The Sadness
of Being III
Peter threw open the door to
Ghostbusters Central and peered into its darkened interior.
Please return…
"Egon?" His voice
echoed in the large building. It was moving towards late evening, and non-of the
lights had been switched on. Swallowing nervously Peter moved further in towards
the stairway. When he had reached Janine's desk he stopped and blinked in
surprise. There was something lying on the stairs, a twisted blanket, or perhaps
a discarded uniform or....shit!
"Egon!" Peters cry
echoed round the fire hall, anguished and unanswered. Spengler did not open his
eyes and inquire what all the noise was about, the lump on the stairs did not
resolve itself into clothing or bedding, but remained the cold still form of
Peter's closest friend. Peter's very cold, very still dear friend. …to the
upright position… Instinctively
he felt for a pulse, horrified at the stiffness of the icy skin under his
searching fingertips. In shock the brown haired Ghostbuster let his hand fall
from the unresponsive flesh that refused to give him any sign of a heartbeat.
…a complete halt….
He was dead. Egon was...
"Sir, would you put your
chair into the upright position, we are coming in to land."
With a start Peter Venkman
gapped stupidly at the airhostess, before remembering to shut his mouth and obey
her instructions. Wow, what a nightmare. Fumbling with the seatbelt he ran the
details through his mind. It hadn't been as realistic as the replays of Egon's
circus accident he'd been reliving for days now, but not pleasant, not at all.
Peter ran a hand back through his disheveled hair, feeling the cold sweat of
fear making it slick to his head. Dropping his hand in disgust he hitched the
Alpaca wool blanket more securely onto his lap. He'd brought it for Egon on the
way out of customs, and found holding its soft fabric settled his nerves. The
damn airplane was freezing!
Peter pushed open the door to
Ghostbusters Central. His heart was beating a mile a minute; he could feel it
like a caged bird trying to beat its way out of his chest. The pulse in his neck
felt like somebody stabbing him with a stick there, the blood vessels working to
capacity. He moved surely towards the stairway where he saw...
Egon gave a yelp as his foot
slipped on the corner of the next step, causing him to suddenly waver
dangerously in his balance. Just when he felt for sure he was going to lose the
battle and go plummeting down the stairs, he felt arms come round his waist and
steady him against the railing.
Catching his breath Egon
looked around, his face breaking into a delighted grin.
"Peter!"
Peter couldn't believe it.
He'd only just made it up the stairs in time to stop his skinny blond friend
from tumbling down them like he had in the nightmare on the plane. He was never
going to discredit dream warnings again! Shit, and now Egon was looking at him
like, like...
"Egon, have you lost
weight?"
"A little,
perhaps." Spengs was still grinning at him like he was the inventor of the
warp drive or something. And that was weird, because Egon rarely grinned open
like that, and shit, he could see the physicists ribs through the open front of
his lab coat. You could count the damn things they stood out like railings.
Damn, Egon must have been having a bad time.
"You've been taking your
pain medicine?" he asked pointedly.
"I did so diligently,
yes." Egon replied then gave a little apologetic shrug. "That is until
I ran out of them the other day." He leaned he weight a little more onto
Venkman's steady arm. Lord, how he had missed having Peter around to rely on.
"Wanna go back up to bed
now?" Peter asked, tightening the one arm around Spengler's waist and
gesturing up towards their rooms with the other.
"Um, no. I'd rather
not." Egon answered hesitantly. "I have a rather large experiment to
check on, and it is past due. I was making my way down when, well, you saw. The
experiment is nearing its final stages, and I would hate to have to begin
again."
Egon gave him a beseeching
look and Peter found he just couldn't say no. Aww, the poor guy was half-starved
here and he was worried about his molds. How heart rending was that? Moving
carefully Peter turned so they were both facing downwards again and nudged
Egon's hip to indicate he should start to descend.
"Thank you. Peter."
Egon blinked rapidly several times then took the first step. Something inside of
Venkman tightened painfully, and he was glad to have come back early, and not
just for preventing boy genius here from cracking his head open over his stupid
molds. Egon needed him.
"So, Spengler. You know
what I'm gonna do?" Peter asked lightly.
"No, Doctor Venkman, I
haven't the foggiest idea what you are going to do." Egon's eyes sparkled,
having Peter return out of the blue like this was a miracle.
"I'm gonna call Mario.
Get him to make a house call. He can do us both, because, between you and me,
Spengler." Peter leaned in conspiratorially. "My hair could do with a
little extra intensive moisturizing. And yours could do with an oil
change."
They had reached the bottom
of the stairs, Peter all but lifting his friend down them, and he reached up to
run his fingers through Egon's decidedly disordered hairstyle. He managed to
smile lightly through the return of the sudden tightening sensation. Egon loved
having that weird curl of his, seeing it drooping like that just wasn't right.
Lowering his hand he slipped
his arms further around Egon's waist and pulled him into a tight hug. He could
feel the other man relax into the hold, resting his head alongside his own.
"I missed you,
Peter." Egon whispered.
"I know. Missed you to,
'gon." More than I can say. They stood there for a long minute
before Peter eventually stepped a little away and offered the scientist his arm.
"The mold awaits us, your highness. Shall we away?"
"Fungus, Peter, not
mold." Egon corrected him fondly, taking the proffered arm.
They passed the secretarial
desk and Peters eyes narrowed darkly. How the hell could that woman have let
another human being get like this and not help out? He'd roast her chestnuts
over an open flame, or his name wasn't Peter Venkman!
Letting go of the swift anger
to concentrate on the next level of stairs, Peter consoled himself with more
important planning. He had the credit card; it was time to use it. Food from the
nearest pizza bar, medicine from the nearest chemist, and that all important
phone call. Yeah, it would be Temporary Secretary hunting season later. For now
it was Egon pampering time, and for that he needed the help of one Mario the
barber. Let it be so!