Disclaimer: NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films own them. Original characters are the property of the author.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: McCoy/Green. First-Time Flashfiction. Sequel to In the Pink. #6 in the overall Genre Flashfiction series...
Copyright March, 2005 Cassatt
Jack sat with his back to most of the cafeteria, nursing a cup of coffee at a two-person table along a wall, with a view of strangers and a wide window beyond. Strangers in scrubs, in lab coats, in street clothes. Some smiled and chatted together, and some looked shell-shocked, like their world had been irrevocably altered. Skewed on its axis. Out the window, thunderclouds were approaching from the west, their dark grey a stark contrast to the blue sky still overhead. If he left now, he might make it home before the rains came. He sipped his coffee.
He had no idea why he was sitting in the hospital cafeteria, since he still hated hospitals in every way, shape and form. Yet when he had arrived on the first floor, he turned away from the door to the street and headed straight here. Grabbed a cup of coffee, shelled out his dollar, and wandered to this table on legs moving like lead weights through sand. The coffee was acrid on his tongue and in his stomach. He didn't want to think about the past half hour, about what he'd felt, or done, or decided. How clear it all had seemed at the moment, and how screwed up it apparently was now.
Spending time at Ed's bedside -- talking, watching television, reading while he slept, helping him navigate his way from bed to bathroom to hallway and back again -- had been an insular existence. Only the two of them, with the occasional medical interruption, or adjustment of plans should Briscoe, or Van Buren, want to visit. Ed's friends had accepted Jack without question, since Ed did not give them any space to voice one. Behind the curtain, far away from the door, was a remarkable pocket of privacy. Not that Jack ever took advantage of that privacy, or Ed's reliance on him. Not that Jack ever made a move, or an assumption. He had played it slow, and careful, and quiet, no matter how profoundly their frequent touches affected him, or Ed's smile, or his determination to be up and around the minute he got the green light. No matter. This was too important to mess up; this was what Jack had yearned for; this was... a pipe dream. Smoke in front of a fun-house mirror.
"Mr. McCoy?"
Her voice startled him, and though he'd only heard it raised in confrontation, he recognized a quality it held as belonging to Ed's mother. His stomach clenched slightly as he looked up. "Mrs. Green," he replied.
"May I?"
Her countenance was softer than earlier, something about the set of her mouth, or the tilt of her head, Jack wasn't sure. He nodded, pulled his coffee closer, and sat back in his chair as she got settled in hers, across from him.
Her drink was in a paper cup that she kept hold of with one hand. The wedding band she wore was wide, and gold, with a diamond that was at least a carat or two, dead center. She placed a black leather clutch purse on the table. "I'm surprised that you're still in the building, unless you have someone else you're visiting today?" A small smile accompanied the first half of her sentence, and disappeared by the end.
"No, just wanted a cup of coffee before I head home," he lied.
Ed's mother scrunched her nose, and said with a touch of sarcasm, "And what they're selling here is well worth it, I'm sure."
He shrugged, and fought against the question that was begging to be asked.
"So," she continued, "Edward is getting discharged today, if all goes according to plan. I'm on my way to his apartment to pick up some clothes. Apparently none of his clothing was--" She glanced away for moment. "--well, salvageable." She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, fixing him with an intense look. "Also, apparently, I have disrupted plans that the two of you made. For his home care--" Her lips pressed tightly together.
Jack had the answer to his question: Ed really was going home. To the other, what could he say? Yes, you did, but it doesn't matter? He lifted a hand briefly. "Mrs. Green, nothing was set in stone. You're his mother--"
She snorted; there was no other way to think of it, and the noise turned into something like a choking sound, and while she retrieved a kleenex from her purse, Jack took a gulp of his coffee. Mrs. Green dabbed the corner of her eyes, and wiped her nose. "My son.... My son told me that it is very important to him that his plans not be changed."
Jack's heart lurched, and after one long pause, began to beat again, harder than before. He was about to respond, but she spoke first, leaning toward him.
"So I have a proposal, because -- because it's very important to me that I help him through this. It's important for both of us," she said in a softer voice. "I will take care of him during the day, and stay until you arrive. I'll come back in the morning, early enough for you to get to work." Her eyebrows lifted, and it was precisely like one of Ed's expressions, with the tiny smile, the expectancy. The eyebrows dropped. "That is, if you're still willing to help him, and I haven't misunderstood the situation."
There was so much that could be read into a description like that. "The situation" was undefined, but Jack did not think she was wanting a definition, or that she truly had misunderstood anything. Obviously, Ed was still on the page, the same one off of which Jack had dove head first. Ed wanted him to stay through the nights, and whether or not Jack kept to the couch or made his way to the bed, he had no intention of letting Ed down. He smiled at Ed's mother, a smile that he felt all the way to his stomach. He accepted her proposal; they shook hands to seal the deal. Her smile lit her eyes. Exactly like Ed's.
Ed hung up the phone next to his bed in frustration. After having maneuvered his way to a desk clerk at the two-seven, and that officer, after being fed a line of total bullshit, looked up Jack's unlisted home phone number in the database, Ed had dialed it only to be connected to the man's machine. All because Ed's cell phone was shoved in a plastic bag with what was left of his clothes: shoes, socks, and a tie with a blood stain the nurses thought could be removed but which Ed planned to burn as soon as possible. The bag was in the closet, next to the bathroom, and when Ed had tried to get to it, dizziness hit upon standing, enough for him to quickly, but gently, sit back down. He told himself the dizzy thing was because he hadn't eaten the crap they gave him for breakfast. He was fine, and he was going home if he had to move at .0003 miles per hour to stay upright. Damn it.
He closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillow, the familiar hospital sounds droning on and on. The occasional thunder outside was getting louder; the bright sky was gradually darkening. He was desperate to be home, where the only aural intrusion was his own stereo, or television, or computer, or the familiar muffled noises of his neighbors. He wanted his own bed, his own bathroom, his own couch. The rustling clinks of the curtain around his bed moving made him open his eyes. His heart stopped. Butterflies darted into the walls of his stomach.
"Hey," Jack said, a gentle smile on his face, his coat over his arm, "you ready to go home?" He had pulled the curtain for the most privacy. He approached the side of the bed, and, after a moment's hesitation, perched on its edge.
"You came back," Ed said.
Jack shrugged. "Actually, I never left. I guess acting like a sonuvabitch kept me from going out the front door." He looked like he was going to say more, so Ed waited. "I'm sorry," Jack said.
"You weren't a sonuvabitch, Jack," Ed said in an effort to reassure. There was enough going on in those deep hazel eyes to rival the electrical storm a mile away. Ed thought he might understand it all, but maybe he didn't. Maybe Jack was really having second thoughts, or third. Maybe Ed would never have the chance to find out. He wanted to ask, but found his tongue all tied up again. "Your apology is accepted."
"I'm glad," Jack said in a low voice.
Jack laid his hand over Ed's; Ed turned his so their fingers brushed together. He felt the charge fly to his groin.
Jack cleared his throat. "Your mother found me. We had a chat, made a deal. She'll take days, and I'll take nights."
Ed watched Jack's skin change color, an enticing flush moving up his neck. Oh, man. "My mother needs to take over. But the deal works for me. If you're still willing to help me out."
Jack tightened his fingers, and the small smile returned. "Of course I'm still willing. And I think your mother just needs you to know that she cares if you get hurt, even if she didn't want you to join the force. Those things are mutually exclusive."
Jack might be right, and Ed's insides did a funny turn at the thought. But he wanted to consider his relationship with his mother later. Much later. He pulled his hand away from Jack's, and with his heart pounding reached up until fingertips found the side of Jack's neck; he watched the man's breathing change as he slid around back, and tugged, because it was time they did this. Things had to be clarified. A move had to be made. He tugged, but there was little resistance, only gentleness, and care, and infinite tenderness as their mouths met, and surges of heat as their kisses flared into something deep, and profound. As Ed's head was pressed into the pillow. His world tilted; his dizziness returned, but he had no plans to inform his doctor of the cause. Thunder cracked, but no flashback occurred, and he wondered if that was a sign, whether kissing Jack might be a curative. Whether they would move beyond kisses.
Jack pulled away abruptly; Ed's heart beat stuttered. Their eyes locked. The sky opened, sending rain to pummel the windows.