Woomp…woomp…woomp….
The bass thumps deep within his chest, his whole body vibrating with the rhythmic pounding of the music. It's loud, obnoxiously loud, frankly, just past that noise threshold where sound becomes more tactile than auditory.
Dick stares around the Pi Sig common room, filled to overflowing with writhing, sweaty bodies. He is perched on a three-legged stool in a dark corner of the room desperately wishing he could pick up the plastic cup of beer that sits on the small table in front of him. He's already tried three times, but while his hand doesn't go all Casper and pass through the drink, he still isn't able to grasp it. It's strange, since he can most certainly feel the stool supporting his ass. The elusive cup, however, he just cannot touch. Which sucks, because if he needs to sit through another one of these damn dreams, he would really prefer to do it with some alcohol to take the edge off.
His hand is moving to try for a fourth time when a voice comes from his left, one that has always registered as "harpy bitch" in his mind.
"God, idiot. Are you five? You. can't. touch. it. Knock it off and pay attention, so we can get this over with."
Dick's eyes go wide with shock at finding his long-ago ex standing next to him, picking at her perfectly manicured nails and looking for all the world like she's smelling something putrid. Well, Madison did pretty much always make that face, dude. God knows you didn't date her for her award winning personality.
"What the hell are you doing here, Maddy?"
"Babysitting, apparently." Madison rolls her eyes impatiently, her chin lifting a few more inches, her back ramrod straight.
Dick notices that her hair is the same bottle blond colour she wore in high school, not the still-not-natural warm brown she'd had the last time he'd seen her. He wonders snidely how many dozens of other people know that her carpet doesn't match her drapes, and chuckles quietly to himself. "You didn't even go to Hearst. Why are you here?"
Clearly thinking him a complete idiot, Madison does nothing to hide her impatience. "Because-" she draws in the dramatic breath of a martyr "-I'm the one who happens to be your last serious girlfriend. Lucky me." Her tone does not indicate that she actually feels blessed by this privilege, and she returns her focus back to her nails, mumbling what Dick thinks are general insults towards his beloved frat and how sub-par they were compared to the ones at USC.
"Look, Mads, there is nothing you can tell me that I want to hear, babe. Run along. I'll figure out whatever this is by myself." Dick scans the crowd searching for his own blond shag in the throng.
Madison's trademark sarcasm layers her smile and her words. "Dick, your brain couldn't figure out the pizza tip. You can't even spot yourself twenty feet away." She grabs his chin and jerks his face hard in the direction of his nineteen year old self. "Get with the program."
Dick leaps off the stool, pulling his face from her grasp. "Ow! Step off, bitch! Jesus Christ!"
Madison is clearly unfazed by his outburst, and coos, "Aww…Is wittle Dicky-Wicky hurt?" Her tone then take a sharp turn into disgust. "Please, drama queen. Relax."
Dick runs his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to get himself under control. Man, she wasn't that good a lay. Why the fuck did I ever put up with her shit? He sinks back onto the stool and returns to watching himself grinding up against a half-naked redhead. He's actually pretty impressed with what he's seeing. Look at that hot chick right there. That's what college was all about. Parties, babes, booze. It didn't get any better than that. Man, it still doesn't get any better than that. Except, you know, when more than a few days go by without a party and he's forced to act all mature and shit. Good thing he didn't let it happen very often.
The red-head is whispering into Frat-Boy-Dick's ear, and although they are clearly too far away to hear it, especially over the music, Dick and Madison both somehow hear that she's asking if he has a yacht. They see the girl push her breasts a little closer to him, and hear him crack something about having a 40-footer, and a boat too. He grabs her ass and pulls her into his crotch while shoving his tongue down her throat.
Next to Dick, Madison is pretending to stick her finger down her throat and gag. He just looks over at her and raises one eyebrow, unamused. "And you call me a drama queen?" Shaking his head, he looks away. "Just say what you've gotta say and get the fuck away from me already."
"OK, let me put this into simple words so that even you can understand. That guy right there?" – she waves her hand in the direction of Frat-Boy-Dick – "He's a creeper. And that girl he's with? She's the worst kind of gold-digging skank. What's worse is that you're still that guy. At least she eventually got a job and grew up." She turns her gaze on Dick with disdain in her eyes, but also just a tiny smidge of pity.
Dick can't help glancing over when he feels her looking at him. He expects the disdain, it had coloured most of their relationship, but he doesn't care about it anymore now than he did then. What he won't accept is her pity. "Fuck you. You were happy enough to be my skank for years. Who are you to talk?"
"Look, asshole. You think you can just fuck anything with boobs, as long as she's hot, and no one's going to get hurt. That as long as you can convince yourself that she's willing, who cares? Well, fuck you. It didn't work like that then, and it doesn't work like that now." Madison has lost all restraint; Dick can see it in her eyes. The words come spitting out of her mouth unrehearsed and raw. He wonders briefly if maybe she cared more about him back then than she let on, and she's spent all these years getting more and more bitter. But then he remembers that she gave as good as she got, and his guilt vaporizes. "Do you know how many of your one night stands cried over you? How many convinced themselves that they deserved the way you treated them? How many thought they might be pregnant, or thought they caught something? I might be a heartless bitch, but even I know that no one deserves to feel like that."
The heat of the crowd might be the cause of the flush on his cheeks or it might be because he's angry. But if he's perfectly honest with himself, Madison's words embarrass him more than he wants to admit.
Well fuck her.
She's probably just jealous. She's realized that she peaked with him in high school, and now she wants to make him feel as shitty as she feels. No way. He looks at his younger self macking on his chick, hand halfway up her skirt already. That's how it was meant to be, dude. Don't let anyone tell you different.
His verbal smack down is halfway out of his mouth when he realizes that she isn't there anymore. Which makes it even more fucking creepy when he hears her parting shot somewhere in the back of his mind, crystal clear despite the loud music. "By the way, if you have to spike her drink, she isn't willing."
It's as though someone has thrown a bucket of ice down the back of his shirt. Her last words bounce off his eardrums, echoing in his mind, even picking up the melody of the music playing so that it repeats like the refrain of a song you can't get out of your head. Dick's hands squeeze his temples and his eyes clench shut as though if he shuts off all his senses he can magically block the words out. He shakes his head back and forth, bouncing slightly as though he's trying to tamp down the guilt that is bubbling to the surface. One time, damn it! He'd only done it that one time and the E didn't even work!
No, dammit. They want you, man. You're sex on a stick. Emperor of the bedroom. She doesn't know what she's talking about. The girls, they get it.
The icy sensation flows down his back into his arms and legs. He can feel the cold slide along his bones, deep in his joints, making his extremities tingle. The music is fading but he's too afraid to open his eyes to see if the room is fading too. He's just so cold…
"- c-c-cold-" Dick mumbled through the cotton in his mouth. He thought he felt his hands shaking, but couldn't focus enough to tell if it was true.
"Pass me the extra blanket from the cabinet please, Veronica?" Logan's voice was very quiet, but Dick heard how worried he was.
A flannel blanket was tucked gently around his feet, then his knees, his arms, his shoulders, and finally, under his chin. Dick couldn't manage to open his eyes, but he could tell that it must have been Veronica playing nursemaid when some kind of strawberry smell wafted by his nose.
"Dick, is that better?" Logan asked tentatively. "Are you awake, dude? They said the morphine can make you feel cold. It's, uh, normal."
It took every ounce of focus Dick had to formulate a coherent response. It frustrated him to no end to know what he wanted to say, but not be able to control his body. His words came out just above a whisper. "Mmm…better. Thanks, Ronnie. Are you giving me my sponge bath too?"
He could almost hear Veronica's eye roll but he actually did hear Logan chuckle, and he was glad he could still get his friend to laugh. I guess he isn't still pissed at me.
"Dick, you'd better recover before you piss me off. I'm not above tasering your ass in a hospital bed, and I don't think five days in this bed is long enough," Veronica threatened drily.
"You just want to look under my hospital gown. I get it." The banter was helping him clear his head, and he attempted to open his eyes slightly. Logan was standing next to the bed, shadows under his eyes, staring down at him with such intensity it was as though he'd spent the last few days and nights willing Dick to get better using only the force of his mind. Veronica was sitting on the windowsill, legs dangling like a child, heels softly bouncing off the walls, looking at Logan as though her stare was all that was keeping him standing. Well, that made sense. She wouldn't be here for me.
Logan exhaled and Dick could see some of the tension leaving his body. "I'm alright, Dad. Chillax."
Logan grinned down at his best friend. "Shut up, asshole, and get better. I leave in two weeks and I need my head in the game, not worrying about your sorry ass in here. You better be out because I need a ride to base."
Dick nodded in the direction of his splinted leg. "You're going to have to get your lady friend to take you. Kinda hard to drive the Porsche with one leg. I'm sure you can find some way to make it worth her while, right Ronnie?"
"Logan, that's two skeezy comments in five minutes. I think he's going to be fine. C'mon, lets go home. You need to sleep, and so does he."
"Yeah, go on home, dude. But stop at the nurse's station first and round me up a hot little night nurse, would you? See if you can find me a redhead."
Veronica jumped down off the windowsill and grabbed her purse, clearly past her tolerance level for Dick's comments. "I'll meet you at the elevators, Logan."
Logan tried not to smile at the exchange, but he was clearly too relieved that his friend was able to joke around to get upset. "Yeah, I'll be right there." Turning to Dick, he said, "Just-" he looked down at his hands still clenching the rail on the side of the bed- "don't die tonight, okay?"
Dick knew that Logan was scared for him, and really did want to reassure him that he was fine. How do I do that without sounding like some pussy bitch? "And miss out on trying that new board you got me? No chance."
Logan smiled at him wanly before turning to go. "Night, Dick."
"Night."
It was closer to four weeks before Dick was allowed to leave the hospital, but at least Logan was satisfied with Dick's progress when he left on tour. Two days before he left, Veronica walked into Dick's room alone after supper. The patient was sitting up in bed watching an old Ren and Stimpy rerun on The Cartoon Network.
"Well, well, well. What can I do you for, Ronnie? Is Logan supposed to be here? I would have thought you would have kept his balls tied to the bed posts until he shipped out." Dick reached for the remote and muted the TV.
Veronica's stern expression barely cracked in response to Dick's baiting. She stopped at the end of his bed, hands in her trench coat pockets, and stared at him for a long moment before speaking.
"Dick, so help me God, if you give Logan one iota of anything to worry about while he is away, I will wait until you are well and then I will send you back in here myself. He needs focus and concentration while he's out there, and I will not let you distract him from coming back to me. To us. Am I making myself clear?" Her eyes were boring holes into his.
"Ronnie, relax. Logan knows I'm fine. It takes more than this to get rid of the Dickmeister." Dick tried to laugh off her concern. Logan was the most focused person he knew, with the exception of maybe Ronnie herself. There was no way that he'd let this situation mess up his mind while he was flying.
"Like a cockroach, I know," Veronica volleyed back. "Look, just make sure that when he comes to say goodbye tomorrow, he doesn't leave worried."
"Will do. Now if you don't mind, I'm watching something here." Dick reached for the remote and turned back up the sound, pointedly dismissing his best friend's girlfriend. He could feel her watching him for another long second before she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
The next day, when Logan came to visit – sans Veronica – Dick made sure that his buddy knew nothing had changed. He was the same old Dick he'd been before the accident. OK sure, he had wanted to maybe talk to Logan about those two crazy dreams he'd had, but there hadn't been any others, so he kept his mouth shut. It was probably just the morphine anyway, but now that he was weaned off that shit, he was fine. No use stressing out his friend. Not that Veronica was right or anything. So when Logan finely got up to leave, Dick ignored his not-so-subtle leading questions and made it clear that everything was fine. No one would be able to blame him because Logan was worried.
Almost two weeks later, Dick walked – hobbled - into his beach house, glad to be home. He immediately headed for the phone and dialed his buddy Tyler to find out when and where the next party was.
He was fine.