Chapter One
Cyanide Torres stood just outside the door of room 309 in the hospital corridor, trying to compose himself before he entered. He knew that traces of disappointment and anger, his prevailing emotions of the past hour, were still evident on his face, and he didn't want to take any chances on upsetting the patient inside.
The patient inside.....of their own volition, Cyanide's eyes drifted to the small gray placard hanging beside the door, and he read it, mouthing the words silently to himself: "Gio DiAngelo."
Cy shook his head. This had to be at least the fifteenth time he'd seen the same words printed there, and they still didn't make any sense to him. Gio DiAngelo. Skids. *Skids*. In the *hospital*. It was just so *wrong*. He couldn't picture Skids in this cold, sterile, blindingly white environment, surrounded by death and disease, and he couldn't imagine how the doctors thought his best friend could heal here. Didn't they understand that someone like Skids needed life and light and *color*?
And, he thought, any anger that might have dissipated rushing back full force, didn't Harley understand that right now he also needed his friends? Didn't he get that Skids would need a lot of support and encouragement to speed his recovery and, hopefully, his escape from this antiseptic hell?
Apparently not. He could still hear the excitement in the little blonde's voice when he'd greeted Cy with, "Hey! Oh, I forgot to call you! Damn! I knew there was something I didn't do. Well, anyway, I'm not going to be able to go see Skids with you. Mik surprised me this morning by telling me that he was taking me on a picnic in the park." The blue eyes went dreamy. "Isn't that romantic?"
"Romantic?" Cy had spluttered. "But--but--dude, our best friend is in the hospital because of a major car wreck. Don't you think that's just a little more important?"
Harley sighed impatiently. "I was afraid that you'd be this way about it. Look, Cya--"
"There's no possible way you can justify this," Cy'd cut in, his friend's stoicism having served to turn his shock to anger. "Skids is in the hospital, man. The *hospital*. Because some idiot out there didn't hit the brakes when he should have. He's hurt because of that. And now you're refusing to even visit him?"
Harley had scowled slightly. "It's not like that, and you know it, dude. The doctors said that the injuries aren't that serious, and he should be out in a few more days. I'll go before he's released. Plus, I've already been three times, and I hate the hospital."
Cy had simply stared at his friend for a minute, not quite believing what he was hearing. Okay, so maybe it was true that Skids' injuries weren't anything very awful, and a full recovery was expected. And maybe it was true that Harley had already been to see him. But still. This was Skids. He couldn't even begin to count all the times that he'd needed a friend, and Skids had always been there for him with a quiet word, a hug, and that ever-present thousand-watt smile. The indignation that thought brought with it was enough to rouse Cy from his temporary speechlessness. "So what? I hate hospitals more than anyone else I know, and I've practically lived there for the past five days."
When Harley opened his mouth again to defend himself, Cy held up a hand. "No. I don't want to hear it. Skids doesn't ask for much, Harley. He just wants a little time with his friends, a hug every now and then, and some crayons, and he's happy. And look at what he gives in return. He'll go along with whatever scheme we cook up, no matter how crazy it is, just because it's something we want to do. He's always willing to give adivce or offer a shoulder to cry on. You remember when he almost sacrificed himself and stripped at the gig? Or when he saved us from the bullies when we were freshmen? He's always doing stuff like that, and maybe you don't notice, but I do. Skids has got the biggest heart of anyone I know, and I'm NOT going to let him go through this thing alone."
The words had come out without Cy's even having thought about them, had come out hard and fast. And Harley's eyes had gotten a little bigger with each one of them, until he was gaping silently at Cyanide, who finally ran out of steam and decided to settle for actively glaring at his friend.
For a few, shocked moments, there was perfect silence. Then Harley'd said softly, "You love him, don't you," and it hadn't even been a question. Cy had recognized the dawning realization in his eyes and known it was pointless to lie. And in a way, he was glad. He was tired of lying. To his family, to his friends and most of all, to himself.
"More than you'd believe," he'd answered, and he'd left then, left to come here.
Here. Cy sighed and raked a hand through his spiked hair. He hadn't been exaggerating about the amount of time he'd been spending at the hospital. Since the accident, he'd only left to shower and pick up a change of clothe. And, well, last night he'd gone home to get a decent night's sleep, but only because Skids insisted. Cy suspected his friend might have seen through his assertion that the rock-hard little vinyl couch in the hospital room was comfortable.
Cy smiled. Yeah. That was his Skids. He saw through the walls people put up around themselves, saw through the protective lies and straight to their hearts. He was so--
"Ahem."
Cy jumped at the sound of a throat being cleared behind him, and he spun around to find himself facing a rather formidable-looking nurse whose raised eyebrows told him he'd been grinning foolishly at the door for a bit too long.
"Were you going to go inside, sir, or stand out here all day?" she asked in tones of barely controlled suspicion, and Cyanide mentally rolled his eyes. You'd think that after five straight days, they'd realize that he wasn't going to beat any patients to death with his choker or anything.
"I was just thinking," he answered evasively, and, after eyeing him distrustfully for a moment, the nurse turned away and strode off down the hall.
Cy let all the tension go out of his shoulders and turned back to the door. As mistaken as the woman might be in her impression of him, she was right about one thing. He needed to get back in there and make sure Skids was still okay. Anything could have happened overnight, and he wasn't prepared to take any chances. Not anymore.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.
Cyanide Torres stood just outside the door of room 309 in the hospital corridor, trying to compose himself before he entered. He knew that traces of disappointment and anger, his prevailing emotions of the past hour, were still evident on his face, and he didn't want to take any chances on upsetting the patient inside.
The patient inside.....of their own volition, Cyanide's eyes drifted to the small gray placard hanging beside the door, and he read it, mouthing the words silently to himself: "Gio DiAngelo."
Cy shook his head. This had to be at least the fifteenth time he'd seen the same words printed there, and they still didn't make any sense to him. Gio DiAngelo. Skids. *Skids*. In the *hospital*. It was just so *wrong*. He couldn't picture Skids in this cold, sterile, blindingly white environment, surrounded by death and disease, and he couldn't imagine how the doctors thought his best friend could heal here. Didn't they understand that someone like Skids needed life and light and *color*?
And, he thought, any anger that might have dissipated rushing back full force, didn't Harley understand that right now he also needed his friends? Didn't he get that Skids would need a lot of support and encouragement to speed his recovery and, hopefully, his escape from this antiseptic hell?
Apparently not. He could still hear the excitement in the little blonde's voice when he'd greeted Cy with, "Hey! Oh, I forgot to call you! Damn! I knew there was something I didn't do. Well, anyway, I'm not going to be able to go see Skids with you. Mik surprised me this morning by telling me that he was taking me on a picnic in the park." The blue eyes went dreamy. "Isn't that romantic?"
"Romantic?" Cy had spluttered. "But--but--dude, our best friend is in the hospital because of a major car wreck. Don't you think that's just a little more important?"
Harley sighed impatiently. "I was afraid that you'd be this way about it. Look, Cya--"
"There's no possible way you can justify this," Cy'd cut in, his friend's stoicism having served to turn his shock to anger. "Skids is in the hospital, man. The *hospital*. Because some idiot out there didn't hit the brakes when he should have. He's hurt because of that. And now you're refusing to even visit him?"
Harley had scowled slightly. "It's not like that, and you know it, dude. The doctors said that the injuries aren't that serious, and he should be out in a few more days. I'll go before he's released. Plus, I've already been three times, and I hate the hospital."
Cy had simply stared at his friend for a minute, not quite believing what he was hearing. Okay, so maybe it was true that Skids' injuries weren't anything very awful, and a full recovery was expected. And maybe it was true that Harley had already been to see him. But still. This was Skids. He couldn't even begin to count all the times that he'd needed a friend, and Skids had always been there for him with a quiet word, a hug, and that ever-present thousand-watt smile. The indignation that thought brought with it was enough to rouse Cy from his temporary speechlessness. "So what? I hate hospitals more than anyone else I know, and I've practically lived there for the past five days."
When Harley opened his mouth again to defend himself, Cy held up a hand. "No. I don't want to hear it. Skids doesn't ask for much, Harley. He just wants a little time with his friends, a hug every now and then, and some crayons, and he's happy. And look at what he gives in return. He'll go along with whatever scheme we cook up, no matter how crazy it is, just because it's something we want to do. He's always willing to give adivce or offer a shoulder to cry on. You remember when he almost sacrificed himself and stripped at the gig? Or when he saved us from the bullies when we were freshmen? He's always doing stuff like that, and maybe you don't notice, but I do. Skids has got the biggest heart of anyone I know, and I'm NOT going to let him go through this thing alone."
The words had come out without Cy's even having thought about them, had come out hard and fast. And Harley's eyes had gotten a little bigger with each one of them, until he was gaping silently at Cyanide, who finally ran out of steam and decided to settle for actively glaring at his friend.
For a few, shocked moments, there was perfect silence. Then Harley'd said softly, "You love him, don't you," and it hadn't even been a question. Cy had recognized the dawning realization in his eyes and known it was pointless to lie. And in a way, he was glad. He was tired of lying. To his family, to his friends and most of all, to himself.
"More than you'd believe," he'd answered, and he'd left then, left to come here.
Here. Cy sighed and raked a hand through his spiked hair. He hadn't been exaggerating about the amount of time he'd been spending at the hospital. Since the accident, he'd only left to shower and pick up a change of clothe. And, well, last night he'd gone home to get a decent night's sleep, but only because Skids insisted. Cy suspected his friend might have seen through his assertion that the rock-hard little vinyl couch in the hospital room was comfortable.
Cy smiled. Yeah. That was his Skids. He saw through the walls people put up around themselves, saw through the protective lies and straight to their hearts. He was so--
"Ahem."
Cy jumped at the sound of a throat being cleared behind him, and he spun around to find himself facing a rather formidable-looking nurse whose raised eyebrows told him he'd been grinning foolishly at the door for a bit too long.
"Were you going to go inside, sir, or stand out here all day?" she asked in tones of barely controlled suspicion, and Cyanide mentally rolled his eyes. You'd think that after five straight days, they'd realize that he wasn't going to beat any patients to death with his choker or anything.
"I was just thinking," he answered evasively, and, after eyeing him distrustfully for a moment, the nurse turned away and strode off down the hall.
Cy let all the tension go out of his shoulders and turned back to the door. As mistaken as the woman might be in her impression of him, she was right about one thing. He needed to get back in there and make sure Skids was still okay. Anything could have happened overnight, and he wasn't prepared to take any chances. Not anymore.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.