Disclaimer: I don't own Brothers and Sisters or any of its characters. I can't even be sure I actually own this plot. You may sue me if you wish, but you won't get anywhere. All I have is my Cal Leandros book series, which you will not get because I will keep them clutched firmly to my chest and away from the authorities as I am shuffled from prison cell to prison cell.

Title: Cry Ophelia

Fandom: Brothers and Sisters

Genre: Romance / Drama / Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Kevin/Scotty

Rating: T

Summary: Kevin and Scotty aren't cat people. Really, they aren't.

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Chapter Three—Ashes

Kevin sighed and fidgeted, staring at the clock and willing it to move faster. He didn't even know why he'd bothered to show up to work today; it wasn't as though he'd been able to concentrate on anything. He'd been virtually worthless for the entire morning.

The phone rang, and he snatched for it at an almost embarrassing speed. "Kevin Walker."

"I'm bored."

Kevin laughed into the phone. Here was the anticipated phone call from Scotty, which he took as a sign that it was time to call it a day. "Hey, honey. I've been waiting for you to call. How're you feeling?"

"Like crap. I hurt everywhere, the food is terrible, the bed is uncomfortable, and I'm bored as hell, Kevin. Save me!"

"Okay, okay, I'm leaving right now. I'll be there in twenty minutes, okay? You'll be out of there in no time."

"Okay. Good. See you soon."

"Yes you will. Love you."

"I love you, too."

He had ended every conversation with those words lately. Every single one.

XXX

"Whoa. Careful. Watch your step… Here we go."

Scotty winced as he was finally deposited on the sofa; Kevin had practically had to carry him the last few steps from their car to the living room, he was so pain-riddled and floating in a drug-induced haze.

He was out like a light the second he hit the cushions, and by the time he awoke, the windows were darkening and a few stars had appeared in the sky outside them.

The room was dim—Kevin hadn't turned any lights on, for which Scotty was profoundly grateful—so he felt more than saw that he had been covered at some point by a quilt from their bed. He also felt the warm weight of two kittens (Tika and Gypsy, he had decided to name them) against his side, and he smiled slightly at the feeling.

"Kevin?"

His husband was next to him instantaneously, carrying a tray that held a bowl of soup, a glass of water, a package of crackers, a spoon, some napkins, and—most importantly at this particular moment—a very friendly-looking painkiller.

"Meds first, then food," Kevin ordered in his I'm-a-lawyer-and-this-argument-is-beyond-reproach voice after seeing the pain that lined his lover's face. Scotty didn't protest, earning himself a welcome reduction in the aches that plagued him, as well as an even more welcome kiss.

"Mmm, you made my favorite," Scotty murmured, sitting up slowly and smiling happily. His movement dislodged the kittens; Gypsy, the black one, only protested with a quiet meow before curling back up on the vacated cushion, but Tika was clearly annoyed and jumped down to wrap herself around Kevin's leg instead.

"Well, I tried to make your favorite. I don't think I'm quite at your level in the kitchen, but I did try." Kevin leaned over to scoop Tika into one hand, stroking her absently. "Eat up."

Scotty chuckled and gave him another appreciative kiss, but found that food interested him more than talk just now.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" he finally remembered to ask, halfway through the soup.

Kevin shook his head. "Not hungry."

Scotty's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press the issue as he finished his dinner and sighed happily. "God, that was good. I'd forgotten what real food tastes like…"

Kevin smiled. "Glad you liked it." Standing, he placed Tika on the sofa next to her sister and went to take the tray back to the kitchen. Scotty watched him go, a stupid, silly grin on his face as he moved to stretch back out on the couch, lifting the kittens and placing them next to him again.

Scotty secretly loved it when Kevin took care of him. The man pretended to be abrasive, cranky, maybe even a little unfeeling, but whenever his husband needed him for even the smallest reason, Kevin was housebound until Scotty finally got fed up with it and forced him out the door and back to his life.

Scotty snorted at that thought; at this point, he would be lucky if he ever got Kevin out of the house again.

That thought held an appealing quality…

In the kitchen, the sink shut off, and after the telltale clink and clatter of dishes being put away, Kevin returned to the living room and sat down on the couch, placing the remote in Scotty's hand. Scotty smiled and turned on the television, then reached out to pull insistently at the other's arm. Kevin smiled, and after some careful maneuvering and gentle shifting, he came to a rest on his side, squashed between Scotty and the back of the couch with one arm wrapped lightly around his husband's waist.

"Is this okay? Does it hurt?"

Scotty shook his head and sighed in contentment, then began to flip through the channels.

He fell asleep quickly, his head tipping forward onto Kevin's arm as he began to snore quietly. Kevin made a face—his arm was going to be absolutely worthless come morning—but he couldn't bring himself to move and wake Scotty, so he just dropped his head onto the couch cushion and let it be.

Turning off the television, he dropped the remote onto the floor—Scotty stirred slightly at the clattering noise, but didn't wake—and leaned forward to bury his face in his love's hair and close his eyes.

"I love you," he whispered, his breath hitching slightly. "I'm so sorry…"

Scotty and the kittens all slept deeply and easily that night.

Kevin didn't sleep at all.

XXX

Scotty had begun to think that things were getting slightly out of hand.

When he had first come home from the hospital, he hadn't questioned Kevin's behavior—the refusal of all food, his obvious inability to sleep through the night, his less-than-enthusiastic response when Scotty tried to get him out of the house and back into the world… He had simply written it off as stress and bad memories. Kevin deserved to be less than okay; he'd found his husband lying crumpled and bleeding on the ground in an alleyway, for God's sake.

But enough was enough.

It had been over a week since Scotty had seen Kevin eat anything besides some soup or a sandwich every twenty-four hours or so. Over a week since he'd woken up to see Kevin still sleeping, or at least resting peacefully, beside him. Over a week since Kevin had left the house for more than a few minutes at a time; he went out to get the mail, grab the newspaper, and once he had gone on a fifteen-minute trip to the nearest market to buy some essentials, but that was it.

He did his work from home, received phone calls and faxes and e-mails from the office, and talked to his mother once a day and one sibling or another at least six times throughout the week, but other than that, he had virtually no contact with the outside world. And what was more, he seemed perfectly content with that—perfectly content not to let Scotty out of his sight or his mind for more than half an hour at a time.

That worried Scotty. It worried him greatly.

He broached the subject carefully at dinner, on the second Monday after the attack. Ignoring Kevin's protests, he had remained on his feet and moving long enough to make a carb-laden dinner of lasagna, a salad with his own special Caesar dressing, and homemade rolls. Then, having deftly proven that he was perfectly capable of handling himself while Kevin was out of the house, he asked his husband to set the table, decided to forgo a pain pill, and sat gingerly down at the table.

"I could have done this, you know," Kevin said with a pout.

Scotty grinned. "No, you couldn't have."

Kevin arranged his expression to look suitably offended, his eyes sparkling. "What are you saying to me, Mr. Wandell? Are you suggesting that your prowess in the kitchen exceeds my own?"

"…No, I'm suggesting that you're a horrible cook."

Kevin rolled his eyes and stabbed savagely at his lasagna. "I'm a wonderful cook."

"Yes, you're a wonderful cook, but you're a terrible chef."

"…What the hell does that mean?"

Scotty blinked. "I have no idea."

"Oh. Okay. As long as you're thinking clearly and you're in full possession of your faculties, who am I to judge? Pass the salad."

"You know, you really don't need to worry so much anymore," Scotty said, passing the salad as asked. "It's been weeks, and I'm perfectly fine on my own now, if you wanna go back to work…"

"Well, I wasn't worried before I came into the kitchen and found you mind-melding with the lasagna…"

"Kevin, that's not fair! You have to watch it or it'll burn!"

"Uh-huh. That's not normal human behavior."

Scotty huffed, but abandoned the issue in favor of a more pressing one. "Seriously, Kevin. You're worried about me. I get that. I love you for that. But…you're not eating. You're not sleeping. You never leave the house, you never even leave me on my own for more than half an hour, and—"

"Do you feel crowded? Is that it? Because I can just go in another room when you want some alone time—"

"N— Kevin, that's not it at all, I promise. I love you being here, I really do, but…it's getting out of hand. This is…a lot more than just concern about my health. I'm worried about you."

Kevin didn't say anything.

"Come on, Kev. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Kevin gave him his best carefree grin. "Nothing. You done eating?"

"…No, I just started."

"Oh. Okay. Well, keep eating. I'm just gonna go finish up some work, see if I can get ahead, by some miracle."

"But you've hardly touched your dinner."

Kevin shrugged. "Not really hungry, I guess. But we can save it for later, right? Because it's delicious, and I'll probably be starving later." He stood up and leaned over to kiss Scotty's cheek. "Call me when you're done eating and I'll do the dishes. I love you."

That was all he said before he turned and left the room, Scotty's eyes following him sadly.

XXX

Scotty didn't broach the subject again over the next few days, nor did he stop secretly enjoying how attentive Kevin was to him. True, he was getting around much better, and—though his healing ribs ached incessantly, his stitches pulled uncomfortably at sudden movements, and the "severe head injury" was still making its severity known if left without a painkiller for too long—he didn't really need the assistance that was being offered at every turn, but he still appreciated (and loved) the attention.

But he was still worried sick about Kevin, whose habits did not improve at all in the days that followed their conversation.

He was hesitant to bring it up again, however, because he wasn't sure if that would annoy Kevin or not.

So Scotty simply kept quiet, and the topic remained buried until that Thursday, when Scotty entered their bedroom to find Kevin passed out on the bed, every inch of the area around him littered with papers and his laptop open on the blankets beside him. The kittens were nowhere to be seen; apparently they knew that this wasn't the place to be tonight if they were looking for attention.

Smiling slightly, Scotty crept over to the bed and gathered up the papers, saved Kevin's work, closed the laptop, and placed everything on the bedside table.

His back was still turned when he heard the noise.

It was just a quiet shift in breathing at first, but a whimper quickly followed it. Scotty turned to see that Kevin's brow was furrowed, and he was tossing nervously amongst the blankets; they quickly became tangled and messy as he balled his fists around them.

Then Scotty heard his name, and that nearly undid him.

Trembling slightly, he went over to the bed and sat on the edge. He curled his hands into fists on his knees, thinking it unwise to touch his husband at the moment. "Kevin, I'm right here. It's okay, you're just having a nightmare. Wake up."

The crease in Kevin's forehead grew deeper, and he whimpered again.

"Come on, honey, it's okay. Wake up now, it's all right. I'm okay."

Kevin tossed restlessly once more, his hand stretching out to rest on the empty pillow beside him; his eyes flew open, and he sat up, choking on his own breath.

Scotty did touch him now, resting one hand lightly on his back between his shoulder blades to rub soft, soothing circles against his skin through his shirt. "You okay?"

Kevin looked over at him. "You weren't there," he gasped. There was no accusation in the words; it was more like he'd just realized something. "I fell asleep and you weren't there."

Then it hit Scotty, too; since The Incident (as Scotty now dubbed it in his mind), Kevin had only managed to find even the slightest peace when he had Scotty in his arms. He'd fallen asleep without that anchor for the first time, and the nightmare had started immediately.

Scotty moved to lean back against the headboard, taking Kevin with him. Then he shifted so that he was in front of his husband, leaning back against the strong chest, and pulled the other man's arms around him so that he was wrapped snugly in his Kevin blanket.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Kevin didn't say anything. He just pressed a kiss against the mop of brown hair in front of him and shook silently. Scotty waited patiently.

"I forgot to tell you I loved you."

Scotty blinked. "Huh?"

"That…that night. When we were on the phone. I just said 'bye' and hung up, and I didn't say 'I love you.' And…if you hadn't…made it…" His breathing hitched noticeably, but he forced himself to continue. "If you hadn't made it, the last thing I would have said to you would have been 'goodbye.' And…that would mean it was forever, and…and you wouldn't have known."

"Oh, Kevin…" Scotty had to force himself to speak around the lump in his throat. "You don't think I get it? You don't think I know?"

"I…wonder sometimes…" He choked on the words, but continued. "When I found you…you were just lying there, all bruised and pale and covered in red. In your own blood. I thought you must have lost all of it, there was just so much… I didn't know how you could possibly have any left. And I…I knelt down in it, because I wanted to hold you, and…you were so cold. And for a minute, I thought you were…" This time, he lost the will to continue, and fell silent for several minutes. "And I can't stop remembering. I keep hoping that if I spend enough time with you, if I don't let you out of my sight, if I can touch you and hold you and talk to you enough…maybe it'll sink in that you're still alive, that it isn't just me playing pretend. And…maybe then I can walk out the door—let you walk out the door—without…without being afraid that that's the last time I'm ever going to see you again."

Scotty remained silent for a long time. Then, all of a sudden, he was moving; ignoring the pain that flared through him, he turned and pulled Kevin into a bruising kiss. He kissed the man senseless—that was the only possible explanation for the glazed look that came into his eyes before they fluttered closed—before pulling back and whispering, "This is real, Kevin. I promise. It's real, I'm real, and I'm never leaving you. Ever. I promise."

"You'd better not," Kevin muttered. "In fact, I demand to go first."

Scotty laughed shakily and gave him another, much gentler kiss. "Okay, honey. You can go first." Then his expression grew serious, and he cupped Kevin's face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet. "Okay?"

Kevin thought about lying, but he simply didn't have the strength to anymore. "No. But…I think I can sleep now. Come here." And he moved to stretch out on the bed, pulling the blankets over them both before wrapping his arms back around Scotty.

"I love you, Kevin," the taller man said firmly. "So much… Forever."

Kevin smiled and pressed a kiss to Scotty's forehead, but didn't say anything; he realized that he might have worn out the words in the past couple of weeks, and he didn't want them to lose their meaning.

Silence reigned in the room, and Kevin began to think Scotty was asleep. Then…

"Kevin?"

"Hmm?"

"Next time you start to think about that night…don't focus on the part in the alley. Focus on the good part. On me coming back. Because I did, and I always will."

And he did. From that night on, whenever dreams about The Incident resurfaced, they always ended with Scotty coming back…coming home.

Home to him.