Three Kings and an Epiphany
Oh look, another one-shot that is going to be at least three chapters.
He should be more of an asshole.
This is what Sam Swarek decides on day three of the “taking care of the invalid” calendar that has been hanging on his wall since he got home from the hospital. He should have been a bigger ass to his co-workers, then maybe he wouldn’t find himself hiding in his own bathroom in frequent intervals, just to get some breathing room.
He is seriously contemplating taking up smoking.
When the doctor wanted him to go into a physical therapy unit after his release, Sam told him in no uncertain terms he was going against medical advice on that one. He wanted his own bed, his own shower, his own damn couch and TV and not to be poked, prodded or stuck every hour, for Christ’s sake. The doctor had relented (it was, after all, only four days until Christmas - a holiday Sam had never been too fond of, a point he was not going to bring up to the man in charge of his parole) but only if he would agree to a home health nurse and having someone with him at all times during his waking hours.
Sam would have agreed to have a prostate exam every morning if it meant he didn’t have to spend one more night amongst the incessant undertone of the sick and dying. (He wasn’t dying, damn it, he was alive and intent on staying that way). What he didn’t count on was how seriously his friends would take the orders of the doctor.
For a brief moment, he thought he was home-free. It took some doing, but he convinced Sarah to go home after she got him settled in that first night. She didn’t handle being in the city well and he was well aware of the fact that her being by his side every moment he was in the hospital was going to cost her dearly. She was fiercely loyal and protective of her little brother, but she didn’t have the bite to go with her bark.
She never did.
It would take her months to recover from this, the possibility of her never being the same is not lost on Sam either. He sometimes feels the pain he caused her more than the gaping hole in his stomach, knows that unintentionally hurting the women he loves is his own special talent.
While he was putting her in Oliver’s car for the ride back to St Catherine’s, she pulled him in close, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him so tight he could feel the worry radiating from her.
He tried to sooth her. “Hey, Sarah, don’t. Please. I’m okay, I promise.”
“No worries, Sare - we’ve got it covered”, he overheard Oliver tell her.
He didn’t even have time to consider what that might mean before Nash and Steve Peck pulled up to the curb, a Christmas tree tied to the roof.
“Before you say anything, Swarek - yes, this is your tree and yes, it is going up in your living room. No discussion.”
Bossy women. Lucky him, he was surrounded by a shit-ton of them.
After they finished setting up the fire hazard in his front window, Nash went into his kitchen and took some magnets out to hang up a calendar on his fridge. “And this is your caregiver schedule - the nurse comes in the morning, then there are two shifts of six hours, everyday. No discussion here either. Frank says if you don’t let people follow this, you’d better start polishing up your resume."
A career change was starting to sound more and more appealing.
Thus began the steady stream of people coming to babysit him while he was “on the mend”; Noelle doing his laundry, Peck and Epstein vacuuming and cleaning his apartment, Diaz, Frank and Oliver driving him to PT, everybody and their mother bringing him food. He soon discovered grumbling about it did him no good, in fact it seemed to make people smile at him and shake their heads - silly Swarek, he is just so predictable.
He wanted to set something on fire just to see if they would have any other reaction.
He really couldn’t believe how many people volunteered to help him. Almost everyone he knew was on that list - patrol, DB, Guns and Gangs, even some contacts he had while he was undercover. There was even a secondary list with another twenty names, in case someone had to cancel or he needed something in the middle of the night.
Of course, there were a few names missing - two of which brought him great relief and one… well he guessed he was relieved about that one too.
He could live with this.
He really had no other choice.
But when Callaghan showed up at his door on day three, the possibility that he actually was dead and in some level of hell became more than a passing thought. Both men spent the time sitting in front of the TV watching the Leafs game and nursing a six pack of fruity beer (fucking yuppie shit with a “hint of orange” - Sam resisted the urge to ask Callahan if he shaved his legs before he got there).
He did appreciate the other man not asking him if he needed anything or if he was comfortable. He guessed Callaghan understood far too well how much Sam hated the position he was in (didn’t like to think about how much they had in common actually - or the fact that particular list kept getting longer and longer).
“Andy came to see me today.” Luke took a long pull of his beer, eyes steady on the television, careful not to show any tells.
Sam stared at the screen, completely uninterested in the topic at hand (heart rate picking up like he was running the last mile of a 10K).
“She told me about your… disagreement in the hospital. Said you kicked her out, won’t answer her calls, haven’t spoken to her almost two weeks. You really are a special kind of idiot, aren’t you?”
Sam remained stoic, nine years of playing poker with this guy didn’t leave him empty handed (if his heart didn’t slow down soon, his poker face would be the least of his problems).
He woke up to find McNally with her head on the side of his hospital bed, neck crimped, hair in a gaint knot and a slight line of drool coming out of the corner of her mouth. Even in her sleep, he could see the blotchy puffy tell-tale signs of a person who had been crying for a long time.
He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire godforsaken life.
She startled awake a second after that and a whole new round of fresh tears were shed. She grabbed his hand so tightly he thought the IV line was going to be embedded into the bone, but he squeezed back, near giddy with pain meds and having her so close again.
In the end, it only took three days before reality reared its ugly head and he told her to go back to Collins and not look back.
“She wanted me to make sure you were really ok. Said she could trust me to tell her how you were really doing.”
Sam was unable to hold back the snort.
“Anyway, I’ll tell her your fine. Never better. On the mend.”
Swarek barely nodded. “Ok, yeah. Thanks”
Luke got up to leave, asked him if he needed anything else as he was putting on his coat.
Sam needed a lot of things, but nothing Callaghan could give him.
Luke took several steps toward the door, then turned back to look at Sam. “She loves you, you know. It makes no sense at all… but even I have to admit it’s clear as day. I would’ve have given anything for her to… You really are a special kind of idiot, Swarek."
And then he was gone, leaving Sam with the bitter taste of fruity beer in his mouth and his heart to die a slow death in his chest.
He should be more of an asshole.
This is what Sam Swarek decides on day three of the “taking care of the invalid” calendar that has been hanging on his wall since he got home from the hospital. He should have been a bigger ass to his co-workers, then maybe he wouldn’t find himself hiding in his own bathroom in frequent intervals, just to get some breathing room.
He is seriously contemplating taking up smoking.
When the doctor wanted him to go into a physical therapy unit after his release, Sam told him in no uncertain terms he was going against medical advice on that one. He wanted his own bed, his own shower, his own damn couch and TV and not to be poked, prodded or stuck every hour, for Christ’s sake. The doctor had relented (it was, after all, only four days until Christmas - a holiday Sam had never been too fond of, a point he was not going to bring up to the man in charge of his parole) but only if he would agree to a home health nurse and having someone with him at all times during his waking hours.
Sam would have agreed to have a prostate exam every morning if it meant he didn’t have to spend one more night amongst the incessant undertone of the sick and dying. (He wasn’t dying, damn it, he was alive and intent on staying that way). What he didn’t count on was how seriously his friends would take the orders of the doctor.
For a brief moment, he thought he was home-free. It took some doing, but he convinced Sarah to go home after she got him settled in that first night. She didn’t handle being in the city well and he was well aware of the fact that her being by his side every moment he was in the hospital was going to cost her dearly. She was fiercely loyal and protective of her little brother, but she didn’t have the bite to go with her bark.
She never did.
It would take her months to recover from this, the possibility of her never being the same is not lost on Sam either. He sometimes feels the pain he caused her more than the gaping hole in his stomach, knows that unintentionally hurting the women he loves is his own special talent.
While he was putting her in Oliver’s car for the ride back to St Catherine’s, she pulled him in close, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him so tight he could feel the worry radiating from her.
He tried to sooth her. “Hey, Sarah, don’t. Please. I’m okay, I promise.”
“No worries, Sare - we’ve got it covered”, he overheard Oliver tell her.
He didn’t even have time to consider what that might mean before Nash and Steve Peck pulled up to the curb, a Christmas tree tied to the roof.
“Before you say anything, Swarek - yes, this is your tree and yes, it is going up in your living room. No discussion.”
Bossy women. Lucky him, he was surrounded by a shit-ton of them.
After they finished setting up the fire hazard in his front window, Nash went into his kitchen and took some magnets out to hang up a calendar on his fridge. “And this is your caregiver schedule - the nurse comes in the morning, then there are two shifts of six hours, everyday. No discussion here either. Frank says if you don’t let people follow this, you’d better start polishing up your resume."
A career change was starting to sound more and more appealing.
Thus began the steady stream of people coming to babysit him while he was “on the mend”; Noelle doing his laundry, Peck and Epstein vacuuming and cleaning his apartment, Diaz, Frank and Oliver driving him to PT, everybody and their mother bringing him food. He soon discovered grumbling about it did him no good, in fact it seemed to make people smile at him and shake their heads - silly Swarek, he is just so predictable.
He wanted to set something on fire just to see if they would have any other reaction.
He really couldn’t believe how many people volunteered to help him. Almost everyone he knew was on that list - patrol, DB, Guns and Gangs, even some contacts he had while he was undercover. There was even a secondary list with another twenty names, in case someone had to cancel or he needed something in the middle of the night.
Of course, there were a few names missing - two of which brought him great relief and one… well he guessed he was relieved about that one too.
He could live with this.
He really had no other choice.
But when Callaghan showed up at his door on day three, the possibility that he actually was dead and in some level of hell became more than a passing thought. Both men spent the time sitting in front of the TV watching the Leafs game and nursing a six pack of fruity beer (fucking yuppie shit with a “hint of orange” - Sam resisted the urge to ask Callahan if he shaved his legs before he got there).
He did appreciate the other man not asking him if he needed anything or if he was comfortable. He guessed Callaghan understood far too well how much Sam hated the position he was in (didn’t like to think about how much they had in common actually - or the fact that particular list kept getting longer and longer).
“Andy came to see me today.” Luke took a long pull of his beer, eyes steady on the television, careful not to show any tells.
Sam stared at the screen, completely uninterested in the topic at hand (heart rate picking up like he was running the last mile of a 10K).
“She told me about your… disagreement in the hospital. Said you kicked her out, won’t answer her calls, haven’t spoken to her almost two weeks. You really are a special kind of idiot, aren’t you?”
Sam remained stoic, nine years of playing poker with this guy didn’t leave him empty handed (if his heart didn’t slow down soon, his poker face would be the least of his problems).
He woke up to find McNally with her head on the side of his hospital bed, neck crimped, hair in a gaint knot and a slight line of drool coming out of the corner of her mouth. Even in her sleep, he could see the blotchy puffy tell-tale signs of a person who had been crying for a long time.
He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire godforsaken life.
She startled awake a second after that and a whole new round of fresh tears were shed. She grabbed his hand so tightly he thought the IV line was going to be embedded into the bone, but he squeezed back, near giddy with pain meds and having her so close again.
In the end, it only took three days before reality reared its ugly head and he told her to go back to Collins and not look back.
“She wanted me to make sure you were really ok. Said she could trust me to tell her how you were really doing.”
Sam was unable to hold back the snort.
“Anyway, I’ll tell her your fine. Never better. On the mend.”
Swarek barely nodded. “Ok, yeah. Thanks”
Luke got up to leave, asked him if he needed anything else as he was putting on his coat.
Sam needed a lot of things, but nothing Callaghan could give him.
Luke took several steps toward the door, then turned back to look at Sam. “She loves you, you know. It makes no sense at all… but even I have to admit it’s clear as day. I would’ve have given anything for her to… You really are a special kind of idiot, Swarek."
And then he was gone, leaving Sam with the bitter taste of fruity beer in his mouth and his heart to die a slow death in his chest.