Live Free or Die Hard Fanfic: "Patient"
Title: Patient
Fandom: Live Free or Die Hard
Characters: John/Matt
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1337
Summary: John sighs. Matt might be hurting physically, but there's still nothing wrong with the kid's mouth.
Notes: Written for hc_bingo for the prompt "hospital stay"
Patient
by Severina
"Hey, Detective McClane!"
"Hiya Peggy," John says. He puts on his most charming smile, leans carefully against the desk at the nurse's station. His shoulder still hurts like a son of a bitch and the goddamn entry point is itching like a motherfucker under the sling, but knowing Peggy she'll have him back on a gurney in two point five seconds if he lets on. So instead, he smiles through the pain.
Peggy puts down her pen, smiles back at him over her stack of clipboards. "I thought you were discharged, Detective."
"Three days ago," John says. "But I hear your other firesale patient hasn't been so lucky."
Peggy's cheerful face sours as soon as he mentions the kid. "Mr. Farrell is still with us," she clips out.
John winces at the look. Peggy's a hell of a nurse, been on the ward that last three times he's been through and he knows - from experience - that she'll put up with a lot before she cracks. He wonders what torture Matt's been putting the poor staff through since he's been gone.
"Hoping to help you out with that," he says. "Think you can get some discharge papers ready for the kid? I already talked to the doc; he's on his way down to sign off on 'em."
The pinched look on Peggy's face changes instantly to one of relief. "Are you sure you're a Detective? Because you sound like an angel to me, John McClane."
He laughs, turns to head down the hall to Matt's room and leave her to her paperwork. Which he's sure she'll be doing-
"I need those discharge papers STAT!" Peggy barks out behind him.
Yup. STAT.
* * *
John pushes the door open slowly in case Matt's sleeping, lets it close softly behind him and stands just inside the room. Matt lays with his eyes closed, but John's had years of observation and he knows the kid's not quite asleep. He moves quietly forward to stand at the side of the bed.
He's struck again by how pale the kid is, how slender and scrawny in his borrowed T-shirt and thin green hospital scrubs. Matt always looked like he could use some sun, probably spent all his time burrowed in that shithole of an apartment with only the glow from his damn computer screen on his face. But now he looks even more ashen, the dark circles under his eyes standing out in prominence on the pallor of his face. He starts to adjust his position on the bed, winces as he tries to move.
He's clearly hurting. Maybe the nurses oughta cut the damn kid some slack.
John reaches out to touch his arm. "Hey, kid."
Matt opens his eyes, blinks up at him for a moment. "Hey. McClane," he says. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to see how you're doin', kid."
"How I'm doing?" Matt repeats. He grimaces again when he reaches for the hand-grip to hike himself further up onto the thin mattress, lets it go only to push sweaty hair back out of his eyes. "Well, let's see. I've been chased across several states, almost got hit by a car, threatened, kidnapped, and shot. I can't sleep for more than fifteen minutes without waking up from nightmares the horrifying likes of which you definitely do not want to hear. And I've had several butchers slice into my leg on multiple occasions only to leave me in a state akin to Frankenstein's monster. So yeah, not doing so great, McClane."
"C'mon, Matt. It ain't that bad."
"There are pins holding my leg together, okay?" Matt says. "No, even worse. There are pins holding the pins together! That's how bad it is, McClane!"
John sighs. Matt might be hurting physically, but there's still nothing wrong with the kid's mouth.
And that thought makes him look at Matt's lips, and that makes things stir that really oughtn't to be stirring. Not at his age. Not for this boy.
John swipes a hand over his scalp, tries to get his thoughts back on track. "Yeah, well-"
"Yeah, well?" Matt throws up his hands, turns his face to the wall. "Yeah, well, he says. This isn't like I just stubbed my toe, you know. There are pins and pieces of metal holding me together like the Tin Man! Yeah, well," Matt mutters.
"Yeah, well," John repeats pointedly, "you'll feel better once you get home."
"Are you deliberately trying to bait me, McClane, is that it? Because you might not remember, I know you went through a lot of trauma there yourself, maybe you took a couple shots to the head that you don't remember while you were, like, fighting ninja chicks while hanging upside down in an elevator shaft, but I don't actually have a home anymore. My home got reduced to a pile of pick-up sticks after the giant bomb exploded!"
"There was only one ninja chick," John points out.
"And this is the fact he fixates on," Matt says to the wall.
John takes it back. Peggy and the other nurses deserve medals. Maybe he'll send them flowers.
"I meant," John says, before Matt's smartass motor-mouth can make him change his mind, "to my home."
Matt turns his head slowly, frown lines appearing on his pale face. "To your… what?"
"My home," John says. "Four walls, roof, nice little kitchenette, big screen TV. Maybe you've heard of these things, they're called houses? I'll give you another hint. People live in 'em."
Matt glances down at the blanket, looks up at him through his shaggy bangs. "You sure about that?"
With Matt watching him like that, John isn't sure at all. But he checked the kid's file, and knows Matt has no one. No family members. Not a single friend visited in the two weeks they were shacked up in the hospital together. And the kid helped save the goddamn country. He deserves better than getting shuffled to some half-way house or residential care facility while he recuperates.
John knows he'll have to just suck it up and deal with his crazy feelings for Matt on his own time. He's not going to put that shit on Matt.
"The place is big enough. Got a spare room you can use, just gotta clear it out." John cocks his head. "Unless you got other plans."
"No!" Matt says quickly. "I'd really like to live with you."
When their eyes meet, John can't help thinking that there's something else going on here, something below the surface. He shakes his head. Matt's young and smart and funny. There's no reason to think that he'd ever be interested in some beaten-up cop with a couple of decades on him. Anything he thinks he sees on Matt's face is just his hopeful dick talking, and he's learned over the years to ignore that bastard.
"Then it's settled," is all he says.
"Okay," Matt says happily. "But there's a couple of things you need to know though, McClane. I can't do stairs, obviously," he says with a hateful glance at his knee, "so if this spare room of yours is on the second floor then we'll have to do some reconfiguring. Also, I'm allergic to, like, a shit ton of stuff. The most important of which is peanut butter, so you can't have anything peanut related in the house. I will break out into giant hives, I'm not even kidding, it's disgusting. Oh, and you have a computer, right? Because I can't live without my gear, I'm already going stir crazy in here. I have no idea what's going on in the world!"
"I get the paper," John says.
"The paper? Like, the newspaper?" Matt laughs sarcastically. "Didn't we already go through this? Mass media is manipulated, McClane! The stories are skewed, facts are eliminated, all to meet a certain political agenda! And don't even get me started on the advertisements-"
Flowers and candy. He's definitely sending Peggy and the other nurses flowers and candy.
17 down, 8 to go. Getting there...
.
Fandom: Live Free or Die Hard
Characters: John/Matt
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1337
Summary: John sighs. Matt might be hurting physically, but there's still nothing wrong with the kid's mouth.
Notes: Written for hc_bingo for the prompt "hospital stay"
Patient
by Severina
"Hey, Detective McClane!"
"Hiya Peggy," John says. He puts on his most charming smile, leans carefully against the desk at the nurse's station. His shoulder still hurts like a son of a bitch and the goddamn entry point is itching like a motherfucker under the sling, but knowing Peggy she'll have him back on a gurney in two point five seconds if he lets on. So instead, he smiles through the pain.
Peggy puts down her pen, smiles back at him over her stack of clipboards. "I thought you were discharged, Detective."
"Three days ago," John says. "But I hear your other firesale patient hasn't been so lucky."
Peggy's cheerful face sours as soon as he mentions the kid. "Mr. Farrell is still with us," she clips out.
John winces at the look. Peggy's a hell of a nurse, been on the ward that last three times he's been through and he knows - from experience - that she'll put up with a lot before she cracks. He wonders what torture Matt's been putting the poor staff through since he's been gone.
"Hoping to help you out with that," he says. "Think you can get some discharge papers ready for the kid? I already talked to the doc; he's on his way down to sign off on 'em."
The pinched look on Peggy's face changes instantly to one of relief. "Are you sure you're a Detective? Because you sound like an angel to me, John McClane."
He laughs, turns to head down the hall to Matt's room and leave her to her paperwork. Which he's sure she'll be doing-
"I need those discharge papers STAT!" Peggy barks out behind him.
Yup. STAT.
* * *
John pushes the door open slowly in case Matt's sleeping, lets it close softly behind him and stands just inside the room. Matt lays with his eyes closed, but John's had years of observation and he knows the kid's not quite asleep. He moves quietly forward to stand at the side of the bed.
He's struck again by how pale the kid is, how slender and scrawny in his borrowed T-shirt and thin green hospital scrubs. Matt always looked like he could use some sun, probably spent all his time burrowed in that shithole of an apartment with only the glow from his damn computer screen on his face. But now he looks even more ashen, the dark circles under his eyes standing out in prominence on the pallor of his face. He starts to adjust his position on the bed, winces as he tries to move.
He's clearly hurting. Maybe the nurses oughta cut the damn kid some slack.
John reaches out to touch his arm. "Hey, kid."
Matt opens his eyes, blinks up at him for a moment. "Hey. McClane," he says. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to see how you're doin', kid."
"How I'm doing?" Matt repeats. He grimaces again when he reaches for the hand-grip to hike himself further up onto the thin mattress, lets it go only to push sweaty hair back out of his eyes. "Well, let's see. I've been chased across several states, almost got hit by a car, threatened, kidnapped, and shot. I can't sleep for more than fifteen minutes without waking up from nightmares the horrifying likes of which you definitely do not want to hear. And I've had several butchers slice into my leg on multiple occasions only to leave me in a state akin to Frankenstein's monster. So yeah, not doing so great, McClane."
"C'mon, Matt. It ain't that bad."
"There are pins holding my leg together, okay?" Matt says. "No, even worse. There are pins holding the pins together! That's how bad it is, McClane!"
John sighs. Matt might be hurting physically, but there's still nothing wrong with the kid's mouth.
And that thought makes him look at Matt's lips, and that makes things stir that really oughtn't to be stirring. Not at his age. Not for this boy.
John swipes a hand over his scalp, tries to get his thoughts back on track. "Yeah, well-"
"Yeah, well?" Matt throws up his hands, turns his face to the wall. "Yeah, well, he says. This isn't like I just stubbed my toe, you know. There are pins and pieces of metal holding me together like the Tin Man! Yeah, well," Matt mutters.
"Yeah, well," John repeats pointedly, "you'll feel better once you get home."
"Are you deliberately trying to bait me, McClane, is that it? Because you might not remember, I know you went through a lot of trauma there yourself, maybe you took a couple shots to the head that you don't remember while you were, like, fighting ninja chicks while hanging upside down in an elevator shaft, but I don't actually have a home anymore. My home got reduced to a pile of pick-up sticks after the giant bomb exploded!"
"There was only one ninja chick," John points out.
"And this is the fact he fixates on," Matt says to the wall.
John takes it back. Peggy and the other nurses deserve medals. Maybe he'll send them flowers.
"I meant," John says, before Matt's smartass motor-mouth can make him change his mind, "to my home."
Matt turns his head slowly, frown lines appearing on his pale face. "To your… what?"
"My home," John says. "Four walls, roof, nice little kitchenette, big screen TV. Maybe you've heard of these things, they're called houses? I'll give you another hint. People live in 'em."
Matt glances down at the blanket, looks up at him through his shaggy bangs. "You sure about that?"
With Matt watching him like that, John isn't sure at all. But he checked the kid's file, and knows Matt has no one. No family members. Not a single friend visited in the two weeks they were shacked up in the hospital together. And the kid helped save the goddamn country. He deserves better than getting shuffled to some half-way house or residential care facility while he recuperates.
John knows he'll have to just suck it up and deal with his crazy feelings for Matt on his own time. He's not going to put that shit on Matt.
"The place is big enough. Got a spare room you can use, just gotta clear it out." John cocks his head. "Unless you got other plans."
"No!" Matt says quickly. "I'd really like to live with you."
When their eyes meet, John can't help thinking that there's something else going on here, something below the surface. He shakes his head. Matt's young and smart and funny. There's no reason to think that he'd ever be interested in some beaten-up cop with a couple of decades on him. Anything he thinks he sees on Matt's face is just his hopeful dick talking, and he's learned over the years to ignore that bastard.
"Then it's settled," is all he says.
"Okay," Matt says happily. "But there's a couple of things you need to know though, McClane. I can't do stairs, obviously," he says with a hateful glance at his knee, "so if this spare room of yours is on the second floor then we'll have to do some reconfiguring. Also, I'm allergic to, like, a shit ton of stuff. The most important of which is peanut butter, so you can't have anything peanut related in the house. I will break out into giant hives, I'm not even kidding, it's disgusting. Oh, and you have a computer, right? Because I can't live without my gear, I'm already going stir crazy in here. I have no idea what's going on in the world!"
"I get the paper," John says.
"The paper? Like, the newspaper?" Matt laughs sarcastically. "Didn't we already go through this? Mass media is manipulated, McClane! The stories are skewed, facts are eliminated, all to meet a certain political agenda! And don't even get me started on the advertisements-"
Flowers and candy. He's definitely sending Peggy and the other nurses flowers and candy.
17 down, 8 to go. Getting there...
.