Day 16: "I hate you"..."I love you, too."
Filling Cracks With Gold
The only sound in the room came from the heart monitor.
Bobby stared blankly at it. He focused on the scarlet line that steadily rose, beeping when it reached its highest point. It continued rhythmically, almost like the beat of a song. If it stopped, if Raz flatlined, Bobby didn't know what he'd do.
He had been sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair for around three hours. The doctors had ordered him to leave during the surgery. He complied, initially, then snuck back inside when the coast was clear. They had forgotten lockpicking was his childhood specialty, and there Bobby remained as the minutes dragged on.
The white walls, once searing into his retinas, were now muddled. He hadn't noticed anything else of interest, omitting the way the medical instruments were arranged on the counter, ignoring the sink with an occasionally dripping faucet. He was in a private room in the medical bay, swathes of blue and silver occasionally crossing his vision, but for the most part, Bobby lost sight of the furnishings and various machines.
He let his gaze drop to the cot. A cotton blanket covered Raz's frame. To the untrained eye, Raz might have been sleeping. The slow rise and fall of his chest could have tricked anyone. But the IVs crammed into his arm, the oxygen mask nestled on his mouth, and the visible bandages dyed in the color of rust told another story.
It was a tale of how fucking stupid Bobby Zilch was.
Bobby replayed the mission in his mind. It should have been a simple recon job. They should've been home by dinner. Hell, Raz wanted to catch a movie afterward. Bobby had been looking forward to it, even if the movie wasn't his preference.
But it was going far too smoothly. Bobby let his guard down, and the punk in charge smashed him over the skull with a baseball bat.
They quickly were blindsided by the punk's cronies. The observers had been scrutinized the entire time in the dank, cramped warehouse. With scurrying rats and guns drawn, they were trapped in the center. It wasn't anything dire. Bobby had faced so much worse, situations where he felt the last bit of life drain from him before he somehow succeeded. It should've been straightforward taking them down.
They almost had, and staring at Raz, who looked almost serene, Bobby felt the back of his skull throb where the bat struck him.
One of the bastards jumped Bobby from behind. He fired, narrowly missing Bobby's shoulder. When he turned, the second bullet had already been shot right at him.
And Bobby heard white noise. And he felt Raz's hand, strong and tight. And he knew his body was tumbling to the ground. And he saw Raz take the bullet for him, a rush of blood spurting from his chest right where his heart should've been.
Bobby didn't remember much else. He recalled screaming. He recalled adrenaline and fear. He recalled bloodstains smeared across the floor from the twitching bodies of the mooks. In glimpses, he saw himself smashing his knuckles again and again and again into their faces, knocking out teeth, breaking noses, gouging eyes until they were nothing but half-dead bodies.
And because Bobby was so blinded by rage, it had taken five Psychonauts to pry him off the punk and Raz's motionless body, his stained Psychonauts uniform, and a thin, crimson trickle leaking out of his mouth to snap Bobby back to reality.
What happened next was a hurricane of shouting, medical equipment, and everything else. He couldn't remember the previous hours between his rampage and sneaking into Raz's room. It was as if the memories had been stolen.
Instead of wondering, he had his fingers for evidence. They were wrapped in splints, his phalanges broken. When he blinked, he peeked at himself kneeling on a mook's chest and punching his face in with twisted fingers. He stood off the side, watching himself almost kill the man, and he felt nothing.
He would've felt better if he had. Blood for blood. But it wouldn't have mattered. Raz was clinging to life, all because he was selfless, because he saw Bobby as someone worth saving again.
Bobby gripped his jaw. He swallowed back a choked sob. His eyes and face burned, directing familiar loathing at himself. He was a fuck-up, an idiot, stupid beyond stupidity. He dug his knuckles into his thighs, seething, scowling, wanting nothing more than to punch himself out.
But Raz would've grabbed his fist and lowered it. He would've told Bobby to be kinder to himself. Bobby wished Raz would just let him abhor himself in peace, but even in his thoughts, Raz refused.
Instead, Bobby reached out. Broken, taped fingers caressed Raz's cheek. He traced upward, brushing sweaty bangs off his brow. He was a handsome guy. The thought once made Bobby's stomach churn when he came to certain startling realizations. But Raz had only laughed and accepted him when Bobby grumbled out the truth, and he was whole again.
His eyes stung. He squeezed them shut, a few tears escaping nonetheless. He felt as if his innards had been scooped out, hollow and worthless. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Bobby hunched forward and shoved his bruised, bandaged palms over his face, shoulders shaking, head throbbing.
The bedsprings creaked.
Bobby's head snapped up. He stared at Raz through his fingertips. Green eyes blinked awake, and his body rolled to his side. A hiss escaped his teeth, and he sighed, falling onto his back. Bobby remained still, frozen like a statue, as Raz looked at him.
He dragged his arms out from the blanket and crossed them over his chest. A weak smirk graced his face. "Hey, cotton candy," he breathed out.
All Bobby saw was red. Blood in his mouth, blood dribbling down his chest. Raz was a living corpse.
Raz blinked, his humor falling. "Bobby, what-?"
Bobby had never been able to fully control himself. There were countless reports of his temper during his internship. There were even more when he was a PSI cadet. Even as an experienced agent, impulses still claimed his movements.
He rushed out of his chair like a lion grabbing prey. He seized Raz by his shoulders, digging his knees on the cot. His expression twisted as he seized him, pressing him close. Bobby breathed in his peculiar antiseptic smell, his gut wanting to revolt, but still, he buried his face in the crook of Raz's neck.
The heart monitor raced, beeping incessantly. He hissed through clenched teeth, Bobby knowing he was hurting him again. The realization was like a knife to his back. It seemed like all he could do was harm people. He hadn't changed one bit.
Bobby whimpered. "I hate you - no, I'm sorry, Raz. I don't mean that. It's my fault. I fucked it all up. I'm sorry."
He wept into Raz's hair. The blame lay squarely on his shoulders. He was a selfish man through and through, holding Raz as if he was his lifeline. Reason commanded he let go, but he feared what would happen if he did.
Raz sighed.
"I love you, too," was all he said as he slung his good arm around Bobby's waist.
Bobby groaned, wetting Raz's hair with his sobs. He shook his head, the cynical part of his brain denying it. "I shouldn't have been so fucking stupid."
"You're not stupid. Don't call yourself that. I'm with you because I want to be."
His tone was gentle, softer than satin. Raz wriggled himself free and reached up, cupping his face. Bobby almost flinched, his eyes squeezing shut, but he relaxed against his clammy touch. Bobby sighed, holding Raz's hand in place with his damaged palm, and he felt his heartbeat slow to a calm crawl.
It lasted until Raz gasped.
"What the hell happened to your hands?"
Blinking, he muttered, "I, uh, I broke my fingers."
"All of them?"
"All of them."
Raz raised an incredulous eyebrow at him.
Bobby's cheeks darkened. "I might've, I mean, I beat the shit outta those guys after you went down."
Raz stared at him, eyes narrowing, before letting out a sharp laugh straight from his belly. He cackled breathlessly. Clapping Bobby's shoulder a few times, he shook his head, and Bobby squinted at him, utterly stupefied.
Raz wiped a tear from his eye. "Bobby, you're the salt of the earth. I got shot for you, and you went out of your way to injure yourself."
Bobby let the words sink in only to balk. "Wh-? F-fuck you, asshole!"
"Aw, no, don't get mad! C'mere!"
As Raz beamed at him, on death's door only hours ago, Bobby's worries ebbed away. He smiled, lips quivering, even as Raz brought him in again. He melted into Raz's embrace, forgetting everything terrible in the world. So long as Raz promised him, Bobby believed him, and he loved him all the more.