Chapter 7

Hiccup's POV

The room was swallowed in uneven gray light. The air was foreboding and quiet, giving Hiccup a hollow knot in his stomach and making his throat feel constricted. He was not alone; In front of him sat a hard faced man in a well trimmed suit, peering at him cautiously behind bushy gray eyebrows. Hiccup sat in an uncomfortable chair, pressed stiffly against a small table.

"When did your wife die, Mr. Haddock?" asked the man before him, his voice controlled.

"Nine years ago," Hiccup found himself saying.

"And how did she die? Please tell me the truth. You took an oath."

"Of course I'll tell you the truth," Hiccup's voice was surly; "She killed herself."

"Was she on antidepressants or likewise drugs to help her with her condition?"

"Yes, she took antidepressants."

"Would you say depression runs in the family, then?"

"I...I guess so."

"Would you say you have a drinking problem?"

"What's this got to do with-"

"Please just answer the question, Stoic."

"Please just don't call me Stoic."

"My apologies, sir. But anyway: Would you or would you not consider yourself even a mild alcoholic?"

"I wouldn't."

"I see. Do you get drunk often, would you say?"

"No."

"Do you get drunk at all, purposefully or not?"

"I have found myself in that condition, yeah."

"Is your son often around at these times?"

"Yes."

The man pursed his lips, then stood and began to pace leisurely.

"Would you say you anger easily, Mr. Haddock?"

"Not any more easily than you."

"But you do get angry, yes?"

"Yes."

"How do you deal with your anger, or how have you dealt with it in the past?"

"I've never taken anger management classes, if that's what you mean."

"When you do get angry, how do you control yourself?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, but you must."

"I just deal with it."

"How?"

"What do you want me to tell you, that I read fine literature? I just deal with it."

"So you have more than one method of dealing with your anger?"

"Yes."

"Would you please list some of these methods?"

The knot in Hiccup's stomach tightened, but he didn't know why. He didn't speak for a while.

"Please be honest," said the ashen faced man.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just a precaution, sir."

"Alright. In the past I have had to express my anger through force."

"Do you mean to say you have taken out anger by, perhaps, hitting things? Such as punching a wall?"

"Yes."

"I see." The man returned to his spot and looked Hiccup square in the face; "Now, would you say, Mr. Haddock, when you do happen to get drunk, do you find that anger comes more easily to you?"

"If I were drunk I wouldn't hardly remember, now would I?"

"Are you saying that when you do get drunk you are intoxicated to such an extent that you have no memory of what goes on while in your intoxicated state?"

"What? No."

"Then answer the question, sir, if you please."

With a sigh, Hiccup said, "When I am drunk, I get angry more easily."

"But you wouldn't say you get drunk often, you said."

"No."

"Okay. Thank you, Mr. Haddock. I believe that's all for now."

"Finally."

Hiccup woke, in a numb daze and without memory, to the sound of Jack's thunderous snores. Jack was slumped in his chair, drool dribbling down his face, his arms jumbled in his sweatshirt pocket. Under different circumstances, the sight would have made Hiccup grin. But his heart was far too heavy for that.

The events of the last few days came in an influx of pain, and Hiccup winced and shut his eyes tightly. When he had wanted to leave, he thought nobody cared about him...but now...Jack. Jack had been the one to find him. Jack didn't let him die. Jack had tried to save him. Quite effectively. And Hiccup...Hiccup was starting to remember why he hadn't tried to take his own life before. Of course, it had never been this bad. But he was starting to remember what had kept him breathing on the darkest, emptiest nights. It was Jack. It had always been Jack who had saved him with his words. Or driven to his house in the dead of the night to climb through his window and hold him for as long as he was needed. It had been Jack who had replaced the blades in Hiccup's hand with his own hand and a reassuring squeeze. But when Hiccup had seen Jack with Repunzel, in Hiccup's confusion and rage and hurt, he had somehow forgotten that Jack had only ever tried to protect him. Everything was moving so fast, and Hiccup somehow forgot that Jack cared for him. Jack...Jack was his guardian.

His demons convinced him at once that Jack had never cared. So, Hiccup had tried dying. But Jack was the reason that Hiccup was alive. Jack had jumped in to save him again. Hiccup thought, someone who put in so much effort...he couldn't possibly be lying to him, could he?

And he was still here. He hadn't left Hiccup's bedside since he'd arrived. This sleepy, drooling boy was his knight. His knight in a blue sweatshirt and brown skinny pants.

It was then that Jack was jolted awake by a fit of coughing. He sat up, hacking loudly, his body wrenched forward by the force of it. Hiccup looked at him, startled. Once the retching was through, Jack looked at him apologetically. "Choked on my own spit." he said.

"Okay." Hiccup replied, because it was all he could think to say.

It was early. The sun was peaking out over the trees and coming into the hospital room window, as if greeting Hiccup for the first time (but he didn't feel so welcomed). His blankets were as thin and papery as his hospital gown, and he hadn't eaten anything in a while. But Hiccup didn't feel hungry. He didn't feel anything. Just hollow and numb and cold.

"How are you doing, Hic?" Jack asked tenderly. He leaned over, his elbows on Hiccup's bed, his chin in his hands. He wore a very subtle look of concern and longing; his eyes were almost puppy like.

"Okay." Hiccup said again, peering at Jack.

He looked so honest. He looked like Hiccup was the only thing he knew. He looked at Hiccup like he was in love with him. And yet-

"You don't believe me." Jack was very quiet when he said it. He looked sad. "About what happened. You've got that look, Hiccup."

"What look?" Hiccup was quiet, too.

"That look like you always gave me when you were sad. Like you wanna feel better, but can't bring yourself to."

Hiccup tried to roll away from Jack, but his body was sore and aching; he just sighed.

"You said you love me, Jack, right?" Hiccup asked; he honestly didn't know.

Jack stood abruptly, coming to lean closer to Hiccup, looking into his eyes. His own eyes were like open books, reading out all the tears that Jack had not shed. But he looked close to tears now.

"I do, Hiccup. More than anything."

Then, Jack leaned forward until their faces were centimeters apart. His hand came up graze his fingers across Hiccup's speckled jaw line. And, with tenderness, and a shyness that had never been there before, Jack placed his lips on Hiccup's and closed his eyes.

Hiccup did not fight the feeling or warmth that washed over him. He allowed his eyes to fall closed. His hand reached up for Jack's, pulling it down and intertwining their fingers.

And suddenly, Hiccup felt like he could breath again. Like a weight had been lifted from him. Like his blood was pulsing through him again, like he had come back alive. It was warm-cozy, almost, like coming home; a real home. Like Hiccup had been lost in a snowstorm, and he was at last seeing light.

It was the closeness. A closeness he had not felt in far too long. A closeness he didn't know he had been so desperate for. A closeness that he would have never felt. But he did, here, now, because Jack had saved him.

When they broke apart, Jack was smiling. But Hiccup had tears rimming his eyes.

"I...I missed you so much, Jack," He whispered. Jack's eyebrows knit in puzzlement.

"I've always been here, Hiccup," he said.

"Yes," Hiccup smiled, his eyes seeping with tears; "Yes, you have." And Hiccup hugged Jack to him without fear of being let go.

"Hiccup," it was Merida, some hours later. She came bounding into the room wearing a haphazardly assembled outfit, her hair tangled and her eyes tired. Her face was puffy and pink, and her voice was raspier than usual. She pulled a chair out from nearby and set it at Hiccup's bedside, opposite Jack. She took a breath.

"Hi," said Hiccup softly, offering a small grin.

After a moment, she said, "I...I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," she did not meet his eyes; "...b-but I'm here now."

Hiccup nodded. Then, it occurred to him that Merida had been, perhaps, crying.

"Merida?" he asked; "Have you been crying?"

"That obvious, huh...?" She hugged her knees to her chest, peering up at him with a look of heatbreak.

"What?" Hiccup's face crinkled in concern; "Why?"

"Hiccup," she said, her eyes welling with tears again; "I almost...lost you."

Oh.

"Well, I'm, uh..." Hiccup cleared his throat, unknowing of what to say; "you didn't."

And before he could take another breath, Merida had her arms wrapped around him, clutching his small body to hers, her shoulders shaking. Wether with tears or just quaking in the way that she was, Hiccup couldn't differentiate. Her heart beat was loud and jagged against Hiccup's chest. They just stood there for only a moment, wrapped in an embrace, breathing in the silence. With a ragged sigh, she separated herself from him, but kept her hands firmly grasped on his shoulders. Bloodshot red contrasted with her pale teal eyes, tears coating her rounded cheeks and leaving salty stains on Hiccup's hospital gown. She released him, sniffling, and stood back.

"Hiccup," she said; "you have no idea how important you are to me."

The one statement made Hiccup feel a wave of emotion, but his mouth could not form words to say a thing.

I mean something to her?

There came a soft cuff on the door, and Joyce stepped in, looking as cheerful as ever. She carried in one hand a tray of food, pale and discolored, and in the other, she held a glass of watery orange juice. Upon seeing Merida, her deep brown eyes became watchful, much the way they did when she first saw Jack.

"Hello. You would be?" she asked.

"Merida DunBroch," Merida complied; "I'm a friend."

"Ah," Joyce pulled a small rolling table out for Hiccup, and placed his meal atop it; "This'll help you build up red blood cells, Henry," she continued, upon seeing his skeptical face.

It was indeed an odd lunch (mushy broccoli, a dry lump of chicken, and a darkened banana), but he began eating it without question. Even though it was ultimately quite horrible, Hiccup felt he was utterly starving.

"Hiccup," said Joyce, looking around at the concerned faces of Jack and Merida, "May I speak to you alone?" Hiccup was immediately filled with a sense of dread, but allowed his two friends to be ushered from the room.

"So," Joyce said once they'd gone, peering at Hiccup's clipboard; "About your health stability..."

"I feel alright," said Hiccup awkwardly.

"Well, that's good. But we're going to be watchful of you within the next few days. You lost a little more than a quart of blood."

"Okay."

"You'll be here about ten days, so you can build it all back up," Joyce looked at him; "We want you to be in full health before we release you."

Hiccup said nothing. His mind was fairly blank. The only thing he could think was that the next ten days were going to be something bad.

"Tell me, Henry," Joyce sank down into Merida's chair and looked at him tenderly; "Do you remember what happened?"

Hiccup bit his lip. He remembered, all right.

"Yes."

"Would you mind, you know, telling me what went on?"

Hiccup would not meet her eyes.

"There isn't much to tell."

"Everything helps, Henry."

He looked at her at last.

"I had made my mind up," his heart felt compressed; "I, uh, you know, I broke the skin and uh," he hated this so much. "I started feeling dizzy."

"And then what?"

I'm getting to it, Joyce. Thought Hiccup. "I blacked out," Hiccup said, "And woke up here."

"Anything else?"

"No," Hiccup said firmly; "You may want to ask Jack about that."

"Alright, Henry," Joyce said, rising again; "I'll be back to check on you soon. Ring for me if need be."

And with that, she turned, opened the door, and walked out.