Chapter 21

Through the lifting blackness he could feel hands on his body, touching him, feeling him, moving him. He tried to make a sound; was he screaming or groaning or deathly quiet, making no noise at all? He couldn't tell; the movement sent him spiralling back into blackness.

Surfacing again, voices penetrating his consciousness, still the hands were exploring his body as he struggled against them; he just wanted to hide; curl away and go back to the darkness.

"Aaron!" It was just a whisper, but it was the voice he wanted to hear. He tried to focus on it, pull himself towards it. "Aaron, don't fight now, they're paramedics; you need to let them help you."

Was that right? Could it be over? He tried to open his eyes; it was dark but there were patches of bright light, beams illuminating a blur, passing green movement, a body enveloped in green. His head was spinning, he felt the rising, unstoppable nausea, rapidly followed by the bitter, acrid taste as he vomited again and again. Sinking back, voices swirled around him.

"Secure that drip; start with two litres of saline."

"Aaron! I'm just here!"

"Spinal board and neck brace."

"Come on, Mr Walsh; Jackson! You need to help us by waiting in the ambulance; we have to do a couple of things to get Aaron ready to move."

"Lift! Gently...gently!"

He knew nothing of being scooped from the cold, soaking ground, of being secured on the stretcher in the ambulance, of lying opposite Jackson; Jackson who couldn't take his eyes from his bloodied face, of the short journey to the hospital or of the flurry of people, nurses, doctors, scurrying around them both, dividing them.

For Jackson, the greatest agony was not knowing what was happening to Aaron; he knew that his own attack, his own injuries, were slight compared to Aarons. But still he was put into a cubical, helped into a hospital gown, his bruises examined, his abrasions cleaned, his fears professionally reassured. None of it helped; none of it would until he could see Aaron, hold him.

The bright lights penetrated Aaron's mind, rousing him, dragging him back to the present. Oh god! everything hurt!

"Aaron! Aaron! Can you hear me? Wake up for me?" The unfamiliar, insistent voice infiltrated the dazed, blank places of himself where he had retreated. Something, someone, was rubbing hard on his chest. "Aaron! Can you open your eyes for me?" Reluctantly Aaron tried to obey the voice, tried to force his eyes open against every inclination coursing through his body.

"Hello Aaron," the voice was warm and tinged with relief. "Glad to see you back with us. I'm Dr MacKenzie, Aaron. We need to take a look at you, but we are going to have to get you out of these wet clothes. It will be quicker and less painful for you if we cut them off; is that ok?"

Barely moving, Aaron nodded his consent. Much more important, all that filled his mind was Jackson; dampening his lips with his tongue; that was the one word he whispered, "Jackson?"

"He's fine; he'll be absolutely fine. You can see him soon, once we've sorted you out, ok? But first we need to get you cleaned up and checked over. And some x-rays."

Aaron didn't care anymore; Jackson was fine, he would see him soon. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer; drifting into a glowing sunset, he let his recovery begin around him.

...

There was hardly any light the next time he opened his eyes; it could have been minutes or hours later, he had no idea. And for a few, confusing moments, he had little idea where he was; he tried to move and suddenly his whole body screamed in protest, bringing memory returning with the wracking pain throughout his body.

He must have made a noise; a figure appeared beside him, cool hands touching his shoulder, linking him to reality.

"Jackson?"

"He's right here, Aaron. Not too long now, Jackson, he's had a lot of painkillers. Five minutes, then back to bed." She moved out of the way, her place immediately filled by the one person he wanted more than ever to see, the one person who he thought he might never see again. In the dim light their eyes met, almost shyly their fingers crept towards each other over the bed covers, scared to touch in case the other broke.

Aaron smiled. "Hold me Jay," he whispered.

Tentatively Jackson began to slide his arm under Aaron's shoulder, stopping a second later as a groan broke from Aaron's lips

"No! Don't stop! I need you to hold me just now, really tightly. I don't care about anything else." He tried to move a little, to slide his body to one side, allowing Jackson more room on the bed.

"I'm fine, I've got plenty of room," whispered Jackson quickly, even in the darkness of the ward he could see the increasing pain etched across Aaron's face as he tried such a tiny little movement.

"Just hold me! Please!" Aaron's quiet voice had an edge of pleading, of desperation to it; he had never needed reassurance of Jackson's presence more than he did now.

Jackson eased himself as close on the bed to Aaron as he could, trying to perfect a precarious balance; holding him tight enough to satisfy his need for reassurance and security yet gently enough to cause him no further pain. He could feel him relaxing in his arms, knowing at last the ultimate comfort of his embrace.

Jackson hated the thought of breaking the peace of the moment, but there was something he needed to ask. The doctors had asked him first, suggesting it might be a good idea, but for the moment, he had stalled them.

"Aaron," he whispered in the semi darkness. "Do you want me to phone Chas, or Paddy?" At first he thought Aaron hadn't heard him, for a moment he didn't move, gave no indication he was even still awake.

"No," the word was so quiet, he hardly heard him. Then stronger; "No! I'm fine; just a bit bruised and battered. I don't want them to know. Promise me, Jackson! Promise me you won't call them." His voice was beginning to rise now, infused with panic.

"Sssh, ok, ssssh Aaron! I won't call them if you don't want me to."

"Thank you,"

Lapsing into silence, he could have slept there, beside him, but all too soon the nurse returned and demanded that he return to his own bed.

"Can I go somewhere to use my phone first, nurse? I know it's late, but I need to do it now."

Flicking through the names in his phonebook, he found the one he wanted and pressed the dial button. It was so late; perhaps there would be no answer...but no! there was the voice, greeting him.

"Mum, it's me. Something's happened and I don't know what to do.