--------------------------- Chapter Eleven: Save You ---------------------------
I wanted to be like you
I wanted everything
So I tried to be like you
And I got swept away
-------------------------------------
John scrambled to the ground at Dave's side, his heart beating quickly as he checked the younger man's vitals without moving him. Oh, thank God, John thought as he found that Dave's pulse and breath sounds were strong. He made sure to keep Dave's neck as immobilized as possible as he turned him onto his back, calling his name as he did so.
"Dave, wake up," he said, gently shaking his shoulders. Unzipping the Junior Resident's jacket, he pushed the fabric aside and slipped his hands under Dave's shirt, beginning a rib count after knowing that the many kicks he took to the chest must've done some kind of damage. He glanced up after hearing a moan escape the younger man's lips. "Yeah, that's it. Come on, Dave. Wake up."
"John?" he mumbled, opening his eyes just enough to see John groping him painfully in the middle of the sidewalk. His brow furrowed in confusion, the light behind the Chief Resident giving him a supernatural aura. "What are you doing? That hurts."
"Thank God!" John breathed quietly, and then asked, watching Dave carefully: "Can you tell me your name and where you are?"
"Dave." The Junior Resident glanced around, his eyes squinting against the light that was shining from the streetlight into them at this angle. "The Game Room."
"What about the day?"
"Uh...December, uh..."
"It's okay," John assured him, able to tell that Dave was struggling to remember what day it was. "It's the twelfth, but don't worry about it. I think you have a concussion."
"Do you need an ambulance?" the old bartender persisted for the second time, now standing on the sidewalk next to them. Worry flashed over his gentle blue eyes, recognizing John and Dave from the visits they paid to his bar. They were nice kids, they didn't deserve this.
"No," Dave answered, just as John replied: "Yes."
"So which is it?" Anthony asked. He turned to Dave. "You don't look too good, Dave. I think you should listen to John here and let me call one."
"No," Dave said, attempting to sit up but John kept a firm hand on his chest, disabling him from doing so. God, he felt like he'd been ripped apart and put back together the wrong way. Suddenly, he groaned, his hand moving to his head as a wave of nausea passed over him. "Shit. Get off me, John. Help me up."
"No," John immediately replied. "Don't move."
"Are you sure you don't want an ambulance?" Anthony asked, his face wrinkled into a frown.
"Dave, I think Anthony's right," John stated, his eyes displaying his concern. Despite that fact, Dave pushed John's hand away with the little strength that he had, and managed to sit up unsteadily. John turned to the old bartender, not noticing the younger man sitting up just yet. "Call an ambulance. Dave! Lay down! Now."
"No!" Dave insisted, looking up at John with an odd expression in his eyes. "The last thing I need is to go to County strapped to a gurney. I don't even need to go to the hospital! I'm fine...I've taken a few hits in my life, this is nothing."
"Dave, you are going to the hospital. Period, end of discussion."
"Fine, but only if you take me," Dave said. And when he saw John's skeptical expression, he pleaded, urgency laced in his voice: "Please? I don't want to go strapped to a gurney in the back of an ambulance."
John glanced at Dave, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. It was almost as if Dave was afraid...but not afraid of going to the hospital, he agreed to going...but only if John would take him. Why? He kept mentioning being "strapped" to a gurney. Was he...was he afraid of being restrained? Leaning close to the younger man, he whispered into Dave's ear: "Dave, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," the younger man said, but then insisted: "I just want you to take me to the hospital. Just you...no ambulance, no big deal."
"Why can't the ambulance take you?" He could immediately tell Dave was searching his mind for a liable answer - a liable *lie*. "Dave, are you...afraid?"
"What?? No...no..." Dave would've shaken his head furiously at the intention had he not been very dizzy as it was. He glanced up at John with pleading eyes. "I just...can you please, just do this one thing for me, John? Don't ask me why, please don't ask me why. Just take me to the ER yourself...please?"
"Fine." John sighed, his brow furrowed in slight puzzlement. Turning to Anthony, he apologized: "Sorry to bother you, Anthony. But I'll make sure Dave gets to the hospital all right. Thanks, anyway."
"No problem," he replied, heading back up the stairs after making sure John got Dave standing and somewhat steady. He turned back once more, watching the young men move awkwardly towards John's Jeep, which was parked a few yards away. "Be careful!"
-------------------------------------
I didn't know that it was so cold
And you needed someone
To show you the way
So I took your hand and we figured out
That when the tide comes
I'd take you away
-------------------------------------
"I need a gurney!" John called to no one in specific as he entered the emergency room, one of Dave's arms slung over his shoulders, John's own arm wrapped around the younger man's waist, supporting his weight. He turned to the first doctor that he saw: Kerry Weaver. And she was fast approaching after hearing the urgency in John's voice. "Dr. Weaver, Dave's hurt. I need a gurney."
"I don't need a gurney," Dave protested, shaking his head, which was throbbing with a dull ache that started at the base of his skull and radiated outwards. Not to mention the other bruises on every part of his body that were each punctuated with pain. He sighed, hating all of the drama he knew he was about to receive.
And thus it began.
"What happened??" Kerry asked, her eyes wide and full of worry as she took one of Dave's arms over her own shoulders.
"Kerry, let me," they heard, and Dave's stomach dropped as he recognized the voice of one Croatian doctor. Kerry moved and Luka bent down a little to accommodate to Dave's height, and together he and John moved the younger man to an empty exam room, the Chief of the ED leading the way.
Once inside, Dave sat heavily on the empty exam bed, grateful because he wasn't sure how much longer he would've been able to stand. Kerry turned back to the two men now, her previous question having been left unanswered. "What happened to you two?"
"We got jumped outside of a bar," John stated, who was for some reason avoiding all eye contact with Dave.
"Why wasn't he immobilized?" Luka asked, his question aimed at John, his tone sounding mildly angry and slightly annoyed.
"He refused," John said, though he knew how lame it sounded.
"He refused?" Luka repeated mockingly. "Carter, you're a doctor for God's sake. You know better!"
"Hey!" Dave interrupted, and the two men looked at him. "I'm in the room, for Christ's sake, you can ask me. Yes, Luka, I refused. I wouldn't let him immobilize him, and I wouldn't let him call an ambulance either. So if anyone has any problem with that, yell at me...talk to me..."
"Well, you're being immobilized now," Dr. Weaver interjected with finality in her voice as she moved towards a nearby supply closet.
"The hell I am," Dave declared as he began to stand.
"Dr. Malucci!" she said, as Luka placed a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him seated.
"Don't touch me," he snapped, brushing Luka's hand away, but immediately regretting doing such when he saw the clear worry in the older man's eyes. He quickly turned away, towards Dr. Weaver, who seemed to be the only person he could look at right now. "Listen, I agreed to be checked out and examined, but I am *not* being immobilized. And if you try to, I swear to God I'll walk right out of this ER. That's the deal, take it or leave it!"
"Calm down Dave," John said softly, somewhat exasperatedly.
"Dave!" Dr. Weaver exclaimed. "You need to be immobilized, and that's that. Now you can lay there and behave or you can act like a child, just like how you are now. Hell, leave if you want to, but in your condition, I doubt you would make it very far."
God, she could be such a bitch sometimes, Dave thought as she began to adjust the cervical collar so it could fit him. But he was off duty and wasn't going to take any of her shit, especially now. "Dr. Weaver, I will fight all of you if I have to, and I don't want to hurt anyone...but I can't - I *won't* be tied down. I'm not a crazy person and I'm not an animal, and I *will* sign out AMA if I have to."
"You have a head injury," she simply said, as she kept fiddling with that Goddamned collar. "Which clearly means that you are not in the right state of mind to make that decision yourself."
"That's bullshit!" Dave hissed, glancing at Luka and John for help, who both seemed to find the floor more interesting right now.
"Dave," Dr. Weaver started exasperatedly, though she was clearly concerned by Dave's current mental state...he seemed so out of control. "We just want to make sure that we don't make your injuries worse. You know that, you're a doctor, you would do the same for your patients."
"No! I want your word that you won't tie me down, or I'm outta here!" he persisted urgently, and when they were silent, he began to stand but fell back as a wave of dizziness hit him.
"Okay, Dave, okay," Dr. Weaver said with a sigh after watching him attempt to stand. "You have my word. Now will you please just sit down and stop moving all over the place?"
John glanced at Dave with concern, and although the younger man wouldn't meet his gaze, he nodded in agreement before sitting down heavily and sighing tiredly.
"Now what happened tonight?" She glanced at him, waiting for him to elaborate as she began to take Dave's vitals, starting first with his heartbeat and breath sounds, and then his blood pressure. As John began to speak, she used her penlight to check Dave's pupils and make sure they were equal, round and reactive to light, which they were. "We'd just left the bar, and these guys approached us."
"Did you know them?" Luka asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he stood nearby, his expression hard and unreadable. Meanwhile, Kerry slipped her hands on either side of Dave's face upon noting that he had a black left eye, and began to use her thumbs to press down on his cheekbones and the bones surrounding his eyes.
"No," John quickly replied. Too much would be compromised if the police got to the guys that did this. They could tell them what they saw - Dave and John kissing against the brick wall - and then the police, in turn, could tell Kerry because she was the treating physician. At least he thought so, because he wasn't that keen on law, but he didn't want to take that chance. And after what had happened, he knew that the hospital getting wind of it definitely wasn't a possibility. Who knew how badly others could take it if they came out? John then continued with his story: "They didn't really hurt me, but they sure did a number on Dave. He was out for at least a few minutes."
"Ow..." Dave said, flinching as Kerry pressed on the tender flesh of his bruised eye. He pulled away, wrapping his hand around her wrist and stopping her from poking and prodding his face any longer. "Okay, stop it! I think we've established that it hurts."
"You know I'm just checking to make sure you didn't break any bones," Kerry stated, the worry still visible in her gentle eyes.
"Did they mug you?" Luka now asked, having taken it upon himself to play detective.
"No," John answered, Dave desperately trying to make eye contact with him now that Kerry had left his face alone. Why was John lying about the fact that Dave knew their attackers?
"Then why would they do this? If you didn't know them?" Kerry piped up, holding out Dave's arms and checking them for bruising. There was a clear print of a boot on his upper arm, amongst other bruises, but no lacerations. She looked up at Dave. "Take off your shirt."
"What?" Dave asked, clear surprise on his face. He glanced at John apprehensively, before looking back to the Chief. "Why? I mean...I didn't think I was your type, Chief," he joked nervously, though he tried to cover it up with a sly smile. Perhaps if he pissed her off enough, she would leave him alone.
"Malucci," she began, pointing her finger at him. "Don't push me. I let you have your way when it came to being immobilized, but another comment like that and I'm going to assume that you have a severe head injury, which necessitates you being tied to that bed. Now take off your shirt."
"Why, Chief? I'm fine." His voice was pleading now, and even though he knew it he couldn't seem to hide the pain no matter how hard he tried. "My chest doesn't hurt," he lied quickly.
"I just want to check out your chest and back, see if any ribs are broken and how much bruising there is," she replied, not noticing Dave's sudden nervousness. He glanced at John again, and only then did the Chief Resident realize why Dave hadn't wanted to take an ambulance to the hospital: to avoid this. He didn't want to take off his shirt or any of his clothes, because he didn't want anyone to see his scars. He didn't want to hear questions and he certainly didn't want to give answers. "Dave, just take off your shirt. And then I'm going to want a CT-scan of your head, you probably have a concussion. I also want a C-spine."
"Uh, John did a rib count before," Dave said hastily, looking at the older man, hoping that he got the message. God, if the Chief got his shirt off she'd see all those nasty scars. Perhaps she might ignore it, pretend that she didn't see it - but she would. She'd see them and then he'd be "different" in her eyes, he would be weak, and there was nothing he could do to change that. "You don't have to do one, right? Can't I just get a head-CT and go home?"
"Dave, please just work with me here, okay?" she asked with exasperation evident in her voice. Her eyes suddenly narrowed, and she glanced at John. "Wait, you said you didn't know them? But they didn't rob you. Why did they jump you, then?"
"They thought we were...together," John said, once again avoiding eye contact with Dave and Luka, both who he could see watching him in his peripheral vision. The Attending moved his gaze from the Chief Resident and to the Junior Resident, who met his eyes for only a moment before shifting them back to John.
"But you were together," Kerry said, slightly puzzled. "You went to the bar together, didn't you?"
"No, I mean as in...dating," he replied tentatively. She narrowed her eyes, glancing at Dave, whose expression was almost one of disbelief - but not at the notion of John and Dave dating, but at the fact that John was lying. He'd just said that he wanted to come out, and now he'd changed his mind? And what he was thinking was evident in his expression, and John was afraid that Kerry was going to pick up on it, so - to take her attention away from Dave - the Chief Resident gave out a small laugh as he said: "Can you believe that? I mean, we weren't even doing anything to make them think that. And...me and *Dave*?? I think I have better taste than that!"
"Imagine that," the Junior Resident spat. Dave looked away, his smile not sharing the humor that John was, but showing his incredulity. The Chief Resident might as well have just slapped him in the face, because it sure as hell would've been a lot less painful. Glancing up at John, he held up his hands, motioning Kerry to stop. "You know what? I don't need this."
"What do you mean?" Kerry asked, but John knew that Dave wasn't speaking of his examination. "Dave, you can't go home."
"Oh, but I am," he stated, standing on unsteady feet. He took a moment to gain his bearings before moving past the protesting Kerry and John, storming out of the exam room, his expression a mix of pain, anger and hurt, as he fought to hold back tears.
"Dave, wait," Luka called, fixing John with a well-deserved glare before all three left the room and after the injured man.
"Dave, I still need to get a head-CT and a C-spine!" Kerry called, just as John said: "Who's going to drive you home??"
"I'm fine and I'll take the El!" Dave said, and even as he said that, he knew that the El wasn't very safe at this time of night, and he had to pause briefly in a bout of dizziness. Taking a deep breath, he began walking again, but once again stopped, this time unable to continue. He fell forward, reaching out blindly for something, but his fingers only found air and he hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him. The last thing he heard was the three doctors screaming before his world was once more enveloped in black.
-------------------------------------
If you want to
I can save you
I can take you away from here
So lonely inside
So busy out there
And all you wanted
Was somebody who cares
-------------------------------------
"Okay," Kerry said with a sigh, her hand to her forehead as she tried to think. Dave had just collapsed in the middle of her ER, and after John, Luka and Malik had gotten him onto a gurney, they'd transferred him back into the exam room, where he was now lying, hooked up to an IV and an EKG. "I want a head-CT, C-spine, CBC, urine, glucose. And type and cross - just in case."
"He's A+," John said quietly, knowing that surgery probably wouldn't be necessary for the concussion that he had, but the simple precaution of having type-specific blood on hand just in case startled him.
"Malik, get a suture kit from Sutures, please? He's going to need it for that cut on his forehead," Kerry said, speaking of the laceration that Dave had managed to obtain when he'd collapsed, the same one that Luka was now irrigating and cleaning. She glanced down at Dave then, as Malik was leaving the room and leaving the four doctors alone. "John, can you help me get him into a gown?"
"Luka and I can do it," he immediately said, causing Kerry to glance up at him with narrowed eyes. He met her eye, but quickly looked away to Luka, who was watching with interest but not offering an opinion. "I mean, I'm sure you've got patients waiting..."
"It's fine. And I'm sure you're going to need help," she replied, pulling a gown from the closet nearby. She moved back to the exam bed, opening up the gown and placing it to the side. She picked up a pair of scissors from a nearby tray table, holding them up. "Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?"
"Uh..." John said, searching his mind quickly for an excuse as to why Kerry couldn't take off his clothes. He glanced at Luka for help, who had to know why he didn't want Kerry to see Dave without his clothes, but the bastard just stood there, cleaning Dave's wound. Turning back to the Chief, he saw her looking up at him expectantly, an eyebrow cocked because of his sudden strange behavior. "You can't," was all he could think of saying. Yeah, good one, John, he thought to himself. That'll make her stop.
"Why not?" she asked, tossing him a puzzling glance.
"Because, uh..." he stammered. "Because...that's Dave's favorite shirt. I think he said it was his lucky shirt or something..."
"John, you're babbling. Now what the hell is going on?"
"Dave has a skin condition."
"What kind of a skin condition?" she immediately asked.
Shit! "Uh...a rash, or...something. He wouldn't go into specifics. I saw it the other day, it's really bad. He'd be very embarrassed if either of you saw it."
"Trust me, John," she said, a wry smile on her face as she reached for Dave. "I've been working in the ER for about 20 years. Luka for probably just as long. We've seen worse."
"Don't touch him!" he suddenly exclaimed, visibly startling Dr. Weaver, who immediately pulled her hands away from the Junior Resident's unconscious form. Luka followed suit, but his slight hesitation didn't register in her mind. "It's contagious!"
"I'll wear gloves," she stated, exasperation in her voice as she reached for a nearby box of the standard latex gloves that were kept in almost every room of the hospital. She tossed a pair to John, who hastily caught them, accidentally dropping one on the floor. He picked it up quickly, standing to see Dr. Weaver gloved and waiting for him.
"Dr. Weaver, I really don't think he wants you to see him without his clothes," John said evenly. "He'll be really embarrassed, and he'll hate me for letting you take his clothes off."
"John," she said, clear annoyance in her voice. "Either you cut the damned shirt off or I will. This doesn't have to be difficult, so don't make it as such."
"Okay..." John said tentatively, knowing that when Dave found out that Kerry had seen him without clothes he was going to be upset. He reached for Dave ungloved, causing Kerry to toss him a puzzling glance.
"You just said he has a contagious rash." Pause. "There is no rash, is there?"
He searched his mind quickly, but couldn't come up with any other excuses as to why she couldn't undress him. What was he supposed to say without giving the scars away? And Luka certainly wasn't helping. "Can't you just trust me, Dr. Weaver?"
"John." She put her hand to her head, rubbing her temple with a sigh of exasperation and slight annoyance. "Please, just help me get him into a gown or Luka and I will to do it."
She glanced down at Dr. Malucci, who appeared to be sleeping though he was unconscious. So it may have been the wrong reason to want to get Dave into a gown and order tests, but the Chief Resident had piqued her interest, and she had to admit that she was a bit curious to find out what the big deal was.
With a sigh, John began to assist Dr. Weaver. He leaned down and began to cut away at Dave's shirt. Kerry was standing to Dave's left, slightly behind him now and when she pulled aside Dave's now torn shirt she gasped audibly, her eyes widening - but not because of the bruising from the attack, but because of the scars across his chest and stomach. Luka, however, was not surprised, but she didn't think to ask why. All she could do right now was see those horrible scars. Had Dave been in some sort of accident previously, causing him to obtain the angry puckering in his flesh? She didn't dare to think that it could've been because of something - or someone - else.
"Do you know where these are from?" she asked, glancing at John, knowing the two had recently become close friends. John looked up at her, his eyes telling her everything even though he shook his head. She looked back down at the Junior Resident's body, knowing those gashes couldn't have come from any accident. She sighed, continuing in her task, realizing now why Dave had been so intent on keeping his clothes on earlier, and why John had tried to convince her of the same. "Roll him over, John," she said softly.
"Why?"
"I need to check his back," she replied.
"They're there too, Dr. Weaver," he said quietly, and then added, looking up at her: "Only worse."
"I need to check for bruising and lacerations," she said evenly. "Luka, would you please keep his neck immobilized?"
Silently, and with great care, John rolled Dave onto his side while Luka immobilized his head. The Chief Resident watched as Dr. Weaver gently examined Dave, running her fingertips lightly over the three long scars that were more prominent than the others, her expression a mixture of horror and compassion. "God," she breathed quietly, shaking her head sadly. "Okay...turn him over on his back again."
Again, John did as he was told, knowing that if Dave ever found out about this he would die. He just hoped that he'd be able to convince Dr. Weaver not to mention anything, and though now Luka was keeping silent, John just hoped he'd *stay* silent. He was shaken from his thoughts when he saw Dr. Weaver reach down and begin to unbuckle Dave's belt.
"Dr. Weaver..." John began, as he placed his hand on top of hers to stop her. She looked up at him, his eyes pleading. Dave would be devastated if he found out Dr. Weaver had seen all those other scars - the ones on his most private parts. And John would not let that happen - he had to protect him. "Dave doesn't even like the fact that *I* know, and I'm one of his closest friends. Please let me finish this. And don't tell him that you've seen what you have."
"There's more, isn't there?" Kerry asked softly.
"Dr. Weaver, please let me finish." And when he saw her hesitate, he said, quietly: "He doesn't want you to treat him differently or take pity on him. Believe it or not, Dr. Weaver, he respects you more than anyone and he cares about what you think of him. He would hate that you've seen as much as you have already. Most of all, he's not ready to...to tell you what..." He trailed off, but then: "Please, Kerry. Let me do this."
Kerry nodded, glancing at the unconscious doctor lying on the exam bed, deep prominent scars across his chest that she could only guess when and how he had received them. She watched John for a moment begin to finish undressing the young man before letting out a shaky breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Backing away from the bed and turning towards the door, only then did the Chief of the ED realize that there was more to Dave than she would ever know. Perhaps she didn't even really want to know, in fear of just what she might find: Who Dr. Dave Malucci really was.
-------------------------------------
I'm sinking slowly
So hurry hold me
Your hand is all I have to keep me hanging on
Please can you tell me
So I can finally see
Where you go when you're gone
-------------------------------------
"You shouldn't have said that," Luka suddenly said, once Dr. Weaver was gone and out of earshot. The two senior staff members were undressing Dave still, the gown lying nearby and waiting for them to finish. "About having better taste in a date than Dave, as if he isn't good enough for you. "
"Oh, now he speaks?" John asked incredulously, looking up at the older man with disgust. "But before, when I needed - when *Dave* needed you to cover for him, you kept your mouth shut."
"You were doing fine on your own," Luka sneered, gathering up Dave's discarded clothes and placing them in a hospital bag. "Dave is not my problem anymore. I don't need to 'cover' for him."
"That's all he is to you? A problem?" John asked, glancing down at the Junior Resident, taking in all of the bruises and scars with a hitch in his breath. He looked back up at Luka, who had left the question unanswered. "Dave is your coworker. He could even be your friend if you wanted him to be. And I know he even used to be more than a friend, so don't bother to deny it. And you wouldn't be here if you really didn't care, so don't give me that bullshit. Why didn't you help me?" Luka remained silent still, so then John tried: "Is that it? Because it was *me* asking for help? How selfish are you??"
Luka finally looked up at him, something in his eyes that John couldn't read. He looked back to the Junior Resident's motionless form, glancing over the several scars. "He said they were from an accident," Luka said quietly. "A car accident. But when I'd asked him if any one else had been hurt, he said he'd been the only one in the car. And I know for a fact he's never driven one in his life. But I knew not to push it..."
There was a pause, and then the Attending glanced up, shrugging. And only now, when John saw the look in Luka's eyes, did he realize why Luka hadn't protested Dr. Weaver's questioning. It was because he wanted to know, because during their relationship Dave hadn't said a word, might've even refused to. And only now could John see how hurt and regretful Luka was because of the fact that he knew little about Dave, probably mostly because it was Luka's own fault.
"I think you have everything under control," the Attending said, turning towards the door. "Please, tell me how the exam goes."
"Right," John said as Luka left the room quietly, mostly because he could think of nothing else to say.
Sighing, finishing cleaning Dave's open wounds and making sure the bruising wasn't masking other damage, John was almost surprised to find himself holding back tears as his eyes kept straying to different scars. Sometimes he wished that Dave would tell him what had happened, when and how he'd obtained every scar because John wanted to know everything about him. But most of the time, after witnessing Dave waking up screaming some nights, after witnessing the anger Dave possessed, after witnessing the pure *sadness* Dave was consumed by, he was glad that he didn't know.
God, he thought to himself. Who was really the selfish one: Luka or him?
-------------------------------------
If you want to
I can save you
I can take you away from here
So lonely inside
So busy out there
And all you wanted
Was somebody who cares
-------------------------------------
Darkness.
Wet Darkness.
But how could darkness be wet?
It didn't matter, because the wet darkness was comforting, a vast contrast to the blinding brightness that came with awakening. But David Malucci knew that he couldn't stay in a cataleptic state for his whole life no matter how comforting it was, so he forced himself to open his eyes, squinting against the fluorescent lights above him until his they adjusted and he could fully open them.
Glancing around, he noted that he was in the same exam room that he had been...how long ago? He wasn't sure because he hadn't worn his watch to the bar, and his head hurt too much to allow him to focus on the clock on the wall. Plus, there was no window in the room, so he would just have to wait until someone came in to ask him or her. Suddenly aware that his headache had not dissipated any, he groaned, closing his eyes and moving a hand to his head.
"God..." he muttered, trying to remember what had happened before he'd gone unconscious again. John had brought him to the hospital, Kerry had been giving him an examination, she'd been asking questions...John had insulted him - he could remember that *very* clearly - but then what? Everything was so fuzzy. He...he could remember trying to leave, and...he must've gone out sometime after that. But how? Had he just collapsed, right in the middle of the ER? Closing his eyes, he groaned again, this time in frustration at not being able to remember what had happened.
What had happened while he slept, he wondered silently to himself, trying to find the most comfortable position for his hurting body. They'd probably done that head-CT that Weaver had wanted, a C-spine too, along with other x-rays to make sure none of his bones were broken. They'd probably also run all sorts of tests: CBC, urine, glucose, may have even done a type-and-cross.
"Oh, God!" Dave exclaimed, his eyes snapping open as he sat up, a wave of dizziness immediately overwhelming him. He put his hand to his head, closing his eyes and breathing evenly until it passed, and then picked up the chart hanging over the side of his bed. Flipping furiously through it, his eyes skimmed over the page that showed the doctors orders, trying to find a specific order that would spell out his doom.
That order was a tox screen. If Weaver or anyone had ordered a tox screen, they would've surely seen the foreign drugs in his system: clonazepam and dextroamphetamine, more commonly known as Klonopin and Dexedrine. They were two drugs that were usually used to treat seizures and narcolepsy, though Dave had never experienced either of those conditions. And it would surely raise some eyebrows if anyone saw those drugs in his results.
He searched the chart front to back, double-checked, and then checked again to make sure he hadn't missed it. But it seemed as if no tox screen had been ordered. After putting the chart back, Dave leaned back on his exam bed and closed his eyes, sighing with relief. Thank God no one had decided to order that test, or else he would've been in deep shit.
"Good morning, Dr. Malucci." He opened one eye, seeing Kerry Weaver wearing a smirk as she picked up his chart and flipped through it. Closing his eye again, his brow furrowed as he tried to make his pounding *body*ache go away by sheer will. "It's good to see you've decided to join us. I know you like your sleep, but we were beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up."
"We. Where *is* John?" Dave asked, daring to open his eyes as he watched Kerry move to the head of the bed, her expression one of concern after seeing his grimace. She began shuffling through the medicine cabinet, pulling out a vial of morphine for his aches and pains. Before she could answer, Dave said: "Wait. Morning? I was out for that long?"
"Yes, you were," Kerry answered, injecting the morphine into Dave's IV line, then disposing of the needle in the proper bin. She turned back to Dave, leaning her forearms against the raised rail of the exam bed. "John has a half-shift, but he's been checking in on you sporadically. He'll be in later, but I think he's in the middle of a trauma now."
"I can't go home then?" Dave asked, dreading the fact that he'd have to spend the whole day in the hospital.
"Not on my shift," Kerry confirmed. "And lucky for you, I'm pulling a double."
"Great," Dave said with a sigh, fingering the patterned gown that he was wearing. Wait. Gown? When had he changed into a gown? He hadn't. Someone had undressed him, which meant that that someone *had* to have seen his scars. But who was it? John, or...? He glanced up at Dr. Weaver, who was charting the given painkiller. "Where are my clothes?"
"Your clothes?" She glanced up at him from over the rim of her glasses, her eyes seeming to search his. Shit, he'd sounded way too panicky than he'd intended, and now he was almost sure she'd noticed. Thankfully, her intense gaze shifted from him and to the portable nightstand next to the exam bed. "I'm not sure. Maybe John put them in here."
"J - uh...Carter got me into a gown?" Dave asked, quickly correcting himself. He never called John by his first name at work. She nodded, opening the biggest drawer and showing him that indeed his clothes were inside, stuffed into a resealable plastic bag with the hospital's name emblazoned on it. He smiled then, covering up his momentary loss of composure with a joke. "Good. I mean, not that I have anything to even be *remotely* ashamed of - actually I'm quite blessed. But my boss seeing me naked?"
She smiled, her eyes not portraying the same humor, and he briefly wondered if she was lying to him. But the mere thought of her seeing all of his ugly scars made his chest tighten, so he chose to believe that she was telling him the truth. At that moment, John entered the room, a welcomed distraction from the many thoughts that were swirling around in Dave's head. The Chief Resident smiled cordially, clear warmth in his eyes, but Dave simply offered a tight smile, clear resentment in his own eyes.
"I'm glad you're awake," John said, noting Dave's bitter smile. He sighed inwardly, now knowing that Dave was still upset with him for the comments he had made earlier. He attempted to smooth things over, asking casually: "How do you feel?"
"Fine," he replied, sarcasm dripping from the word and also from the smile he was giving John. "Thanks for asking."
"Dr. Weaver, would you mind if I had a moment alone with Dave?" John asked, though he didn't take his eyes off of Dave.
"We have nothing to talk about," Dave spat.
"John, maybe we should let Dave get some rest," Dr. Weaver said gently, sensing the obvious tension between the two men and not wanting anything to upset Dave in the current condition he was in.
"Dave..." John said, exasperation laced in his tone though his expression was pleading.
The Junior Resident sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's okay, Chief."
"Are you sure?" she asked, wondering why Dave was upset with John in the first place. Perhaps something had happened at the bar earlier, she mused as Dave nodded, answering her question. "Okay. I'll check in on you later."
"It's nice to know that at least somebody cares," Dave said, his expression hard as he pinned John to the wall with his stare. Kerry Weaver turned slightly at the comment, wanting to see John's expression but unable to from her position in the room. She left quickly then, knowing when a fight was about to ensue. She just hoped either man didn't say something they'd regret later - she knew how they could both get.
"How can you say that?" John immediately asked once Kerry was out of earshot, the door closing behind her.
"I don't even want to talk to you," Dave stated, wishing that he could turn onto his side so his back was facing John but the pain from his bruised ribs disabled him from doing so. The back of the bed was slightly raised so that he was in a somewhat upright position, so instead he pushed himself up a little - trying to hide his grimace as he did so - and crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head away from John to face a poster on the wall that read: Do I dare disturb the universe?
"Dave, I had to say that," John said, desperation in his voice.
"Why? And you didn't have to say something so shitty about me, you know," Dave said, still facing the poster, the picture displaying a lone man walking on a beach, a sunset next to him but stars farther off in the sky. "That was really rotten, John."
"Dave, I'm sorry," he said firmly, wishing that the younger man would look at him. "But I told you: I had to say that. I didn't want Kerry to know that we *were* together."
"John, you'd just said at the bar that you wanted to come out," Dave reminded him, turning to face him again, his expression one of disbelief and anger. "Why did you suddenly change your mind?"
"Were you there when you got the crap beat out of you??" John asked, holding his hands out in a pleading gesture. He had to make Dave see his point. "Dave, next time you could get killed. *I* could get killed! And if that goes along with coming out, then I'm not going to take that chance."
"John..." Dave said, wishing that he could make the older man understand that this had been some freak thing, that it wouldn't happen again - even if it could. And he damned those fucking bastards on his hockey team that had jumped him for scaring John back into the proverbial closet. "Look, just because it happened doesn't mean that it's always going to happen. There are plenty of people that have come out and nothing happened to them. We're not being hunted, we just have to be careful."
"Dave, I can't," he said, his expression beseeching, as were his words. Dave looked away, his shoulders slumped in defeat and his heart broken in two. John had made his *year* when he'd told Dave he wanted to come out to everyone at work and outside of it. He wanted everyone to know that Dave was his, and he was Dave's. But now he wanted to pretend that they were just friends, he wanted to live a lie. How could he deal with that? Dave wasn't sure if he could - and he wasn't sure how much longer he would. "I'm sorry, Dave, but I just can't."
"Get out."
"What?" John asked, genuinely surprised at Dave's words. He'd expected an argument, or a snide remark even, anything but that command.
But Dave was too tired to deal with this anymore. So he just repeated himself, more firmly this time: "I said: Get out. Just get out, John."
"Dave, please...I..."
"John," Dave said, his voice shaking. "If you don't leave this room, I will. So get the fuck out!!"
"Fine." He sighed, turning and heading for the door, thinking that maybe later he could try to get Dave to understand where he was coming from. "I'll come back later to take you home."
"Don't bother, I won't be here," Dave spat.
Exiting Dave's room, John sighed as he scrubbed his face with one hand, closing the door behind him with the other. His back was slightly aching from when he'd been pushed into the brick wall at the bar by one of the hockey team's members, but he stopped himself from rubbing it, not wanting anyone to see and then worry about him. He could ice it when he got home, and then he'd be fine.
"John?" he heard from next to him, and turned to see Abby rushing towards him, a worried expression on her face. "I just heard what happened when I got on about two seconds ago. Are you okay? How's Dave? Is he going to be okay??"
"I'm fine," he clarified, and then indicated the room behind him. "Dave's a little worse for wear, but he'll be fine too. Dr. Weaver's making him stay the day, so you can go inside if you want."
"What about you?" Abby asked as she began to head inside. "Are you coming?"
"Uh...no," he replied. "Dave's kinda...mad at me."
"What'd you do?" she immediately asked.
"I'll tell you some other time," he replied, then stuck a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. "Right now, I really have to go."
And it was true. He knew he had to leave. During his whole shift he'd been making phone calls to certain people, pulling strings and making arrangements, but now that it was the end of his shift, he'd have time to complete his plans. After saying a quick goodbye to Abby, he moved hurriedly to the clock-out, then signed out at Admin and grabbed his stuff, rushing from the hospital. Because despite the fact that he'd used all of his time that he hadn't been seeing patients to work on his plans, he still had a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. John just hoped that this would be enough to make Dave forgive him.
-------------------------------------
All you wanted was somebody who cares
If you need me you know I'll be there
-------------------------------------
When Abby entered the windowless exam room Dave was resting in, she was almost surprised to find it completely dark. This was partly due to the fact that it was morning and the sun was shining outside, but mostly due to the fact that Dave had just spent about ten hours in darkness because he'd been unconscious. She knew she would've wanted some kind of light after that.
"Hey, Dave," she said, and he opened his eyes and tossed her a small smile, obviously still tired after the night he'd had. And the morphine he'd received from Dr. Weaver probably didn't help any, the nurse noted dryly as she glanced over his chart. "How are you feeling?"
"A little worse for wear," he replied, shrugging, "but I'll be okay, I guess. I'm a little worried about my pride, but I think it'll be okay too. "
She grinned, placing his chart back as she said, "John just said the same thing. That you're a little worse for wear, I mean."
"Let's not even talk about him," Dave said, and then let out a sigh of pure despair.
"Okay..." she said tentatively. "What do you want to talk about, then?"
"Morphine," Dave slurred, blinking slowly and smiling lazily.
"Morphine?" she repeated, slightly puzzled.
"Yes. What a beautiful drug, Abby. I mean...I don't feel any pain. Whoever invented morphine, or discovered it, or whatever, deserves a fucking award. What a great drug!"
Abby smiled at Dave, who was obviously stoned out of his mind because of the painkillers. "Well, if you don't feel anything, then why are you so upset with John? What exactly happened last night?" Abby asked as she sat down on the stool next to his bed, watching him as he relayed the night's events to her. She glanced away in thought as he finished, and then let out a sigh as she turned to him. "Do you want my unbiased opinion, or my biased one?"
"Let's try your unbiased opinion first."
"Okay," she said, nodding as she tried to think of the best way to put this. "I know it must've been really great when John told you he wanted to come out. And I know you're upset that he changed his mind just as suddenly, but you have to have to understand something. John's. Never. Done this. Before," she stated firmly, as if the sentence was chopped up into four.
"Abby..."
"Wait. I'm not done," she interrupted, and then took a deep breath. "Look. What happened last night usually doesn't happen, and it probably won't happen again. I know that, and you know that, but John doesn't know that. It's because he's scared. It was very scary for him to see that happen to you, and I think that's because he cares about you a lot. He doesn't want to see that happen to you again. He just needs a little time, Dave, you just have to be patient."
Dave looked back to the poster again, crossing his arms over his chest. It was hard for him to take in what Abby had just said, mostly because she was absolutely right. In time, things would be better. Just a few weeks ago he could've sworn he didn't have a chance with John, but now they were moving in together, he thought. That had changed over time, for the better. Things always got better with time. But that didn't mean he had to admit she was right. But he turned back to her, his look telling her that he understood, even if he wasn't going to say so.
"So, what's your biased opinion?" he asked.
"After what he said to Weaver about you?" she said, as if it were a question. "John's a big jerk."
"Thanks, Abby."
"No problem, Dave."
-------------------------------------
If you want to
I can save you
I can take you away from here
So lonely inside
So busy out there
And all you wanted
Was somebody who cares
-------------------------------------
Hours later, Dave Malucci sat next to said jerk in his Jeep, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the houses go by outside the car window. He hadn't spoken to John unless necessary since he'd been discharged from the hospital, and hadn't even let the Chief Resident help him into the Jeep, a decision Dave had immediately regretted: that had been one painful experience, even with the painkillers he'd had during the course of the day.
Suddenly aware of a dull ache in his left side, Dave began to rub at it, which he soon found to be a terrible mistake when his muscle spasmed painfully. A yelp escaped his lips as he involuntarily sat up straight in surprise.
"Are you okay?" was instantly heard from the driver's side of the vehicle.
"I'm fine!" he snapped, leaning back in his seat. The Jerk let out a sigh, which Dave ignored as they approached the exit on the highway that led to Dave's apartment building. At least when he got home he'd be able to go to bed, take more pain medication and forget about this shitty day for a while. Unless, of course, he got sucked into a shitty nightmare. Acutely aware that John wasn't slowing down or turning off, Dave sat up once more in his seat and turned slightly as he watched the exit go by. Leaning back again, he said: "Where are we going?"
"Home."
"Well, you just passed the exit."
"I know."
"You know a shortcut or something that I don't?" he asked, only half-sarcastic as he did so.
"Or something," John said, smirking. Dave narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to say something more but promptly closing it, deciding that it wasn't worth it. So he watched the houses and stores go by as they traveled farther and farther away from his apartment building. They were soon on the west side of Chicago, the nice side of Chicago, and Dave was beginning to get antsy as he realized they weren't going home and tried to figure out where exactly they *were* going. Sensing this, John placed his hand on Dave's knee, saying: "Don't worry. We're almost there."
"Easy for you to say," Dave mumbled in reply, shifting himself in his seat so John's hand fell away from his leg. "You're not the one in pain."
John turned toward him with his brow furrowed. "You're in pain?"
"What do you think, John?" Dave snapped. "Yes, I'm in pain! I just got the living shit beat out of me last night, you think I'm in the best shape of my life?? Now just take me home, and stop dicking around! I'm not in the mood for any more of your shit."
"We're almost there," John said softly.
"The hell we are," Dave mumbled. They turned onto a road, leading them to a neighborhood of homes and apartment buildings, one where everything was clean and quiet; crime certainly didn't occur here, as opposed to his own neighborhood. The Jeep slowed to a stop at the curbside of this neighborhood, and Dave glanced around before turning to John. "Where are we?"
"Home," he said with a smile, and then indicated the apartment building next to them with a nod of his head.
"You didn't," Dave said with narrowed eyes, turning to inspect the building next to them. He immediately recognized the graffiti-free red brick building as the one John had showed him in the catalogue the night before - the one that he'd specifically stated he couldn't afford. Turning back to his companion, he watched as the older man fished a set of keys out of his pocket, holding them up for Dave to see. The Junior Resident then gasped theatrically. "You did!"
"Well?" John said, pushing open his car door and stepping out of his Jeep. He indicated the building once more, giving the keys in his hand a little shake. With another sigh, Dave pushed open the door to the Jeep, stepping out onto the curb and shaking off John's attempts to help him. Silently, though John could see the clear excitement in Dave's eyes, they made their way inside of the building, an elevator in the main lobby. "Elevator. So you don't have to lug your bike up and down stairs anymore."
"I hope you know," Dave said, glancing at John in his peripheral vision, "that it is going to take me twice as long to bike to County now."
"Oh, no it's not," John said, glad to see Dave demeanor changing from gloomy to happy, slowly but surely.
"And why's that?" he asked, finally turning to look John in the eye as they boarded the elevator.
"Because I," John started, as he pressed the button for the second floor, which was also the top floor. He turned back to Dave, stepping deliberately close to him, feeling the heat emanating off of the younger man's body as he draped his arms over his shoulders. "Am going to teach you how to drive."
"Oh really?" Dave asked, pulling back and out of John's reach. The elevator came to a stop, and the Junior Resident quickly stepped off into a brightly lit hallway, John following suit, wearing a frown as he realized maybe getting Dave out of that gloomy mood was going to be harder than he thought. "So which apartment is it?" he asked after seeing four doors.
"This one," John said, pointing to the last door on the left. Leading Dave there, he said: "You know, I still find it hard to believe that you can't drive, since you know so much about cars and how to fix them."
"My old man never let me learn how to drive," Dave stated casually, following John down the peach-colored hallways, which were floored with dark green carpet. "He knew that as soon as I got a car I'd get outta there, and he also knew he couldn't live without me." The Junior Resident shrugged, somewhat sadly. "I guess I learned a lot about cars to make up for it. But I never really needed to know how to drive, so I just...never learned."
"Where is your dad now?"
"He's dead."
"I'm sorry," John said softly.
"Don't be. It was one of the happiest days of my life," Dave said, staring John in the eye, who felt a sudden chill creep up his back. God, Dave hated his father with such intensity John could feel it.
John paused at the closed door of their new apartment, turning to face Dave, watching him carefully. He didn't know a lot about Dave's past because he knew it was a touchy subject, a time that Dave didn't want to remember. And John suspected that even though he they didn't talk about it, it was always just at the tip of Dave's tongue, as if the younger man were ready to blurt out everything that ever happened to him - *needed* to blurt out everything that ever happened to him - but somehow couldn't.
"So, are we going to just stand here all day," Dave began, quickly changing the subject before John asked any more questions that he had no desire to answer, "or are we going to go inside?"
"Right," John quickly said, sticking the key in the lock and turning it, pushing the door open and holding it in a fashion that showed Dave was to go first. The younger man stepped inside almost warily, glancing around the place with curious eyes that took in every single detail of the place. His back was facing John, so the older man couldn't see if Dave was happy or not. "So...what do you think?"
"I think you think you can make up for being an asshole to me by buying me things that I can't afford for myself," Dave said softly. He turned and looked at John, his expression showing that he was clearly hurt. "You must really think I'm some kind of fuckboy, John."
That was it! Here, John had gone out of his way to buy this apartment and move everything into it, and now all Dave could do was throw it back in his face?? John sighed through clenched teeth, spitting out: "Dave, for you to be a fuck boy, you would have to let me fuck you, which hasn't happened yet."
"Fuck you!" Dave suddenly yelled, and John immediately regretted his comment. "You...you don't get to use that in a fight...you...I...I..."
"Dave," John said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. Look, I didn't do this to make you forget that I was an asshole. I know that I was an asshole. I just...I..."
"Then why did you do it?" Dave asked softly, his brown eyes watery.
"I did it because you deserve it, Dave," John replied. He glanced off, trying to find the right words and hoping that he could. "Although you don't believe it right now, I care about you...and I want to make you happy. You deserve to be happy."
"You know what would make me happy?"
"No," John said, his expression pleading. "But I swear if you tell me, I'll do it Dave. I'd do anything to make you happy."
"Really?" Dave asked, apparent doubt in his voice.
"Yes," John said urgently. John wanted nothing more in the world than to give Dave what he wanted, what he *needed*. "What would make you happy?"
"For you to respect me as a person, as an equal," Dave whispered, turning away from John.
"God! Dave, I do!" John said, taking a step towards Dave, and he was almost relieved that Dave didn't take a step back, something the younger man often did when they argued, and John wondered if perhaps it was instinctive or not. "I do, more than anyone."
"Then act like it sometimes," Dave snapped, regaining his composure. "Stop acting like I'm less than you when we're in front of people."
"Dave...I...I don't act like you're less than me in front of other people..."
"Oh, yes you do," Dave said, now taking a step back. "You order me around, and you talk to me like I'm...like I'm just a junior resident that you can push around. I mean I expect it at work, I guess...but...you don't have to treat me like I'm an idiot when we're at work. And you don't have to treat me like I'm beneath you when we're *not* at work. You don't even act like I'm your friend..."
"Dave, I'm sorry," John whispered. Was this really how Dave had felt all along? "Listen, I can stay at my Gamma's house. You stay here, I'll call Abby to stay with you."
"I don't need a fucking babysitter," Dave stated harshly. "I can take care of myself."
"Okay, fine," John said quietly. "Call me later, okay?"
"Okay," Dave said softly, watching as John walked to the door. Dammit. "Wait!"
"What?"
"Don't leave...please, John," Dave said, stepping towards him. "I don't want to stay here without you...it would...seem wrong."
"Okay," John said softly. "Do you want to talk about it?" he suddenly asked. "About...the attack, about your father, about anything?? About me...or you?"
"No," Dave said with finality in his voice.
"Dave, we should talk about it," John said.
"Not now," Dave said, suddenly feeling very tired as he ran his fingers through his hair.
"What do you want to talk about, then?"
"The carpets," Dave decided with a nod.
"Carpets?"
Dave turned to John with a small smile. "The carpet's clean!"
"What?" John instinctively glanced at the bright beige carpet, which was probably the color that the carpet in Dave's old apartment was *supposed* to be, and then looked back up at the Junior Resident, who was still admiring the flooring. "Uh...yeah, it is."
"You don't understand," Dave said with raised eyebrows as he faced John once more. "I cleaned and cleaned my old apartment's floor over and over again, and it was never this nice." He let out a low whistle. "Jeeze, this must've cost you a fortune: the apartment, getting all of our stuff in here in a day...I can't repay you..." he said softly, looking up at John with gentle eyes.
"You don't have to," John said as he approached the younger man, placing his hands on Dave's hips. "Consider it an early Christmas present."
Dave gasped theatrically for the second time in one hour. "You must've seen the Christmas presents I had hidden in my closet for you! John!"
"Dave, relax," he said, chuckling at Dave's sudden panic. "My Gamma and Corinne helped me get all our stuff into boxes and ship it over here...I didn't seen any Christmas presents."
"Uh...what Christmas presents?" Dave looked away, trying to back-peddle his previous statement. He cleared his throat and rubbed the nape of his neck, and then looked back up at John from under his brow, his small smile reaching his beautiful brown eyes. "I'm supposed to be mad at you..."
"I know," John said, moving a hand to cup the side of Dave's face. "And I'm sorry."
Still smiling, Dave leaned forward and kissed John softly on the lips, closing his eyes as he did so. John often wondered why Dave closed his eyes while they kissed, contemplating the fact that maybe Dave trusted him enough to do so. Pulling away, Dave hugged John tightly, and the older man could hear the emotion in the younger man's voice as he said: "Thank you, John. This is really wonderful. No one's ever done something like this for me before."
"It's about time someone did," John said, and Dave glanced at him in surprise. John really did think he deserved the world, Dave realized then. But he wasn't sure why, because Dave really did think he was a terrible person that didn't deserve anything, much less someone like John. "I love you," he suddenly said, and then watched as Dave's expression turned from surprise to shock to delight.
Dave's eyes widened in surprise, first of all, because no one had ever told Dave they loved him except for his mother and his high school sweetheart, Steven. Coming from John, it was just as surprising as if God Himself had opened the heavens and revealed Himself to the earth. Next came shock because...*John*?? Loved *him*?? Frankly, Dave hardly thought of himself as much, but yet, what little Dave was or had to offer, John loved. Now: delight. John loved him. John, this smart, funny, good-looking, rich, special, *special* man, loved him. It was everything he'd ever wanted and everything he'd ever hoped for.
...So why couldn't he say it back? He knew he loved John, he'd loved John for several weeks now, had admitted it to himself several times. But yet, something was holding him back from saying those three words that could change their lives forever.
Wanting to say those words, but unable to, wanting to say something, but unable to, wanting to *do* something, but unable to, Dave stood there, watching as John's face fell. Great going, Malucci, he thought to himself. You've fucked up yet again! But he was determined to get this right, determined not to let down John again, so he figured if he couldn't *tell* John that he loved him, then he'd show him.
Slipping his hands onto either side of John's face, the Junior Resident pulled the older man to his lips, kissing him in a way that he'd never kissed anyone before, kissing him with deep, drugging kisses more addictive than any drug John had ever taken, kissing him with so much passion and zeal it took both men's breath away. Finally, moments later, he pulled away but did not move away, resting his forehead against John's shoulder, unable to look up into John's face in fear of what his expression would tell him.
John smiled as he rested his chin atop of Dave's head, feeling absolutely wonderful though Dave's response to his confession hadn't been what he'd exactly hoped for. What he *had* been hoping for was the traditional reply, and though he didn't get one, the kiss that Dave had delivered had obviously stated that even if he didn't - or for some reason couldn't - say those three words back, he certainly *felt* it.
"We got a new couch," Dave reported, simply because he could think of nothing else to say at this time.
"Yeah," John replied, his arms wrapped around Dave as he glanced at the black leather couch with overstuffed pillows that could accommodate three people. "You were so engulfed by the carpet I didn't think you'd noticed."
"I did."
"Got a new bed too," John said casually, one fingertip tracing patterns on Dave's back.
"Oh, did we?" Dave asked just as casually, picking up his head to glance over John's shoulder and into the hallway that presumably led to the bedroom.
"Mm hmm..." John replied with a suggestive smile that was reflected on the Junior Resident's face. He nodded towards the bedroom. "What do you say we check it out? Maybe 'christen' the apartment??"
Dave grinned broadly, pressing himself and the growing bulge in his jeans against John. "I like that idea."
"Are you sure you are up to it?" John asked softly, gently tracing Dave's black eye with his fingertips.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dave asked, smiling as he pulled a face. "Have I ever let you down before?"
"No, Dave that's not what I meant," John laughed. "It's just that you're hurt and...and...I don't want to make anything worse."
"We'll go slow," Dave said softly, as he ran his fingers over the bulge in John's pants, eliciting a moan from the older man. "Take our time...go steady...go slow..."
"Mm hmm..." John groaned.
"Let's go into the bedroom," Dave whispered.
And so, that night, away from the outside world, with each other in their own, alone in the darkness of their bedroom, together underneath the covers of their bed, Dave and John made love for the first time. There were no other words to describe it, there was no other way to describe the long, slow strokes Dave took John with, each one triggering his prostate. There was no other way to describe the way they held onto each other in the darkness, their hands roaming over each other's bodies as if they were experiencing each other for the first time, though both were familiar with each other's bodies just as they were familiar with their own. There was no other way to describe the way they looked into each other's eyes with an intensity neither had ever witnessed before, a silent exchange that spoke volumes about the way each other felt, about the way they wanted and hoped to feel forever. And there were no words to describe that feeling, a feeling that some people searched their whole lives for just to feel five minutes of.
Except sheer joy.
-------------------------------------
Please can you tell me
So I can finally see
Where you go when you're gone
-------------------------------------
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