Princes of the Undead

Part 29

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He was dying...again.

The lights of London seemed to blur in front of his eyes and Dracula wasn't sure which would happen first, that he would pass out, or throw up, or both? The only thing that he could almost concentrate on, was the bobbing figure of Agatha in the distance. She was a good fifty yards or so in front of him, never closer or further away, and this Dracula took as a sign she still loved him; as it certainly wasn't him keeping pace.

It felt like forever but eventually they made it to the front door of Agatha's apartment block. Never before had Dracula been so pleased to see her pathetically small apartment. He dragged himself up the stairs, hand on the handrail, as the world about him seemed to swim. When Agatha opened the door, Dracula headed straight to the bathroom. Clutching the toilet like a lifeline Dracula threw up what he could. Never ever again.

Watching from the doorway Agatha tried to be sympathetic, he really did look ill, then the memories of the night before resurfaced, and she shoved it back down. It wasn't that he had been out late that really bothered her. Agatha had originally intended to stop over with the girls at headquarters, but after her disagreement with Lucy, Agatha had wanted the security that being near Dracula gave her. So, she had returned and let herself into his apartment.

A lovely bubble bath in his huge tub, a glass of something nice from his decanter, wrapped up in his t-shirt and laying in his comfy bed, Agatha had been relaxed but lonely. So, she had texted him, and nothing. At first, she just dismissed it, he was probably playing nice with important people, but as the night dragged on and she didn't get any acknowledgement at all. Agatha couldn't help but worry, so she sent another text, then she called him and left a voicemail.

Worried if she kept this up, she would come across like a stalker, Agatha tried her best to sleep. Yet in reality she watched the clock, hours ticked past and Agatha grew more and more concerned. So, she sent another text, and then two more calls, and still nothing...

Finally, at around five he did call, and Agatha could barely contain her relief and then her anger. All this time she had been worried sick, and he had been out there living it up? Getting into who knew what trouble, but judging by the state of him, something that would have consequences. Consequences that her, and Mycroft, and the others would also have to live with.

Leaving Dracula to suffer in the bathroom, Agatha headed into the little cubbyhole that doubled as a kitchen. Agatha didn't care that it was small, it wasn't like she needed to cook anything anymore. Checking out her fridge, Agatha frowned at the rather pathetic contents. She had been staying over at Dracula's apartment more and more. As such she hadn't been keeping her own fridge stocked, and there was only a couple of blood samples left.

Knowing that Dracula would need several more if he was to purge all the polluted crap he had put into his body, Agatha resigned herself to going hungry this morning. Pouring one of the samples into a comedy mug, Agatha warmed it quickly in the microwave, only a few seconds to take off the chill, as otherwise it was likely to hit his sensitive stomach and come straight back up again.

Mug in hand Agatha made her way back to the bathroom. Not surprised to find Dracula still in the same position, his shoulders now shaking as he dry heaved. Setting the mug down on the sink, Agatha turned on the shower, stripping off her own mussed clothes and after easing Dracula away from the toilet, did the same with his t-shirt. Underneath his chest was stained, and hair matted with blood. It looked like he had bathed in it. Knowing Dracula was too heavy even for her to manhandle Agatha slapped his face, a quick tap, albeit a little harder than usual to get his attention.

"Shower now." Agatha commanded, offering her help for him to stand, as it seemed his legs were protesting after both the night before, and the four-mile run.