Written for the prompt: Holding Back Tears
Warning: strong language.
John sipped from the take-away cup as he traversed the familiar corridors. He didn't need to look at the signs any longer.
"GET OUT!"
"Shit."
He ran, ignoring the scalding the liquid spilling over his fingers. They weren't supposed to be back yet. He should've had had 9.5 minutes to make it back to the room and be ready for however the session had gone. But they were back early. He didn't need Gordon's shout to know that it hadn't been a good session.
The room felt full when John burst in. The physical therapist, doctor, and two nurses were crowded around the bed. Gordon was resisting as much as he could.
"No, I don't want – just leave me – no!"
"Hey." John didn't notice when he put his drink down but he had both hands free as he slipped through the crowd. The nurse was attempting to reattach Gordon's IV while the others were looking close to holding his brother down. Which felt ironic given only Gordon's upper body had any movement.
"I've got this."
The nurse backed away. They'd been in this position enough times over the last few weeks. They'd ended up teaching John how to do the IV himself, knowing that Gordon got more and more agitated the longer he felt he was being crowded.
"I can't breathe," Gordon muttered, his pain-filled gaze finding his big brother's.
"Yes, you can." John glanced around. "I've got it," he repeated in a firm tone this time. Three out of the four people left. The doctor made a note on Gordon's chart, nodded at John, and followed his colleagues out the door.
Gordon immediately exhaled loudly. John pulled round a chair, making sure to give his brother space. Gordon had never been one for claustrophobia beforehand, but John figured being trapped in a destroyed hydrofoil as the water rushed in was enough for anyone not to like being enclosed. He'd give his brother time to calm down before reinserting the line. Although he wanted to get the pain meds into Gordon has quickly as possible, he didn't want to agitate him further.
Breathing heavily, Gordon looked away from John.
"Not a good day?" John asked quietly. He didn't need Gordon to tell him the session had gone badly. Some days, there was a hint of movement in his lower body. Other days, Gordon was full of his usual optimism, adamant to keep trying no matter what his treacherous body was doing.
Then there were days like today. They were less common than they'd been at the beginning now some of the other injuries had healed and weren't radiating additional agony through his broken body. But the days when Gordon didn't want to fight; didn't want to try; didn't want to hurt... Those were the days that broke John's heart, even though he had to keep that to himself.
"Go away," Gordon muttered. "You've got better things to do than sit here."
"Not really," John said casually. He balanced his foot on the opposite knee and retrieved his coffee from where he'd put it.
He was fortunate, so fortunate, to be between missions. He wasn't sure if it was his Tracy name or just because the commander liked him. But he'd been allowed to take some extended leave, despite knowing it would be a hard slog to get back to optimal conditions before being allowed on the next flight.
He didn't care how hard he had to work: it would be nothing compared to what Gordon was going through. They'd convinced Virgil to go back to college and Scott had had no choice but to return to the Air Force or face a disciplinary. Not that he cared, but whatever their dad had said had finally got through to him once he realised John was staying. Likewise, Alan had been forced back to school. They all called every day.
Gordon's entire body was rigid with tension. John could only guess how much that was hurting him right now. He glanced at the IV and Gordon seemed to sense it.
"Go on then," he said. His tone was bitter. It was so unlike the happy man he'd been just 24 hours before the crash. But John couldn't blame him. Pain was exhausting. "Drug me up. Make me sleep. Means you don't have to deal with me."
"Is that what you think I'm doing? Dealing with you?"
"You can't want to be here. You've got a career. You've got something you love still waiting for you. You can't want to sit by a cripple's bedside."
"Gordon." His tone was a warning. Despite being in pain, despite having a bad day, Gordon still reacted to having a big brother in the room.
"What? Why shouldn't I call myself that? It's what I am. I still can't feel my feet. I can't move my legs. Probably never will again. Everything I was, everything I wanted, none of that matters anymore."
It was nothing Gordon hadn't said before, but that didn't make it any less painful to hear. John kept his expression neutral. Any sort of reaction would be the wrong one.
"The doctors are still optimistic. You should be, too."
"Fuck off."
It was only because Gordon was facing away from him that John allowed himself to close his eyes for a few seconds. There was no getting through to his little brother when he was like this, and John hated it. He was supposed to be an expert at communication: there had to be something he could say.
Instead, he stood up. With deft, well-practised movements, he connected the IV to the catheter in Gordon's arm. He didn't say anything until he saw some of the tension leave Gordon's body as the pain-meds kicked in.
"It's going to be okay, Gordy," he murmured.
Gordon shook his head. "No, it's not."
He still refused to look at John. "I can't live like this. I can't take it anymore. I wish I'd never woken up from that coma. I wish I'd never even gone into a coma!"
John knew what he meant. He didn't mean that he wished he'd stayed conscious for the entire time.
"Gords-,"
"I can't do this." His breath hitched on a broken sob. "I can't do this."
John didn't say anything. For once, he didn't have the words. He rested a hand gently on Gordon's shoulder. When his brother finally looked back at him, the expression on his face made John's heart shatter into a thousand pieces. It took every ounce of his strength keeping that from his own expression, though. It wouldn't help Gordon.
"Let me go, Johnny," Gordon whispered.
"Never." John said fiercely. He lent forward until he rested his forehead against his little brother's. "Never."
He could tell from the way Gordon was going slack under his grip that it hadn't just been pain medication in the drip. He wasn't surprised. The main thing that Gordon needed when he was having a day like this was sleep. A chance to let his body heal without having to be conscious of broken bones knitting themselves back together, nerves fighting to join up, joints working out which way they were supposed to go.
John waited until Gordon had gone under before he straightened up. He swallowed hard, biting his lip as he looked around the room. His brother would be out for a few hours. Suddenly, John found he couldn't be here. Not right now.
He hurried from the room, lifting his hand to a nurse as he did so. The hospital staff had got so used to there always being someone in Gordon's room that the family tried to let them know when he was being left alone, just in case.
John walked without thinking. He didn't stop until he was in a deserted corridor, the noise and hustle of the building falling away. He rested both hands on the wall, head hanging as he forced himself to breathe. Slow, measured breaths, in...out...in... out.
It didn't help the prickling in his eyes. He swallowed again, keeping his attention on his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't cry. He didn't have the right to cry. Gordon needed him to be strong. He'd told the others that it was okay for them to go, that he would be here. He had to hold it together...
But when Gordon was having a bad day, it was damn hard.
Keeping one hand braced against the wall, he pulled out his cell. It was answered on the first ring.
"I know you've just got back to the apartment-,"
"Bad day?"
"Yeah."
His dad didn't need him to say anything more.
"On my way."
They were trying to take it in turns. Gordon didn't need constant monitoring, but he hated being alone and the two of them were tag-teaming. Jeff had rented an apartment near-by and they were trying to make it a routine that the other went there, ate, rested, showered, when they weren't on duty. It was the only way they were going to keep going.
But right now, John couldn't do this. He needed his dad.
He gave it a few moments before heading back to Gordon's floor in order to meet the man. His dad's coat was half undone, his hair wet from where he'd grabbed a shower, but his eyes were alert. HIs hand was steady as he put it on John's shoulder.
"I've got this." His voice was calm, full of the reassurance that John needed.
He sagged, his dad's grip stopping him from sinking to the floor in relief. That was exactly what he needed to hear. His eyes shut and this time, one single, treacherous tear slipped down his face. His dad's thumb brushed it away.
"Go and get some sleep, John. Everything's going to be okay."
That phrase again. The one he'd tried on Gordon, only for it to fail to make any impact. But as he watched his father gesture over a nurse to get the latest update on his son, he found his dad's words did what his couldn't.
It made him believe he might be right.