World Tour

San Francisco

Luckily, their flight left in the afternoon, so they had time in the morning to visit the friendly luthier again, who was quite surpised to see them with yet another injured violin. 
¨What do you do with these things in your shows?¨ he quipped, as Eddy unpacked his now chin-rest-less violin. 
They laughed, and Eddy explained to him how he'd had to play some of the concert like a hard core baroque violinist, and the luthier had taken the violin from him, still grinning. 
They were in the taxi back to the hotel with a fixed violin, when Brett suddenly sneezed loudly, and sniffed. 
¨Bless you, you okay, bro?¨ Eddy said, eying him. ¨You're not getting sick, are you?¨
¨Hope not!¨, Brett replied. ¨I do have a sore throat, but I'm sure I'll be fine.¨

They ran into the hotel to pick up their luggage, and on they went to another opening, another show. 

It was when they were on the plane that Eddy realised that Brett really wasn't well. He was getting paler by the minute, and he seemed to be drifting in and out of sleep. 
He put his hand on Brett's forehead. Shit, he was burning up! 
Brett halfway opened his eyes and looked at Eddy. 
¨Hey love, you okay? You're not looking so good¨, Eddy said, softly. 
¨I'll be fine¨, Brett croaked, and closed his eyes again. 
Eddy knew he was lying though. He'd known Brett forever and had seen him sick many times. The life of a musician wasn't always the easiest when it came to health, in the end. They put a lot of hours in, they often worked at night and didn't always take enough care of themselves. Plus, the constant flying? He wasn't surprised Brett had caught something. 

The flight was only about four hours, but halfway through Brett was shivering. When he saw a stewardess coming past, he said:
¨Hi, my friend is suddenly not feeling so well, do you have a blanket or something?¨
The stewardess looked at Brett, concerned, and went off to get a blanket.
He smiled wryly to himself.  Great. Now he'd worried the in-flight personel as well. 

When the plane landed he softly woke Brett up. 
¨Come on, my love. We have to get out of this plane and we have to get you into the hotel.¨
Brett opened his eyes and groaned. 
¨Fuck, I feel like crap¨, he said. 
¨I know mate, I know. Let's get you out of here.¨

He lead Brett through the airport, taking his violin on his back too, and letting Brett lean on him. 
¨Eddy?¨ Brett croaked, after a while. 
¨Yes, my love?¨
¨Being sick while travelling sucks¨. 
¨I know, my love. But we'll get you there.¨
At the baggage claim he put the coughing, sleepy Brett on a bench, and put the violin cases around him, while he went off to get the luggage. 

What was it with baggage claims? The more often he stood in one of these places the longer it seemed to take. He tapped his foot impatiently, worried about how Brett was. But he couldn't walk back to check, because sod's law dictated that if he did, that would be the moment the suitcases would choose to arrive. 
After an eternity their bags finally made their way over the belt, and he walked back to the bench as quickly as he could, pulling both suitcases behind him.

He wasn't expecting to see what he saw when he approached the bench again. 
Brett had given up on sitting and had lain down on the ground, his head on his jacket, hugging the violin cases to him so no one would take them while he was passed out. 
It was both the saddest, and the cutest thing.
He snapped a quick photo, knowing it would make a great image for social media, before he bent over to wake poor Brett up again, and get him into a taxi. 

By the time he'd managed to get Brett, suitcases and violins into the hotel, he was exhausted himself, and he was more than a bit worried about Brett, who clearly had a fever. 
He got him into the bed, where Brett fell asleep instantly. He covered him with the duvet carefully before going to the door again to put on his shoes. He'd need to get Brett medicine. 
¨Eddy?¨ the shape on the bed croaked. ¨Are you leaving?¨
He walked back to the bed and sat down, stroking Brett's cheek. 
¨I'm just going to get you some medicine. Will you be okay for a bit? Or do I need to call you a doctor?¨
¨Nah, no doctor. I'll be fine.¨