Here comes the next part and I hope I can sweeten your Sunday a bit?

Thanks for all your reviews! I simply love you, really! XD

I normally don't name the songs I hear while writing the chapters, but this time I feel like I need to. I heard this very song up and down, back and forth, round and round. It fits this chapter so perfectly, so…

Our great divide – Tarja Turunnen

Well then, have fun and tell me if you still like it!

... what do you think? Do we pass the 200 reviews? *winks*

Their ride back home was very quiet. Randy seemed to be lost in his thoughts and John didn't want to push him after he'd practically overrun him at the hospital. For now he was content that Randy was here with him at all, that he was allowed to take him back home. Back to their home. He couldn't actually have forced Randy to come home with him if he really wouldn't have wanted to. Insofar John saw this as a small victory and he was happy about that little step forward in the right direction. It wasn't much, but it was good.

He knew it would be hard work to convince Randy to let go of his idea to save him. John had given up once. Well, almost. And he wasn't going to allow it again. Thoughts were busily crossing his mind, plans how to rearrange their life together to make it as easy as possible. For Randy. So maybe he would understand that everything was okay and that there was no need to freak over it. He planned on placing an order with a building firm for the new bedrooms and the bathroom this very day. It would make it easier for Randy. He wouldn't have to cope with the thought to be dependent on him to be carried up and down the stairs. And maybe it would be a good idea to find a mobile physio therapist, because it would be another thing that might make Randy feel less dependent on him.

It was what John hoped for. If Randy felt less dependent on him, maybe he would see that he wasn't a burden. And… as hard as it would be and as much as it would hurt… he would keep distance. No unwanted touches, no kisses or whatever, just as he'd said to Randy back at the hospital. It was a reset. They were back at being just friends…

While John was busy with driving and thinking, Randy was lost in his own thoughts. This black world full of sounds and noises had been frightening enough back at the hospital, but now it was terrifying and only the fact that he was sitting in John's car, beside John… the only person he trusted… blindly… saved him from panicking.

And almost as terrifying as this world was the knowledge that he had no idea what he would have done if John hadn't been so insistent on taking him home. How should he ever have coped with this alone? It wasn't that he hadn't been aware of it before, but now, being trapped in his black world while being outside the hospital made it real and painfully clear that he would never have been able to do it on his own. And god knew how thankful Randy was that John was the adamant and stubborn man he was. That he had come back. That he hadn't given up. Again.

He wanted to tell John this but he couldn't… because despite all this he still wanted him to live his life without him as a burden. But suddenly it seemed to be close to impossible go through with his plan. Creating distance while waiting for John to realize that a life without a nursing case to take care of was the better option. Holding onto that plan would kill himself and also John, yet it would help the older man to live again…

Not holding onto his plan… it was tempting. To allow himself to fall, knowing he would be caught by those arms which had held him safe so many times. There was no doubt that John loved him, that he would keep his promises. And when John told him he would have taken him home even if he'd come out of the surgery not as… himself… he believed those words. And he knew if he gave in, John would make sure it was a perfect life they had, at all costs.

God, he loved John so very much…

But it all… it was the point, wasn't it? John would do all this without realizing that it would break him sooner or later. Or maybe he was aware of it and accepted it… for Randy's sake.

John loved him… that much…

So how could he let John keep his self-destruction up?

You can't let that happen… It was what his mind kept telling him over and over again.

Yet he is what you want and you're what he wants and he loves you that much… It was what his heart kept telling him. Over and over again.

And in his little black world Randy reached a crossroad… and he couldn't see the right way…

Their way from the car into the house was as quiet as their ride and although Randy wanted to manage the way on his own, he had no fucking idea in which direction he had to move. It wasn't that he couldn't recall the way from the driveway to the front door, but he wasn't sure. John watched him in silence, giving him the time to find his way. The image in front of him made him feel deeply sorry for his friend, but jumping into action without giving the younger man the chance to solve the problem on his own wouldn't be of help. But after a few moments he realized that Randy wouldn't… maybe even couldn't move. Randy didn't have to ask and John also didn't say a word as the older man began to steer the wheelchair into the house. It didn't make Randy feel better though.

The door clicked shut behind them and John stepped up beside the wheelchair, carefully watching the younger man's face. The expression he found there hadn't changed all too much since the moment Randy gave in to being taken back home, though his friend seemed a bit more scared than before. It shouldn't be like that.

"You wanna take a nap or a bath?" John asked softly, biting back the itch to gather him in his arms to give some comfort.

Shaking his head no Randy averted his unseeing eyes and John nodded to himself.

Walking towards the stairs John called over his shoulder: "I'm taking your stuff to your room. I'll be back in a minute."

He wouldn't have expected an answer and he got none. After he'd unpacked the bag, he sat down on Randy's bed, letting his hands smooth over the blanket and with a quiet sigh he repeated one thought over and over again in his mind.

Be patient, it'll be alright.

Downstairs Randy sat frozen in his wheelchair, hands closed around the armrests in a vice grip. This was the hallway and the image of it floated in his mind. He knew this goddamn hallway and knew where the door to the living room was. It shouldn't be that hard, should it? And so he closed his eyes, focusing on the image in his head and began to steer the wheelchair very carefully into the direction which he thought should be the right one.

But it wasn't the right one. Or maybe it was. He wasn't sure anymore. He was stopped by something, maybe the wall or the sideboard. By the sound of it he guessed it was the sideboard and that meant… there should be a little more than a meter to the door. He moved and again he was stopped. Frowning Randy reached out to feel where he was and his fingers touched the wall. There shouldn't be a wall. His frown deepened and he began to roll the chair backwards, one hand on a wheel, the other keeping contact to the wall, half feeling, half pushing him backwards until his hand felt the doorframe. Steering the wheelchair a little more backwards, he turned it towards the door and moved forward… only to be stopped again and he leaned a bit forward, trying to feel what the problem was. Again the wall.

Bracing his elbows on his legs he hid his face in his hands and breathed a shuddering sigh. It couldn't be that fucking hard to move inside a house he knew, could it? He bit back tears of frustration and tried to focus back on the image of the hallway in his head…

Standing on the top of the stairs John watched the scene, unnoticed by the younger man. And while he was glad that Randy tried to find his ways inside the house, he felt again deeply sorry to see how hard it was for the younger man. It would take some time until Randy would know his ways in here by heart. A little and crooked smile tugged at John's lips. No, with a bit of luck Randy would regain sight before he knew the ways by heart. With a silent sigh John sneaked back into Randy's room to wait there for a moment to give the younger man a little more time, before he went out again, this time loud enough for Randy to hear him.

When he reached the stairs again he found Randy sitting upright in the wheelchair, moving it around again and when he heard John come down, his head snapped around into the main direction of the sound.

"A tad more to the left," John said while making his way down, coming to stand beside Randy.

It had been a simple, well-meant information, nothing more and nothing less. Yet that voice which told him to protect John was still there… and now that John had managed to make him come home with him, that voice used Randy's weak moment and freed the bitchy part of him, because if he would just be horrible enough, John would maybe kick him out.

"Is it fun to watch me, Cena?" he snarled. "Fuck off, I don't need your fucking help!"

He said those words, yet he hated himself for being like this to John. Unseen by Randy, John shrugged his shoulders. The words stung a bit, but he knew his friend didn't really mean them and so he brushed them off.

"Okay, fine," he said then, keeping his voice neutral, and walked over to the kitchen. "We missed lunch and I'm hungry. I'm in the kitchen if you're hungry, too. Or if you need anything."

And then Randy was alone in the hallway again and the air around him shifted somehow, becoming… thick. With guilt. Wiping a hand over his forehead he listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen. No… no, he wasn't that Randy anymore, at least not when it came to John. It felt wrong being like this to him and he simply should open his damn mouth and apologize to him.

Glancing over to Randy every now and then John fixed some sandwiches. He was hungry but he was not in the mood for preparing a big dinner. It didn't escape his notice that Randy remained where he was and he looked so… lost and he wished he could just go over to him and hold him. It wasn't the right moment though. But then…

"I'm sorry…" Randy said suddenly and very quietly into the thickness of the hallway, maybe too quiet, but somehow he couldn't bring his voice to be louder.

But John heard him.

His movements slowed down as the words reached him and with a tiny, acknowledging nod he replied hushed: "I know."

Randy straightened up a bit, surprised that John really had heard him, yet there was also relief but John's voice was so very gentle as he spoke that it made the guilt grow even more. He turned his face into the direction were the kitchen should be and when John saw sadness in those beloved grey eyes he knew that his words had reached him. He focused back on the sandwiches. Words could be a powerful weapon and sometimes few words were even more powerful than many. From the corner of his eye he saw as Randy turned the wheelchair a tad to the left and moving forward then he vanished into the living-room.

He sat down on the kitchen table and although he was still hungry, he lacked real appetite. Looking back up to the door Randy had disappeared through, he wondered how long the back and forth would last until Randy gave in, what it would take to wear the walls of stubbornness down…

For the next forty minutes it was tense silence which was filling every corner of the house, every small niche and while John was sitting in the kitchen, staring at an empty plate and thinking about his next step, Randy was sitting in the living-room, staring at the wall without seeing it.

Yet he saw. Memories. He wanted to shut them out, because those memories showed him images he didn't want to see and it made no difference if he closed his eyes or if he let them open. He still saw them. And the absurd thing about it was that it wasn't Alanna he saw there. No… he saw brilliant blue eyes, filled with love… those dimples… John, laughing… crying… His mind wrapped around the picture of John hovering above him, the way he had looked at him before leaning in for that first kiss… and with it the memory of that night came back. Too vivid. Much too vivid. His touches, his scent and the feeling of John's body against his and under his touch… and… that kiss… the mere memory of it sent a warm tingling throughout his body, causing goose bumps to flare in waves over his arms. And again John stole his breath, without even being close to him… And this time his whole being reached out to John, the longing for him loud enough to silence the nagging voice in his mind that kept telling him to end this. It was odd, but for a few seconds he felt… peace…

"John…" he breathed.

Screwing his eyes shut he tried swallow a sob down but he failed. The tiny, broken-hearted sound was much too quiet for John to hear and Randy was glad about it. That John wasn't here to see his moment of weakness.

"Get out of my head…" he whispered desperately.

"I can't. And I don't want to."

It was just a whisper, matching his own but it tore a startled gasp from Randy's throat, made him flinch hard. And then he froze. He hadn't heard John come in…

"How long?" he asked then lowly, although he knew the answer already.

"Long enough," John replied quietly and there it was again, that tender, warm voice which alone was enough to stir so many good feelings in the depths of Randy's heart.

John walked up to him, slowly, carefully as if approaching him too fast could scare him away. It hadn't been nice to watch this, seeing Randy this way. Especially since it didn't have to be like this and again he wanted to say it.

You know this is not what you really want. We belong together, so stop this.

Instead he sat down on the couch, not even a meter away from the younger man and kept those words to himself.

Randy wanted to snap at John, bite him away but all he managed was a shaky and pitiful attempt to be biting as he said: "Is this gonna be your new hobby? Watching me like some sort of a traffic accident?"

Stop that. This is not you, so stop trying to be someone you're not.

A heavy sigh dropped from John's lips as he scrubbed his hands through his face.

And then: "Yeah, you're right, I watch you. I watch you fall apart and I can do nothing because you keep pushing me away. What do you think how much fun this is? You fall apart and I bleed and it shouldn't be like that. Together we can heal and you know that, so why do you…"

John didn't finish his last sentence. Tilting his head back he closed his eyes and breathed another heavy sigh. He should simply have ignored Randy's snappish comment instead of giving into this attempt of starting a fight. A moment later he realized that Randy hadn't given him another comment and as he gazed back to him… he saw a single tear run down Randy's cheek.

Stop being so goddamn stubborn…

Before John knew what he was doing he reached out to wipe the tear away, but his fingers never touched the younger man's face because Randy's hushed voice stopped him.

"I'm tired."

With a whispered okay John got up, thinking that it maybe wouldn't be bad if Randy had some time on his own… in his own room… now that he was back home. Some time to think about John's words and the whole situation. Maybe now that he was here, he would see that there was no need to keep on acting like he did.

John waited a brief moment if Randy would try to find the way on his own, but the younger man made no attempts to move and so John stepped behind the wheelchair, pushing it over to the stairs. Quietness fell and while Randy turned his face away from the older man on their way up the stairs, John used the chance and held him as close and tight as even possible. He wanted to feel him, even if it was only this little bit of contact. And when he placed his friend gently on the bed and tucked him in, he could have sworn that Randy's arm around his neck left its place only reluctantly. But maybe he'd only imagined it.

For a moment John stood beside the bed, gazing at his friend and maybe he hoped that Randy would say something. Anything. But all there was… was awkward silence. Thick and heavy. The quietness had followed them from the living-room and when John left Randy's room a part of it followed him back down. He sat down on the last step, staring into nothing.

Be patient.

He had to. Days, weeks… as long as it would take. And he prayed that time would be on his side for once…

At the same time Randy tried to shut out the images which came back to him and with a quiet groan he pulled the blanket over his head to hide from the world and maybe even from himself. He was so damn weak… and that very word that was lingering on the tip of his tongue right now… it took all his willpower not to say it aloud. Maybe if he thought it, said it in his mind…

… John…

… maybe then it wouldn't slip out in the wrong moment.

… John…

He felt like floating in endless open water, struggling hard to reach the shore… and not to drown, while he watched the bits and pieces of his will drift further and further away from him and out of his reach. And soon there would be so many pieces lost that he wouldn't be able to put it back together…

… Johnny…

John would never have been able to force him to come home. All it would have taken was simply not to come home with him. But now he was here. And even now John couldn't force him to stay here and he would simply have to leave the house and never come back. But… he was still here. It was like being schizophrenic. One part of him told him to leave John, the other part clung to John and a small and exhausted Randy was standing in between, trying hard to stay out of this insanity.

It would have been so much easier if he could be the arrogant, selfish and egomaniacal Randy, that man people thought he was. Yeah, it would have made things so very easy, because people didn't expect anything from him except being an asshole, because those people never had seen what was behind those walls and that was why people left him alone or acted reserved around him. No one wanted to be around Randy Orton and that had always made it easy to walk away from everyone around him.

But John wasn't standing in front of those walls… John had been the only one who bothered to find out what was behind them, who'd dared to climb those walls and when he'd reached the top he'd jumped down to the other side without hesitation, not knowing what was waiting there for him. And now he was standing behind them. At Randy's side.

And that was making it… impossible… for Randy to walk away from him…

Downstairs John got up from his place on the stairs. It was time for some calls. He found a building firm and talked the poor guy on the other end of the line into starting within the next three days. To his delight it would only take four days until the rooms were completely ready to move into, thanks to high-speed building methods. His next call was the mobile physiotherapist who would come by the next day.

His third call was Sam. She didn't say much but agreed to bring Alanna over, also the next day in the afternoon. John wanted it to be a goody after the physio for Randy. He didn't bother to ask why she never answered the message he'd sent her while waiting for Randy to come out of the surgery. It would have been a vain discussion and he didn't care anymore what she thought anyway. He brought her up to the speed nevertheless.

Alanna would hopefully help him to lure Randy out of his shell, just like the last time.

After his call with Sam he moved about the house, moving things out of the way so it would be easier for Randy to make his ways through the house without hindrances. In the living-room he rearranged the big coffee table on the far end of the couch so it was out of the way. His cell was lying on it and his eyes caught a blinking. It was the daily message from Phil.

Hey, Sunshine. How are you? And don't tell me you're fine. It's what you told me for the past ten days and I'm not buying it anymore.

While typing his answer he sat down on the couch and for the first time in days it did feel like a couch, not like a cushioned prison.

But I am fine. Really. How are you?

It wasn't a lie. Compared to the last days he was fine. Message sent he slipped a bit deeper into the cushions and rested his head against the backrest. It was now that he noticed how tired he really was, how heavy his whole body felt. His cell beeped and he lifted it up to his eyes.

I'm worried. Very much, Sunshine. I wanted to come over if it's okay for you?

A regretful little smile spread over John's lips. Phil. Always the worried and caring friend. Maybe a visit wouldn't be good today, but to hear Phil's voice was a tempting idea and so he hit the call button. The answer was immediate.

"Hey, Sunshine."

Phil's voice washed over him like warm rain and with a silent sigh he lay down onto the couch, giving his body a rest.

"Hey, Phil. Good to hear your voice," John replied quietly, the tiredness he was feeling seeping into his voice.

There was a sigh from the other end of the line and then: "Oh, great, now I'm even more worried. You sound like you haven't been sleeping in days. That's it, I'm coming over."

"No, not today," John said and received another sigh. "Sorry, I'd like you to come over, but I took Randy home today and… well, let's say he needs a little time to really arrive at home. Okay?"

"Oh. Okay. That's… that's good. So you two are okay again?"

It didn't escape John's notice that there was slight disappointment lacing into his friend's voice, but it wasn't surprising, was it? Phil had told him that he loved him and even if they were back at being friends, even if Phil accepted that… John guessed that Phil still harbored a tiny hope for more… It was how he would feel.

"Uhm… no, not really good but… well, we're making progress," he murmured into his cell and he had to blink a few times to keep his eyes from slipping close.

"That's a start, isn't it? Be patient, Sunshine. And now you should sleep a little. You sound like you need it badly. Tell me if you need anything."

The disappointment was gone, replaced by tender warmth and John hummed as he allowed his eyes to drift close.

His voice dropped to a sleepy whisper as he replied: "Thanks, Phil. I'm glad you're there…"

A hushed sleep now was the last thing he heard before the line fell dead and with another hum he flipped his cell shut.

Be patient.

He was. He would be. He could do it. He wouldn't lose this fight.

Only a few moments later he slipped into a fortunately dreamless slumber…

x

Four hours later John awoke with a start and he almost fell from the couch. It took him a moment to sort his thoughts and when his mind rose from the initial haze the sleep had left behind, he listened into the quietness, trying to locate what had woken him up. But he heard only a deafening nothing.

He'd slept longer than he'd wanted to and he hoped that Randy hadn't called for him. And so he sneaked up and peeked into the room where he found a still sleeping and softly breathing Randy. Long seconds he watched him, wishing he could just lie down beside him and hold him. And maybe he should simply do it.

You promised him not to touch him, he admonished himself and contented himself with a few more seconds of watching, before heading back down and to the kitchen where he made some more sandwiches.

With the food and orange juice he made his way back up and with quiet steps he crossed Randy's room, placing the food and the juice on the bedside table. Pondering if he should wake the younger man or not, he squatted down beside the bed and looked at him.

"What do you want?" Randy suddenly mumbled and then his eyes opened, gazing neatly past John.

"I… uhm…" John stammered a bit surprised and while he fished for words, Randy scooted up, leaning back against the headboard.

Randy rubbed his eyes, still tired. It had taken him a while to finally go to sleep and he'd already been awake for about half an hour or so, trying his best to go back to sleep again. He'd heard John a few minutes ago, waiting for him to say something. Or to crawl into bed with him… He cursed silently, because that word was still there, on the tip of his tongue, waiting for its chance to slip past his lips.

Johnny…

Reluctantly John sat onto the bed, rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms over the rough fabric of his shorts.

"I brought you something to eat," he said softly. "Sandwiches. And orange juice."

Randy felt the corners of his mouth twitch a bit. No matter how often this man was sent on his ass, he got up and came back, bringing an affection along that was breathtaking in its persistence.

And so he felt almost sorry as he replied quietly: "I'm not hungry."

John had come up here to bring some food and he knew that he'd said more than enough for one day, but he couldn't help himself. There were a few more things he had to say.

"Okay. But please listen to me for a moment, okay?" John asked, hoping that Randy would agree.

And with a tiny not he did agree. He had nothing to lose and nothing to do, right?

"I understand your reasons, Ran, but stop trying to be noble. It's not necessary. You feel like you're a burden for me although you're not, but okay. We can change a few things, you know? Make things easier. Remember what I said about attaching bedrooms and a bathroom to the first floor? I called a building firm while you were up here and in about a week we'll be able to move into the new rooms downstairs. Then you can move freely around the house without my help."

Randy huffed and shook his head slightly no, before muttering: "No, John, I don't want that. It's too expensive and…"

"Do you really think I give a flying fuck about the costs?" the older man cut in. "It's only money. This is about you and about how to make things easier for you."

I am talking about you and me and our happy, joyful life full of love that we have to begin yet.

Those words lingered on the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken aloud but he swallowed them down. They weren't back at that point yet. What he didn't know was that Randy understood the words between the lines. And because Randy kept quiet, John continued to say what he wanted to.

"I found a mobile physiotherapist for you and he'll come over four times a week, starting tomorrow. Then I won't have to take care of it… if that makes you feel better," John explained quietly, watching Randy's face… but there was nothing but careful blankness. "And I'll buy two smaller tables for the living room instead of the big coffee table, then it'll be easier for you to get to the couch. For now I moved it out of the way. And until your sight returns we could put markers along the walls, like, one marker you're on the right way, two markers you get closer, three markers you're there. It'll be easier for you to find your way until you know the ways by heart… or you can see again."

John's affection wasn't only breathtaking, it also created a sweet ache in Randy's heart. This house and John, this all was a sweet and warm and golden prison. A prison he could leave whenever he wanted. Only… that he couldn't. His heart didn't let him… That was why he hoped that John would draw a final stroke under all this and so he pulled the next asshole card. There was a twitch around Randy's mouth and then there was an oh so very tiny smile on those beautiful lips and John wondered if it was a cynical or a real, positive one. It was too small to really identify it.

Randy gave the answer by replying cynically: "You never give up hope, do you? I told you this already, you can't make things alright just because you're John Cena, even if your big ego makes you think otherwise. Or are you just that dense?"

John knew those words were a biting attempt to hold on to stubbornness and he knew that Randy again didn't really mean it and so he brushed the verbal blow off.

Nodding thoughtfully John looked at him for a moment, before adding: "But I can at least try it. And maybe I am that dense, but no, I never give up hope and you should know that by now. It's just not an option, Ran. And as long as you shut hope out, I gotta hope for two until you come back out of your shell. Or are you just too dense to realize what kind of bullshit you're kicking off? If you keep on going like that you'll destroy both our lives. And just because you're too stubborn to open your eyes you don't see the reality."

The smile was wiped away and instead Randy averted his gaze as the asshole card backfired. His fingers twisted in the covers and he didn't even realize… that he suddenly moved all fingers of his right hand. But John did and it made his heart lurch in his chest, happily, excitedly and he had a hard time not to pull Randy into his arms and laugh in relief.

Instead of reaching out he said: "Dr. Green told me that the tumors were benign. The cancer is a thing of the past, Ran. It's gonna be alright. It's already getting better and you don't even realize it."

"What do you mean?" the younger man murmured.

"Your right hand," John said hushed, softly. "You move all fingers and you don't even notice it."

For a second Randy froze and various expressions crossed his face, before he lifted his hands, the left one feeling the right one as he again moved all five fingers. And again. And… again. He could move his fingers, he could… move them. His hands sank down on his legs. A single, tiny and choked laughter got stuck in his throat and screwing his eyes shut against a suspicious stinging in his eyes he willed the tears not to fall, because goddammit, he wasn't going to cry now, not when John was around. But it was too late. Feeling a few tears run down his face he dipped his head in an attempt to hide his face from John. Again, too late. For the fraction of a moment he expected the older man to reach out to wipe it away and it was what John wished he could do because it fucking hurt to see Randy like this. But John didn't. Silently he watched as the tears ran over tense cheeks, falling onto the blanket, as Randy fought to regain his self-composure.

Shifting a bit John inched closer to Randy. He wanted to feel him, even if it was only the warmth emanating from him and it made Randy flinch a bit, made him look up again.

"See? And here's the deal: we're back at being friends and you set the pace. I'm not gonna touch you or whatever if you don't want it and I'm not gonna push you. If you want me to help, I'm there. If you don't want it, I'm staying away. You're making progress and it'll get better day by day, just hold on to that, okay?" John's voice became infinitely tender as he added: "I love you and I know you love me, so just give me some time so I can show you that things are gonna be alright."

Silence fell as John waited for a reaction and Randy kept sitting there unmoving, the fingers of his left hand still tightly closed around his right one, the weight of John's words heavy on his heart.

Hoping that he hadn't said too much, John held his gaze on Randy's somewhat pale face and he noticed a slight dizziness coming up because at some point he'd started to breathe shallow and a bit too fast. He willed his breathing to return to normal as he waited patiently. Or maybe it would be better if he left for a while to give Randy some air to breathe? Maybe he should, but somehow he couldn't…

And Randy… was still floating in that endless open water, watching as some more pieces of his will drifted out of reach. Resting his head against the wall he closed his eyes, although it didn't make a difference. It was a habit, closing his eyes against unpleasant things. His mind focused on his right hand as he moved his fingers against his own hold. Only a couple of hours ago it had only been two fingers and now… he could move all fingers. Just like that. Almost like it had never happened. And then John's words echoed in his mind.

I love you and I know you love me, so just give me some time so I can show you that things are gonna be alright.

The fingers of his left hand uncurled and very hesitantly he settled his right one on the mattress beside him. He could give it some time, couldn't he? It all was just a matter of time, if it would end or… not and it didn't make a difference since he couldn't, wouldn't… didn't want to… leave and he tried not to think about how contradictory his behavior and words were. Slowly he turned his hand palm up, fingers spreading in a silent invitation. Unseen by him John's eyes widened as his gaze fell on it, but Randy did hear as his breath caught in his throat.

"I… I would like to move around a bit to, you know, get to know the ways in here," Randy eventually said very quietly, pushing the ever present and nagging voice in his mind which was telling him to keep his mouth shut into the background. His voice became even quieter as he added: "And... uhm… you think you could… help me a bit?"

Again John's heart stumbled a few times while his eyes stayed glued to Randy's hand and his breath still stuck in his throat. This was an invitation, definitely. Randy wanted him to take his hand… and he wanted his help… And even though John knew that Randy's mood could change any second, this now was another tiny step into the right direction and John was willed to take it. He had to swallow twice, hard, before he got his voice to work again.

"Sure, Ran," he replied and slipped his hand into Randy's, entwining their fingers ever so gently and his heart jumped happily as his friend's fingers tightened their hold immediately. For a brief moment he gazed at their joined hands before he whispered: "Thank you…"

They kept sitting like that for a few long yet much too short minutes. It was Randy who broke the contact first to climb into the wheelchair. On his own and somehow… he found it much easier than back at the hospital. It felt like it was the older man's mere presence which made it easier. And it was kind of frightening because it was always like this. When he lost hope it were John's words which gave him hope and when he felt bad it was John's touch that made him feel better again. No matter what, it all led back to John.

The way through the house took two hours and after that they repeated the round in a shorter time. The third time took only about 45 minutes. They were quiet most of the time because Randy was focused on finding his way and John didn't want to disturb him. Only when the younger man asked him John spoke, but not for a second he left his place at his side.

Right after that third round Randy wanted to go back to his room because he was tired. John's tiny hope that Randy would ask him to stay, at least until he was asleep stayed only a hope. But he reminded himself that it was only day one after the hospital and ten agonizing days and that he had won more ground than he could have hoped for.

The doors though were left a crack open and it wasn't only for the case that Randy would call. John hoped he would hear Randy. A sigh, a mumbling. Anything. Even a snore would be fine. And Randy… hoped for the same.

The day ended quiet, both lying in bed and while John listened into the quietness of the house, quite content with the day, Randy tried hard to find some sleep and to escape… himself…