Mein Hertz, chapter 2 - Alive
Title: Mein Hertz
Fandom: Houdini & Doyle
Chapter: 2/?
Author: SiriuslyLupin
Rating: PG
Warnings: angst, mild language, parenthood/children, violence
Summary: As Houdini and Adelaide await word on Doyle's condition, the master illusionist tries his best to keep up appearances. After all, it wouldn't do for the world's greatest performer to break down, but he's lost so much in such a short amount of time. What happens when it quickly grows to be too much? [A missing moment from The Pall of LaPier.]
Word count: 13,400 and counting
Mein Hertz
Chapter 2 - Alive
Harry was deeply uncomfortable with the way Adelaide was hugging him. It felt horribly awkward, but yet at the same time, Harry wanted more. He craved more. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her so tightly like he was never going to let her go. Harry knew that such a gesture wouldn’t be welcome, so he stood there with Adelaide giving him perhaps the most unnerving one-armed hug ever.
Harry considered letting go of her, putting an end this charade of comfort once and for all, and yet, he couldn’t. He knew that Adelaide was trying her very best to seem sincere and to offer him the shoulder he needed to cry on. And Harry needed it. He thought the only thing worse than awkwardly hugging was not touching her at all. At least she was making it known that she was there for him, that he wasn’t alone in this, and he didn’t want to let go of that. He didn’t want to let go of his only physical human contact in that moment.
Fully aware of how completely crazy he was probably going, Harry couldn’t quite remember ever experiencing such two completely disparate emotions warring inside him at the same time. When had things ever gotten so complicated with Adelaide? Of course, he knew the answer to that. Things had been so much simpler between them before the dreaded kiss. Why in the hell had he ever allowed such a thing to happen in the first place? He knew the answer to that too, and damn. Why did everything seem to go to hell the moment he came home to find his mother dead?
Even since then - that horrible, awful, dreaded day - nothing had been the same. For any of them.
Just then, it happened - the moment Harry had been waiting for ever since arriving in this godforsaken hospital ward. Finally, at long last, he heard a door open again, and this time, it was the one to the emergency ward. The one he had been staring daggers at on and off the entire time he’d been there. The one he had been trying to will open with the power of his mind alone.
At the sound, Adelaide let go of him, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether he was happy or sad about that. He didn’t even know if he liked the thought of Adelaide touching him anymore. At one point, such a gesture would have sent sparks of pleasure shooting through his body, and now, he could barely even stand it. But still, he wanted more. How was that even possible? What in the hell was wrong with him?
But now was not the time to worry about those things. There were much more important issues that commanded their attention right now - like the doctor standing in the doorway. This man had the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up and was currently wiping his hands on a white towel.
Harry immediately made his way across the room, but stopped several feet short of the man. Harry had been about to insist on some answers, to demand to know why in the hell he had been kept waiting for so long. But he couldn’t. It seemed that now that Harry might finally be able to get some answers, he didn’t know if he wanted them any longer. As long as he didn’t know what had happened, he could go on pretending that everything was okay. That Doyle was fine. What if the doctor told him that Doyle had died on the operating table? Harry wasn’t quite prepared for that, and he didn’t think he could handle that kind of news right now.
For a very brief moment, Harry imagined that if that happened, he would find himself screaming at the top of his lungs in grief before picking up the nearest waiting room chair and chucking it across the room. Harry’s heart felt like it had soared up into his throat and that it was almost blocking his windpipe. It was hard to breathe and he couldn’t find his voice.
“I’m Doctor Steiner,” the man said. He had finished up drying his hands and had thrown the towel over his left shoulder. He then stuck his right hand out for Harry’s.
Harry swallowed hard, desperately trying to get rid of the lump that had settled there. He reached out his hand and took the doctor’s, but it was a sort of automatic movement. Harry couldn’t quite register what he was doing. Everything seemed far away to him all of a sudden, like he was a million miles away from the waiting room. He wasn’t even sure he was seeing the doctor anymore, the very man that was standing right in front of him. Harry blinked his eyes, trying to get his mind to wrap around what was happening.
It was the same sort of feeling Harry had experienced when he found his mother dead. Everything felt unreal all at once, and Harry almost thought he was losing touch with reality somehow. At the same time, if the doctor was about to give them the worst possible news, Harry knew without a doubt that he would never forget that moment. Like he would never stop seeing his mother lying there motionless.
Perhaps this was what being scared to death felt like. Harry had experienced it all the time in his escapes - even more so when he did something that Doyle would call foolish, like jumping into a frozen Lake Michigan, for example - but nothing like this. All of his escapes had been accompanied by extraordinary surges of adrenaline, which he supposed, kept him from feeling the true effects of being terrified. But now, there was absolutely no thrill, no excitement to distract from that feeling of utter and pure dread.
“I’m Constable Adelaide Stratton of Scotland Yard and this is Harry Houdini,” Adelaide finally spoke up when she realized that Harry wasn’t going to. That he was too distracted with his own thoughts to even make simple conversation.
“Yes, Mister Houdini,” Doctor Steiner said, sounding genuine, “I’ve seen your act. Quite impressive.”
Normally, Harry would have been all over meeting a fan. Harry would have been grinning from ear to ear, asking which show the doctor had seen and offering to give him an autograph. But Harry didn’t have time for that right now! Doyle could very well be dead and here was his doctor, trying to flatter Harry of all things. It was almost maddening. Was the universe punishing Harry for some sort of misdeed? Here was the thing that Harry loved most in the world - being recognized and admired - and he couldn’t revel in it. What had he ever done to deserve this? He just wanted to know if Doyle was okay, damn it.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry had an image of Doyle smiling smugly at this. Harry could almost even hear Doyle’s voice, teasing him over this. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you were so concerned about my well-being that you didn’t care to hand out autographs?’ Doyle would have asked him.
Again, Harry had the strangest feeling of two completely opposite emotions erupting inside him. A part of him wanted to wipe the complacent smile off Doyle’s face that would accompany that remark, but then an almost devastating sense of sadness crept over Harry when he wondered if Doyle would ever even smile again.
As if sensing this, Adelaide rested a soft hand on Harry’s upper arm, and this time, it did feel comforting. It was gentle, and soothing, and relaxed in a way their awkward hug hadn’t been. It didn’t feel like Adelaide was simply going through the motions now, but genuinely trying to comfort him. Harry automatically felt his opposite hand coming up to rest on top of hers, and that felt okay too. It wasn’t fueled by any sort of romantic feelings or a sense of duty; it was simply a gesture by two people trying to comfort each other while waiting to hear how their mutual friend was doing. Nothing more.
“How is Doctor Doyle?” Adelaide asked, trying desperately to steer the topic back to the matter at hand.
Doctor Steiner nodded, placing his hands on his hips. “We removed the bullet and he made it through that, which is what I was most concerned about.”
“So he’s okay?” Harry immediately asked, only slightly aware of how desperate he sounded. He felt like he latched onto that little bit of information, clinging to the fact that Doyle had pulled through the surgery.
“Understand,” Doctor Steiner said, immediately pulling Harry out of his first sense of hope in hours, “he’s still unconscious, very weak, and in a lot of pain. There was a lot of soft tissue damage and he lost an inordinate amount of blood. But we’ve basically done all we can and the rest is up to him. It all depends on how quickly he heals, how well his blood supply replenishes itself, and whether or not he develops any infections. There’s still room for a lot to go wrong and even if nothing does, it’s still going to be a long road to recovery for him.”
Harry sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, begging himself not to begin crying in front of the doctor. His fan. Adelaide’s hand tightened on his arm and Harry replied by squeezing her hand in his. Still, the gesture felt nothing but comfortable and calming, and Harry was glad for that. Glad that everything between him and Adelaide didn’t automatically spell doom.
“We are still doing all we can,” Doctor Steiner said, trying his best to sound reassuring. “We’re keeping him comfortable and monitoring his condition in case it worsens. But unless or until that happens…as I said, it depends on him.”
“Can we see him?” Harry asked, probably sounding a bit frantic. That was really all he’d wanted since this entire ordeal had begun - to see Doyle with his own eyes, so he wouldn’t have to rely on what he was told. Harry just wanted to lay eyes on Doyle in the hope that it might assuage some of his fears. That it might calm the worsening sense of panic he felt coiling up inside him like some sort of exotic snake.
“Please?” Adelaide asked.
Doctor Steiner frowned. “As I said, he’s still very weak.” He paused for a very long time, looking back and forth between Harry’s and Adelaide’s concerned faces. Finally, he sighed and conceded, “I suppose one of you at a time would be all right.”
Harry and Adelaide immediately looked at each other, but neither one of them said or did anything. Harry almost wanted to tell Adelaide to go ahead, because ladies were supposed to go first, but then he didn’t. A part of Harry almost felt like it was dying to see Doyle, and Harry wanted to be selfish.
“Go,” Adelaide said around a smile, like she could read Harry’s thoughts.
For a moment, Harry was going to protest. She was the lady, she was supposed to go first, he kept telling himself. The more he thought about it, however, Harry didn’t know if Adelaide would like that kind of reasoning or not, so he chose not to say anything.
“He’s your best friend,” Adelaide said firmly. She nodded her head towards the emergency ward door and insisted, “Go.”
Harry stared at her, then opened his mouth to protest. Almost immediately, he thought better of his decision. Adelaide was giving him exactly what he wanted, exactly what he had been hoping for for hours. Perhaps he just needed to shut up for once in his life and take what was offered. All at once, he was glad that he had chosen to confide in her about Doyle being his best friend, because now she understood how terribly important this was to him.
Harry clasped Adelaide’s hand in his for a second longer before he disengaged himself from her. For a moment, he actually missed her touch and hoped it wouldn’t be the last time they would share such physical contact. But in the end, Harry decided not to worry about that anymore, at least for the time being. His best friend awaited him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Almost as soon as Harry entered Doyle’s hospital room, he regretted it. Harry wanted nothing more than to turn around and run away, because this wasn’t what he had been expecting at all. But when he thought about it, he didn’t know why he hadn’t been anticipating a horrific scene. Doyle had been shot, after all, and Doctor Steiner had warned them that it wasn’t pretty.
Harry supposed that he’d wanted, more than anything, for his worries to be calmed when he saw Doyle. But in reality, Doyle really looking nothing like himself, and that only served to make the gross, intense feeling in Harry’s stomach much, much worse.
The last - and the only - time Harry had seen Doyle in the hospital had been after he’d been poisoned with ergot. Doyle had certainly looked haggard, and tired, and feverish then. Hell, he’d been having a seizure the last time Harry walked into his room, but it hadn’t been so bad that it enveloped Harry with a sickening sense of dread. It had been serious then, yes, but it hadn’t quite been on the level of a gunshot wound. And Doyle hadn’t quite appeared to be as near death as he did now.
There was almost no color to Doyle’s face. His skin was nearly the same shade of white as the sheet pulled up to his chest. Large beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his dark hair clung in strands to his clammy skin. His skin itself almost appeared thinner and more translucent, and that thought, perhaps more than any other, scared Harry the most. There seemed to be absolutely no life left in this man that lay before him. A man that normally seemed so full of energy and ridiculous ideas about things that couldn’t possibly exist.
Harry found himself staring at Doyle as more ludicrous thoughts entered his mind. Just as he had done at the door to the ward itself, Harry almost let himself imagine that if he stared long and hard enough, that Doyle would wake up. That he’d tell Harry to stop staring at him, damn it, and let him sleep in peace.
Why did Harry keep entertaining things like this that couldn’t possibly happen? A small part of Harry sort of saw why Doyle was so prone to his fantastical ideas about things. In a way, it made things seem a little bit easier than reality forced him to believe.
Harry opened his mouth, trying desperately to think of something to say, but nothing came to him. There were those crazy thoughts again, making him think that if he said something smart, then Doyle would have to wake up and tell him off.
And then all it once, it hit him - the perfect statement that would have made Doyle give him that annoyed, sideways stare of his. In reality though, Harry knew that it wouldn’t do much of anything. Just like magic words to a trick, it was something imagined for effect. It wasn’t real. But the words were escaping Harry before he could quite stop them.
“You really need to stop dying,” Harry said, his voice cracking on the last word. “It’s getting old.”
Harry paused, staring long and hard and Doyle, but the older man didn’t even stir. He gave absolutely no sign that he had even heard Harry, let alone even understood what was being said.
“And that’s the part where you’re supposed to wake up,” Harry continued on. Now that he had begun talking, Harry discovered that he couldn’t quite stop. It was what he did, after all - run his mouth when he couldn’t think of anything else constructive to do. Besides, the silence in the room was quickly beginning to get to him. “You’re supposed to tell me to stop giving you a hard time about things that aren’t even your fault.”
Harry waited again and still nothing happened. He let out a short breath, placing his hands on his hips and turning his head to stare out the windows on the far wall. “I’m the one always risking my life for death-defying stunts,” Harry whispered. “You play it safe by locking yourself in a room and writing, and this is where you’ve ended up. Why must you always try and one-up me?” he asked tiredly, turning back to Doyle’s bed again. He had almost been expecting to see Doyle narrowing his eyes at him, just like he always did when Harry was smart, but still nothing.
Harry took a moment to rub at his eyes and run a hand through his hair. He almost even hoped that that would change something when he looked back at Doyle’s bed. But the man continued to lay there, unmoving and unresponsive.
Harry didn’t know why he felt like he had to have some sort of a plan in order to be in this room. Why couldn’t he simply sit with Doyle and wait, hoping that things might change? Why did Harry feel compelled to rouse Doyle awake somehow? Probably because Harry was never one to sit still in his life. Was never one to laze around while he waited for things to happen. Harry went out and got what he wanted. He made things happen.
So what was he supposed to do when he could no longer do that? When everything he tried fell completely flat? When there were things that were completely out of his realm of control?
Harry hung his head for a moment before making his way from the end of Doyle’s bed around to the left side. He stood over Doyle for a while, staring down at the man that he had come to think of as his best friend. It seemed so very wrong to Harry that Doyle wasn’t giving him some sort of deadpan expression or annoyed glance. That was what he had almost come to expect from Doyle, and now that it was gone, Harry desperately missed it.
Running his teeth over his bottom lip in trepidation for a while, Harry finally took a few steps forward, closing in on the bed. He dropped down on the side of the mattress, and once again, he found himself hoping that the movement just might rouse Doyle from his unconsciousness. Still, the doctor remained motionless.
“Doc,” Harry said, breaking the silence that had settled into the room. “You can’t do this, you know. Your kids are waiting for you to recover and come home. What would they do if something happened to you? Who would take care of them? What would Touie do if she someday woke up again and found that you had…died?” Harry’s voice broke on the last word. Sniffling slightly, but trying to cover it up, Harry continued on, “She would be devastated. Kingsley and Mary would be devastated. It’s hard enough losing one parent, and they’re already living without their mother. Don’t make them go on without you too.”
Harry took a deep and calming breath, taking a moment to stare off at the other end of the room. It was becoming harder and harder for him to sit there, to continue to watch Doyle unmoving and unresponsive. Harry didn’t quite know how much longer he could stay there, but at the same time, he didn’t quite want to leave either. He had a horrible thought that if he left, Doyle just might take his last breath, even though there was no reason to think that. Harry supposed that he simply wanted to feel like he was making some sort of difference to Doyle by being there.
What in the hell was it about all of this that was making Harry feel so off-kilter? Why was he feeling so very many different things at the same time? He wanted to leave, he wanted to go. He wanted to touch Adelaide, he didn’t want to touch her. Harry vaguely wondered if it was this that would make him realize he was crazy, rather than possibly hearing his dead mother speaking to him.
But then Harry latched onto Adelaide’s name as he turned back to Doyle. “Adelaide needs you too,” Harry said quietly. “You didn’t see her when you were unconscious after your ergot poisoning. Obviously. She wouldn’t tell you - she doesn’t like to admit that she’s weak - but she was scared out of her mind. I guess she’s coming to enjoy this little impromptu detective team we’ve put together. It seems there’s actually someone out there that likes spending time with you other than your family. Imagine that.”
Harry looked down at Doyle one more time before pushing himself off the bed. He took several steps away, placing his hands on his hips and refusing to look at Doyle.
“You’re free to wake up at any time and tell me to stop lying,” Harry muttered. He waited, still almost expecting to hear Doyle’s voice coming from the bed behind him. When nothing happened, Harry turned back to the bed and said, “Well, not lying so much as beating around the bush. You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Just don’t wake up immediately after I do and laugh at me for making myself so vulnerable.”
Taking a few steps back to Doyle’s bed, Harry finally admitted, “I need you too.” He let out of a soft breath of laughter. “I know. The great Harry Houdini admitting to such a thing - scandalous - but it’s true. Are you happy now? I said it.”
Harry quickly stepped around the bed, feeling his cheeks burn in embarrassment. He stormed over to the window like he was angry, and perhaps he was. He felt angry at whatever powers that be decided that putting Doyle in the hospital twice had been a good idea. Hadn’t the man already been through enough? Harry was also angry at himself, because he had such a hard time talking about his feelings.
He was raised to believe that a man should never show his feelings. Harry’s father never approved of Harry and his brothers crying when they were upset or hurt, and he never let them discuss any of their personal feelings. It just wasn’t something that was done - a man was always strong and stalwart - but perhaps time for keeping up appearances was over.
What was hiding his feelings now going to accomplish? There was no one else in the room to see if he was about to make a fool out of himself. It was just Harry and Doyle, and what would it hurt if Harry was to be honest about his feelings, just for a moment? Perhaps Doyle might even be able to hear him, and it would help him to overcome his ailments. After all, Doctor Steiner had said that it was all up to Doyle now. Maybe, just maybe, if Harry told him how important he was to him, it just might some sort of difference.
Turning back to Doyle’s bed, Harry slowly put one foot in front of the other. He still wasn’t completely certain he was going to do this, but he continued to make his way back to Doyle’s bed nonetheless.
When he reached it, Harry dropped back down onto the mattress again. Harry sighed, reaching out for Doyle’s hand which was lying unmoving across his stomach. Harry slipped his index and middle fingers underneath it and then grasped it fully in his hand, lifting it from Doyle’s stomach. Harry placed his free hand on stop of Doyle’s, holding it tightly in between both of his.
Harry threw one last glance at the door behind him to make sure that there was no one who might be able to hear what he was about to say. When he turned back to Doyle, he whispered, “I was talking to Adelaide out in the waiting room. I told her that you’re my best friend. And you are. I need you to pull through this, because…you’re one of the last things I have left in this world. Without my mother, I only have you and Adelaide now.”
Harry scoffed slightly. He leaned back, taking a moment to glance to the window once more, as if it might contain the words that he was struggling to form. Now that he had begun talking to Doyle more candidly, he found that he wanted to continue, but he was having a little bit of a difficult time finding the right words. When one never spoke about such things, it was hard to suddenly try and do so.
“That sort of makes the two of sound like a last resort,” Harry suddenly said, frowning, “and you’re not. You know I was enjoying the company of you two long before Ma died. It’s been such a very long time since I’ve…had friends like this. Which sounds so ridiculous, I know. People would jump at the chance to meet me, let alone be my friend. But more often than not, they’re mostly drawn to this image that I’ve created, this illusion. What’s funny is that I’ve brought it all on myself. This was what I wanted, this is what I’ve worked so long and hard for. And I have every material possession and amount of money to show for it that I could want. What I haven’t had for the longest time was any sort of close relationship with anyone, other than my mother. I had no friends. No one I could confide in, except for her.” Harry paused for a very long time before he added, “Until I met you. How pathetic is that?”
Harry suddenly drew in a sharp breath. He fastened his teeth over his bottom lip and closed his eyes. Being so personal with Doyle was one thing, but he wasn’t about to start crying over Doyle’s unresponsive body. Harry did have some shame, after all.
“There’s so many things you can understand that other people can’t,” Harry went on. “Constantly having to be on guard, because you never know what people might want with you - whether they’re being genuine or not.” Harry suddenly frowned and conceded, “Well, you are prone to believing in things that you shouldn’t, like fear-eating demons and psychics who claim to be in contact with the dead. But you’re still aware of the fact that you’re in the public eye and that you need to be cautious for your own safety as well as that of your family. I’d wager to guess that that’s why you don’t have many close friendships of your own either. At least, I don’t think you do, other than Bram - again, someone in the public eye. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve never mentioned any other friends. Mediums and such things are okay if only for the excitement they might provide, but you’d never dare to let any of them - or anyone else for that matter - get emotionally close to you, would you? Because there’s always a question in the back of your mind about whether or not they’re really trustworthy. Whether you admit that to me or not, the facts speak for themselves.
“All you had for a long time was your wife and children,” Harry went on. “Just like me with my mother, there was really no need to seek out the companionship of anyone else. We were happy and content with what we had, as we should be. But after your wife became unresponsive, you must have been lonely. You still have your children, of course, but that doesn’t make up for adult companionship. You’re just like me in a lot of ways. We’ve closed ourselves off to the friendship of others for so long, and then…we sort of just fell into each other’s laps when we needed each other the most.”
A small smile spread across Harry’s lips. “You can pretend all you like, but it doesn’t hide the fact that you’ve done absolutely nothing to distance yourself from me. You’ve come to enjoy our time together as much as I have, haven’t you?”
Harry paused, almost as if waiting for some sort of response on Doyle’s part. That ridiculous and unfounded hope that something just might happen if he hoped or tried hard enough, as silly as Harry knew that was. Still, nothing happened. Doyle remained quiet and unmoving.
“I can’t imagine where’d I’d be right now if not for you and Adelaide,” Harry admitted. “Every day, every second is a struggle without my mother. As much as I try to pretend I’m fine, I’m really not, and you know that. Try as I might, I can’t possibly hide that from the two of you. And…you don’t know how long I’ve wanted a friend that could easily know that much about me - could tell when I was lying and could tell when I wasn’t okay. It doesn’t take a brilliant mind to know that someone wouldn’t be okay after losing their mother - their only friend in the world - but I tried so damn hard to hide it. And both you and Adelaide could see right through that.”
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself for what he was about to say next. He ran a hand through his hair before continuing on. “The truth is, I’m a mess. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time, I feel like I’m in such a fog. A part of me wants to crawl into bed and never come out. And I thought about doing just that when I was in New York just before I came to meet you two in Canada. But I think I knew that doing just that might have been worse. I knew that once I did it - crawled into the dark and safe place that was my bed - I may never come out. Who would really miss me if I did so, anyway? Yeah, my adoring public that held tickets to my performances, or wanted to obtain tickets - they’d probably be devastated to learn that I’d canceled all my shows. But was there really anyone in my personal life who would care that I’d more or less disappeared off the face of the earth?
“How sad is that?” Harry asked. “That the only thing I might have had left to live for was my fans. I barely speak to my family anymore. I’m away from home so much that I may as well be dead to them. No one else would care that I was gone. But then I thought of you and Adelaide. A part of me…dared to hope that one of you might possibly care if you never heard from me again.”
Harry choked back a sob, and then the strangest thing happened. If he wasn’t mistaken or imagining things, he thought he felt Doyle’s hand flinch slightly in his. Harry stared down at Doyle’s hand, waiting and watching for it to move again, to give any sign at all that Doyle was responding to Harry’s wish, but nothing more happened. For a moment, Harry thought he might be going crazy again, imagining things that weren’t there. Or perhaps there had been a much more logical explanation for that. Harry had been trying to contain a sob when it had happened, so perhaps he’d somehow jostled Doyle’s arm and made his hand stir in Harry’s. Nothing more. But a very tiny part in the back of Harry’s mind wanted to believe that Doyle was actually responding to him. Was letting him know that he did care about Harry, that he wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him.
Lifting one of his hands from Doyle’s, Harry pressed it against his mouth instead. He wasn’t going to start crying. Not now. It suddenly felt very important to Harry that he get through this - that he let Doyle know exactly how much he meant to him. If the movement of Doyle’s hand had been a sign from Doyle - and Harry still wasn’t sure that it was - then that meant that Doyle was hearing him. That Doyle understood what he was saying. And Harry wanted him to know, perhaps more than he’d ever wanted anything. Especially when Harry didn’t know if he’d ever get this chance again. Doyle had to know in case anything happened to him.
“I’m not just imagining that, am I?” Harry asked cautiously. “That the two of you might actually enjoy my company. I know I can be an insufferable ass sometimes, but…you two always put up with it, no questions asked. I have to admit that that’s the thought that kept me from crawling into my bed and never coming out. All I kept thinking about was that I had two friends in you guys that I was actually beginning to care about.” Harry stopped, inhaling a sharp intake of breath.
“All right,” Harry admitted. “I think I’m way past that point now. Way past the point of beating around the bush where the two of you are concerned. I already cared about you and Adelaide, and I have for a long time. That’s why I had to come back. My mother was gone, and the absolute last people I had left in the world were in Canada. I couldn’t just let the two of you slip out of my life.
“I still wasn’t sure if you two would have let me go or not - whether you would have come looking for me or not,” Harry went on. “I like to think you would have, but…sometimes I’m not so sure. Believe it or not, this attitude of mine actually pushes people away sometimes. Crazy, right? You and Adelaide give me hell for it, but…you never actually run the other direction, which is what a lot of people have done in the past.
“I keep remembering that night in the convent,” Harry recalled, “when we discovered that Sister Grace was the killer. You told me that you were damn impressed, despite the fact that I was an insufferable ass the entire time. A part of me thought that that might be the last time that I saw you. That you would have gotten so absolutely sick of me in the short time that we spent together that you’d never bother with me again. But then Lydia Belworth was nearly killed and…there you were again. You and Adelaide both. A part of me was stunned, even though I never would have admitted it. Not back then.
“Still, I kept thinking you two would eventually grow so sick to death of me that you’d just cut me out of your lives,” Harry said. “I hoped you wouldn’t, but…it’s what everyone eventually does when it comes to me. It’s what I’ve come to rely on. I never have to worry about anyone getting too close, because I eventually just drive them away. Then I never have to worry about getting hurt, or about them taking advantage of me. But the longer this has gone on with you and Adelaide, I’ve come to realize something. That I didn’t want to drive you two away, because I was coming to rely on the two of you. Not just as friends, but almost as a substitution for the family I was lacking. I had my mother, of course, but…a part of me still wished for more.
“Then when I found out my mother was gone,” Harry went on, this time a bit breathlessly, “all I could think about was seeing the two of you again. Seeing the last two people I had left on this earth. It wasn’t just about trying to run away from my mother’s death, although you were right - that was definitely part of it. It was about…getting back to the only two people, other than my mother, who made me feel safe. Who made me feel like a whole person.
“That was my option - hiding in my bed forever, or coming back to the two of you,” Harry said. “And I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if I chose the former, I’d never come out of it alive. I’d probably never see the light of day again. I’d probably be swallowed up in this massive hole of grief, and depression, and self-pity. I knew that if I had any chance at all to make it through my mother’s death, it needed to be with the two of you by my side. You two gave me a purpose. When we were solving crimes, when we were finding killers, it made me feel…needed. Important. Oh, I feel important where my fame is concerned, but…it’s not the same thing, as I’m sure you’re aware.
“Oh, I love who I am,” Harry said proudly, throwing his head back slightly, “don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.” Harry suddenly frowned deeply, staring down at the floor. “Except for maybe my mother,” he added, almost absently. “But that doesn’t really matter, does it? The point is, solving crimes with you two made me feel important in another way entirely. It made me feel like I was doing some sort of good in this world. That I was helping to save lives in a way that my stunts never could. It made me feel alive. It gave me a purpose. A different kind of purpose.
“My mother always told me that I was a survivor,” Harry told Doyle. “That there wasn’t anything I couldn’t escape from. A part of me was very afraid that that would turn out to be false when I lost her. Like I said, I really wanted to crawl into that bed and never come out. To just give up and not know the pain of losing her anymore. But then that would have meant that everything my mother did for me, every single time she told me I was a survivor - it would all be meaningless. Her words would be empty. I couldn’t do that to her, so I needed to come back to the two of you.”
Harry laughed a little bit, and that felt good. It was nice to be able to let go of the tiny bit of stress that had been building up inside him like a giant ball of twine. This, at least, helped to make it feel like had begun to unravel. “As crazy as it sounds,” Harry said, “the only times I feel truly alive are when I’m either locked in my water torture cell - or doing some other death-defying stunt - or when I’m chasing after killers with the two of you. There’s something terribly morbid about that, isn’t there? The only times I feel alive are both associated with death somehow.”
Harry shook his head, bringing his mind back to the topic at hand. “I just need you two. And I don’t think I really realized that until right this minute exactly how important you are to me. I think I told myself getting back to work was what a grown, self-assured man like me would do - just put it all behind him and move on. I sort of believed that for a while too. Up until I saw you get shot, and…everything just seemed to fall out from underneath me again. I felt like I was standing on melting ice with nowhere left to stand.”
Those pesky tears were back, burning at Harry’s eyes and contorting his face into an expression of internal pain. “You don’t know what it did to me to see you lying on the floor with a bullet hole in your stomach,” Harry confessed, his voice shaking with every word. “I really thought you were going to die then and there. I wondered if they would even get you to the hospital in time, and then…what would I do? What would I do with one of my last two remaining anchors gone?”
Harry grasped Doyle’s hand even more firmly in between his, bringing it up under his chin. He rested his chin on top of Doyle’s clammy hand, desperately wishing that it didn’t quite feel like that of a dead person. “That’s what you are, you know,” Harry whispered. “You’re an anchor to me. I would be absolutely devastated, absolutely lost if something happened to you.
“I’d still have Adelaide, but…things are different with her,” Harry said. “I’m sure you know that. There’s a big difference between romantic love and…best friend love.” Harry almost wasn’t aware of what he had said until it came out. He wasn’t intending to throw about words like ‘love’ and ‘best friend’. He drew in a sharp breath, letting those things hang in the air between them for a few moments.
When Harry got over his initial shock and embarrassment, he said, “God, I need you, Arthur. Everything I’ve just told you is true. So if you can hear anything at all of what I’m saying…fight, damn it. Don’t let something like this take away one of the most brilliant men I’ve ever had the fortunate experience of coming across.” Harry frowned in thought, then added, “Except where the supernatural is concerned, but I think we’re all allowed one mistake, aren’t we?
“And even if you don’t want to do it for me, because I know I’m a pain in the ass,” Harry added, “then do it for your children. They don’t deserve this. They don’t deserve to go through the pain of losing their father so soon after nearly losing their mother. And for God’s sakes, don’t make poor Adelaide feel any worse than she already does. She’s out there in the waiting room blaming herself for not doing more to protect you. Even though I already told her that you’re a grown man and can take care of yourself, she feels horrible for letting us come along with her to the hotel at all. If you were to die now too, she’d be just as devastated as I would be. She shot her husband to save you. Although the bastard deserved it, don’t make that be in vain. That alone speaks volumes about how much she cares about you, and I can’t imagine how she’d feel if none of that did any good.
“We need you, Arthur,” Harry concluded. “I don’t know if you ever realized just how important you are to so many people, but you are. You mean the world to us, so come back to us, okay? Don’t leave us to fight against this big scary world by ourselves, because I’m not quite sure we can.”
Harry paused for a very long time, letting his words sink in. He hoped against hope that Doyle would be able to hear him and understand him, that it just might some sort of difference to his recovery. Harry wasn’t sure that it could, but it couldn’t hurt, could it? But then something else entirely occurred to Harry. If Doyle could hear him, then there was a matter that Harry needed to settle with him before they went any further. The next time Harry spoke, he leaned in towards Doyle, his voice barely above a whisper.
“But if you ever tell anyone I ever said any of that to you-“ Harry stopped, as if suddenly realizing what he was going. He looked at Doyle’s hand clasped tightly in his and then quickly let it go, almost as if he had been burned by it. Allowing Doyle’s hand to drop back down onto his stomach, Harry finally went on, “Or if you ever tell anyone I held your hand for that matter, I will deny it emphatically, and I will never…buy a book of yours ever again. Let’s just get that straight right now, Man of the Match.”
To be continued…
Fandom: Houdini & Doyle
Chapter: 2/?
Author: SiriuslyLupin
Rating: PG
Warnings: angst, mild language, parenthood/children, violence
Summary: As Houdini and Adelaide await word on Doyle's condition, the master illusionist tries his best to keep up appearances. After all, it wouldn't do for the world's greatest performer to break down, but he's lost so much in such a short amount of time. What happens when it quickly grows to be too much? [A missing moment from The Pall of LaPier.]
Word count: 13,400 and counting
Mein Hertz
Chapter 2 - Alive
Harry was deeply uncomfortable with the way Adelaide was hugging him. It felt horribly awkward, but yet at the same time, Harry wanted more. He craved more. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her so tightly like he was never going to let her go. Harry knew that such a gesture wouldn’t be welcome, so he stood there with Adelaide giving him perhaps the most unnerving one-armed hug ever.
Harry considered letting go of her, putting an end this charade of comfort once and for all, and yet, he couldn’t. He knew that Adelaide was trying her very best to seem sincere and to offer him the shoulder he needed to cry on. And Harry needed it. He thought the only thing worse than awkwardly hugging was not touching her at all. At least she was making it known that she was there for him, that he wasn’t alone in this, and he didn’t want to let go of that. He didn’t want to let go of his only physical human contact in that moment.
Fully aware of how completely crazy he was probably going, Harry couldn’t quite remember ever experiencing such two completely disparate emotions warring inside him at the same time. When had things ever gotten so complicated with Adelaide? Of course, he knew the answer to that. Things had been so much simpler between them before the dreaded kiss. Why in the hell had he ever allowed such a thing to happen in the first place? He knew the answer to that too, and damn. Why did everything seem to go to hell the moment he came home to find his mother dead?
Even since then - that horrible, awful, dreaded day - nothing had been the same. For any of them.
Just then, it happened - the moment Harry had been waiting for ever since arriving in this godforsaken hospital ward. Finally, at long last, he heard a door open again, and this time, it was the one to the emergency ward. The one he had been staring daggers at on and off the entire time he’d been there. The one he had been trying to will open with the power of his mind alone.
At the sound, Adelaide let go of him, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether he was happy or sad about that. He didn’t even know if he liked the thought of Adelaide touching him anymore. At one point, such a gesture would have sent sparks of pleasure shooting through his body, and now, he could barely even stand it. But still, he wanted more. How was that even possible? What in the hell was wrong with him?
But now was not the time to worry about those things. There were much more important issues that commanded their attention right now - like the doctor standing in the doorway. This man had the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up and was currently wiping his hands on a white towel.
Harry immediately made his way across the room, but stopped several feet short of the man. Harry had been about to insist on some answers, to demand to know why in the hell he had been kept waiting for so long. But he couldn’t. It seemed that now that Harry might finally be able to get some answers, he didn’t know if he wanted them any longer. As long as he didn’t know what had happened, he could go on pretending that everything was okay. That Doyle was fine. What if the doctor told him that Doyle had died on the operating table? Harry wasn’t quite prepared for that, and he didn’t think he could handle that kind of news right now.
For a very brief moment, Harry imagined that if that happened, he would find himself screaming at the top of his lungs in grief before picking up the nearest waiting room chair and chucking it across the room. Harry’s heart felt like it had soared up into his throat and that it was almost blocking his windpipe. It was hard to breathe and he couldn’t find his voice.
“I’m Doctor Steiner,” the man said. He had finished up drying his hands and had thrown the towel over his left shoulder. He then stuck his right hand out for Harry’s.
Harry swallowed hard, desperately trying to get rid of the lump that had settled there. He reached out his hand and took the doctor’s, but it was a sort of automatic movement. Harry couldn’t quite register what he was doing. Everything seemed far away to him all of a sudden, like he was a million miles away from the waiting room. He wasn’t even sure he was seeing the doctor anymore, the very man that was standing right in front of him. Harry blinked his eyes, trying to get his mind to wrap around what was happening.
It was the same sort of feeling Harry had experienced when he found his mother dead. Everything felt unreal all at once, and Harry almost thought he was losing touch with reality somehow. At the same time, if the doctor was about to give them the worst possible news, Harry knew without a doubt that he would never forget that moment. Like he would never stop seeing his mother lying there motionless.
Perhaps this was what being scared to death felt like. Harry had experienced it all the time in his escapes - even more so when he did something that Doyle would call foolish, like jumping into a frozen Lake Michigan, for example - but nothing like this. All of his escapes had been accompanied by extraordinary surges of adrenaline, which he supposed, kept him from feeling the true effects of being terrified. But now, there was absolutely no thrill, no excitement to distract from that feeling of utter and pure dread.
“I’m Constable Adelaide Stratton of Scotland Yard and this is Harry Houdini,” Adelaide finally spoke up when she realized that Harry wasn’t going to. That he was too distracted with his own thoughts to even make simple conversation.
“Yes, Mister Houdini,” Doctor Steiner said, sounding genuine, “I’ve seen your act. Quite impressive.”
Normally, Harry would have been all over meeting a fan. Harry would have been grinning from ear to ear, asking which show the doctor had seen and offering to give him an autograph. But Harry didn’t have time for that right now! Doyle could very well be dead and here was his doctor, trying to flatter Harry of all things. It was almost maddening. Was the universe punishing Harry for some sort of misdeed? Here was the thing that Harry loved most in the world - being recognized and admired - and he couldn’t revel in it. What had he ever done to deserve this? He just wanted to know if Doyle was okay, damn it.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry had an image of Doyle smiling smugly at this. Harry could almost even hear Doyle’s voice, teasing him over this. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you were so concerned about my well-being that you didn’t care to hand out autographs?’ Doyle would have asked him.
Again, Harry had the strangest feeling of two completely opposite emotions erupting inside him. A part of him wanted to wipe the complacent smile off Doyle’s face that would accompany that remark, but then an almost devastating sense of sadness crept over Harry when he wondered if Doyle would ever even smile again.
As if sensing this, Adelaide rested a soft hand on Harry’s upper arm, and this time, it did feel comforting. It was gentle, and soothing, and relaxed in a way their awkward hug hadn’t been. It didn’t feel like Adelaide was simply going through the motions now, but genuinely trying to comfort him. Harry automatically felt his opposite hand coming up to rest on top of hers, and that felt okay too. It wasn’t fueled by any sort of romantic feelings or a sense of duty; it was simply a gesture by two people trying to comfort each other while waiting to hear how their mutual friend was doing. Nothing more.
“How is Doctor Doyle?” Adelaide asked, trying desperately to steer the topic back to the matter at hand.
Doctor Steiner nodded, placing his hands on his hips. “We removed the bullet and he made it through that, which is what I was most concerned about.”
“So he’s okay?” Harry immediately asked, only slightly aware of how desperate he sounded. He felt like he latched onto that little bit of information, clinging to the fact that Doyle had pulled through the surgery.
“Understand,” Doctor Steiner said, immediately pulling Harry out of his first sense of hope in hours, “he’s still unconscious, very weak, and in a lot of pain. There was a lot of soft tissue damage and he lost an inordinate amount of blood. But we’ve basically done all we can and the rest is up to him. It all depends on how quickly he heals, how well his blood supply replenishes itself, and whether or not he develops any infections. There’s still room for a lot to go wrong and even if nothing does, it’s still going to be a long road to recovery for him.”
Harry sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, begging himself not to begin crying in front of the doctor. His fan. Adelaide’s hand tightened on his arm and Harry replied by squeezing her hand in his. Still, the gesture felt nothing but comfortable and calming, and Harry was glad for that. Glad that everything between him and Adelaide didn’t automatically spell doom.
“We are still doing all we can,” Doctor Steiner said, trying his best to sound reassuring. “We’re keeping him comfortable and monitoring his condition in case it worsens. But unless or until that happens…as I said, it depends on him.”
“Can we see him?” Harry asked, probably sounding a bit frantic. That was really all he’d wanted since this entire ordeal had begun - to see Doyle with his own eyes, so he wouldn’t have to rely on what he was told. Harry just wanted to lay eyes on Doyle in the hope that it might assuage some of his fears. That it might calm the worsening sense of panic he felt coiling up inside him like some sort of exotic snake.
“Please?” Adelaide asked.
Doctor Steiner frowned. “As I said, he’s still very weak.” He paused for a very long time, looking back and forth between Harry’s and Adelaide’s concerned faces. Finally, he sighed and conceded, “I suppose one of you at a time would be all right.”
Harry and Adelaide immediately looked at each other, but neither one of them said or did anything. Harry almost wanted to tell Adelaide to go ahead, because ladies were supposed to go first, but then he didn’t. A part of Harry almost felt like it was dying to see Doyle, and Harry wanted to be selfish.
“Go,” Adelaide said around a smile, like she could read Harry’s thoughts.
For a moment, Harry was going to protest. She was the lady, she was supposed to go first, he kept telling himself. The more he thought about it, however, Harry didn’t know if Adelaide would like that kind of reasoning or not, so he chose not to say anything.
“He’s your best friend,” Adelaide said firmly. She nodded her head towards the emergency ward door and insisted, “Go.”
Harry stared at her, then opened his mouth to protest. Almost immediately, he thought better of his decision. Adelaide was giving him exactly what he wanted, exactly what he had been hoping for for hours. Perhaps he just needed to shut up for once in his life and take what was offered. All at once, he was glad that he had chosen to confide in her about Doyle being his best friend, because now she understood how terribly important this was to him.
Harry clasped Adelaide’s hand in his for a second longer before he disengaged himself from her. For a moment, he actually missed her touch and hoped it wouldn’t be the last time they would share such physical contact. But in the end, Harry decided not to worry about that anymore, at least for the time being. His best friend awaited him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Almost as soon as Harry entered Doyle’s hospital room, he regretted it. Harry wanted nothing more than to turn around and run away, because this wasn’t what he had been expecting at all. But when he thought about it, he didn’t know why he hadn’t been anticipating a horrific scene. Doyle had been shot, after all, and Doctor Steiner had warned them that it wasn’t pretty.
Harry supposed that he’d wanted, more than anything, for his worries to be calmed when he saw Doyle. But in reality, Doyle really looking nothing like himself, and that only served to make the gross, intense feeling in Harry’s stomach much, much worse.
The last - and the only - time Harry had seen Doyle in the hospital had been after he’d been poisoned with ergot. Doyle had certainly looked haggard, and tired, and feverish then. Hell, he’d been having a seizure the last time Harry walked into his room, but it hadn’t been so bad that it enveloped Harry with a sickening sense of dread. It had been serious then, yes, but it hadn’t quite been on the level of a gunshot wound. And Doyle hadn’t quite appeared to be as near death as he did now.
There was almost no color to Doyle’s face. His skin was nearly the same shade of white as the sheet pulled up to his chest. Large beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his dark hair clung in strands to his clammy skin. His skin itself almost appeared thinner and more translucent, and that thought, perhaps more than any other, scared Harry the most. There seemed to be absolutely no life left in this man that lay before him. A man that normally seemed so full of energy and ridiculous ideas about things that couldn’t possibly exist.
Harry found himself staring at Doyle as more ludicrous thoughts entered his mind. Just as he had done at the door to the ward itself, Harry almost let himself imagine that if he stared long and hard enough, that Doyle would wake up. That he’d tell Harry to stop staring at him, damn it, and let him sleep in peace.
Why did Harry keep entertaining things like this that couldn’t possibly happen? A small part of Harry sort of saw why Doyle was so prone to his fantastical ideas about things. In a way, it made things seem a little bit easier than reality forced him to believe.
Harry opened his mouth, trying desperately to think of something to say, but nothing came to him. There were those crazy thoughts again, making him think that if he said something smart, then Doyle would have to wake up and tell him off.
And then all it once, it hit him - the perfect statement that would have made Doyle give him that annoyed, sideways stare of his. In reality though, Harry knew that it wouldn’t do much of anything. Just like magic words to a trick, it was something imagined for effect. It wasn’t real. But the words were escaping Harry before he could quite stop them.
“You really need to stop dying,” Harry said, his voice cracking on the last word. “It’s getting old.”
Harry paused, staring long and hard and Doyle, but the older man didn’t even stir. He gave absolutely no sign that he had even heard Harry, let alone even understood what was being said.
“And that’s the part where you’re supposed to wake up,” Harry continued on. Now that he had begun talking, Harry discovered that he couldn’t quite stop. It was what he did, after all - run his mouth when he couldn’t think of anything else constructive to do. Besides, the silence in the room was quickly beginning to get to him. “You’re supposed to tell me to stop giving you a hard time about things that aren’t even your fault.”
Harry waited again and still nothing happened. He let out a short breath, placing his hands on his hips and turning his head to stare out the windows on the far wall. “I’m the one always risking my life for death-defying stunts,” Harry whispered. “You play it safe by locking yourself in a room and writing, and this is where you’ve ended up. Why must you always try and one-up me?” he asked tiredly, turning back to Doyle’s bed again. He had almost been expecting to see Doyle narrowing his eyes at him, just like he always did when Harry was smart, but still nothing.
Harry took a moment to rub at his eyes and run a hand through his hair. He almost even hoped that that would change something when he looked back at Doyle’s bed. But the man continued to lay there, unmoving and unresponsive.
Harry didn’t know why he felt like he had to have some sort of a plan in order to be in this room. Why couldn’t he simply sit with Doyle and wait, hoping that things might change? Why did Harry feel compelled to rouse Doyle awake somehow? Probably because Harry was never one to sit still in his life. Was never one to laze around while he waited for things to happen. Harry went out and got what he wanted. He made things happen.
So what was he supposed to do when he could no longer do that? When everything he tried fell completely flat? When there were things that were completely out of his realm of control?
Harry hung his head for a moment before making his way from the end of Doyle’s bed around to the left side. He stood over Doyle for a while, staring down at the man that he had come to think of as his best friend. It seemed so very wrong to Harry that Doyle wasn’t giving him some sort of deadpan expression or annoyed glance. That was what he had almost come to expect from Doyle, and now that it was gone, Harry desperately missed it.
Running his teeth over his bottom lip in trepidation for a while, Harry finally took a few steps forward, closing in on the bed. He dropped down on the side of the mattress, and once again, he found himself hoping that the movement just might rouse Doyle from his unconsciousness. Still, the doctor remained motionless.
“Doc,” Harry said, breaking the silence that had settled into the room. “You can’t do this, you know. Your kids are waiting for you to recover and come home. What would they do if something happened to you? Who would take care of them? What would Touie do if she someday woke up again and found that you had…died?” Harry’s voice broke on the last word. Sniffling slightly, but trying to cover it up, Harry continued on, “She would be devastated. Kingsley and Mary would be devastated. It’s hard enough losing one parent, and they’re already living without their mother. Don’t make them go on without you too.”
Harry took a deep and calming breath, taking a moment to stare off at the other end of the room. It was becoming harder and harder for him to sit there, to continue to watch Doyle unmoving and unresponsive. Harry didn’t quite know how much longer he could stay there, but at the same time, he didn’t quite want to leave either. He had a horrible thought that if he left, Doyle just might take his last breath, even though there was no reason to think that. Harry supposed that he simply wanted to feel like he was making some sort of difference to Doyle by being there.
What in the hell was it about all of this that was making Harry feel so off-kilter? Why was he feeling so very many different things at the same time? He wanted to leave, he wanted to go. He wanted to touch Adelaide, he didn’t want to touch her. Harry vaguely wondered if it was this that would make him realize he was crazy, rather than possibly hearing his dead mother speaking to him.
But then Harry latched onto Adelaide’s name as he turned back to Doyle. “Adelaide needs you too,” Harry said quietly. “You didn’t see her when you were unconscious after your ergot poisoning. Obviously. She wouldn’t tell you - she doesn’t like to admit that she’s weak - but she was scared out of her mind. I guess she’s coming to enjoy this little impromptu detective team we’ve put together. It seems there’s actually someone out there that likes spending time with you other than your family. Imagine that.”
Harry looked down at Doyle one more time before pushing himself off the bed. He took several steps away, placing his hands on his hips and refusing to look at Doyle.
“You’re free to wake up at any time and tell me to stop lying,” Harry muttered. He waited, still almost expecting to hear Doyle’s voice coming from the bed behind him. When nothing happened, Harry turned back to the bed and said, “Well, not lying so much as beating around the bush. You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Just don’t wake up immediately after I do and laugh at me for making myself so vulnerable.”
Taking a few steps back to Doyle’s bed, Harry finally admitted, “I need you too.” He let out of a soft breath of laughter. “I know. The great Harry Houdini admitting to such a thing - scandalous - but it’s true. Are you happy now? I said it.”
Harry quickly stepped around the bed, feeling his cheeks burn in embarrassment. He stormed over to the window like he was angry, and perhaps he was. He felt angry at whatever powers that be decided that putting Doyle in the hospital twice had been a good idea. Hadn’t the man already been through enough? Harry was also angry at himself, because he had such a hard time talking about his feelings.
He was raised to believe that a man should never show his feelings. Harry’s father never approved of Harry and his brothers crying when they were upset or hurt, and he never let them discuss any of their personal feelings. It just wasn’t something that was done - a man was always strong and stalwart - but perhaps time for keeping up appearances was over.
What was hiding his feelings now going to accomplish? There was no one else in the room to see if he was about to make a fool out of himself. It was just Harry and Doyle, and what would it hurt if Harry was to be honest about his feelings, just for a moment? Perhaps Doyle might even be able to hear him, and it would help him to overcome his ailments. After all, Doctor Steiner had said that it was all up to Doyle now. Maybe, just maybe, if Harry told him how important he was to him, it just might some sort of difference.
Turning back to Doyle’s bed, Harry slowly put one foot in front of the other. He still wasn’t completely certain he was going to do this, but he continued to make his way back to Doyle’s bed nonetheless.
When he reached it, Harry dropped back down onto the mattress again. Harry sighed, reaching out for Doyle’s hand which was lying unmoving across his stomach. Harry slipped his index and middle fingers underneath it and then grasped it fully in his hand, lifting it from Doyle’s stomach. Harry placed his free hand on stop of Doyle’s, holding it tightly in between both of his.
Harry threw one last glance at the door behind him to make sure that there was no one who might be able to hear what he was about to say. When he turned back to Doyle, he whispered, “I was talking to Adelaide out in the waiting room. I told her that you’re my best friend. And you are. I need you to pull through this, because…you’re one of the last things I have left in this world. Without my mother, I only have you and Adelaide now.”
Harry scoffed slightly. He leaned back, taking a moment to glance to the window once more, as if it might contain the words that he was struggling to form. Now that he had begun talking to Doyle more candidly, he found that he wanted to continue, but he was having a little bit of a difficult time finding the right words. When one never spoke about such things, it was hard to suddenly try and do so.
“That sort of makes the two of sound like a last resort,” Harry suddenly said, frowning, “and you’re not. You know I was enjoying the company of you two long before Ma died. It’s been such a very long time since I’ve…had friends like this. Which sounds so ridiculous, I know. People would jump at the chance to meet me, let alone be my friend. But more often than not, they’re mostly drawn to this image that I’ve created, this illusion. What’s funny is that I’ve brought it all on myself. This was what I wanted, this is what I’ve worked so long and hard for. And I have every material possession and amount of money to show for it that I could want. What I haven’t had for the longest time was any sort of close relationship with anyone, other than my mother. I had no friends. No one I could confide in, except for her.” Harry paused for a very long time before he added, “Until I met you. How pathetic is that?”
Harry suddenly drew in a sharp breath. He fastened his teeth over his bottom lip and closed his eyes. Being so personal with Doyle was one thing, but he wasn’t about to start crying over Doyle’s unresponsive body. Harry did have some shame, after all.
“There’s so many things you can understand that other people can’t,” Harry went on. “Constantly having to be on guard, because you never know what people might want with you - whether they’re being genuine or not.” Harry suddenly frowned and conceded, “Well, you are prone to believing in things that you shouldn’t, like fear-eating demons and psychics who claim to be in contact with the dead. But you’re still aware of the fact that you’re in the public eye and that you need to be cautious for your own safety as well as that of your family. I’d wager to guess that that’s why you don’t have many close friendships of your own either. At least, I don’t think you do, other than Bram - again, someone in the public eye. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve never mentioned any other friends. Mediums and such things are okay if only for the excitement they might provide, but you’d never dare to let any of them - or anyone else for that matter - get emotionally close to you, would you? Because there’s always a question in the back of your mind about whether or not they’re really trustworthy. Whether you admit that to me or not, the facts speak for themselves.
“All you had for a long time was your wife and children,” Harry went on. “Just like me with my mother, there was really no need to seek out the companionship of anyone else. We were happy and content with what we had, as we should be. But after your wife became unresponsive, you must have been lonely. You still have your children, of course, but that doesn’t make up for adult companionship. You’re just like me in a lot of ways. We’ve closed ourselves off to the friendship of others for so long, and then…we sort of just fell into each other’s laps when we needed each other the most.”
A small smile spread across Harry’s lips. “You can pretend all you like, but it doesn’t hide the fact that you’ve done absolutely nothing to distance yourself from me. You’ve come to enjoy our time together as much as I have, haven’t you?”
Harry paused, almost as if waiting for some sort of response on Doyle’s part. That ridiculous and unfounded hope that something just might happen if he hoped or tried hard enough, as silly as Harry knew that was. Still, nothing happened. Doyle remained quiet and unmoving.
“I can’t imagine where’d I’d be right now if not for you and Adelaide,” Harry admitted. “Every day, every second is a struggle without my mother. As much as I try to pretend I’m fine, I’m really not, and you know that. Try as I might, I can’t possibly hide that from the two of you. And…you don’t know how long I’ve wanted a friend that could easily know that much about me - could tell when I was lying and could tell when I wasn’t okay. It doesn’t take a brilliant mind to know that someone wouldn’t be okay after losing their mother - their only friend in the world - but I tried so damn hard to hide it. And both you and Adelaide could see right through that.”
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself for what he was about to say next. He ran a hand through his hair before continuing on. “The truth is, I’m a mess. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time, I feel like I’m in such a fog. A part of me wants to crawl into bed and never come out. And I thought about doing just that when I was in New York just before I came to meet you two in Canada. But I think I knew that doing just that might have been worse. I knew that once I did it - crawled into the dark and safe place that was my bed - I may never come out. Who would really miss me if I did so, anyway? Yeah, my adoring public that held tickets to my performances, or wanted to obtain tickets - they’d probably be devastated to learn that I’d canceled all my shows. But was there really anyone in my personal life who would care that I’d more or less disappeared off the face of the earth?
“How sad is that?” Harry asked. “That the only thing I might have had left to live for was my fans. I barely speak to my family anymore. I’m away from home so much that I may as well be dead to them. No one else would care that I was gone. But then I thought of you and Adelaide. A part of me…dared to hope that one of you might possibly care if you never heard from me again.”
Harry choked back a sob, and then the strangest thing happened. If he wasn’t mistaken or imagining things, he thought he felt Doyle’s hand flinch slightly in his. Harry stared down at Doyle’s hand, waiting and watching for it to move again, to give any sign at all that Doyle was responding to Harry’s wish, but nothing more happened. For a moment, Harry thought he might be going crazy again, imagining things that weren’t there. Or perhaps there had been a much more logical explanation for that. Harry had been trying to contain a sob when it had happened, so perhaps he’d somehow jostled Doyle’s arm and made his hand stir in Harry’s. Nothing more. But a very tiny part in the back of Harry’s mind wanted to believe that Doyle was actually responding to him. Was letting him know that he did care about Harry, that he wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him.
Lifting one of his hands from Doyle’s, Harry pressed it against his mouth instead. He wasn’t going to start crying. Not now. It suddenly felt very important to Harry that he get through this - that he let Doyle know exactly how much he meant to him. If the movement of Doyle’s hand had been a sign from Doyle - and Harry still wasn’t sure that it was - then that meant that Doyle was hearing him. That Doyle understood what he was saying. And Harry wanted him to know, perhaps more than he’d ever wanted anything. Especially when Harry didn’t know if he’d ever get this chance again. Doyle had to know in case anything happened to him.
“I’m not just imagining that, am I?” Harry asked cautiously. “That the two of you might actually enjoy my company. I know I can be an insufferable ass sometimes, but…you two always put up with it, no questions asked. I have to admit that that’s the thought that kept me from crawling into my bed and never coming out. All I kept thinking about was that I had two friends in you guys that I was actually beginning to care about.” Harry stopped, inhaling a sharp intake of breath.
“All right,” Harry admitted. “I think I’m way past that point now. Way past the point of beating around the bush where the two of you are concerned. I already cared about you and Adelaide, and I have for a long time. That’s why I had to come back. My mother was gone, and the absolute last people I had left in the world were in Canada. I couldn’t just let the two of you slip out of my life.
“I still wasn’t sure if you two would have let me go or not - whether you would have come looking for me or not,” Harry went on. “I like to think you would have, but…sometimes I’m not so sure. Believe it or not, this attitude of mine actually pushes people away sometimes. Crazy, right? You and Adelaide give me hell for it, but…you never actually run the other direction, which is what a lot of people have done in the past.
“I keep remembering that night in the convent,” Harry recalled, “when we discovered that Sister Grace was the killer. You told me that you were damn impressed, despite the fact that I was an insufferable ass the entire time. A part of me thought that that might be the last time that I saw you. That you would have gotten so absolutely sick of me in the short time that we spent together that you’d never bother with me again. But then Lydia Belworth was nearly killed and…there you were again. You and Adelaide both. A part of me was stunned, even though I never would have admitted it. Not back then.
“Still, I kept thinking you two would eventually grow so sick to death of me that you’d just cut me out of your lives,” Harry said. “I hoped you wouldn’t, but…it’s what everyone eventually does when it comes to me. It’s what I’ve come to rely on. I never have to worry about anyone getting too close, because I eventually just drive them away. Then I never have to worry about getting hurt, or about them taking advantage of me. But the longer this has gone on with you and Adelaide, I’ve come to realize something. That I didn’t want to drive you two away, because I was coming to rely on the two of you. Not just as friends, but almost as a substitution for the family I was lacking. I had my mother, of course, but…a part of me still wished for more.
“Then when I found out my mother was gone,” Harry went on, this time a bit breathlessly, “all I could think about was seeing the two of you again. Seeing the last two people I had left on this earth. It wasn’t just about trying to run away from my mother’s death, although you were right - that was definitely part of it. It was about…getting back to the only two people, other than my mother, who made me feel safe. Who made me feel like a whole person.
“That was my option - hiding in my bed forever, or coming back to the two of you,” Harry said. “And I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if I chose the former, I’d never come out of it alive. I’d probably never see the light of day again. I’d probably be swallowed up in this massive hole of grief, and depression, and self-pity. I knew that if I had any chance at all to make it through my mother’s death, it needed to be with the two of you by my side. You two gave me a purpose. When we were solving crimes, when we were finding killers, it made me feel…needed. Important. Oh, I feel important where my fame is concerned, but…it’s not the same thing, as I’m sure you’re aware.
“Oh, I love who I am,” Harry said proudly, throwing his head back slightly, “don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.” Harry suddenly frowned deeply, staring down at the floor. “Except for maybe my mother,” he added, almost absently. “But that doesn’t really matter, does it? The point is, solving crimes with you two made me feel important in another way entirely. It made me feel like I was doing some sort of good in this world. That I was helping to save lives in a way that my stunts never could. It made me feel alive. It gave me a purpose. A different kind of purpose.
“My mother always told me that I was a survivor,” Harry told Doyle. “That there wasn’t anything I couldn’t escape from. A part of me was very afraid that that would turn out to be false when I lost her. Like I said, I really wanted to crawl into that bed and never come out. To just give up and not know the pain of losing her anymore. But then that would have meant that everything my mother did for me, every single time she told me I was a survivor - it would all be meaningless. Her words would be empty. I couldn’t do that to her, so I needed to come back to the two of you.”
Harry laughed a little bit, and that felt good. It was nice to be able to let go of the tiny bit of stress that had been building up inside him like a giant ball of twine. This, at least, helped to make it feel like had begun to unravel. “As crazy as it sounds,” Harry said, “the only times I feel truly alive are when I’m either locked in my water torture cell - or doing some other death-defying stunt - or when I’m chasing after killers with the two of you. There’s something terribly morbid about that, isn’t there? The only times I feel alive are both associated with death somehow.”
Harry shook his head, bringing his mind back to the topic at hand. “I just need you two. And I don’t think I really realized that until right this minute exactly how important you are to me. I think I told myself getting back to work was what a grown, self-assured man like me would do - just put it all behind him and move on. I sort of believed that for a while too. Up until I saw you get shot, and…everything just seemed to fall out from underneath me again. I felt like I was standing on melting ice with nowhere left to stand.”
Those pesky tears were back, burning at Harry’s eyes and contorting his face into an expression of internal pain. “You don’t know what it did to me to see you lying on the floor with a bullet hole in your stomach,” Harry confessed, his voice shaking with every word. “I really thought you were going to die then and there. I wondered if they would even get you to the hospital in time, and then…what would I do? What would I do with one of my last two remaining anchors gone?”
Harry grasped Doyle’s hand even more firmly in between his, bringing it up under his chin. He rested his chin on top of Doyle’s clammy hand, desperately wishing that it didn’t quite feel like that of a dead person. “That’s what you are, you know,” Harry whispered. “You’re an anchor to me. I would be absolutely devastated, absolutely lost if something happened to you.
“I’d still have Adelaide, but…things are different with her,” Harry said. “I’m sure you know that. There’s a big difference between romantic love and…best friend love.” Harry almost wasn’t aware of what he had said until it came out. He wasn’t intending to throw about words like ‘love’ and ‘best friend’. He drew in a sharp breath, letting those things hang in the air between them for a few moments.
When Harry got over his initial shock and embarrassment, he said, “God, I need you, Arthur. Everything I’ve just told you is true. So if you can hear anything at all of what I’m saying…fight, damn it. Don’t let something like this take away one of the most brilliant men I’ve ever had the fortunate experience of coming across.” Harry frowned in thought, then added, “Except where the supernatural is concerned, but I think we’re all allowed one mistake, aren’t we?
“And even if you don’t want to do it for me, because I know I’m a pain in the ass,” Harry added, “then do it for your children. They don’t deserve this. They don’t deserve to go through the pain of losing their father so soon after nearly losing their mother. And for God’s sakes, don’t make poor Adelaide feel any worse than she already does. She’s out there in the waiting room blaming herself for not doing more to protect you. Even though I already told her that you’re a grown man and can take care of yourself, she feels horrible for letting us come along with her to the hotel at all. If you were to die now too, she’d be just as devastated as I would be. She shot her husband to save you. Although the bastard deserved it, don’t make that be in vain. That alone speaks volumes about how much she cares about you, and I can’t imagine how she’d feel if none of that did any good.
“We need you, Arthur,” Harry concluded. “I don’t know if you ever realized just how important you are to so many people, but you are. You mean the world to us, so come back to us, okay? Don’t leave us to fight against this big scary world by ourselves, because I’m not quite sure we can.”
Harry paused for a very long time, letting his words sink in. He hoped against hope that Doyle would be able to hear him and understand him, that it just might some sort of difference to his recovery. Harry wasn’t sure that it could, but it couldn’t hurt, could it? But then something else entirely occurred to Harry. If Doyle could hear him, then there was a matter that Harry needed to settle with him before they went any further. The next time Harry spoke, he leaned in towards Doyle, his voice barely above a whisper.
“But if you ever tell anyone I ever said any of that to you-“ Harry stopped, as if suddenly realizing what he was going. He looked at Doyle’s hand clasped tightly in his and then quickly let it go, almost as if he had been burned by it. Allowing Doyle’s hand to drop back down onto his stomach, Harry finally went on, “Or if you ever tell anyone I held your hand for that matter, I will deny it emphatically, and I will never…buy a book of yours ever again. Let’s just get that straight right now, Man of the Match.”
To be continued…