyone could drink this kind of thing and not be repulsed by the taste of it was a mystery to him.
As he was pouring another cup to himself, Andrew emerged from the staircase. He looked like he was still partly asleep. He was wrapped in a couple of blankets, even though he was wearing clothes underneath.

"Having the shivers, are we?" asked Jonathan. "Well, I told you that stuff was bad. That's why it's so cheap."
Andrew gave him a disdainful look. "Whatever." He suddenly noticed the black, steamy liquid in Jonathan's cup. "Hey, you've made coffee!"
"No, I've heated up Coke in the microwave. What do you think? By the way, where's Warren? Is he still asleep?"
Jonathan could swear he saw Andrew twitch uncomfortably at the question. "Yeah, I think he's still asleep. But then I wouldn't know, 'cause we sleep in different beds... obviously." His voice was tarnished with nervousness, giving a very suspicious ring to it all. But Jonathan said nothing. Andrew was often nervous and awkward, not much unlike himself.
"Okay then. When do you suppose he'll wake up?"
"Don't know. Really, I don't. He had more to drink than I did."
"What a surprise," muttered Jonathan. "Well, when he wakes up, tell him I've gone out to seek some more herbs."
"What are they for this time?"
"Oh, nothing that should concern you," said Jonathan, in an arrogant manner. "You just give him the message."

Andrew didn't like the thought of being left alone in the house with Warren. He wasn't sure of how to deal with a possible confrontation – hell, he wasn't even sure if there was something there could be a confrontation about. How could he know how much Warren remembered about last night? After all, they'd both been pretty wasted, although Warren had been more so than he had.

"Can't you stay for a while? Err, I mean, not that I want you here, but..." He tried to find a reason. Come on, Andrew, just say something... fast! "... but you make better coffee than I do. I haven't a clue how to. And what if I don't remember to give Warren the massage... eh, I mean message! I'm not to be trusted with... important stuff."
Jonathan stared at him. "Andy, it's not that important. I've got the herbs to perform another shape-shift spell; I'll be perfectly all right. And it's not like he has to keep track of exactly what I'm doing all the time – I am my own person, you know, if I want to go out on my own, I should be free to do so!"
"Of course, but..." Andrew realised that this wasn't going to work out. "Well, fine, go then. Just don't blame me when I burn the Lair down 'cause I've mishandled the coffee-maker."
"This is just ridiculous. Here, take my cup, then!" Jonathan shoved it into his hands, and walked out, cursing to himself. "Stubborn... stupid little... can't make coffee! I'll show him... now where did I put my herbs..."
Then, Andrew was alone again.
Terrified.

---

It was like waiting for the world to end – which he, practically, had done before; that's what you get when you live just by a Hellmouth – and not knowing how it's going to turn out. Not knowing if you're going to survive or not.
It took three more hours before Andrew heard Warren come up the staircase. When he did, he almost went through the ceiling. He was absolutely terrified, and didn't know how to act at all.
Therefore, he sat down in a chair at the table. This, he figured, was a good defensive stance.

Warren entered the room like he always did – instantly owning it, and everyone in it. Andrew felt like he was being executed, and Warren alone was the firing squad.
The first thing he did was open the upstairs fridge, and extract a Coke. He was fully dressed, and didn't seem at all bothered by last night's escapades – that is, the alcoholic ones. He gave Andrew a quick glance before he exited the room.
"Hey, Andy."
He didn't even have time to answer him, before he was walking down the staircase again.

Andrew was, yet again, more than mildly confused. What had that been about? That had been scary. It had seemed like he had taken the ignoring approach to this their mutual problem.

Well, this couldn't do. They had to sort out what it had meant, if it had meant something. Otherwise, it would just lie there under the surface, nagging, irritating them constantly.

Andrew decided to go down. He took a deep breath, and then, he ventured down the stairs.