Misery Loves Company
By
A Warrior's Prophet
Disclaimers: See Chapter 1.
Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone for the wonderful response to chapter 1! The point of view may change back and forth in this story—don't let it throw you! A special thanks to the real Kyle Sorensen for letting us 'borrow him' for our OC. Some similarities exist between the two, but not all of them. Thanks Kyle!
Chapter 2—Digging Deeper
(Adam's POV)
Kneeling on his bed in my t-shirt and boxer shorts, I begin working my fist into the tight muscles of his lower back. It's not real comfortable to him at first as evidenced by the way he's flinching, but I can feel the knots starting to loosen.
"Ahhh . . . damn," he groans as my hands knead and push into his sore, tight muscles. "That's wonderful . . . I owe you for this."
"No you don't," I answer. That's absurd. As many times as he's saved my bacon . . . I owe him more than I could ever repay.
As I start over at his shoulders and begin working down, I can't help but feel the incredible muscle tone under his smooth skin. He's always been well-toned and sculpted, especially in college, but now that he's bulked up quite a bit I would have to say that 'ripped' would be the right word. I'm jealous. Always have been, truth be known. That's the reason I wouldn't wear a tank top or go shirtless when he did. Maybe I can get him to share some bodybuilding secrets with me.
"How's that?" I ask after a few more minutes. No response.
"Tommy?" I lean over him until I can see the side of his face. I can't help but smile—he's sleeping peacefully, not making a sound. That mumble I heard must've been his 'goodnight'.
Not wanting to risk waking him by just abruptly stopping, I ease off the pressure with my hands until I'm really just lightly rubbing his back. As my palm slides across his right side, I feel more than see a couple of the scars that his dragon tat is concealing. Upon closer inspection, I can make out the actual size of the wound. This one looks like it was caused by a blade of some sort—maybe a sword. I wonder if it came from one of his many run-ins with Goldar. I remember Jase telling me about the scars they 'gifted' each other with during T's stint as an evil ranger. Jase's is on his chest—the result of blaster fire. Tommy's is supposed to be on his side just below his ribs—wish I could turn him over and look.
'No wait, is this it?' I wonder as my fingers find a thick, raised line running from under his ribs around towards his back. It's covered up by the tattoo, but I can still feel it. 'Damn, Jase . . . tryin' to split him wide open, weren't ya?' Wonder how he explained all these battle souvenirs to doctors and artists over the years. I guess tattoo artists don't ask too many questions . . .
On his left side I find a nice jagged remnant of a wound not covered by ink. I search my memory of Tommy's ranger-related scars and come up empty. Then it hits me . . . the wreck. That was a long time ago . . . nearly . . . wow, nearly ten years now . . . I hadn't thought about it since college. I know Tommy was severely injured in that accident—he had a bad concussion, a broken shoulder and ribs, this puncture in his side that my fingers are now feeling the result of . . . but I think there was more to it than that. Thinking back to those days right after high school, I can't help but believe that Jase and Tommy were keeping something from me . . . from all of the rest of us. Maybe that's something else I need to talk to Rex about.
Well, better get some sleep myself. After pulling a sheet up over him and turning out the light, I close the door quietly and make my way to the room he said was mine for the weekend. I think Tommy mentioned that Jase was the last to use this room. Well, at least he gets visitors out here in the quasi-wilderness.
No sooner have I climbed in bed and gotten comfortable than I realize I have to go—again.
"Damn it," I mutter and pull myself outta bed and pad across the hallway to what I think is the bathroom. Nope, that's the linen closet. Try again. Wrong, this looks like it's supposed to be another bedroom. At the moment though, it's somewhere between an office and a storage room. Closing the door, I guess I should've paid more attention when he was showing me around. By process of elimination, I find the bathroom at last and take care of business. I glance in the mirror that is the front of the medicine cabinet as I'm washing up. Wow—I look rough. Bet I'll look even rougher in the morning. Wonder if Tommy's got any Tylenol . . .
Opening the cabinet, I can't believe my eyes. Two of the four little shelves are lined with prescription bottles. Tommy is worse off than he lets on. What is all this stuff? Two or three I recognize as pain medications, one for migraines, and another that says, "Take 1 tablet every 4 hours as needed for anxiety." Anxiety? Tommy? Guilt complex, yes . . . but anxiety?
I keep looking, knowing I probably shouldn't. I mean, this really isn't my business, but I'm worried about him. I stop and stare as I come across one that I know is for depression. Not to mention the sleeping pills.
Oh shit, Tom. Pain, depression, sleeping, and anxiety meds . . . and he sure was knocking back the alcohol tonight . . . we gotta talk. All of this would make a cocktail you wouldn't wake up from.
I find the Tylenol that I originally went after and swallow a couple quickly, then I head back to bed. Talk about a buzz kill . . . I was all set to enjoy being tipsy and not dwelling on upsetting things like my whore of an ex-wife or the fact that I now live in a tiny apartment and go to sleep and wake up alone . . . No, now I'm seriously worried about one of my good friends—one who's almost like my brother.
Not that I think he'd purposely try to hurt himself—I mean, he's got a good life here—good job, even if it doesn't pay enough; a nice house with plenty of privacy; some nice friends if Hayley is any indication; and his students seem to like him—especially the girls. He always did have a way with the ladies.
I'm more afraid of him maybe drinking a little too much one night and taking one or two too many pills . . . I don't wanna think about it. If anything were to happen to him . . . My mind suddenly begins playing out a worst-case scenario where I get an early morning call from a completely-crushed original red ranger telling me that Tommy is dead . . . of an overdose. I have to shake my head to clear it. Come on, don't think that way.
All this worry is mostly Jason's fault anyway. He just had to call me up and tell me how worried he was. It was probably after he got back to Angel Grove from his visit here—just before I went on the Overdrive mission. I didn't have time to think about it while I was at the Hartford mansion, but as soon as I got back it hit me. Jason said that Tommy was drinking waaaay too much and, according to him, was becoming dependent on pain killers. Was he exaggerating? The former gold ranger isn't given to doing that and he is a paramedic. However he does have a protective streak a mile wide when it comes to Tommy. I don't know. Guess I'll have to just watch him and see—he sure was puttin' away the booze tonight. Maybe Jase's got somethin' here.
I shake my head again--gotta stop this. He's a grown man . . . a very intelligent grown man. He's a doctor, for cryin' out loud. And he's in good shape . . . damn good shape, looks like to me. I don't think he's ever been that buff. He's gotta weigh close to 200 pounds—all muscle, too.
(2 hours of catnapping, tossing, and turning later)
Okay, this isn't working. I just can't get Tommy off my mind. Maybe if I get something to drink and a little nibble I'll feel better. Getting up and quietly leaving my room, I walk softly down the hall to the stairs. As I pass Tommy's bedroom, I can't resist the urge to press my ear to the door.
No sound. I turn the knob and crack the door open just a bit. It's so dark that I can't see a thing and I still don't hear a sound. I know this is silly and if I wake him I'll feel bad, but I can't help it—I have to make sure he's okay.
Once I get over to the bed and my eyes adjust a bit, I can barely make out the outline of his form curled up on his side. Reaching out tentatively, I lay my open hand on his chest, relieved when I feel the regular rise and fall. I knew it was silly. He's okay—just sleeping off all that scotch. He is cold, though. I pull the covers up over him and try to make sure he's tucked in. Man, he's a big guy. He shifts slightly in his sleep, making me jump back a little. I'd better go before I wake him up.
Closing the door behind me, I start for the kitchen again. I make myself a little snack and wander around a little while I'm munching on my PB&J.
What on earth is this huge stack? Shuffling through it a little I see that they're term papers. The first couple have been graded already. Reading instructor's notes written by Tommy is surreal—I still can't believe he's a teacher. Ooooh, he really let this one kid have it—looks like his red pen bled all over that paper. I'm giggling at some of his comments . . . that's cold, Tom.
Okay, enough fascination with the man's job. I need to try to go back to sleep. But first . . . I gotta take a look inside that liquor cabinet. I'm probably making too much of this. Opening both doors, I realize that I'm not. There are vodka, gin, bourbon, rum, and scotch bottles—none of them full. Beside the cabinet is a wine rack—red, white, and blush—three to four bottles of each. Well, at least he's a well-rounded drinker. I gotta talk to him.
Turning off the lamp, I climb the stairs and try to go back to bed. Maybe I'll have better luck this time.
I slowly awake to the smell of coffee brewing. Mmm . . . that really smells good. Yawning and stretching, I pull myself out of bed and, after visiting the bathroom, make my way to the kitchen. There stands Tommy wearing only a pair of black warm-up pants that barely cover his hips—he's looking no worse for wear. He's reading the morning paper and waiting for the coffee to finish.
"Mornin'," I say as I enter the room. He lowers the paper and looks at me over his glasses.
"Mornin'. You sleep okay?"
"Well no… not really. Too much on my mind."
"I'm sorry. Want some coffee?"
"That'd be great. You feelin' okay today?"
"Oh yeah, I'm good. A bit of a headache, but nothin' serious."
"How's your back?"
"It actually feels pretty good. I'm gonna have to get you to work your massage magic on me more often!" he says with a big smile.
"Anytime . . . glad I could help." Maybe if I really can help him feel better he won't need all those prescriptions . . . and I won't worry so much. Neither will Jase.
Bringing me a big, steaming mug of the most wonderful smelling coffee, he sits down at the table with me. "So, whatcha wanna do today?"
"Oh, I don't know. You said something about showing me your school."
"Sure, we can go by there. I really hate to do this, but I seriously need some new pants that I can wear to work. I've had a couple of pairs ruined by careless lab students recently. Would you mind going shopping with me for about an hour?"
I grin at him. "No, I don't mind."
"Cool. It shouldn't take long and there are some really good restaurants out by the mall. We'll have lunch there . . . or dinner, depending on what time we get there."
I nod. After a pause, he asks, "How's your coffee?"
"It's really good—what kind is it?"
"Something Hayley gave me . . . I think it's Kona coffee from Hawaii. Although, she called it 'Kyle Surprise'." He rolls his eyes. "She gets all these exotic coffee beans from all over the place for the Cyberspace and she always gives me some."
"That's nice of her, but 'Kyle Surprise'?"
"I've learned not to ask. She owes me—I think she's trying to pay me back in coffee beans," he says with a laugh.
Wonder what she owes him for. Before I can ask him, he poses a question to me.
"So, what was on your mind last night? Wanna talk about it?"
Yeah I do . . . but I don't know how to start.
"Was it about what happened with Brooke?" he asks, giving me an out for the moment.
"Some of it, yeah." I sigh and stare into my mug. "It's just depressing."
"I can imagine. Makes it hard to trust people, doesn't it?"
"Yeah it does, but I don't suppose you've ever been cheated on and lied to."
"Oh, yes I have. She was just a girlfriend—not my wife—but it still hurt. A lot."
I shake my head. "I just don't understand that mentality. If you don't want to be with someone, leave them and go to someone else. Don't cheat on 'em and make 'em feel like garbage."
"I guess some people just want more than they can find with one person. They go looking for whatever they're lacking."
"Well, my marriage wasn't lacking in closeness or actual sex, so why did that bitch have to go looking?"
He shakes his head sadly. "I don't know, man. Lots of people would like to have answers like that."
I can feel my anger rising. He notices my clenched fist on the table—I need to calm myself down—it's too early for this.
"Can we change the subject?" I ask, trying not to look like a kicked puppy.
He nods, but doesn't take his eyes from me. Man, he has a piercing gaze. I had forgotten about that.
"If you ever need to talk though, I'm here Adam. Anytime, okay?"
I give him a half smile. "Okay." Damn . . . I didn't realize how much I'd missed him.
"Whatcha want for breakfast? I can do eggs, bacon, and toast or oatmeal."
He cooks? This I gotta see.
"Eggs and bacon sounds great. Want some help?"
"No, you're my guest. I got it," he says as he's pulling stuff from the fridge.
As I watch him making our breakfast, I suddenly figure out a way to bring things up with him. "You got anything for a headache?" I ask, hoping he'll direct me to the medicine cabinet.
"Ummm . . . sure. I'll get it," he says.
"No, just tell me where it is—you've got your hands full."
"Upstairs bathroom. There should be some Tylenol or Excedrin in the cabinet."
"Thanks. Be right back." Good, it worked.
"Bring me a couple while you're at it."
"Okay."
While I'm up there, I make mental notes of the names of the prescriptions: Soma, which is a muscle relaxant, and Naproxen that is used as an anti-inflammatory. Those don't really bother me. What bothers me is the Valium that's used for anxiety, Celexafor depression, Midrinfor migraines, Ambiento help him sleep, and Vicodin, Talwin, and even Morphinefor pain. I shake my head again. There's gotta be a better way to treat him than with all these pills, especially considering that some of them can be used for more than one purpose . . . like the Valium, for instance.
Coming back into the kitchen, I place two Excedrin beside his coffee cup.
"There ya go," he says, placing a big plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and crisp bacon in front of me. Mmm, that looks good!
"Dig in. We'll go for a run after breakfast to work some of this off."
I eagerly start on my food, amazed that my former ranger commander can actually cook. "This is good! When did you get all domestic?" I kid him.
"Well, there's nobody else to do it. I kinda have to cook, clean, and wash clothes, and stuff."
"I guess so. Me too. Luckily for me, Mom helps me out some."
"Well, I con Hayley into helping me sometimes. Kira has been known to lend a hand from time to time, too" he smiles. I'll bet she has.
"You could probably have a whole female student cleaning crew over here free of charge if you wanted," I laugh.
"Really? Tell me how . . . other than offering A's on their report cards."
"Just promise to wear something like what you've got on now—you'd have a waiting list!"
He looks down at himself and then eyes me with a grin. "Adam Park, are you flirting with me?"
I nearly choke at that. "No . . . I'm just sayin' . . ." Damn it, I'm blushing—I can feel it. There's that gaze again. Cover your ass, come on!
"It's just that I saw how your students were looking at you last night at Hayley's place. You've always had that effect on women, Tommy—you know that."
He nods, grinning. "Uh huh . . . Well, I don't effect 'em enough to make 'em want to stay with me for long. Maybe I just need to write off women for a while."
"Yeah, maybe," I say innocently enough, but he's studying my face like he's trying to read my mind. "What?" He's making me uncomfortable.
"How's your head?" he finally asks, looking down at his mostly empty plate.
"Better. You?"
"Not bad."
I need to go ahead and get this over with. Just plunge in—go on.
"Tommy, can I talk to you about somethin'?"
"Sure," he says, glancing up at me with a curious look.
"Promise you won't get mad?"
He lifts one eyebrow, looking for the world like Jason Scott. "Okaaaay."
"Well, when I was upstairs getting the Excedrin earlier I couldn't help but notice all the prescription meds you have in there." He casts his eyes down and takes a sip of his coffee.
"Yeah . . ."
"Do you really take all of that?"
He sighs. I think I've upset him.
"Only when I need it. Some of those bottles are a couple of years old. I should probably throw them out."
"Are you in that much pain? Tell me the truth." I throw my best piercing gaze at him. Two can play at that game.
He meets my gaze head on. "Sometimes, yeah."
"Like yesterday?"
"Yesterday was about . . . a 4 on the pain scale."
"How bad does it get?"
"6 to 8 sometimes. A 10 is a trip to the ER."
I feel my eyes widen. "You have many 10s?"
"No, thank goodness. The last time that happened it wasn't pretty."
"What happened?"
"Tell you some other time. So, you ready to go for our run?" He gets up and starts clearing the table.
Oh no you don't. You're not shutting me out like that. "Tommy, tell me."
"Not now. I don't wanna get into all that right now."
"Can I help?"
"Unless you can fix my nerve damage, no."
"What about some of our vast array of friends? Maybe Eltarian or Triforian medicine could help."
He's standing by the sink with his arms folded. He's shutting down on me, I can tell. "Maybe," he mutters.
"Have you looked into it?"
"Not really."
Damn, he's exasperating. "And why not?" I ask; my voice a little more intense than I intended it to be. I'm sure he can tell that I'm getting irritated at his utter lack of a good explanation.
"Why are you getting so upset? I can handle it, Adam."
"I'm getting upset because I care about you, dammit! A lot. I don't want to see you suffering needlessly or drinking too much to cover it up. All it would take is one too many pills on top of all that alcohol, and . . ." I'm finally able to shut my mouth. All of that wasn't supposed to come out. He's looking at me like I've lost it.
"Adam . . ." he starts, but pauses. His voice is low and calm. "I'm okay . . . really. It's good to know that you care that much, but . . . don't worry. I can handle it."
I take a deep breath. "Look, you're an adult and perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, I know that. It's just that . . . you're one of my oldest friends and I worry."
He nods. "By the way, what makes you think I drink a lot?"
"All those bottles in the liquor cabinet. Not to mention you were puttin' it away last night."
"Not to put too fine a point on it, my friend, but you were too . . . if you remember."
He's right. Now that I think about it, he didn't drink much more than I did. Seeing all those medicine bottles just freaked me out. That and Jase's phone call. Thanks, Rex.
Sheepishly, I look into his face. "Don't pay any attention to me. I've been on edge for months now. Sorry."
He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Nothing to be sorry for. Like I said, I'm really glad that you care—it's nice to know. Look, let's make a deal. I promise to try to talk out my problems with you if you'll do the same with me."
It's obvious that we're both dealing with a lot of pain, whether it is emotional like mine or physical like his. Maybe we can help each other.
"Deal."
"Now, you wanna go for a jog?"
"Sure. Let's go."
It's getting close to 9 by the time we walk out the front door to work off some of that breakfast. The spring air is pleasantly cool as we stretch on the front lawn. Absently, I think how much I miss having a yard to cook out or just be lazy in. My apartment doesn't afford me any of that. I wonder if that bitch and her office boy are enjoying my yard . . .
"Adam . . ."
"Huh?" I'm zoning again.
"You ready?" Tommy asks.
"Yeah. Sorry." He looks at me like he knows where my mind was.
" 's okay. Come on." He starts toward his long driveway and I follow close behind until we get to the main road where I catch up. Man, this brings back memories. He, Jase, and I used to run at least three times a week when we were at the university. Tommy could always pull away from us at will because of those long legs. Jase used to say that he had another gear that we didn't have. Of course, when it came to power lifting, there was no contest. Jason Scott could practically lift a car. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but he was . . . is an extraordinarily strong man. Me? I'm slippery, quick, and quiet. I can dump the bigger guys on their asses before they know what's happening--except for my physically gifted friend here.
"Hey . . . you wanna spar later? We haven't done that in years," I ask.
He looks over and smiles. "Sure . . . that sounds like fun. As long as you don't mind picking your sorry ass up off the ground a few times . . ."
Ohhhh . . . talkin' smack, huh? "Yeah, big man . . . just don't let your mouth write a check your butt can't cash, alright?"
He grins at me. "We'll see, Froggy."
Froggy? Damn . . . no one's called me that in a looong time. I laugh in spite of myself.
We run on for another half mile or so until we see a car coming toward us. Wow. I was beginning to think he had a force field or somethin' around this place. Other people can't approach without his express permission. It goes by and then another comes along not too far behind. The kids in the black SUV sound their horn and wave out the window.
"Hey Dr. O!" they yell as they pass.
Tommy waves back. Students of his, I guess. And guys this time too . . .
"Some of yours?" I ask.
"Yeah. They live out here somewhere. Good kids."
"How many classes you teach, anyway?"
"We're on a block schedule—kids have four classes a day plus a lunch period. I teach three classes—the other is a planning period. Although, my planning period often times ends up being a counselling or discussion session with my teaching assistant. "
"Cool. All three the same?" I can't help but grin at him. "Teaching assistant? Is she cute?"
"No. One is a general science class—some chemistry, some biology—like that. Second block is Earth Science, and third is an advanced version of Earth Science for seniors only." He laughs softly. "He is a former student of mine. Good kid though. You might get to meet him later."
I nod. "So which is your favourite?"
"Probably the advanced class. The kids are all college-bound and pretty motivated—makes it easy to teach."
"So . . . you ever feel bad for some of the pranks we used to pull on our teachers at Angel Grove High? Now that you're in their shoes, I mean."
He grins at me. "Yeah. Karma's a bitch!"
We both laugh at that. Yes it is, my friend.
Back at the house, we relax on the back deck for a little while before we start the sparring session. I begin to wonder if it's a good idea.
"Tommy, be honest with me. Are you okay to spar? I'd feel absolutely terrible if I made things worse."
"No, I'm okay. If I start to feel like something's flaring up, I'll tell ya." A minute later—"You're not tryin' to get out of this, are ya?" He eyes me suspiciously.
"No, no . . . just worried aboutcha."
"Worry about yourself, buddy," he says smugly. "Are we gonna do this?"
I get up from my deck chair and stretch. "Alright . . . come on so I can clean your clock for ya."
He bursts out laughing. "Yeah, right. When did that ever happen?"
"I'm gonna shut that smart mouth, you wait."
"Shut me up . . . please," he goads me further.
"It's your yard—where would you like to get your ass kicked?"
He grins even bigger. "Back yard—the ground's more level. Let's get the mats."
"You have mats?" Of course he has mats. This is Tommy.
"I had to have them when I was trainin' the kids. Lots of big tree roots and stuff around here. A butt-kickin' is one thing—a head injury is somethin' else."
"True."
We get out the mats and start to put them down, continuing our smack talk.
"Of course another reason you could be needing mats is that you're getting old."
"Old? I'm only a little older than you, Froggy. Besides, I wasn't the one that had to drive a minivan." He shoves me.
"At least I'm not tryin' to wear a rainbow. What color you goin' for next? Blue? Pink? Think you'd look great in a skirt there T." Definitely got the legs for it.
"Says the one who wore green second." He's got me there.
"So we're even—I wore black before you."
Straightening up, he pretends to dust off his black t-shirt. "Maybe . . . but it looks better on me."
I grin at him. "Oh yeah?" I say loudly, puffing out my chest.
"Yeah!" he responds equally as loudly, giving me a push on the shoulder.
"We gonna do this or are we just gonna trade insults?"
"Let's go . . . but just remember, you asked for it!"
"Fine!" By this time, we're up in each other's faces, fingers stuck in shoulders.
"Ribbit!" he mocks me. "Come on, Frogboy!"
"Ribbit me, will ya?" I arch an eyebrow at him, trying to make it as convincing as Jase does. "I'll pluck those feathers for ya, Falcon!"
I'm tryin' so hard to keep a straight face, but it's not easy. He's not having much success either. He reaches out and shoves me again, trying to look big and menacing—it'd be more convincing if he could keep from giggling.
"Oh, you're asking for it, asshole!" I yell as I drop into a fighting stance, ready to wipe that smug grin off his face.
"I'm beggin' for it! Who's gonna give it to me? You?" he yells from his fighting stance.
"Oh yeah—right now!"
We're circling each other looking for an opening when . . .
"Dr. O!"
"Hey! What's going on here?"
We both drop our guards and look in the direction of the voices. I see a girl that looks like Kira and some black-haired kid running toward us ready to fight. More specifically, running at me.
"Kira? Trent?" Tommy says in surprise.
The Hispanic-looking boy reaches me first—he has an ugly look on his face. Putting a hand on my chest, he looks between us.
"You're not touchin' him! You'll have to go through me first!" he yells in my face. I'm sure I could take him, but he's determined to protect Tommy.
"Trent! It's okay . . . this is . . ." my old friend starts.
"Adam?" Kira says in surprise as she finally gets a good look at me from behind this Trent kid. She pulls his hand away from my chest.
I'm still lookin' a little surprised as he apologizes. Tommy's laughing and patting his shoulder. We all eventually have a good laugh and Tommy explains to them what we were doin' while we all have a seat on the deck.
"They're a little overprotective . . ." he says and shoots them both a look.
Kira looks up sheepishly. "Sorry Dr. O . . . it's just that when we got out of the car we could hear you guys arguing . . . well, apparently arguing anyway . . . and all I heard was stuff like "Fine!" and "Come on!" and "You're askin' for it, asshole" . . . what were we supposed to think?
"That I can take care of myself?"
"We know you can, but with all the pain you've been having . . ." Trent starts, but stops short when he gets a stern look from his former mentor. "Sorry, Dr. O."
Tommy gives them a shake of his head, but then smiles. "Thanks for the effort, guys . . . but seriously, I'm okay."
"But Hayley said . . ."
"I'm okay," he interrupts. "Besides, Hayley doesn't know everything. I know how my body feels and it feels fine most of the time. Adam, you ready to spar?" he asks, turning to me.
"Uh . . . yeah, sure . . . but might I make one suggestion?" I say, raising an eyebrow at him.
"What's that?"
"How about we go at 40%? It's been a while and if you still wanna go out later, I'd like to be able to enjoy myself and not limp any more than I have to." I can't help it . . . I'm worried about him.
He raises an eyebrow back at me and adds a half-grin. "Okay, if you're not up to going all out. . . I guess we can hold back a bit."
I'll let him think whatever he wants. If I were to hurt him I'd never get over it.
Getting up and heading back over to the mats, we try to refocus.
"Okay, now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? Oh yeah . . . come on!" he says loudly and drops back into his fighting stance.
As we circle each other, I can tell that he's serious about this, especially now that we have an audience. He probably wants to prove somethin' to his former protégés—though I'm pretty sure I caught an appreciative look from them after I made my 40% suggestion.
While I'm worrying about hurting him, he comes at me with a fake front kick and slips inside my guard somehow, landing a quick series of three punches. Good thing we're wearing gloves. We didn't used to, back in the day, but as an adult it's not cool to walk around with facial bruises. I counter with a side kick just to get him off me, but it doesn't land with any force. I attack next with my own kick-punch combinations and he counters rather successfully. We trade blocks, punches, and kicks, each of us scoring points here and there.
Every once in a while, we step back from each other to regroup and reassess. He doesn't seem to be in pain or out of breath—he shoots me a smile every now and then--same ol' Tommy I've always enjoyed going up against. But during one of these pauses I realize something—he's not throwing any of his aerial moves that had been his bread and butter when we were rangers. I had come to expect that triple jump spin kick of his every time we fought in the past, but now he's keeping to basic kicks and strikes.
The one thing that's new to his style is an infusion of what I believe to be Muay Thai. Good thing he's pulling those knee strikes or I'd be down for the count by now. Even at 40% though, those kicks to the thigh are hurting! After a particularly hard one, I can't help but go down on one knee. He looks at me for a few moments and then extends a hand to help me up.
"You okay, Froggy?" he asks somewhat suspiciously. I'm not faking, I promise.
"Yeah . . . but that one's gonna leave a mark," I say while wincing. Looking up at him, I catch a strained look that is probably hiding pain. "What say we declare you the winner while I can still walk?"
"If that's what you want." It is, trust me. I would hate to feel that kick at 100% . . . or as close to it as he can get. I know he's supposed to be hurt and in constant pain, but he just kicked my ass. Not sure whether I'll admit that to anyone, though.
We make our way back over to the porch where Trent and Kira have been watching the match. The boy gives Tommy a congratulatory look . . . yeah okay, I lost.
"Umm . . . forgotten how good he is?" Kira asks me with a grin.
"No . . . I was sparring with him when you were in grade school. I just don't have to defend against Thai kicks most of the time." Turning to Tommy, "When did you start practicing Muay Thai?"
"A couple of years ago—wanted to try something different. It's pretty effective."
"No shit," I say, rubbing my left thigh.
He giggles at me and then takes a long drink of water. "Let's clean up here and get something to eat."
"You guys wanna stay for lunch?" he asks Kira and Trent as we pick up the mats.
"Ummm, well . . ." Kira says and looks at Trent who shrugs and nods. "Sure . . . if it's not too much trouble."
"It's not. I kinda miss having teenagers eating me outta house and home . . . but don't tell Connor that!"
"We're not teenagers anymore, though. Granted, we're closer to it than you guys are, but . . ." Kira pokes at Tommy. Her eyes just gleam when she looks at him—boyfriend there has got to notice that.
"Whatever . . ." Tommy groans and rolls his eyes at her.
Just as we get inside the back door, he turns to me. "Adam, why don't you go ahead and shower while I fix lunch. I'll shower afterwards."
"Okay, that'll work. How's your hot water?"
He gives me an odd look. "Fine, why?"
"Just don't freeze me," I say with a grin and go off to get my clean clothes. Now that I've calmed down a little, I'm starting to feel some of the bumps and bruises I just got. Undressing confirms it. Man, I had forgotten what sparring with Tommy can do to a person. I'd also forgotten how much fun it was. We'll have to do that again soon.
After I've enjoyed the hot water for a while, I get out and dress. Damn, is that my stomach making that noise? Hope lunch is ready. Entering the kitchen, I see that it is.
Tommy and the kids have put together big, deli-looking sandwiches complete with chips and even a pickle. Beats the hell outta my usual lunch—Hot Pockets.
"Man, you always eat like this, T?"
"Why? What's so special?"
"Just alotta food, that's all."
"Gotta eat enough—otherwise I start losing weight pretty quickly."
And losing weight for him is losing muscle—there's no fat on him. Bet he sinks like a rock in the swimming pool.
"So Adam how's the dojo in Angel Grove?" Kira asks as we're all sitting down at the table.
"Pretty good, actually. I just hired another guy to help me teach so that makes three of us now. Plus, my old friends Rocky and Jason help me out some."
"How many students do you have?" Trent asks.
"Ummm, around 20-25 kids and about 10 adults. Some of the kids are the children of people that Tommy and I went to high school with."
Tommy looks up. "Really? Wow . . ." and he shakes his head.
Kira gets that grin again but before she can make an age-related comment, Tommy cuts her off. "Kira . . . none of your wise-ass remarks."
"Damn," she mutters and grins.
Those two are cute together. Maybe she's not too young for him after all—I think she said she's twenty-one and he's only a little older than me . . . And I know one thing, if Tommy showed her the least bit of encouragement she'd drop Trent like a bad habit. Sorry kid . . . but you don't stand a chance against the doc here. Maybe I'll talk to him about it later. Despite his insistence that he's fine, I know he must get lonely.
Once we've finished eating, Tommy gets up and starts clearing the table like the good host he is.
"Tommy . . . here, let me get that. You put it together, let me clean up," I offer.
"No, you're my guest."
"Oh stop—go get in the shower while I take care of this."
He looks at me for a moment, but then gives in and starts out of the room. "I won't be long," he says from the stairs.
I pick up the plates quickly and head to the sink. It occurs to me that this is the perfect time to try and get some information out of the kids.
Going back over to the table, I sit and fix them with a serious look. "Guys, tell me what you know about Tommy's condition."
There it is—a flat-out request, almost a demand—let's see 'em wiggle out of this one.
They exchange a glance. "Well, ummm . . . what has he told you?" Kira hedges.
"Come on now, don't answer my question with another question. Just please tell me what you know. I'm worried about him . . . and I'm not the only one." I hope my sincerity shows.
"Well, it happened when we used all our powers together to defeat Mesogog," Trent starts. I guess he feels he can trust me.
"It took everything the gems had to do it—completely burned them out. We were all fine afterwards—tired, but fine—until a day or two later. Each of us felt the effects—achy, sore, headaches, even some memory lapses—but it hit Dr. O the worst. By the second day after the battle, he was having headaches so bad they made him dizzy and nauseous, shooting pains in his back and legs, and he was even a bit disoriented."
I'm trying to keep my reactions in check, but it hurts me to hear about my friend in that much pain. When Trent sees my expression though, he stops and tries to figure out how to continue. Talking about this is obviously upsetting to him as well.
"He was the strongest among us—physically and mentally—so we couldn't understand it. We kinda thought it was because of his age, but that really didn't make sense. He was only twenty-six or so at the time. Hayley is the one who came up with the idea that it could be because of his previous powers. She ran every test on him that she could think of—even made up a few, I think."
"How'd she ever get him to agree to all that?" I ask. Tommy has never been one to sit still and be poked and prodded like a lab rat.
He grins slightly. "You don't know Hayley. She can be quite convincing."
"More like a force of nature," Kira adds.
"Seriously though, he wasn't in much shape to resist. He was having migraines and muscle spasms so bad he couldn't get out of bed for two or three days. We all tried to take care of him the best we could. He really didn't want to go to the ER if it could be avoided. He said that he was sure he'd show some strange signs and produce some readings that would land him in a laboratory with wires coming out of his head. He was probably right. So finally, Conner and I carried him from his bed down to the lab so that Hayley could run her tests. He was only semi-conscious by then."
My eyes grow wide at that. I've seen Tommy go through a lot, but I've never seen him that bad off.
"Didn't you guys call any of his friends or his family?"
"Hayley didn't want to worry his parents until she had some idea of what to tell them. She did call Jason, though—he was here in like 45 minutes . . . seriously."
I remember that it takes an hour and a half to drive from Angel Grove. Damn, Jase.
"Without him, we wouldn't have been able to do much with Tommy. Even in excruciating pain, he's really strong-willed, as I'm sure you know—as long as he's conscious, he's fighting," Kira adds.
"Oh yeah, I know."
"So Jason comes in and pretty much takes over—kinda pissed Hayley off, but he got the job done. Told, not asked—told Dr. O. what was gonna happen. He bundled him up and took him directly to the ER. He busted some heads and got him seen in less than a half hour."
"Well, he is a paramedic, ya know." I can't help but grin. That's Jase for ya.
"He made up some cock and bull story about Dr. O. being an innocent bystander, but getting hurt in the final battle with Mesogog. Told them about the spasms, the migraines, the nausea, the possible head injury, the cracked ribs . . ."
"Wait . . . head injury?"
"Yeah, but it turned out to be only a minor concussion."
"Didn't his helmet protect him better than that?"
"It did pretty well . . . he still has a head!" Kira stresses.
"See, what happened was this," Trent continues. "Mesogog had mutated further into this purely animalistic form—and gained a lot more power in the process. He was huge. During the fight, Dr. O. ended up face to face with it—not more than 10-15 feet. The monster blasted him hard, point blank . . . into a car. Afterward, he . . . he didn't get up for a while. We tried to get to him, but that only left the four of us fighting that creep and we couldn't get over there. Honestly, I thought he was dead—he didn't move for quite a while."
Kira shakes her head and looks visibly upset by the memory. So does Trent. It's easy to see that they both care an awful lot about Tommy.
"He finally managed to get up and we eventually combined the gems like I told you before. So that's where the injuries came from. Hayley says he's had his powers changed or ripped from him too much."
"When you guys first got here, you started to say something about what Hayley thinks before he cut you off with 'I know how my body feels'. What were you gonna say?"
The kid looks at his girlfriend and then back at me. Come on, don't clam up on me now.
"We've told him the rest . . . we may as well tell him everything," Kira offers. Smart girl.
"Dr. O.'s gonna have our heads."
"Me and Jase will handle him . . . tell me."
"Well . . ." he starts slowly. I can tell he really doesn't want to tell me this. Tommy must've put the fear of God in them.
"The last time Hayley ran her scans she decided that we needed to be told about the results. Dr. O. didn't want to tell us, but she convinced him that we deserved to know." Looking down at the table, he stops and sighs. I don't like where this is going.
"She says that his condition is deteriorating—it's been getting worse for three years now, but lately it's sped up—she doesn't know why. He's been working out like a man possessed, trying to stay ahead of it . . . Hayley says it won't work."
"What does she think will happen?"
"She's not exactly sure. She said the pain would definitely get worse and there's a possibility of several things—numbness or burning in his back and legs, muscle weakness, loss of motor control . . ." he trails off. When he continues, his face and voice become even more serious than I thought possible for a kid his age. "Eventually . . . it could paralyze him."
I feel like I've just been punched in the gut. "Oh no . . ." I can't do anything but sit and gape at them for what seems like ages. This can't be happening to Tommy . . . it just can't. "When did she tell you all of this?"
"I guess it was about six weeks ago—maybe two months at the most," Kira responds.
"Did anyone tell Jase?"
"We didn't. I don't know about Hayley . . . or Dr. O. for that matter."
If Jase knew about this and didn't tell me . . . I'm already gonna have to have a loooong talk with him when I get home.
"What does his doctor say?"
"I don't know—he doesn't talk about it," Kira answers.
"Except for some back pain, he seems fine. Didn't seem to have a problem at all kicking my ass out in the backyard a little while ago," I say. How much can he be hiding?
Trent grins but then gets serious again. "I know. It's hard to tell exactly how he is because he's so good at keeping things from us. We know he has a fair amount of pain, but how much and exactly how bad it is, we don't know."
"I know he was having a bit of a hard time yesterday and it seemed to get worse as the evening went on. By the time he went to bed, his back was in knots. When I asked him about it, he said that yesterday was a '4 on the pain scale' and that sometimes it gets worse. He also said that a '10' was a trip to the ER and the last time that happened it wasn't pretty. Do you know what happened? He wouldn't tell me."
Kira looks from me to Trent and back again. I guess it's her turn to spill.
"Yeah, we happened to be here when things got bad," she starts. "All afternoon, we could tell that he was in pain; for once he couldn't really hide it. But he was okay, ya know—didn't seem to be anything he couldn't handle—and he kept insisting that he didn't need his medicine. He said that he was afraid of becoming too dependant on the pain killers. Well, we tried to get him to sit down and relax and eat something, but he wouldn't—said his stomach felt weird and that sitting only made him stiff. I think he felt something coming on, but either he didn't know what to do about it or he was just trying to will it not to happen, I don't know." Kira takes a deep breath and slowly shakes her head.
"We were in the kitchen when we heard him fall. We ran into the living room and found him on the floor, nearly curled up into a fetal position--he was shaking and groaning—it was like all of his muscles tightened up on him at once—he couldn't relax."
"Was it a seizure?" I ask. What she's describing sounds exactly like one.
"No, we thought that at first too, but you could tell by his face that that wasn't what was wrong. He could talk a little bit and he was aware of what was happening—not like with a seizure. It was muscle spasms, really bad ones that you could almost see. They were so severe that they made him throw up, so we kept him on his side and tried to help him as much as we could. After a couple of minutes, Trent called an ambulance because he seemed to be getting worse and we didn't know what else to do."
The memories were obviously painful for her—evidenced by the couple of tears that spilled down her cheeks. Trent put his arm around her to try to give her some comfort as he picked up the recollection from there.
"It only took the EMTs about five minutes to get here, thank goodness. We told one of them everything we knew about what had happened while the other two worked on him. After about fifteen minutes, they took him to the hospital and we followed in my car. They must've given him some powerful muscle relaxers or sedatives—or both—because by the time we got to see him, he was out cold and stayed that way until the next day."
"How long was he in the hospital?" I ask. Jase has to have known about this. When I get a hold of him . . .
"Just overnight. He seemed pretty much okay the next day when he came home. He said he felt like he'd been stepped on by the Brachiozord, but other than that he was fine."
"And this was when?"
"About six weeks ago—that's what prompted Hayley to run that last battery of tests on him."
I nod. "He's been up there a long time—I think I'll go check on him," I say as I get up and head toward the stairs. Visions of what the kids had described, plus the thought of Tommy being paralyzed, come together to tie my stomach in knots. This can't happen—there's got to be a way to stop this. But why won't he try harder to help himself? Why hasn't he had Billy or Andros contact Eltar or Aquitar or even Triforia? This doesn't make any sense. Determined to talk to Hayley, the aforementioned Mr. Cranston, or any other genius I can dig up, I head toward Tommy's bedroom.
Peeking inside the door, I see him sitting on the end of his bed, hair still wet, wearing only boxers. He's holding his head in his hands.
"Tommy? You okay?" I'm suddenly alarmed. I move quickly over to the bed and kneel down in front of him. Reaching up and placing a hand on his shoulder, I ask, "What's wrong?"
Those big, brown eyes come up to meet mine and I can tell he's had to take some pain killers—his eyes are a bit glassy.
"I'm okay—just letting my medicine take effect."
"Are you sure? You didn't get hurt while we were sparring, did you?"
He gives me a smile. "No, I'm alright. You might have to drive today though."
He sounds fine—not slurring his speech or anything. "Not a problem. Need some help getting dressed?"
He shoots me a strange look and then smiles again. "Sure, why not?"
At least he's letting me help, but I have a feeling he's just humouring me. I want so bad to talk to him about what the kids told me, but I know I can't. Not right now, anyway.
Once he's dressed in jeans and a well-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt, we go back downstairs. Trent and Kira are still at the table talking quietly. They get up when we come in.
"We're going out for a while, guys," Tommy says.
Kira walks over to him and rubs his arm. "You feeling alright?" She looks up into his eyes, wanting the truth.
He smiles warmly at her and touches her shoulder. "Yes, I'm okay. Stop worrying, mother hen."
"Can't . . . sorry." She turns to me. "Take care of him." I get the feeling that was not a request.
"I will." She really is sweet. Reminds me of the way Tanya used to be with us guys back in the day—the girls are always the caregivers and worriers of the team. Kim was like that too. Ewww, better not bring that name up, though . . . not sure how that stands with Falcon here.
We all leave the house together and Tommy and I climb into my SUV.
"Where to, boss?"
"Still wanna go by the school?"
"Sure, just tell me how to get there."
Leaving his driveway, I follow his turn-by-turn directions until I see the sign for Reefside High.
"That didn't take long."
"No, it's really not that far from my house—as long as you know the shortcut."
We drive slowly around the school until he shows me where to park.
"That's my classroom right there on the corner," he says, pointing. "Down there are the sports fields—soccer and baseball over there and football back over that way a little further."
"You said it's about the same size as A.G.H., right?"
"Yep, grades 9-12. It's one of three high schools in Reefside—this one's the oldest."
It looks it by the style of the buildings, but it's well-kept. After a little more walking around, we head back to the car. He seems fine—doesn't act like he's in pain at all. I know he took his medicine before we left the house, but he really seems like his old self. Could Hayley be wrong? Granted, from what I know of her that'd be like Billy being wrong, but still . . . first time for everything.
"Let's get this shopping thing over with, okay?" he says with a grin. Do any guys really like to shop?
He directs me to the highway and I see the whole downtown area of the city. It's definitely bigger than Angel Grove, but not too big. I like what little I've seen so far.
"Next exit, and then turn right. The mall is on the left," he directs.
"Gotcha."
After getting into the parking lot, I head toward what looks like one of the main entrances.
"Don't park here, this is the food court—AKA teenager magnet. Drive on around, I'll show you a better place."
"You seem to be popular—why do you avoid them?"
"A little too popular, I think. And I can't understand it—I make my tests as painful as possible," he grins. "But seriously, if they see me I'll have to stop and talk because you know I'm too nice for my own good."
"Yeah . . . you were so nice to me earlier that I think I've got a monster-sized bruise developing on my thigh."
He grins sheepishly. "Sorry." And then after a pause, "Thought you were tougher than that . . ."
"Asshole."
"Rat bastard."
"You owe me a rematch anyway—don't get too cocky. Oh wait . . . too late . . . you've always been too cocky."
First he looks offended and then he tries to look innocent—it isn't working. "Me?"
"Oh come off it . . . yes, you."
"At least I can back it up," he laughs and winks.
Chuckling, I give him a look. "I've missed you."
"Same here. Park over there," he smiles and points at an area near a small entrance.
After looking through three men's stores and stopping to talk to two different groups of his students, we finally find some clothes that are to his liking. He grabs three pairs of slacks and heads toward the dressing room to try them on. As I watch him I notice a distinct limp.
"You okay, bro?"
"I'm fine, just a little catch in my knee." He's lying, even I can tell that.
"Let me know if you need any help, okay?" I offer quietly and then immediately regret it.
"Thanks 'Mommy', but I think I can still dress myself," he replies in a sarcastic tone. After a couple of steps he turns back to me. "Sorry . . . I . . . I'll let you know."
I gotta stop it—he's a grown man. I don't know why I'm suddenly acting like his nursemaid.
A few minutes later he appears from inside the fitting room.
"What do you think of these?" he asks, turning from side to side in the mirror.
"Nice. What do you think?"
"I don't know. Let me try the others," he says and disappears once again behind the door reappearing once again in a couple of minutes.
"I like these better, but do you think they're too tight?" he asks, again turning and examining his reflection in the big mirror.
"Umm, no. I think they're fine."
"I wouldn't mind watching you write on the blackboard all day in those pants," a female voice comes from a few feet away.
I look over to see a young, pretty redhead giving Tommy an amused but clearly interested look. He immediately turns three shades of red. I can't help it, I'm laughing…in fact, I'm laughing so hard I have to hold onto the clothes rack in front of me. The expression on his face: priceless.
"Uhhh . . . hi Megan," he says in a low voice while shooting me a 'shut the hell up' look.
"Hey Dr. O! I thought that was you. Replacing those pants that Alyssa ruined last week?" she giggles.
"As a matter of fact, yes." He's still trying to regain his composure. So am I.
"Well you sure can't go wrong with those! See ya Tuesday!" she adds before turning and walking away, pleased with herself that she'd made her teacher blush.
Tommy's standing there shaking his head. Just when I think we've gotten past this little incident, I hear a voice come from nearby.
"Personally, I think they make your ass look big."
Tommy snorts in reply, "Least I got an ass."
"Uh huh, but in 10 years I won't have to wear a sign that says 'Wide Load'," the brash young man says. Judging by the banter, he and my friend must know each other pretty well.
"No, you'll be wearing one that says 'Beware Cracks in Roadway' or 'Uneven Pavement Ahead'." He shakes his head. "Shouldn't you be out having fun instead of embarrassing me?" Tommy asks.
Grinning at him unrepentantly, the young man I have yet to be introduced to says, "Who says that embarrassing you isn't fun?"
Then something clicks. "You've got to be the TA," I declare.
Tommy groans, having momentarily forgotten that I was over here listening. "Adam Park, I'd like you to meet my teaching assistant, Kyle Sorensen. Kyle, this is Adam. We went to high school together."
An eyebrow lifts above piercing blue eyes. "High school, huh? Guess that means you've got lots of good stories that I can use to weasel time off with."
I shake my head. "For after school embarrassment maybe, but not for use during class."
"I can live with that." He turns back to Tommy. "What's a good time for me to swing by and pick up some of the mid-terms?"
"Depends, what did he say yesterday?"
Kyle shoots a look at his mentor, then over to me and back again, then blushes slightly and shakes his head. "I'd rather not go into that here." He shoots another glance at me before meeting the penetrating chocolate eyes of Dr. Thomas Oliver.
"Monday afternoon, you meet me at Hayley's. Be there by 3pm or I'll find you, understand?"
The dirty blonde head shakes. "Can make it around 1 or after 5."
Tommy frowns and starts to put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, but the growing tension is broken by a cell phone going off. All three of us automatically check our phones.
"It's mine. Just a text." Kyle states, reading it and breaking into a grin before texting something back. "I'd like to stay and play this game some more, but I have to go."
A snort comes from Tommy. "Let me guess, places to go, things to see and people to do?"
A lecherous grin is formed by the younger man. "You forgot assholes to ream." He winks then walks out without another word.
I'm quiet for a moment, then I clear my throat. "So is he always like that or was this just something special for my benefit?"
"No, unless he's in the classroom or sometimes the Cyberspace, that's pretty much how Kyle is all the time." He sighs and looks again at the pants he's trying on, then turns back to me. "Do these make my ass look big?"
I can't help but laugh at that. "No, they look fine. He was just pulling your chain."
"Okay. Well I think I'll get a couple of pairs of these and call it a day for the shopping thing."
Several minutes later when he hasn't reappeared from the dressing room, I begin to wonder what's keeping him.
"Tommy? Where are you?" I call quietly as I venture into the fitting room.
"I'm in here. Be out in a sec," I hear him say from behind the door to my right. His voice sounds strained.
"Are you okay? You don't sound right."
"I'm fine . . . my back just tightened up on me a little, that's all."
Once he opens the door, I can see it on his face--he's hurting. If I make a big deal out of it though, he'll just blow me off.
"So, are we done here?"
"Yeah, I think so. Anything you want to look for?"
"No, I'm good."
"Alright then, I'll pay for these and we can get outta here."
At the register, I watch as he starts massaging his lower back with a grimace on his face.
"Still hurting?"
"Yeah, it won't loosen up. Guess I need to take a muscle relaxer."
"Why don't we get some takeout and just go back to your place? We can go out to eat tomorrow if you want."
"Sounds good. We could rent some movies and get a pizza, if that's okay with you."
"Fine. And I can massage that for you once we get back to the house—looks like you need it." I reach up and place a hand on his shoulder. It really bothers me to see him like this.
"It would definitely help, I think," he says as he grimaces again.
We manage to make it out of the mall without being stopped by any more of his students and I follow his directions to the downtown area. According to him, there's a great pizza place down here with a Blockbuster Video right next door.
Parking in front of the video store, I get out of the car and wait for him, momentarily forgetting about his back. I look over to see him struggling to stand up straight.
"Oh damn Tommy, I'm sorry. I should have helped you," I say as I quickly move over to take his arm.
"No, it's okay. Once it starts like this, it's hard to go from sitting to standing. Once I'm up, I'm okay."
After choosing a couple of movies and going next door to put in our order for a huge supreme pizza, he suggests another stop.
"Hayley's is right around the corner. Why don't we go over there and grab some coffee while we wait on the food."
"Are you sure you feel like walking over there?"
"Yeah. I'd rather do that than sit down here and not be able to get back up once the pizza's ready."
"Okay then, let's go."
Walking into the Cyberspace a few minutes later, we can't help but notice that the place is nearly empty and there's the distinct smell of burnt rubber lingering in the air. As soon as Tommy spots Hayley, he has to ask.
"Everything okay, Hales? What's that awful smell?"
"Depends on your definition of okay. Since two of my employees just tried to burn the place to the ground, I'd have to say no," she says loudly and in the direction of the door that leads to the back.
"Okay, for one: Josey just tried to destroy her credit cards in the grinder. Two: I didn't know she had done it," a voice floated in from the back room. "Sheesh, it's not like I enjoyed screeching like a girl and whacking my head on the cabinet when the thing started shooting sparks and smoking."
I snicker and then lean over a bit towards Tommy. "That kinda sounds like your buddy, Kyle."
Hayley raises an eyebrow at both comments. "Trust me, I didn't enjoy your screeching either. Thankfully, I don't have any glass that would shatter at ranges that high."
"Oh, ha ha. You think you're so frickin funny." The aforementioned Kyle comes out, a tray of filled coffee bags in his hand, only to come to a stop. "Damn." He looks at Hayley. "Could have told me that someone was out here."
She grins. "And miss the chance to see you blush? I don't think so."
"Are you moonlighting on me?" Tommy says with a raised eyebrow.
Hayley laughs softly. "You're just now figuring that out? He's been doing it for almost a year."
"Thanks Hales, really appreciate being ratted out." Kyle rolls his eyes and sets the tray down before going into the back and returning with several pre-filled filters in a holder. "Keep it up and I won't keep making this."
She throws a dishrag at him. "Don't even threaten that, mister. That stuff almost sells better than the regular blends. So, until you tell me what all is in it, you're not going anywhere."
He looks at Tommy. "And I thought some of the rules you gave me were bad." He hooks a thumb at Hayley. "Should have seen her face after she tasted the first cup and then I refused to give her the recipe."
A light dawns and I start laughing. "Oh lord, 'Kyle Surprise'."
The Kyle in question just shakes his head and makes us all fresh cups of the brew. "At least no one else was in here when all of that happened."
Tommy frowns at him. "You couldn't have come up with a better name?"
"That's Hayley's doing, not mine." He looks at his watch. "Well, as fun as it's been, I've got to get going." He tosses his apron at Hayley, then nods at Tommy and me. "It was nice to meet you Adam. Later Tommy." Moments later he's gone, leaving the three of us alone.
Grinning and shaking my head, I say, "That boy is weird."
"You don't even know the half of it," Tommy says, taking a long drink from his cup. "Damn but that stuff really is good."
Hayley nods. "Now you know why I keep trying to get him to give me the recipe."
"Good luck with that. Kid's more stubborn than a mule."
"Oh and you've got room to talk, have you? At least he does what his doctor tells him," the redhead directs at Tommy.
"What? I do what I'm told . . . sort of."
"Hmpf," Hayley snorts. "You're a little too free with your interpretation of what the man tells you, I'm sure."
I have to laugh. "Think she's got you there, T."
"And how would you know?"
"Come on Tommy, I can bet that your doctor has told you to take it easy, but I can tell by looking at you that you're not."
"He told me that it was fine for me to work out. If I let myself get weak and flabby, it'll be that much worse on me."
Hayley rolls her eyes. "Still, at least Kyle actually rests when he's supposed to, like . . ." she stops in mid-sentence. Guess there's something I'm not supposed to know. I'll have to ask Tommy when we're alone.
"Since I'm all alone now, why don't you guys stay and keep me company? What brings you down here this afternoon anyway?"
"Ah, can't. We're waiting on a pizza from Consenza's—decided that would be better than going out to eat tonight. We were at the mall shopping earlier."
She looks surprised. "You? Shopping? You've gotta be kidding me." She motions at the barstools, wanting us to sit. Tommy shakes his head slightly.
"Better not—might not be able to get back up."
"Did you take your medicine?" she asks with a caring but stern tone.
"I took something for pain before we left the house, but it wore off too fast. I'll take a muscle relaxer when I get home." He looks at his watch. "Sorry, we need to go. The food should be ready by now."
We say our goodbyes and head back over to the restaurant and collect our dinner for the evening. Once that's done, we head back to his house. As soon as we get in the car, my curiosity gets the best of me.
"So...tell me what's going on with your weird little TA."
T sighs. "Kyle's had it kind of rough, healthwise."
"Oh? I mean, he's thin but he looks healthy enough."
"He was bit by a rattlesnake as kid. Messed his system up." He pauses. "Ever heard of hemolytic anemia?"
"No...sounds pretty serious."
"It can be. From what he told me, the spleen pretty much kills healthy red blood cells. It even caused his spleen to be enlarged. He had to avoid anything that could cause injury to his organs, like contact sports such as football or the martial arts. Senior year, a bully slammed him into a locker. Ruptured his spleen with the impact."
My eyes widen. "Damn . . . what happened?"
"Ethan, my blue, found him and came to get me. I called an ambulance and they got him to the hospital. Between me and Ethan, we got Kyle thru his senior year study wise, but it left him permanently anemic. He swims for exercise, but that's about it. Every three months he goes in for tests, which is where he was Friday."
"So that's what you and he were talking about at the mall earlier. I see."
"Yeah, based on what the docs tell him, I kind of ration out how much he does for me." He frowns. "Although I didn't know that he was also helping Hayley out."
"The work you give him can't be all that strenuous, can it?"
Tommy chuckles softly. "No, but Kyle's kind of like me once he gets into something."
"Oh, you mean buries himself up to the neck in it and doesn't know when to quit?"
A soft blush creeps into his features. "Yeah, something like that, but he's got a schedule that he has to stick to pretty hard."
"So that's why he keeps checking his watch and disappearing. That makes sense. So, is he still sickly?"
"His counts are still really low, which is why he's so pale. They've got him on a seriously strict diet to try and keep his iron levels up. He also takes a couple meds to keep his immune system going." He grins. "Keeps the female teachers at school busy with something else to do, at least the older ones, besides always worrying about me."
"I'm sure they're all over you as well," I grin.
"That's the younger ones. Although, some of the same ones that mother Kyle try to do the same to me."
I can't help but laugh. "Between the attention you get from the other teachers and your students, I still don't understand why you're single."
He shrugs. "Just haven't found the one for me. Although, I've had a couple tell me that I was trying to rob the cradle."
"Oh? What were you doing?"
He blushes again. "Nothing. Some of them seem to think that I'm trying to date Kyle."
I nearly choke on my coffee. "What? That's crazy!"
"Tell me about it. Principal Randall even talked to us about it. Kyle actually fell out of his chair laughing. I was almost offended . . . I mean, I'm not completely unattractive."
I can't help but laugh at the affronted look on my friend's face.
Tommy shakes his head. "When Kyle finally settled, he told her that while he didn't find me ugly, it would be like dating his brother."
"Oh my god. Well, I hope it all got straightened out after that." After a pause I have to add, "And no . . . you're definitely not completely unattractive."
"Yeah, it all got worked out. He still razzes me about it, which is why he makes comments like he did at the mall." He cocks an eyebrow at me. "Really? Think so?"
I clear my throat. I knew I shouldn't've said that. "Tommy my friend, you may be a lot of things, but unattractive isn't one of them."
"Thanks Adam." He grins. "Just don't let Kyle hear you say that. Think he was bad today? Give him ammunition."
"Sounds like a certain former red ranger I know."
"Sometimes I wonder what would happen if Jase and Kyle ever met."
"Oooooh that could get ugly; especially if they ganged up on somebody."
"Or started a prank war, like Rocky did that one year with Jase."
Adam shudders. "Don't even think that. I'm still trying to get the image of a bald Rocky out of my head."
Tommy laughs. "Least it was Nair and not something else."
"True. Well, at least the kid has you looking after him."
"Yeah, he's a good kid and he'll make a great teacher." He pulls his wallet out as we turn into his driveway and shows me a picture of Kyle taken during his senior year. "He's changed a bit."
"Wow, no kidding. What happened to him in college?"
"His mom died his freshman year. Drunk driver hit her head on." He puts the picture away. "First day I saw Kyle when he was starting his time with me, he was trying to get an earring out of his ear. I about died of shock when I realized who it was."
"That poor kid. So he sorta did a complete 180 between high school and college. I guess I can understand that."
"Sorta. He's still the same person, just a bit more relaxed and open, I guess you could call it."
"So I take it that he's either gay or bi, am I right?"
"He's gay and makes no bones about it. Don't think he's seeing anyone right now though."
"So you do have a shot after all. Just gotta keep him from seeing you as his big brother," I say, trying my best not to laugh.
"Keep it up. Remember, I know where you're sleeping."
I open the door and get out, quickly moving around to the other side to help him if he needs it. Glad I did. Tommy manages to get his legs out of the car okay, but he's having trouble standing up. I take his arm and help as much as he'll let me. I know this is hard on him—he's never been in bad shape like this before.
"Thanks Adam," he says, a soft blush coloring his cheeks.
"No problem, bro. You'll be fine once you take your medicine and rest a bit." I gotta try to make him feel more comfortable with me. I think that he thinks that I'm expecting him to act like we're 18 again—I know better than that.
We finally get into the house and we both change clothes and get ready to eat.
"Which movie you want to watch first?" I ask while he's getting the food and drinks ready.
"How about 'The Guardian'?" he calls from the kitchen.
"Sounds good." I put in the movie and we settle down on the couch to enjoy the fabulous-looking pizza that's in front of us.
We each have about three slices before slowing down a bit.
"You want a beer?" Tommy asks, getting up and heading toward the kitchen.
"You think it's a good idea with that medicine?"
"It's okay. I'm not gonna drink much," he says.
I don't know if I should believe him or not, but I guess its okay since I'm here to keep an eye on him.
"Sure, bring me one," I finally say.
*One movie, ¾ of an extra large pizza, and three beers each later*
"Put in the other movie, I'm too comfortable to move," Tommy says from his sprawled out position on the couch. The combination of food, beer, and medicine has mellowed him out something fierce.
"Sure." Getting up and finding the other DVD case, I slip "Casino Royale" into the player and retake my position in the recliner. I glance over at him to make sure he's still awake. I'm getting used to the way he looks now, but it's taking a while. The short, spiky hair doesn't throw me as much as the vividly-colored body art that's visible on his bare arms and boxer-clad legs. Of course, the actual size of the man is hard to miss. I never thought I'd see Tommy rivaling Jason for the most buff among us.
"What?" he asks with a grin when he catches me looking.
"Nothin' . . . just making sure you were still awake," I say, but I can't meet his eyes.
He smiles and turns his head back toward the TV at first, but then trains those eyes on me. "Ummm, I hate to ask, but . . . do you think you could rub my back for a few minutes?"
"Oh yeah, sure. Is it still hurting?"
"It's much better than it was earlier, but it still feels stiff."
"No problem," I say, kneeling beside the couch, waiting for him to turn over.
As soon as I touch his lower back, I can feel the knots that have developed there. I don't know how he stands it.
"Do you have any muscle rub? I think that might really help," I suggest as I watch him wince and grimace while trying to lie on his stomach.
"Yeah . . . there should be some in the bathroom," he answers with a little difficulty.
I go retrieve the tube of ointment and return to my knees beside him. "Okay, maybe this will make those muscles relax," I say as I'm rubbing it between my hands to warm it.
He flinches a bit as I rub into those sore spots but after a few minutes, he's more relaxed and so is his back.
"That better?"
"Oh yeah . . . that's amazing. Thank you," he sighs. He's getting sleepy—I can hear it in his voice.
"Any time." I get up and start toward the kitchen with the leftover pizza and some of the empty bottles. "You want anything while I'm going?"
"Another beer would be great."
I thought he wasn't going to drink a lot tonight. Well, I guess that depends on your definition of "a lot". He seems okay, so why not. I wash my hands to clean off the muscle rub and go back into the living room with two more beers. This is definitely the last ones of the evening.
Three-quarters of the way through the movie and we've managed to empty eight beer bottles between us. A quick glance over at the couch confirms my suspicion—Tommy is out like a light. I have a feeling I'm not going to last much longer either. If I can make it through the last part of the movie, then I'll help him up to bed and turn in myself.
For one of the later Bond films, this isn't bad. I still miss Sean Connery and Roger Moore, though. As the credits roll, I figure I need to go ahead and get up before I knock out right here. Pushing myself up and out of this extremely comfortable recliner, I straighten my boxers and t-shirt and move over to the couch to wake the sleeping prince here. I hate to do it, but he'll be more relaxed in his own bed.
"Tommy . . . Tommy . . . wake up, bro," I whisper while gently shaking him. Man, he is out. I don't know if I'm gonna be able to get him up without startling him. I try again.
"Tommy . . . come on man, wake up . . . Thomas Oliver." No luck. Okay, last chance. After this you can just sleep on the couch 'cause I'm about to drop off standing here.
I shake him a bit more forcefully. "Tommy . . ." Oh, what the hell. "Falcon . . ." Finally he groans and starts moving a bit. I can't believe that worked. "Come on, man . . . let's go to bed—uh, get you up to bed," I clarify. I'm glad he's too groggy to process that.
"Mmmmm . . . 'kay . . . gimme a sec," he slurs. Well, that's something at least.
He blinks several times and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands while stretching. "I guess I dozed off, huh?"
"Yeah, but I expected you to. Nobody can take a muscle relaxer, drink four beers, get a massage and stay awake. Can't be done," I grin.
He smiles back. "Sorry, man. Not a very good host am I?" he says while he's attempting to sit up.
I reach down, grab his arm, and help him to the fully upright position. "Ah, it's okay. I understand, bro. You ready to go upstairs?"
"Yeah," he moans while standing. I've still got his arm to help steady him. Slowly, we move toward the steps and he pauses at the bottom. "You're gonna have to help me, I'm afraid. Normally in this condition, I'd just sleep on the couch."
"Not a problem," I say and slip one arm around his waist and grasp the handrail with the other. "Take it easy, I won't let you fall."
He nods. Slowly we climb the seven or eight steps to the second floor and he goes into the bathroom before heading to the bed. I take that opportunity to straighten out the covers for him and when he comes out, I go in to brush my teeth—they're feeling a bit fuzzy. When I emerge, he's just sitting on the edge of the bed like he's waiting for something.
"T . . . you okay?" I ask, leaning over him and touching his shoulder. I had half-expected him to be curled up asleep by now.
He looks up at me with those big eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just didn't want to fall asleep on you before you even got out of the bathroom."
I chuckle. "I wouldn't have minded--I know how sleepy you are. Now lay down."
Helping him get under the covers and settled, I sit on the bed next to him for a minute.
"I'm not always this bad, ya know. Lucky you, you caught me during a bad spell," he says softly.
"I have bad spells too, Tommy. I understand."
"Bet you don't have trouble walking or getting out of bed during your bad spells, though."
"No . . . I just don't wanna get outta bed. Or go to work. Or see anyone. Or do anything. I just withdraw from everyone and everything. It's a different kind of pain, but pain all the same." I sigh deeply and hang my head for a second. When I look up at him again, the expression on his face is so . . . understanding . . . and caring . . . I can't look away.
He reaches over and touches my hand. "Why don't you stay in here tonight? Neither one of us needs to be alone right now and the bed is plenty big enough."
I'm a little surprised by the offer, but I give him a weak smile and a slight nod. "Okay . . . sure."
Climbing into the big, soft bed, I settle down on the other side, but find myself inching closer and closer to him. I've missed having someone next to me at night—just another warm body. I can feel myself getting extremely sleepy and know I won't be awake much longer.
"Thanks, Tommy. G'night."
"'Night," he says softly.
As I'm drifting off, I can't help but smile and realize how nicely I fit at his side.
A/N: Well, that's the 2nd chapter. The next chapter is already being written. We appreciate those of you that add the story as a favorite or put it in your alerts, however, reviews help keep us on track. Let us know what you like, what you don't like and such. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hit that button down at the bottom of the page that says review. Please? With a Tommy and Adam on top?
If you would like something to read until the next chapter of 'Misery Loves Company' is ready for your perusal, check out 'Family Stands' by prophet144 or 'In His Eyes' by BeAWarriorCasseau.
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