Mickey pushed open the door to Zain's room. It had been two days, and Zain was still unable to tell Mickey what happened.
It was difficult, he had his own demons; but he was hurting for Zain. He hadn't expected that. He had thought that he hated the man.
That wasn't true, he had been fooling himself and knew it. Admitting it was another thing. Alone at his flat he replayed the times he spent with his proud friend. Rich boy indeed. Perhaps if Zain hadn't felt so alone he would never have fallen for Kirsten's dubious charms. Perhaps Mickey could have saved him... if only he'd had the courage to accept the feelings that he was sure he could forget.
Perhaps it was all Mickey's fault.
Feelings he thought he had buried were rolling back, he tried to keep them at bay, but they pushed back. Now he had to guide Zain to relate his story, and memories were getting in the way.
Zain was lying on his back, propped up by several pillows keeping him still in the bed; just staring up at the ceiling.
"Hey." Mickey sat down. "Penny for them."
"Not worth that much." The tightness in Zain's voice made Mickey move closer.
"Mate?"
"It's nothing."
Mickey put his hand over Zain's left hand. "It isn't nothing, Zain... talk to me."
Zain continued to study the ceiling. "There's almost no feeling in my hand and arm, Mickey. What if tomorrow makes no difference?"
"Then they'll try again," Mickey leaned forward, "the doctor said it might take more than one operation."
"I..." Zain trailed off.
"Zain... whatever happens, we'll get you through this, I promise."
"What we, Mickey..." Zain's voice was harsh with strain, "there's no one left." He laughed humourlessly. "And I can hardly complain! I did it all to myself."
Mickey moved to sit on the bed. "What we? Look at what's in front of you, Zain."
Zain rolled his head to one side, fighting back the tears. He hated his weakness, the fear.
The gentle touch of Mickey's hand on his cheek surprised him. "Zain." He kept his face turned away. "Zain." He turned towards his friend.
"Mickey." He tried to hold onto the shattered remnants of his pride.
"You're not alone anymore."
Cautiously Zain looked up. Mickey was just inches away. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Mickey leant in, and gently planted a kiss on Zain's lips.
They pulled apart, and Mickey's hand slid around Zain's neck and buried itself in his short dark hair. Carefully he moved so that Zain could lean against him, avoiding touching Zain's injured shoulder and arm.
"Zain..." Mickey tried again. "Who did this to you?"
Zain shook his head and burrowed closer. Mickey put his arms around him and just held on.
He sat back and waited. That was all you could do for a mate, hold on and wait for him to be ready.
...ooo0ooo...
Jack Meadows switched his mobile off and headed for the private room where Zain had been put. While his team investigated, Zain Nadir was in Jack's jurisdiction. The prison governor hadn't been particularly happy about it, but since Zain's injuries severely restricted his movement and there was a good chance that a prison officer was involved, there was little the governor could say.
Jack knew it was bad, he'd seen the pictures of Zain's arm and shoulder. He'd had the full report from Stuart. The last time Jack had seen Stuart that distressed or emotionally engaged was the Towler/Tameside Crew case. At least Stuart had Jo. Jack had never fully understood the friendship between his shallow, glory-seeking sergeant and his tough, no-nonsense constable, but it was intense, close and almost lover-like. They actively sought each other's company both inside and outside work. And, they made a great partnership. As Mickey had pointed out over a late night beer at Jack's one night, Stuart's arrogance and Jo's intuition made a great team, and since he wasn't scared of her, and she kept his over-exuberance in check, it would make Mickey and the rest of CID very happy if they were just left to get on with it.
Mickey Webb. Now that was the real reason Jack was here, on his way to Zain Nadir's bedside. A half-formed thought in his head, a peculiar suspicion... his son gone... Mickey Webb was the man Jack wished his son was.
He pushed open the door to Zain's room.
Mickey sitting on Zain's bed; Zain slumped over, his head resting against the smaller man's shoulder. Mickey cradling Zain gently against him. The lines of suffering on Zain's face even in sleep... then Mickey looked up at Jack.
Even from ten feet away Jack read the tenderness in Mickey's eyes and knew his suspicions were accurate.
"You do know Zain is a convicted prisoner?" Jack's tone was low, intense... disbelieving. "He's got at least another two years before parole."
"I know."