Disclaimer: I don't own anything here (except for Al) and am just doing this for fun and to pass the long months until Season 4.
Come Christmas afternoon, Al was fully recovered and Nicky was nearly there. His fever and fussiness were gone and his appetite was back, even though he was still a little snuffley. Tim, as usual, managed to avoid getting sick at all.
Al was standing at the kitchen counter, looking through a cookbook while Nicky sat in his swing, the Santa hat on his head providing hours of entertainment as he tried, without success, to grab the cottony white ball at the end of it. Tim was sitting at the kitchen table, sports page open in front of him, but mostly he was just watching his son.
"Can I please take the hat off?" asked Tim with a grumble.
"No, it's cute," said Al absentmindedly, her attention on the cookbook.
"You know, I wouldn't dress George up like that so I don't understand why you're doing this to our son. You're probably going to scar him for life."
"You have a very short memory. Do you not remember the reindeer antlers you put on him a couple of Christmases ago?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Tim, grinning at the memory.
He stood up and stretched, then ambled over to Al. He stood close behind her, one hand rested on her hip, the other moved her hair off her neck. He leaned in and alternated kissing her neck with whispering in her ear, a combination that nearly always worked.
It took a little bit longer than usual, with Al protesting that she was busy getting ready for their dinner guests. Tim patiently wore down her resistance, smiling when she finally relaxed back against him and turned her head, giving him the opportunity to lean down and kiss her.
As the kiss deepened, Tim turned her around and easily lifted her onto the kitchen counter, eliminating the height difference. Tim's mind was somewhere else when he felt Al's hands on his chest, pushing him back.
"What's wrong?" he asked, slightly out of breath.
"Your phone is ringing," she said, pulling it out of his pocket.
Tim went back to kissing her as he took the phone and put it on the counter. He groaned when Al pushed him back again.
"Answer it," she insisted.
The phone stopped ringing and Tim smiled.
"Must not have been that important," he said. Before he even had a chance to kiss her again, the phone rang again.
"All right, I know," said Tim before Al had a chance to tell him to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Uncle Timmy, Daddy won't wake up," said TJ, his voice flat, like he had just been waiting for this sort of problem to arise.
"What do you mean? Is he moving or talking at all?"
"He's snoring."
Tim allowed himself a second of relief. "Okay, TJ. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes."
"Okay," said TJ. Tim could hear the baby crying in the background and Amber shouting at Jack to stop doing something. It sounded like absolute chaos and Tim wondered how long it had been going on before his nephew had finally called him.
"Good job on calling me, buddy. You did the right thing. See you soon."
Tim disconnected the call and stepped back so Al could slide off the counter. "Get some stuff ready for Nicky – I don't know how long we'll be gone."
Tim dialed Jason's number, hoping his friend was home. He seemed to remember that Jay had been happy because he'd negotiated what he'd considered a good deal for Christmas, promising to be at his parents' house on Christmas Eve and New Year's Day in return for a Christmas alone with his wife and son.
"Merry Christmas, Timmy," said Jay when he answered the phone.
"Six, I need you and Lyla to watch Nicky for maybe a couple of hours. I don't know how long – there's a problem at Billy's." As he talked Tim put on his boots and looked for his truck keys.
"No problem.. I'll send Lyla over to get him now."
Less than five minutes later, Lyla was standing in their living room, all big concerned eyes and fluttering hands.
"You guys can just go, I'll get whatever else he needs and lock the place up," said Lyla.
Al handed over the baby and her house keys. "Thanks, Lyla. There are some bottles in the fridge. One of us will call when we know what's going on."
The drive over to Billy's was tense and hurried. Inside the truck it was quiet, no music or talking, only the the sound of the engine providing background noise. The drive seemed to take forever, like being a dream where you're running down a hallway that gets longer and longer and you never get where you're going.
When they got to the house, Tim parked in the street and rushed across the lawn to the front door without waiting for Al to catch up. He didn't bother knocking, he just pushed the door open. TJ was sitting on the couch, a grim expression on his face. The Christmas tree, with its lights and ornaments, was set up in the corner. Wrapping paper and toys littered the living room floor.
Al came in and went into Amber's room, where Cody was crying. Tim headed back to Billy's room, finding his brother sprawled on the middle of the bed.
"Billy, wake up," Tim said loudly, kicking the mattress for emphasis.
Billy didn't react at all. He was snoring softly and his breathing seemed irregular and ragged. Tim looked around the room and spotted several empty bottles – beer, whiskey, vodka. Tim leaned over his brother and began shaking him and shouting at him to wake up. Still, Billy continued to sleep.
Tim kicked at a blanket in frustration and watched as a small brown vial rolled across the room. He tracked it down and read the label. It was Vicodin, prescribed after Billy's surgery, and it was empty.
"Shit, Billy, what've you done?" asked Tim softly, running his hand through his hair. He took a deep breath. Don't think, just react.
Al came into the room carrying Cody. She looked at Billy, then at Tim. He handed her the bottle.
"How many did he take?" she asked.
"No idea. Don't know how many were in there to begin with. Hell, I didn't even know he was taking them."
"He needs to go to the hospital," said Al.
"I know," Tim said. He picked Billy's jeans up off the floor and fished a set of keys out of the pocket.
"Take the kids to our house. I'll call the ambulance after they're in the car. C'mon, I'll help you with Jack."
Five minutes later, the kids were in the minivan and Tim was back in the house, calling the ambulance. He looked out the front window and could see TJ's face pressed up against the car window. The flat, unreadable expression made Tim sad. The kid was too young to look like that.
When the ambulance was on its way, Tim opened the front door and sank down onto the couch. He waited, rolling the Vicodin bottle around in his hand and trying to focus on how much he'd like to kick Billy's ass right now. Tyra was right. Sometimes mad was just easier.