03 December 2008 @ 03:47 pm
Title: Love of his live
Author: [livejournal.com profile] paraboobizarre
Pairing(s): Bill/Tom
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The characters used herein are fictional representations of real people and the actions and situations contained in the fics are no reflection on the real people on which they are based.
All characters engaging in sexual acts of any kind are over 18 years of age. I do not believe anything of this ever happened, nor that it should and I do not make any money of this. It's fiction.

Warnings: none
Summary: The love of his life.
Author's notes: OMG I love this one so dearly, please read <333

Tom closed the small door of the glass cabinet where they stowed the prescription drugs, locking it immediately as was his habit.
The old geezers here at the retirement home may have looked frail and feeble but, deep down, they were really just like little children. Leave anything unattended and they would get their hands on it faster than you could look.

His digital watch beeped twice and Tom's shoulders sagged almost automatically. Time for the round again. He surveyed the tray with its neatly stacked paper cups, pills in every single one of them.
He craned his neck and looked down the aisle, scanning the empty floor. His brother was late again and they always did their rounds together.

Two nurses in the family! When Tom had announced his intentions he had been the laughingstock of the family for months on end. When his baby brother had decided to follow in his footsteps, people had merely shrugged their shoulders and accepted the fact.

With a deep sigh he picked up the tray and stepped out of his crammed glass-walled office.

First door on the right, his 'favorite' patient – all of them were a little crazy and scatter-brained, dementia – but this one was generally likable, if not a bit too homo erotic for Tom's tastes.
He pushed open the door as quietly as possible. It was 4.30 in the afternoon and the old man would most likely be napping right now.
Tom hated waking them u for just the pills but it was necessary nonetheless.

As usual, the room was bare, save for a single photograph in an elaborate silver frame, standing on the night table.
The white mop of fuzzy hair was just about visible in the armchair, head drooping in an afternoon nap.

Tom inched into the room on tiptoes, balancing the tray on one hand, the other already reaching out for the slouching shoulder.

Tom tapped the old man gently on the shoulder and he startled awake with a quiet grunt.

"Hello, Mr Trümper," Tom whispered in his softest voice, knowing the man particularly disliked loud voices.

"Tomi...it's you?" The old man, eyes wrapped in wrinkles, fine lines seaming his face, looked up at Tom with an almost serene if not disbelieving expression in his eyes.

Tom sighed, brushing one errant dread out of his face as he leaned down towards Mr Trümper, holding out the paper cup. A shaky hand reached out and took the cup, the pills inside rattling with the tremors of Parkinson's.

Tom poured apple juice from a jug standing on the night table. The young man in the picture – probably Mr Trümper's son – had dreads just like Tom, only longer since Tom had only start to dread his hair a couple of months ago; they just about fit into a short ponytail by now.

Offering the drink to the old man, Tom took extra care that his patient swallowed the pills. Mr William Trümper could be a particularly stubborn person at times.

With a sigh the white-haired man leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a second. For that moment, he looked almost young again, with that satisfied smile on his fallen in face.

"Thanks," he croaked, his shaking hand wiping at his mouth, cleaning away some drops of apple juice that had spilled from the cup.
On his wrinkled arm, speckled with brown spots, Tom could see the fine swirly lines of a tattoo.
There were more, he knew; he saw them every time he washed the old man. Another reason never to get inked, he thought, as he tugged the warm blanked across Mr Trümper's lap.

Thin fingers grasped his wrist suddenly, the grip surprisingly strong. Tom looked up, his gaze meeting a pair of strangely vivid brown eyes.

'Here we go again', he thought.

"You know, Tomi, you remind me of the love of my life." The old man muttered, his gaze wandering over to that one photograph in the room before his eyes grew vague and distant again.
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