“Fever,” Ty huffed dubiously, closing his eyes and staving off another wave of nausea. “I’ve never had a concussion before,” he added in a distant voice.
“Never?” Zane said in disbelief as he helped Ty into the elevator.
“You were Recon in the Marines and undercover for the FBI, and you’ve never had a concussion? How the hell did you manage that?”
“I ducked,” Ty answered in a childishly honest voice.
“You ducked,” Zane muttered. “Smartass.” He shifted Ty closer against him as he made sure he had the other man on his feet when the door opened. “Think you can make it under your own power to the main elevator?”
he asked, looking out into the corridor.
“Uh huh,” Ty answered with a nod that made him wince. He swallowed heavily and straightened up, closing his eyes and trying to use sheer willpower to force his head to stop spinning. “Maybe,” he amended.
Zane looked over him doubtfully, but led the way out of the elevator, hovering right next to Ty as they strolled slowly down the hall to the main bank of elevators. Luckily, being the middle of the afternoon, people were sparse. He hit the up button.
Ty didn’t know what was worse, keeping his eyes open and seeing the room spin or closing them and feeling it. He placed his palm against the wall and leaned heavily against it, going whiter as he tried to plow through it.
“Which hotel was this?” he asked Zane as he finally closed his eyes again.
Zane’s eyes flashed to Ty, seeing him pale. “The Tribeca Grand,” he murmured, moving closer to slide his arm around Ty’s lower back.
“So I can crash?” Ty ventured hopefully, leaning into Zane again as the elevator doors opened.
“Yeah, you can,” Zane agreed, not letting go of him as they stepped into the elevator. Five minutes later they were in the room, and Zane helped Ty to the bed. “Here we are again,” he said with a sigh. “Can you sit up long enough for me to get the Tylenol?”
“Yeah,” Ty answered with a deep blush of embarrassment.
Zane crouched in front of him and cupped his cheek. “Hey. It’s not you, okay? It’s the crack on the head. Nothing to be ashamed of, feeling like shit. Believe me, I’ve been there.”
Ty merely nodded, barely meeting Zane’s eyes.
Zane lifted Ty’s chin. “Stubborn jarhead,” he muttered, a smidgen of fondness in his voice. Then he stood up and walked to the bathroom.
Ty lowered his head and licked his lips slowly, sighing in relief as the dizziness began to ebb. He hated not having control over his body. He hated being hurt at all, but head injuries had always been one of his greater fears.
He’d seen what they could do to even the strongest of men, days, even months after the initial injury.
Walking back with two pills and a glass of water, Zane crouched down again. “Real Tylenol, see? Only two,” he joked quietly, offering them palm up. “Bottoms up, then bottom down. You need to sleep.”
“Ugh,” Ty commented quietly as he took the pills and downed them.
“Just a few minutes,” he insisted stubbornly.
“What for?” Zane asked.
“We’ve gone AWOL,” Ty said with difficulty, using the wrong terminology and not even realizing it. “Gotta get something done.”
Zane frowned. “What is it? Something I can do?”
“No, just … something. Anything,” Ty clarified.
Shaking his head, Zane settled a hand on Ty’s arm. “What you need to do is sleep,” he insisted. “Then we can do something. But we can’t if you can’t even walk.”
“Point,” Ty allowed as he let himself slowly curl on his side.
Zane nodded and tugged off Ty’s boots before pushing his legs up onto the bed and pulling up the sheet. “Yell if you need me,” he murmured, sliding his hand through Ty’s hair gently. Ty grunted in answer, already drifting off.
Getting to his feet, Zane rubbed his face with one hand and sighed, looking around aimlessly. If he left the room, Ty would smack the shit out of him when he woke up. Zane was certain of that. So with a sigh he pulled off the leather jacket and walked out to the front of the suite to wait.
HOURS later, Ty awoke with a gasp, reaching for a knife he hadn’t slept with in almost seven years. Zane glanced up from where he sat at a small table in the corner of the bedroom, writing notes on a hotel notepad. “Ty?” he said quietly.
Ty looked over at him, wild-eyed and tense for a brief moment before he seemed to calm himself. His breathing was still labored, though, and he was still taut as a bowstring.
Cautiously, Zane laid down the pen and kept both hands above the table, moving as little as possible. The man looked really spooked. And a spooked Force Recon Marine with a head injury was not someone to fool around with. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Ty watched Zane for a long time before lowering his eyes, as if looking for the answer to the question. He glanced at the window with its heavy drapes drawn, and he looked down at the toes of his socks briefly before licking his lips and nodding. “Okay,” he answered cautiously.
“Need some more Tylenol? Something to drink?” Zane asked, watching closely. He thought that the other man did look better. Not pale, not sweating, steadiness back in his eyes. Sort of. But no sign of any recognition on Ty’s part sent a cold slice of worry through him.
“No,” Ty answered in the same cautious tone. He reached out slowly and patted his left calf, not finding what he was looking for and frowning as he looked around the bed for whatever was missing.
“What are you looking for?” Zane asked, brow furrowing.
Ty glanced back up at Zane as if he wasn’t sure he was real. “My knife,” he answered dubiously. He licked his lips and watched Zane for another second before clearing his throat and muttering, “I didn’t have my knife, did I?”
Zane pressed his lips together. “No,” he said, shaking his head.
Ty looked slightly stricken as he stared at Zane. He watched him warily, then finally nodded in acceptance.
“You know who I am?” Zane asked evenly.
Ty nodded again, rolling his shoulders to try to ease some of the tension invested in them.
“How about some water?” Zane asked, scooting his chair back from the table.
“Okay,” Ty answered cautiously, still scowling at Zane and watching him warily.
“You know who you are, right?” Zane ventured, stopping at the foot of the bed.