First of all, my special thanks go to SparkenRose, Vindictive John Dark Fantasy, Madmoiselle Else, The Reign of Maddox, Moiself and Guest for leaving a review to the last chapter. You're actually the reason I continued the story :)
I hope all of you out there enjoy this chapter.
Have fun!
Grabbing the spare key to Kofi's house from the counter, he made his way over quickly and he probably should have been happy that Phil actually was asking him for help, but the mere fact caused him a bad feeling in the guts because… where was Kofi? And what had happened that Phil needed his help?
He got an answer to the latter as he opened the front door, being greeted by the image of Phil sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall close to the stairs to the second floor. The wheelchair was lying on its side not far from him. On the first look seemed to be okay so far, except for a bit of blood on his forehead and the defeated expression on his face as he looked up to John. Closing the door, John exhaled a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and somehow his heart slowed down although he hadn't been aware that it had been running actually.
"You okay?" he asked with a frown on his face as he kneeled down at Phil's side.
"I guess so," Phil mumbled wearily, casting his eyes down.
Leaning closer, John exmined the wound on Phil's forehead. A cut, not deep but bleeding a little.
"What happened?" he wanted to know.
"I wanted to slide down the stairs on my butt and tried to get the wheelchair down stair by stair, too," Phil muttered, looking anywhere but at John. "On the last few stairs that stupid thing slipped out if my hand. I tried to stop it from crashing down and lost my balance."
There was a bitter part in John that began to grin grimmly at this. Maybe that little bit of a hit to the head had left a crack in the idiotic and stubborn hatred which lingered so deep in Phil.
"You in pain?" John murmured while scrutinizing the other man, looking out for a hint that Phil was pretending not be in pain when he maybe was. "What about your legs?"
"The splints are sitting pretty tight. Think my legs are okay." A short pause. Then: "My head hurts a bit though."
Phil was still not really gazing at John while he spoke.
"The head or the cut?"
"Uh… the head but I guess it's not surprising after introducing my forehead to the stairs," Phil snorted weakly.
And because Phil stubbornly refused to look at him, John brought a hand to the other man's chin to gently but insistently making him meet his gaze finally. The look in the other man's eyes was careful but not filled with animosity… like it had been not long ago.
"Could be a concussion," he murmured, intently eyeing the slightly pale face.
"No… it's just a headache."
John wasn't in the mood to discuss this now and although Phil was paler than usually, his eyes were neither clouded nor glassy and his gaze was clear, so he decided not to insist on getting Phil to a doctor. It would probably have been a vain attempt anyway. With a quiet sigh and a frown he straightened up and headed for the bathroom to get some stuff to patch Phil up.
When he came back, he kneeled down beside him again and again Phil refused to look at him. Wordlessly began to clean the cut and it was almost disturbing how quiet and compliant Phil was. The only reactions he got from the other man were a few tiny twitches in his features or a faint furrowing of his brows, but thenn suddenly there was a change on Phil's face. A slight widening of eyes, a flaring of nostrils, the ever so barely tightening of lips… his features… smoothing and tensing at the same time. Realization… as the green eyes fixed on something that had been there all the time but hadn't seen or rather noticed, right there on John's shoulder and arm.
The burn scar.
John noticed the change and he also knew what Phil was staring at, yet he kept quiet, waiting for him to say something about it… wondering if he would. Actually it was impossible not to see that scar when he was wearing only a tank top lie he did now, since it was pretty big and still a bit irritated and thus slightly reddened, but he wasn't really surprised that Phil only noticed it now, because the other man had been to wrapped up in his own world of hatred and misery. Obviously.
He wouldn't really have expected Phil to say a word about it and so it surprised him as a hand was lifted gingerly as if Phil wanted to touch the marred skin, stopping though before his fingertips actually made contact with it. For the briefest of moments John hesitated in his task and maybe it was what made Phil stop.
"How did this happen?" Phil asked quietly, his hand sinking down again.
"I've shielded you when the ceiling came down in the stairwell," John replied, trying hard to keep his voice steady and neutral, while wondering if the other man remembered those minutes in the stairwell, too.
It was all he said. He sealed his lips tightly shut afterwards and the reaction he got was a faint twitch around the other man's eyes. And only that. No words, not a sigh or whatever. Just this ridiculous nothing. John almost laughed at this hopelessly naïve part in him that just wouldn't stop hoping that Phil would give him a chance despite all that had happened in his past. And wasn't it poor? To keep hoping like an idiot? Like a starving dog waiting for a fucking treat?
Carefully placing a plaster over the cut, he finished his task of patching Phil up and grabbing the first aid kit, he got up and headed for the bathroom again to put it back. Bracing on the rim of the bathroom sink, he stared at his reflection in the mirror for a few long seconds and the man who met his gaze looked sad and he wasn't sure what had marked him more: the fire or… or Phil…
When he eventually went back down, Phil hadn't moved an inch and somehow he looked forlorn the way he sat there, his head bowed a bot, shoulders slightly hunched and his hand resting in his lap. But maybe John was only imagining things…
He sat the wheelchair back on its wheels, before hunching down at Phil's side again, wrapping one arm around the other man's back while slipping the other under his knees.
"Put your arm around my neck. I'm gonna get you back into the chair," John said quietly and Phil did put his arm around his neck, but there was a certain reluctance lying in it.
This time there was no struggling as he lifted Phil up and carefully lowered him into the wheelchair.
"Where's Kofi?" he asked as he stepped back.
Finally but hesitantly meeting John's gaze, Phil murmured: "We, uhm… we had a fight. He left."
John could have asked now why Kofi had left. He didn't though because he already had a faint idea what had happened. So instead of asking, John only pursed his lips and nodded slightly.
"Did he say a word when he'll be back?" John wanted to know. Dropping his gaze to the floor again, Phil shook his head no and it made John wonder how bad they had been fighting. "Okay, uhm… Do you need anything?"
It was almost perturbing how not biting Phil was. There was no edge in his voice and no sharp word and wasn't there the faintest shadow of warm honey back in it? But maybe he was only imagining the warm honey note because his heart longed for hearing it again…
"I… no, I don't need anything."
Quiet. Very quiet… small even and ever since that day in his yard it was the first time that Phil didn't seem to push him away, although he didn't really let him in, too. But even this tiny bit of difference, this not openly hating him… it was like balsam to John's suffering heart. But that nagging voice of reason muttered that this little piece of gold was only fool's gold. It couldn't be more, could it? Phil's hatred rooted too deep…
"I'm going for a run now. I'll be gone for about and hour, so just try not to fall out of that thing again," John muttered, feeling that it was time to go now although he didn't like the idea of Phil being alone at home.
His feet had already carried him half-way to the door as Phil spoke again.
"Thank you."
It stopped him dead in his tracks and momentarily he wasn't sure if he'd heard right, but then he turned back to Phil, gazing at him with a carefully neutral face.
"I know that Kofi talked to you about what has happened yesterday, so don't say thanks when we both know that you don't really mean it," John said quietly, much aware that although his voice was calm, his words were not.
And the words were bitter on his tongue, because he didn't want to say them… but he could not not say them, because he simply couldn't believe that Phil really meant it. Swallowing hard, he took a step back and the neutral expression on his face gave way to a smile that was as bitter as the taste the words had left behind. Again he turned away to leave and again it was Phil's voice that stopped him, froze him to the spot.
"But I mean it. I really do," he heard Phil say but he didn't turn back around. Instead he closed his eyes against a suspicious stinging in his eyes, while his mind struggled to accept that maybe, just mabye there was a chance that Phil could stop hating him. "Thank you for getting me out of the fire and thank you for helping me yesterday and now." There was a soft sound behind him. The sound of wheels on the parquet, coming a little closer. "Thank you, John…"
"You made it pretty clear what you think of me, Phil, so why would you thank me when you hate me?"
Again there he heard wheels on parquet and then he saw Phil from the corner of his eye. Phil stopped at his side, gazing up to him… and there was apology lying in his eyes.
"I don't hate you, John. I know that it's not your fault what happened to my family…" Phil said just above a whisper. "I… it's hard to admit that I've wronged you and I know that it shouldn't be like that."
Swallowing hard, John tried to calm his suddenly wildly pounding heart. It was pumping hope through his veins like a bright tingling. There was a light touch on his forearm and it made John look down at Phil and wasn't it strange that yesterday this man had hauled hate towards him and now there was seemingly nothing left of it? How could this be? He wanted to ask him, wanted to know what changed his mind from one day to the next, but the question got stuck in his throat. Maybe because he was afraid that asking it would make this bubble of hope burst. Ridiculous, wasn't it?
"All those years I've layed the blame for my fucked up past on those people who let my parents die. I talked myself into believing that firefighters are all alike because it made it easier for me to cope with it. And then you come along, a firefighter, and you make me like you so very much… I spent the whole fucking night thinking about all that has happened. It's not easy for me to accept that there is someone who risked his life just to get me out of the fire. It doesn't fit into my world. I know it's wrong. I know it… But it scares me because you changed everything." Phil fell silent as John slowly walked over to the stairs, sitting down there, because he needed to. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he hid his face in his hands for a second, breathing deeply and when he looked up again, Phil was right there in front of him. "Kofi was angry because I pretended not to remember anything and because I… because I treated you like shit. And suddenly he was gone. After falling down the stairs I tried to get back into this fucking wheelchair and I didn't get it done on my own and I… huh, I've never felt so alone in my life." John watched as Phil moved a little bit closer and then folded his hands and rested them in his lap, nervously brushing one of his thumbs back and forth. "I wasn't sure if you'd come when I called you. After what happened yesterday I thought you're gone, too." Phil took a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes before whispering: "But I don't want you to be gone, John."
His heart had been running, but now it stumbled and then simply left a few beats out as it finally, really sunk in that Phil did not hate him… and that he had just opened the door again to let him in. A tide of happiness and gratefulness washed through him and hadn't the situation been so fragile, he would have wrapped his arms around this man to hold him close and never let him go again.
Let me kiss you, his heart whispered. Let me love you. Please, let me love you…
"Won't happen as long as you allow me to stay," John whispered back.
For long seconds they just gazed at each other, the air between them filling with a humming and it was a good one. Warm and rich. But although it was good, maybe it was too much at the moment. Ot was Phil who looked away first, his gaze becoming a little distant as his eyes swept down to the burn scar.
"Haven't you been scared to die in there?" Phil asked, reaching out to gingerly touch it.
A shiver ran through John as fingertips touched the still overly sensible skin.
"That you could die scared me more," John replied just above a whisper and laid a hand on Phil's, gently keeping it there on his shoulder. "I meant it, Phil. I love you."
There, he'd said it again but unlike yesterday those three words seemed to reach Phil's heart and it's echoe showed in the depth of those green eyes, gleaming in them. Beautiful. So beautiful.
"John, I…" Phil began but trailed off immediately, almost as if words failed him
"It's okay. I don't want to put pressure on you," John reassured him.
A sigh passed Phil's lips. A relieved one. Yet somehow it was bitter at the same time.
"Before I found out about you being a firefighter, I wanted us to be more than just friends. I felt more for you and it's still there. I can feel it here," he said, softly tapping against his own chest… right above his heart. "It's just… I need time. I need to sort this out with myself," Phil added just above a whisper. "If you give me some more time, then maybe…"
The gleam in his eyes was replaced by a plea. Please understand, it said and John did.
"You have all the time you need," John replied softly. "I'm waiting as long as it takes. Just… it hurt, you know? To be pushed away the way you pushed me away. So if there's anything that bothers you, talk to me. And if you want me to stay away for a while, that's fine. Anything is better than feeling hated by you."
With that he let go fo Phil's hand, expecting him to draw it back, but instead Phil let his fingertips travel over the marred skin again while a tiny and deeply apologetic smile grew on his lips. And then his hand moved to the front of John's shirt. Hooking a finger under the wide collar, he peeked under it. The apologetic smile became an amused one.
"What…?" John asked mildly confused but happy to see Phil smile a real smile again.
"Just searching for the S on your chest," Phil replied and the smile not only grew on his lips, but also laced into hos voice. "You're walking through fire, you're lifting steel beams… you gotta be Superman."
"I'm not Superman," John snorted, not without a certain amount of bitterness. "Superman would have gotten you out there in a blink. I almost failed… a few meters away from the fucking exit I couldn't go further…"
"You said the ceiling came down," he heard the other man say. He nodded slowly. "And you shielded me." Another nod. "So, you walked through fire, lifted a steel beam, shielded me from a ceiling that crashed down on us and we both survived. See? You gotta be Superman or else we wouldn't be here now."
Amazement. It was what John felt. And he was gazing at Phil in amazement because it felt so surreal, this now. It was as if those past weeks had been nothing but a bad dream. Actually it was too good, too perfect to be true. Closing his eyes, John dipped his head forward and willed the silly burning in his eyes down.
"I can't believe that this is happening. Not even half an hour ago I thought you'd hate me forever and now we're sitting here, talking and…" He fell silent, swallowing hard. "Why, Phil?"
Phil's hand dropped to John's forearm, lingering there for a hearbeat or two, before wandering down to John's hand to take it in a light hold. John's eyes fixed on their joined hands. His own fingers closed around the other man's. It was good, this touch. It was what he needed.
And finally it was back, that rich warm honey as Phil spoke again.
"Because I can't allow the fire to take someone important away from me again…"
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