Musings on My Partner II - Van's POV
Van settled himself in a chair next to his partner's hospital bed. He cringed as his broken ribs protested the movement. He leaned forward slightly, settling his left arm on the bed. He turned his gaze to the patient.
What a complete cluster…damn this whole case has been a horror show from the beginning. Jimmy Kane – he shuttered as the name rushed through his mind. He should have listened to his gut and gotten them out of there as soon as he had laid eyes on him. Of course Deaq wouldn't have listened, but at least he could have tried.
When Kane looked at him, make that the way Kane looked at him; he had wanted to turn and run. Something in those cold grey eyes scared him, down to his core. He knew without question that the man would hurt him if he ever got him alone. He was used to men looking at him, according to his father he worked hard to get people to look, and his boss was always calling him a 'pretty boy.' Even his partner grumbled on occasion about his tight leather pants and his habit of not buttoning his shirt.
But Kane, Kane didn't want to just look at him. No he wanted to humiliate him and leave him bloody and broken, of that Van was sure. He didn't question his gut on this, and he fought throughout the meet to not let his fear show. He knew he had failed to some degree when he saw the look of concern in Deaq's eyes. He figured if he could just make it through dinner he'd be okay. But when Kane sat next to him and kept touching him, he was sure he would lose it completely.
He had been so lost in his own world that when it was time to go, he had pulled away when Deaq touched him. He wanted to run out of the club and drive till they ran out of gas; instead he walked quietly by his partner's side, Kane's eyes burning a hole in his back.
He focused again on the sleeping figure in the bed. The left shoulder was heavily bandaged and there was one last bag of blood hanging from the IV poll. He sighed, in relief more than anything else, remembering the doctor's reassurance that his partner would be fine with some rest. He lowered his head to his arm on the bed. "Don't you ever scare me like this again, partner," he whispered before his eyes closed.
They had walked out of the club, Van meekly following Deaq, so relieved to be away from Kane that he was pretty sure he would have kept on walking if Deaq hadn't stopped at their car. When he turned to finally say something to his partner, he saw Kane and two of his goons. He yelled at Deaq to get down. He had his gun out and started firing, taking down two of the three. It was all replaying in slow motion in his head, and he knew it would play every night for a long time as he watched Deaq fall to the ground, blood pouring from his shoulder where the bullet found its mark.
Kane had grabbed him around the throat and pushed him up against an SUV, breaking ribs due to the force he used. The man outweighed him by close to 100 pounds, and had no compunction about hurting him. As it was, he was having trouble breathing as Kane tightened a hand around his throat. All Van could see was the blood coming out of his partner, and he knew Deaq would be lost if Kane won. So he fought back with all he had.
He had tried to double over when the punch came that broke more ribs, but the hand at his throat held him steady. He vaguely recalled threatening to kill Kane if he touched him again, and after getting in a few punches of his own, he got leverage to pull away from the car enough to pull out his other gun, and he shot Kane where he stood.
He was on his knees by his partner before Kane's body hit the ground. He wanted to talk to Deaq, to tell him it would be okay, but his own voice was barely there, thanks to the abuse his throat had taken. He took the remains of his ripped shirt and pushed tightly onto the wound, and tried to shake away the tears that fell. He wasn't sure why he was crying – but he couldn't stop. By the time they made it into the ambulance, he had enough of his voice back to whisper encouragement.
At the hospital, he had been ushered into a cubicle where he waited for close to two hours before the doctor came. He was tired and scared and in pain. The doctor wanted to admit him, but he refused. He let them set his wrist, wasn't sure how exactly it got broken - but it hadn't wasted any time in sending pain signals up his arm - and wrap his ribs. Then he got a young nurse to give him a scrubs top, and he had gone to the OR waiting room.
After the doctor had assured him that Deaq was going to be alright, he had followed the gurney to the room and sat down beside his partner to wait. He hadn't meant to fall asleep but the worry, pain and stress took him away for a while. He woke when he felt a gentle touch on his cheek; he opened his eyes and found himself staring into Deaq's.
"Hey partner, sleep well?" Deaq asked gently, his smile warming the other man.
Van looked closely, doing his own assessment before responding "You alright?" His voice, husky and tired, surprised him.
"Thanks to you."
Van sat up and became alarmed as he watched the smile leave his partner's face. "He hurt you baby," the patient growled, as his hand pointed to the bruised throat.
"He won't do it again." The voice was barely a whisper, and he let Deaq read him for a moment to make sure he was clear that Kane was no longer a threat.
"You hurt anywhere else?" Van could tell Deaq was going into his mother hen mode, despite the fact that he was the one lying in the hospital bed. Why he thought he had to protect him from a dead man was a question for another day.
"I'm okay Deaq." The green eyes shut briefly, trying not to recall the bloody scene at the club.
"Not an answer partner."
"A couple of broken ribs and a broken wrist. Happy now?" Van stood up. He had to get out of there. He felt like a prized cow being inspected for damage. He knew deep down that Deaq wasn't treating him that way, but damn it, he wasn't the one who had a bullet removed from his chest.
"Hey, hey," Deaq said softly, "just worried about you, and in case you forgot, that's part of what I get paid for…"
"Yeah, it's just your job." And Van was gone. He knew he was too tired, and still too scared right now to think straight, but he couldn't sit there and play their usual game.
He stopped at the nurses' station to let them know the patient was awake. Then he left the hospital and hailed a cab. He kept his emotions inside until safely inside his hotel room. He sat on the bed, pulled a pillow to his battered chest, rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.