Doctor's Orders

23. Changing Conditions

I tried to look away while setting the water on his nightstand, distracting myself with opening the bottle of pain reliever and retrieving two capsules. 

"Can you help me?" He asked. I turned, becoming bright red to see that he was holding on to his belt. "I can't get this." 

"Can you just sleep in your pants?" I suggested.

"I hafta pee," he giggled. Oh my gosh, he was behaving like a small child and I couldn't help but think it was adorable. 

"Very well," I said, attending the task quickly, making absolute sure my hands stayed above the belt that I swiftly removed. 

He walked to the bathroom and took care of business, and when he returned, I was mildly stunned at the sight of him in tight gray boxers. Knowing he probably wouldn't remember a thing in the morning, I granted myself a lingering peek and I was accosted by a somewhat welcome tingle throughout my body. But again, I'd never take advantage of his inebriated state.

I handed him the pills and the water. "Drink up," I instructed, and he followed obediently. Then I pulled back the blankets on his bed and motioned for him to climb in. I immediately covered him, well up to his navel at least. I had no problem admiring his smooth chest and sculpted arms. 

"You dint answerme" he said, slurring his words together. "Come ta bedwithme."

"I will sleep next to you," I said, emphasizing my position. "Just to make sure you're okay. Do you think you're going to be sick?" 

"Hmmmmaybe," he mumbled, his voice getting quieter. 

I took the trash can from the bathroom and placed it on the floor near his head. "The bin is right here if you think you're going to," I told him, and he acknowledged with a slight nod. Finally, I climbed into his bed and scooted close to him, spooning him just a little, but leaving enough space for me to scratch up and down his back.

"Ohhh," he groaned in a pleased sigh. "Feelsss good." And then he was out.

Harry's huffs woke me with the sunrise. "Shit," he muttered. "What the hell was I thinking?" When I looked over at him, his face was buried in his pillow, reluctant to face the brightness flooding the room.

"Stressed, I suppose?" I guessed at his reason for drinking so much. He made a muffled noise, which was either a confirmation grunt or a leave-me-alone grunt. "By the way, how is it that you like gin and tonics, but beer was too bitter for you?" 

I made out the muted words he said next. "Shut. Up." With a chuckle, I got out of bed and went to figure out a suitable breakfast for the hungover doctor. 

Eggs seemed to be the classic base for a hearty breakfast, but I sensed that maybe he would need something a little more mild. I spied a small tub of rolled oats and quickly whipped up a batch of maple and brown sugar oatmeal. As if on cue, Harry stumbled out of his room, jogging shorts on, hair sticking out in every direction, and eyes hazy and pink. 

"Oatmeal?" I asked, to which he answered a simple, "Perfect."

He took his seat and I brought him another dose of Tylenol before we dug in. We were almost finished when I braved a question. "Do you often drink that much when you're stressed out?" 

"Nah," he said, brushing off my concern. "That was unusual, I think. It's just...damn this project! I think I'll end up hating the addition and my job before it's finished."

"Well, you love your job because you like to work with people. This project is about numbers and deadlines and pleasing everyone. I can understand why it would be stressful, even if it's a great thing in the long run." He nodded appreciatively. "Don't worry, babe. You'll make it."