Crisis pt. 2
Crisis Chapters IV - VI
IV
He was alive. Unconscious, but alive. Beyond that, there had been no information, only that he was at Cook County Hospital. Warburton was unable to tell them more; the skin on Jennifer’s face looked stretched across those high cheekbones as she stared at the picture. No burns, no marks, nothing, just…
“Why does he have a tube down his throat?” But Warburton had been unable to answer. Instead, he merely summoned one of his assistants to bring them down to the car he’d arranged to take them to the hospital. The car was parked in the back, avoiding the media out front.
“How long will this take?” Brian asked the driver as they slid into the back seat.
“Twenty minutes, sir.” The driver pulled away from the curb, into the back road leading out of the airport. “Usually longer, but I’m going to go real fast for you. I’m sure any police officer who’d stop us will just give us an escort.”
Brian nodded. Jennifer, who had started to shake, leaned into him, her head bowing into his chest. “He’s alive, thank God…”
Brian put an arm around her back, somewhat awkwardly, and let her cry as she allowed her fear to pour out. She’d have to pull together before they reached the hospital. It wasn’t over yet.
He watched the highway slip by, nothing to see, nothing to say. He looked down at Jennifer’s head. She had stopped crying, but hadn’t pulled away. She wasn’t looking up, was just resting there. He knew how she felt, drained, as if he’d never be able to get out of the cab on his legs and walk, toward who knew what. But immobility, the desire to just sink into this seat and never move again, or even worse and of course completely out of the question, to tell the driver to just keep driving, to never have to face what might be waiting there, that wasn’t acceptable; he knew he had to do this. He had to know. But still, the impulse to flee… Justin may be alive, but they still knew nothing. Wasn’t that better, sometimes? Brian stared out the window, glad Jennifer wasn’t watching their car racing through the traffic, cutting too close in front of an SUV into the right lane, to zoom around the idiot in the high speed lane who wasn’t moving past the slower lanes quicklly enough. Damn, this driver was good. Brian was going to remember this guy, next time he was in Chicago. For business, he emphasized to himself. Justin was going to be fine. Had to be fine.
He wondered if they would have another three day wait to find out if Justin would wake up. When he would. But except for that tube to aid breathing... He was fine. He looked fine, from the picure. Unmarked, but unconscious...
“Do you want me to find the news on the radio?” the driver asked, coming right up to the bumper of another car that was driving too slow for him.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jennifer’s breathing had evened out, and he hoped she might be sleeping. Or at least resting. Hearing details about the crash, though, was definitely not such a hot idea, hearing the numbers, the percentage of the dead… that was best kept for later. After they knew Justin was fine. And Justin was fine, he repeated that last line in his head. Please, God. Let him be fine.
The car in front of theirs finally moved aside, tired of the big car on its bumper, flicking the high beams on it. Their driver took his hand away from the sound system at Brian’s last words, put both hands on the wheel, and hit the gas.
Brian remembered that long ago three day wait at the hospital, not really that long ago, was it? watching the news obsessively for some hint of what-the-fuck; the reports of Hobbes’ hospitalization (at another medical center; the system might screw them later, but the emergency personnel were fairly sensitive on the first night). He remembered the strain on Jennifer’s face then, and he sure as hell remembered the angry, baffled stare every time she looked at him. Michael would return the glare when he thought Brian wasn’t looking. He hadn’t cared in those three days, hadn’t cared what anyone thought, totally focused to the exclusion of all else on those words, the same one in his head now, Please, God… What’s the saying about atheists in foxholes?
The news had distracted him from considering every one else’s pain and fear, the worried looks that he hadn’t been able to face. The fact that he could only receive his information from Michael, or Debbie after they had spoken to Jennifer, who had refused to speak to him at all. The doctors would pull her aside, and then Brian would receive the facts third hand and whenever she decided he’d suffered enough - never, ever enough, he was sure, then she would dole out the words, seizures, brain swelling, operations, drug-induced coma, he might not revive… and he had been unable to question the medical professionals himself, to ask any questions, to say anything at all, helpless to do anything with his despair, only turn it inward, castigating himself. And here he was, reapproaching that hell.
But it was different now. And it was more than the fact that he had not been responsible for 512, because God knew he had plenty to blame himself for this time, for allowing Justin to get to the airport and on a plane to LA on his own, for refusing to bend and call him, to apologize without apologizing, to let Justin know Brian was not happy with how things were left. Nope, that steely, smooth helmet around his heart to shield himself from the blows that just might come in, gotta make sure that’s in place, all the time, every second, no one’s getting past it. Everything gets shut out. And he was only watching, doing nothing as Justin picked out a brand new heart helmet of his own. Hell, he was helping him pick a fit.
He could only admit to himself now, that that obsessive watching of the news those years ago, watching for reports of Hobbes’ indictment, the charges, the reactions of the media, at the time he’d told himself he needed to stay informed (when the only information he cared about was kept from him, filtered through Jennifer’s careful editing of what she wanted him to know, which hadn’t been much, just the big points, probably calculated as the most painful parts she allowed to batter him - seizures, operation, blood loss…), that obsessive news watching had only been a recreation the distance he was being kept from Justin, as if he had no right to even feel concern. It had been his way of pretending that that distance was his choice, that he was in control of where he had placed himself, all along, at arm’s length, on the outside, looking in. And only seconds before, before that horrifying cracking, that sound of more than bone being crushed that echoed through the parking garage, his own consideration that maybe, just maybe, he might move in closer to this boy with the beautiful smile, just toward him, not anything else, no. And then, the smile was gone. When had he seen it, really seen it, since?
Jennifer heaved a huge sigh, and sat up, passing her hands over her cheeks, wiping away the damp. “Are we there yet?” she asked.
So different this time. She had not even tried to take control when she walked into the waiting area, just handed management over to Brian, the contact with Warburton, the approach to the airline personnel to find out if any more news had come in.
How things had changed, he thought, as Jennifer asked him, “How are you doing?” and he’d answered, “Bout as well as you.”
Had he changed enough? Things were different this time, and there was no way he was going anywhere once he’d found his partner, not this time - not that he thought Jennifer was going to tell him to go home, there was nothing he could do. More specifically, that Debbie was going to tell him that Jennifer wanted him to leave. That it was better Justin not see him. Nope, not this time, there would be no fighting past the media camped out at the entrance to the hospital, no almost punching that camera man who got in his way, no rude and unbelievable questions shouted at him, “Mr. Kinney, did you have a relationship with Chris Hobbes?” “Mr. Kinney, do you blame yourself for this?” “Mr. Kinney, is Justin dead?” “Brian, do you blame yourself?”
Not this time.
Instead of that, this time there was Jennifer’s face filled with concern, not just for Justin, but for him as well. A support center that took for granted his place in Justin’s life without comment. The media kept at bay. And that silent and supportive regard of other people that didn’t terrify him, the way that support had been moved into place without his permission, there at his back, not just telling him but enacting the fact that he didn’t have to stand alone, because it was quietly assumed that he was already part of something bigger than just himself, no longer the odd man out, looking in. He was part of a bigger reality, of him and Justin, this thing that was them. What happened to Justin happened to him. Everyone seemed to just get that, before he really understood the full implications himself, and they treated him with the very care he had been terrified of, lifted a control he thought he needed to keep to himself, the illusion of a control he didn’t really have. And thank God it had been taken from him, so he could focus on the more important things, namely, being there when Justin needed him, keeping his own shit together so he could be there when his lover woke up. When, when he woke up. Being there, only for that, keeping his focus where it belonged, and everyone else taking care of the bullshit that just didn’t matter in the face of Justin who needed him now. Those same forces that had kept him away, last time, now turned to help him through.
It was more than relief, that external support; it was a necessary part of not losing his mind through this whole endless day. He did not realize until the groundwork was placed under him by those who would ensure it, that the security it offered was possible. And he knew that he could never summon it on his own, the man who would take care of everything, all the time, all by himself. This was something he needed more than anything else, and he hadn’t realized it until they had placed it under him, without his even asking.
Was that what Justin had been trying to show him, all that time ago with his relentless “I’m killing you with kindness” tactics, showing Brian that he could have the supporting groundwork of a caring community under him, ready to move into place when, not if, when life shit on you? Killing him, indeed. He wasn’t the same person he had been that night he’d emerged from Babylon to see the beautiful boy walking toward him, leaning under that street lamp so the light illuminated his blonde hair, a halo. Not those beautiful angels from the watered down children’s stories, not the cherubs. Gabriel, maybe, well, one of the seraphim, that’s how the memory of Justin in that moment under the light struck him - the mighty Angel who had led the battle against Satan and his minions for control of heaven.
Oh, God, Kinney, he grimaced to himself, when you start pulling out the symbolism, you really go way out on the extremes, don’t you? Just like everything else. No wonder you’re so competent as an advertiser for our good ol’ mass produced consumer industry. One cliché fits all. Let’s not turn this into another wild fantasy, he told himself, Justin was real, and too special for that. He wasn’t an angel; he was his lover, pulling him onto more solid ground, despite all of Brian’s self-destructive resistance. Justin pulled him more to the civilized center, away from his natural instinct to careen wildly away, the wild boy goes off. But life, and all its shit, isn’t avoided that way, is it? Just defamiliarized. The pain, dealt with in more centralized locations, in pursuit after the lost boy, never dealt with, always left intact. We take it with us. You can run… More clichés.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t doomed to his life. If Justin was okay.
And he was fine. He was fine. Please God…
His phone rang. Bemused for a moment at the sound, he took a moment to realize what the sound was, not the special rings he had for each speed dial number, but the generic ringer for unfamiliar calls. He pulled the phone out of his coat, looked at display. Completely unfamiliar, he felt his heart rate pick up. He’d been ignoring the usual suspects; Lindsay, Michael again. But this wasn’t a Pittsburgh area code and the screen was not bringing up any familiar name, just a number with an area code he didn’t recognize, and so he flipped the phone open and answered, “Hello?” Jennifer watched intently, her chest stilling as her breath caught and held.
“Brian! Where are you! I’m a father! Where have you been, you asshole?”
“Michael… you’re not using your own phone.”
“Yeah, I’m using one of Melanie’s friends’ phone who’s down from Ohio, did you hear me, I’m a father! You wouldn’t believe it, and by the way, you should be here, this reminded me so much of when Gus was born…”
“Michael…”
“I mean, even happening after midnight and all the munchers everywhere…”
“Michael!”
“What? Aren’t you going to say congratulations at least? You were right about one thing, tick tick tick, my God, I think I’m…” Brian took the phone away from his ear, afraid of what he might say next. He took a deep breath, tried to gather himself to deal with this without destroying Mikey’s psyche in one sentence.
Jennifer saw the look on Brian’s face, held out her hand, crooking her forefinger and motioning he hand the phone over. Brian dumped the thing in her slim palm. She lifted it to her ear, her voice smooth and controlled. “Michael, it’s Jennifer Taylor.”
Pause. “That’s wonderful, Michael, Brian offers his congratulations, and of course, so do I…”
Another long, long pause. Jennifer closed her eyes.
“Yes, Michael, I’m sure you’re always there for each other, but…”
Pause.
“We’ll be there in about five minutes,” the driver said.
Brian looked over at Jennifer, she glanced at the driver, and nodded to Brian that she’d heard. “I’m sorry, Michael, wait a second, you see… Michael, shut the fuck up.”
Whoa. Brian thought he saw the driver glance back in the mirror. Didn’t expect that from the little woman.
“We’re both very happy for you, we both think it’s wonderful, but Brian can’t talk to you right now because Justin was on board flight 512, did you hear about the plane that went down this morning? …Yes, *that* airplane crash.” As opposed to all the other plane crashes this morning, Brian could just imagine what Michael had said to prompt the dryness in Jennifer’s voice; he doubted Michael even heard the tone that almost crackled with impatience held at bay, but Brian was treated to the full eye roll illustrating what lay beneath the considerate words on her smooth surface.
“Of course, he didn’t want to speak with you until we knew Justin was okay. He’s alive, we’ve just learned, and, oh… we’re pulling up to the hospital. We’ll call later.” And she snapped the phone closed, handed it back.
Brian looked out the window as they took the ramp off the highway, no hospital in sight. He looked back at Jennifer.
She smiled, barely. “You just have to know how to handle people, Brian,” she said.
“You officially scare me.”
“Comes with the job, the mother-in-law handbook, rule number 52, ‘intimidation.’ Sons-in-law should make sure they’re on mom’s good side at all times.”
Brian’s eyes widened as he stared at her. Wow, two men down in two minutes.
“We’re here.” The driver turned down a side street, and they pulled up to the emergency room door.
When they exited the car, a young woman was waiting for them. “Mr. Kinney? Mrs. Taylor? I’m Ellie Rodriguez, with the hospital.”
V
“I’m Ellie Rodriguez, with the hospital. Justin’s going to be fine.”
He wasn’t sure he heard her at first, the news so unexpected; his memory had steeled him for much, much worse, flashing to memories of the last time Justin had been in a hospital. And then, just like that, Justin’s going to be fine.
If he wasn’t quite taking in what he had just heard, Ellie’s broad smile backed it up, her brilliant teeth shining in beautiful contrast to her dark skin, striking him with its sudden radiance, all the more brilliant for its completely taking him by surprise. He felt a boulder roll off of his stomach. Ellie was saying, “I can only begin to imagine how great it must be to hear that, I’m so happy just to be able to say the words.”
Jennifer let out a cry. “Oh, thank God.”
Brian felt his shoulders relax, and, unable to take in anything but the sudden relief sweeping through him, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw Jennifer shaking, his own expression surely mirrored in her features as they both exhaled and exchanged a glance, travelers at the end of a harrowing journey. “Can we see him?” she asked.
“Yes, of course…” Ellie turned and walked into the emergency room.
Brian caught up to her. “What’s the breathing tube all about? We saw the picture the hospital sent over…”
“I’ll let the doctor tell you, I really don’t have the details.” Ellie led them quickly down the bright corridor, to a room toward the back of the department. They passed a woman weeping loudly, a young man standing to the side, staring at her helplessly, glancing from her to the slatted window behind him. A few people leaned against walls, the rigid waiting apparent in their every stance. Then Ellie opened a door to their right, and led them into a small room with two beds. A little girl lay back against the headboard of the first bed. Her head was turned toward Justin, who lay in the bed next to the window. He was unconscious still, very pale, the breathing tube still down his throat. The sheet was pulled to his waist, revealing the awful hospital gown. Jennifer crossed the space quickly, Brian a step behind. “I’ll go get the doctor,” Ellie said, stepping out.
Brian positioned himself over his partner. His eyes greedily took in the rise and fall of Justin’s chest, the movement of the eyes behind his closed lids. His face was very pale. Brian looked up and met Jennifer’s gaze. She groped her way over to the chair in the corner, and fell into it.
“That’s it, you’re Rage.”
He almost didn’t realize that the voice coming from behind him was real and not a fucked up fantasy due to his sudden release from the rack of stress; the words seemed so out of context. He turned around, and saw a skinny teenage girl sitting in the chair at the other end of the room, next to the little girl on the bed.
“Uh… Actually, I’m Brian.”
“Yeah, but you’re Rage, right? His,” she gestured toward Justin, “comic hero guy. So it really is JT.” Her voice was coming out in a fit of hoarse whispers and scratchy resonances as she spoke.
Brian nodded at her. “Were you on the plane?”
“In the seat next to him. I’m Leah.” Leah stood, walked around the first bed, and looked up at Brian. That explained the voice: smoke inhalation. She looked fine.
“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry, it’s terrible what you went through. How are you doing?” Jennifer asked. Trust her to focus on the girl, when all Brian wanted to ask her was what the fuck had happened to Justin. Obviously, the girl was fine. She was standing, wasn’t she?
“I’m… okay. Well, thanks to him. Justin… right? I didn’t get his real name on the plane. And then… well, we weren’t doing introductions after. He saved my life. Both our lives.” She gestured to the little girl. “A bunch of other people too, they want to thank him. Lots of other people were… not fine. Even some of the ones who got out.”
“What happened, Leah?”
“Brian…” Jennifer warned.
Leah sat on the foot of the little girl’s bed, shrugged. “It’s okay. He can’t tell you, so it's okay. I don’t really remember the crash, though the other parts, I remember those too good.” She shuddered. “You want to hear this?” She looked over at Jennifer, who glanced at Brian. He nodded. Leah continued. “So the plane went down, and we were all in the position, you know, heads down, bent over, and when we hit… well, I don’t much remember that part, but when we stopped, there was no way to tell where you were in the plane. I mean, who pays attention to the safety lecture?”
Justin would, Brian thought, looking back at him. Did the eyes look less tightly closed? He couldn’t tell. He turned back to Leah, who was continuing, almost as if in a trance. “All black smoke and you could hear, but you could really feel the heat from the flames, almost unbearable. You couldn’t barely breath, though, couldn’t see, the smoke was just black, like… just blind three feet in front of you. And I heard people, yelling, this way! This way! Those that weren’t screaming, anyway. Down the aisles, up the aisles, you couldn’t tell where any of it was coming from, just madness, uh, and then Justin grabbed my wrist, and yelled that the emergency exit was two seats in front of ours. And I guess he heard Grace there screaming in her seat, screaming, Daddy! Daddy! And he told me to wait for one second, and he crossed the aisle and I couldn’t really see him for a minute. It’s a good thing I stayed put, most of the people who went toward the back… well, I dunno. The plane had ended up tilted slightly, downwards, they must have thought that was better. But I think something ignited…” her voice trailed away, and she looked over at Jennifer, who was crying again. “Oh, should I just…”
“No, keep going. She’s fine,” Brian answered, and glared a warning at Jennifer.
“So Justin comes back and he had Grace there, and was she trying to get away? Get back to her dad, I guess, but he was having none of it. Stronger than he looks. So he had her in one arm, and I grabbed the back of his shirt, and we got to the emergency exit. He covered her face, because the people in those seats, there was, like, debris blocking the door, which was why no one was going out that way. Yeah, nobody was moving there…” She stopped, swallowed. “Anyway. I couldn’t breath, the smoke… in like, less than a minute, no more oxygen, just all smoke in the cabin, and you could hear all that snapping of fire, people choking. Just moaning, just, just… and leaving them there…” She looked up at Brian, her eyes troubled.
“Don’t feel that way,” Brian ordered her. “You were lucky to save yourself.”
“Yeah, you’re right…” But her eyes shifted away, and told him she’d feel any way she damned well please, and it was unlikely to follow his orders. Instead of saying anything, though, she just continued. “So, uh, Justin got me to move this, stuff, that was blocking the door, he insisted the door was there, behind… well…” She shuddered visibly, and Brian wasn’t going to ask her what that “stuff” was, “…he handed me Grace who had gone limp at that point, opened the door to the emergency exit and woosh! A rush of air, swear to God the greatest thing I ever breathed in my life, but it was like it drew the fire, it was suddenly what I think hell would feel like. So he tells me to jump out first. About ten feet down, but I didn’t even hesitate, no problem, out I go. Out and on the ground, I almost kissed it, but I was too busy getting up and trying not to run my ass off, because of course I have to catch Grace. And I hear Justin yelling at people to go this way, and like, a bunch more people jump out, and Justin right after them. And then we got the hell away from the plane, and watched it explode again less than a minute later.” She paused, trembling.
“So you were fine. And Justin was fine?”
“Yeah, near as I could tell. We didn’t talk much waiting, people were stopping their cars and handing us water, and staring at us, or watching the plane burn up, but then the emergency people showed up and chased them off. Fucking voyeurs, not in a good way.”
Brian liked Leah.
She finished explaining, “I didn’t know Justin’s name til you guys walked in. Wow, he really does do the art for Rage, didn’t think he really did until you walked in. How cool, Rage comes for JT.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking so much?” Brian said. A bit late, but he could be as concerned for strangers as was Jennifer.
“No, wait, what happened after that?” Jennifer asked. “Why is he unconscious?”
“I can answer that for you.” A tall, slim man in a doctor’s coat stepped into the room. “I’m Doctor Jones, Mrs. Taylor?”
Jennifer rose. “Yes, Brian and I were just speaking with Leah, trying to learn what happened…”
“Could we step into the corridor? Grace is having a bit of trouble keeping her composure when we try to get her to leave him. She wants to be here when he wakes up.”
“He has to wake up. I have to be here.” The little girl spoke for the first time, and Brian’s brain kicked in as he looked at her. “Is your mother’s name Mary?” he asked, as Jennifer moved toward the door Dr. Jones held open.
Leah answered when Grace kept her mouth shut. “Mary? Yeah, she just left before you came in. Apparently they, uh, found her husband.” She looked away.
Brian nodded, and followed Jennifer out into the corridor. Once there, he turned to Dr. Jones. “So, what happened?”
“First, he’s going to be fine, should be coming out of it. We had to sedate him, but besides that, all he suffered in the crash was smoke inhalation, and no doubt some muscle sprains. We’ll be able to assess those when he’s conscious.”
“But why is he unconscious?”
Dr. Jones gaze flickered, but only Brian really saw the hint of trouble, quickly masked by professionalism. “Well, the accident scene was very confused. The emergency medical technicians were getting to the worst cases, and it seemed Justin was fine at first, but he started having difficulty breathing. We think a panic reaction probably accounts for the initial level of distress, apparently, he began hyperventilating due to inability to breath.”
“And his allergies,” Jennifer added.
“Yes…” the doctor nodded. “The EMT gave him a sedative and a shot of Roceterol at the scene, it’s a muscle relaxant…”
“With acetaminophen.” Brian added grimly. “He’s allergic to it.” Of course, how would they know?
“Yes, we figured that out when he arrived at the hospital, mostly because of the rash that developed across his abdomen. But of course, with the smoke inhalation and a probable anxiety attack, the histamine reaction clogged his throat to an unacceptable degree. The EMT’s gave him air on the way over, and we gave him an anti-histamine at the hospital, and the tube down his throat to aid breathing. And a sedative which put him out.” Dr. Jones stopped. “He’s going to be fine, he should come out of this any time now. We’ll be able to take the tube out when he wakes up.”
Brian didn’t say a word, he was too pissed off, just turned and slammed back into the room, trailed by the other two. Of all the stupid, stupid things to happen, escape a disaster only to be felled by human error. He moved across the room, ignoring Leah’s stare at his grim expression. He pulled the chair up to the side of the bed, and picked up Justin’s hand, the anger leaching from him on contact with the pulse he felt beneath the tender skin, the fragile bones. Justin would hate those words used for him: tender, fragile. But in a sudden crash into the earth... yeah. Delicate as cobwebs, all of us. But Justin was intact now, whole, alive. Fine. Nothing else mattered. “Come on,” he crooned, “come on, Sunshine, time to wake up. I know how much you like to sleep, but I think you’ve had quite enough now…”
He hadn’t expected Justin’s eyes to flutter open, but they did, and the blue stare gazed up at the ceiling, and then turned toward Brian. And just looked at him, cloudy, confused. Brian smiled. “Hey,” he said. “The doctors say you’re going to be fine.”
“Oh, thank God,” Jennifer breathed.
Dr. Jones moved to the opposite side of the bed from where Brian sat. Justin looked over at the doctor, then back at Brian. “Bet you want that tube out of your throat,” Brian said to him. He watched the nod that answered him. “See, my turn to read your mind. And now, you’re thinking, any idiot could figure out I want a fucking tube out of my throat.” Brian squeezed Justin’s hand again, and the answering grip was almost painful, so strong, as if he would never let go.
“Hi, Justin,” Dr. Jones said, stepping forward. “I’m Dr. Jones, the one who put that thing down your airway. You were having trouble breathing, do you remember?” Justin frowned, then nodded. “Okay, we’re going to take it out now. What I need you to do is take a really deep breath, and exhale when I tell you, okay?” God, if that guy said okay again, Brian was going to lose it. “Okay, breath in… good, and exhale.” And with the sound of escaping air, the doctor pulled the tube out of Justin’s throat. Justin started coughing wildly. “Is there water anywhere?” Brian asked, looking around. He would lose it later. Leah moved to a pitcher on the table next to Grace’s bed, filled up one of the cups and handed it to the doctor. Brian helped Justin to sit up, and the doctor handed him the cup. Justin gulped at the contents. He handed it off to Brian, who watched closely as Justin took two deep breaths, and then a long, final sigh before he began breathing normally.
“How are you feeling, Justin?” Dr. Jones asked, moving to the end of the bed and picking up the chart that hung there, to make a note. He hooked it back into place, and looked up toward his patient.
“Fine, I guess, considering.” His voice was a harsh whisper. “My throat is killing me. My back hurts.”
“You had an adverse reaction to the shot the EMT gave you on the scene, but the reaction was especially bad because of the state of shock you were in, along with the smoke inhalation. How’s your breathing?”
“I can do it, so I guess okay.” He glanced over at Brian. “Where am I?”
Brian continued to stroke the back of his hand, as the doctor answered, “Cook County Hospital. Chicago. Do you remember the plane crash?”
Justin nodded, closed his eyes.
“Maybe it’s better we don’t talk about that right now,” Jennifer interjected. “Justin, honey, we came as soon as we could.”
His eyes shifted to his mother. “Mom? And, Brian. When’d you get here?”
“We’ve been here, in Chicago, for a little while. We just got to the hospital.”
“I’m glad,” Justin said, turning his gaze back to Brian. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Brian leaned forward and kissed him, feeling his partner’s warm lips sigh into his. And his world, a world that had shattered just that morning, righted itself, and began to fall together again.
Jones cleared his throat, and Brian pulled back to look at the doctor with an eyebrow quirked up. Justin moved Brian’s hand up to his face, rubbing his cheek against the sensitive skin of the long fingers that moved upward, into his hair.
“We’ll check you into the hospital for observation, we want to keep you overnight,” Dr. Jones said, looking as if he wished he hadn’t put the chart down just yet, as if he needed to do something with his hands.
“No.” Justin said as emphatically as he could, his voice rising to a scratchy gasp that was painful to just listen to.
“You need to stay in the hospital, it’s just one night. Just to make sure you’re okay,” Brian told him.
“I want to go home,” Justin insisted. He breathed deeply and blinked. Brian could see he was fighting to not give into an emotional reaction that was about far more than being forced to stay in the hospital overnight. “No one can keep me here if I want to go home.” A tiny bead of wetness eked out of the corner of his eye.
Brian ran his thumb up over the spot, clearing the single escaping tear away. “I’ll be here with you. We’ll move you into a private room, I’ll watch t.v. with you, all night. Cartoons, if you want. I’ll even watch the Power Sponge Girls. Whatever you want. Okay?”
“Well…” the doctor began, but Brian glared at him. “We’ll see what we can do. I’ll be back in a little while, and then we’ll get you moved somewhere more comfortable.” Jones nodded, and walked out.
“You saved my life.” Leah had come up into the doctor’s place. Grace was standing at her side.
“Hey,” Justin said, looking at them. “You guys are okay?”
Grace walked up to him, and put her small arms around his right bicep, the arm Brian was not stroking, and squeezed. Then she stepped back, still saying nothing, and slipped her hand in Leah’s.
“I got to meet not only the illustrator of one of my favorite comics, I got to meet Rage himself,” Leah said to Justin with a bare hint of a smile.
“So you believe me now?”
“Yeah, okay, you really are the artist, sheesh, hell of a way to settle an argument.” She glanced over at Brian, who kept his gaze on Justin, his hand moving across Justin’s neck, into his hair, never still. “Uh… we were only waiting to see if, um, when you were going to wake up. I promised Grace’s mom I’d meet her in the cafeteria, so we’re um, gonna go. Grace needs to eat.” She turned to the little girl. “You ready to go see your Mom now, Grace, now you know Justin’s okay?” Grace nodded. They exited, Leah promising to say goodbye before her mother flew in and took her back to California.
Tactful for that age, Brian thought. Jennifer stood as well. “I’m going to go make arrangements for a transfer to a more comfortable room.”
“Private, Jennifer.”
“Yes, of course.” And she left.
Justin turned his gaze away from the door shutting behind his mother, to find Brian coming up out of the chair and onto the bed. He turned into the other man, as Brian’s arms came up around his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling the shuddering breaths Brian finally allowed himself now that there was no one else in the room to see. Justin held him around the rib cage, squeezing tightly, suspecting Brian was suppressing his own urge to gather him as closely as possible, so Justin held on fiercely to try and still the tremors he could feel shaking the body pressed up against his. He pushed back on Brian’s shoulder slightly, wanting to see his face. “I’m glad you were here when I woke up,” he said when their eyes met. Brian leaned his head in so that their foreheads touched, their breath sharing the same air. “I’m glad… thank God you’re okay,” Brian answered.
“I’m sorry,” Justin whispered. Much better, at this distance, he didn’t need to try to speak to make himself heard. His throat felt as though he had had glass for breakfast.
Brian pulled his head back. “Sorry? Why are *you* sorry?”
“That you had to go through this. Again.”
“Oh, Jesus, Justin. This isn’t… I knew you were okay. You had to be. And until I heard or saw anything that told me anything else, you had to be okay. I was only frustrated in trying to find out where you were, so I could make sure I was right. You know me, I’m always right. But I needed to know I was right. So… it wasn’t like that last time. Sorry’s…”
“Yeah, bullshit,” Justin smiled slightly. But Brian was right, of course, Justin thought. This was different from last time. This time I woke up and he was there. All the difference in the world.
“Even the video of the crash didn’t make me think…”
“There’s a video?”
“You don’t want to see it.”
“I don’t have to. Not yet.” They were quiet again, just holding each other. Justin leaned onto Brian’s shoulder, content to feel his lover’s warm hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. That felt real good; his muscles there were starting to ache.
“Justin?”
“Hm.”
“I was pretty… well, unhappy with how I’d let you walk out of my office. And then didn’t call you.”
“Missed the phone sex?”
“Yeah, and the blow job you promised me for the ride to the airport.”
Justin smiled drowsily. He was starting to zone out. “Justin? Justin!”
“Jesus, Brian, I’m fine, just, that feels really good. My back is killing me.”
“We’ll get you some nice happy drugs, drugs prescribed by a licensed pharmacologist, that you’re not allergic to. Then your mom will get you a comfortable, private room…”
“Or, knowing my day, I’ll end up with the only bed left in the hospital in a ward of four other people.”
“And I’ll raise holy hell until we get what we want.”
“So how many people did you scream at today, getting here?”
Brian smiled, a real smile. “You’d be proud, not many. I wanted to, tried to, even. But… they were all just trying to help. Jesus, it was so fucked up…” His hand moved up Justin’s back, to curl his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of the young man’s neck.
Justin felt his grogginess lifting, and he examined the haunted look in Brian’s eyes. “You need to stay with me tonight.”
Brian nodded. “Yeah, I think you need me to.”
“Yeah.”
Their heads were moving in toward each other again when Jennifer returned to announce that they’d be moving after Justin had been checked out one last time by a nurse.
“And you’ll stay with me.”
“And I’ll stay with you.”
Chapters 6-end
Author's Note: Okay, here’s a disclaimer about the medical info here: I just plain made shit up. Any of you medical people get pissy, if you have a more likely scenerio regarding certain “facts” I’ve given as explanation to move the story along, feel free to email me and I’ll fix them. Unless your suggestion is only the unhelpful “this could never happen” - I would then counter with what I call the Jurassic Park “frog DNA” effect. Sometimes you gotta throw some frog DNA in to forward the story, and all you scientists who can’t get past the outrage to reality, well, what’s bad science for some is pop culture to the rest of us.
IV
He was alive. Unconscious, but alive. Beyond that, there had been no information, only that he was at Cook County Hospital. Warburton was unable to tell them more; the skin on Jennifer’s face looked stretched across those high cheekbones as she stared at the picture. No burns, no marks, nothing, just…
“Why does he have a tube down his throat?” But Warburton had been unable to answer. Instead, he merely summoned one of his assistants to bring them down to the car he’d arranged to take them to the hospital. The car was parked in the back, avoiding the media out front.
“How long will this take?” Brian asked the driver as they slid into the back seat.
“Twenty minutes, sir.” The driver pulled away from the curb, into the back road leading out of the airport. “Usually longer, but I’m going to go real fast for you. I’m sure any police officer who’d stop us will just give us an escort.”
Brian nodded. Jennifer, who had started to shake, leaned into him, her head bowing into his chest. “He’s alive, thank God…”
Brian put an arm around her back, somewhat awkwardly, and let her cry as she allowed her fear to pour out. She’d have to pull together before they reached the hospital. It wasn’t over yet.
He watched the highway slip by, nothing to see, nothing to say. He looked down at Jennifer’s head. She had stopped crying, but hadn’t pulled away. She wasn’t looking up, was just resting there. He knew how she felt, drained, as if he’d never be able to get out of the cab on his legs and walk, toward who knew what. But immobility, the desire to just sink into this seat and never move again, or even worse and of course completely out of the question, to tell the driver to just keep driving, to never have to face what might be waiting there, that wasn’t acceptable; he knew he had to do this. He had to know. But still, the impulse to flee… Justin may be alive, but they still knew nothing. Wasn’t that better, sometimes? Brian stared out the window, glad Jennifer wasn’t watching their car racing through the traffic, cutting too close in front of an SUV into the right lane, to zoom around the idiot in the high speed lane who wasn’t moving past the slower lanes quicklly enough. Damn, this driver was good. Brian was going to remember this guy, next time he was in Chicago. For business, he emphasized to himself. Justin was going to be fine. Had to be fine.
He wondered if they would have another three day wait to find out if Justin would wake up. When he would. But except for that tube to aid breathing... He was fine. He looked fine, from the picure. Unmarked, but unconscious...
“Do you want me to find the news on the radio?” the driver asked, coming right up to the bumper of another car that was driving too slow for him.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jennifer’s breathing had evened out, and he hoped she might be sleeping. Or at least resting. Hearing details about the crash, though, was definitely not such a hot idea, hearing the numbers, the percentage of the dead… that was best kept for later. After they knew Justin was fine. And Justin was fine, he repeated that last line in his head. Please, God. Let him be fine.
The car in front of theirs finally moved aside, tired of the big car on its bumper, flicking the high beams on it. Their driver took his hand away from the sound system at Brian’s last words, put both hands on the wheel, and hit the gas.
Brian remembered that long ago three day wait at the hospital, not really that long ago, was it? watching the news obsessively for some hint of what-the-fuck; the reports of Hobbes’ hospitalization (at another medical center; the system might screw them later, but the emergency personnel were fairly sensitive on the first night). He remembered the strain on Jennifer’s face then, and he sure as hell remembered the angry, baffled stare every time she looked at him. Michael would return the glare when he thought Brian wasn’t looking. He hadn’t cared in those three days, hadn’t cared what anyone thought, totally focused to the exclusion of all else on those words, the same one in his head now, Please, God… What’s the saying about atheists in foxholes?
The news had distracted him from considering every one else’s pain and fear, the worried looks that he hadn’t been able to face. The fact that he could only receive his information from Michael, or Debbie after they had spoken to Jennifer, who had refused to speak to him at all. The doctors would pull her aside, and then Brian would receive the facts third hand and whenever she decided he’d suffered enough - never, ever enough, he was sure, then she would dole out the words, seizures, brain swelling, operations, drug-induced coma, he might not revive… and he had been unable to question the medical professionals himself, to ask any questions, to say anything at all, helpless to do anything with his despair, only turn it inward, castigating himself. And here he was, reapproaching that hell.
But it was different now. And it was more than the fact that he had not been responsible for 512, because God knew he had plenty to blame himself for this time, for allowing Justin to get to the airport and on a plane to LA on his own, for refusing to bend and call him, to apologize without apologizing, to let Justin know Brian was not happy with how things were left. Nope, that steely, smooth helmet around his heart to shield himself from the blows that just might come in, gotta make sure that’s in place, all the time, every second, no one’s getting past it. Everything gets shut out. And he was only watching, doing nothing as Justin picked out a brand new heart helmet of his own. Hell, he was helping him pick a fit.
He could only admit to himself now, that that obsessive watching of the news those years ago, watching for reports of Hobbes’ indictment, the charges, the reactions of the media, at the time he’d told himself he needed to stay informed (when the only information he cared about was kept from him, filtered through Jennifer’s careful editing of what she wanted him to know, which hadn’t been much, just the big points, probably calculated as the most painful parts she allowed to batter him - seizures, operation, blood loss…), that obsessive news watching had only been a recreation the distance he was being kept from Justin, as if he had no right to even feel concern. It had been his way of pretending that that distance was his choice, that he was in control of where he had placed himself, all along, at arm’s length, on the outside, looking in. And only seconds before, before that horrifying cracking, that sound of more than bone being crushed that echoed through the parking garage, his own consideration that maybe, just maybe, he might move in closer to this boy with the beautiful smile, just toward him, not anything else, no. And then, the smile was gone. When had he seen it, really seen it, since?
Jennifer heaved a huge sigh, and sat up, passing her hands over her cheeks, wiping away the damp. “Are we there yet?” she asked.
So different this time. She had not even tried to take control when she walked into the waiting area, just handed management over to Brian, the contact with Warburton, the approach to the airline personnel to find out if any more news had come in.
How things had changed, he thought, as Jennifer asked him, “How are you doing?” and he’d answered, “Bout as well as you.”
Had he changed enough? Things were different this time, and there was no way he was going anywhere once he’d found his partner, not this time - not that he thought Jennifer was going to tell him to go home, there was nothing he could do. More specifically, that Debbie was going to tell him that Jennifer wanted him to leave. That it was better Justin not see him. Nope, not this time, there would be no fighting past the media camped out at the entrance to the hospital, no almost punching that camera man who got in his way, no rude and unbelievable questions shouted at him, “Mr. Kinney, did you have a relationship with Chris Hobbes?” “Mr. Kinney, do you blame yourself for this?” “Mr. Kinney, is Justin dead?” “Brian, do you blame yourself?”
Not this time.
Instead of that, this time there was Jennifer’s face filled with concern, not just for Justin, but for him as well. A support center that took for granted his place in Justin’s life without comment. The media kept at bay. And that silent and supportive regard of other people that didn’t terrify him, the way that support had been moved into place without his permission, there at his back, not just telling him but enacting the fact that he didn’t have to stand alone, because it was quietly assumed that he was already part of something bigger than just himself, no longer the odd man out, looking in. He was part of a bigger reality, of him and Justin, this thing that was them. What happened to Justin happened to him. Everyone seemed to just get that, before he really understood the full implications himself, and they treated him with the very care he had been terrified of, lifted a control he thought he needed to keep to himself, the illusion of a control he didn’t really have. And thank God it had been taken from him, so he could focus on the more important things, namely, being there when Justin needed him, keeping his own shit together so he could be there when his lover woke up. When, when he woke up. Being there, only for that, keeping his focus where it belonged, and everyone else taking care of the bullshit that just didn’t matter in the face of Justin who needed him now. Those same forces that had kept him away, last time, now turned to help him through.
It was more than relief, that external support; it was a necessary part of not losing his mind through this whole endless day. He did not realize until the groundwork was placed under him by those who would ensure it, that the security it offered was possible. And he knew that he could never summon it on his own, the man who would take care of everything, all the time, all by himself. This was something he needed more than anything else, and he hadn’t realized it until they had placed it under him, without his even asking.
Was that what Justin had been trying to show him, all that time ago with his relentless “I’m killing you with kindness” tactics, showing Brian that he could have the supporting groundwork of a caring community under him, ready to move into place when, not if, when life shit on you? Killing him, indeed. He wasn’t the same person he had been that night he’d emerged from Babylon to see the beautiful boy walking toward him, leaning under that street lamp so the light illuminated his blonde hair, a halo. Not those beautiful angels from the watered down children’s stories, not the cherubs. Gabriel, maybe, well, one of the seraphim, that’s how the memory of Justin in that moment under the light struck him - the mighty Angel who had led the battle against Satan and his minions for control of heaven.
Oh, God, Kinney, he grimaced to himself, when you start pulling out the symbolism, you really go way out on the extremes, don’t you? Just like everything else. No wonder you’re so competent as an advertiser for our good ol’ mass produced consumer industry. One cliché fits all. Let’s not turn this into another wild fantasy, he told himself, Justin was real, and too special for that. He wasn’t an angel; he was his lover, pulling him onto more solid ground, despite all of Brian’s self-destructive resistance. Justin pulled him more to the civilized center, away from his natural instinct to careen wildly away, the wild boy goes off. But life, and all its shit, isn’t avoided that way, is it? Just defamiliarized. The pain, dealt with in more centralized locations, in pursuit after the lost boy, never dealt with, always left intact. We take it with us. You can run… More clichés.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t doomed to his life. If Justin was okay.
And he was fine. He was fine. Please God…
His phone rang. Bemused for a moment at the sound, he took a moment to realize what the sound was, not the special rings he had for each speed dial number, but the generic ringer for unfamiliar calls. He pulled the phone out of his coat, looked at display. Completely unfamiliar, he felt his heart rate pick up. He’d been ignoring the usual suspects; Lindsay, Michael again. But this wasn’t a Pittsburgh area code and the screen was not bringing up any familiar name, just a number with an area code he didn’t recognize, and so he flipped the phone open and answered, “Hello?” Jennifer watched intently, her chest stilling as her breath caught and held.
“Brian! Where are you! I’m a father! Where have you been, you asshole?”
“Michael… you’re not using your own phone.”
“Yeah, I’m using one of Melanie’s friends’ phone who’s down from Ohio, did you hear me, I’m a father! You wouldn’t believe it, and by the way, you should be here, this reminded me so much of when Gus was born…”
“Michael…”
“I mean, even happening after midnight and all the munchers everywhere…”
“Michael!”
“What? Aren’t you going to say congratulations at least? You were right about one thing, tick tick tick, my God, I think I’m…” Brian took the phone away from his ear, afraid of what he might say next. He took a deep breath, tried to gather himself to deal with this without destroying Mikey’s psyche in one sentence.
Jennifer saw the look on Brian’s face, held out her hand, crooking her forefinger and motioning he hand the phone over. Brian dumped the thing in her slim palm. She lifted it to her ear, her voice smooth and controlled. “Michael, it’s Jennifer Taylor.”
Pause. “That’s wonderful, Michael, Brian offers his congratulations, and of course, so do I…”
Another long, long pause. Jennifer closed her eyes.
“Yes, Michael, I’m sure you’re always there for each other, but…”
Pause.
“We’ll be there in about five minutes,” the driver said.
Brian looked over at Jennifer, she glanced at the driver, and nodded to Brian that she’d heard. “I’m sorry, Michael, wait a second, you see… Michael, shut the fuck up.”
Whoa. Brian thought he saw the driver glance back in the mirror. Didn’t expect that from the little woman.
“We’re both very happy for you, we both think it’s wonderful, but Brian can’t talk to you right now because Justin was on board flight 512, did you hear about the plane that went down this morning? …Yes, *that* airplane crash.” As opposed to all the other plane crashes this morning, Brian could just imagine what Michael had said to prompt the dryness in Jennifer’s voice; he doubted Michael even heard the tone that almost crackled with impatience held at bay, but Brian was treated to the full eye roll illustrating what lay beneath the considerate words on her smooth surface.
“Of course, he didn’t want to speak with you until we knew Justin was okay. He’s alive, we’ve just learned, and, oh… we’re pulling up to the hospital. We’ll call later.” And she snapped the phone closed, handed it back.
Brian looked out the window as they took the ramp off the highway, no hospital in sight. He looked back at Jennifer.
She smiled, barely. “You just have to know how to handle people, Brian,” she said.
“You officially scare me.”
“Comes with the job, the mother-in-law handbook, rule number 52, ‘intimidation.’ Sons-in-law should make sure they’re on mom’s good side at all times.”
Brian’s eyes widened as he stared at her. Wow, two men down in two minutes.
“We’re here.” The driver turned down a side street, and they pulled up to the emergency room door.
When they exited the car, a young woman was waiting for them. “Mr. Kinney? Mrs. Taylor? I’m Ellie Rodriguez, with the hospital.”
V
“I’m Ellie Rodriguez, with the hospital. Justin’s going to be fine.”
He wasn’t sure he heard her at first, the news so unexpected; his memory had steeled him for much, much worse, flashing to memories of the last time Justin had been in a hospital. And then, just like that, Justin’s going to be fine.
If he wasn’t quite taking in what he had just heard, Ellie’s broad smile backed it up, her brilliant teeth shining in beautiful contrast to her dark skin, striking him with its sudden radiance, all the more brilliant for its completely taking him by surprise. He felt a boulder roll off of his stomach. Ellie was saying, “I can only begin to imagine how great it must be to hear that, I’m so happy just to be able to say the words.”
Jennifer let out a cry. “Oh, thank God.”
Brian felt his shoulders relax, and, unable to take in anything but the sudden relief sweeping through him, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw Jennifer shaking, his own expression surely mirrored in her features as they both exhaled and exchanged a glance, travelers at the end of a harrowing journey. “Can we see him?” she asked.
“Yes, of course…” Ellie turned and walked into the emergency room.
Brian caught up to her. “What’s the breathing tube all about? We saw the picture the hospital sent over…”
“I’ll let the doctor tell you, I really don’t have the details.” Ellie led them quickly down the bright corridor, to a room toward the back of the department. They passed a woman weeping loudly, a young man standing to the side, staring at her helplessly, glancing from her to the slatted window behind him. A few people leaned against walls, the rigid waiting apparent in their every stance. Then Ellie opened a door to their right, and led them into a small room with two beds. A little girl lay back against the headboard of the first bed. Her head was turned toward Justin, who lay in the bed next to the window. He was unconscious still, very pale, the breathing tube still down his throat. The sheet was pulled to his waist, revealing the awful hospital gown. Jennifer crossed the space quickly, Brian a step behind. “I’ll go get the doctor,” Ellie said, stepping out.
Brian positioned himself over his partner. His eyes greedily took in the rise and fall of Justin’s chest, the movement of the eyes behind his closed lids. His face was very pale. Brian looked up and met Jennifer’s gaze. She groped her way over to the chair in the corner, and fell into it.
“That’s it, you’re Rage.”
He almost didn’t realize that the voice coming from behind him was real and not a fucked up fantasy due to his sudden release from the rack of stress; the words seemed so out of context. He turned around, and saw a skinny teenage girl sitting in the chair at the other end of the room, next to the little girl on the bed.
“Uh… Actually, I’m Brian.”
“Yeah, but you’re Rage, right? His,” she gestured toward Justin, “comic hero guy. So it really is JT.” Her voice was coming out in a fit of hoarse whispers and scratchy resonances as she spoke.
Brian nodded at her. “Were you on the plane?”
“In the seat next to him. I’m Leah.” Leah stood, walked around the first bed, and looked up at Brian. That explained the voice: smoke inhalation. She looked fine.
“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry, it’s terrible what you went through. How are you doing?” Jennifer asked. Trust her to focus on the girl, when all Brian wanted to ask her was what the fuck had happened to Justin. Obviously, the girl was fine. She was standing, wasn’t she?
“I’m… okay. Well, thanks to him. Justin… right? I didn’t get his real name on the plane. And then… well, we weren’t doing introductions after. He saved my life. Both our lives.” She gestured to the little girl. “A bunch of other people too, they want to thank him. Lots of other people were… not fine. Even some of the ones who got out.”
“What happened, Leah?”
“Brian…” Jennifer warned.
Leah sat on the foot of the little girl’s bed, shrugged. “It’s okay. He can’t tell you, so it's okay. I don’t really remember the crash, though the other parts, I remember those too good.” She shuddered. “You want to hear this?” She looked over at Jennifer, who glanced at Brian. He nodded. Leah continued. “So the plane went down, and we were all in the position, you know, heads down, bent over, and when we hit… well, I don’t much remember that part, but when we stopped, there was no way to tell where you were in the plane. I mean, who pays attention to the safety lecture?”
Justin would, Brian thought, looking back at him. Did the eyes look less tightly closed? He couldn’t tell. He turned back to Leah, who was continuing, almost as if in a trance. “All black smoke and you could hear, but you could really feel the heat from the flames, almost unbearable. You couldn’t barely breath, though, couldn’t see, the smoke was just black, like… just blind three feet in front of you. And I heard people, yelling, this way! This way! Those that weren’t screaming, anyway. Down the aisles, up the aisles, you couldn’t tell where any of it was coming from, just madness, uh, and then Justin grabbed my wrist, and yelled that the emergency exit was two seats in front of ours. And I guess he heard Grace there screaming in her seat, screaming, Daddy! Daddy! And he told me to wait for one second, and he crossed the aisle and I couldn’t really see him for a minute. It’s a good thing I stayed put, most of the people who went toward the back… well, I dunno. The plane had ended up tilted slightly, downwards, they must have thought that was better. But I think something ignited…” her voice trailed away, and she looked over at Jennifer, who was crying again. “Oh, should I just…”
“No, keep going. She’s fine,” Brian answered, and glared a warning at Jennifer.
“So Justin comes back and he had Grace there, and was she trying to get away? Get back to her dad, I guess, but he was having none of it. Stronger than he looks. So he had her in one arm, and I grabbed the back of his shirt, and we got to the emergency exit. He covered her face, because the people in those seats, there was, like, debris blocking the door, which was why no one was going out that way. Yeah, nobody was moving there…” She stopped, swallowed. “Anyway. I couldn’t breath, the smoke… in like, less than a minute, no more oxygen, just all smoke in the cabin, and you could hear all that snapping of fire, people choking. Just moaning, just, just… and leaving them there…” She looked up at Brian, her eyes troubled.
“Don’t feel that way,” Brian ordered her. “You were lucky to save yourself.”
“Yeah, you’re right…” But her eyes shifted away, and told him she’d feel any way she damned well please, and it was unlikely to follow his orders. Instead of saying anything, though, she just continued. “So, uh, Justin got me to move this, stuff, that was blocking the door, he insisted the door was there, behind… well…” She shuddered visibly, and Brian wasn’t going to ask her what that “stuff” was, “…he handed me Grace who had gone limp at that point, opened the door to the emergency exit and woosh! A rush of air, swear to God the greatest thing I ever breathed in my life, but it was like it drew the fire, it was suddenly what I think hell would feel like. So he tells me to jump out first. About ten feet down, but I didn’t even hesitate, no problem, out I go. Out and on the ground, I almost kissed it, but I was too busy getting up and trying not to run my ass off, because of course I have to catch Grace. And I hear Justin yelling at people to go this way, and like, a bunch more people jump out, and Justin right after them. And then we got the hell away from the plane, and watched it explode again less than a minute later.” She paused, trembling.
“So you were fine. And Justin was fine?”
“Yeah, near as I could tell. We didn’t talk much waiting, people were stopping their cars and handing us water, and staring at us, or watching the plane burn up, but then the emergency people showed up and chased them off. Fucking voyeurs, not in a good way.”
Brian liked Leah.
She finished explaining, “I didn’t know Justin’s name til you guys walked in. Wow, he really does do the art for Rage, didn’t think he really did until you walked in. How cool, Rage comes for JT.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking so much?” Brian said. A bit late, but he could be as concerned for strangers as was Jennifer.
“No, wait, what happened after that?” Jennifer asked. “Why is he unconscious?”
“I can answer that for you.” A tall, slim man in a doctor’s coat stepped into the room. “I’m Doctor Jones, Mrs. Taylor?”
Jennifer rose. “Yes, Brian and I were just speaking with Leah, trying to learn what happened…”
“Could we step into the corridor? Grace is having a bit of trouble keeping her composure when we try to get her to leave him. She wants to be here when he wakes up.”
“He has to wake up. I have to be here.” The little girl spoke for the first time, and Brian’s brain kicked in as he looked at her. “Is your mother’s name Mary?” he asked, as Jennifer moved toward the door Dr. Jones held open.
Leah answered when Grace kept her mouth shut. “Mary? Yeah, she just left before you came in. Apparently they, uh, found her husband.” She looked away.
Brian nodded, and followed Jennifer out into the corridor. Once there, he turned to Dr. Jones. “So, what happened?”
“First, he’s going to be fine, should be coming out of it. We had to sedate him, but besides that, all he suffered in the crash was smoke inhalation, and no doubt some muscle sprains. We’ll be able to assess those when he’s conscious.”
“But why is he unconscious?”
Dr. Jones gaze flickered, but only Brian really saw the hint of trouble, quickly masked by professionalism. “Well, the accident scene was very confused. The emergency medical technicians were getting to the worst cases, and it seemed Justin was fine at first, but he started having difficulty breathing. We think a panic reaction probably accounts for the initial level of distress, apparently, he began hyperventilating due to inability to breath.”
“And his allergies,” Jennifer added.
“Yes…” the doctor nodded. “The EMT gave him a sedative and a shot of Roceterol at the scene, it’s a muscle relaxant…”
“With acetaminophen.” Brian added grimly. “He’s allergic to it.” Of course, how would they know?
“Yes, we figured that out when he arrived at the hospital, mostly because of the rash that developed across his abdomen. But of course, with the smoke inhalation and a probable anxiety attack, the histamine reaction clogged his throat to an unacceptable degree. The EMT’s gave him air on the way over, and we gave him an anti-histamine at the hospital, and the tube down his throat to aid breathing. And a sedative which put him out.” Dr. Jones stopped. “He’s going to be fine, he should come out of this any time now. We’ll be able to take the tube out when he wakes up.”
Brian didn’t say a word, he was too pissed off, just turned and slammed back into the room, trailed by the other two. Of all the stupid, stupid things to happen, escape a disaster only to be felled by human error. He moved across the room, ignoring Leah’s stare at his grim expression. He pulled the chair up to the side of the bed, and picked up Justin’s hand, the anger leaching from him on contact with the pulse he felt beneath the tender skin, the fragile bones. Justin would hate those words used for him: tender, fragile. But in a sudden crash into the earth... yeah. Delicate as cobwebs, all of us. But Justin was intact now, whole, alive. Fine. Nothing else mattered. “Come on,” he crooned, “come on, Sunshine, time to wake up. I know how much you like to sleep, but I think you’ve had quite enough now…”
He hadn’t expected Justin’s eyes to flutter open, but they did, and the blue stare gazed up at the ceiling, and then turned toward Brian. And just looked at him, cloudy, confused. Brian smiled. “Hey,” he said. “The doctors say you’re going to be fine.”
“Oh, thank God,” Jennifer breathed.
Dr. Jones moved to the opposite side of the bed from where Brian sat. Justin looked over at the doctor, then back at Brian. “Bet you want that tube out of your throat,” Brian said to him. He watched the nod that answered him. “See, my turn to read your mind. And now, you’re thinking, any idiot could figure out I want a fucking tube out of my throat.” Brian squeezed Justin’s hand again, and the answering grip was almost painful, so strong, as if he would never let go.
“Hi, Justin,” Dr. Jones said, stepping forward. “I’m Dr. Jones, the one who put that thing down your airway. You were having trouble breathing, do you remember?” Justin frowned, then nodded. “Okay, we’re going to take it out now. What I need you to do is take a really deep breath, and exhale when I tell you, okay?” God, if that guy said okay again, Brian was going to lose it. “Okay, breath in… good, and exhale.” And with the sound of escaping air, the doctor pulled the tube out of Justin’s throat. Justin started coughing wildly. “Is there water anywhere?” Brian asked, looking around. He would lose it later. Leah moved to a pitcher on the table next to Grace’s bed, filled up one of the cups and handed it to the doctor. Brian helped Justin to sit up, and the doctor handed him the cup. Justin gulped at the contents. He handed it off to Brian, who watched closely as Justin took two deep breaths, and then a long, final sigh before he began breathing normally.
“How are you feeling, Justin?” Dr. Jones asked, moving to the end of the bed and picking up the chart that hung there, to make a note. He hooked it back into place, and looked up toward his patient.
“Fine, I guess, considering.” His voice was a harsh whisper. “My throat is killing me. My back hurts.”
“You had an adverse reaction to the shot the EMT gave you on the scene, but the reaction was especially bad because of the state of shock you were in, along with the smoke inhalation. How’s your breathing?”
“I can do it, so I guess okay.” He glanced over at Brian. “Where am I?”
Brian continued to stroke the back of his hand, as the doctor answered, “Cook County Hospital. Chicago. Do you remember the plane crash?”
Justin nodded, closed his eyes.
“Maybe it’s better we don’t talk about that right now,” Jennifer interjected. “Justin, honey, we came as soon as we could.”
His eyes shifted to his mother. “Mom? And, Brian. When’d you get here?”
“We’ve been here, in Chicago, for a little while. We just got to the hospital.”
“I’m glad,” Justin said, turning his gaze back to Brian. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Brian leaned forward and kissed him, feeling his partner’s warm lips sigh into his. And his world, a world that had shattered just that morning, righted itself, and began to fall together again.
Jones cleared his throat, and Brian pulled back to look at the doctor with an eyebrow quirked up. Justin moved Brian’s hand up to his face, rubbing his cheek against the sensitive skin of the long fingers that moved upward, into his hair.
“We’ll check you into the hospital for observation, we want to keep you overnight,” Dr. Jones said, looking as if he wished he hadn’t put the chart down just yet, as if he needed to do something with his hands.
“No.” Justin said as emphatically as he could, his voice rising to a scratchy gasp that was painful to just listen to.
“You need to stay in the hospital, it’s just one night. Just to make sure you’re okay,” Brian told him.
“I want to go home,” Justin insisted. He breathed deeply and blinked. Brian could see he was fighting to not give into an emotional reaction that was about far more than being forced to stay in the hospital overnight. “No one can keep me here if I want to go home.” A tiny bead of wetness eked out of the corner of his eye.
Brian ran his thumb up over the spot, clearing the single escaping tear away. “I’ll be here with you. We’ll move you into a private room, I’ll watch t.v. with you, all night. Cartoons, if you want. I’ll even watch the Power Sponge Girls. Whatever you want. Okay?”
“Well…” the doctor began, but Brian glared at him. “We’ll see what we can do. I’ll be back in a little while, and then we’ll get you moved somewhere more comfortable.” Jones nodded, and walked out.
“You saved my life.” Leah had come up into the doctor’s place. Grace was standing at her side.
“Hey,” Justin said, looking at them. “You guys are okay?”
Grace walked up to him, and put her small arms around his right bicep, the arm Brian was not stroking, and squeezed. Then she stepped back, still saying nothing, and slipped her hand in Leah’s.
“I got to meet not only the illustrator of one of my favorite comics, I got to meet Rage himself,” Leah said to Justin with a bare hint of a smile.
“So you believe me now?”
“Yeah, okay, you really are the artist, sheesh, hell of a way to settle an argument.” She glanced over at Brian, who kept his gaze on Justin, his hand moving across Justin’s neck, into his hair, never still. “Uh… we were only waiting to see if, um, when you were going to wake up. I promised Grace’s mom I’d meet her in the cafeteria, so we’re um, gonna go. Grace needs to eat.” She turned to the little girl. “You ready to go see your Mom now, Grace, now you know Justin’s okay?” Grace nodded. They exited, Leah promising to say goodbye before her mother flew in and took her back to California.
Tactful for that age, Brian thought. Jennifer stood as well. “I’m going to go make arrangements for a transfer to a more comfortable room.”
“Private, Jennifer.”
“Yes, of course.” And she left.
Justin turned his gaze away from the door shutting behind his mother, to find Brian coming up out of the chair and onto the bed. He turned into the other man, as Brian’s arms came up around his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling the shuddering breaths Brian finally allowed himself now that there was no one else in the room to see. Justin held him around the rib cage, squeezing tightly, suspecting Brian was suppressing his own urge to gather him as closely as possible, so Justin held on fiercely to try and still the tremors he could feel shaking the body pressed up against his. He pushed back on Brian’s shoulder slightly, wanting to see his face. “I’m glad you were here when I woke up,” he said when their eyes met. Brian leaned his head in so that their foreheads touched, their breath sharing the same air. “I’m glad… thank God you’re okay,” Brian answered.
“I’m sorry,” Justin whispered. Much better, at this distance, he didn’t need to try to speak to make himself heard. His throat felt as though he had had glass for breakfast.
Brian pulled his head back. “Sorry? Why are *you* sorry?”
“That you had to go through this. Again.”
“Oh, Jesus, Justin. This isn’t… I knew you were okay. You had to be. And until I heard or saw anything that told me anything else, you had to be okay. I was only frustrated in trying to find out where you were, so I could make sure I was right. You know me, I’m always right. But I needed to know I was right. So… it wasn’t like that last time. Sorry’s…”
“Yeah, bullshit,” Justin smiled slightly. But Brian was right, of course, Justin thought. This was different from last time. This time I woke up and he was there. All the difference in the world.
“Even the video of the crash didn’t make me think…”
“There’s a video?”
“You don’t want to see it.”
“I don’t have to. Not yet.” They were quiet again, just holding each other. Justin leaned onto Brian’s shoulder, content to feel his lover’s warm hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. That felt real good; his muscles there were starting to ache.
“Justin?”
“Hm.”
“I was pretty… well, unhappy with how I’d let you walk out of my office. And then didn’t call you.”
“Missed the phone sex?”
“Yeah, and the blow job you promised me for the ride to the airport.”
Justin smiled drowsily. He was starting to zone out. “Justin? Justin!”
“Jesus, Brian, I’m fine, just, that feels really good. My back is killing me.”
“We’ll get you some nice happy drugs, drugs prescribed by a licensed pharmacologist, that you’re not allergic to. Then your mom will get you a comfortable, private room…”
“Or, knowing my day, I’ll end up with the only bed left in the hospital in a ward of four other people.”
“And I’ll raise holy hell until we get what we want.”
“So how many people did you scream at today, getting here?”
Brian smiled, a real smile. “You’d be proud, not many. I wanted to, tried to, even. But… they were all just trying to help. Jesus, it was so fucked up…” His hand moved up Justin’s back, to curl his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of the young man’s neck.
Justin felt his grogginess lifting, and he examined the haunted look in Brian’s eyes. “You need to stay with me tonight.”
Brian nodded. “Yeah, I think you need me to.”
“Yeah.”
Their heads were moving in toward each other again when Jennifer returned to announce that they’d be moving after Justin had been checked out one last time by a nurse.
“And you’ll stay with me.”
“And I’ll stay with you.”
Chapters 6-end
Author's Note: Okay, here’s a disclaimer about the medical info here: I just plain made shit up. Any of you medical people get pissy, if you have a more likely scenerio regarding certain “facts” I’ve given as explanation to move the story along, feel free to email me and I’ll fix them. Unless your suggestion is only the unhelpful “this could never happen” - I would then counter with what I call the Jurassic Park “frog DNA” effect. Sometimes you gotta throw some frog DNA in to forward the story, and all you scientists who can’t get past the outrage to reality, well, what’s bad science for some is pop culture to the rest of us.