Title: Mudshovel
By foggynite
Fandom: JPIII
Pairing: Billy+Alan
Rating: PG
Summary: They can't go on like this.
Note: A wheelchair drabble, 952 words, that nibbled at me till I wrote it. Short and rambley.

He hates mornings the most. There's always that moment between dreaming and wakefulness when he thinks—he hopes—that things are different. That the island never happened. That he never met the Kirbys. That Alan is still--

That moment between nightmares and reality where things might be better. Where he still has some sort of optimism and his entire body is numb with sleep but it feels like he can run a hundred miles when he finally wakes up.

Only he never wakes up completely. Not really. Oh, he moves and breathes and levers himself out of bed using the convenient railings by his side. But he doesn't ever lose that dream-like feeling of just floating, even with the creak of vinyl and the feel of rubber tires under his palms.

He once had calluses from his spade and brush. He's managed to develop a whole new set now.

Everything in their apartment is wider and seems warped out of shape. It makes him feel like Alice, after she tumbled down the rabbit hole. He has a row of bottles lined up on the bathroom vanity, all kept easily within his reach. If he sometimes has trouble opening them, no one's around to notice. The shower has bars installed, like the bed, all to make things more convenient for him. He's learned the hard way to keep testing the bathwater with his wrist, because his hands adjust to the temperature too quickly to keep from scalding himself.

He spends most of his days on his side of the study, typing furiously on the computer and doing most of his shopping over the internet. It was a relief to be done with classes, to finally get his doctorate even though he can't do much field work anymore. Now he just transcribes Alan's notes and works on his own manuscript, and pretends that he doesn't notice how much his tan has faded.

And he might be able to go back into the field, if he really wanted. But Alan gets too nervous to be much good when he visits the digs. The older man has even learned how to use e-mail so he can send Billy daily updates on the site.

He doesn't point out that he talks to Alan more, hears more about his day, when he's traveling than he does when Alan's at home. Just like he tells himself that Alan really is just absorbed in his latest research project when the other man ends up crashing on the couch more often than not when he is home.

He certainly doesn't admit that he almost prefers it when Alan is away, because then he can tell himself they still have a real relationship. The idealized one they carry on in his head is easier to handle than the awkward silences and guilty looks Alan sends his way when he thinks Billy won't notice.

When he first got out of the hospital, Alan wouldn't leave him alone for more than five minutes. Things got so tense, so tied up in knots that he didn't think either of them would survive. But they did, and if Alan avoids the bathroom whenever he's taking a bath, or averts his eyes whenever he's getting changed for bed… Well. He already feels like half a man anyway. Though trying to convince himself it's better never to be touched again than to be touched with pity and guilt is harder than it seems.

So he's glad when Alan has to travel, because that means he can be as angry as he wants, as emotionally unbalanced as he feels, without inflicting it on the other man. If he throws a tantrum because Alan left something out of his reach again or because he came across his old climbing gear when he was digging through the closet, at least no one is there to witness it. He doesn't care if he's being selfish or morbid or self-pitying when he doesn't have an audience.

Because Alan just feels so guilty all the time, and when Billy imagined them finally moving in together, he never thought it would be like this. This tangle of responsibility and martyrdom and pity.

On his good days, he sits on the computer and IMs Ellie, gets the latest industry gossip and commiserates with her over irate publishers and impossible deadlines. If he changes the subject when she asks about Alan or how he's doing, she doesn't hold it against him and just goes with it.

When he knows the exact day Alan will be back, he spends most of the morning preparing dinner. He's gotten enough practice running the kitchen by himself, but he's afraid he won't be able to manage if anyone else is there to watch. So he makes dinner and sticks it in the fridge, and tells Alan it's just some leftovers when the other man asks.

If he wishes they could curl up on the couch together like they used to, he doesn't mention it. Alan gets tense when he comes near, as if the other man is nervous he'll break if he gets out of his chair. During those first weeks out of hospital, he'd tried getting himself out of bed, just to see if he could do it, but he'd ended up on the floor, and the expression on Alan's face when he came to investigate the noise kept Billy tucked securely in for weeks after, waiting until the other man was ready to help.

He didn't want things to be this way. But he doesn't know how to change it now that they've established this downward spiral around each other. He just knows they can't go on like this…

I can't fight these feelings they will bring you pain
You can't take away Make me whole again

"Mudshovel" Staind