Chapter 2

Steve stopped trying to talk to Danny after awhile. He had yanked back he curtain and was watching Danny. He knew his partner was just being emotional, probably tired. His light was off, and his eyes closed, though his breathing was way too tense to indicate sleep. No, he was being ignored. Fine, two could play that game. Steve turned off the soap opera on the TV, even turned his own light down so as not to disturb his partner if he really was trying to sleep. But he didn't believe Danny was anywhere near relaxed enough. Sooner or later, the nurse would come in with their sleep meds, and then Danny really would sleep. In the meantime, Steve, also not relaxed enough, reached for one of his fruit baskets, and began to nibble on pineapple pieces. "Mmmm, such good pineapple," he mumbled, hoping to get a rise out of Danny. It didn't work, so he tossed a few small pieces over Danny's way. "Don't say I don't share," he quipped. He had strawberries, and let Danny know how good they were too. He tossed the long stemmed green tops over to land on Danny's bed.

Danny suddenly, catlike, sat up in bed, his face etched with hurt. "Seriously, Steve? After what you said about Charlie?" With one hand he flipped the sheet and blanket so the pineapple pieces and strawberry tops were sent flying back at Steve. "Are you trying to make it worse, because from where I stand, it can't get much worse."

"Now what are you talking about?" Steve asked, glad they were speaking again.

Danny waved his hands toward Steve's side of the room. "Look, I already know you got all the love: the card shop, the fruit bouquet things, the flower shop, the balloons that could float your bed if they were all tied to the railings. I got nothing. I get it. You don't have to rub it in."

"You jealous?" Steve asked in a needling tone, with a grin tailor-made to get on his friend's nerves. He knew the buttons to push.

Danny's hands went still, and dropped to the blanket, his face wearing an expression of pain that Steve had never seen before, one he did not know how to interpret. His partner's voice came out almost inaudible, like someone admitting something he didn't want to, that hurt to say. Steve's mood shifted as he realized Danny wasn't just being cranky, but was in fact really upset, so he listened without interrupting. And what he heard sent him into a spin.

"No, Steve, I am not jealous, because that would be wrong and petty, and an indication that I do not care about you. I love that you are receiving so much love. I love that you are getting better, that you didn't die. I love that you are getting visitors around the clock, and if that means I sit here alone, that's the way it is. Yes, it would be nice to have had visits lasting more than a few minutes, but again, I do not begrudge that everyone wanted to visit you, who almost died, rather than me, who did not almost die. I wish I had known Max was going away before tonight's revelation, which was only a revelation to me because obviously everyone else already knew. Of course I wish I had been sent a balloon, or even some pineapple basket or something, or a single crappy flower in a skinny little vase-maybe even one card. It would be nice if people had thought of me, too. Not instead of you, but too."

Steve's brow furrowed into creases while his heart tried to think of something to say that would help. He had assumed Danny had received gifts and flowers and cards, too, before they were moved into a room together. He had figured the nurses hadn't brought them in yet. "You know they care about you." At Danny's bitten back sob and head shake, he added, deeply concerned, "I mean, buddy, I'll share-" He stopped when Danny turned his head away, and his the low light caught the streaks of tears sliding one after another down Danny's face. He watched as Danny struggled to form words.

"I'm not ... sure anymore. I just wish..." He swiped at the tear tracks, which were immediately replaced by new ones. "I just wish I had something to share with you."

Steve watched Danny throw back his blanket and got out of bed. "Need the john," he mumbled and, with IV pole in tow, shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door. Steve heard the water running in the sink while he tried to think of something to say that would help. This went deeper than he felt prepared for, and was not going to be fixed with a verbal bandaid.

Danny was back in mere minutes, face splashed with water, face stoic, eyes averted. He looked more depressed than Steve had ever seen him. "Gonna go to sleep." But Steve's gentle voice stopped him. "You did share."

"Oh? What? Not this room. This is your room, and secondarily mine. You got the window, I got the door. In Hospital Pecking Order, that means it's your room."

"No, no. That's not what I meant!" began Steve, as Danny took a step forward. "I meant you shared your - "

But he never got to finish. Danny's foot slipped on something on the floor, and he toppled, eyes shocked, arms flailing, his body twisting to avoid landing on his back. One hand almost caught the IV pole and it went over, and Danny let out a yell of pain as he hit the floor on the side of the bed Steve could not see. He could only hear the crash of the pole, the yell, a lingering groan, and then silence.

"Danny? Danny!"

Steve struggled to get his blankets off and get up, hitting the nurse's call button. "NURSE! DOCTOR!" he yelled, and rounded the bed as a nurse came running. "Oh no," they said simultaneously. For there was Danny, prone, out cold, limbs all over the place, but his torso atop the base of the IV pole, his forehead on the floor, a pool of blood already formed. On the heel of one regulation hospital slipper was stuck a small piece of squished pineapple.