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~PSon~*~0~*~PSon~
Malcolm stared at the oozing wound on his upper arm and sighed. He guessed this was inevitable. They had told him to take the antibiotics for the full ten days to avoid infection, but his arm had felt fine after the first four days and the pills had just made him sick to his stomach more than usual.
He pressed at the edge of swollen skin surrounding the four stitches straining to hold the edges of his knife wound together. He hissed and gagged as pain pulsed at his touch and more yellow fluids oozed out to slide down his arm. He had to swallow hard to stop his meagre breakfast of twizzlers and earl grey tea from making a reappearance.
He was going to be in so much trouble. Maybe Edrisa could help him out and maybe he could convince her not to tell Gil if he promised to take the full course of antibiotics this time. Yeah, like that would work.
Malcolm grimaced as he wiped up the ooze and recovered the wound. Time to bite the bullet.
He picked up his phone and dialled GIl’s number. Sweat broke out across his forehead as he waited for the call to be picked up. He was pretty sure it was from nerves and not a fever, that was until a violent shiver ran through him and left him chilled to the bone and his skin too tight over his bones. Fuck, today really wasn’t his day.
“Bright, what’s up kid?” Gil’s concerned voice echoed in the bathroom.
Malcolm cleared his suddenly thick throat, “ah, I’m…well I won’t…that is…I’m not…” Malcolm stumbled trying to come up with a way to tell Gil that wouldn’t get him yelled at.
“Malcolm, what the hell is going on?” Gil’s stern voice drilled straight through him, making him shiver again, which set his teeth to chattering involuntarily. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could even get a sound out, Gil was rapid firing questions at him.
“How bad is it? Do I need to come get you?” Gil’s voice laced with concern and worry had Malcolm feeling guilty and regretful that he’d called him and he sighed heavily, his fever chilled body making it come out more like a moan.
“Right, don’t move. I’m coming over now. Are you at the loft?” Gil ordered as Malcolm heard him pick up his car keys and the rustle of cloth as he shuffled his outer coat on.
Malcolm leaned up against the basin as his legs suddenly felt weak and wobbly. He sighed into the phone again, before answering finally, “yeah, I’m at the loft.”
He didn’t bother to argue or try to dissuade Gil from his mission. He knew whatever he said would be ignored now until Gil saw with his own eyes that he was fine. As he looked at himself critically in the mirror, he knew that Gil would peg that he was very far from fine as soon as he set eyes on him.
He flipped off the lights in the bathroom and slowly made his way over to the kitchen island and slumped down into one of his chairs. He leaned his elbow onto the bench, his injured arm left to hang by his side as it throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He cursed as more shivers ran through him and he looked longingly at the throw blanket on his couch. He knew it would make him feel better, but it was just too far away to be worth the effort to get up and get it. He dropped his head into his hand and sighed heavily again.
No, he would wait here and resign himself to his fate. He’d let Gil mother hen him until he was well again. He knew he should be able to do this without him, he was an adult for christ sake. But the reality was, he didn’t want to. The little boy that still lived inside him that craved that care and attention of their father, relished the moments that Gil stepped into that role.
He knew that Gil took on that role of his own free will and he was pretty sure the man would lay down his life if it meant Malcolm’s would be saved, but he still struggled to ask him to.
Maybe one day he would learn that Gil would happily step in before it got to a crisis if he’d asked him. Hell Gil would likely prefer it if he did.
Probably would never happen, but he’d try. It might save Gil a few grey hairs if he did. Gil would definitely thank him for that.
~PSon~*~0~*~PSon~