Part Two: Hospital Walls
Fred woke feeling like shit.
"Ngh."
No, no, he woke feeling worse than shit. A bad hangover made you feel like shit. This was something where every muscle in his body told him he should definitely, definitely be dead right about then, to spare himself the pain.
"Nnngh."
His fingers didn't feel attached to his hands.
But that was okay, because his hands didn't seem to be at the ends of his arms anymore.
"Uhngh."
"It's about fucking time you woke up. People were starting to get worried."
It was harder than usual for Fred to open his eyes, as if someone had glued his eyelids shut. When he finally managed to get them open, he discovered why. Light seemed to have gotten much brighter, and was suddenly quite shockingly painful. His eyes and eyelids had teamed up together to try and keep him from discovering this disturbing change in the world around him.
"Shit," Fred groaned.
"Don't sound like yourself, Fred." Gene's voice was coming from somewhere to the side, and Fred's brain couldn't place a body or an image with it.
"Well, I don't feel like myself, either," Fred rasped. Ow. "Rather, I feel like my incapacitated, ninety-year-old great aunt Edna, and it is certainly not very pleasant - Gene, where are you? I can't seem to...exactly...see you." Gene's face immediately swung into view, casting a wonderful shadow over Fred's face that blocked out the too-bright light. The smile Fred gave felt as pathetic as it must have looked. "Well," he said finally, swallowing down a roughness in his throat, "good morning."
"Don't you mean good night?" Gene grinned. There was stubble on his cheeks. "It's getting on towards six-thirty, Aunt Edna."
"Oh my," Fred murmured softly, "that means I've missed tea."
"You've missed quite a few teas."
"Been waiting here long?"
"Been waiting here more'n a week." Some part of Fred's brain, the part that didn't feel slippery and useless as Jell-O, registered that as being very serious indeed, only he couldn't for the life of him remember why.
"That would explain your sudden growth of, might I say, very masculine facial hair."
"Yeah, Fred."
"I have a question. And it's not about why you've chosen to stop shaving, although that itself is very questionable indeed."
"Go ahead." Gene sounded wary.
"Why do I hurt so much?"
"Probably 'cause of that bullet."
"What bullet?"
"One you took for me."
"Oh. ...that bullet."
"What other bullet'd you have in mind?"
"Where?" Fred couldn't feel any one part of his body. He was disconcerted, disoriented, and utterly confused. It was quite beyond him to begin trying to locate where it was he hurt the most.
"The bullet, you mean?"
"Mm."
"Your right shoulder. Took a helluva long time getting it out, you know. You've got - really thick skin, or something."
"I can't feel it."
"That's a good thing, Fred."
"Oh." Well, that made sense enough, Fred mused. "A week, you said?"
"More'n a week, I said. You had a lot of people worried." Fred heard Gene stand, the scraping of the chair, the rustle of cloth. Light shifted before his blurry vision, distorted with unfocus. He heard Gene move, perhaps to the window, and imagined the way the redhead was now no doubt standing, hip resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest, a half-brooding expression on his face, which would be cast in the nighttime shadow.
"Were you? Worried?"
"Fred."
"Were you?"
"Yeah. Thought your fucking family and your fucking bodyguards were gonna kill me five times over for letting you get hurt like that."
"Oh."
"...but yeah, Fred, I was worried."
"Sorry." The light on Fred's face shifted and changed patterns as Gene returned. The redhead settled down on the edge of Fred's bed, hands running through his own hair, pushing it out of his eyes. Fred felt as fuzzy as the world around him looked, too light-headed for his own good. Gene had worried about him. He didn't want Gene to worry, nor did he want to make Gene worry, but it made his cheeks hot knowing all the same that he had.
Jesus, Fred Luo, get a hold of yourself, he thought.
As always, he was mooning over Gene Starwind hopelessly and helplessly, despite the time and place and how inappropriate it was to be getting all swoony on people.
"Gene?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm going back to sleep now."
"Sounds good."
"You'll be here when I wake up again?"
"Sure, Fred."
"All right."
"Nice to see you smilin' like an idiot again, Fred." Had he been smiling? Fred realized he must have been. His cheeks got hot once more.
"Kiss me good night, Gene?"
"Go to hell, Fred." Instead, Fred promptly passed out, that smile lingering for a while on his lips, even after his face relaxed in unconsciousness.
Gene watched him for a while, torn between the urge to scowl and the urge to smile. The guy was a hopeless fool when it came to everything other than business. He was annoying, and clingy, and troublesome, and stingy with his money. And sure, Gene complained about him, and made fun of him, and sometimes turned too cold a shoulder to his advances. But it was - it was Fred, a good friend, a loyal friend, and more than just a decent guy. Pretty damn tolerable, Gene would say. Sometimes not so bad at all.
And yeah, Gene had been worried, much more than he himself would have ever expected to be. And yeah, he felt like he was gonna have some premature gray hairs because of this incident. He'd been scared. Damn scared. He was perfectly willing to admit this to himself, but hell if he'd ever let Fred know.
It'd give the poor guy ideas.
"Kiss me goodnight, Gene?"
Yeah right. Fat fucking chance of that happening in either of their lifetimes. One of which, Gene mused angrily, Fred seemed to have done his damn best to cut very, very short.
Gene's eyes rested thoughtfully on Fred's face. Kind of soft and delicate, like a woman's, heart shaped, his barely defined cheekbones not altogether unpleasant to look at. He had a rather decent face, as faces went. When he smiled it really wasn't so bad to look at. It made you wanna smile, yourself. And when those eyes were open they could be so bright, so intense, that it made you wonder who this fierce creature was, and where the smiling eyes of your friend had gotten off to. Fred was smart and surprisingly strong-willed, too, for someone who seemed so flighty.
Gene and Fred had known each other since they were two years old. That was a long time to know a guy.
You really got to know him.
"Yeah, goodnight, Fred," Gene mumbled softly, only half-grudgingly, sighing. It was because Fred was so persistent. It nearly drove Gene damn insane. But Fred was asleep now, and Gene felt free to do and say as he pleased.
With a little resigned sound, a half-smile quirked his lips upwards as they brushed over Fred's cheek.
Closer to his lips than his forehead was.
"Be here," Gene promised no one at all, "when you wake up again."