--------------------------- Chapter Twelve: Downfall ---------------------------
Fear in me so deep it gets the best of me
In the fear I fall, here it comes face to face with me
Here I stand, hold back so no one can see
I feel these wounds
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The leather snapped against his skin with a deafening crack, and as the old man pulled back with an obscenity, the young boy cried out, his back arching and his head tipping back as a sob escaped his lips. He closed his eyes tightly as he waited for the sound of the belt moving through the air, which was the only warning he would get before another snap, another obscenity, another cry and more blinding pain.
He could feel cold wetness down his back, the air biting at his open wounds, and he knew he was bleeding, maybe severely enough to leave scars - more scars. The old man had never hit the young boy this hard before with his belt, and the new level of pain was almost unbearable. He was pleading now for the old man to stop, unsure of how much more he could take before he passed out from the pain - and God only knew what would happen to him should he fall into unconsciousness. The blissful silence and the feeling of *not* feeling for only a few moments wasn't worth the consequences.
And there it was. A sound as if the silent night air was sighing, and the young boy knew it was coming, but he also knew that this was the last one he could take. And he also knew that worse things would come once he awoke in a few moments, worse things would happen in his unnatural slumber. The old man liked it when the young boy was motionless and unresponsive; he didn't like it when he fought back. By the time he would wake up from his forced slumber, it would begin, and he would just lie there and let him finish...sometimes he would cry, but he never spoke, never begged, that would only make it worse...so he just silently cried. Sometimes the young boy was submissive purposefully, in hopes that the old man would tire of him and toss him aside perversely like a lackluster toy. But each time the young boy discovered that it only made it easier for the old man to hurt him, only made it more *fun*.
And then came the snap of the leather against his skin, the pain ripping through his body and the blood trickling down his back. The young boy hoped that he'd be able to clean the wounds later by himself, otherwise he'd have to ask Miranda to do it, and he hated obligating his friend in such a way. He knew it affected her greatly to see what the old man could do to him, even though she never voiced her silent sympathies. Sometimes she would cry, sometimes he would cry with her. But both ignored their tears as best as they could. And he always left feeling guilty for hurting her, and he knew she was always left feeling guilty for letting him go.
And now the young boy closed his eyes and here came the darkness, the comforting darkness that frightened the young boy at the same time. Who knew what he would find when he awoken? He prayed that he would be alone when he regained consciousness, but somehow he knew that God wasn't listening to him at that moment, and he also knew that the terror wasn't over just yet. The old man had been very angry with the young boy, more so than he had been in a long time.
Opening his eyes once more, the young boy gasped audibly and scrambled back in fear of what could be happening to him. But his surroundings were different, brighter and cleaner, and suddenly the young boy realized he was no longer a young boy; he was twenty-eight years old, would be twenty-nine very soon. And though he felt like an old man - perhaps even *that* old man - he wasn't that old just yet. He had many years left ahead of him, or at least he hoped so.
Sighing, wondering when - and if - these fucking nightmares were ever going to stop, Dave Malucci rubbed the sleep from his eyes, glancing around when he was finished to see that he had backed himself up against the headboard, kicked aside the covers, and woken up his lover, who was watching him with concern in his eyes.
"Are you okay?" John asked, reaching out to gently rub the front of Dave's calf, which was possible because the younger man's knees were drawn up against his chest.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, nodding vigorously as he felt his heart doing at least ninety miles-per-hour. He abruptly pulled away from John's touch and got out of bed, looking at the startled Chief Resident's expression with one of his own. "I'm going to take a shower," he managed to hastily say before turning and starting towards the bedroom door. He paused suddenly. "New apartment," he remembered, and then turned towards the door leading to their own adjoining bathroom.
Closing the door behind him, he pulled open the mirror to see that mostly everything was exactly how it had been organized in his old apartment. The top shelf held his razors and shaving cream, the middle shelf had extra bars of soap and deodorant...and there, on the bottom shelf with a few other items, were the two orange bottles he was looking for. One contained his prescription of Zyrtec for his allergies. The other was supposed to contain the painkillers that were prescribed to him after his beating, but instead it contained several different kinds of pills that one would never find inside a single container unless they looked in this one. Dave had hidden Klonipin, Dexedrine, Demerol, Percocets and his most recent addition, though he hadn't taken any yet, Butalbital - a barbiturate - in it since John had begun to stay at his old apartment regularly.
And now, as he twisted off the cap and shook out a few Klonipins and Dexedrines, he enveloped his fingers around them and bit his lip. Klonipins and Dexedrines just weren't doing it for him anymore, they weren't giving him the same buzz as they had when he'd first started taking them. Deciding on a new, stronger drug of choice, Dave put the pills back in the bottle and shook out a couple Demerol, and quickly put them in his mouth and swallowed.
It was then that he realized this was the eighth morning in a row he had done that. It was then that he also realized he was taking more drugs more often, and it was then that he also realized he was taking them when he didn't need to anymore. Putting the pill bottle back on the shelf, closing the mirror and catching his eye in it, seeing how terrible he looked, he wondered how he had succumbed to this even though he didn't want to think about it right now.
He heard his alarm in the bedroom go off before John quickly shut it off, and sighed as he recalled the fact that they had work early today. It was his first day back since the attack a few days ago, and, not wanting to be late in fear of what the Chief might do, he turned on the shower and stepped inside once it was warm enough. Standing under the hot spray, his arms crossed against the wall and his forehead leaning against them, he found himself telling himself that he would make it through the day. After all, he made it through yesterday, he could make it through today too. Why he was telling himself this, he wasn't sure of, and he didn't allow himself to ponder the thought, only kept telling himself that he would make it.
There were suddenly arms encircling his waist, visibly startling him. John quietly apologized before placing a gentle kiss on his neck and resting his chin on Dave's shoulder. Closing his eyes and leaning back against the older man, Dave turned his head towards John's face and inhaled his musk before opening his eyes once more to see John watching him. He gave the Chief Resident a small smile before their lips met in a loving kiss. Love. Love. It was a word Dave had grown accustomed to lately, and it filled him with a bad case of the warm fuzzies that he couldn't say he minded. But even when he was at his happiest, there was this feeling of dread in the back of his head, always reminding him that something would go wrong and he would be left alone again...alone and hurt and irrevocably damaged.
In a silent exchange, the two men had decided to help each other groom that morning, and once finished washing each other's hair, Dave had taken the bath sponge and soap and had begun to wash John's body. Starting from his legs and working his way upwards, the younger man soon reached John's torso, and when he began to wash John's neck the older man wrapped his hand around Dave's, causing the younger man to look up at him.
"You're so gentle," John said softly, touching Dave's still-healing black eye with his fingertips, then moving his fingers to gently caress Dave's stitches.
"I don't want to hurt you," was the unexpected reply he received.
"I know you'd never hurt me."
"I did a few nights ago," Dave reminded him quietly. "I could do it again."
"You didn't do it on purpose."
"I still did it."
"Dave?"
"Yeah?"
John reached up and slipped his hands on either side of Dave's face, bringing his face towards him and kissing the younger man tenderly. They soon parted, but Dave leaned towards him and rested his head in John's chest as the older man wrapped his arms around the younger man. They stood under the water spray in silence for a long time, the bath sponge long since forgotten on the shower floor by both men.
Dave was the first to break that silence. "John?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"Still being here," Dave said softly.
John was so taken aback by the comment that he didn't know how to respond. Did Dave really think that he would still leave him? John didn't know how to relieve Dave of this fear, but he knew that whatever the cure was it wouldn't be an easy one. Dave had been hurt many times in his life, used many times, let down many times. But John promised himself he wouldn't do that to Dave, he wouldn't let himself. But yet he knew that promise would have to be fulfilled and not spoken, so John only continued to hold him, wishing that he could hold Dave forever in his arms and forever in his heart.
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Step down...
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As she moved from room to room through the ER eating a cereal bar for breakfast, Abby Lockhart considered herself to be several things. She was a woman, she was hungry, she was a Democrat, a Dave Matthews Band fan, tried, PMSing, a nurse in OB and the ER, and she was also very mad. She was mad because she *wasn't* a messenger, and therefore shouldn't be used as such by Dr. Weaver, who had given her the task of telling the staff working today that there was a staff meeting in one half-hour in the Lounge. Well, fifteen minutes now, she thought to herself as she spotted Dave and John just signing in.
"Hey, guys," she said, approaching them. She glanced over the Junior Resident, her eyes lingering over his black eye. Those bastards who'd beaten him up had sure done a number on him. "How are you feeling Dave?"
"Pretty good today," he said with a bright smile, which was due in large part to the Demerol he'd taken this morning.
"Glad to hear that," Abby replied. "Oh. Staff meeting in fifteen minutes in the Lounge."
"Okay," Dave replied absently as he signed his barely legible signature on the sign-in list. She'd probably end up harping on him for one thing or another, whether it was his charts or his bedside manner. Maybe she'd at least wait until everyone was gone rather than a public flogging, he hoped. Moving aside so that John could sign in, Dave picked up his bookbag and said: "I'm going to get in there and grab my stuff before Weaver shows up. See you in a few."
"What do you think the meeting's going to be about? Probably just the regular complaints and compliments, right?"
"Rowrr..." Dave suddenly growled quietly into John's ear, sneaking in a quick pinch at his ass before turning and moving towards the Lounge, sending John into a complete disorientation. He turned towards Dave in surprise, but the younger man was walking away from him. Smiling slightly as he turned back to Abby but didn't look at her, John wondered if this meant they'd find an empty supply closet during their break and do a quick kiss-and-touch - with the door locked, of course. He didn't need a repeating performance of someone walking in on them, someone who wouldn't take it quite as well as Abby had.
So, with that image in his mind - Dave's lips under his own, his hands up John's shirt or maybe down John's pants, all while John was having his own fun with Dave's body - almost thirty seconds passed before he snapped out of his daydream and looked up at Abby, whose eyebrows were raised expectantly. Oh, yeah. Hadn't she said something to him? Asked him a question??
"Uh..." he tried, "Missing drugs?"
"You're right," Abby said, grinning as she held up her cereal bar. "I'm sure that's exactly what's wrong with my cereal bar today. Betty Crocker sure is losing her touch. Next thing you know, she'll be forgetting to put the hard liquor in my coffee."
"What??" John asked, shaking his head to clear his mind from any thoughts of Dave, himself and a closet. "You asked me about the meeting."
"And then I asked why my cereal bar tasted funny, but you obviously weren't paying attention," she said, shaking her head with a grin, leaning back to get a "rear view" of his retreating boyfriend. She suddenly turned serious. "How's Dave doing?"
"He's okay...no, he's not okay," John suddenly changed his mind, and then added with finality: "Something's bothering him."
"Well, he *was* just beaten up, John."
"No, that's not it. Something is...off with him. It has been for a while. One minute he's Dave and the next minute he's...I don't know how to explain it...have you noticed anything?"
"Yeah...but he won't talk to me about it. Every time I ask he brushes me off." She suddenly cocked an eyebrow, glancing at John suspiciously. "You mean...he hasn't talked to you about it?"
"No. He won't. No matter what I do or say, he just won't open up to me," John said. He reached up and rubbed his forehead wearily. "I'm really worried about him."
"Me too," Abby said softly. There was a pause, both lost in their own thoughts, before Abby spoke up once more. "You said something about missing drugs in my cereal bar?"
"No, I was talking about the staff meeting," he clarified. "It's probably going to be about the missing drugs from the drug lockup."
She immediately turned solemn, her brow furrowing in deep thought. "Who do you think is stealing them?" she asked, glancing around the ER as if that alone would allow her to figure out who it was, if indeed anyone was stealing the drugs.
"We don't know if *anyone's* stealing them," he said as he adjusted his shoulder bag. "Maybe it's just human error. Someone could be forgetting to sign them out."
"John," she said exasperatedly. "There's a lot of drugs missing, not just a few pills here and there. Serious drugs, John: Benzos, opiates, amphetamines, barbiturates...someone's stealing them, I know it."
"Well, if that's the case," he said, "then who's the one doing it?"
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Am I breaking down?
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Dave Malucci stood in front of his locker inside of the Lounge, hanging up his jacket on the hook provided. He bent over to his knapsack on the floor and pulled out a few charts he'd finished up last night, and then stuffed that inside as well, leaving his charts on the floor for now. Finished with those simple tasks, he took out a scrub top he kept in there and pulled it on over his long-sleeved tee shirt, clipping on his ID badge and throwing his stethoscope around his neck once done. He couldn't help but notice the fuzzy way the world looked, almost as if everything was moving in slow motion...
Glancing into the mirror on his locker door, he ignored the black eye and row of sutures that would be the focus of many stares today, and instead ran his fingers through his hair and did a few quick adjustments to it before he felt that it was perfect. He remembered a few nights ago when he'd commented to John that he'd been thinking about cutting it lately. When asked for his opinion, the Chief Resident had simply replied with a wicked grin and a devilish wink: "Nah...it gives me something to hold on to."
Dave heard the door to the Lounge open, and when he ducked a little so he could see whom it was in the mirror without having to turn around, he was displeased to say the least that it was Luka Kovac. Steeling himself, Dave closed his locker door quietly, hoping to make a quick and stealthy escape.
"Good morning, Dave," he heard, and then let out a silent sigh as he realized his wish would not be coming true any time soon. Turning, he smiled a nodded at the older man, who crossed the room to him. The Attending reached up and gently touched Dave's black eye, pressing lightly on the bruised skin and checking how well it was healing. But his hand lingered there as he finished, gently brushing his fingers over the Junior Resident's cheek before it fell back to his side. "How do you feel?"
"Okay," Dave replied as the older man moved to the coffee machine, touching his tingling cheek. "What about you?" he then asked, mostly because he could think of nothing else to say.
"Pretty good," Luka replied, smiling at the younger man as he searched through the cabinet for his mug. "I came in here early to get some coffee before the meeting. Would you like some?"
"Uh..." Dave stammered, trying hastily to think of an excuse to leave when the Lounge door opened once more, and he thanked God that John had finally decided to get his ass in here and get ready for work. Turning quickly, he was devastated to see Dr. Weaver enter. Jesus, his morning was turning into a nightmare! Next thing you knew, Dr. Corday would be entering the room, he thought to himself bitterly. Well, at least he wasn't alone with Luka now. But the Chief had that look on her face that told him his previous hunch of her harping on him was true, so he quickly turned back to Luka, saying: "Coffee sounds great."
"No problem," Luka said, pouring him a mug and handing it to him, and if Dave hadn't been so distracted by Dr. Weaver - on top of the Demerol he'd taken this morning - he would've noticed the older man's hand touch Dave's when he passed the Junior Resident the mug, and he would've noticed the older man's hand linger a bit longer than it should've. "Morning, Kerry."
"Good Morning, Luka," she replied, smiling thinly in that way that she did. "Morning, Dave. How are you feeling today?"
"Morning, Chief. I'm feeling great."
"Good. Have you heard about the staff meeting yet?" she asked Dave, and then her eyes shifted to the floor as she spotted his charts in front of his locker. Her expression hardened as she fixed her gaze back on him, her eyes pinning him to the wall. "Dr. Malucci," she started. Oh, Great. When it wasn't "Dave" anymore, but "Dr. Malucci," he knew he was in for it. "Are those your charts on the floor?"
"Yes," he said, moving to them, as John entered the Lounge, his expression one of puzzlement as he heard Dave speak. "But I just put them there when I was getting my stuff together."
"Just make sure you don't leave them there," she said, pulling up a chair at the Lounge table. Great, so now she was going to chew him out in front of John, who was looking pretty sympathetic as he moved to his locker to get ready for the day.
"I wasn't going to," Dave quickly stated, managing to gather them in his arms while still holding his coffee.
"It's a bad habit, to leave your things here and there," she went on to say, though he knew she was implying that it was *his* bad habit.
"It's not a habit."
"Someone could trip right over them and fall down and hurt themselves."
"Right, right." God, how embarrassing this was, Dave thought as he felt a chart slipping from his grasp.
"The hospital could get sued for your haphazard behavior."
"Exactly," Dave agreed. Say something, John, he pleaded silently to the older man, who was *only* looking sympathetic instead of getting him out of this.
"Don't let it happen again." The chart clattered to the floor, visibly startling the younger man, who then let out a silent but noticeable sigh.
"Kerry, can I have a word with you?" Dave suddenly heard from behind him, and he glanced at Luka thankfully. Turning back to John as the two senior staff members began to discuss Dr. Weaver's patient, he tossed him a glare that would put the Chief's to shame as he picked up his chart.
"What?" John whispered quietly to the younger man.
"You could've said something," he replied harshly, though just as quietly. He suddenly sat down at the Lounge table, reorganizing his charts angrily, hoping the day would get better soon.
John sighed silently as he heard Luka whisper to Kerry, so low John could barely pick up on it: "It's his first day back, give him a little bit of a break." Sighing again, John joined Dave at the lounge table, his expression one of puzzlement and slight incredulity. Dave's moods sure were erratic lately, he thought to himself as he watched the Junior Resident carefully, who was now biting his nails, a nervous habit that John had noticed the younger man had recently picked up. Dave glanced up at John, who tossed him an apologetic look as Luka joined them at the table, sitting next to John, but the younger man just looked away, now fidgeting with his ring.
As doctors and nurses filed into the Lounge for the staff meeting that Dr. Weaver had called today, John mused about what could possibly be putting Dave on edge lately, especially the last few days. Perhaps the attack had gotten to him, something John knew they hadn't talked about yet. But it couldn't be that, he thought, because Dave's moods had been unpredictable long before then. Was he stressed with work? But he didn't seem to be under any more stress than he had been since they first started seeing each other. And it couldn't just be that Dave was just like this, because when they *had* first started seeing each other, he was...different. Calmer. More composed. Self-assured. Less likely to explode over things.
Was it the nightmares? Maybe they were getting to be too much for him to handle. It was the only thing that he could really think of that could be bothering Dave so much, and with the intensity in which Dave experienced them - waking up screaming, fighting, crying - it seemed to be the best guess. Next time he had the chance, maybe during dinner or even while they were lounging around at home, John promised himself that he would bring up the possibility of a therapist. If Dave wouldn't talk to John about it, then he could at least talk to someone. Although John was almost positive that Dave would blow up at the suggestion.
Breaking John from his thoughts, Kerry immediately began speaking once everyone was settled. "As most of you know by now, save a few new faces," she said, glancing at Michael Gallant and a few new nurses, "I usually hold a meeting every month to discuss bedside manner, patient care, new equipment, staff changes, policy changes and even that new color system. But this meeting is a bit more...imperative than the color system."
John watched as glances were exchanged throughout the room, more specifically, watching as Dave exchanged glances with Abby, who was sitting next to him. John knew what this meeting was about: the drugs that had been missing from the drug lockups. But most people had been left in the dark thus far, including Dave, who then turned to face John. Their eyes met for a moment, and in that moment, John gasped audibly. Dear Jesus, John thought as Dave mouthed: "You okay?" to him, but John only nodded vigorously. Erratic behavior, mood swings, hypersensitivity...it would explain everything.
No! He had to be wrong, he had to be! Dave was not a drug addict, there was no way! John would be the first to notice, considering he's a drug addict himself, albeit a recovering one. And surely he would've found the pills by now...for God's sake, they lived together! Okay, so they'd only been living together for a few days, but they'd been practically living together before then. And the only pills he had were allergy pills and the painkiller Vicodin that was prescribed by Weaver...there were no Benzos and certainly no Barbs.
...But what if he was *right*?? Dave could be spiraling out of control. He could be a full-blown addict, and John had just been too blind to see it thus far. What if he had just not *wanted* to see it? God, if that was true then it meant that this was his entire fault. Just like with Dennis...he'd lived with Dennis too...and look what had happened to them. He had to stop this before it was too late, before another death was on his shoulders.
Okay...so if Dave was addicted to drugs, what was he supposed to do about it? John knew what he himself had been like when he'd been confronted by his peers. Hell, he'd quit County, damning the name of everyone inside of it, swearing he would never go back. What if he confronted Dave, and the Junior Resident left him? What if - unlike John when Peter had gone after him on that night so long ago - Dave didn't see what was happening and wouldn't come back? John was almost sure his world would turn upside down without Dave. Stop, John! Stop! Your feelings are not important right now! This is Dave's *life*!
God...what the fuck was he supposed to do?? He had to think, he needed to think about this first. Dave might not even be addicted to drugs. He could be reading into this all wrong. Just sit back and wait, he thought to himself. Sit back and wait...and *watch*...
And so he did just that. But during the whole meeting, while Kerry was laying her scrutinizing gaze over each and every one of her staff members present, almost dissecting them with her eyes, Dave remained calm. Surprising to no one but John, he looked mildly concerned, just as concerned as the rest of the staff was looking right now. The younger man even glanced at John, turning away with a worried expression, as if to wonder if *he* was the one stealing the drugs.
"God," John breathed quietly as he rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He *was* reading into this all wrong. Dave wasn't addicted to drugs, John was just being paranoid, just trying too hard to find an explanation for the younger man's recent neurotic behavior. Ridiculous, John, he thought to himself incredulously. You're ridiculous. Jeeze, just look at what happens when you decide to "save" someone. You think too much and you come to the wrong conclusions, and now here you are speculating the fact that Dave could be a drug addict. A drug addict, for God's sake!
How stupid was that??
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Can I break away?
Push me away, make me fall
Just to see another side of me
Push me away, you can see
What I see: the other side of me
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His mind was reeling. Kerry had just announced to the whole entire staff that someone was...*stealing* drugs from the drug lockup. The whole fucking staff! Now everyone would be looking out, keeping a careful eye on the drug lockup to watch out for that someone. That someone of course was he, David Malucci, but right now only he knew that and no one else did...but that would soon change, deep down inside Dave knew his time was running out before his secret was exposed to all and he lost everything...his career, his friends, his lover. That was simply because they wouldn't understand, they just wouldn't fucking understand. And he wasn't *stealing* them, he *needed* them! He couldn't get through the day without those drugs! But they wouldn't understand that, they'd try to change him, just like they'd tried to all along, because they didn't like him, they never did. And they certainly didn't try to hide it. The only reason Luka liked him was because he liked the way he fucked him, he didn't like him personally, it was all just an act. Hell, Abby probably laughed at him behind his back. And John...John, he...he was just walking on the wild side. He would leave him, the first chance he got he would leave him, and Dave would be alone again...alone forever.
They wouldn't understand.
But they weren't the ones who'd had the shit beaten out of them by their own father almost every day. Every day. Every single fucking day. A slap here, a punch there, a kick now, a baseball bat then. And he had the scars and mental stability to prove it. But they weren't the ones that saw their experiences reflected in the pitiful cases brought into the ER every single day. Pitiful. He was just pitiful in their minds. Pitiful and pathetic. He was a loser, a loser, no one was sympathetic towards losers, they preyed on them, used their weaknesses against them. But they weren't the ones that went to sleep to nightmares and woke up to a life they couldn't stand, a life that was suffocating him slowly, mercilessly. They didn't have to deal with that. They were happy and prosperous and perfect. He was a loser. But they weren't the ones that needed to forget. And he did. He needed to, he needed to. He *had* to, or he would lose his mind...or at least what was left of it.
They wouldn't understand.
A surreptitious glance at John told him that the older man didn't know he was taking the pills either, but it was only a matter of time. It was only a matter of time before he became suspicious, it was only a matter of time before he began questioning Dave, it was only a matter of time. And what was he going to do then? Force him into rehab, just like they'd done to John? But Dave wasn't addicted, he needed these pills. He *needed* them. But John was just like the rest of them, and he would just think he knew what was best for Dave. John would force him into rehab and while he was gone he would leave, and Dave would come home to an empty apartment and an empty life.
John wouldn't understand. No one would understand.
They just wouldn't fucking understand.
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Fall back on me, and Ill be the strength I need
To save me now, just come face to face with me
Stay in place, you'll be the first to see
Me heal these wounds
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"Well, that proved to be utterly useless," Abby stated dryly as she and her two best friends exited the Lounge together.
John exchanged glances with Dave, who only offered a faux-shrug towards that comment. "What did you expect?" the Chief Resident asked. "For the culprit to just stand up and admit that he's the one taking the pills?"
"Who says it's a he?" Dave interjected, hoping that they'd get off the topic of this soon, though he knew it would be the only thing circling around the ER once the nurse's Rumor Mill got started. They'd probably make speculation, some would even try to play detective. Hopefully no one would go snooping around in his business, though he knew they'd write him off as too stupid to be stealing drugs for months without detection. Besides, they'd probably be focusing on John too much to even consider him. He glanced at the nurse before him pointedly. "For all we know it could be Abby."
"I'll pee in a cup right now, if you want me to," she declared, eyebrows raised.
"Would I get to watch? Maybe hold the cup??" Dave asked with a grin and a wink, but Abby just tossed him a look and then rolled her eyes. "Hey, you guys want to grab some lunch later?"
"Sure," Abby replied, with a wink of her own, and if she didn't know better she would have sworn that Dave was blushing.
"Can't," John stated. "I have a meeting with Weaver my lunch break."
"Have fun," Dave quipped.
Abby suddenly glanced over Dave's shoulder, her eyes fixing on someone behind the two men. "Weaver, six o'clock. We'd better get out of here, she's not in the greatest mood today."
"When is she?" Dave asked with a laugh as he made a quick dash for elsewhere.
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I'm not breaking down
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"Why are you laughing?"
"I'm not laughing."
"Yes, you are," John said. "You're grinning from ear to ear."
"That's different than laughing," Dave pointed out.
"That's not the point." He indicated the television. "That doctor just told his twelve-year-old patient she was going to die. And you're laughing."
"I'm not laughing."
It had been many hours since the staff meeting that morning, which seemed so long ago to both men. By now, the meeting was the furthest thing from their minds, discarded from their memory and forgotten. So, now, the two men were sprawled out on the couch in their living room, one of Dave's legs draped over John's, who was playing with the brown hair on the younger man's calf. Kermit was curled up in a ball and sleeping, having wedged himself between Dave's side and the couch back. Boxes of Chinese take-out nearly empty by now were sitting haphazardly on the coffee table in front of them, beer for Dave and soda for John also located on that same table.
"You're still smiling," John stated, but when he saw exactly what Dave was grinning about he found himself smiling as well. "You have a crush on that doctor, don't you?"
"I do not," he said indignantly, though his expression suggested otherwise.
"Yes, you do!" he exclaimed, sitting up. "Admit it! You have a crush on George Clooney."
"I do not have a crush on George Clooney." Pause. "Okay, so I have a little crush on George Clooney."
"George Clooney..." John said incredulously as he sat back against the couch once more. He was still grinning, unable to *not* take the chance to rip on Dave for his celebrity crush. "He could be your father."
Dave pulled a face. "George is only forty."
"So you two are on a first-name basis?" John teased.
Dave threw a pillow from the couch at John, which he caught but didn't throw back, instead placing it behind him and leaning against it. Dave stuck his tongue out at John, obviously let down that they weren't going to have a pillow fight, but John just wasn't up to it after today's seemingly endless shift. Sometimes John wondered how he ever kept up with the younger man's antics, but at least it kept him on his toes.
"It's a good thing that you didn't work at the hospital when Doug Ross worked there," John went on to say. "People were forever telling him that he looked like George Clooney. He used to get so annoyed when people used to tell him that," John said, laughing at the memory. "You would have had a hard time focusing on work with him around."
Once more relaxing and enveloped by the marathon of some medical drama they were watching on television, the two men sat in silence. Removing his leg from John, Dave leaned forward to grab more shrimp lo mein and beer when he heard John say: "Scott Bakula."
"What?" he asked, puzzled as he turned his head slightly to look at John from over his shoulder.
"Scott Bakula," John repeated, somewhat hesitantly. Dave only continued to stare at him blankly, so he continued, with a sigh and a slight roll of his eyes: "I...I think Scott Bakula's kinda...good-looking..."
"Scott Bakula...?" Dave asked, more to himself than John as he tried to place the name that he knew he had heard before. He suddenly smiled broadly, holding up his hands. "Wait...you don't mean that guy from that TV show, uh..." - he snapped his fingers several times repeatedly until it came to him - " 'Quantum Leap,' do you??"
"Yeah, that guy..." John replied sheepishly. He sat up again. "What?! What's so wrong with Scott Bakula??"
"Nothing!" Dave said as he snickered and tried to compress his laughter as best as possible, holding up his hands in mock-surrender. He leaned back on the couch again, accidentally squishing Kermit, who growled depreciatingly and stalked off to find a quieter place to rest. "But you do realize that Scott Bakula has to be at *least* ten years older than George Clooney."
"So?" John asked. "I'm older than you."
"By, like, two years!" Dave exclaimed, laughing, and was promptly hit with a pillow. "Hey! No fair! You stole mine!"
"Then steal it back," John simply said, holding up the pillow once more to hit Dave with it. He immediately regretted the comment when Dave shot up and straddled him between his knees, so quickly John could've blinked and missed it. The younger man grabbed the pillow from John with vigor, both men laughing before Dave hit John with it. "Dave! That hurt!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Dave said, his laughter dying down as he moved John's hand away from his jaw to inspect it and make sure he hadn't done any damage to his lover. He saw the mischievous flicker in the older man's eyes too late, and before he knew it John had grabbed the pillow back and managed to playfully smack Dave square in the face. The younger man fell back against the seat of the couch, and now John was on top of him, the pillow wedged between them. "You cheated," Dave said, grinning, as was John. "You're a cheater."
"Am not," John said, but before Dave could reply with the traditional comeback, he kissed him on the lips. Dave chuckled into the kiss, knowing that that was the only reason John had done it at that time, but both men immediately turned to the television screen as they heard the familiar beeping of monitors blaring. "Think she'll make it?"
"Nope," Dave said. "I saw this one."
"Well, if you're going to keep grinning through the entire death scene," John said, causing Dave's grin to only widen, "then I'm going to go to the bathroom."
"Get me another beer while you're up?" Dave asked, holding up his empty bottle. John grabbed the bottle, and Dave watched him as he left the room, following the way John's figure moved beneath his clothes. He bit his lip, his mind wandering to bedtime activities, and he was suddenly anxious to get to bed. Hopefully after this marathon was over, he could convince John that they could stay up just a little later, even if the older man had an early shift tomorrow.
A few minutes later, after the little girl on television was dead and George Clooney's screen time was over, John joined Dave at the couch once more, but sat at the other end of it. Dave began relaying what had happened in his absence, including the fact that when they'd intubated the patient, they hadn't administered any type of drugs, which they should've. It took him a few moments to realize John wasn't paying attention, right before he realized the older man was looking rather...numb.
"You okay, John?" Dave asked, his brow furrowed as he did so. John remained silent for a minute, before Dave waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey, Earth to John! And where's my beer?"
"You remember that meeting today?" John asked, though he wasn't looking at Dave.
"Yeah..." Dave replied slowly, eyeing John carefully. The meeting had been hours and hours ago, and neither of them had brought up the subject since. Why in God's name would John be bringing it up now?? "What about it?"
"Do you wonder who it is?" he asked, and only then did he turn to look at Dave, his eyes pinning Dave to the wall. The only thing the younger man could do was shrug, unable to form a sentence, a word, a sound - anything. "They must be pretty depressed, right?"
"I...I guess so..."
"How have you been feeling lately?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know..." John said, looking away once more, his brow furrowed as if he was thinking deeply. He seemed to be struggling for the words, possibly even trying to phrase them in his head before speaking out loud. "I mean...you've been acting erratic lately..."
"Erratic?" Dave asked, his eyes narrowing as his pulse quickened. Why was John asking him all of these questions?? Was he on to him? Did he figure out that Dave was taking pills? Maybe if he explained to him why, maybe if he told him that he had to...but did John really know? Maybe he was just concerned about his mood. Maybe, maybe, maybe... "What do you mean? What are you trying to say?"
"I'm not saying anything...it's just..." John said, but then trailed off with a sigh. He turned back to Dave, his eyes pleading. But what was the Chief Resident expecting? "I worry about you...your past and your nightmares and...I want to help you, but...I can't if you won't...talk to me..."
So that's what this was about, Dave decided, but probably only because he didn't want to think that it could be about anything else. Glancing away, he was suddenly at a loss for words. He'd discussed this before with John: he didn't want to talk about it. He'd stated that loud and clear, just like that so John couldn't misinterpret it. So why was he bringing it up now? Was Dave's mood really that off? Perhaps he should take something with the Demerol, to calm him down...
"Look, Dave..." John said when the Junior Resident didn't reply. He seemed to hesitate, before saying: "It's not healthy keeping it all inside. If you won't talk to me...would...will you at least talk to *someone*?"
"What?" Dave asked sharply, his voice suddenly taking on a defensive tone. "What do you mean, talk to someone??"
"I don't know, Dave..." John said, and then sighed, hating the direction in which this conversation was turning. "Like...like a..."
"Like a shrink??" Dave snapped. No way. No fucking way. No way was Dave going to see another one of those doctors. They hadn't helped years ago, and they sure as hell weren't going to help now. "No! No fucking way!"
"No!" John exclaimed before this whole thing blew up in his face. "Yes - I don't know! I just - I just want to help you!"
"I don't want your help," Dave said, as he walked into the kitchen to get his beer. God! If he couldn't have a pill right now he needed a beer - lots of them. He came back into the living room and opened his beer in an attempt to shrug the whole conversation off.
"Yeah?" John snapped, becoming angry now. He didn't know what pissed him off more: the fact that Dave walked away from him when he was talking to him, the fact that he was so nonchalant about the whole situation, or the fact that he was drinking beer. "Well, you need my help."
"Says who?" Dave asked. "You?? You think you know me, John? You have no idea..."
"Then tell me!" John said with desperation. Dave leaned back in his seat casually, raising the bottle to his lips as if they were still just kicking back and watching that medical drama on television, but John saw that Dave's hand was shaking. In a sudden burst of anger that John usually didn't display, the Chief Resident drew his hand back and knocked the bottle out of Dave's hand, sending it across the room and into the wall, where it hit but did not break. It landed to the floor with a muffled thud, beer flowing freely from it as it stained the carpet. "God damn it, Dave! God damn it! Stop drinking that fucking beer and talk to me!"
Dave was staring at the bottle on the floor, his expression showing his shock. John had seen him startle visibly as he'd knocked the bottle from his hand, and while he felt bad for doing that, he didn't regret his decision. Dave was going to talk or John was going to walk. At least that's the ultimatum he was going to give him - it wasn't to say he actually *would* leave, but he needed to make Dave open up.
"You think it's that fucking easy??" Dave yelled as he turned to look at John. "You really *don't* have any fucking idea." The Junior Resident suddenly stood from the couch, heading towards the hallway, his body ridged with anger...no, rage.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to bed," Dave said from over his shoulder.
"Oh, no, you're not!" John said, standing as well. He began to move towards Dave, who sharply turned on his heel and took a defensive stance. My God! John thought. He thinks I'm going to hurt him!
"Why? What are you going to do??" he asked, his face contorted with anger. "You gonna stop me? Gonna knock me around instead of that fucking beer bottle?? You want to hit me, John?"
"Dave, you know I'd never hurt you," was the first thing that John said. Did the younger man honestly think that John would hit him?? Dave stared him down for a few moments, making John feel suddenly embarrassed for his previous actions. But he'd just been so fed up with Dave's fa�ade...
"Well, you better be sure you can do it," Dave hissed, his eyes portraying more than he would ever say. "You better be positive you can take me, because I...I'll fight back. I'm not a little kid anymore, John, I know how to defend myself now."
"I'm not going to hit you, Dave," he said quietly.
"Then leave me alone," he said tiredly, turning once more and walking away, his shoulder sagging with defeat.
"Dave..."
"Goodnight, John."
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Can I break away?
Push me away, make me fall
Just to see another side of me
Push me away, you can see
What I see: the other side of me
-------------------------------------
Dave closed the bedroom door silently, leaning his back against it and sighing heavily as he ran his fingers through his hair. What the hell was wrong with John? Why was he suddenly asking all these questions and why was he suddenly so concerned? He'd told him that he didn't want to talk about it, John knew that Dave didn't want to talk about it. He just didn't want to, why didn't John get that?!! Dave didn't even want to consider the "it wasn't healthy" bullshit. He'd been living like this for years now, and he was doing just fine. So he might take some pills to get through the day, and maybe he drank a little more than he should, but he was still doing just fine. He was fine. He was doing just fucking fine.
He would be even more fine if John would just stop probing him about his past. He didn't want to talk about it, because talking about it made him remember it all. And he certainly didn't want to remember it, he just wanted to forget it like a bad nightmare. That's all it had been, really: one terribly long fucking nightmare. And he would forget it if John would just shut the fuck up about it.
Damn it! Dave turned abruptly, thrusting his fist into the door, feeling the impact in his stinging knuckles. Closing his eyes, he decided that all he needed to do was calm down. Breathe in and out, in and out...that's it, just calm down, he told himself. But when it didn't have the desired effect, he found himself moving into the bathroom, suddenly needing something to take the edge off a bit.
Running his fingers through his hair once more, he took a deep breath before pulling open the mirror to reveal the medicine cabinet behind it. His eyes settled on the shelf where he kept his bottle of pills, but his brow furrowed as they met the empty space where he knew it used to stand. He felt his pulse quicken as he swallowed hard, his hands swiftly pushing other items out of the way as his eyes searched the shelf frantically. Where was it? Where the fuck was it?? It had to be here, it had to, it had to Goddamn be here!! He didn't take the bottle to work, he never took the bottle to work because he didn't want to risk someone finding them. Then where did he put them? They had to be here! And that was only because he didn't want to think of where else it *could* be.
Pulling his hands back abruptly, Dave stared at the almost empty medicine cabinet, most of the contents on the counter, in the sink or on the floor. Looking away with wild eyes, he glanced up once more as if to expect the pills to be there, that somehow he had just missed them. But they still weren't there, anywhere. But where the fuck could they be??
Closing the mirror numbly, Dave jumped in surprise as he saw John's reflection in the mirror, the older man standing in the doorway of the bathroom. How long had he been standing there, Dave wondered as he spun around, gasping audibly and letting out an intelligible exclamation of some sort when he saw John raise the missing bottle of pills from his side and into Dave's line of vision.
John gave the bottle a little shake, watching as the younger man visibly paled. "Looking for these?"
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No one can see anything on the other side of me
I walk, I crawl, losing everything and waiting for the downfall
No one can see everything on the other side of me
I walk, I crawl, losing everything on the downfall
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Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n