Fire

Part 4

Note: OK, I finally had a minute to ask the sweet doctor I work for what would be the long-term effects of Brian’s injuries…well, it ain’t pretty, kids, but it’s fairly medically accurate. Most of it, anyway. I dunno. Maybe I should have just given him a bad cold.

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Brian moved into Jennifer’s condo about lunchtime on Wednesday. He had no choice but to arrive by ambulance and had to be helped up the stairs. The exertion was more than he was ready for and he was forced to spend the rest of the afternoon sleeping.

He had hired a full time nurse who would be in attendance from eight in the morning until six in the evening, starting the next day. The rest of the time Justin had promised to take care of whatever he might need.

His doctor had complained about him having home care, insisting that he needed to be in a professional facility where he could really be watched and looked after, but he had refused, changing his mind after first agreeing to being admitted to a convalescing home outside of the city.

The doctor has tried to explain to him that his shoulder really couldn’t be moved and had to be protected and that his lungs were still damaged and would be prone to infection and that he couldn’t do the things that he would be tempted to do—like walking unassisted or using the bathroom if no one was home in case something happened.

He would have to sleep a tremendous amount and he would have to be taken to physical therapy everyday—that in itself would be an effort and could well prove beyond him.

Brian had insisted, saying that if need be he would move if the arrangements he’d made weren’t working.

Reluctantly, the doctor agreed, expecting to see him in Irwin within the week.

He woke up an hour or so before dinner that first day needing to use the bathroom and, after making one attempt to get up, knew that he wouldn’t be able to do this alone.

The house was quiet, no sounds of a TV or talking or of dinner being prepared.

Shit.

“Justin?” He still couldn’t manage enough breath to shout. No one would hear him and he had to pee. He tried again. “Justin?”

Nothing.

After a couple of minutes he was about to give up when Molly came into the room, solemn and slightly shy. Very slightly.

“Do you need something?”

“Yes, are Justin or your mother around?”

“No, they went out to get the Chinese food for dinner.”

Hell.

“Do you think that they’ll be long?”

“They just left a few minutes ago and they said something about stopping at the food store, too.”

Hell and damnation.

“Molly, do you think that you could help me to stand up?”

She looked doubtful. “How much do you weigh?”

“I’m not sure, maybe one seventy, maybe a little less since I got hurt. You wouldn’t have to carry me or anything, just help me stand up.”

“Why?”

“…I have to use the bathroom.” She looked like she was about to run screaming from the room.

“I don’t have to watch or anything, do I?”

“You might learn something.” He repressed a small smile at her look. “You get me there, I’ll do the rest. Just stay away from my shoulder, OK?” His shoulder was in heavily bandaged and kept immobilized in a close fitting sling.

Molly, with the utmost of reluctance, did her part. A few minutes after she had escorted him into the facilities she heard the flush through the closed door and let him lean on her as he painfully made his way down to the living room to wait dinner. She joined him, studying him intently. Even at twelve she could see that he was pale, in pain and probably just wanted to go back to sleep.

Winded from the walk down the stairs, he was sucking on the portable oxygen tank that had arrived as part of his luggage.

“Brian, would you get angry if I asked you a question?”

“Probably not. What would you like to know?”

“How come you’re here?”

He resisted the impulse to snap off one of his snarky retorts. “You know the reason. I was hurt in a fire, my home was destroyed and I’m trying to get better.”

“Yeah, right. So why aren’t you in a hospital or something? How come you’re in our house?”

“Justin and I are friends and he thought that I’d be more comfortable here.” He saw the snide adolescent look. “Do you think that it’s going to be a problem?”

“No, I don’t care, as long as I don’t have to help you to the bathroom all the time or anything gross, but Mom is pretty pissed off at Justin right now.”

“Yeah, I caught that. Because I’m here or is there another reason?” Brian loved honest kids—no bullshit. One more thing about him most of his friends wouldn’t believe.

“Sure. She thinks that you’re too old for Justin and she was hoping that you two were history—especially after he moved in with Ethan. And she says that you drink too much and probably do too many drugs and that you’re a really bad influence.”

Well, OK, maybe a little deceit might be good thing.

“That’s her opinion, what do you think?”

“Well, you probably are too old for him, but I don’t care about that. My grandmother was seventeen years older than my grandfather—it was her second marriage after my real grandfather died and they were pretty happy.” She crossed her legs on the floor, Indian style. “And you do drink and smoke too much and you probably do a lot of drugs.”

“How the Hell do you know that?”

“Justin told me some of it and Daphne told me some more.”

“Lying shits.”

“They are not.”

“Whatever. OK, you told me what the others think, what about you?”

“Well, I don’t care that you’re gay, if that’s what you mean. It freaked my parents, but I’m over it. Justin loves you and you make him happy when you aren’t being shitty to him, so you must be mostly OK.” She got up to get a soda from the kitchen. “And Dad hates you, so you can stay.”

Smart kid. “Does Dad know that I’m here?”

“Not yet—that’s going to be a party. You want something to drink?” She left to get the can of soda she wanted and the bottle of water Brian had asked for. He would have preferred a good double of JB, but that was another thing that was on hiatus while the painkillers had priority. Craig didn’t know yet? Oh, great, party central. Maybe he could break the other fucking shoulder.

They heard the front door open. Justin and Jennifer went into the kitchen with whatever they had brought back. It didn’t matter much to Brian since he hadn’t had much of an appetite since the fire—he assumed that it was partly the drugs they had him on and partly because he just felt so shitty.

Whatever, he’d try to eat something to be polite, if nothing else.

“Brian? Do you think that you can make it to the kitchen or would you just like to eat right here?”

“Whichever you prefer, Jennifer.” He could barely sit upright in either room; it didn’t make any difference to him.

She saw the shape he was in, it was apparent that he should be back in bed. “Why don’t we just put on a movie and picnic here, OK?”

He tried to smile at her and was putting the oxygen mask where it was slightly less obvious. Justin brought out the plates and various pieces of silverware (no chopsticks here, too wasp) and offered him the cold noodles and steamed dumplings he knew Brian always ordered. Molly put Lord of the Rings on the DVD while they ate.

After about four bites he was through, Molly actually noticing and quietly taking his plate from where he was balancing it on his lap.

“You should eat more, Brian. You need to build up your strength.”

“I know, Jen. I’m still off my feed.”

“Bri, the doctor said that you have to eat.”

“Fuck off, Justin. I’ve had enough.” Both of the ladies stopped dead. Justin and Brian didn’t even blink, they understood each other.

About fifteen minutes later the others had finished their food, Justin sitting on the couch next to Brian. After another couple of minutes he had slumped over, his head using Justin’s shoulder as a pillow, dead asleep. They left him there until the end of the movie. Reluctantly, Justin woke him and managed to maneuver him up the stairs and into the bed, gently stripping off most of his clothes before laying him on the left side of the mattress to protect his injured shoulder, propped up on pillows to ease his lungs. Sliding in next to him, Justin felt Brian’s fingers wrap around his own hand and heard the now familiar whispered voice. It had been a long time since they had shared a bed.

“I know this is hard on everyone. If it becomes too much, I’ll leave.”

“It won’t.”

“If it does, I’ll go and I don’t want to deal with any of your shit. OK?”

“…OK.”

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Thursday Justin’s classes didn’t start until after lunch, so he was there when the nurse, Kathryn, arrived to help get Brian started on the day. She was a strong woman and used to dealing with large men who needed help. She was good at her job and had no problem getting Brian’s morning toilet accomplished and his breakfast and meds into him so that they would be on time for his PT session at ten.

Justin wanted to wait around until he came home around one, but Brian wouldn’t hear of it—“With what I’m paying for your fucking tuition? Get your pink ass to class, Sunshine.”

The PT time, or party time with Dr. Mengele, as Brian had mentally nicknamed it, was as bad as an outpatient as it was when he was under hospital arrest. It left him exhausted, dripping with sweat, shaking and in pain. Back at the condo he made it as far as the living room couch before falling asleep, or passing out, which ever you prefer.

He drifted up through the haze when he felt someone staring at him. Opening his eyes, he saw Ethan sitting across from him, taking his measure.

Talk about not catching him at his best.

Fuck.

“You want something?”

“I came by to drop off the rest of Justin’s shit.”

Brian saw no reason to comment, besides, he felt like crap.

“You know, when Justin heard that you were hurt he dropped everything to rush right over and hold your hand. You’re the reason he left, you shit.”

Hell, more teenaged angst.

“We’d still be together if your fucking place hadn’t gone up in a blaze of glory.”

“Yeah, you caught me. That’s why it happened—to break up your little love nest.”

“Fucker. We were doing alright. He was almost over you and then this happened. One more week or two with me and he wouldn’t have left for you.”

“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch.” Brian was still lying on the couch, not about to admit that he couldn’t get up without help. He was trying for unconcern, hoping that it wasn’t coming off as too injured to sit up on his own steam. “Unless you have something new to add, you could skedaddle back on home.”

Ethan was pissed and Brian suspected that he might have pushed the boy too far. Standing to go, he took a step closer to the couch, next to Brian. In one movement he slapped Brian’s broken shoulder, openhanded, hard, and it was a fucking bulls eye. He could feel the broken bones scraping against each other as the pain exploded—hurting too much to scream or do anything other than go white and gasp.

He was vaguely aware that Ethan had gone, but couldn’t comprehend anything beyond the pain.

Kathryn came in, horrified by what she had just seen from the doorway but been too far away to stop.

“Mr. Kinney, Brian—can you hear me?” She thought that he was going to pass out again. Thinking it would hurt less if he did, he complied.

Later, when it was dark, he woke enough to know that he’d been moved. The sounds and the smells told him that he was back in a hospital and he felt himself slipping into the darkness of depression that had started to slightly lift when he had been allowed to stay at Jennifer’s.

He hated hospitals.

A lot of people hated them, he knew that—that’s where people died and where there was pain, either your own or that of a loved one. OK, other than a lawyer, no one could be really said to like the places, but Brian had the added incentive of countless trips when he was a kid. Every time Jack would whale the tar out of him, every time he was kicked down the stairs or had his ribs broken or something, that’s where he would end up.

Most kids, when in the hospital, could look forward to ice cream and maybe a bunch of comic books or some new toys. Brian knew that he would have the joy of more interviews from more damn social workers who would wonder why his parents didn’t come to see him other than to pick him up.

Then there were the nights he had spent there after Justin’s bashing and Ted’s coma when he had to decide about whether or not they should pull the plug.

The only positive thing he could think of about the fucking places was Gus.

That first night when Gus was born was—always would be—one of the best parts of his life. Always.

And that led him to Justin.

Shit, Justin.

Even if Justin wanted them together again, and he wasn’t convinced yet that was the case, what could he offer him now?

Even if he recovered, it would be a long haul. The doctor had told him that last week—there was the shunt, the drain still in his lungs, there was his shoulder and after that was cleared up there would be the rehab, which he had been told would not, in all likelihood not return him to what he had been before. He was simply too badly hurt to recover all the way.

That was what the doctor had privately told him when he had insisted that the man cut the bull and tell him the truth.

Fuck.

That was what the doctor had told him.

He hadn’t told his friends, had made the doctor agree to keep it quiet, but his lungs were permanently damaged. They would improve, but they would never be better.

No more smoking, nothing physically exertive—he hadn’t actually asked about sex, but he was willing to guess where the smart money was regarding marathon sessions anytime soon.

Shit.

Well, that was that. He’d had a good run, there was no denying that.

He felt a gentle pressure and, after a minute, realized that someone was holding his hand. Opening his eyes enough he saw that it was Justin staring at him.

“I thought that you were waking up. You really scared us, you know. Mom was freaking out. You feel any better?”

No, he felt like Hell. “Yeah, some—so I’m back here.”

“Yeah, they thought that it would be a good idea. Um, they think that while they have you here they might do some work on your shoulder in the morning.”

“You mean surgery? They were going to wait on that.”

“I know, but Ethan managed to cause a little problem that they want to go in and fix and while they’re in there, they thought that they would just clean up a few things.”

OK, so he was going to have an operation tomorrow. Fine, whatever. It didn’t really matter to him and they might as well get it over with. “I guess that staying at the condo wasn’t such a hot idea.”

“Fucking Ethan. I’m sorry that he…. I had no idea that he would show up and…”

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

“Well, I don’t want to fucking talk about it. It’s over.”

A white coated doctor walked in. “Mr. Kinney, you’re awake. Good. I was hoping to speak with you before I had to leave tonight. Has your friend here told you what we’re planning to do in the morning?”

“Not really.”

“Basically, we’re planning on giving you a new shoulder. We’ll be installing a synthetic joint which should be a very large step in getting you on the right road here.”

“Synthetic? Why is this the first I’ve heard of this?”

“We weren’t sure that it would be necessary before, but now with the added damage from this afternoon we’ve decided that it would be the best choice for you.”

“How much recovery can I hope for? How good will this be?”

“There are no hard and fast rules, but the new joint will be almost as natural as your original. You understand that there will still be therapy and you’ll need to regain your strength and that this won’t happen over night, but I think that in the long run you’ll be satisfied.”

“Are there any other alternatives?”

“In my opinion, this is the best choice in this case. If you wish a second opinion, I’d be happy to wait a day or so.”

Justin had gone pale. “Brian? Do you want to talk to someone else about this? This is pretty major.”

The surgeon he had was the best one who could be had short of traveling to LA or New York, neither of which Brian was up to. “Fuck it. Let’s get it over with.”

“Alright, Mr. Kinney. I’ll have the nurse give you something to relax you and help you sleep and I’ll see you about seven thirty tomorrow. Good night.”

“…Brian, are you sure about this? It sounds like a big deal and…”

“Like I said, let’s get this over with.” He was surprised to see that Justin seemed as upset as he felt. “I’ll be fine, he’s a good doctor. Besides, I want to start getting better, Sunshine. This sucks.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up, OK?”

“Fuck that. You have classes tomorrow and there’s nothing that you can do.”

“Brian, I’d like to be here…”

“Fucking no. You have better things to do than to fucking hover over me.” He meant it, he didn’t want Justin waiting around for him to come out of the surgery. “And don’t tell the others. I don’t need their shit.”

“But…”

“I’ll tell them later.”

“Brian, they’ll want to know that…”

He fixed his glare on the boy. “I said no. Now get the fuck out of here. You’re pissing me off.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Brian smiled. “Good.”

The nurse came in, shot in hand. “Mr. Kinney? The doctor wants you to have this now.”

A couple of minutes later he had been forced back to sleep and Justin walked out of the room, pausing long enough to kiss him gently. He knew that Brian wouldn’t know, but it made him feel better and there certainly was no harm in it.

“So he’s thrown you out? That’s your true love, being true to character.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you—I know that whatever crap he told you happened today was a load of bullshit.”

“What? That you hit a man who’s so badly injured that he can’t even sit up without help? Fuck off, Ethan. You’re a shit, you know that? You have any idea how badly you hurt him today? We had to call an ambulance to bring him here.”

“He’s an asshole, Justin. You weren’t fucking there. You don’t know the shit he said about you.”

Justin stared him down. “Get the fuck out of here. Leave me alone, leave Brian alone. If you come near either one of us again I’ll press assault charges for what you did to him today.”

“Would you just listen to me? You want to know what really happened?”

“I don’t give a shit. I know that you hurt him when he couldn’t defend himself. You’re a shit and you’re gone.”

“Justin—listen to me.”

“Ethan—get fucking lost. And shave.”

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