You're a Sick Man

"You're a sick man." The voice was quiet in his ear, no more than a memory at this point. Victor could not put a face to the phantom voice. He was not even sure when he had been spoken to last, but that did not matter.

What mattered was that he was warm. He was comfortable. He hardly remembered wrapping himself in the thick blanket, yet he was convinced that if his past-self thought it was a good idea, then he should embrace it in his current mindset.

"Sleep," another whisper. Perhaps he was only talking to himself. He wanted nothing more than to embrace sleep. To let go of everything and sleep forever. If he submitted at this point, he was not sure he had the self-discipline to wake back up. He could just lay wherever he was and let her continue cradling his head on her lap. Let Nora take care of him. She knew what was best for him. Sleep . . .

Wait! Victor's eyes shoot open in the darkness. It could not be Nora. She's . . .

"You're a sick man, Victor." Sick, sick in the head. She was frozen. More specifically under cryogenic stasis. Victor had put her under some time ago. He could not remember, as every eight hour work day bled into another sixteen hour research period as far back as he could tell. It might have been days, weeks, maybe a month or more. Yet, the way she told him she would always love him reverberated in his ears so loud it may have only been hours ago. The only thing he was sure of was that she was sleeping peacefully in the stasis chamber he had built without permission in the back room.

Victor threw his weight to the side, finding his movements largely restricted. A straight jacket, no doubt. Ferris Boyle had called him crazy for wanting to research Huntington's in the first place, yet Victor had taken it one step further. Indeed, he was insane.

"Calm down, you're sick." He knew that voice! But why is he here? What does he . . .

"Gregory?" he rasped.

"About time you came back to the real world. You're sick, Victor. You should be in a hospital." Victor felt a cold hand on his forehead. "You're still burning up. Last time I checked, you had a fever of one hundred and two. Let me take you to the doctors."

"I'm sick?" He did not understand why Gregory was with him. Gregory should have been working. I should be working. Victor made another effort to rise, hardly moving in any direction more than a few inches.

"You have a bad fever," Gregory explained slowly, as if speaking to a confused child. "I was getting ready to leave for today when I found you passed out in your office. Not just head on the desk power nap, but splayed out on the floor. I couldn't wake you up, so I thought I'd at least make you a bit more comfortable. You looked deathly, and I didn't just want to leave you lying in the middle of the floor, so I decided to stay until you woke up."

"You didn't need . . . care for me."

"Oh, come on, Victor. It was the least I could do after you helped me get a raise and lent me a few thousand dollars to make rent last month. When I got a good look at you earlier, I thought you were dying. I wanted to call for an ambulance right then, but I know you don't like hospitals."

"I need to get back to work," Victor murmured.

"You need to go home," Gregory stroked Victor's head. "It's Friday night and Christmas Eve, and even if it wasn't Friday, you're in no condition to work. You need to sleep for about five days, and put some weight back on. You look like you're half the size you were last month. Have you even eaten this week?" Have I?

"All you've been doing is putting in way too much overtime that you know you're not going to get paid for back in that small lab," Gregory continued. "No one has seen you leave the building in at least four days. You're done for the week. Go home."

"No, I can't."

"I'll take you if that's the problem. Wait! Is something wrong at home?" Gregory asked, concerned. "Is it Nora?" Victor made a small noise of confirmation.

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry. Is it divorce? Do you want to talk about it?" he pried sorrowfully. Gregory had not had luck with his first wife, or the second, but he had seen Victor and Nora together, and knew how much Victor loved her. His heart ached for Victor, as he had a hunch Victor was not strong enough to go through a divorce. He did not often associate with Victor out of work, but he never wished anything bad to happen to the scientist, especially after the compassion and kindness Victor had shown him. Victor had on more than one occasion stayed late to make sure Gregory met his deadline and taken blame for something Gregory had done. Victor never harassed him about his financial shortfalls, and had kindly lent him the money for the last few months rent that he was behind on.

"You know you can talk to me," Gregory assured him. When Victor, made no answer, Gregory sighed. He doubted Victor would ever open up about a touchy subject.

"If I make you something, will you eat it? I think there's some soup in the employee kitchen." Gregory did not wait to hear Victor's response. He stripped off his lab coat and balled it up into a makeshift pillow. Gingerly, he raised Victor's head and shoulders off of his leg and situated him on the coat. As soon as he stood up, the motion-censored lights cut on, temporarily blinding them both. Gregory shook it off and made his way to the kitchen.

Victor squinted at the blanket, wriggling his arms to free them. It was easier to manipulate once he could see how Gregory had tucked him in so securely. With a great burst of his energy, he ripped his arms free. A shiver rippled through him as he shed the upper half of his covers. Using the last of his strength, he sat up and scooched, much like an inch worm as his feet were still bound in the blanket, to the wall of his cubicle. My old cubicle now that Ferris has me working on GothCorp's shadier business.

He was violently trembling when Gregory returned with a steaming cup of tomato soup. The benefit of having his arms free was not worth the chill, Victor had discovered, but he did not want to unravel Gregory's work to recover himself for fear of losing the rest of the body heat he had stored. Gregory knelt beside him, retrieving the balled up lab coat and draping it across Victor's shoulders. The coat was smothering, now almost twice his size. Victor drew it close, savoring every inch of material as Gregory sat facing him.

Victor reluctantly poked an arm out to accept the travel coffee mug Gregory had used as a bowl. Even though the cup should not have been heavy, it was all Victor could do to keep it upright as he balanced it on his leg. Gregory offered the plastic spoon to him, waiting for the other arm to appear from beneath the coat. Victor took the utensil from him. After a struggled third failed attempt, Gregory grabbed the container as it tipped dangerously in Victor's grip. He coaxed the spoon from Victor's hand as the scientist sighed, defeated.

"I'm pathetic," Victor groaned aloud to the floor.

"You're exhausted," Gregory tried to counter Victor's degrading nature. "You can hardly hold your own head up. Let me help. Please." He put a full spoonful to Victor's pursed lips. Finally, they parted enough that Gregory could feed him the soup. The next few bites were greedily lapped up as he ignored the embarrassment of being spoon fed.

I'm no better than an animal, Victor realized, but did not slow his pace. His mouth was burned and he no longer tasted the soup. All he cared about was devouring it as fast as Gregory brought it to his mouth.

Until he retched. Gregory was quick to react, thrusting the trashcan in front of Victor as the hurried meal was returned. Victor let out a disheartened sob, thoroughly disgusted with himself.

"Too heavy? Acidic? I should have found something else," Gregory murmured, cleaning up Victor with a napkin from his pocket. Gregory let Victor's head rest on his shoulder as he reached around and traced small circles on Victor's back. Victor made no effort to pull away. He melted into the embrace, feeling tears sting his eyes.

"It's not divorce," he sniffed finally. "N-Nora . . . she's sick. Try-trying to research, since . . . since terminal."

"That's what you've been working on," Gregory held him tight as tears stained his shirt. "You've been staying late for that?"

"GothCorp is . . . supposed to be researching, but . . . taking too long. Had to . . . do it myself."

"I know how much she means to you, but don't you think you should go home and see her? I mean you have to make the most of the time," Gregory grimaced at the statement, but felt Victor shake his head weakly. The smaller scientist offered no other explanation. If only she was home . . .

"Well, when is GothCorp starting the research? Maybe I can put in a few hours and give you a hand."

"Started," Victor murmured absently as his stomach growled. He had not realized he was starving until he had a taste of food, yet he feared trying to force down anything else.

"Yeah, when are they starting? I haven't seen them setting up in the medical department yet. Next week maybe or sometime after the New Year?" No, Ferris said he started research two weeks ago. Gregory should have seen something by now, Victor frowned at the floor.

He lied to me. The realization had not dawned on him until now. Ferris had been withholding information on the research until Victor could produce satisfactory results, but now Victor understood the reason: there was nothing to show. Silent tears continued to drip down his as he knew he was forbidden to discuss any more details. He cursed himself for telling Gregory so much already, but he could not risk rambling on any longer.

"You should . . . go home," Victor told him. "I need to . . . I'll rest a bit . . . then home." Gregory touched Victor's forehead again as if to see if the fever had miraculously gone down in the last half hour. They both knew it had not broken yet.

"I don't think you should be driving. It's not safe. I'll take you home," he volunteered eagerly.

"No, I can't," leave Nora here, he snapped his mouth shut. "Nora can get me," he hoped he sounded reassuring.

The forced smile did nothing to settle Gregory's nerves, but he sighed and accepted Victor's words. He pulled the shivering scientist to his feet, untangling him from the blanket. Victor clung to his desk to steady himself as a wave of nausea almost overtook him. With a few shuffling steps, Victor dragged himself to his chair.

"I'll call Nora, and . . . ask her to meet me at the loading deck. Won't be too far for me," Victor silently pleaded for his colleague to leave.

"Do you want me to wait? It's not like I'm doing anything special tonight," Gregory chuckled bitterly.

"No!" Immediately, Victor winced at how sharp the word came out. "I mean, you've done a lot for me. Thank you. It's too much for me to ask."

"It's really not, but I'll let you do what you need to do." Gregory clapped a hand on Victor's shoulder as Victor picked up the phone. "You take care of yourself, alright?"

"I will. Five days of sleep and put on a few pounds?"

"You got it! Merry Christmas, Victor. I hope you and GothCorp find the cure."

"Thanks," Victor murmured with his back turned. "Merry Christmas to you, too." He let the dial tone ring in his ears as he counted to one hundred, giving Gregory ample time to exit the lab. With another groan, he pushed himself up and sauntered back to the small lab for what he presumed to be the fifth night of his new residence in Goth Corp.

He might be sick, but Nora was depending on him to research the cure if Ferris refused to uphold his end of the bargain. There was no time for a sick day.