(A/N: Alright, I've decided that this story's setting will be in the 20's. However there will be more modern social standards (like interracial marriage is okay), and maybe a few other modern things. The story will also be in 1st person from now on.)
I rembered getting shot, Gatsby speaking to me, and then the next thing I remembered I was lying down, staring at a white hospital ceiling. I blinked as the light assulted my eyes, and then like everyone who wakes up in a strange place I tried to sit up, which would be instantly regrettable. Before I could however, there was a hand on my chest keeping me down.
It was Gatsby. "Whoah there old sport, take it easy."
I leaned my head back against the pillows and closed my eyes. "What...what happened exactly?"
He moved his hand from my chest to grasping my hand. "You were shot."
I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Really? I got shot? I hadn't noticed."
"You asked what happened."
"I meant after getting shot."
"Well right after that you fell into the pool and I pulled you out. I called the hospital and I'm sure you can put together the rest."
"What about Mr. Wilson? I remember hearing a second shot."
"He was shot, but not fatalily. One of my...servants got him in the leg. He's at the police station now."
"At least he's okay."
"Okay?! He's the one who almost killed you..."
I interrupted him. "Almost, he almost killed me. He's not a murderer, just...troubled. Besides, he was aiming for you, and he was only doing that because his wife got ran over due to the irresponsibility of..." I was going to say 'of Tom, Daisy, and yourself', but the concerned look on Gatsby's face made me choose a different answer. "He's just troubled."
Gatsby was quiet for a moment. "I'm assuming that means you won't be pressing charges, although he'll still be in jail for awhile, for attempted murder."
"If I have a choice I'd like him to spend more time in therapy than in jail."
"Hm...I don't think there'll be any guarantees, but you can try having a say in it."
I sighed and stared at the ceiling again. The sound of someone entering the room startled me. Without Gatsby's hand on my chest I sat up...and instantly regretted it.
The nurse who had entered shook her head. "Why do people always do that? Now look what you've done."
I looked. On my stomach the hospital gown started getting red, but there wasn't as much pain as I expected, it was actually pretty numb. The nurse unplugged a few things behind me and started wheeling the bed down the hall. "Your sudden movement ripped your stitches so they'll have to be redone, nothing too bad. You couldn't have just stayed down for a few hours could you?" I was fairly certain hospital staff wasn't supposed to talk to patients in such a manner, but I didn't think it needed a response.
Gatsby was still holding my hand, and was walking alongside my bed. "It's going to be alright old sport, if you survived one stitching up, you'll live through this too."
This I felt I needed to respond to. "I'm not worried."
"It's a good thing to have a positive attitude."
The nurse looked at him. "Mr. Gatsby."
He ignored her. "Don't you worry about cost either. I've got the whole thing covered."
I looked at him too. "I have my own insurance, you didn't need to do that."
"I was there, and for that I feel some responsibility."
"That's why you feel responsible? Not because of..."
The nurse interrupted. "Mr. Carraway, you really shouldn't be talking. That makes it worse."
I hadn't really being feeling much pain, but I decided to listen to the professional. She addressed Gatsby again. "Now Mr. Gatsby, you're not allowed to be back here."
"But I..."
"Go back to the room, or I'll have someone remove you."
Gatsby slowed to a stop and reluctantly let my hand slip through his fingers. I saw his hand still slightly outstretched before I was pushed through another pair of doors and into another hallway.
I woke up after my second stitching up and had the feeling of extreme deja vu. It was the same ceiling and Gatsby was sitting in the same chair to my right. This time I didn't sit up, and was determined to stay down until a medical official told me otherwise. "Gatsby?"
"Yes Nick?" He grabbed my hand again.
"Why are you still here?"
He blinked at me. "Well I already told you, I feel partially responsible for what's happened to you."
"What I meant was why are you still here? You could've left."
His grip on my hand tightened. "Leave? Nick I'm not leaving until you're better."
"It's just some stiches I don't think..."
The nurse came in again. "Ah, you're awake again. How are you feeling Mr. Carraway?"
I still didn't sit up. "I'm fine."
"That's good to hear. I'll be back again soon to check in with you again. Do you need anything?"
"Well I'd like to know when I can go home."
"You should be discharged in about a week."
"A week!?"
"Yes. You were shot Mr. Carraway, you're lucky to even be alive. You may even have to stay longer."
I didn't say anything, but let my head sink further into the pillow. The nurse asked again if I needed anything. I shook my head and she left. I then turned my attention to Gatsby. "Um...Gatsby?"
"What is it old sport?" He leaned forward.
I nodded to his vice-like grip. "I think you can let go of me now."
He blinked a moment before immediately dropping my hand. "Oh I'm so sorry I..."
"It's fine. It's just...a little weird, two guys holding hands in public."
"It's a hospital Nick, when someone is in a hospital they deserve hand holding and being comforted."
"Sure...maybe if I was dying, but...I'm not."
Gatsby looked disappointed with my attitude. "I don't think you understand how terrible I feel about all this. Stop thinking about yourself and let me comfort you."
I waited a few moments before replying, wondering if he ever listened to himself. "Did...did you just tell me to stop thinking about myself? I just came out of surgery from being shot, and you're telling me to stop thinking about myself?"
I saw his eyes get bigger with the realization. "Oh my God, Nick I am so sorry. I didn't mean...I'm sorry. I..."
"No no, it's alright. I should've expected something like that. It sounds very much like what Daisy, or Tom, or someone like them would say." I turned my head.
Gatsby stood up so he could lean over the bed and grab both of my shoulders. "I am nothing like Tom."
I looked him dead in the eye, ready to lay out any similarities I could find. Then the door opened again and all attention was directed there. Jordan Baker was standing in the doorway in her usual cool manner. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Gatsby let go of me and sank back down into the chair. "No, no we were...just talking."
"Ah. Strangest position for a conversation I've seen. It looked liked you could've kissed him or killed him."
I blushed lightly, probably because I didn't have enough blood for a deeper color. "Jordan, what are you doing here?"
She smiled and walked over to the bed. "Seeing you." She bent down and kissed my forehead. "And you're not much of a sight, you look terrible."
"Well I apologize. Since almost dying I haven't been able to focus on my appearance."
Jordan looked up to Gatsby. "How long has he been this bitchy?"
He was staring at the floor, but glanced up a moment. "Since he woke up."
I gave him a glare. "That is not true. I've been more than civil."
Gatsby talked to Jordan instead of me. "He called me Tom-like."
"That's because you were being self-centered!"
A small chuckle came from Jordan. "Wow, you are being really snippy. What sort of meds do they have you on?"
I wanted to say 'I am not being snippy', but that would only prove that I was. Instead I sighed, and let it roll off my back. "So Jordan, how did you know I was here?"
"Well, I tried calling you at work, but there wasn't an answer. Then after I knew you'd be off work I went to visit your house, but no one was home. Then I decided to visit your neighbor," she nodded at Gatsby, "because you two are close, figuratively, but also literally. The guy at the door told me that there was a crazy man who shot you, and that you were in the hospital. I knew I had to come see you, because even though we're not," her eyes wandered around the room, "...intimate, we're still involved."
I thought about what her definition of "involved" was in comparison to mine. I smiled anyway. "I'm glad you came. It's nice to see you."
She returned the smile. "I'm just so happy that you're alright."
There was a peaceful, amiable, moment or so of silence. Then Jordan sighed. "But, unfortunately I've got to be on my way." She kissed my forehead again. "Get well soon Nick, I'll stop by as soon as I can. I suppose I'll be seeing you too Mr. Gatsby."
He smiled and shook her hand. "I expect you will."
She waved before exiting the room to whatever needed her attention. I didn't want to admit it, but I was disheartened that Jordan didn't stay longer. I heard a yawn from Gatsby. I turned to look at him. "Why are you tired?"
He smiled and laughed a little. "I know you've had a very rough day, but it's been a trying one for me too. Not to mention you've been sedated, and asleep twice today."
"So? I couldn't have slept much more than a few hours."
"Actually you've been unconscious for most of the day, about 17 hours."
"That's not possible." I started running calculations in my head when I was interrupted by another yawn. "If you want to go home, go ahead."
"No old sport I'll stick around a bit longer."
"You really don't have to. I've told you that before right?"
"I know, I know." He yawned again. Then he gave another smile, this time it was one of his rare smiles. "I want to stay."
