He used to have this friend who could read palms. She taught him a lot of it, and he's surprised he still remembers any. He knew what everything was, the technical names, he had to know it, sometimes you got palm prints instead of fingerprints, but he also knew the meanings. He remembers the basics, the three main lines, what to look for there. He knows there's something in the way the fingers bend, and the lines on the side of the palm, but he just can't remember what they are.
There was the life line, curving steadily around the thumb. It wasn't chained, that would mean a delicate health, and there weren't any breaks either. No, it was strong and clear meaning good health, vitality and a nice life expectancy. He wished he had bothered to look before. It would have been something he could put his little bit of faith in. Thank god he didn't need it now.
He had forgotten how real these things could be, how each little line on a hand could indicate so much about that person. Sure, they were vague enough to fit, but with all of these things, like tarot cards and all that other crazy New Age shit, there was always a little bit of truth in them. Like how the wide arc of Nick's life line meant that he was full of strength and enthusiasm and had an improved love life. He laughed to himself in the quiet room. He should certainly hope so.
He still can't get over how delicate his hand feels, all the muscles relaxed in sleep, those angry red welts standing out against the lightly tanned skin. He'd never noticed how the head line was separate from the heart line, denoting a love for adventure and enthusiasm for life. What else hadn't he noticed? What else could he have lost without even realizing it?
But that was a bad way to think, because he was alive, he was here, he was getting better. He still wrapped his fingers around his wrist, feeling the pulse, steady, even, comforting. It didn't matter that the machines were beeping behind him, nothing felt better than the warmth in that hand.
He'd been staring at the hand for days, well, not days. He'd gone home, gone to work, but every free moment he had he was here, staring at that hand. Here while he slept, while he dreamed, while he healed. He couldn't count the number of times he traced the heart line, from the outside edge of his palm to where it ended beneath the middle finger. It was a rare mark, he remembered that much still. He remembered that it meant a need for love.
Well, he wasn't going anywhere. He looked back up at Nick's face, it felt good to see him look so peaceful, though Greg couldn't help but morbidly think that he'd probably look the same if he were dead. He intertwined his fingers with Nick's, noting that his hand is spade-shaped, meaning that he was talented with all things mechanical, a born inventor.
Of course, palm reading couldn't tell you everything. There were no marks, no lines on Nick's hands that could tell the palm reader how much he meant to the people who loved him. No marks that showed how deeply he touched peoples lives, no marks that showed how much Greg was willing to give for him, no marks that showed just how much Nick had been through and the miracle that he was able to smile. But what stood out the most to Greg was that there were no marks that indicated just how wonderful that hand felt because it was alive.
Fin.