What Goes Around...

Part Two

Chapter Two

Oscar had treated her to dinner in his ever casual manner of wings and chips in a local bar. Freya didn't drink...she'd never really got to the getting drunk and falling over stage in her life, or rather she'd flown past it, somewhere between being a teenager doing her Masters and diving headfirst into a gigantic research project. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spent more than four days out of the lab. As it was, she'd left her workspace five days ago, and it was still no more comfortable, no easier than the first days she'd paced her rooms at MIT before being forcibly and humiliatingly ejected.

So after a couple of beers at her brother's insistence she had been fit for her bed...and now, the following day, she had the headache from hell. She could barely walk across the room, but she managed it. Checking her toiletry bag for some pain meds, she groaned as found none. She had no idea where the nearest pharmacy was, yet she was struggling to keep her eyes open, focus, function to work that out.

Pulling on her college sweater, or rather one that she'd been given by a colleague, a student who was on the baseball team, she made her way rather delicately to the house looking for her brother. Knocking the door seemed to bring no joy, so she realised she'd have to make do with copious amounts of water, and a darkened room back above the garage. She'd taken three steps away when the door creaked slowly open and a deep voice called to her.

                "Wicker...what's wrong?"  It wasn't her brother. That made her sigh.

Freya half turned, "nothing." Her own voice made her grimace. "Sorry. Got headache. Looking for Oscar for some painkillers." Her words were hushed and clipped.

As she made to continue her trip back to her apartment, he called to her, "I've got some. Aren't mine good enough?"

A shrug was all she could offer, she felt as though her head was about to crack open. She needed to rest.

He laughed, "all this from a few beers?" Again she shrugged, "come in. I bet you haven't got anything for breakfast either?"

She shook her head, the thought of food made the bile rise in her throat. That made him laugh and he pushed her by the shoulders to the work surface, pulling out a stool for her.

Reluctantly she sat. "Oscar?" She asked, struggling to form a sentence. "Don't want to bother you."

He laughed, "he flew to Manhattan this morning. Be back in a day or two. You're stuck with me."

When she groaned he laughed again, "here have these." He handed her a couple of white pills that he'd extracted from a blister pack he'd found in a cupboard. "Ibuprofen, water..." He watched her take them obediently, then turned to the fridge once more.

Freya watched as he put some bread into a toaster, then poured a large glass of tomato juice. He added a few ingredients; she couldn't tell what, to the drink then handed it to her.

                "Drink it, all in one." When she grimaced he pushed the glass towards her, "do it."

Lifting the glass she tried not to gag as she let the drink pour down her throat. When she placed the glass back down, he was laughing, presumably at her expression. She hated that and was about to flee at that moment when he reached out for her arm.

                "Have some toast, line your stomach. You'll feel better." When she eyes him suspiciously, he laughed again, "I'm something of an expert. Ok?"

Half an hour later she was back in her bed, hidden away from everyone and everything. And she stayed there for most of the weekend, with only her hangover and self pity for company.