Henry listened to the whir of the machines surrounding Adam's bed, counting each sigh of the ventilator, staring curiously up at the ceiling and counting the tiles there just as he imagined Adam had done many times before; there was hardly anything else to look at. The white sheets seemed far too bright when Henry at last returned his attention to Adam, who lay prone upon the mattress, pillows stuffed beneath and around him so that he was angled in a different position to avoid sores.
It was, coincidentally, the most convenient position Henry had seen him placed in, since it allowed Adam to glare completely at Henry in his bedside seat rather than merely glaring out of the corner of his eye. His fury was far more evident when his entire gaze could be seen. Henry, slightly uncomfortable after nearly five minutes of tense silence, cleared his throat and shifted in the cushioned chair the nurse had finally brought in, after his fifth visit.
She'd given him a sympathetic look that he suspected she offered frequently, and had rushed away to exchange the creaky wooden chair that had been there previously with one meant for long hours spent seated. He'd almost wanted to tell her that there was no need for her sympathy, but he hadn't wanted to explain himself and had quietly accepted her kindness.
It had been four months since Adam had shot Henry, since he'd paralyzed the fellow immortal, and since Jo had discovered his secret. Jo had been shocked, this Henry could recall distinctly; he could picture her incredulous expression as Abe told her stories, could hear her suspicious questions, and could still see the spark of revelation in her eyes after a long night of explanations and honesty. Since then, their relationship, if one could call it that, had been significantly easier.
Without Jo angrily seeing through that thin veil of half-plausible excuses that he always used to cover his secrets, she was a lot more trusting of him and a lot more open about her own past; it was a welcome change.
Despite a small part of Henry's mind adamantly protesting the idea, Henry eventually decided to update Adam on casework and how Abe and Jo were getting along now that they shared the knowledge of his immortality, attempting to make Adam's torture just a little interesting. He almost felt guilty; he could hardly imagine the anguish of being paralyzed and completely aware for the better part of eternity, but Adam had gone too far. There were people in Henry's life that he'd needed to protect, that were his priority, and if Adam had to suffer for them to be safe, then so be it. He couldn't tell if Adam enjoyed his small talk; he couldn't really glean anything from Adam's glassy stare at all, but it didn't deter him.
He was just about to tell Adam how Jo had tripped on the edge of a rug and fallen harmlessly into a cabinet that had housed a century-old vase, causing it to tumble out and shatter across the floor, when the sympathetic nurse gently knocked on the door and stepped softly in, smiling politely. Henry glanced up, but he thought he saw Adam's eyes dart in her direction for just a moment. The nurse leaned carefully against the wall, her blonde hair swept up in a bun that didn't want to stay atop her head.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Morgan, but visiting hours are over," she lamented. Henry turned to look outside, seeing the darkening sky, and was surprised by how quickly the time had passed.
"Thank you, Angie," he replied as he turned back to smile at her, nodding in goodbye as she soundlessly slipped out of the room. Henry stood and adjusted his scarf, hoping his clothes weren't too wrinkled after sitting for so long, and scooted the chair out of the way so that Angie wouldn't have to move it.
"Until next week, then. I'm sure I'll have more stories," Henry murmured as he tugged on his jacket, waving half-heartedly to Adam as he passed by the bed and walked out.
By the time he made it into the parking lot, Jo was impatiently leaning against the steering wheel of her car in her usual parking spot, unable to keep herself from smirking as Henry got in the car, despite his tardiness.
"You know," she teased, "you'd think after visiting him once a week, you would have figured out when visiting hours end." She started the car and hastily turned on the air conditioning, fanning herself in a feeble attempt to cool her reddened face. Henry licked his lips and smiled in that odd way of his, a gesture she was starting to rather enjoy seeing, as she pulled out of the lot and onto the road.
"Ready to shop for some clothes?" she asked mockingly, reminding him of a running joke she'd started with Abe.
When the chill of winter had started to fade, they'd both traded in their heavy coats and gloves for light t-shirts and shorts, but Henry had only abandoned his coat; he still wore his elaborate suits and was rarely seen without a scarf. Jo had laughingly implied that he didn't own any regular clothes as they were eating dinner one night, and the idea had stuck around for nearly two weeks now.
Henry sighed and shook his head, staring out the window at the green of the trees blurring past.
...
Back in his hospital room, Angie repositioned Adam on his back, and he stared blankly at the ceiling until she left, uncomfortably warm due to the increasing humidity of the coming night but completely incapable of tossing the heavy sheets away.
Outside his window, stars were beginning to faintly twinkle in the sky, peeking out at him from their dark spaces. He stared at them for the longest time, just barely managing to keep them in his field of peripheral vision; the memory that they beckoned nearly made him forget where he was, nearly made him forget the false weightlessness of his body.
He almost didn't hear the monitors as they began to sound a shrill alarm.
Angie rushed in, and his eyes shifted their focus to the long locks of blonde that had finally come unpinned, trailing behind her, as she ran to his bedside, and to his doctor running in with his lab coat flying behind him as more nurses pulled some cart in, shouting frantic orders.
Everything around him was blurring, people morphing into indistinct shapes in the background, and Adam recognized it. The pain blossomed in his chest for a brief moment, and it was so familiar to him that he would have laughed, if able; Angie's bright eyes came into view for only a second, and then he was gone.
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