The World Keeps Spinning
Title: The World Keeps Spining
Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Lester/Stephen
Words: 2,961
Rating, Warnings: PG.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Primeval, and Ditzy belongs to Fredbasset
Spoilers: Season two, but of course in full Denial.
AN: This is a direct continuation of Morphine, which I wrote for
kerry_louise's prompt 'Stephen/Lester - Lester visits Stephen during his recovery, after he almost dies in the cage room'.
AN2: Snogs and thanks to
fredbassett for a comprihensive and super quick beta.
Stephen manages to doze a little after Lester’s visit. He’s excited after Lester leaves, but tries to tell himself that it’s just because he was pleased to see someone, despite his initial reluctance. But there is no hiding how tired the visit made him, and so he lets himself sleep.
He wakes up as the nurse comes in with his dinner. Any happiness that may have been flittering around inside disappears in an instant. Stephen takes as deep a breath as his broken body will allow and stares forlornly at the tray. The nurse gives him a kindly smile. He doesn’t bother trying to return it.
Later the nurse is leaves with the tray and stops, taking a step back away from the door. Stephen is barely paying attention, but notices the change in behaviour so glances at the door. His breath hitches in an unexpected way as Lester moves past the nurse and into the room. Lester glances at the tray and flicks a quizzical look at Stephen as the nurse leaves them alone, closing the door.
“Not hungry? There was half of your dinner left on there,” Lester asks.
Stephen gives what passes for a shrug.
“Have you had hospital food lately? A hungry raptor wouldn’t touch it.” Stephen tries for humour but the flash of pain that crosses Lester’s face shows that the other man isn’t quite ready for that reminder.
Then Lester rallies and his face becomes thoughtful.
“I’ll have a word with the chef, get the menus changed. What’s your favourite?”
“I could murder a curry.” Stephen smiles at him and receives a sly smile in return. But, it occurs to him that Lester has so much influence everywhere else so maybe he isn’t joking.
Lester approaches the bed now and pulls the plastic chair up again, sitting down.
“How was your meeting?”
Stephen receives an eyebrow raised in distain.
“It was suggested I take on a new assistant. I counter-suggested that I was never doing that again and that Jenny and Lorraine would be more than adequate. As well as having the added bonus of never having tried to kill me.”
Stephen pulls a thoughtful face. “That is a useful requirement. Not enough people put that as a skill on CVs these days.”
He is rewarded with a smile and a small movement as Lester relaxes into the chair a little more.
“Have you come to tell me your story now?”
Lester pulls a face. “You don’t really want to hear it.”
“Yes, I do. Humour me. I can’t take another episode of EastEnders.”
This time he receives a slightly bigger smile and then Lester tells his story. Stephen listens intently, eyes widening as the tale continues, huffing a gentle but painful laugh as Lester somehow injects humour into the terror.
“And what happened to the mammoth?” he asks at the end.
Lester gives an exasperated eye-roll. “You lot are all the same; it’s all about the animals. Well, for your information, Monty is absolutely fine and, if you must know, now living in the mammoth equivalent of the lap of luxury.”
Stephen feels a real and genuine grin splitting his face.
“Monty? You named the mammoth?”
Lester falters and something akin to embarrassment crosses his features before it’s replaced by a rueful smile of admittance. A moment passes between them, a look, a smile, a shared secret, and Stephen remembers what hope feels like.
But the door opens and the moment is ruined. The nurse who enters gives them an apologetic look.
“Time for your medication, Mr Hart.” She turns to look at Lester. “These make him drowsy, so it’s probably time for you to leave, sir.”
Lester gives the appearance of ignoring the nurse, but instead looks to Stephen for an answer. Somehow that makes it a little easier to bear. Stephen nods with disappointment and Lester stands, returns the nod and leaves without a word. There is no promise of returning, but there is no denial either.
The next day the doctors and nurses come and go as usual, dressings are changed, medications given, obs taken. Stephen lets it all happen and is left alone again with daytime TV. But he is distracted. Lester’s two visits keep replaying themselves in his mind and he is still puzzled by how much he enjoyed them. Stephen is worrying again whether it was Lester’s presence, or simply just seeing someone, that made yesterday so full or promise. But his thoughts are interrupted by another unexpected visitor.
“Ditzy?”
“Hart.”
The ARC medic walks straight to the end of his bed and picks up Stephen’s chart, starting to examine it.
“Are you treating me now?”
“Nah. You’ve got a bunch of doctors here to do that.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Well, I have absolutely not been sent by Lester to check up on you. It was made quite clear that you are not supposed to think that.”
Stephen doesn’t quite know how to take that, but before he has much time to think about it Ditzy is talking again.
“Are the meds working for the pain?”
“It’s bearable. I don’t want anything stronger.”
“Do you know they’re adding sedative at night?”
“They are what?”
“I thought as much.” Ditzy puts down the chart again. “Do you need help sleeping? Do you want to have help sleeping?”
“No. I’m tired a lot, I don’t need any help sleeping.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
There is a pause that hangs in the air.
“I would rather have nightmares than be drugged.”
“I’ll see if I can get you off them.”
“Thanks.”
“I have to go, but keep looking after yourself, okay?”
“Yeah. And thanks, Ditzy.”
“Not a problem. I’ll go and talk to your doctor now.”
Once again Stephen is left by himself, but he no longer feels alone.
Stephen spends the day pretending that he isn’t hoping; hoping and waiting. But he can’t ignore the little leap of happiness in his stomach when the door opens later and Lester walks in instead of medical staff. A delicious smell wafts in with him.
Lester holds up a bag.
“Your dinner is served.”
“What is that?”
“Indian. It’s what you said you wanted.” There’s a note of hesitation and Stephen thinks he’s seen more uncertainty in Lester in the last two days than in all the time he’s known him. Lester puts the bag down on the table next to the bed and produces two plastic plates and plastic cutlery from it. Stephen looks on in horror.
“Thank you, this is great, but I’m not hungry. I’ve already eaten.”
“What?” Lester puts the utensils down and annoyance crosses his face. “I explicitly told them not to bring your dinner today. Can no one follow instructions?”
Lester turns and heads angrily towards the door.
“No! Wait,” Stephen quickly says to stop him.
Lester turns confused.
“I…I haven’t eaten, no one has brought me dinner. I just…I can’t eat with you.”
Lester raises an eyebrow.
Stephen sighs and closes his eyes. Slowly, he finally pulls his hands out from under the sheets from where he has been hiding them all this time. They are thickly bandaged, resembling big, white mittens on the end of his arms.
“I can’t eat it. I have to be fed. The nurse has to feed me.”
Lester is staring at his hands.
“Prognosis?”
Stephen opens his eyes again.
“They’re not sure yet. They keep calling them ‘defensive wounds’. It’s just phrasing for ‘your hands are cut to ribbons and we don’t know how bad the tendon and nerve damage is.’ The wounds have to heal more before they can do more tests.”
Lester’s expression is set. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer fake platitudes, try tell him everything will be okay; there is no pity on his face. Instead he pushes the chair and table closer to the bed, pulls out two boxes from the bag and tips rice and meat in a thick sauce onto one of the plates. He shuffles closer to the bed with the plate balanced on one hand a fork on the other.
“Are you sitting up far enough?”
Stephen nods slightly, unsure about what is happen and certainly not sure he wants it. He can barely take the embarrassment of a nurse feeding him for any longer than half the meal, if Lester is planning to do it he is not sure he can stand it.
But he does. Lester starts pushing the food around the plate, mixing the rice, meat and sauce. The smell is driving Stephen mad and his head is brimming with thoughts when he suddenly realises that Lester is talking. And he’s talking rubbish. It’s tantamount to gossip; a silly story from the office. He is so distracted that when Lester scoops up a forkful of food and holds it out to him, Stephen opens his mouth and takes it in. As he chews, Lester keeps talking and loads up the fork again.
They carry on like this; Lester talking, Stephen eating. Stephen makes the right noises as the right time and asks questions between mouthfuls. He knows that Lester’s own food will be cold by the time he gets to it, and he knows what Lester is doing. And he can’t remember every feeling this grateful to anyone.
They fall into a pattern. Stephen spends his day watching the clock and is rewarded by a visit from Lester in the evening, along with dinner.
On the third night Lester brings a small hip flask of whisky too.
“It’s safe. Ditzy says a small amount won’t react with any of your medications.”
He pours some into two of the small plastic cups in the room and they sip the whisky as if decanted into the finest crystal.
On the fourth night, the dinner he chooses to bring is Chinese noodles. Lester takes his usual place on the chair and dishes out the noodles. He twirls some onto a fork and moves to feed it to Stephen. The noodles slide off the fork.
“Ah,” he says, looking at the distance between the plate and Stephen’s mouth. “I did not think this through.”
“You can sit up here,” Stephen says uncertainly. It feels right to him, but he isn’t sure how Lester will react.
But Lester stands, plate in hand and perches on the edge of the bed. It’s awkward at first, but he continually shifts to get more comfortable until he is finally sitting next to Stephen, legs up on the bed. Stephen lets himself be fed as usual, but he is very aware now of Lester’s arm brushing against his as they sit side by side. He smiles to himself as he discovers how hard it is to concentrate on eating when your stomach is continually flipping over.
From then on a new pattern starts. Lester now sits alongside Stephen each evening, feeding him, before eating himself. They talk throughout and often late into the evening, until Stephen needs to sleep. They are no longer disturbed by nursing staff once Lester has arrived. Stephen’s pain medications are left with him in the afternoon and the nightly sedative stopped after Ditzy’s visit.
On the seventh night, Lester is feeding Stephen and has taken over the conversation, railing and ranting about an earlier meeting with clueless pen-pushers. He isn’t even looking as he offers a forkful of food to Stephen before moving to fill the fork again. Then he lifts the fork once more and takes the mouthful of food himself as if it is the most natural thing in the world. He continues to talk for a moment as he pushes the fork into the food again. Then he hesitates.
Stephen doesn’t want this moment ruined. Wants Lester to know that it’s okay, that this is right, it’s what he wants and please, please, carry on. So he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t make an issue of it. He just opens his mouth; a silent sign to continue. Lester takes the invitation and feeds him again and Stephen feels a little more tension leave the other man’s body.
Something else has shifted between them again and it feels so good.
Days have passed and Lester has been to see him without fail each evening. There are even text messages if he is delayed. The accompanying dinners are varied. Sometimes take away, sometimes pre-packed, heatable foods. Once there was steak, pre-diced so it could still be eaten with one fork. He brought whisky again one day, but another brought a bottle of beer for both of them. Stephen’s pleasure was obvious and the whisky stopped, but the beer continued.
But tonight Stephen is excited for different reasons. Tonight isn’t about the meal or whether or not there will be beer. He counts down the hours as he does every day, but today the clock moves slower than usual.
Eventually Lester walks in and Stephen is well aware that he is beaming and he doesn’t care. He waits for Lester do go through the now accepted ritual of dishing out just one plate of food with one fork and climbing onto the bed. They exchange the usual greetings and pleasantries as they do and Stephen is desperately trying to keep himself contained. Finally Lester is ready and he picks up the fork.
“Wait.”
Stephen pulls his hands out from under the sheets and shows them to Lester. They are swollen; a mix of red, pink and purple. Dark jagged lines mark the various cuts and lacerations that criss-cross the flesh, and spiky, blood-hardened threads stick out at sickly angles from where the skin has been stitched together. But the bandages are off. Stephen can’t help the grin on his face as he stiffly wiggles his fingers. Some don’t go far, but there is some movement in each finger.
Lester stares at the ugly ruined flesh like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen and Stephen feels as if it is.
“Stephen, that’s wonderful.”
“It’s a start. I can’t fully clench or grip, and they still don’t know how much movement I will get in each finger but…”
Stephen’s smile is broad and Lester returns it.
“You’ll be feeding yourself in no time.”
“I wish. It’s not that I’m not grateful, but it’s going to feel so good to do things for myself again.”
Lester’s forehead wrinkles thoughtfully.
“Wait, I have an idea.”
Stephen is confused as Lester puts the plate on the side and, sliding off the bed, heads out of the door. He comes back a moment later clutching a small crepe bandage and tape. Stephen wonders if Lester used deception to pilfer them or just demanded them. He’s pretty sure Lester is capable of both. He watches as Lester pulls open the crepe bandage and wraps it around the handle of the fork, until the shaft is a couple of inches in diameter. He fixes the end in place with the tape.
He sits back on the bed again, plate in hand once more. He hands the fork to Stephen.
“Try it.”
Stephen smiles as he realises. He nervously, slowly, wraps his fingers around the large, padded handle. His grip is weak, but as Lester lets go of the fork it stays in his hand. Lester has moved the plate right in front of him and Stephen tentatively manoeuvres the fork into the food on the plate. He manages to scoop a small amount on the fork and lifts it to his mouth. It tastes better than food has ever tasted. He chews, smiles at Lester, and pushes the fork into the food again. Stephen manages four mouthfuls and tries for more, but he isn’t able to hide the wince of pain that crosses his face as his injured hand starts to protest.
Lester clearly hasn’t missed it and he gently takes the fork from Stephen.
“It’s a good start, but let’s take it easy.” Lester pulls off the makeshift bandage handle and continues to feed Stephen and himself. They don’t talk for a while; they are too busy smiling.
It’s two nights later and they are in their usual position, Lester sitting on Stephen’s right hand side. Lester has bandaged a fork again and Stephen decides to try with his left hand this time. It falls from his grasp before he can get it to the plate being held by Lester. He swears under his breath and Lester moves to help him. Holding the plate as he is, Lester has to lean and reach over Stephen’s body to replace the fork in Stephen’s hand.
As he pulls back their faces are suddenly close. Too close. Stephen looks up as Lester looks down.
And the world stops.
The planet ceases to spin, time halts, the rest of the universe vanishes. There is no one alive in this moment except them.
Neither of them makes the first move, and yet they both do and their lips are touching. It’s tentative, slow, gentle; an understated culmination of weeks of building up to this moment. But Stephen’s heart is beating so fast he thinks it may burst out of his chest.
Lester pulls slowly back, drawing the kiss to a natural close. He withdraws a little. To Stephen he looks happy, but concerned; worried that he has overstepped a mark, done something wrong.
Stephen smiles back and lift the fork. He fills it from the plate and, by-passing himself, offers it to Lester. Lester smiles fully now, all trace of concern vanishing from his face. He takes the bite and Stephen watches him chew.
The world has started spinning again now and Stephen finally feels ready to go along for the ride, certain that he is no longer travelling alone.
Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Lester/Stephen
Words: 2,961
Rating, Warnings: PG.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Primeval, and Ditzy belongs to Fredbasset
Spoilers: Season two, but of course in full Denial.
AN: This is a direct continuation of Morphine, which I wrote for
kerry_louise's prompt 'Stephen/Lester - Lester visits Stephen during his recovery, after he almost dies in the cage room'.
AN2: Snogs and thanks to
fredbassett for a comprihensive and super quick beta.
Stephen manages to doze a little after Lester’s visit. He’s excited after Lester leaves, but tries to tell himself that it’s just because he was pleased to see someone, despite his initial reluctance. But there is no hiding how tired the visit made him, and so he lets himself sleep.
He wakes up as the nurse comes in with his dinner. Any happiness that may have been flittering around inside disappears in an instant. Stephen takes as deep a breath as his broken body will allow and stares forlornly at the tray. The nurse gives him a kindly smile. He doesn’t bother trying to return it.
Later the nurse is leaves with the tray and stops, taking a step back away from the door. Stephen is barely paying attention, but notices the change in behaviour so glances at the door. His breath hitches in an unexpected way as Lester moves past the nurse and into the room. Lester glances at the tray and flicks a quizzical look at Stephen as the nurse leaves them alone, closing the door.
“Not hungry? There was half of your dinner left on there,” Lester asks.
Stephen gives what passes for a shrug.
“Have you had hospital food lately? A hungry raptor wouldn’t touch it.” Stephen tries for humour but the flash of pain that crosses Lester’s face shows that the other man isn’t quite ready for that reminder.
Then Lester rallies and his face becomes thoughtful.
“I’ll have a word with the chef, get the menus changed. What’s your favourite?”
“I could murder a curry.” Stephen smiles at him and receives a sly smile in return. But, it occurs to him that Lester has so much influence everywhere else so maybe he isn’t joking.
Lester approaches the bed now and pulls the plastic chair up again, sitting down.
“How was your meeting?”
Stephen receives an eyebrow raised in distain.
“It was suggested I take on a new assistant. I counter-suggested that I was never doing that again and that Jenny and Lorraine would be more than adequate. As well as having the added bonus of never having tried to kill me.”
Stephen pulls a thoughtful face. “That is a useful requirement. Not enough people put that as a skill on CVs these days.”
He is rewarded with a smile and a small movement as Lester relaxes into the chair a little more.
“Have you come to tell me your story now?”
Lester pulls a face. “You don’t really want to hear it.”
“Yes, I do. Humour me. I can’t take another episode of EastEnders.”
This time he receives a slightly bigger smile and then Lester tells his story. Stephen listens intently, eyes widening as the tale continues, huffing a gentle but painful laugh as Lester somehow injects humour into the terror.
“And what happened to the mammoth?” he asks at the end.
Lester gives an exasperated eye-roll. “You lot are all the same; it’s all about the animals. Well, for your information, Monty is absolutely fine and, if you must know, now living in the mammoth equivalent of the lap of luxury.”
Stephen feels a real and genuine grin splitting his face.
“Monty? You named the mammoth?”
Lester falters and something akin to embarrassment crosses his features before it’s replaced by a rueful smile of admittance. A moment passes between them, a look, a smile, a shared secret, and Stephen remembers what hope feels like.
But the door opens and the moment is ruined. The nurse who enters gives them an apologetic look.
“Time for your medication, Mr Hart.” She turns to look at Lester. “These make him drowsy, so it’s probably time for you to leave, sir.”
Lester gives the appearance of ignoring the nurse, but instead looks to Stephen for an answer. Somehow that makes it a little easier to bear. Stephen nods with disappointment and Lester stands, returns the nod and leaves without a word. There is no promise of returning, but there is no denial either.
The next day the doctors and nurses come and go as usual, dressings are changed, medications given, obs taken. Stephen lets it all happen and is left alone again with daytime TV. But he is distracted. Lester’s two visits keep replaying themselves in his mind and he is still puzzled by how much he enjoyed them. Stephen is worrying again whether it was Lester’s presence, or simply just seeing someone, that made yesterday so full or promise. But his thoughts are interrupted by another unexpected visitor.
“Ditzy?”
“Hart.”
The ARC medic walks straight to the end of his bed and picks up Stephen’s chart, starting to examine it.
“Are you treating me now?”
“Nah. You’ve got a bunch of doctors here to do that.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Well, I have absolutely not been sent by Lester to check up on you. It was made quite clear that you are not supposed to think that.”
Stephen doesn’t quite know how to take that, but before he has much time to think about it Ditzy is talking again.
“Are the meds working for the pain?”
“It’s bearable. I don’t want anything stronger.”
“Do you know they’re adding sedative at night?”
“They are what?”
“I thought as much.” Ditzy puts down the chart again. “Do you need help sleeping? Do you want to have help sleeping?”
“No. I’m tired a lot, I don’t need any help sleeping.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
There is a pause that hangs in the air.
“I would rather have nightmares than be drugged.”
“I’ll see if I can get you off them.”
“Thanks.”
“I have to go, but keep looking after yourself, okay?”
“Yeah. And thanks, Ditzy.”
“Not a problem. I’ll go and talk to your doctor now.”
Once again Stephen is left by himself, but he no longer feels alone.
Stephen spends the day pretending that he isn’t hoping; hoping and waiting. But he can’t ignore the little leap of happiness in his stomach when the door opens later and Lester walks in instead of medical staff. A delicious smell wafts in with him.
Lester holds up a bag.
“Your dinner is served.”
“What is that?”
“Indian. It’s what you said you wanted.” There’s a note of hesitation and Stephen thinks he’s seen more uncertainty in Lester in the last two days than in all the time he’s known him. Lester puts the bag down on the table next to the bed and produces two plastic plates and plastic cutlery from it. Stephen looks on in horror.
“Thank you, this is great, but I’m not hungry. I’ve already eaten.”
“What?” Lester puts the utensils down and annoyance crosses his face. “I explicitly told them not to bring your dinner today. Can no one follow instructions?”
Lester turns and heads angrily towards the door.
“No! Wait,” Stephen quickly says to stop him.
Lester turns confused.
“I…I haven’t eaten, no one has brought me dinner. I just…I can’t eat with you.”
Lester raises an eyebrow.
Stephen sighs and closes his eyes. Slowly, he finally pulls his hands out from under the sheets from where he has been hiding them all this time. They are thickly bandaged, resembling big, white mittens on the end of his arms.
“I can’t eat it. I have to be fed. The nurse has to feed me.”
Lester is staring at his hands.
“Prognosis?”
Stephen opens his eyes again.
“They’re not sure yet. They keep calling them ‘defensive wounds’. It’s just phrasing for ‘your hands are cut to ribbons and we don’t know how bad the tendon and nerve damage is.’ The wounds have to heal more before they can do more tests.”
Lester’s expression is set. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer fake platitudes, try tell him everything will be okay; there is no pity on his face. Instead he pushes the chair and table closer to the bed, pulls out two boxes from the bag and tips rice and meat in a thick sauce onto one of the plates. He shuffles closer to the bed with the plate balanced on one hand a fork on the other.
“Are you sitting up far enough?”
Stephen nods slightly, unsure about what is happen and certainly not sure he wants it. He can barely take the embarrassment of a nurse feeding him for any longer than half the meal, if Lester is planning to do it he is not sure he can stand it.
But he does. Lester starts pushing the food around the plate, mixing the rice, meat and sauce. The smell is driving Stephen mad and his head is brimming with thoughts when he suddenly realises that Lester is talking. And he’s talking rubbish. It’s tantamount to gossip; a silly story from the office. He is so distracted that when Lester scoops up a forkful of food and holds it out to him, Stephen opens his mouth and takes it in. As he chews, Lester keeps talking and loads up the fork again.
They carry on like this; Lester talking, Stephen eating. Stephen makes the right noises as the right time and asks questions between mouthfuls. He knows that Lester’s own food will be cold by the time he gets to it, and he knows what Lester is doing. And he can’t remember every feeling this grateful to anyone.
They fall into a pattern. Stephen spends his day watching the clock and is rewarded by a visit from Lester in the evening, along with dinner.
On the third night Lester brings a small hip flask of whisky too.
“It’s safe. Ditzy says a small amount won’t react with any of your medications.”
He pours some into two of the small plastic cups in the room and they sip the whisky as if decanted into the finest crystal.
On the fourth night, the dinner he chooses to bring is Chinese noodles. Lester takes his usual place on the chair and dishes out the noodles. He twirls some onto a fork and moves to feed it to Stephen. The noodles slide off the fork.
“Ah,” he says, looking at the distance between the plate and Stephen’s mouth. “I did not think this through.”
“You can sit up here,” Stephen says uncertainly. It feels right to him, but he isn’t sure how Lester will react.
But Lester stands, plate in hand and perches on the edge of the bed. It’s awkward at first, but he continually shifts to get more comfortable until he is finally sitting next to Stephen, legs up on the bed. Stephen lets himself be fed as usual, but he is very aware now of Lester’s arm brushing against his as they sit side by side. He smiles to himself as he discovers how hard it is to concentrate on eating when your stomach is continually flipping over.
From then on a new pattern starts. Lester now sits alongside Stephen each evening, feeding him, before eating himself. They talk throughout and often late into the evening, until Stephen needs to sleep. They are no longer disturbed by nursing staff once Lester has arrived. Stephen’s pain medications are left with him in the afternoon and the nightly sedative stopped after Ditzy’s visit.
On the seventh night, Lester is feeding Stephen and has taken over the conversation, railing and ranting about an earlier meeting with clueless pen-pushers. He isn’t even looking as he offers a forkful of food to Stephen before moving to fill the fork again. Then he lifts the fork once more and takes the mouthful of food himself as if it is the most natural thing in the world. He continues to talk for a moment as he pushes the fork into the food again. Then he hesitates.
Stephen doesn’t want this moment ruined. Wants Lester to know that it’s okay, that this is right, it’s what he wants and please, please, carry on. So he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t make an issue of it. He just opens his mouth; a silent sign to continue. Lester takes the invitation and feeds him again and Stephen feels a little more tension leave the other man’s body.
Something else has shifted between them again and it feels so good.
Days have passed and Lester has been to see him without fail each evening. There are even text messages if he is delayed. The accompanying dinners are varied. Sometimes take away, sometimes pre-packed, heatable foods. Once there was steak, pre-diced so it could still be eaten with one fork. He brought whisky again one day, but another brought a bottle of beer for both of them. Stephen’s pleasure was obvious and the whisky stopped, but the beer continued.
But tonight Stephen is excited for different reasons. Tonight isn’t about the meal or whether or not there will be beer. He counts down the hours as he does every day, but today the clock moves slower than usual.
Eventually Lester walks in and Stephen is well aware that he is beaming and he doesn’t care. He waits for Lester do go through the now accepted ritual of dishing out just one plate of food with one fork and climbing onto the bed. They exchange the usual greetings and pleasantries as they do and Stephen is desperately trying to keep himself contained. Finally Lester is ready and he picks up the fork.
“Wait.”
Stephen pulls his hands out from under the sheets and shows them to Lester. They are swollen; a mix of red, pink and purple. Dark jagged lines mark the various cuts and lacerations that criss-cross the flesh, and spiky, blood-hardened threads stick out at sickly angles from where the skin has been stitched together. But the bandages are off. Stephen can’t help the grin on his face as he stiffly wiggles his fingers. Some don’t go far, but there is some movement in each finger.
Lester stares at the ugly ruined flesh like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen and Stephen feels as if it is.
“Stephen, that’s wonderful.”
“It’s a start. I can’t fully clench or grip, and they still don’t know how much movement I will get in each finger but…”
Stephen’s smile is broad and Lester returns it.
“You’ll be feeding yourself in no time.”
“I wish. It’s not that I’m not grateful, but it’s going to feel so good to do things for myself again.”
Lester’s forehead wrinkles thoughtfully.
“Wait, I have an idea.”
Stephen is confused as Lester puts the plate on the side and, sliding off the bed, heads out of the door. He comes back a moment later clutching a small crepe bandage and tape. Stephen wonders if Lester used deception to pilfer them or just demanded them. He’s pretty sure Lester is capable of both. He watches as Lester pulls open the crepe bandage and wraps it around the handle of the fork, until the shaft is a couple of inches in diameter. He fixes the end in place with the tape.
He sits back on the bed again, plate in hand once more. He hands the fork to Stephen.
“Try it.”
Stephen smiles as he realises. He nervously, slowly, wraps his fingers around the large, padded handle. His grip is weak, but as Lester lets go of the fork it stays in his hand. Lester has moved the plate right in front of him and Stephen tentatively manoeuvres the fork into the food on the plate. He manages to scoop a small amount on the fork and lifts it to his mouth. It tastes better than food has ever tasted. He chews, smiles at Lester, and pushes the fork into the food again. Stephen manages four mouthfuls and tries for more, but he isn’t able to hide the wince of pain that crosses his face as his injured hand starts to protest.
Lester clearly hasn’t missed it and he gently takes the fork from Stephen.
“It’s a good start, but let’s take it easy.” Lester pulls off the makeshift bandage handle and continues to feed Stephen and himself. They don’t talk for a while; they are too busy smiling.
It’s two nights later and they are in their usual position, Lester sitting on Stephen’s right hand side. Lester has bandaged a fork again and Stephen decides to try with his left hand this time. It falls from his grasp before he can get it to the plate being held by Lester. He swears under his breath and Lester moves to help him. Holding the plate as he is, Lester has to lean and reach over Stephen’s body to replace the fork in Stephen’s hand.
As he pulls back their faces are suddenly close. Too close. Stephen looks up as Lester looks down.
And the world stops.
The planet ceases to spin, time halts, the rest of the universe vanishes. There is no one alive in this moment except them.
Neither of them makes the first move, and yet they both do and their lips are touching. It’s tentative, slow, gentle; an understated culmination of weeks of building up to this moment. But Stephen’s heart is beating so fast he thinks it may burst out of his chest.
Lester pulls slowly back, drawing the kiss to a natural close. He withdraws a little. To Stephen he looks happy, but concerned; worried that he has overstepped a mark, done something wrong.
Stephen smiles back and lift the fork. He fills it from the plate and, by-passing himself, offers it to Lester. Lester smiles fully now, all trace of concern vanishing from his face. He takes the bite and Stephen watches him chew.
The world has started spinning again now and Stephen finally feels ready to go along for the ride, certain that he is no longer travelling alone.