Jurassic Park 3 Fic - The Cost Was So Much More (2/2)
Title: The Cost Was So Much More
Author: kaly
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Fear can have unexpected consequences.
( Part One )
Alan had kept watch as the students retreated into town or to their tents, as the sun began to set. Although certain everything was put to bed correctly, Alan couldn't stop himself from walking among the grid, double-checking. It kept his mind occupied, and that was something Alan clung to in the days since Isla Sorna.
The familiar circuit didn't take long, and sooner than he would have liked, Alan found himself back in the center of camp. A quick stop at the mess tent later, dinner in hand, he turned toward his trailer, nodding to a couple of straggling students, who were hovering just outside the tent.
Climbing the stairs and closing the door behind him, Alan pulled his hat off and dropped it onto the table, placing the bowl of chili beside it. With a sigh, he ruffled a hand through his hair, wincing when sand drifted to the floor.
It was an unavoidable fact of life on the dig - dirt in every place imaginable. Those times Alan was away, it always seemed odd not to be finding it in every corner. In fact, he and Billy had joked, many times, about the two constants in a paleontologist's life - begging for funding, and chasing dirt.
Thinking of Billy made Alan's throat tight, and he let his chin rest against his chest. When he closed his eyes, all Alan could see were Billy's hurt eyes, begging for forgiveness. He wanted to fix it, especially as he had helped cause it. Alan wanted, more than anything, to be the reason Billy smiled, truly smiled, again. He was very tired of the false smile that Billy thought he had perfected.
Taking a deep breath, Alan pushed the thoughts away. The last thing Billy needed was him meddling in his life while he got his feet back under him. And maybe if he kept repeating that, Alan would believe it himself.
Exhausted, even though it wasn't a particularly taxing day, Alan grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge, and collapsed onto a kitchen chair. He opened the water, drinking most of it before pausing to take a breath.
Coughing slightly, Alan took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. Giving it up as a lost cause, he began to eat his meal, even though his heart wasn't in it. He wasn't quite halfway done when the phone rang. The unwelcome noise earned the small phone a glare, but Alan reached across the table and picked it up, anyway.
"Grant."
When there was no immediate reply, Alan growled and moved to hang up the phone. He had just pulled it away from his head when he heard Billy's slurred voice.
"Hey, Alan."
Alan dropped his spoon into the bowl, forgotten. Quickly pressing the phone back to his ear, he blinked a couple of times before finding his voice. "Billy." He paused, swallowing nervously. "Are you okay?"
There was a beat of silence, and Alan waited with baited breath, hoping Billy was still on the line. That was confirmed when he heard a painfully loud hiccup. He was about to speak, uncertain what had brought Billy to call - though if he were a betting man, he would lay odds on alcohol being involved - however, Billy beat him to it.
"I'm sorry."
The whispered words shocked Alan into silence. He slumped in his chair, mouth opening and closing, but no sound issuing forth. It was the very last thing he expected, although maybe he should have known better.
Before he could find any words, Billy pressed onward, the slur to his voice becoming more and more pronounced. "I know you hate me now." Another hiccup, louder than the last. "And I get it. I really, really do."
The pain in Billy's voice hurt, even while Alan found himself impressed at the coherent sentences, given the palpable inebriation. Obviously, Billy wanted this off his chest - no matter how badly Alan did not want to hear it, to know he was partly responsible for it.
"Billy..."
"No," Billy interrupted, forcefully.
Alan wasn't positive, but he thought he heard the sound of glass clinking, and a gulping noise. Heart freezing in his chest, Alan tried once more. "Billy, you don't have to..."
"Yeah." A pause, another gulp. "I do."
Imagining the worst, Alan stood quickly, casting about for his keys. The university truck wasn't the greatest of vehicles, but it would get him to Billy's apartment sooner rather than later. He ignored the little voice in his head that maybe he had waited to long.
"You still with me?" he asked, grabbing his jacket, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder.
After a moment, Billy's voice was back, but quieter, nearly a whisper. "I'm so sorry you almost died." And if Alan's heart had frozen before, it shattered when Billy added, "Sometimes... Sometimes I wish I had, but I'm so glad you didn't."
"Billy?" Alan asked, finally finding his keys after half-destroying the trailer. "Billy! Don't anything rash, alright? I'll be there in a little bit." Alan swallowed, utter fear making his throat as dry as the dust he both hated and loved. "Wait for me."
He would swear he heard Billy sniffle, although it was a completely foreign sound to the ever-cheerful young man. The mood did a one-eighty when Billy snapped, "Damn it, I don't want your pity! Or your judgment!"
When he heard Billy take another drink, Alan snapped in return, "Damn it, Billy." His voice cracked when he added, "It's not pity... Please put the bottle down. I'm on my way."
Rather than acknowledge the words, Billy's tone shifted soft, just as quickly as it had gone angry. He whispered, "I love you," and the line went dead.
For several seconds, Alan was frozen, staring at the receiver in his hand. The words repeated in his head, looping round and round. He shivered then, but not from the cooling night air that wrapped around him as he threw the door open. No, this cold was from within, from the finality that echoed in Billy's voice.
I love you
Rushing to the truck, the door creaking open as quickly as Alan could force it, Alan bit back an angry curse. Anger at himself, maybe even at the Kirbys. However, his anger at Billy was past - he had punished the younger man enough, behind the guise of protecting him. The coward's way out had wrought its own misery.
As the dust flew up in the rearview mirror, Alan spared a passing thought for watching Billy drive away so quickly, that very afternoon. Now, here Alan was, following his reckless path, scared he would be too late. Terrified, if he were honest with himself, and Alan knew it was past time for honesty - with himself most of all.
He was scared of losing Billy. His narrow escape from the island had terrified Alan. Only instead of pulling Billy closer, he had pushed him away. And hearing the echoes of Billy's broken words, realization struck Alan so hard it nearly pushed the breath from his lungs.
Be it to death or separation, he was losing Billy, and it hurt like hell. Death he might have no control over, but he could bridge the gap he had forced between them. He would.
"Hang on, Billy," he muttered, pressing the truck to its limit on the bumpy dirt road. For one of the only times in his life, Alan regretted his aversion to technology - and refusal to carry a cell phone. "Hang on," he repeated, as much for himself as anything. "I'm coming."
~<>~<>~
In his apartment, Billy stared at the phone for several seconds, as though the small device was responsible for his current state. He dropped it, letting it fall onto the floor, where it bounced under the couch and out of sight. Listing to the right, Billy nearly followed it before shrugging, and collapsing back against the couch.
The now half-empty bottle of whiskey dangled loosely from his hand, and he took another drink from the bottle. He laughed hysterically at the thought of avoiding extra dirty dishes if he just drank straight from the bottle.
The laughter trailed into a half-sob, and Billy clenched his eyes shut. Remembering flashes of the phone call - though most of it was lost - he banged the bottle against his forehead.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid."
A glance across the room, and his gaze landed on the small white card which was still sitting beside the front door. Angry - at the reporter, at himself - Billy stood suddenly, throwing his arms out to the sides when the room tilted and twirled alarmingly. Balance somewhat achieved, he giggled and clutched the bottle to his chest prior to staggering over the door.
Bending over to pick the card up, however, proved more challenge than he was capable of. He leaned forward, the floor weaving beneath him, and slammed heavily against the wall. It was a quick slide to the floor, and Billy slid over sideways, away from the door.
The irony didn't escape him that the card remained stubbornly out of reach.
"You're pathetic, Brennan."
The voice sounded odd to Billy's ears, as though it was far away and at the end of a tunnel. Deciding it wasn't worth it - nothing really was - Billy took a drink of the whiskey, as much dripping onto the floor as in his mouth, and he hiccupped loudly.
Worn in ways he couldn't have imagined just weeks prior, Billy let his head fell onto the floor. The pain barely registered, his vision going gray before tunneling to nothing.
~<>~<>~
Alan pulled into the parking spot beside Billy's, sparing a passing glance at the familiar car. He didn't even bother to lock the truck behind him, barely managing to pause long enough to pull the key from the ignition. And while running up stairs was not something he was prone to, he managed it without even losing his breath, although his heart was pounding.
Reaching Billy's door, Alan banged on the solid surface, waiting only seconds before yelling, "Billy?" It half-occurred to him that Billy's neighbors might not appreciate the racket, but he didn't care. "Billy!"
When his second call, and further knocking, received no answer, Alan flipped through his keys until he came to the one Billy had given him. The younger man had joked at the time about emergencies, even though it was only a short-term lease, grinning sheepishly at Alan as he did so. Alan had retorted that there were very few emergencies to be found on a dig, but had accepted the key, none the less.
How had they come to the point, then, that Alan found himself sliding the key into the deadbolt for that very thing? He prayed there was no chain on the door - that would prove problematic, though it wouldn't stop him - and was grateful not to see one when the door slid open.
However, it only opened six inches or so before he could push it no further. "Billy?" Alan called when he met the resistance.
There was still no answer and Alan could only hope Billy was merely ignoring him, too drunk to reply. The alternative... Alan shook his head, as thought that could chase the thought away. He wasn't prepared to deal with the alternative - ever.
Finally managing to fit his head in through the narrow opening, Alan looked down and gasped at the sight of Billy, unconscious and wedged against the door. Kneeling, Alan reached one arm and shoulder through the gap, stretching until he could just touch Billy's side. He shook him as best he could.
"Billy?"
His fear skyrocketed when Billy began to convulse, retching sounds coming from his throat. Fear overwhelming sense - Billy was twisted on his back, and might very well choke - Alan pushed against the door as hard as he dared, hoping he didn't injure Billy further. After a couple of desperate shoves, he collapsed on his knees beside Billy.
On autopilot, Alan hurried to roll Billy onto his side, barely sliding back out of the way when Billy vomited all over the floor. Exhaling shakily, Alan slumped onto his haunches and ran a hand over his face. That had been too close.
"Let's get you sitting up, alright?" Alan paused, tapping Billy's cheek with his hand but receiving no response. "I'll take that as a yes," he muttered, carefully avoiding the mess and sliding his arms under Billy's.
Carefully, slowly - Alan was fit, but Billy was no lightweight, even if he had lost weight - Alan lifted him and staggered over to the couch. He deposited Billy there and, once sure he was breathing, though shallowly, he noted with some concern, Alan brushed the unruly curls away from Billy's forehead. Without thinking, Alan collapsed on the coffee table in front of Billy, wincing when it groaned pathetically.
A quick glance around revealed the untouched dinner and almost empty bottle. Picking the bottle up, Alan sniffed at the mouth and recoiled from the whiskey fumes. He wondered how much had been in it when Billy had started. Something told him it was quite a bit, and he gave Billy another worried look.
A further look around and Alan spotted the shattered, dark brown glass across the room. He was about to turn his attention back to Billy when he noticed a small card, just inside the door.
He patted Billy on the top of the head, before moving to retrieve the card that had narrowly avoided being covered in vomit. Flipping it over, Alan skimmed the words and felt his stomach turn to lead.
Reporters.
Son of a bitch.
Suddenly, Billy's extreme state made far more sense. Alan pocketed the card - he would be the one dealing with this Robert Ellison, not Billy. And if he were very lucky, the man would regret ever crossing Billy's path.
His wandering attention was brought back to Billy when the younger man began wheezing. Billy flopped around on the couch twice before the retching noise was back and Alan only just grabbed the trashcan in time.
Once Billy was done, breathing slow and still unconscious, Alan shoved the trashcan away - just within reach - and moved to lay Billy back down on the couch. As he did so, Alan's hand brushed Billy's throat. On an impulse, he pressed his fingers against the pulse point and nearly recoiled.
Panic burned at his throat, the beat was slow - too slow - and barely there. Alan looked between Billy and the whiskey. All of a sudden, he remembered stories about campus fraternity parties gone wild, those where students had ended up in the hospital. At the time, Alan had written it off as sheer stupidity - the very reverse Darwinism he had joked about.
Staring at Billy, listening to his wheezing, labored breathing, suddenly it didn't seem so stupid. Suddenly it seemed very, very real and far too dangerous. Frantic, Alan jumped up and searched for the telephone. He was about to give up when he felt his foot kick something, just under the couch.
Kneeling, Alan looked under the furniture and nearly crowed at finding his quarry. As quickly as possible, he punched in 911, the other hand in Billy's hair.
"911. What is the nature of the emergency?"
"Alcohol poisoning," Alan began, praying he was wrong but unwilling to take the chance with Billy's life. The voice droned on, Alan providing the address when requested and staying on the line as asked. "Thank you," he replied, shakily, when the woman informed him paramedics were en route.
Although it felt like an eternity, clutching the phone and listening to Billy's increasingly labored breathing, Alan knew it was only a ten minutes, tops, before he heard booted feet running up the outside stairs. Seconds later, a fist pounded on the door.
"It's open!"
He barely spared a glance for the paramedics as they rushed in, until they gently pushed him to the side. "Sir, if you'll give us some room?"
Alan did look at the man then - absently noting he barely looked old enough for college, much less to be a paramedic. "Of course." Alan dropped the phone onto the coffee table and stood off to the side, unable to tear his eyes away.
The other medic - a woman - must have seen the fading bruises, because she asked, "Is he on anything else? Any painkillers?"
Alan started to shake his head, but realized he didn't know. "Maybe. But he probably would've taken them when he got home, if he did at all." Billy had looked worn when Alan had seen him last, at the dig, and the logic seemed sound enough.
The paramedics shared a glance, and Alan began to worry that perhaps things were worse than he had originally feared. "Could you go and get them?"
Nodding quickly, Alan found the bathroom and - although he hated invading Billy's privacy - looked around until he found the small brown bottle in the cabinet. He returned to the main room quickly, handing the bottle over.
One of the medics scanned the label, muttered a technical word Alan didn't recognize to the other, and then handed it back to Alan. At Alan's worried glance, she explained, "It's not great, but not as bad as it could've been, either. And now we know what we might be dealing with."
As he watched, clutching the pill bottle, the man checked Billy's breathing with a stethoscope, while the other checked his eyes with a small flashlight. "Shit!" the woman cried, when Billy began choking once more. "On his side, now!" she ordered, and they did so, seamlessly.
Not daring to blink, afraid to breathe, Alan could only stare as Billy gagged and heaved, twisting pathetically in the female paramedic's grasp. Once he was still, one of the pair pulled a small, clear bottle and syringe out of a duffle bag. He winced, unable to look away as she tugged at Billy's sweatpants, and injected the liquid into his hip.
"That should help with the vomiting." As she spoke, the woman spared Alan a very brief glance, and he knew the information was for his benefit.
"Okay, while he's quiet, let's get him on a board." It was the man speaking this time, Alan noted distantly.
Billy was lifted, carefully, and a board was slid beneath him. Within seconds, the board was then lifted onto a stretcher they had somehow brought up the stairs. The motion was constant, the voices nearly so.
"IV is in," the woman said, hanging a bag of clear liquid from a small pole beside and just above Billy's head.
The man nodded, stethoscope once again in hand, only to curse and say "I've lost breath sounds," and begin compressions. Alan froze with fear, barely able to hear anything above his pulse pounding in his ears.
"Starting ETI," the other said, almost simultaneously.
Alan winced at seeing Billy's head tilted back, the tube quickly and efficiently slid down his throat. Seconds later, a bag was attached to the tube and she began counting off as he squeezed it. "We need to get him in, now."
A flurry of movement followed as they began rolling the stretcher toward the doorway. "Are you coming with us?"
Alan shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Billy's pale face to the woman. "What?"
"If you're coming with us, come now. Hospital's over in Glasgow, and the clock's ticking."
Nodding, Alan made sure his keys were in his pocket and hurried to close and lock the door behind them, following closely. If he hadn't been so worried, he might have been impressed with how the two managed to get Billy - stretcher, IV and all - down the stairs and to the ambulance waiting below.
Situated inside, siren wailing as they tore along the nearly-empty roads that separated Fort Peck from Glasgow, Alan took a shaky breath and swallowed audibly. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Billy, from the tube sticking so grotesquely out of the other man's mouth. Keeping him alive.
Everything became a blur except for Billy's face, until minutes, hours, maybe years later Alan was left standing, alone, in the ER waiting room. The paramedics had rushed Billy through the swinging doors marked No Admittance, a doctor having met them there, demanding information.
Sick, Alan swallowed back the bile that filled his throat. Left alone with nothing to do but wait once the paperwork was done, Alan collapsed onto a chair and tried to breathe. He gave half a thought to his car - half a county away - but dismissed it. That's what taxis were for.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Alan felt something flat in one of them. Pulling it out, confused, he stared at the reporter's card. A feeling of hatred burned low in his gut, a blinding fury that ignored all the circumstances that had brought them to this point beyond Richard Ellison.
It was too late to do anything about it for the moment, but Alan wasn't deterred. There would be hell to pay, he would see to it.
For the time being, however, all he could do was wait and pray that Billy would be okay, and Alan might have the chance to apologize for pushing him away. For making Billy think he still blamed him - hated him.
Leaning his head against the wall, Alan let his eyes fall closed. Fear and adrenaline had faded, leaving him shaky and tired. He couldn't sleep - there was no chance of that - but he forced himself to stay seated. Pacing would accomplish nothing except annoying those around him, and he needed to save his energy for when Billy was awake.
Because this time he would be there when that happened.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the doctor who had met them at the door appeared in the waiting room. "You're here with Billy Brennan?"
Alan stood quickly, only wavering slightly but enough so that the doctor put a hand on Alan's elbow. "Yeah."
She gestured toward the seat. "Please, sit. I'm Doctor Anthony."
Although he started to argue, Alan merely nodded and sat, waiting until she had as well to begin questioning. "Alan Grant. How's Billy?"
"He's stable." She ran a hand through her hair, and sighed softly. "Are you family?"
The dreaded question hung between them. Alan shook his head and cleared his throat. "No. They're not nearby. I'm his boss." Alan hoped to be forgiven the white lie. He didn't know anything about Billy's family.
While she didn't look pleased, the doctor nodded. "You'll need to call them, you understand?" Alan nodded, holding his breath. "But in the meantime, I have to ask... Does he do this kind of thing often?"
Shaking his head quickly, Alan hastened to say, "Never. I've known Billy for years and he's never..."
"Okay, okay," she said, smiling softly and holding out a hand, apparently having decided to forgive him not being family. "That's good. Works in his favor actually, because we're not up against old damage."
Throat dry, Alan choked slightly. "Damage?"
"The liver can only take so much abuse, Mr. Grant. However, even with repeated binge drinking, there are more immediate worries."
In his mind's eye, all Alan could see were the paramedics shoving a tube down Billy's throat, the controlled panic in their voices and movements. "His breathing."
Anthony nodded. "Yes. Luckily he was found and intubated in time. There's no sign of vomit in his lungs, nor was there a significant loss of oxygen to the brain."
Cold ran down his spine at the words. He hadn't even thought... "His brain? He might..."
"Should be fine, Mr. Grant," Doctor Anthony hastened to reassure. "Although we won't know for certain until he wakes, the odds are good. Like I said, measures were taken almost immediately. He's very lucky you found him when you did, got help there."
Alan couldn't help but remember the minutes he sat there, staring at Billy, before calling 911. If he had waited much longer...
He must have dazed out momentarily, for the next thing he was aware of was the doctor's hand on his sleeve. "Are you alright, Mr. Grant?"
Was he alright? He was certainly better than Billy, but he was far from alright. Torn, he just shrugged. She must have understood, because Anthony smiled knowingly.
"So he'll be okay?"
"I'm cautiously optimistic. He's still connected to a ventilator, just as a precaution, until we've flushed the alcohol from his system. Lots of liquids, vitamins. From what the medics told me, he had vomited several times at the scene. That was risky for several reasons, beyond the asphyxiation risk; we found a recently healed scar on his stomach indicating recent surgery?"
Nodding, Alan scrubbed a hand through his hair as memories flashed behind his eyes of different doctors in a different hospital. "He had his spleen removed, not quite a month ago." It had been in the paperwork he had filled out, but must not have made it back to the trauma room.
Anthony blinked once, staring at Alan. After several seconds, she said, "I see." Something flickered across her features that made Alan pause, his breath catching. "He was lucky then. That could have been... unfortunate. He was doubly lucky, in a way - we didn't have to pump his stomach."
Alan smirked humorlessly. "Lucky."
She shrugged, her expression softening. "Like I said, in a way."
"And the pills?"
"Yes, they presented a complication, but not an insurmountable one." A dark look crossed her fair features, before she shook her head. "It was unfortunate they were combined, but, as I said, we managed not to have to pump his stomach. We've given him some additional medication to counter it, and it makes the ventilator doubly needed. Also, we're keeping an eye on his cardiac rhythm, just as a precaution."
Feeling overwhelmed, Alan blanched. First his brain, now his heart...
"Heart attack?"
"Not likely, but we're trying to be safe, rather than sorry." Anthony smiled, and Alan felt a fissure of relief when he saw it actually reach her eyes - maybe she wasn't just placating him. "Unless he throws us a curveball, Mr. Grant, he should be fine."
A curveball. Alan scoffed. Billy was quite talented at those, although hopefully not in this instance.
Focusing on something he could actually accomplish other than worrying, Alan asked, "Can I see him?"
"Only for a bit. It's late and visiting hours are long over." Alan began to protest and she held up a hand. "However, I'll let you see him briefly, now, if you'll agree to five minutes. Then you can come back in the morning."
Although he hated the idea that Billy might wake up alone - like before, his traitorous mind whispered - Alan doubted arguing would gain him much ground. Doctor Anthony must have sensed his dilemma - or was merely used to it in her line of work - because she added, "He won't wake up for some time, certainly not tonight, Mr. Grant. I promise."
Appeased, if only just, Alan nodded and stood, somewhat unsteadily. For the briefest moment, he longed for his hat that was sitting, forgotten, in the trailer. It would give him something to do with his hands.
"Okay."
He followed her around the corner to a bank of elevators and upstairs. Alan made note of the floor as they exited, and again of the room number once they arrived. It wouldn't do to get lost the next morning. Billy - the old Billy - would have mocked him endlessly if he did.
The thought made Alan sad.
Doctor Anthony gestured for Alan to precede her into the room. Though he wanted nothing more than to be with Billy, Alan found he had to make himself move. He took a deep breath, finally crossing the threshold, not pausing until he reached the side of Billy's bed.
Billy looked younger, somehow, and smaller laying in the large bed surrounded by medical equipment. As before, Alan's attention was immediately riveted by the tube in Billy's mouth. Following it, he stared at the machine that was rising and falling, breathing for the young man.
"I know it looks bad," the doctor said, and Alan startled at her words.
He glanced at her, briefly, before looking at Billy once more.
The doctor picked up Billy's chart, scanned the information there before reviewing a couple of the machines. After making a couple of notations, she dropped it back into its holder. "He needs fluids and rest." Alan looked at her, briefly, and she smiled. "And not to do this again."
Alan nodded, agreeing with the sentiment though he felt in no place to reassure her it wouldn't. Until Billy woke, he wouldn't even know where he stood with the man.
"I'll have a nurse come get you when five minutes have passed."
He didn't look away from Billy to watch her leave. Instead, he dropped onto a chair that had been positioned near the bed. Hesitantly, Alan reached through the bed rails and grasped Billy's hand - luckily the IV was on the other side - as tightly as he dared.
When he tried to speak, Alan found his voice missing. Blinking back sudden moisture that burned his eyes, refusing to let it fall, Alan cleared his throat. Eventually, he whispered roughly, "I'm so sorry, Billy."
As expected, Billy didn't answer beyond the hissing of the ventilator.
It didn't feel like five minutes later when a nurse entered the room. She glanced at the monitors, and spared Alan a smile. "It's time to go."
Nodding, Alan forced himself to let Billy's hand go, and place it back under the covers. He reached out to brush the stubborn hair away from his face, but froze in mid-motion, only to let his hand fall.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Alan fled then, distantly hoping he would be able to find a cab.
~<>~<>~
The first thing Billy was really aware of was the noise. It sounded far away, as though his ears had cotton in them, but was persistent. Groggy, confused, he tried to roll over and pull his pillow over his head and nearly panicked when he realized he couldn't.
Eyes flying open, Billy tried to look around to see where the hell he was, only his head was trapped. The beeping - whatever the hell it was - grew faster and louder. Terrified, Billy raised a hand to his face having time only to find something plastic there, before his hand was captured.
Frantically looking to his left, Billy froze at the sight of a bleary-eyed Alan standing there. His emotions must have come through clearly, because Alan smiled thinly.
"You're okay." Billy felt Alan squeeze his hand, and his confusion grew. "Just calm down, okay? Just try."
At that moment, the door was pushed open and a nurse rushed into the room, pressing a button somewhere that beeped once, followed by a blessed silence. Weary, Billy closed his eyes, and sagged against the bed.
Hospital.
He tried to remember what might have happened for him to be in the hospital, but couldn't. Feeling a hand still holding his, he dared glance at Alan. Surprisingly, Alan looked like a mile of rough road, and Billy wished he knew why.
That said, however, Billy wasn't going to question Alan being with him. It was a far cry from waking on the Navy ship alone and unwanted. The nurse was still bustling around, checking readings, and Billy tried to will Alan to tell him what was happening.
Something must have been obvious, because Alan brushed Billy's hair away from his forehead, and smiled softly though it looked pained. "You had a little too much to drink."
Although Billy leaned into the touch - craved it as he had little else the past few weeks - he went utterly still at the words.
Too much to drink.
Memory crashed back, a pushy reporter, a bottle of whiskey. The images brought shame with them, and Billy clenched his eyes shut, cheeks burning. He would have choked, were a tube not already doing it for him.
"It'll be okay," he heard Alan whisper, fingers carding through Billy's hair once more.
Billy felt his eyes burn, too, but refused to let any tears fall. He was an idiot, a moron. Remembering calling Alan, but not what he had said, Billy hated himself just a little bit. He was a grown man, not a little boy who needed to run for help. Then again, he couldn't even get drunk right, apparently.
"You need to calm down now, Mr. Brennan," a new voice said, shaking Billy from his pity party. "Look at me, please?"
Somehow, he managed to pry his eyes open, finding a middle-aged, balding man at the foot of the bed. "Thank you. I'm Doctor Smith. Are you ready to get rid of that tube?"
Beyond ready, thank you very much, Billy thought. He refused to look at Alan, instead focusing on the doctor, wondering vaguely what his own doctor would have to say about this latest course of events. He was fairly certain this wasn't on the doctor's list of approved activities.
The man nodded, speaking quietly to the nurse who left for a moment before returning with a tray of equipment. "Alright then," the doctor said, pulling on a pair of gloves. He moved so that he was standing opposite Alan - who was still holding his hand, Billy noted absently.
"I'll disconnect the tubes here," he said, gesturing toward Billy's mouth. "Then we'll turn off the vent, and I'll remove the remaining tube. You'll need to exhale as hard as you can, okay?" He waited a long moment, until Billy nodded. It sounded simple enough, and simple was something Billy didn't want to take for granted ever again.
"You might want to step out into the hallway, Mr. Grant."
Although Billy was too ashamed to face Alan, the thought of the older man leaving scared him. Instinctively, he clenched Alan's hand even more tightly, but continued to stare at the doctor.
"I don't think he wants me to."
Billy gave Alan a grateful glance, but only sparingly so. He wasn't used to feeling so needy, much less being so blatant about it. Turning his attention back to the doctor, Billy blinked slowly, hoping it might indicate his agreement.
While Smith didn't look thrilled, he nodded. "If that's what you want."
With that, he pulled his stethoscope free of his neck and listened to Billy's chest. Apparently satisfied, he returned it to its place, and grasped the tube joint. With a twist and a hissing noise, it was gone. He then gestured for the nurse to turn off the ventilator.
The room fell quiet - almost deathly so, Billy couldn't help thinking - and all of a sudden he was suffocating. He barely heard the doctor's words - "Breathe out now, Mr. Brennan!" - when there was a sickening pulling sensation that left Billy gagging.
Hands supported his back, tilting the bed up some, before leaning him forward a bit more. "You did well, just breathe normally." Absently, he felt the stethoscope against his back, cool against his skin. "Breath sounds are good."
Still gasping, coughing, Billy was laid back down, and the covers resituated. For a long moment, he concentrated merely on breathing. When he was fairly certain he wouldn't suffocate, Billy risked opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was Alan, his hand now free of Billy's, rubbing the appendage gingerly. Billy flexed his own hand, and was surprised to find it sore.
"It's okay, Billy," Alan said, interrupting his slow train of thought. The tumblers clicked into place, embarrassingly slowly, and Billy winced. "Really, it's okay."
Not convinced in the least, Billy merely shrugged as best he could. Alan opened his mouth, no doubt ready to argue the point, but the doctor beat him to it.
"I want to keep you under observation and on fluids a little while longer. If all goes well, you should be able to go home tomorrow." He glanced at Alan before adding, "Your own doctor will be checking in on you later today, as well. Your previous injuries will need monitoring, to ensure no aftereffects."
Billy's relief was short-lived, as the doctor continued. "However, I would like to recommend some sort of counseling. Alcohol abuse is a very serious problem, one that shouldn't be left unchecked."
When he tried to reply, Billy found he couldn't force words through his sore throat. He looked at the doctor, then the water pitcher and back again, relieved when the man nodded. "Ice chips only for the next bit, I'm afraid."
To Billy's continued embarrassment, it was Alan who retrieved the pitcher. He fumbled with the lid momentarily, before grabbing a spoon and pressing some of the wonderfully cool chips to Billy's lips. He sighed - loudly, judging by the flash of amusement on Alan's face - and Billy blushed.
"It's not a problem," Billy managed to whisper, when Alan refused him more ice. The doctor opened his mouth, clearly not convinced. "It's not happened before, doc. And I'm not seeing a shrink."
Although he was obviously unhappy, Smith nodded.
Billy knew there was little the doctor could do in the way of requiring a psychiatrist visit. It was a small favor that Billy was ridiculously happy for. He had enough bills to worry about as it was, thanks to his stupidity, what with his meager student insurance.
Before the doctor could leave, Billy squinted and said, "My head's killing me." Matter of fact, all of him hurt, his stomach was a dull ache the likes of which he had thought left behind weeks before.
"Hangovers will do that, even when we flush them out," Smith replied, although not unkindly. "However, we can't give you any painkillers for a while longer."
Billy winced, but figured he had that coming. Besides, it wasn't his first hangover, and wasn't likely to be his last.
"I'll check on you in a bit then." Smith nodded to Alan, and left, the nurse following behind him, though she gave Billy a warm smile in passing.
With them gone, Billy was left alone with Alan. He stared at his hands, too afraid to look at the man who meant more to him than anything. It was a painful kind of irony that not so long ago, he would have given almost anything to have Alan beside him.
There was a muffled noise as Alan sat, followed by the scraping of the chair legs against the floor. Billy risked a glance up just in time to see Alan reach for his hand, only to pause halfway there. Billy would have given every dime he had, though that wasn't going to be much after the hospital bills, just to have Alan touch him again.
"Billy?"
Stomach churning - and not just due to the whiskey - Billy swallowed roughly. "I'm sorry." He cleared his throat, though it did little good, and gestured around the room. "For dragging you into this."
If he hadn't known better, Billy would have hazarded a guess that Alan was shell shocked. He slumped back in his chair, merely staring at Billy for several seconds. Billy was trying to decide what he should say that wouldn't involve putting his foot in his mouth, but Alan beat him to it.
"You're sorry." Alan paused, giving Billy a cool look, his voice deadpan. "For dragging me into this."
Pulling back as far as the bed would allow, Billy shrugged one shoulder. Maybe he should have aimed bigger? "Well, not just for that, but..." Billy sighed, and stared at his hands once more. "At the moment that seemed the most pressing."
Alan growled - honestly growled - and Billy looked up, eyes wide with shock. Anger passed over Alan's face quickly, leaving an emotion in its wake that Billy couldn't name.
"You're sorry," Alan repeated, his voice was whisper soft, tired. "Billy..."
Billy didn't know what to say to that. He watched Alan for some sort of sign, a clue. His patience was rewarded when Alan sighed and looked at him, his eyes bright with an emotion Billy hadn't seen since the helicopter leaving the island. It was buffered by guilt and anxiety, but most of all...
There was love.
Chest tight, and this time not due to the breathing tube that had so recently been there, Billy blinked quickly. Taking a chance, he held out his hand, bending his arm so he could reach through the rail.
There was a heartbreaking second when Alan didn't move, just staring at the proffered hand. Billy bit his lip, hoping he was right and that he hadn't imagined the affection that had been in Alan's eyes. He was about to pull back, when Alan finally took Billy's hand, gently, in both of his own.
They were silent for several moments, before Alan sniffed and a barely-there smile tilted his lips. "I'm so very sorry, Billy," he said, addressing the words to their joined hands instead of Billy's face.
Shocked at the words, Billy soon felt defeat take its place. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me, Alan."
"Sorry for you?" Alan asked, looking up at that, surprise clear on his face. He shook his head quickly. "I'm not sorry for you, Billy." Alan paused, and Billy waited. A second later, he swallowed audibly and added, "I'm sorry I hurt you."
Rendered speechless, Billy opened his mouth only to close it. Alan's admission was the last thing he had expected.
"Judging by your reaction, I would say that was far overdue."
"Alan..." Billy shook his head, wondering if he was really awake or simply on some brilliant medication. "I..."
Shaking his head, Alan squeezed Billy's hand. "You didn't deserve me abandoning you. I was..." Billy waited, holding his breath, as Alan sighed. "I was afraid. Afraid of losing you."
Billy blinked, the words making absolutely no sense. "What?"
Smirking, Alan nodded. "Yeah, I know. Stupid, huh?"
Sagging against the bed, Billy rested his head back against the pillow but continued to stare at Alan. "I thought you hated me."
The older man winced at the hushed words, looking away from Billy briefly. It was several seconds before Alan spoke. "I could never hate you."
"You couldn't even look at me, Alan."
And as though accepting a dare, Alan did turn to look at Billy then, his face utterly open. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed his fingers along Billy's cheek. "I was... I am... scared of losing you."
Billy felt lightheaded, his stomach flipping. "I should have known. If I hadn't been feeling so damn guilty for being an idiot, maybe..."
"It's not your fault, damn it!" Alan cut in, fire in his eyes that made Billy smile instinctively. "We've both been foolish." Billy winced at the reminder, however justified, but Alan tapped him on the cheek. "But me more so than you."
"Alan."
"And don't think that I haven't had words with Robert Ellison, either," Alan continued, unabated.
"What?" Billy asked, shocked, pulse thundering in his ears. "How did you..."
Alan shook his head. "I found his card. Don't worry about him, Billy."
"He knew, Alan."
Panic made his breath fast, and Billy struggled against it. Alan moved quickly, lowering the side rail and sitting beside Billy. In seconds, he was curled against Alan's side, the other man's hand trailing up and down his back, carefully avoiding the injured shoulder.
"Calm down, Billy. It's okay."
Shaking his head - how could it be okay? - Billy managed to get his breathing under control. "You talked to him?" he asked, twisting carefully until he faced Alan, who nodded. "How did he find out?"
The older man winced briefly, but then shrugged. "Someone ran their mouth." The Kirbys immediately came to mind, and Alan must have guessed Billy's thought, because he shook his head. "Ellison wouldn't tell me who talked, but I think it was someone in the government. I've spoken with the Kirbys as well. They've been approached, also. Amanda sent them packing."
Billy laughed at that image, it was bordering on hysterical, but felt good all the same. Realization dawning, Billy grew serious. "So Ellison's liable not to be the only one."
Always pragmatic - and didn't Billy love it about Alan, when it didn't drive him crazy - Alan shrugged. "We'll deal with it." He shook Billy gently, pausing until Billy met his gaze. "We will deal with it. Together. Understand?"
Billy's eyes burned, and he wished he could blame the medicine. "Yeah. I hear you."
They were silent for a while, Alan's hand still ghosting over Billy's back and nearly lulling him to sleep. Slowly, Billy slumped against Alan's chest, his cheek on Alan's shoulder.
Eventually, Billy asked, "Alan?"
"Yeah?"
"I..." Swallowing nervously, nearly sick with anticipation of what might happen, Billy whispered, "I love you. I have for... Well, I don't know how long, to be honest."
Billy felt Alan turn, felt Alan press his lips against his forehead. They sat like that for several seconds, Billy holding his breath as long as he could, waiting on Alan's reply.
"I know."
Unable to help it, Billy closed his eyes at the words. It was not the reply he had been hoping for. But before he could say anything, try to fix it somehow, Alan whispered, "I love you, too. But you..." Alan exhaled and the warm breath across his skin caused Billy to shiver. "Even still?"
Smiling, relief making him lightheaded, Billy nodded, his cheek rasping against Alan's shirt. "Even when you had me tied up in knots. I never stopped."
"I don't deserve you," Alan said, wrapping his arms around Billy.
For his part, Billy felt more secure than he had in weeks, and he patted Alan's chest with his free hand. Feeling bold, mischievous, for the first time since before, Billy smirked.
"Maybe." Leaning back, he pressed his hand to Alan's cheek. Daring to take a chance, Billy grinned faintly. "But maybe we deserve one another?"
Alan's mouth quirked in a smile that Billy had dearly missed. He felt warm from head to toe, though the misery of the past weeks lingered. For the first time since he woke alone in the ship's infirmary, Billy felt something akin to hope.
They would cope, somehow. More importantly, neither of them had to do it alone any longer. Billy smiled, before finally kissing Alan and being kissed in return, like he had wanted for years.
It was about time.
end
Author: kaly
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Fear can have unexpected consequences.
( Part One )
Alan had kept watch as the students retreated into town or to their tents, as the sun began to set. Although certain everything was put to bed correctly, Alan couldn't stop himself from walking among the grid, double-checking. It kept his mind occupied, and that was something Alan clung to in the days since Isla Sorna.
The familiar circuit didn't take long, and sooner than he would have liked, Alan found himself back in the center of camp. A quick stop at the mess tent later, dinner in hand, he turned toward his trailer, nodding to a couple of straggling students, who were hovering just outside the tent.
Climbing the stairs and closing the door behind him, Alan pulled his hat off and dropped it onto the table, placing the bowl of chili beside it. With a sigh, he ruffled a hand through his hair, wincing when sand drifted to the floor.
It was an unavoidable fact of life on the dig - dirt in every place imaginable. Those times Alan was away, it always seemed odd not to be finding it in every corner. In fact, he and Billy had joked, many times, about the two constants in a paleontologist's life - begging for funding, and chasing dirt.
Thinking of Billy made Alan's throat tight, and he let his chin rest against his chest. When he closed his eyes, all Alan could see were Billy's hurt eyes, begging for forgiveness. He wanted to fix it, especially as he had helped cause it. Alan wanted, more than anything, to be the reason Billy smiled, truly smiled, again. He was very tired of the false smile that Billy thought he had perfected.
Taking a deep breath, Alan pushed the thoughts away. The last thing Billy needed was him meddling in his life while he got his feet back under him. And maybe if he kept repeating that, Alan would believe it himself.
Exhausted, even though it wasn't a particularly taxing day, Alan grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge, and collapsed onto a kitchen chair. He opened the water, drinking most of it before pausing to take a breath.
Coughing slightly, Alan took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. Giving it up as a lost cause, he began to eat his meal, even though his heart wasn't in it. He wasn't quite halfway done when the phone rang. The unwelcome noise earned the small phone a glare, but Alan reached across the table and picked it up, anyway.
"Grant."
When there was no immediate reply, Alan growled and moved to hang up the phone. He had just pulled it away from his head when he heard Billy's slurred voice.
"Hey, Alan."
Alan dropped his spoon into the bowl, forgotten. Quickly pressing the phone back to his ear, he blinked a couple of times before finding his voice. "Billy." He paused, swallowing nervously. "Are you okay?"
There was a beat of silence, and Alan waited with baited breath, hoping Billy was still on the line. That was confirmed when he heard a painfully loud hiccup. He was about to speak, uncertain what had brought Billy to call - though if he were a betting man, he would lay odds on alcohol being involved - however, Billy beat him to it.
"I'm sorry."
The whispered words shocked Alan into silence. He slumped in his chair, mouth opening and closing, but no sound issuing forth. It was the very last thing he expected, although maybe he should have known better.
Before he could find any words, Billy pressed onward, the slur to his voice becoming more and more pronounced. "I know you hate me now." Another hiccup, louder than the last. "And I get it. I really, really do."
The pain in Billy's voice hurt, even while Alan found himself impressed at the coherent sentences, given the palpable inebriation. Obviously, Billy wanted this off his chest - no matter how badly Alan did not want to hear it, to know he was partly responsible for it.
"Billy..."
"No," Billy interrupted, forcefully.
Alan wasn't positive, but he thought he heard the sound of glass clinking, and a gulping noise. Heart freezing in his chest, Alan tried once more. "Billy, you don't have to..."
"Yeah." A pause, another gulp. "I do."
Imagining the worst, Alan stood quickly, casting about for his keys. The university truck wasn't the greatest of vehicles, but it would get him to Billy's apartment sooner rather than later. He ignored the little voice in his head that maybe he had waited to long.
"You still with me?" he asked, grabbing his jacket, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder.
After a moment, Billy's voice was back, but quieter, nearly a whisper. "I'm so sorry you almost died." And if Alan's heart had frozen before, it shattered when Billy added, "Sometimes... Sometimes I wish I had, but I'm so glad you didn't."
"Billy?" Alan asked, finally finding his keys after half-destroying the trailer. "Billy! Don't anything rash, alright? I'll be there in a little bit." Alan swallowed, utter fear making his throat as dry as the dust he both hated and loved. "Wait for me."
He would swear he heard Billy sniffle, although it was a completely foreign sound to the ever-cheerful young man. The mood did a one-eighty when Billy snapped, "Damn it, I don't want your pity! Or your judgment!"
When he heard Billy take another drink, Alan snapped in return, "Damn it, Billy." His voice cracked when he added, "It's not pity... Please put the bottle down. I'm on my way."
Rather than acknowledge the words, Billy's tone shifted soft, just as quickly as it had gone angry. He whispered, "I love you," and the line went dead.
For several seconds, Alan was frozen, staring at the receiver in his hand. The words repeated in his head, looping round and round. He shivered then, but not from the cooling night air that wrapped around him as he threw the door open. No, this cold was from within, from the finality that echoed in Billy's voice.
I love you
Rushing to the truck, the door creaking open as quickly as Alan could force it, Alan bit back an angry curse. Anger at himself, maybe even at the Kirbys. However, his anger at Billy was past - he had punished the younger man enough, behind the guise of protecting him. The coward's way out had wrought its own misery.
As the dust flew up in the rearview mirror, Alan spared a passing thought for watching Billy drive away so quickly, that very afternoon. Now, here Alan was, following his reckless path, scared he would be too late. Terrified, if he were honest with himself, and Alan knew it was past time for honesty - with himself most of all.
He was scared of losing Billy. His narrow escape from the island had terrified Alan. Only instead of pulling Billy closer, he had pushed him away. And hearing the echoes of Billy's broken words, realization struck Alan so hard it nearly pushed the breath from his lungs.
Be it to death or separation, he was losing Billy, and it hurt like hell. Death he might have no control over, but he could bridge the gap he had forced between them. He would.
"Hang on, Billy," he muttered, pressing the truck to its limit on the bumpy dirt road. For one of the only times in his life, Alan regretted his aversion to technology - and refusal to carry a cell phone. "Hang on," he repeated, as much for himself as anything. "I'm coming."
~<>~<>~
In his apartment, Billy stared at the phone for several seconds, as though the small device was responsible for his current state. He dropped it, letting it fall onto the floor, where it bounced under the couch and out of sight. Listing to the right, Billy nearly followed it before shrugging, and collapsing back against the couch.
The now half-empty bottle of whiskey dangled loosely from his hand, and he took another drink from the bottle. He laughed hysterically at the thought of avoiding extra dirty dishes if he just drank straight from the bottle.
The laughter trailed into a half-sob, and Billy clenched his eyes shut. Remembering flashes of the phone call - though most of it was lost - he banged the bottle against his forehead.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid."
A glance across the room, and his gaze landed on the small white card which was still sitting beside the front door. Angry - at the reporter, at himself - Billy stood suddenly, throwing his arms out to the sides when the room tilted and twirled alarmingly. Balance somewhat achieved, he giggled and clutched the bottle to his chest prior to staggering over the door.
Bending over to pick the card up, however, proved more challenge than he was capable of. He leaned forward, the floor weaving beneath him, and slammed heavily against the wall. It was a quick slide to the floor, and Billy slid over sideways, away from the door.
The irony didn't escape him that the card remained stubbornly out of reach.
"You're pathetic, Brennan."
The voice sounded odd to Billy's ears, as though it was far away and at the end of a tunnel. Deciding it wasn't worth it - nothing really was - Billy took a drink of the whiskey, as much dripping onto the floor as in his mouth, and he hiccupped loudly.
Worn in ways he couldn't have imagined just weeks prior, Billy let his head fell onto the floor. The pain barely registered, his vision going gray before tunneling to nothing.
~<>~<>~
Alan pulled into the parking spot beside Billy's, sparing a passing glance at the familiar car. He didn't even bother to lock the truck behind him, barely managing to pause long enough to pull the key from the ignition. And while running up stairs was not something he was prone to, he managed it without even losing his breath, although his heart was pounding.
Reaching Billy's door, Alan banged on the solid surface, waiting only seconds before yelling, "Billy?" It half-occurred to him that Billy's neighbors might not appreciate the racket, but he didn't care. "Billy!"
When his second call, and further knocking, received no answer, Alan flipped through his keys until he came to the one Billy had given him. The younger man had joked at the time about emergencies, even though it was only a short-term lease, grinning sheepishly at Alan as he did so. Alan had retorted that there were very few emergencies to be found on a dig, but had accepted the key, none the less.
How had they come to the point, then, that Alan found himself sliding the key into the deadbolt for that very thing? He prayed there was no chain on the door - that would prove problematic, though it wouldn't stop him - and was grateful not to see one when the door slid open.
However, it only opened six inches or so before he could push it no further. "Billy?" Alan called when he met the resistance.
There was still no answer and Alan could only hope Billy was merely ignoring him, too drunk to reply. The alternative... Alan shook his head, as thought that could chase the thought away. He wasn't prepared to deal with the alternative - ever.
Finally managing to fit his head in through the narrow opening, Alan looked down and gasped at the sight of Billy, unconscious and wedged against the door. Kneeling, Alan reached one arm and shoulder through the gap, stretching until he could just touch Billy's side. He shook him as best he could.
"Billy?"
His fear skyrocketed when Billy began to convulse, retching sounds coming from his throat. Fear overwhelming sense - Billy was twisted on his back, and might very well choke - Alan pushed against the door as hard as he dared, hoping he didn't injure Billy further. After a couple of desperate shoves, he collapsed on his knees beside Billy.
On autopilot, Alan hurried to roll Billy onto his side, barely sliding back out of the way when Billy vomited all over the floor. Exhaling shakily, Alan slumped onto his haunches and ran a hand over his face. That had been too close.
"Let's get you sitting up, alright?" Alan paused, tapping Billy's cheek with his hand but receiving no response. "I'll take that as a yes," he muttered, carefully avoiding the mess and sliding his arms under Billy's.
Carefully, slowly - Alan was fit, but Billy was no lightweight, even if he had lost weight - Alan lifted him and staggered over to the couch. He deposited Billy there and, once sure he was breathing, though shallowly, he noted with some concern, Alan brushed the unruly curls away from Billy's forehead. Without thinking, Alan collapsed on the coffee table in front of Billy, wincing when it groaned pathetically.
A quick glance around revealed the untouched dinner and almost empty bottle. Picking the bottle up, Alan sniffed at the mouth and recoiled from the whiskey fumes. He wondered how much had been in it when Billy had started. Something told him it was quite a bit, and he gave Billy another worried look.
A further look around and Alan spotted the shattered, dark brown glass across the room. He was about to turn his attention back to Billy when he noticed a small card, just inside the door.
He patted Billy on the top of the head, before moving to retrieve the card that had narrowly avoided being covered in vomit. Flipping it over, Alan skimmed the words and felt his stomach turn to lead.
Reporters.
Son of a bitch.
Suddenly, Billy's extreme state made far more sense. Alan pocketed the card - he would be the one dealing with this Robert Ellison, not Billy. And if he were very lucky, the man would regret ever crossing Billy's path.
His wandering attention was brought back to Billy when the younger man began wheezing. Billy flopped around on the couch twice before the retching noise was back and Alan only just grabbed the trashcan in time.
Once Billy was done, breathing slow and still unconscious, Alan shoved the trashcan away - just within reach - and moved to lay Billy back down on the couch. As he did so, Alan's hand brushed Billy's throat. On an impulse, he pressed his fingers against the pulse point and nearly recoiled.
Panic burned at his throat, the beat was slow - too slow - and barely there. Alan looked between Billy and the whiskey. All of a sudden, he remembered stories about campus fraternity parties gone wild, those where students had ended up in the hospital. At the time, Alan had written it off as sheer stupidity - the very reverse Darwinism he had joked about.
Staring at Billy, listening to his wheezing, labored breathing, suddenly it didn't seem so stupid. Suddenly it seemed very, very real and far too dangerous. Frantic, Alan jumped up and searched for the telephone. He was about to give up when he felt his foot kick something, just under the couch.
Kneeling, Alan looked under the furniture and nearly crowed at finding his quarry. As quickly as possible, he punched in 911, the other hand in Billy's hair.
"911. What is the nature of the emergency?"
"Alcohol poisoning," Alan began, praying he was wrong but unwilling to take the chance with Billy's life. The voice droned on, Alan providing the address when requested and staying on the line as asked. "Thank you," he replied, shakily, when the woman informed him paramedics were en route.
Although it felt like an eternity, clutching the phone and listening to Billy's increasingly labored breathing, Alan knew it was only a ten minutes, tops, before he heard booted feet running up the outside stairs. Seconds later, a fist pounded on the door.
"It's open!"
He barely spared a glance for the paramedics as they rushed in, until they gently pushed him to the side. "Sir, if you'll give us some room?"
Alan did look at the man then - absently noting he barely looked old enough for college, much less to be a paramedic. "Of course." Alan dropped the phone onto the coffee table and stood off to the side, unable to tear his eyes away.
The other medic - a woman - must have seen the fading bruises, because she asked, "Is he on anything else? Any painkillers?"
Alan started to shake his head, but realized he didn't know. "Maybe. But he probably would've taken them when he got home, if he did at all." Billy had looked worn when Alan had seen him last, at the dig, and the logic seemed sound enough.
The paramedics shared a glance, and Alan began to worry that perhaps things were worse than he had originally feared. "Could you go and get them?"
Nodding quickly, Alan found the bathroom and - although he hated invading Billy's privacy - looked around until he found the small brown bottle in the cabinet. He returned to the main room quickly, handing the bottle over.
One of the medics scanned the label, muttered a technical word Alan didn't recognize to the other, and then handed it back to Alan. At Alan's worried glance, she explained, "It's not great, but not as bad as it could've been, either. And now we know what we might be dealing with."
As he watched, clutching the pill bottle, the man checked Billy's breathing with a stethoscope, while the other checked his eyes with a small flashlight. "Shit!" the woman cried, when Billy began choking once more. "On his side, now!" she ordered, and they did so, seamlessly.
Not daring to blink, afraid to breathe, Alan could only stare as Billy gagged and heaved, twisting pathetically in the female paramedic's grasp. Once he was still, one of the pair pulled a small, clear bottle and syringe out of a duffle bag. He winced, unable to look away as she tugged at Billy's sweatpants, and injected the liquid into his hip.
"That should help with the vomiting." As she spoke, the woman spared Alan a very brief glance, and he knew the information was for his benefit.
"Okay, while he's quiet, let's get him on a board." It was the man speaking this time, Alan noted distantly.
Billy was lifted, carefully, and a board was slid beneath him. Within seconds, the board was then lifted onto a stretcher they had somehow brought up the stairs. The motion was constant, the voices nearly so.
"IV is in," the woman said, hanging a bag of clear liquid from a small pole beside and just above Billy's head.
The man nodded, stethoscope once again in hand, only to curse and say "I've lost breath sounds," and begin compressions. Alan froze with fear, barely able to hear anything above his pulse pounding in his ears.
"Starting ETI," the other said, almost simultaneously.
Alan winced at seeing Billy's head tilted back, the tube quickly and efficiently slid down his throat. Seconds later, a bag was attached to the tube and she began counting off as he squeezed it. "We need to get him in, now."
A flurry of movement followed as they began rolling the stretcher toward the doorway. "Are you coming with us?"
Alan shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Billy's pale face to the woman. "What?"
"If you're coming with us, come now. Hospital's over in Glasgow, and the clock's ticking."
Nodding, Alan made sure his keys were in his pocket and hurried to close and lock the door behind them, following closely. If he hadn't been so worried, he might have been impressed with how the two managed to get Billy - stretcher, IV and all - down the stairs and to the ambulance waiting below.
Situated inside, siren wailing as they tore along the nearly-empty roads that separated Fort Peck from Glasgow, Alan took a shaky breath and swallowed audibly. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Billy, from the tube sticking so grotesquely out of the other man's mouth. Keeping him alive.
Everything became a blur except for Billy's face, until minutes, hours, maybe years later Alan was left standing, alone, in the ER waiting room. The paramedics had rushed Billy through the swinging doors marked No Admittance, a doctor having met them there, demanding information.
Sick, Alan swallowed back the bile that filled his throat. Left alone with nothing to do but wait once the paperwork was done, Alan collapsed onto a chair and tried to breathe. He gave half a thought to his car - half a county away - but dismissed it. That's what taxis were for.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Alan felt something flat in one of them. Pulling it out, confused, he stared at the reporter's card. A feeling of hatred burned low in his gut, a blinding fury that ignored all the circumstances that had brought them to this point beyond Richard Ellison.
It was too late to do anything about it for the moment, but Alan wasn't deterred. There would be hell to pay, he would see to it.
For the time being, however, all he could do was wait and pray that Billy would be okay, and Alan might have the chance to apologize for pushing him away. For making Billy think he still blamed him - hated him.
Leaning his head against the wall, Alan let his eyes fall closed. Fear and adrenaline had faded, leaving him shaky and tired. He couldn't sleep - there was no chance of that - but he forced himself to stay seated. Pacing would accomplish nothing except annoying those around him, and he needed to save his energy for when Billy was awake.
Because this time he would be there when that happened.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the doctor who had met them at the door appeared in the waiting room. "You're here with Billy Brennan?"
Alan stood quickly, only wavering slightly but enough so that the doctor put a hand on Alan's elbow. "Yeah."
She gestured toward the seat. "Please, sit. I'm Doctor Anthony."
Although he started to argue, Alan merely nodded and sat, waiting until she had as well to begin questioning. "Alan Grant. How's Billy?"
"He's stable." She ran a hand through her hair, and sighed softly. "Are you family?"
The dreaded question hung between them. Alan shook his head and cleared his throat. "No. They're not nearby. I'm his boss." Alan hoped to be forgiven the white lie. He didn't know anything about Billy's family.
While she didn't look pleased, the doctor nodded. "You'll need to call them, you understand?" Alan nodded, holding his breath. "But in the meantime, I have to ask... Does he do this kind of thing often?"
Shaking his head quickly, Alan hastened to say, "Never. I've known Billy for years and he's never..."
"Okay, okay," she said, smiling softly and holding out a hand, apparently having decided to forgive him not being family. "That's good. Works in his favor actually, because we're not up against old damage."
Throat dry, Alan choked slightly. "Damage?"
"The liver can only take so much abuse, Mr. Grant. However, even with repeated binge drinking, there are more immediate worries."
In his mind's eye, all Alan could see were the paramedics shoving a tube down Billy's throat, the controlled panic in their voices and movements. "His breathing."
Anthony nodded. "Yes. Luckily he was found and intubated in time. There's no sign of vomit in his lungs, nor was there a significant loss of oxygen to the brain."
Cold ran down his spine at the words. He hadn't even thought... "His brain? He might..."
"Should be fine, Mr. Grant," Doctor Anthony hastened to reassure. "Although we won't know for certain until he wakes, the odds are good. Like I said, measures were taken almost immediately. He's very lucky you found him when you did, got help there."
Alan couldn't help but remember the minutes he sat there, staring at Billy, before calling 911. If he had waited much longer...
He must have dazed out momentarily, for the next thing he was aware of was the doctor's hand on his sleeve. "Are you alright, Mr. Grant?"
Was he alright? He was certainly better than Billy, but he was far from alright. Torn, he just shrugged. She must have understood, because Anthony smiled knowingly.
"So he'll be okay?"
"I'm cautiously optimistic. He's still connected to a ventilator, just as a precaution, until we've flushed the alcohol from his system. Lots of liquids, vitamins. From what the medics told me, he had vomited several times at the scene. That was risky for several reasons, beyond the asphyxiation risk; we found a recently healed scar on his stomach indicating recent surgery?"
Nodding, Alan scrubbed a hand through his hair as memories flashed behind his eyes of different doctors in a different hospital. "He had his spleen removed, not quite a month ago." It had been in the paperwork he had filled out, but must not have made it back to the trauma room.
Anthony blinked once, staring at Alan. After several seconds, she said, "I see." Something flickered across her features that made Alan pause, his breath catching. "He was lucky then. That could have been... unfortunate. He was doubly lucky, in a way - we didn't have to pump his stomach."
Alan smirked humorlessly. "Lucky."
She shrugged, her expression softening. "Like I said, in a way."
"And the pills?"
"Yes, they presented a complication, but not an insurmountable one." A dark look crossed her fair features, before she shook her head. "It was unfortunate they were combined, but, as I said, we managed not to have to pump his stomach. We've given him some additional medication to counter it, and it makes the ventilator doubly needed. Also, we're keeping an eye on his cardiac rhythm, just as a precaution."
Feeling overwhelmed, Alan blanched. First his brain, now his heart...
"Heart attack?"
"Not likely, but we're trying to be safe, rather than sorry." Anthony smiled, and Alan felt a fissure of relief when he saw it actually reach her eyes - maybe she wasn't just placating him. "Unless he throws us a curveball, Mr. Grant, he should be fine."
A curveball. Alan scoffed. Billy was quite talented at those, although hopefully not in this instance.
Focusing on something he could actually accomplish other than worrying, Alan asked, "Can I see him?"
"Only for a bit. It's late and visiting hours are long over." Alan began to protest and she held up a hand. "However, I'll let you see him briefly, now, if you'll agree to five minutes. Then you can come back in the morning."
Although he hated the idea that Billy might wake up alone - like before, his traitorous mind whispered - Alan doubted arguing would gain him much ground. Doctor Anthony must have sensed his dilemma - or was merely used to it in her line of work - because she added, "He won't wake up for some time, certainly not tonight, Mr. Grant. I promise."
Appeased, if only just, Alan nodded and stood, somewhat unsteadily. For the briefest moment, he longed for his hat that was sitting, forgotten, in the trailer. It would give him something to do with his hands.
"Okay."
He followed her around the corner to a bank of elevators and upstairs. Alan made note of the floor as they exited, and again of the room number once they arrived. It wouldn't do to get lost the next morning. Billy - the old Billy - would have mocked him endlessly if he did.
The thought made Alan sad.
Doctor Anthony gestured for Alan to precede her into the room. Though he wanted nothing more than to be with Billy, Alan found he had to make himself move. He took a deep breath, finally crossing the threshold, not pausing until he reached the side of Billy's bed.
Billy looked younger, somehow, and smaller laying in the large bed surrounded by medical equipment. As before, Alan's attention was immediately riveted by the tube in Billy's mouth. Following it, he stared at the machine that was rising and falling, breathing for the young man.
"I know it looks bad," the doctor said, and Alan startled at her words.
He glanced at her, briefly, before looking at Billy once more.
The doctor picked up Billy's chart, scanned the information there before reviewing a couple of the machines. After making a couple of notations, she dropped it back into its holder. "He needs fluids and rest." Alan looked at her, briefly, and she smiled. "And not to do this again."
Alan nodded, agreeing with the sentiment though he felt in no place to reassure her it wouldn't. Until Billy woke, he wouldn't even know where he stood with the man.
"I'll have a nurse come get you when five minutes have passed."
He didn't look away from Billy to watch her leave. Instead, he dropped onto a chair that had been positioned near the bed. Hesitantly, Alan reached through the bed rails and grasped Billy's hand - luckily the IV was on the other side - as tightly as he dared.
When he tried to speak, Alan found his voice missing. Blinking back sudden moisture that burned his eyes, refusing to let it fall, Alan cleared his throat. Eventually, he whispered roughly, "I'm so sorry, Billy."
As expected, Billy didn't answer beyond the hissing of the ventilator.
It didn't feel like five minutes later when a nurse entered the room. She glanced at the monitors, and spared Alan a smile. "It's time to go."
Nodding, Alan forced himself to let Billy's hand go, and place it back under the covers. He reached out to brush the stubborn hair away from his face, but froze in mid-motion, only to let his hand fall.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Alan fled then, distantly hoping he would be able to find a cab.
~<>~<>~
The first thing Billy was really aware of was the noise. It sounded far away, as though his ears had cotton in them, but was persistent. Groggy, confused, he tried to roll over and pull his pillow over his head and nearly panicked when he realized he couldn't.
Eyes flying open, Billy tried to look around to see where the hell he was, only his head was trapped. The beeping - whatever the hell it was - grew faster and louder. Terrified, Billy raised a hand to his face having time only to find something plastic there, before his hand was captured.
Frantically looking to his left, Billy froze at the sight of a bleary-eyed Alan standing there. His emotions must have come through clearly, because Alan smiled thinly.
"You're okay." Billy felt Alan squeeze his hand, and his confusion grew. "Just calm down, okay? Just try."
At that moment, the door was pushed open and a nurse rushed into the room, pressing a button somewhere that beeped once, followed by a blessed silence. Weary, Billy closed his eyes, and sagged against the bed.
Hospital.
He tried to remember what might have happened for him to be in the hospital, but couldn't. Feeling a hand still holding his, he dared glance at Alan. Surprisingly, Alan looked like a mile of rough road, and Billy wished he knew why.
That said, however, Billy wasn't going to question Alan being with him. It was a far cry from waking on the Navy ship alone and unwanted. The nurse was still bustling around, checking readings, and Billy tried to will Alan to tell him what was happening.
Something must have been obvious, because Alan brushed Billy's hair away from his forehead, and smiled softly though it looked pained. "You had a little too much to drink."
Although Billy leaned into the touch - craved it as he had little else the past few weeks - he went utterly still at the words.
Too much to drink.
Memory crashed back, a pushy reporter, a bottle of whiskey. The images brought shame with them, and Billy clenched his eyes shut, cheeks burning. He would have choked, were a tube not already doing it for him.
"It'll be okay," he heard Alan whisper, fingers carding through Billy's hair once more.
Billy felt his eyes burn, too, but refused to let any tears fall. He was an idiot, a moron. Remembering calling Alan, but not what he had said, Billy hated himself just a little bit. He was a grown man, not a little boy who needed to run for help. Then again, he couldn't even get drunk right, apparently.
"You need to calm down now, Mr. Brennan," a new voice said, shaking Billy from his pity party. "Look at me, please?"
Somehow, he managed to pry his eyes open, finding a middle-aged, balding man at the foot of the bed. "Thank you. I'm Doctor Smith. Are you ready to get rid of that tube?"
Beyond ready, thank you very much, Billy thought. He refused to look at Alan, instead focusing on the doctor, wondering vaguely what his own doctor would have to say about this latest course of events. He was fairly certain this wasn't on the doctor's list of approved activities.
The man nodded, speaking quietly to the nurse who left for a moment before returning with a tray of equipment. "Alright then," the doctor said, pulling on a pair of gloves. He moved so that he was standing opposite Alan - who was still holding his hand, Billy noted absently.
"I'll disconnect the tubes here," he said, gesturing toward Billy's mouth. "Then we'll turn off the vent, and I'll remove the remaining tube. You'll need to exhale as hard as you can, okay?" He waited a long moment, until Billy nodded. It sounded simple enough, and simple was something Billy didn't want to take for granted ever again.
"You might want to step out into the hallway, Mr. Grant."
Although Billy was too ashamed to face Alan, the thought of the older man leaving scared him. Instinctively, he clenched Alan's hand even more tightly, but continued to stare at the doctor.
"I don't think he wants me to."
Billy gave Alan a grateful glance, but only sparingly so. He wasn't used to feeling so needy, much less being so blatant about it. Turning his attention back to the doctor, Billy blinked slowly, hoping it might indicate his agreement.
While Smith didn't look thrilled, he nodded. "If that's what you want."
With that, he pulled his stethoscope free of his neck and listened to Billy's chest. Apparently satisfied, he returned it to its place, and grasped the tube joint. With a twist and a hissing noise, it was gone. He then gestured for the nurse to turn off the ventilator.
The room fell quiet - almost deathly so, Billy couldn't help thinking - and all of a sudden he was suffocating. He barely heard the doctor's words - "Breathe out now, Mr. Brennan!" - when there was a sickening pulling sensation that left Billy gagging.
Hands supported his back, tilting the bed up some, before leaning him forward a bit more. "You did well, just breathe normally." Absently, he felt the stethoscope against his back, cool against his skin. "Breath sounds are good."
Still gasping, coughing, Billy was laid back down, and the covers resituated. For a long moment, he concentrated merely on breathing. When he was fairly certain he wouldn't suffocate, Billy risked opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was Alan, his hand now free of Billy's, rubbing the appendage gingerly. Billy flexed his own hand, and was surprised to find it sore.
"It's okay, Billy," Alan said, interrupting his slow train of thought. The tumblers clicked into place, embarrassingly slowly, and Billy winced. "Really, it's okay."
Not convinced in the least, Billy merely shrugged as best he could. Alan opened his mouth, no doubt ready to argue the point, but the doctor beat him to it.
"I want to keep you under observation and on fluids a little while longer. If all goes well, you should be able to go home tomorrow." He glanced at Alan before adding, "Your own doctor will be checking in on you later today, as well. Your previous injuries will need monitoring, to ensure no aftereffects."
Billy's relief was short-lived, as the doctor continued. "However, I would like to recommend some sort of counseling. Alcohol abuse is a very serious problem, one that shouldn't be left unchecked."
When he tried to reply, Billy found he couldn't force words through his sore throat. He looked at the doctor, then the water pitcher and back again, relieved when the man nodded. "Ice chips only for the next bit, I'm afraid."
To Billy's continued embarrassment, it was Alan who retrieved the pitcher. He fumbled with the lid momentarily, before grabbing a spoon and pressing some of the wonderfully cool chips to Billy's lips. He sighed - loudly, judging by the flash of amusement on Alan's face - and Billy blushed.
"It's not a problem," Billy managed to whisper, when Alan refused him more ice. The doctor opened his mouth, clearly not convinced. "It's not happened before, doc. And I'm not seeing a shrink."
Although he was obviously unhappy, Smith nodded.
Billy knew there was little the doctor could do in the way of requiring a psychiatrist visit. It was a small favor that Billy was ridiculously happy for. He had enough bills to worry about as it was, thanks to his stupidity, what with his meager student insurance.
Before the doctor could leave, Billy squinted and said, "My head's killing me." Matter of fact, all of him hurt, his stomach was a dull ache the likes of which he had thought left behind weeks before.
"Hangovers will do that, even when we flush them out," Smith replied, although not unkindly. "However, we can't give you any painkillers for a while longer."
Billy winced, but figured he had that coming. Besides, it wasn't his first hangover, and wasn't likely to be his last.
"I'll check on you in a bit then." Smith nodded to Alan, and left, the nurse following behind him, though she gave Billy a warm smile in passing.
With them gone, Billy was left alone with Alan. He stared at his hands, too afraid to look at the man who meant more to him than anything. It was a painful kind of irony that not so long ago, he would have given almost anything to have Alan beside him.
There was a muffled noise as Alan sat, followed by the scraping of the chair legs against the floor. Billy risked a glance up just in time to see Alan reach for his hand, only to pause halfway there. Billy would have given every dime he had, though that wasn't going to be much after the hospital bills, just to have Alan touch him again.
"Billy?"
Stomach churning - and not just due to the whiskey - Billy swallowed roughly. "I'm sorry." He cleared his throat, though it did little good, and gestured around the room. "For dragging you into this."
If he hadn't known better, Billy would have hazarded a guess that Alan was shell shocked. He slumped back in his chair, merely staring at Billy for several seconds. Billy was trying to decide what he should say that wouldn't involve putting his foot in his mouth, but Alan beat him to it.
"You're sorry." Alan paused, giving Billy a cool look, his voice deadpan. "For dragging me into this."
Pulling back as far as the bed would allow, Billy shrugged one shoulder. Maybe he should have aimed bigger? "Well, not just for that, but..." Billy sighed, and stared at his hands once more. "At the moment that seemed the most pressing."
Alan growled - honestly growled - and Billy looked up, eyes wide with shock. Anger passed over Alan's face quickly, leaving an emotion in its wake that Billy couldn't name.
"You're sorry," Alan repeated, his voice was whisper soft, tired. "Billy..."
Billy didn't know what to say to that. He watched Alan for some sort of sign, a clue. His patience was rewarded when Alan sighed and looked at him, his eyes bright with an emotion Billy hadn't seen since the helicopter leaving the island. It was buffered by guilt and anxiety, but most of all...
There was love.
Chest tight, and this time not due to the breathing tube that had so recently been there, Billy blinked quickly. Taking a chance, he held out his hand, bending his arm so he could reach through the rail.
There was a heartbreaking second when Alan didn't move, just staring at the proffered hand. Billy bit his lip, hoping he was right and that he hadn't imagined the affection that had been in Alan's eyes. He was about to pull back, when Alan finally took Billy's hand, gently, in both of his own.
They were silent for several moments, before Alan sniffed and a barely-there smile tilted his lips. "I'm so very sorry, Billy," he said, addressing the words to their joined hands instead of Billy's face.
Shocked at the words, Billy soon felt defeat take its place. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me, Alan."
"Sorry for you?" Alan asked, looking up at that, surprise clear on his face. He shook his head quickly. "I'm not sorry for you, Billy." Alan paused, and Billy waited. A second later, he swallowed audibly and added, "I'm sorry I hurt you."
Rendered speechless, Billy opened his mouth only to close it. Alan's admission was the last thing he had expected.
"Judging by your reaction, I would say that was far overdue."
"Alan..." Billy shook his head, wondering if he was really awake or simply on some brilliant medication. "I..."
Shaking his head, Alan squeezed Billy's hand. "You didn't deserve me abandoning you. I was..." Billy waited, holding his breath, as Alan sighed. "I was afraid. Afraid of losing you."
Billy blinked, the words making absolutely no sense. "What?"
Smirking, Alan nodded. "Yeah, I know. Stupid, huh?"
Sagging against the bed, Billy rested his head back against the pillow but continued to stare at Alan. "I thought you hated me."
The older man winced at the hushed words, looking away from Billy briefly. It was several seconds before Alan spoke. "I could never hate you."
"You couldn't even look at me, Alan."
And as though accepting a dare, Alan did turn to look at Billy then, his face utterly open. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed his fingers along Billy's cheek. "I was... I am... scared of losing you."
Billy felt lightheaded, his stomach flipping. "I should have known. If I hadn't been feeling so damn guilty for being an idiot, maybe..."
"It's not your fault, damn it!" Alan cut in, fire in his eyes that made Billy smile instinctively. "We've both been foolish." Billy winced at the reminder, however justified, but Alan tapped him on the cheek. "But me more so than you."
"Alan."
"And don't think that I haven't had words with Robert Ellison, either," Alan continued, unabated.
"What?" Billy asked, shocked, pulse thundering in his ears. "How did you..."
Alan shook his head. "I found his card. Don't worry about him, Billy."
"He knew, Alan."
Panic made his breath fast, and Billy struggled against it. Alan moved quickly, lowering the side rail and sitting beside Billy. In seconds, he was curled against Alan's side, the other man's hand trailing up and down his back, carefully avoiding the injured shoulder.
"Calm down, Billy. It's okay."
Shaking his head - how could it be okay? - Billy managed to get his breathing under control. "You talked to him?" he asked, twisting carefully until he faced Alan, who nodded. "How did he find out?"
The older man winced briefly, but then shrugged. "Someone ran their mouth." The Kirbys immediately came to mind, and Alan must have guessed Billy's thought, because he shook his head. "Ellison wouldn't tell me who talked, but I think it was someone in the government. I've spoken with the Kirbys as well. They've been approached, also. Amanda sent them packing."
Billy laughed at that image, it was bordering on hysterical, but felt good all the same. Realization dawning, Billy grew serious. "So Ellison's liable not to be the only one."
Always pragmatic - and didn't Billy love it about Alan, when it didn't drive him crazy - Alan shrugged. "We'll deal with it." He shook Billy gently, pausing until Billy met his gaze. "We will deal with it. Together. Understand?"
Billy's eyes burned, and he wished he could blame the medicine. "Yeah. I hear you."
They were silent for a while, Alan's hand still ghosting over Billy's back and nearly lulling him to sleep. Slowly, Billy slumped against Alan's chest, his cheek on Alan's shoulder.
Eventually, Billy asked, "Alan?"
"Yeah?"
"I..." Swallowing nervously, nearly sick with anticipation of what might happen, Billy whispered, "I love you. I have for... Well, I don't know how long, to be honest."
Billy felt Alan turn, felt Alan press his lips against his forehead. They sat like that for several seconds, Billy holding his breath as long as he could, waiting on Alan's reply.
"I know."
Unable to help it, Billy closed his eyes at the words. It was not the reply he had been hoping for. But before he could say anything, try to fix it somehow, Alan whispered, "I love you, too. But you..." Alan exhaled and the warm breath across his skin caused Billy to shiver. "Even still?"
Smiling, relief making him lightheaded, Billy nodded, his cheek rasping against Alan's shirt. "Even when you had me tied up in knots. I never stopped."
"I don't deserve you," Alan said, wrapping his arms around Billy.
For his part, Billy felt more secure than he had in weeks, and he patted Alan's chest with his free hand. Feeling bold, mischievous, for the first time since before, Billy smirked.
"Maybe." Leaning back, he pressed his hand to Alan's cheek. Daring to take a chance, Billy grinned faintly. "But maybe we deserve one another?"
Alan's mouth quirked in a smile that Billy had dearly missed. He felt warm from head to toe, though the misery of the past weeks lingered. For the first time since he woke alone in the ship's infirmary, Billy felt something akin to hope.
They would cope, somehow. More importantly, neither of them had to do it alone any longer. Billy smiled, before finally kissing Alan and being kissed in return, like he had wanted for years.
It was about time.
end