Johnny slowly opened his eyes, finding himself staring at the ceiling in his own apartment. His head was throbbing, his vision was blurry, and Christ, his throat hurt.
He squinted at his watch. Not quite midnight, but it felt later than that. How the hell had he ended up here? The last thing he remembered was sitting at the bar, talking to some guy because Sam had stood him up.
Actually, he'd talked to a lot of guys over the course of the evening. But he hadn't been at the bar all that long, long enough to have a couple of beers. Had he left with the last guy he'd been talking to? He couldn't remember.
As he slowly sat up, a wave of nausea washed over him, the dizziness leaving him reeling. He felt the back of his head. There was a good-sized knot already forming there. That explained his pounding head, at least. The sore throat was harder to explain.
Finally, when it seemed that the world had stopped spinning, Johnny slowly rose from the floor. He was still unsteady, but it didn't seem as if he were injured anywhere else.
What the hell had happened to him?
He should go to the hospital, he knew that. If he were responding to this call, he would tell his patient the same. A brief vision flashed through his mind, of that call he and Roy had responded to. Their patient sprawled out on the floor, the desperate attempt they had made to keep him alive long enough to get him to Rampart, the terror in his companion's eyes and voice.
I told him to quit going out all the time. I knew something like this would happen.
Another vision briefly flashed through his mind. A hand curving around his neck, a thumb stroking, then pressing, pressing, the sensation equal parts thrilling and frightening, just the way he liked it.
Someone had been here, clearly. God, if only he could remember who.
He finally felt steady enough to take a few steps, and he made his way to the door to turn off the light. It was only then that he noticed the door was ajar. That was odd, but he didn't have the capacity right now to think too hard about it. All he wanted to do was crash. Maybe he could just sleep this off, and once he woke up, he'd be better able to figure out just what the hell had happened to him.
Once he closed and locked the door and turned out the light, he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the light, getting a look at himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. Bloodshot eyes…no, not bloodshot, exactly. More like little dots. There were marks on his throat, not quite bruises, but would probably turn into bruises before long.
He had another brief thought, a flash of a memory. His head cracking hard against the floor, someone holding him down, thumbs finding those pressure points, the near blackout just before coming back, the rush, the thrill. And again, this time harder, he could feel everything start to go fuzzy and dark, he had to fight back, oh God I'm gonna die—
The panic took hold, and he gripped the sink hard, his breaths coming short and fast as the bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard despite the pain.
How could he have been so goddamn stupid? He knew the risks, he knew the danger, and yet, he had rushed in anyway, all because he was hurt that Sam had stood him up. It wasn't as if Sam had promised to show up, and what the hell, it wasn't as if he liked Johnny all that much anyway.
He'd gotten exactly what he deserved, hadn't he? You were born a sinner, and now you'll die a sinner.
He let out a heavy sigh as he leaned on the sink. No sense feeling sorry for himself. With any luck, he'd feel better after a decent night's sleep, and then maybe he'd be able to put together what had happened to him.
# # #
Sam pulled into the parking lot of Johnny's apartment building. He'd finished late at the lab the night before, and though he hadn't exactly promised to meet up with Johnny, he did feel bad for not at least making the effort.
He'd tried calling Johnny when he got home, but of course, he hadn't answered the phone. It was a safe assumption that Johnny had found other company, and that was fine with Sam. They would have other opportunities to get together.
So, it had been something of a surprise when his phone rang the next morning, an agitated Johnny on the other end. Sam hadn't quite been able to put together everything Johnny was trying to tell him, or even why he was calling him. Only assurances that Sam would come see him seemed to settle him down.
And so, here he was, about to walk into God-knew-what. Maybe Johnny was still spooked by Quincy's visit to the fire station. Quincy could be abrasive, dogged in pursuit of the truth, and it rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.
But it seemed to Sam that there was more to it than that.
He trotted up the stairs and knocked on Johnny's door, waiting as he heard footsteps on the other side. The door suddenly flung wide open, revealing a disheveled Johnny, an expression on his face that was utterly unfamiliar to Sam. "Hey. Come on in."
Sam did so and closed the door behind him. Johnny sounded as rough as he looked, and unless Sam was imagining things, there was some kind of mark on his neck.
Something twisted deep inside Sam. What if...?
No, he wouldn't jump to conclusions. Something had happened to Johnny, that much was obvious. But it wouldn't do to make assumptions. That's not what Sam did. He evaluated the evidence, wrote his reports, then presented it to Quincy to put it all together.
And so, he would do the same here.
"You want some coffee?" Johnny asked.
"Of course."
Johnny immediately disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with a pair of mugs and handing one to Sam. Now that Sam was able to get a closer look, he noticed those telltale dots in and around Johnny's eyes. Petechiae. Sam had seen enough strangulation cases over the course of his career that he knew the signs.
Something very, very bad had happened to Johnny. No wonder he'd been in such a panic when he called.
Johnny seemed unfocused, unsteady, gripping the coffee mug hard with both hands. Sam moved closer, gently curling his fingers around Johnny's wrist. No surprise, his pulse was racing.
Johnny drew a shaky breath, his eyes finally meeting Sam's. "Sorry." He murmured.
"For what?" Sam responded quietly.
"I shouldn't have called you." Johnny answered, pulling away and taking a long drink. "I didn't know who else to call."
"It's okay." Sam assured him. Johnny's whole demeanor had changed, no longer the bright, cheery, utterly unserious man Sam had come to know. Sam wanted to pull him in close, assure him that he was safe, that whoever hurt him wouldn't do so again. Instead, he guided Johnny over to the couch and took a seat next to him. "Let me take a look at you."
Johnny eyed him suspiciously. "You're not a doctor."
"I'm aware of that." Sam replied patiently. "Just hold still and let me take a closer look."
Johnny huffed quietly but otherwise didn't respond, and Sam took the opportunity to examine him more closely. The marks on his neck weren't turning into bruises yet, but soon would. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"Got a hell of a knot on the back of my head." Johnny answered. "Still kinda dizzy. Woke up and I couldn't breathe. Don't know if it was from…whatever this was, or if it was some kind of nightmare. Maybe both. Christ, I'm so stupid. I'm so damn stupid."
"Johnny, it could have happened to anyone." Sam told him.
"I was just talking to the guy." Johnny continued as if he hadn't heard Sam. "I was having a beer, he was having a ginger ale, just shooting the breeze, you know? Next thing I know I'm waking up on my living room floor."
"You don't remember anything?"
"Bits and pieces." Johnny's agitation was growing again. "Just…fragments. I liked what was happening, I think. For a while. I…I don't know what happened. I…goddammit."
His voice started to break, and Sam took Johnny's face in his hands, lightly stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. "You listen to me. You didn't do anything wrong, and you didn't deserve what happened to you."
Johnny covered one of Sam's hands with his own, the hurt in his expression obvious. "You were born a sinner, and you'll die a sinner. That's what the guy told me. Shit, I didn't even get his name."
"Sounds like some kind of religious nut." Sam commented, still wondering in the back of his mind if there was some connection to the cases that had come through the coroner's office. If that were true, maybe Johnny would be the key to catching whoever was committing these terrible acts.
If Quincy could somehow convince Monahan that there was a case, and if Johnny were willing to talk.
"Who the hell knows?" Johnny answered, suddenly sounding exhausted. "Gonna be a hell of a lot more careful who I pick up now, I'll tell you that."
"At least get their name, huh?" Sam tried to lighten the mood somewhat.
It seemed to have worked, because he was rewarded with a hint of a smile. "Right, yeah. Well, hey, you probably have better things to do than hang around here."
"No, not particularly." Sam found himself saying. "Someone should probably keep an eye on you."
Johnny scoffed, letting his hand drop, and shook his head. "You don't have to."
"I'm not going to argue with you." Sam told him firmly as he pulled back slightly. "You need to rest, and if your condition gets worse, you're not going to be able to deal with that yourself. Not that you should have to."
Johnny looked unsure, his brows knitting together. "Why would you do that? You don't even really like me."
"When did I say that?" Sam asked.
"Well…maybe you didn't come out and say it, but I can take a hint." Johnny answered. "And I get it. I do."
Sam had to admit that Johnny had a point. There were aspects of Johnny's personality that Sam found somewhat off-putting. But that was countered by other aspects that Sam quite liked.
"I will admit, we're…very different." Sam told him. "And yes, you can be exhausting and a little aggravating. That doesn't mean I don't like you."
Johnny's expression turned curious, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. "Really?"
"Really." Sam replied, leaning in and kissing him gently. "And I definitely don't want anything to happen to you."
"Yeah, well, kinda late for that, I guess." Johnny responded quietly.
Sam gathered Johnny in to hold him close, and Johnny rested his head against Sam's shoulder, letting out a quiet sigh.
He wanted to assure Johnny that he was going to be fine, just fine, but Sam wasn't so sure that was the case. And God help him, he didn't want to leave Johnny alone. Even if he was physically okay, he was obviously shaken up and needed someone he could trust.
Sam wasn't sure how he'd been chosen for that task, but he was here now, and he'd do his best for Johnny.
He gently rubbed Johnny's back before releasing him, brushing back a bit of errant hair. "Why don't you lay down for a while?"
Johnny still seemed skeptical. "What, right here?"
"Sure." Sam tried to sound casual. He moved down to the end of the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table, patting his leg. "Right here."
Johnny slowly shifted himself so that he laid his head in Sam's lap, his long legs hanging over the end of the couch. Sam couldn't imagine that being terribly comfortable, but once Johnny settled in, he seemed relatively unbothered.
Sam rested his arm across Johnny's chest, and he responded by laying a hand over Sam's arm, his expression smoothing out as his eyes slowly closed. Soon, his breathing evened out as he fell asleep, and Sam let out a short sigh.
It was true, he did like Johnny, even if he rambled on about the most random subjects and was sometimes hard to follow. He had a spark about him, an adventurous streak that had taken Sam completely by surprise when they had initially gotten together, but one that Sam had to admit he appreciated now. And when he was relaxed, the way he was now, it was hard not to admire his physical attributes.
Sam studied Johnny's hand, his mind replaying memories of times past when those hands traveled over every part of his body, so often followed by his mouth. At times there was such an urgency that Sam had a difficult time keeping pace with him, but then there were times when things went at a leisurely pace, as if they had all the time in the world.
Something clutched at Sam at the thought that perhaps they didn't. If anything had been different, they wouldn't be here now. Either Johnny would be in a hospital bed, or worse, laid out on an autopsy table.
"God, Johnny." Sam murmured, lightly threading his fingers through Johnny's hair.
Johnny's eyes fluttered open. "What?"
Sam let out a short huff. "You're supposed to be sleeping."
A slight smile graced Johnny's face. "Not my fault you woke me up."
Sam merely shook his head, smoothing his hand over Johnny's hair. "Would you rather lay down in your bed?"
"Only if you lay down with me." Johnny's voice had lost that teasing tone he so often used, turning more serious.
Sam supposed it was as close as Johnny would get to admitting just how shaken up he was. "I suppose I could manage that. For a while, at least."
That little smile grew a little wider, and Johnny slowly rose from Sam's lap and sat up, pausing as he steadied himself. Soon, he pushed himself up and off the couch, and Sam followed suit.
Johnny still seemed a little unsteady as he slowly made his way to the bedroom and started to strip down as if Sam weren't there. Sam immediately noticed the bruising that was developing on Johnny's back. God, he must have hit the floor hard.
Sam chose not to strip down himself, instead climbing in on the other side and waiting for Johnny to join him. He soon climbed in, settling in with a sigh, throwing one arm over his eyes.
It was only after he fell back asleep that Sam felt safe moving in closer, lying on his side and resting a hand on Johnny's chest, feeling the slow rise and fall with every breath.
There might yet come a time when Johnny would drive Sam absolutely up the wall again, but maybe he could learn to live with those qualities if it meant Johnny would still be around. It was an odd thought, to be sure, and maybe Johnny would be skeptical of Sam's change of heart. Sam wouldn't blame him if he was. He was having a hard time believing it himself.
But that could wait for another time. For now, it was enough that Johnny was still here. That was more than enough.