If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be a Mystery, Would It?

Chapter 16

POV: BRIAN

Fuck, I hate hospitals. Fucking hate them. The smell, the sterility, the white walls and tile floors. The nurses in their stupid white dresses and sneakers. The orderlies... well, actually, they're the one redeeming feature. The male ones, anyway. But, all in all, I have been in hospitals far more than most people and I personally can't stand them. I practically grew up in Pittsburgh General. Then, worse, being there after...

Ooookay. Let's just not go there and focus on what we're doing here, Kinney: we're finally at the desk, checking out. Well, yeah, we're checking out. Hunter is still in a coma. Jesus H. Christ. The woman hands me a small baggie with my wallet and cell phone in it. I pull out my wallet and fish out my credit card. Well, one of them. Sigh.

I had to call Ben; and he's been here by Hunter's bedside for the two days since the accident. Well, actually, Justin called him. I wasn't in any condition to. Hunter's prognosis is… well, he's in ICU. They don't know one way or the other. But. They're optimistic. We've given them false information - just like when he was in the hospital with that kidney infection. Ben's his uncle. Justin and I are… his friends, or something. I don't know. Justin let Ben handle it. Hunter sustained a pretty severe head trauma.

Me? I glance down; my left arm is in a fucking cast up to my shoulder and my left thigh has a huge bandage - they had to fucking cut through my jeans. Yet one less article of clothing. Fuck. They gave me a pair of sweats to wear- I feel like a frumpy frat boy. And I have stitches in my fucking head.

A paramedic walks up; I vaguely recall him as one of the ones who brought us in. I'm handing the woman behind the desk my credit card. Even when I was fucking bleeding all over the car half conscious, my gaydar had gone off when he'd yanked open the driver door and looked at me.

Kinney, you are such a sick fuck.

I choose to ignore him. I shift my weight onto my good leg, leaning on the crutch. She takes the card. The woman raises an eyebrow. Yes, dear, it's a platinum card. A platinum card that's nearly maxed out. What's another few thousand dollars of debt, I think. I don't have insurance anymore, so it's all I can do. Ben has said he'll find some way to pay for Hunter- but I told him I'd pay for it. Or, as much as I can, anyway. ICU, life support-being sick is fucking expensive. But, again: what the hell…

"You were lucky, Mr. Kinney- had that piece of plastic gone a fraction of an inch deeper, your femoral artery would have been severed completely." The paramedic says, startling me. I'd forgotten he was there.

Lucky. Lucky? Some maniac ran us off the road into a cement fucking wall! I shoot him a look and say nothing. He looks down shyly, but doesn't go away. Justin, next to me, seems to take notice and puts his arm around my waist. I can't help but smile a little. And cringe. He's telling the guy to back off 'his man'. Good lord.

I can feel Justin trembling though, which makes me wonder if he was even aware of what he'd done. Consciously, anyway.

The paramedic sees the gesture and smiles politely before wishing us well and walking back to the doors to go outside. The woman behind the desk had seen the gesture too. I see a small frown of disapproval. Bitch. I lean down and give Justin a big fat juicy kiss just for her benefit. Justin grins, albeit weakly. He's hardly said two words since we were gurney'd into the ambulance. But waiting for the ambulance, my God. He was hysterical- crying, yelling at me how much he loves me, not to die, not to close my eyes, not to sleep. I was pretty loopy by the time the paramedics arrived, but he'd sure succeeded in keeping me awake.

Once we're paid up, we go to the waiting room to get a cup of coffee and figure out what the hell to do next.

"So, what the fuck now?" I say, grimacing at the bitter brew as I lower the Styrofoam cup from my lips. Jesus, this coffee tastes like someone threw a shoe in hot water.

Justin takes a sip of his hot cocoa before replying. Thank God he wasn't hurt- not a scratch, even. Just bruised ribs from the seat belt. Maybe we were lucky after all.

"I don't know. I have no idea." He answers, distractedly. We're quiet a few moments. I look over at him. His hands are shaking badly as he attempts to hold the cup steady. I lift it from his grasp, placing it on the table next to us and take his hands in my good one, pulling them to my good thigh to warm them. Then I realize Justin's hands aren't cold at all. They're warm and clammy. Abruptly he looks at me with what appears to be panic in his eyes. "Brian, are you sure you're okay?"

What brought that on? We've been here two days, and we're free to go. Of course I'm okay. "You heard the doc. I'm just a little banged up." I notice his lower lip quivering a little and I give his hands a squeeze. "Justin, we're fine. I'm fine. It's okay. Relax."

His jaw clenches, fighting back tears. What is happening? I've not seen him cry for quite some time, and it always unnerves me. Clench harder, Sunshine.

"Then who the FUCK hit us? God, your wrist is shattered, your leg is torn up, and your head," Justin reaches up and gently rubs a trembling thumb along the bandage over my eye, "Jesus, Brian, that is such a nasty gash. Brian… Brian, you could have been killed." He shudders but is successful in resisting his apparent urge to cry. So far. "And Hunter… fuck, he's lying in a goddamned coma."

I look into his eyes with as much confidence and calm as I can muster, given that I'm pretty shaken as well. Because I know he's right. Because what's actually scarier to me is that he could have been killed. "Justin, listen to me. Look at me." He does. I notice one lone tear make its way down his cheek from the corner of his eye. "Hunter's most likely going to be fine. And I'm right here. I didn't die. If the person who hit us were really trying to kill me, or him, or us, they'd have stuck around to finish the job. I think someone is simply trying to scare us." Actually, I'm not convinced that they weren't trying to kill us, but I'm keeping that to myself. For the entire two days we've been here, we haven't had a chance to talk to each other about what happened- we've hardly even seen each other. I was in surgery for most of the first night, then ICU, then I finally got a room- he could come sit with me there, but I was pretty out of it. I notice that he looks utterly wrung out- I doubt he's slept more than an hour or two since we arrived. And while I'm grateful that Ben was here for him, I get the feeling he's been holding in all of his emotions until now.

"You're exhausted." I say, pulling one of his hands up to my lips for a small kiss. I hold it against my cheek and look at him intently. "And I suspect you're in shock still- hell, I'm in shock still. But it's alright. Okay?" I sound so lame. My usual Kinney panache is failing me at the moment. Dammit. I fucking hate this. He lowers his eyes but I reach out and gently to pull his chin up. Not until I see my hand do I realize I'm using the arm with the cast. Which, I think, is what triggers him to suddenly start crying full force. Shit. Nice, Kinney.

"Fuck me," he sputters, exasperated with his inability to control himself. I just pull him over to my chair and hold him in my lap. "I'm sorry. I'm just fucking scared, Brian. There was so much blood... there was so much blood! I've never seen... Brian, you were so... Brian I was so scared I was going to lose you..." He says between hiccups. I flash to the parking garage at the hotel and close my eyes, trying to push the memories away. "This is all so- all too familiar." He pauses, allowing himself to gulp some air into his lungs. I kiss his cheek softly, tasting his salty tears. "Fuck, I hate hospitals. Fucking hate them." He mutters. I smile despite myself. I have my own personal mindreader. For some reason, that's comforting right now instead of terrifying. He clings to me gently, wary of bumping into any wounds. I pull him closer and shut my eyes hard. Kinney, don't you start, too. I quickly wipe my eyes and shake my head to get rid of the memories that are flooding to the surface. I can't- I really just can't relive that right now. Ever. I shake my head again and sit up straight. Okay. I'm okay. Say something.

"I'm sorta scared, too, Justin." I admit, quietly. Not what I wanted to say. But, well, I am. "But don't worry. Nothing bad'll happen to you. We'll be fine. We are fine." Time to change the fucking subject. "So, let's find a way to fucking get out of here- how 'bout it? Ben will call us as soon as there's a change with Hunter."

But he's still sobbing softly, so I simply hold him until he calms down. I ignore the stares of disgust, disbelief and curiosity we're getting from the others in the room. Fuckers.

After some time, Justin finally sits up, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Okay now?" I ask.

He just nods, sniffling a little. "Except that I feel like a weak little shit." He mumbles.

I squeeze his arm and push him gently off of my lap. "You are anything but a weak little shit, Justin." I say. "You're pretty brave, actually. Taking charge like that." Had he not called 911, I'd probably be dead and so would Hunter. "Besides," I add, "it's probably just allergies…"

He smiles a little and sits in the chair next to me. "I wish we'd seen who it was..."

"Yeah. Me too." God, it's all a fucking blur. "It happened so fucking quickly- suddenly this car was next to me, veering me to the right and then WHAM! We're flattened against a concrete wall in a crumpled, smoking Skylark." I close my eyes, trying for the umpteenth time to get a picture of the car, the driver- but I really don't think I even had time to look over. I only remember how dark it was out. And I vaguely remember that the overhead light had been on.

"No big loss, of course," I add. I hated that fucking car. "Except now we don't have any car at all." I reach for my coffee for another sip and wince. Miserable stuff. I toss the still full cup into the trashcan beside me. "I wish I'd had more information to tell the cops. I simply didn't see anything. Just darkness. Fuck! And your mother is going to fucking tan my hide."

"No, she won't." Justin says very quietly. "I talked to her. I told her. She's just worried about you. That you'll be okay."

I'm immediately skeptical but I hold my tongue. I pause. God. "Sunshine." I say softly, not really knowing what I'm going to say. I want to say, 'Sorry for almost having you killed for the fucking second time in your relatively short life,'-but I don't. I can't say it. I just look at him. His eyes are red, but he's looking at me like he's reading me.

"Brian. No." He says. His eyes start brimming again.

What? Can this shit really read my mind???

"Brian. NO." I feel myself shudder and then I feel his arms around me. "NO. Please. Don't think that--- just no! NO--" He says emphatically.

I push my feelings down. I take a deep breath and feel a shiver. Justin suddenly grabs me close and clings to me. I fucking- God, I cling back. Clinging… I don't 'do' clinging. I pull back a little. A little. As much as I fucking can.

Then.

I glance up and I'm relieved to see that he's not shaking anymore. That's what matters. He's looking at me with an intensity that makes me a little uncomfortable. "Brian…"

Action. "We should probably call Debbie or Lindsay or someone. We need someone to pick us up." He nods. But suddenly, I don't have the energy. I don't even fucking know where we are, exactly. A little town hospital somewhere between glorious Pittsburgh and a rest stop in New York State.

Jesus.

I hand Justin my cell. "You up for doing that?" He takes the phone.

Then I notice there's a smear of blood on the keypad- God, I hope he doesn't see that. But I see he does. I take the phone back and wet my thumb, wiping it away as quickly as I can. I look at him, but he seems to take it in stride, albeit shakily.

Taking another deep breath, he reaches for the phone again and then pauses. "Who should I call?"

"Lindsay. Debbie will freak out- or is freaking already- and I really don't feel like dealing with her right now, you know? Hit speed dial then 4," I mutter, reaching for his cup of cocoa. It's so much better than that shit I had. I drink it while he's talking, and hand him the empty cup. 'Fucker!' He mouths.

Sunshine's back... phew.

God, my head is killing me. My leg aches. My arm is stiff. Bitch, bitch, bitch, Kinney.

But 25 stitches. Geez. And another 4 in my head. Fuck if it will leave a scar- I'll sue, I swear it. But, all in all, that's my new personal record. Yippee skip. I look down at my thigh and remember seeing that big hunk of Skylark lodged there. God, there was a lot of blood- I nearly passed out; they said Justin may have saved my life by keeping me from succumbing to blacking out. More than just dialing 911, he probably saved my life by doing that, as well. I make a mental note to tell him that. Well, we'll see. I don't want him to get all cocky. I hate cocky. And Justin's already plenty cocky. In more ways than one, I smile to myself. There's one kind of cocky I do like, of course.

While Justin continues to talk to Lindsay, I close my eyes and try to think back, to remember something. That was absolutely no accident. Whoever it was deliberately crashed into us and forced us into the wall. Unless it was a case of mistaken identity- or some form of peculiar road rage, although the highway was completely empty- it seems we're targets now. Why, by whom- who knows. Well, the why is somewhat obvious- except only Deb and Horvath really know we're... what the fuck are we? On the case? I let out a little laugh. Maybe I should bag any ideas of going back into advertising and become a P.I.

Except, of course, I suck at it.

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