“What’s wrong?”Ryan asks.
“This fucking whiskey.”
“Did you eat before you came here?”Nick worries about me as if he were my big brother.
I shake my head.
“Well done, Captain!I’ll get you something to eat.I don’t want you to vomit on my shoes tonight.”
“Wait, I’m coming too,” Ryan says, standing up.“I’ll get another round for everyone.If you can handle it, Jamie.”
“Fuck you!”I tell him through gritted teeth.
Nick and Ryan leave, and Ian moves closer to me.
“Heartburn, huh?”
“Fucking whiskey.”
“The whiskey, you say…”
“What do you want, Ian?”
Ian’s eyes flick to the Doctor.He’s still leaning against the column, with the same man looming over him, breathing against his neck.He takes a sip of his drink, keeping his calm façade.The other guy looks ready to throw himself at him, and I can only imagine his intentions.
Actually, no.I can’t and won’t imagine anything.
Besides, why the hell should I care what the Doctor does?Or what he might be capable of?Or what that guy might do to him?
Their intentions are not my concern.
The Doctor is not my concern.
Yet the pain becomes unbearable, and I groan in agony.
“Ah, Jamie, this is bad — no, it’s shitty.Really, really shitty.”
“Shut up.”
“Why don’t you see if you can do something about that… heartburn,” Ian says.
I can’t help looking at him one more time, and it feels like my stomach is being ripped open, clawing for something that doesn’t exist and was never worth finding.
With the Doctor’s help,I get Nick into the car and close the door.He’s completely out, and Ryan is in much worse shape.Ian manages to climb into the car on his own, but I’m not sure he’ll make it home without passing out.Maybe one of those strip clubs would have been easier, but the O’Connor brothers aren’t into that sort of thing — and neither am I, let alone the Doctor.They’d rather spend time at their usual pub with friends and teammates than go clubbing.
“Do you need a ride, too?”the Doctor asks.
“I actually came with Nick, and I still have his car’s keys.”
“Can you drive?You’ve had a few, haven’t you?”
“Did you count my shots?”
“Of course not.”
“Plus, you were so busy…” The words just slip out of my mouth.
“Hmm?”
