Space Invader Time Stamp 1

Ok, so I thought it was time to write a Space Invader time stamp. This is for a reader who wanted a bit more of the Bev/Darko relationship. It’s set about a year before the epilogue. 

Thanks go out to @wrathofthestag​ who tolerates all my craziness as I write and even looks my nonsense over so I don’t share anything too terrible. 

You Going to Piss on the Stick, or What?

         “Beverly? Are you vomiting?” Adam tapped at the bathroom door again. “If you’re vomiting, I should probably leave, I don’t like being sick.”      

         Beverly wretched into the toilet again. She was never, ever eating gas station sushi again, no matter how far afield her cases took her. Everything had been just fine until Nigel and Adam had come over to watch the game, when one sniff of Nigel’s beer had sent her scrabbling for a toilet. Just the thought of that stale wheat smell had Bev lurching into the bowl again.

         “Beverly? Nigel went to the store, he said he knew what to do.” She could hear Adam drumming his fingers nervously on the floor. “Would you like me to slide you a magazine under the door? I can do that without contaminating myself.”

         “It’s OK, Adam,” Her voice was raspy and her tongue tasted sour in her mouth. “I’m pretty sure it’s food poisoning.”

         “OK, but don’t open the door, just in case it’s the flu.” Adam sounded unconvinced. “I have an exam next week and I don’t want to be sick.”

         Bev rolled her eyes. That was as close to sympathy as she was probably going to get from Adam. Part of her wanted to call Darko, ask him to come home, so she could spend the night being cuddled and pampered. She dismissed the idea, she hated the idea of admitting she needed anyone, even now. She didn’t need her husband to feel better. She just needed to stop fucking puking.

         A knock rattled the door.

         “You’ve got your clothes on, yeah?”

         “Yes, Nigel.”

         The door opened.

         “I sent Adam home, he’s not great with this shit. He hopes you feel better and you don’t fucking infect him.” Nigel tromped into the bathroom, pausing to lay a plastic bag on the sink and grab a washcloth. He ran the cloth under the tap, wringing it out before he laid the cool cloth across the back of Bev’s neck. He flopped to the floor beside her. “You look fucking rough, Katz.”

         “I feel fucking rough, dick.”

         “OK, well I’ve got some stuff for you.” He grabbed the bag and handed it to her. She dug out a bottle of Pepto, two Powerades, and a pregnancy test. She blinked at it and looked at Nigel with wide eyes. “What? You’ve been trying for nearly a year, haven’t you?”

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