Chapter 8: Heartbeats

Friday, March 29, 2002

"He's being sent to the hospital in Transport."

For a moment Brian didn't register the words. They had been spoken gently, had been punctuated with a calming hand on Brian's shoulder, but they seemed so much gibberish at the moment.

"What?"

"He's being sent to the hospital in Transport. We need to go. Meet them there." George gave a little squeeze to Brian's shoulder and Brian nodded his acknowledgement.

"How is he?" Brian's question whispered out and George shook his head.

"He… he's stabilized. Apparently there was an allergic reaction to the pain injection." The attorney saw the pained look on his friend's face and stopped any further explanation. It would be best to wait until they reached the hospital to tell him about the seizure and the respiratory distress. Maybe there would be more information by then.

"Jesus Christ! Surely they have his medical records! He's allergic to fucking everything!" Brian vividly recalled every moment of the night he had met Justin, and the boy's edgy prattling about allergies to codeine and Tylenol and a multitude of other drugs. He had thought Justin's nervous ramblings almost charming at the time, despite his own drug induced state. And now… someone's fuck up was sending the beautiful young man to the hospital. God…

"So. How do we get to Transport?"

TCTCTCTC

He knew he was supposed to be doing… something. It seemed important – it nagged at him to be remembered. But he had no idea of the particulars.

"He's coding!"

He was simply color and touch and, God, the feelings were so intense! Every impossible hue and tint and shade of sensation caressed him – subtle fingers of nuance he had never before felt. There was only white and every imagined and unimagined color it contained.

"Clear!"

Buzz. Harsh click. Jolt.

He could feel soft whispers of quiet and calm and peace caress his face. He could taste sounds and colors around him. The sweet cinnamon hint of laughter and the crisp apple of hazel. He floated on this synesthetic cloud.

But he couldn't grasp the particulars… he needed… something.

"Again!"

Buzz. Harsh click. Jolt.

"Jesus. Thank god. He's with us, people."

There it was. He felt the colors dim as he remembered what he was supposed to do.

Breathe… Breathe…

TCTCTCTC

Brian and George slumped onto the sectioned seats of the waiting room couch, both watching the wide automated door they knew led to the hospital ER. They still knew nothing. Not a word since arriving. Brian could feel his heart jump at irregular intervals, like it was trying to decide whether to race or stop beating altogether.

He knew Daphne would be working through the night, but he had left a message – it had been nearly an hour since he had called her. Nearly four hours since he had left Ryder. Nearly six hours, according to Whitefall's timeline, since Justin's still unknown injury. No one would tell them a goddamned thing yet.

"Who's here for Mr. Taylor?"

Both men had stood at the sound of the ER door opening and now looked over at the scrub-clad man addressing them.

"We are. I'm Mr. Taylor's attorney and proxy. This is Mr. Kinney, my associate." The lie slid easily off George's tongue, and he wasn't even sure why he had said it. It just felt…necessary. Just in case.

"Right." He sighed as he sized up the men warily. It was a touchy legal situation dealing with inmates and their privacy issues. "I'm Dr. Patel. We have Mr. Taylor stabilized at the moment. Apparently your client suffered an injury to his shoulder, which we still have to address. His reaction to the pain medication he was given was, in all honesty, the emergent issue. He went into anaphylaxis, and although I understand he was given epinephrine, a delay in delivery resulted in some respiratory distress and seizure. While evaluating and treating Mr. Taylor, he suffered what is known as sudden cardiac arrest – his heart suddenly stopped beating." Dr. Patel paused, allowing the information to process. The pallor that overtook the taller man upon hearing this news was unmistakable.

Brian stood for a moment, stunned, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide. Jesus fucking Christ. This can't fucking be happening. Not to him. Not to him.

"Will he be okay?" he asked hesitantly.

"As I said, he has been stabilized, although he is unconscious at the moment. That's to be expected. His body has taken quite a beating within the past few hours. He should make a full recovery…" There was an audible sigh of relief from both men at that statement. "…however we still need to address the issue with his shoulder. Based upon the reports of the incident and our physical examination – I don't have x-rays at this point – it appears to be an injury to the acromioclavicular joint. A separated shoulder."

"Let me see if I understand this, Dr. Patel." George Pappas was stunned at what he was hearing. "Mr. Taylor most likely suffered a somewhat common injury to his shoulder and nearly died because someone gave him the wrong medication?"

"He was given the wrong medication for him."

"Those fucking incompetent imbeciles. They have his records!"

"How long will he be here, Dr. Patel?" Brian's stomach was churning. Worry and fear for Justin, as well as a heavy dose of guilt for Justin being in prison at all were weighing there like acid. Please, please don't send him back there yet, he silently begged. Please.

"Mr. Taylor is dealing with several issues, Mr. Kinney. We still need to stabilize the shoulder injury. As well, based on the severity of his allergic reaction and the circumstances surrounding his medical treatment options upon release, I am concerned about the possibility of biphasic anaphylaxis, or a spontaneous recurrence of the anaphylactic reaction. For that alone, I would recommend we keep him under observation up to 72 hours."

Brian nearly collapsed with relief. At least 72 hours. Any relief he was feeling, however, was cut short by the doctor's next words.

"Then there is the matter of the cardiac arrest and exactly what damage, if any, may have occurred due to the loss of circulation and respiration. Since treatment was provided within a matter of a minute or two, I am optimistic that he suffered no permanent damage. In fact, given his young age and general well being, with the exception of his arm, he should be feeling fairly well by tomorrow. Still, at the very least, Mr. Taylor will be with us for at least a week."

TCTCTCTC

Thirteen months earlier:

"We all live in a Yellow Submarine…"

"NO! NO! NO! Not again, Justin!"

"Now, now, children. Behave, or daddy will have to separate you two again."

"Or… Daddy could just… spank me."

"Brian, please… please don't encourage him!"

"Ahhh, what a life. One wants a spanking and one is begging," Brian smiled lecherously at his two young friends. "It's good to be the master."

"Master this, you freak."

Brian felt the soft ping of popcorn kernels hit his chest and he glared at Justin's innocent little smile. "Watch the fucking shirt, twat. There's butter on that shit."

"It's my turn to choose the movie, boys. I choose Chocolat." Brian and Justin both groaned.

"Christ, Daph, even you aren't that much of a female," Justin whined, tossing a pillow and missing the girl by a good foot.

"Oh, suck it up, Jus. I simply refuse to watch some animated little blue dudes or another anything having to do with Brando again. Besides, you know you both want to see Johnny Depp's hot chest as much as I do." Daphne smirked and clicked the remote control.

Justin sat between Brian and Daphne on the floor, their back against the chaise. "Um… she does have a point there, kid," Brian whispered into Justin's ear. He winked and pulled a joint from the box on the table beside them.

"Mr. Depp just became even hotter," Justin whispered back with a wide grin.

The joint was passed, and then another, until Brian was high enough to admit he actually liked the movie. Still, Brian and Justin couldn't hold back the giggles and rolled eyes at the small – and not so small – sighs Daphne would let out at strategic points in the film. Brian played thumb war with Justin, losing on a regular basis when he became mesmerized with the shifting layers of wheat and fresh honey of the boys hair. At some point he stirred, feeling the weight of Daphne's head against his left shoulder and Justin's in his lap, and realized they had all fallen asleep. He rested his head against the leather of the chaise, his lids heavy from sleep and weed, and smiled at the warmth of his fingers still curled with Justin's from their games.

Brian wondered, amazed, at the ease he felt in the presence of these two. He had fallen asleep with Mikey, and others, hundreds of times. Had spent evenings fucking and smoking and drinking, and thought that he was happy. But in just a few months these two kids – no, they surely weren't kids anymore – this man and this woman had become his closest friends, his secret family. He could fucking giggle with them and enjoy Chocolat. He didn't have to be anyone.

He brushed the hair away from the beautiful face resting in his lap. Justin was so fucking beautiful. And so fucking strong. Brian let his finger lightly trace the young man's proud, full lips and feel the moist heat from his sleepy breath, and groaned, remembering the taste of those lips, of that breath. God, he was hard! He was always so fucking hard when he was near the kid. But he wouldn't fuck him. Not now. Not again. The Kinney dick had caused enough shit in this young man's life.

"I wish I could take it all for you, Justin. That's all I want. Keep you safe." But he knew he couldn't. And the heart so few believed he had, broke just a little more.

TCTCTCTC

Saturday, March 30, 2002:

Justin woke up at some point during the night but they wouldn't let anyone see him. They had put him on the cardiac floor of the hospital and, because he was an inmate they had guards posted at the door. And his right wrist handcuffed to the bed. Justin had to laugh at that. His left arm was firmly taped to his body, to immobilize it, he assumed. So there he was, unable to scratch his nose, his balls or even ring for the night nurse if he needed anything. Christ.

Well, he thought, at least I'm not wearing brown.

Cardiac arrest. Shit. He was nineteen years old, for chrissakes, and his fucking heart stops. Dr. Patel had tried to explain to him what had happened, and tried to get him to explain how he injured his shoulder. But Justin knew better than to spill that can out. After all was said and done, staying alive when he got back to Mercer trumped getting revenge on a shit like Haas. He just hoped he wouldn't be handicapped with a bad arm for too long when he returned. From the throb going through it right now, he wasn't too optimistic about that.

"Guard," he called weakly, his throat strained from the intubation he'd had in the ambulance.

Shit.

"Guard!" he called, a bit more strongly.

"You need something, Taylor?"

"Yeah, thanks. Could you call the nurse for me?" He wondered briefly if he should add a 'please' to that request.

"Mr. Taylor, what can I get for you?" The middle aged nurse looked a bit tired, but seemed to be cheerful, at least.

"I need to use the bathroom."

"I know they don't want you on a treadmill, but you're not on bed restriction. Are you sure you need my help?" She seemed puzzled by Justin's request until he jiggled his arm, showing the handcuff she had been unaware of.

"Shit! What a bunch of pricks. You're a goddamned kid with one arm taped to your chest, whose heart stopped, being guarded by a man with a gun. What the hell do they think you're going to do? Whine us to death?"

Justin stared at the woman with a look of complete shock on his face, then broke out his smile. He was going to like this woman.

"Haven't you heard? I'm public enemy number one."

"The only thing you are is wet behind the ears, kid," she said as she made her way back toward the guard.

"Get this cuff off this boy, now. This is a cardiac unit and it is absolutely necessary that he be able to have that arm mobile. Am I understood?" The slim, motherly woman stood directly in front of the imposing guard, hands on hips. "Now!"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I can't. Procedure."

"This is MY floor. This is MY patient. And we will follow MY procedures. Are we clear on that, sir?"

The guard sheepishly nodded and removed the handcuff before returning to his post at the door. Justin had been watching the exchange, awed. He looked at the lively woman's name tag – Rose.

"Rose, thank you for that," he said, rubbing his chaffed wrist. Rose nodded. "But tell me, were you, like, in the army?"

She winked as she watched him walk toward the bathroom door. "Now, whatever tipped you off to that, young man? Oh, by the way, visiting hours start in half an hour. You have some attorneys here to see you. Should I make sure they get in?"

Attorneys, Justin thought. More than one? "Uh, sure. Thank you."

Nearly thirty minutes later Justin recognized Rose's voice outside his hospital room.

"Now, we've been through this before, Mr. Santos. MY hospital, MY floor, MY procedures. Now, you can make sure that boy doesn't run off and you can pat down these men before they go in. But they are his attorneys and, believe me, they will go in. And they will have privacy. Am I understood, Mr. Santos?"

Justin smiled and wondered if the woman had been a freaking drill sergeant.

As he worried his pillows into a more comfortable position for sitting, Justin heard the snick of the door latch as it closed.

"Justin…"

He froze, his heart thumping. He turned around, the smile he so desperately wanted on his face just wouldn't stay. It crumpled as the tears behind his eyes began running down his face and his sobs started. The tension and fear of the last eleven months came pouring out with one broken word.

"Brian."

George Pappas stood with his back to the door watching the men before him. He felt like some perverted voyeur, never mind the many hours he had spent in the backroom of Babylon and other clubs. He could watch other men fuck in public and feel nothing but excitement from it. But watching the loving touches, the embrace of the two men here was different. It was private, almost sacred. He walked over and pulled the privacy curtain around the bed before resuming his place at the door.

Justin sat on the side of his bed simply staring at the vision before him. "How?"

"Shhh…" Brian's hands reached up to cup the beautiful face he had wanted so desperately to touch for months. His eyes poured over every inch of the man. His voice cracked with emotion as he whispered, "I love you so fucking much, Justin."

"God, Brian…"

Lips met lips hungrily, dangerously…passionately. Justin's hand grabbed auburn hair as Brian's found their way beneath the harsh cloth of the hospital gown. Justin buried his face in Brian's shirt, inhaling the man, sobbing his relief. His mantra sounded through the tears…

"I love you. I love you."