Jonathan Brewster was still on the table. 'A table to cold, to hard, and to harsh for somebody like Chonny.' was the thought of the devoted figure at his side. Beside the table perched on a stool, his head resting on Jonathan's shoulder, was the Dr. Herman Einstein. The small man deliriously drifted in and out of sleep in the sticky summer air, only waking long enough to further inebriate himself. Einstein could feel Jonathan's fever radiating off him in waves. The operation he had just preformed was not one of his talented specialties. Removing a bullet from Jonathan's chest was by far the most difficult thing he'd had to do in a long time. And even now after all was done, the blood was off his hands, and his dear companion was still breathing, Dr Einstein felt bile rising in his throat. Eventually, it was all he could do not to drink himself farther into a drunken stupor. 'I need to stay awake.' he thought bitterly looking at he sweat trickling down Jonathan's pretty face.
The small man finally found himself in right enough mind to think straight around midnight. Einstein pushed his stool back quietly and gently removed himself from Jonathan's side. Crossing the room he let out a sigh and closed his eyes. It was hard to be in this room when Jonathan Brewster wasn't asking him to sketch up a new face or pulling his petite companion into his arms and quietly sitting on the bed listening to the city noises.
"Damn it, Chonny. Why do you do these things to me?" he whispered shaking his head. He continued to go about the room and make the bed the two of them shared. The flat they lived in was small, but it was nicer than most of their homes. The doctor went to the kitchenette and cleaned what little dishware they had. After that he continued to tweak and tidy the apartment. After a few hours the small flat was as clean as it had ever been. The dining table was of course dominated by Jonathan's still fever-stricken figure. Einstein took a cold towel to him and laid it across Jonathan's sweat beaded head. His face was calm, which made the doctor hope that he couldn't feel the pain that was sure to be wracking him. Einstein proceeded to go back to the kitchenette and retrieve a cold bowl of water and another towel. Einstein pushed his charcoal hair from his eyes and tucked it behind his ears. It was getting too long for his taste but Jonathan liked his hair longer. The doctor again seated himself on the stool beside Jonathan Brewster and set the bowl of water on the table. As gently and with as much care as possible, Einstein soaked the towel and slowly washed the sweat from Jonathan's bare chest. The stitches he washed around were long and brutally red. Einstein did his best to gently scrub away the orange dried blood streaks on Jonathan's chest. The rise and fall of Jonathan's chest was all that kept Einstein sane in that agonizing silence. Jonathan's fever heated the water on the rag forcing Einstein to dip it back into the bowl of water. This time though, the doctor's hands came back to Jonathan's chest empty. Einstein's hands were cool against Jonathan's heated skin as he gently ran his hands up and down Jonathan's chest, feeling the muscle definition. He couldn't help but wonder why he had been so lucky to find a man like Jonathan Brewster. Einstein's cool hands slid easily over Jonathan's burning stomach and abs. Einstein's blue eyes took in every inch of the man he loved. The little doctor slowly began to recite some old story his mother used to tell him. The German language rolled off his tongue like honey. His voice was smooth and soft. Herman Einstein was not the know for his English eloquence. But as for a German speaker, he was something of a silver-tongue. He spoke long and passionately for hours. Einstein sat cross-legged in the stool beside Jonathan, speaking to him in his native tongue. Einstein told Jonathan a great many things. He spoke of his home. He spoke of his family, his friends, his favorite things to do. Never in his years with Jonathan Brewster had Einstein spoke half as many words. Herman Einstein laughed that night and he even at some points found himself crying. Never, though, did the lingering thoughts of the danger that faced his love leave his mind. Jonathan was well drugged and if there was a chance to live, he had it. Still though, even if he lived Einstein feared Jonathan would not wake up the same Jonathan. Finally after the little clock on the table rang seven in the morning did Einstein really explain his thoughts to Jonathan. They were, of course, in German, but that did not hinder the amount if fear and pain that registered in his round face. The small German man explained as delicately as possible, the events of the previous day and what prognosis he had come to after hours of fishing for a bullet. Einstein had been returning from the liquor store when he found Jonathan sprawled in the parking lot of their flat. Jonathan had been awake then. Einstein had dropped his bottle of scotch and ran to his partner's side. Jonathan had been completely still, so still that Einstein had figured him dead. When he got closer though it became evident that Jonathan was alive, but only just. The doctor was lucky enough to know how to transfuse blood. Einstein had carried Jonathan upstairs with some hard effort. The man had been somewhat awake but his legs seemed to be useless. While operating Einstein had come across something that worried him. He had never been the most confident surgeon when it came below the face, but from what it seemed it looked like the bullet had grazed Jonathan's spine. Whether or not this was the reason his legs were useless on the way up, Einstein had no way of really knowing. He was left stewing in his worry. He rested his head on Jonathan's heated shoulder gently and closed his eyes. It wasn't until noon that Einstein woke. And as he did, he felt something come to rest on the back of his head. A hand. It took a handful of his black curls and slowly mussed it. Elated that Jonathan could move his arms Einstein held his breath. Slowly he opened his eyes and waited for Jonathan to say something. There was a struggled sigh that rose and fell with Jonathan's chest.
"Wh-What in the world...ah...are you trying to say doctor?" a voice rasped. Doctor Einstein was near bursting with relief a the sound of Jonathan's voice. He tore his head from Jonathan's shoulder and beamed down at his dear friend. Jonathan's fever had broken. Einstein's eyes welled with tears and he did something only Jonathan was allowed to do to. Herman Einstein kissed Jonathan Brewster.
At first Jonathan tensed at this contact. Einstein had closed his eyes tight, bracing for a fist in the face. But after a moment Jonathan softened and Einstein opened his eyes. Shocked to find Jonathan's brown eyes looking up at him, Einstein pulled away.
"Oh, Chonny! Sie sind wach!... Es tut mir leid!" Einstein cried in German, to excited to remember a lick of English, "Chonny! I'm so happy you are-" then Einstein realized what he had just done, "Oh god. I'm sorry. I was not supposed to do that. Ach...Chonny, can I get you anything? Are you in pain? Are you hungry Chonny?" Einstein said scooping his hair out of his eyes. Jonathan Brewster looked up at him softly and smiled a lazy crooked smile. Jonathan stared at Einstein a long time and finally he sighed.
"Doctor, please." Jonathan paused and grimaced as a wave of pain over took him. "If I wanted you to stop I would have taken the scalpel hidden in my hand and crammed it into your eye." Jonathan said calming down, "No, you are quite alright Doctor. I'm alive and though I feel like my chest has been back over with the car, I'd say you've done a fine job." Einstein's gaze fell to the scalpel that was discretely tucked in Jonathan's hand. Jonathan let the slim metal object clatter to the table. Jonathan laughed in a painful wheeze and looked up at Einstein. The doctor let out a small chuckle and looked down at Jonathan. The slim man was staring at him with a cool expression on his face. It was as if the bullet, the fever, and the kiss had not so much as phased him. "Chonny, you were shot. Are you sure you don't need anything. Are you hurting?" Einstein asked trying to get a read on Jonathan. "Doctor, all I need is to get off this damned table. Come on then. Help me to bed. After that you can drug me to your little heart's content." Jonathan had a tinge of something else in his voice, "...or, Doctor, we could do other things." Jonathan blinked at Einstein, a hint of a smile was hiding behind his eyes. Einstein had seen this side of Jonathan before. Jonathan was a romantic in his own strange, Brewster way. Any other day the doctor would have whole heartedly agreed to this offer. Today, though, Einstein knew that Jonathan was in no condition to even move really. Einstein was obedient though and if he wouldn't pleasure Jonathan he could at least make him comfortable.
"Not today, Chonny. You need to rest, my friend." he said running his hand through Jonathan's brown locks. The helpless Brewster looked up and nuzzled Einstein's hand. "You're a stubborn man, Herman Einstein." Jonathan's voice was becoming tired again. He seemed to be drifting, "Come on, help me to the bed before I fall asleep." Einstein nodded and began to carefully bandage and tape the long lines of ugly stitching that covers Jonathan's chest. After a few minutes a mount of tape and gauze covered Jonathan's muscular chest and Einstein was more frequently glancing towards Jonathan's motionless legs. "Alright, Chonny. Nice and easy. Swing your legs over the table." Einstein's heart was beating in his chest waiting to see if Jonathan Brewster was actually coming out of this unscathed. The doctor aided Jonathan as he sat up. It was a slow process full of cursed, winces, and cries that didn't seem to fit the usual unshakable Jonathan Brewster. One leg fell over the edge of the table and Einstein's stomach ,twisted into a tight knot, settled. Einstein let out sigh of relief.
The doctor's relief was too soon though. In a second Jonathan had Einstein by the shoulder and pulled him close to his face. Herman Einstein could feel the heat from Jonathan's breath and as he looked into Jonathan's eyes he saw something unexpected. Fear. Jonathan's heavy brows were not furrowed into an angry snarl, nor were they clenched in pain. No. Jonathan Brewster's eyes were wide and searching. He studied the doctor's face trying to find some explanation for what Einstein had failed to see until a second later. Jonathan's right leg hadn't moved. It only took Einstein a second to realise what was wrong. He pulled Jonathan into his arms. Einstein hugged Jonathan tight, never wanting to let go of him. Einstein had seen a great many people become paralyzed He and Jonathan had paralyzed a few themselves. But it was different now. This was Jonathan. Einstein felt Jonathan take a ragged breath against him.
"Doctor. What's wrong with my leg?" Jonathan whispered measuredly. Einstein could tell Jonathan was on the verge of a some sort of break. Einstein swallowed his fear and sadness and looked his scared companion on the eye.
"Chonathan. The bullet, it didn't stop when it hit you. It bounced around in your chest and did graze your spine slightly. I thought that maybe it wouldn't affect you. I was wrong. This is a form of what I believe is Monoplegia." Einstein pulled from his embrace and stared Jonathan in the eyes.
"So where do we go from here, doctor?" Jonathan asked not meeting the doctor's gaze. Jonathan Brewster seemed to have shriveled. "We get you to bed. You rest. You never know Chonny, sometimes these things are only temporary. Come here." And with much great effort Herman Einstein cradled his friend and carried him to the bed. Jonathan Brewster fell asleep against Einstein who sat on the bed stroking his companion's hair. After Einstein was sure Jonathan was asleep he removed himself from the bed and called the only person he could think to turn to.
With the phone pressed to his ear he called the newly graduated Brooklyn surgeon who lived about an hour from Manhattan. He owed Einstein a favor, and if there was ever a time to call it in, now was that time. The other end of the phone clicked and a voice came through the line.
"Hello?" this voice was all to familiar.
"Mortimer Brewster?...Yah, It's me..."