Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday morning began with a bang, quite literally, as Samuel woke to the sound of the skillet crashing to the floor in the kitchen. Friday, he had found John trying to beat the aspirin bottle into submission, and Saturday the man had needed help bringing the roast out of the oven. So he opened the bedroom door with extreme trepidation.

Chaos reigned in the kitchen as John tried to capture the sizzling cast-iron pan to keep it from singeing the floor. Quarter-cooked eggs dripped down the side of the island counter while chunks of potatoes and onions and splatters of grease soiled Samuel's formerly hospital-clean kitchen. He snarled for John to stop just before the fool grabbed the skillet with his bare hand.

Forget about the kitchen. John's skin was developing an unhealthy grey tone, with dark, bruise-like smudges under his eyes. The man was clearly losing in his monthly struggle with the moon. "Leave it, John. I think we're going to change strategies." They had planned to save the medical intervention for Monday morning in an effort to give John a boost of health and energy for his meeting with the local Dean of Languages and Literature. That plan seemed stupidly optimistic now. "John, is this normal for the day of the full moon?"

"Not usually this tired. I think I've been a bit off since you drew blood on Thursday." Damn. Samuel had been sure that John's body could replenish the lost cells easily before the pull of the moon began to drain his ravaged body.

"I need to know these things, Wolfe. I can't help you if I don't... Never mind, let's get you down the hall." Samuel was glad of his weight-lifting program as he muscled John into the chair in his office. He opened the small refrigerator, hidden under his desk, and stared at the package of John's own red blood cells that he'd carefully separated for use on Monday. Would it be best to re-introduce them right now? Think, Samuel. What are your options?

John looked much worse than even a few minutes ago. "Severus..." And hearing his true name brought the Potions master to the helm.

"Blood replenishing draught. I'll be right back. Do not close your eyes, Wolfe." And he ran to the lab, frantically digging through the vials until he closed his hand around the right one. Hold on, John. Even with his haste, John's eyelids were drooping as Samuel came through the door. "Drink it down." And then there was nothing to do but wait.

When toffee colored eyes looked back at him, Samuel sighed in relief. "Why the potion?" John wanted to know.

"The potion will bring you back to optimal blood levels. What we're doing on Monday is, effectively, cutting-edge blood doping."

"That's legal?" Sometimes Gryffindors were idiots.

"Completely illegal. And if you were engaging in an athletic competition, I might feel guilty about it. Don't you dare tell Troy. I shouldn't be treating you at all."

"How do you know about blood doping..."

"Don't be an idiot, John. I've kept my eye on the field for years. I won't dismiss any strategy that might help you." He relented when John blinked rapidly, undoubtedly trying to keep himself awake. Samuel was pleased to see color returning to John's face. "Let's move you to bed. You will undoubtedly suffer from headaches throughout the day. We'll keep you hydrated and let you sleep."

Samuel spent the day preparing for the moon. He transferred several potions to his office, gathered blankets and pillows, readied clean bedding for the morning, and when John asked for a dish of water, kept his snort to himself and provided it. Each time he woke John to press a glass of water into his hands the man looked fresher, more rested--until the sun set and John's eyes became fever bright, his skin glistened with sweat. Samuel pressed the first restorative potion to John's lips. "This should help you metabolize the Wolfsbane." Then the steaming goblet, followed by one more restorative. "I need to get one more thing. Will you be all right for a few minutes?" When John gave a shaky nod, Samuel rushed to his office. He would need to hurry if he was to return before moon rise.

He sat in his chair to get into his files, but stopped to look out the window. Ten minutes later, he watched the moon rise over the barn, still in his chair. He cursed himself and his cowardice. He'd promised John to return. He could still.

At midnight he heard three light taps on his door. It was the idiot, Potter, wondering why he was sitting in his office with the light off. "Because I'm a bloody coward. How is Amanda?"

"Sleeping. What will you tell Remus?"

"I'm going to lie my Slytherin head off, and you are going to back me up." The glare that Samuel used when he delivered that demand would have intimidated Potter in his Hogwarts days. When did the fool grow up, and why did he have to ruin all of Samuel's fun? "Potter, please, John and I hardly need more drama at this juncture. You did not find me in this office."

"Professor, I don't think that's a very good idea..." Samuel stopped Potter.

"Ironic that you can manage the title when it's no longer true and you're not my student. I'll see you in the morning, Mr. Potter."

Samuel watched the moon travel the sky that night, wishing he had saved one bottle of scotch when he was pouring them down the sink.

Samuel had overcooked scrambled eggs and oatmeal prepared when John emerged from the bedroom Monday morning. "Good morning." Show no fear.

Irritation flashed in John's eyes, and Samuel recognized the Alpha Wolf under the man's chinos and cardigan. "Why didn't you come back?"

"You don't remember me coming back in? I know it took longer than I'd planned..." Samuel let his voice trail off because, as weak and tired as John looked, power and rage crackled around him.

"What is the function of the Wolfsbane that you brew for me, Samuel? I don't remember you coming back because you didn't. Did you hide in your office all night, staring at the moon, shaking with fear that only two doors stood between you and the wolf?" John had stalked over to Samuel's chair and was standing over him, so close that Samuel couldn't stand without touching the angry wolf.

"Fine, yes, you're right. About all of it. I wanted to go back but I couldn't. So where does that leave us, John? Are you packing yourself back to South Carolina? Do we try again? What do you want?" Why did he always yield to the wolf? No matter, it was done, now he'd have to live with the consequences.

"It's too late to turn back, Samuel. I burned my bridges in South Carolina. They think I'm sick, AIDS sick, and friends or no, the Dean is hoping that I'll be chosen for the position here, so that my health can decline on someone else's insurance plan."

"John, why didn't you tell me sooner? Screw 'em all. Stay with me."

"Don't you get it, Samuel? I don't want to be your 'housewolf'. I want my own security, financial, social, and psychological. I like teaching. Besides, how can I depend on you for my survival, when you can't even enter the bloody room on full moon nights?"

Control yourself, Samuel. "John, since you've thrown your lot in with me; maybe we should start acting more like partners. We both need to be more forthright about our needs and feelings. And right now, I need to know that you're all right. Will you eat some cold, overcooked eggs so I can get on with violating all ethical guidelines?"

John clenched his jaw, then settled into the opposite chair and began eating the bloody awful eggs. Realizing that John was going to accept that load of crap, Samuel gave silent thanks to any deity who cared to accept.