Mickey pulled up a chair and sat down next to Zain's bed. He was back in his room, just out of surgery, awake but exhausted and in need of rest.
Mickey needed to be alone with his friend. His mind was still trying to process everything that Zain had told him, and the things he hadn't.
The surgeon had spoken to Mickey. It wasn't good news. The damage was more extensive than the x-ray could reveal. Nerves were damaged, Zain was therefore unlikely to regain full use of his arm. There would be more operations, and Zain was likely to be hospitalized for some time. But the overall outcome was in little doubt.
How do you tell someone you love that they are going to be a cripple for the rest of their life. Especially after what Zain had said.
Mickey thought about the paperwork that had been brought in, Zain was right-handed, he couldn't sign, so Mickey had picked it up. On top of the folder was a form that... Mickey leant forward, crushing his hands together he breathed in and out slowly as the tears burned behind his eyes. DNR ... do not resuscitate... He'd pushed it aside, and Zain had asked him what it was. Mickey had wanted to lie, but Zain had been hurt enough, he deserved the truth even if Mickey hadn't wanted to say it.
Zain wanted him to sign it. "Why...?" Mickey thought he knew the answer, but the pain when it came made the room spin round.
"Wouldn't it be better if I never woke up... before I hurt anyone else."
Mickey reached out and took Zain's left hand in both of his. "It would never be better, Zain; a world without you." He whispered. No response, Zain was fast asleep.
The door opened behind him. Mickey didn't move, he kept his eyes on Zain, and his hands clasped round Zain's unresponsive one, if people thought that was strange and couldn't deal, that was their problem not his.
"How's he doing?"
Mickey tensed a little, he might have known it would be Jo. No use trying to hide. Jo was too good at reading what she needed to know.
"Not that great."
Three little words. A flat tone, tightness in his voice. An understatement. Jo picked up the second visitor's chair and set it down next to the bed, next to Mickey.
"And how are you doing?" She laid a hand on Mickey's arm, "or do I already know the answer to that one?"
Mickey shrugged, a small smile curved the corners of his mouth, a clown's smile, attempting to mask the pain. Jo's fingers gently tightened on Mickey's arm.
"They beat him, Jo." Mickey's voice was tight with the tears he wanted to suppress, he couldn't cry... not now. "They raped him. I don't know the full story but when he tried to resist or fight back or something, they beat him and abused him so badly he'll never regain much use of his right arm." The tears slowly overwhelmed him. Mickey looked away from her, "and all I can do is sit here, and hold him, because there's nothing else I can do to ease his pain. Nothing." He turned towards her again, confusion in his eyes, and pain, "did you know there's a form..." Mickey's lips refused to frame the words, as Jo's arm slid round his shoulders, and gathered him against her.
"I know." She didn't ask what form? To articulate it would be a mistake, and that didn't mean that she didn't have an inkling of what he was talking about. Jo rested her cheek against the top of Mickey's head, as he leaned into her and dissolved into tears.
Her own pain she would deal with somewhere else.
...ooo0ooo...
She leaned against the desk in the briefing room and looked at what they had, and what little they had from Zain.
Piecing together what Mickey had told her, plus the information from Zain's surgeon that Stuart had been given, the level of brutality was terrifying.
That it had happened to someone she knew... Jo buried her head in her hands.
"Hey." A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. Jo turned, as a strong arm slid around her, and pulled her close. She put her arms around his waist then, and leaned into him. Fingers combed through her hair, rubbed the base of her skull as she closed her eyes and concentrated on nothing but the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathed, her cheek resting against the crisp cotton of his shirt.
Stuart said nothing, just held his friend close and waited for her to unwind. Not for the first time he wondered why holding Jo always felt so right, when it shouldn't have; his fingers gently stroked through the silky strands of her gorgeous chestnut hair, as his mind tried to detach itself from the feeling that he knew she wouldn't welcome.