: TIE MY HANDS, 1 : Swim Slash : Phelps/Lochte
Title: Tie My Hands (1/22) [When Hilary Wants the Calendar Thrown Away.]
Pair: Phelps/Lochte
Rating: G
Summary: Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte? They were the best worst-kept secret of the swimming world. And Michael didn't like it.
Tie My Hands, Part 1: When Hilary Wants the Calendar Thrown Away.
The room was thick with flowers; a small greenhouse had bloomed in St Joseph Medical Center's room one-fourteen. Different shades of orange exploded near the light switch; purple and green framed the window. The sideboards were jumbles of yellow, pink and red. Even the whites were luminous and seemed to glow when the afternoon light washed into the window.
And in the middle of all of that lay Michael Phelps on an inclined hospital bed, pale enough without the contrast of riotous color. It was hard to see her brother so still, hard for Hilary to even remember a time when Michael hadn't been in motion.
Mom hadn't been far from Michael's bed except for when she was made to leave or one of her daughters drove her home to shower and change and come back; she'd spent all four nights asleep in the chair in the corner. Their dad had made an appearance to sit and play an awkward game of poker with Michael. Whitney's family was in and out around school and work schedules.
Bob hovered. Hilary thought that he probably didn't know what to do with himself; he didn't know how to be passive. But there wasn't a question of him being here or at Worlds with some of his old Club Wolverine boys--his loyalty was to Michael. And maybe their mother.
She watched Michael's high-school friends come and go and everyone talked around his leg, casted from stomach to right toes, the big white elephant in the room. Ryan wouldn't have done that, wouldn't have pretended it didn't exsist. He would have drawn on it before it was dry, given Michael an entire horizon to look at.
But Ryan wasn't there.
So most of the time Hilary watched Michael stare out the window at a view of the brick building next door. Smiling seemed like too much work for him, and it broke her heart.
There was a desk calender sitting on the windowsill; it felt like a bad joke to her, to have something like that in a hospital room. But Whitney was the one who took it and folded it up when Michael was sleeping, stuck it in her purse.
"I'll give it to the nurses' station," she said in a whisper when she caught Hilary's eyes on her. Hilary shook her head.
"Throw it out," she whispered back.
Whitney looked at her for a long, silent minute. Hilary knew that for her sister, seeing Michael go so far in swimming had been as painful as it had been wonderful. Whitney never said it could have been me but there were things that, as sisters, no lack of words would hide.
And Hilary knew that having Michael go through what she'd gone through hurt Whitney more deeply than it hurt the rest of them.
Whitney's hand folded almost convulsively around her purse. Connor was asleep against her shoulder and she turned her face in against his head. "I just don't want him counting the days until Worlds," she murmured, like the theft needed an excuse. There weren't many days left, anyway. "Has the team left?"
They both knew what she was really asking. Who she was really asking about.
Hilary looked at Michael. Sleep was the only time he didn't look strained. When he was awake no one could take that pinched look from between his eyebrows, or the meanness out of the line of his mouth. She nodded. "Yesterday."
Their mother looked over from the chair near the bed, catching the edge of the conversation. Whitney's mouth and nose were still against the soft fuzz of her son's head.
Mom stood up and came over, taking Connor from Whitney. "Go throw away that calendar," she said in a low voice that meant now. One hand settled on her grandson but who she really wanted to protect was obvious to both women. Their mother looked at Michael as she rubbed Connor's back. "Ryan has every right to be at Worlds."
He did, but Hilary wondered what was keeping him from being here, instead.
Tie My Hands, Part 2: When Michael Starts Running.
Pair: Phelps/Lochte
Rating: G
Summary: Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte? They were the best worst-kept secret of the swimming world. And Michael didn't like it.
Tie My Hands, Part 1: When Hilary Wants the Calendar Thrown Away.
The room was thick with flowers; a small greenhouse had bloomed in St Joseph Medical Center's room one-fourteen. Different shades of orange exploded near the light switch; purple and green framed the window. The sideboards were jumbles of yellow, pink and red. Even the whites were luminous and seemed to glow when the afternoon light washed into the window.
And in the middle of all of that lay Michael Phelps on an inclined hospital bed, pale enough without the contrast of riotous color. It was hard to see her brother so still, hard for Hilary to even remember a time when Michael hadn't been in motion.
Mom hadn't been far from Michael's bed except for when she was made to leave or one of her daughters drove her home to shower and change and come back; she'd spent all four nights asleep in the chair in the corner. Their dad had made an appearance to sit and play an awkward game of poker with Michael. Whitney's family was in and out around school and work schedules.
Bob hovered. Hilary thought that he probably didn't know what to do with himself; he didn't know how to be passive. But there wasn't a question of him being here or at Worlds with some of his old Club Wolverine boys--his loyalty was to Michael. And maybe their mother.
She watched Michael's high-school friends come and go and everyone talked around his leg, casted from stomach to right toes, the big white elephant in the room. Ryan wouldn't have done that, wouldn't have pretended it didn't exsist. He would have drawn on it before it was dry, given Michael an entire horizon to look at.
But Ryan wasn't there.
So most of the time Hilary watched Michael stare out the window at a view of the brick building next door. Smiling seemed like too much work for him, and it broke her heart.
There was a desk calender sitting on the windowsill; it felt like a bad joke to her, to have something like that in a hospital room. But Whitney was the one who took it and folded it up when Michael was sleeping, stuck it in her purse.
"I'll give it to the nurses' station," she said in a whisper when she caught Hilary's eyes on her. Hilary shook her head.
"Throw it out," she whispered back.
Whitney looked at her for a long, silent minute. Hilary knew that for her sister, seeing Michael go so far in swimming had been as painful as it had been wonderful. Whitney never said it could have been me but there were things that, as sisters, no lack of words would hide.
And Hilary knew that having Michael go through what she'd gone through hurt Whitney more deeply than it hurt the rest of them.
Whitney's hand folded almost convulsively around her purse. Connor was asleep against her shoulder and she turned her face in against his head. "I just don't want him counting the days until Worlds," she murmured, like the theft needed an excuse. There weren't many days left, anyway. "Has the team left?"
They both knew what she was really asking. Who she was really asking about.
Hilary looked at Michael. Sleep was the only time he didn't look strained. When he was awake no one could take that pinched look from between his eyebrows, or the meanness out of the line of his mouth. She nodded. "Yesterday."
Their mother looked over from the chair near the bed, catching the edge of the conversation. Whitney's mouth and nose were still against the soft fuzz of her son's head.
Mom stood up and came over, taking Connor from Whitney. "Go throw away that calendar," she said in a low voice that meant now. One hand settled on her grandson but who she really wanted to protect was obvious to both women. Their mother looked at Michael as she rubbed Connor's back. "Ryan has every right to be at Worlds."
He did, but Hilary wondered what was keeping him from being here, instead.
Tie My Hands, Part 2: When Michael Starts Running.