Part Three: A Piece of Heaven
"Ow."
"Fred, hold still."
"Ow ow ow ow."
"Fred, stop saying that."
"...Ow. ...ch. Ouch."
"Fred."
"Gene."
As it was, Fred was being surprisingly steadfast about his injury. Other, lesser men would have been howling in pain, by that point. Fred was just making these horribly miserable whimpering sounds.
Gene couldn't decide what was worse.
"Stop complaining," he growled. Fred was being surprisingly steadfast, and deserved a metal more than anything else. But Gene was not a patient man, especially not with a patient. Above all, he didn't like hearing Fred's soft sounds of pain. It reminded him of his own failure. "Fuck." Fred shifted, felt pain shoot face and fierce through his veins, and bit his lip to keep from crying out. "Shit," Gene hissed as Fred sagged against him, "you okay?"
"Mm," Fred groaned. He took a deep breath. Tried again. "Yes. I never knew it could be so hard to just sit up, that's all." Even with Gene's strong, scarred arms wrapped tight around him, even with the comfortingly solid expanse of Gene's chest propping him up, the task was much too strenuous for Fred to handle.
"S'enough for one day," Gene muttered, frowning darkly.
"All right."
"Just so you'll shut the hell up."
"Thank you, Gene."
"Yeah."
Fred kept his head pillowed against Gene's shoulder, feeling contented and comfortable despite the pain. Gene was tensed and vaguely annoyed against him, the emotions easily felt through his tight muscles. Perhaps, Fred mused, it had to do with how close their bodies were. To Fred, it was a piece of heaven.
Three days had passed since Fred had first opened his eyes. Three days, and he was still helpless like this. Gene was right. He had acted like an idiot. He wouldn't have done any differently, though, had anyone offered him money to do so.
"You feelin' okay now?"
"Mm."
"No, you're not."
"Well - as okay as can be expected."
"Just goes to show."
"How much of an idiot I am?"
"Yeah, exactly."
"You know, Gene, you're getting quite predictable." Fred Luo's piece of heaven: three days of just Gene, just the two of them, alone together. "But very comfy." It was surprising how little Gene bristled at that comment. He stayed close, arms wrapped tight around Fred's waist. Fred felt giddy with bliss. He closed his eyes, nuzzling his face closer into Gene's neck. The other man stiffened, then relaxed, and shifted to accommodate him. Fred pushed his luck, and moved yet closer.
"Fred. What're you trying to do?"
Silence.
"Fred."
Silence still.
"Fred?"
Fred closed his eyes. His lips parted. He sighed out softly, breath ghosting over Gene's skin.
"The hell're you doing?"
His lashes tickled over the side of Gene's neck. He breathed in how it felt and how it smelled. Nice. Like Gene hadn't bathed in a while, but that was okay, because Gene had been there, with him. It wasn't an unpleasant unclean smell. It smelled just like Gene, with nothing to dilute the scent.
"Fred."
He turned his head slightly, though it hurt like all hell to do so. He was strong. He could handle it. He took a deep breath in and let another deep breath out. "Gene," he said, lips moving against the redhead's throat.
"Fred."
He was upsetting him, he could tell. His own heart was thudding so fast in his chest he thought it just might explode at any second.
It was going to take a hell of a lot of nerve to do this.
He steeled himself.
He calmed his heart.
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss right beneath Gene's jaw.
"Shit, Fred. Stop it." If Gene pushed his friend off now, he'd hurt him. He was frozen in indecision, in confused. Nothing had ever gotten this far before. He'd kissed Fred once, twice on the lips, when they'd been younger, but the both of them had been drunk. It hadn't counted for anything.
This was completely different.
Gene was angry. Gene was livid. Gene was shaking with rage.
Gene was terrified.
"Stop it, Fred."
Fred kissed him again.
"Fred, I don't wanna hurt you."
Fred moved down his neck. Kissed him a third time.
"Fred."
Gene's hands tightened instinctively on Fred's hospital gown. The muscles in his arms tensed, so that Fred was held closer against him. Women had done this sort of thing to Gene before - countless times before - and his body was reacting as if it were just like that, just normal like that. But it wasn't normal. It was Fred.
"Fred!"
With a wince, Fred pulled back.
"Sorry," he whispered. He kept his eyes downcast, like a beaten, wounded dog. Gene realized suddenly he hated seeing Fred look like that, his eyes shaded with an overcast gray. A summer sky suddenly clouded over. It filled Gene with a certain, protective anger, that anyone could cause Fred to get so down about himself.
"Shit," Gene hissed, "why the hell do you do this, Fred?"
Only it wasn't just anyone who could cause Fred to get so down about himself.
Gene was the only one who could do it so effectively.
"I ask myself the same question," Fred said, just as softly. "A lot."
"Shit," Gene snarled, pulling away. "I'm getting the hell out of here."
"I know."
"And you can fucking die in that fucking bed, for all the fuck I care."
"I know."
"Fucking taking bullets for me. Fucking kissing my fucking neck."
"Stupid," Fred murmured.
"More than stupid. Pathetic."
"I know."
The way Fred's eyes focused helplessly on his hands before him, clouded over fully, a deep, bruised gray.
The way Gene's neck burned from Fred's lips, no matter how he tried to force himself not to feel it.
He slammed the door hard behind him.
In his bed, Fred winced, and dropped back against the pillow. Gene was right. His words rang painfully true in Fred's ears. It had felt nice, so nice, to curl up against the other man, to kiss his neck and feel his arms and allow himself to pretend that it was his, all his. But it wasn't. That was where he'd made his first mistake.
His second was in thinking heaven was real.
And now he'd ruined everything. That was what he was best at, it seemed.