locked to Joe

[billtallent]

Billy lay in the clinic bed, drifting in and out of a lazy sleep, his eyes barely open as he twitched the fingers on his left hand, curling them open and closed. He moved his thumb first then worked his way to his pinky, wiggling them one at a time, exercising carefully controled curls; he counted off reps in his head: 1, 2, 3

Comments

[jdick]

Joe limped toward the clinic as fast as he ankle would allow him to go, his hands shaking at his sides as he clenched and released them. Anne had found him only minutes earlier and told him that Billy was back, Billy was in the clinic, Billy was alive and Joe came down hard on his injured ankle again and again as he hurried toward the clinic.

Hesitating briefly in the doorway, Joe touched his pocket, the seashell necklace outline in his jeans, then walked toward the bed. He could see the top of Billy's head, his jaw, the line of his neck, more and more of him came into view as Joe got closer.

"Fucker," he whispered, approaching the bed.

[billtallent]

Billy looked up when he heard Joe's voice, blinking slowly, his hand stopping. God, it felt like it'd been forever, weeks, years, decades. Billy just watched Joe get closer, his eyes wide, at a total loss for words.

[jdick]

"Fucker," Joe repeated as he reached the bed side, raising his hand uncertainly. It felt against the sheet, then found Billy's hand, the one he'd been exercising and he touched his fingers like he was trying to see if Billy would just disappear before his eyes.

[billtallent]

Billy just lowered his gaze, looking at Joe's hand touching his. He twitched his fingers lightly back against Joe's palm.