angelita26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angelita26) wrote2013-08-18 06:50 pm
angelita26) wrote2013-08-18 06:50 pm
Fic: Where I Belong (Matt/Tim)
Title: Where I Belong
Author: angelita26
Rating: PG-13
Characters and/or Pairing: As fictional characters: Matt/Tim, Diahann, Gloria
Warning: Permanent injury of a main character.
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: Bookstore AU. Matt and Tim's fifth date is sidetracked by a hospitalization, and the couple comes to a decision about their future.
Notes: 1) Title from the Van Morrison song, "Crazy Love". 2) Thanks at the end this time. :)
On Friday, Matt called Tim when he left his apartment to make sure that he had the right address. Tim repeated it to him and let him know that the door would be unlocked when he arrived because Tim was jumping in the shower and didn't want to leave Matt waiting outside the door if traffic was light.
When he got there, Matt knocked once… twice… three times without an answer. He would never walk into someone's apartment, especially not for the first time, without giving them a chance to answer the door. He stepped back to make sure that he had the correct apartment number and then saw smoke curling from under the door. He immediately pressed his hand against the wood, but it didn't feel warm. "Tim!" he called frantically as he opened the door. "Are you in here? Tim!"
Smoke was coming from the kitchen, and the alarm was beeping loudly from the ceiling. Matt hurried into the kitchen and used one crutch to open the oven before spraying water from the sink spigot onto the burning…. something. Matt couldn't make out what it was. Once the small fire was doused, Matt flipped off the stove and checked the floor around the oven, but Tim wasn't anywhere in sight.
Matt dropped one crutch and used that hand to dial 911 on his cell while he made his way back into the living room and then down the hall. He explained the situation as best he could to the dispatcher that answered while looking for Tim and fighting to keep his footing. He stumbled several times as he forced his feet to move faster than he was comfortable with.
As soon as he pushed open the bathroom door, he was met with enough resistance that he lost his fragile balance and fell, landing with a jarring thud on his knees. His phone clattered across the tile and out of reach. He felt around the edge of the door until he touched a foot and then a leg. "Tim!"
Within moments, he had maneuvered Tim's legs so that he could get into the bathroom, where he found Tim unconscious on the floor with a bloody gash on his forehead. There was a pool of water where the shower had leaked onto the floor, which most likely meant a slip and fall. Matt snatched the phone off the tile and then pressed two fingers to Tim's neck.
"Pulse is strong and steady," Matt relayed to the 911 operator, "but he's unconscious. There's a wound on his forehead, and it's still bleeding. No other wounds are visible. What's the ETA on medics?"
"Less than five minutes out, Sir," the EMT operator replied. "Are you able to wake the victim?"
Matt set the phone aside and leaned over the older man, "Tim? Hey, Tim, can you hear me?" He rubbed his knuckles against Tim's sternum and breathed a sigh of relief when Tim moaned.
He grabbed the phone and reported back to the operator, "He's responding to painful stimulus."
"That's good," she replied. "Are you a first responder, sir?"
"I was a firefighter," Matt replied. "Are the EMTs close?"
"Yes. They should be there within the minute. Do you want to stay on the line?"
"No, but thank you for your help." Matt hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. Before he could try to wake Tim further, he heard the pounding of feet coming down the hallway.
"EMTs! Call out if you can hear us!"
"We're in here!"
The EMTs asked him to move out of the way in the small confines of the bathroom, which was difficult for Matt, and he eventually had to accept help from one of them to get to his feet. He watched from the hallway as they assessed Tim and got him on a backboard. Tim was starting to come around, but he was groggy and confused.
In the end, the EMTs wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance, and Matt was stopped by the firefighters who had also responded to the call. He knew the guys, and they offered to give him a lift to the hospital in the engine, but he declined and gathered his discarded crutch from the living room floor before he headed downstairs to hail a cab.
Since Matt wasn't next of kin or Tim's power of attorney, there wasn't much that he could do besides settle in for a long night in the ER waiting room. The nurses couldn’t give him any information without Tim's consent, and all he'd asked of them was that they ask Tim for it when he was coherent.
As soon as Matt sat down, his legs started to bounce anxiously. He got back up and went in search of a private bathroom. Luckily, he found a handicapped one down a side hallway a ways from the waiting room. He locked the door and went to the sink to splash water on his face.
When he closed his eyes, he saw the smoke and the blood and Tim's body, so still and – Matt shuddered and stumbled to the wall so that he could slide down and curl in on himself. It was an awkward position, and it made his back ache, but he needed the shocking bite of the cold tile floor to ground him. Tim would be okay. He was getting treated, and he would be fine. Matt had to keep reminding himself of that as the stress of the night overwhelmed him and tears fell relentlessly.
Eventually, he dragged himself back to his feet and splashed more water on his face. He avoided looking in the mirror, knowing the face that would stare back was tired and drawn and pale without needing the visual of it.
He was going into his second hour of waiting when a pretty nurse with long, dark brown hair found him in the corner, where he'd sat himself away from the crying children and the worst of the coughers. Her brown eyes reminded him of Tim, and he hoped she had good news. "Mr. Bomer?"
"Yes," Matt sat up straight and smiled brightly at her. "Is Tim awake?"
"He is, and he's asking for you. If you'll follow me." She waited patiently for him to stand, which was hard to do since he'd grown stiff from sitting in the terrible plastic chairs, and his legs were aching from falling on the bathroom tile at Tim's. "I'm Gloria."
"Nice to meet you." Matt's mother had taught him to always be polite, and it didn't hurt to get the nurses on your good side. "How's Tim?"
"He's doing very well. We're admitting him for the night because of the concussion, and I'll be his nurse until the morning." She pressed the up button at the elevator banks, and they waited for one of the cars to arrive.
"Concussion?" Matt had horrible mental images of brain damage outcomes running through his head, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and remind himself to breathe for a moment.
"Mr. Bomer, are you okay?" Gloria's hand was on his shoulder, and Matt took a step back and almost fell.
"Matt. Please call me Matt."
"Do you need to sit down, Matt?"
"No," he shook his head and straightened his back. "I just need to see my friend."
She nodded and led him into a waiting elevator car. The rest of the trip to Tim's room was spent in silence, and by the time they got there, Matt had gotten himself under control. Gloria held the door open for him, and Matt made his way to Tim's side.
"Hey," Tim greeted, with a dopey smile. He waved an uncoordinated hand, and Matt reached for it as soon as he was seated in the chair by the bed. His eyes were drawn to the white bandage on Tim's forehead for a moment before he met his friend's brown eyes.
"Hey babe," Matt replied quietly. "How are you feeling?"
"Embarrassed." Tim sighed. "I can't believe I slipped and fell and almost burned the apartment down."
"The important thing is that you're going to be okay." Matt scooted his chair closer to the bed. "What did the doctor say?"
"I have a pretty nasty concussion, and they want to keep an eye on me here tonight, with all this stuff." He raised his IV-impaled hand and pointed at he monitors behind his head. The hand that Matt was holding had a large, white pulse-ox monitor clipped to his index finger.
"How's your head?"
"It hurts," Tim replied, "but otherwise I'm okay. I was sick earlier, but they gave me something."
Matt nodded. "Why don't you get some rest?"
"I'm sorry I ruined dinner."
"It's okay. You can owe me one," Matt smiled softly. "Now, close your eyes and get some sleep. Please."
"Are you going home?"
"I'll stay for a while, but I think they'll kick me out when visiting hours end. I'll come back in the morning though."
"Okay," Tim replied and then yawned.
Matt leaned closer and kissed his forehead. "Sleep well."
The next morning, Matt stopped by a deli near the hospital and got a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit for Tim and a fruit cup for himself. Even though many years had passed since he'd spent significant time in the hospital, he would never forget the gruel they tried to pass off as food.
He knocked lightly on Tim's door and then opened it to see if he was awake. The TV was playing the morning news, and Tim's eyes had been closed, but they popped open as Matt made his way inside. "Morning," Tim greeted politely.
"Good morning." Matt smiled and gave Tim a peck on the lips before he sat down in the visitor's chair and pulled off the messenger bag that was slung over his shoulders. "How are you?"
"I'm okay. Hoping they let me go home today."
Matt grimaced in sympathy. "Didn't get any sleep last night, did you?"
"Not at all. Every time I closed my eyes, the nurse was right there, waking me right back up."
"They do that. I was convinced it was some sort of torture technique when I was stuck in a hospital bed." He pulled out the bag of breakfast food while he was talking and handed the wrapped biscuit over to Tim.
"What's this? Did you bring me breakfast?"
Matt shrugged. "It's not much. I didn't know if you'd be up for food, and I remember how bad the food is here."
"Thank you," Tim said, grateful. He unwrapped the biscuit and took a bite, almost moaning from the taste. "This is the best breakfast ever."
Laughing, Matt reached out and felt Tim's forehead. "No fever. What kind of drugs do they have you on?"
Tim held up both hands to show that they were IV free. "None this morning, unfortunately. But I was made to eat cardboard and concrete last night for dinner." Tim 'mmmm'ed as he finished his breakfast and then smiled at Matt.
"What?" Matt patted his hands down his shirt and then across his face to see if he had anything on him. He hadn't taken more than one bite from his fruit cup, so he couldn't imagine that he'd dropped something on himself.
"I'm just glad you're here."
"I'm just glad you're okay." Matt set his food aside and looked down at his hands, which he clasped together in his lap. "When you didn't answer your door, and then I saw smoke coming out from under it…"
"Hey, Matty," Tim sat up and reached out to grip Matt's hands, "I'm okay. I'm sorry for scaring you."
Matt pulled away and stood, wishing that he could pace like he wanted to. Instead, he took five halting steps to the closest window and put his hand against the wall to help him keep his balance. He stared out at the courtyard outside the hospital and worried his lip. "It's not your fault. It was an accident. Just an accident."
He heard Tim get out of bed and walk up behind him. A moment later, he felt Tim's hand settle on his upper back, between his shoulder blades. "That doesn't make it any less terrifying," Tim said quietly.
Matt's composure broke at the combination of Tim's touch and his words. He turned and threw his arms around Tim, stumbling for a moment when his feet got tangled together, but Tim returned the embrace and held him up. Tears rose in his eyes and spilled out onto the thin gown covering Tim's shoulder.
Tim held him as all of the emotion – the fear and flashbacks and pain and sadness – of the last day released in a weepy mess. He felt Tim's hand rubbing his back and felt the air moving against his ear as the older man whispered reassurances that Matt didn't really hear. It took him several minutes to calm himself, stand up straight and pull away from Tim's arms.
"Are you okay?" Tim asked in a low and gentle voice.
"Yes. I'm sorry. That was…" Matt swiped his hands across his face to get rid of the worst of the leftover tears. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Come over and sit with me." Tim put his arm around Matt's waist and walked with him over to the bed, where they sat down side by side with their legs dangling from the mattress. "Will you tell me what's going on in there?" He brushed Matt's hair back and tapped his temple with one finger.
Matt huffed a weary laugh. "There's so much. I don't know where to start."
"Start with the fire."
"It wasn't the fire. Smoke always reminds me of that day. I don't know why. I don't have an actual memory of it, but every time I see smoke, or smell it, I start to feel claustrophobic and my legs tingle, and I can't breathe." He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. "But that's not… I was so scared for you. I couldn't find you, but I knew something was wrong."
Tim slowly threaded his fingers through Matt's and squeezed his hand without saying anything. Matt twitched but didn't pull away, and after a long moment, he squeezed back.
"There's something else you should know." Matt took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. "My last long-term relationship ended while I was in the hospital. We'd been together for a little over two years, but it was too much for him. We made it through a couple of surgeries, and some rehab, and the prognosis was looking better, but my doctor sat us down and explained all the little things that I have to do to make each day productive.
I watched his face when he realized this wasn't a broken leg that would heal and be 'normal'. This was a lifetime commitment of good days versus bad days, and walkers versus crutches versus a wheelchair, and modifications in the apartment, and I don't… People with spinal cord injuries have a decreased life expectancy. It's a lot to live with every day, and I can't move forward with you until you know that."
Matt's eyes were stinging again, but he didn't want to cry. He didn't want to be the blubbering boyfriend who needed to be comforted. He pulled his hand away from Tim's but didn't get off the bed.
"Matt--"
"Please let me finish. I care about you, and I think that this can be more. I want this to be more, but I don't think I can go through that again. I need to know if this is something that you think you can handle."
Tim was silent for long enough that Matt was forced to look over at him to check his facial expression. To his surprise, Tim was crying silent tears.
"I'm sorry," Matt said, as he slid off the bed. He stumbled when his feet touched the floor earlier than he'd been expecting, and Tim reached out to steady him. As soon as Tim's hand closed over Matt's bicep, they both froze.
"I know it's not going to be easy," Tim's voice broke and he had to take a breath. "And I know that there's so much more that I need to learn about, but I want to be there for you, with you."
Matt held Tim's gaze as the wall around his heart crumbled and he finally let himself believe that he could let someone in, that he could share that part of himself with someone. Finally, he nodded and gave Tim a deep, meaningful kiss.
Two hours later, they were still waiting for Tim's doctor to officially release him, so they were sharing the bed, reclining shoulder-to-shoulder as they half-dozed and half-watched a daytime talk show. In the middle of a segment about using newspaper for streak-free window cleaning, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Tim called out while Matt shifted, trying to get up. Tim put a hand on his thigh to keep him in place.
"Good morning." An older woman with dark skin and a pleasant smile walked into the room. She was carrying a small, leather duffle bag in one hand, which she sat on the visitor's chair that Matt had originally been sitting in.
Tim grinned and motioned for her to move closer. "Diahann, this is Matt, the bookstore owner I was telling you about. Matt, this is my business partner and very good friend, Diahann."
Matt sat up and held his hand out for Diahann. "It's nice to meet you."
"Oh, no, it's so nice to finally meet you." Diahann didn't shake his hand so much as clasp it and hold on for a moment. "Tim didn't tell me how handsome you are."
Matt blushed but had a teasing tone when he replied, "No? That's usually the first thing people say about me."
Diahann laughed and turned her attention to Tim. "As you requested, I brought you the change of clothes from your office."
"Thank you. The clothes that survived the ER all smell like smoke. I'm just going to toss them, but I didn't want to go home with my ass hanging out."
Matt smirked but held his tongue. There were things he would say if Diahann wasn't in the room, but he was raised to be a gentleman, and he wouldn't talk that way in front of a lady.
"It is a nice derrière though, don't you think Matt?"
Matt's mouth dropped open, and when Diahann started to chuckle, he laughed so hard that he almost fell off the bed.
"Haha. Laugh it up." Tim's tone sounded annoyed, but he was smiling as he climbed off the bed and held his hand out for the bag. Diahann passed it to him, and he disappeared into the bathroom to change.
"So, Matt, tell me a little about yourself." Diahann sat down beside the bed and looked over at him expectantly. "Tim has hardly told me anything."
Matt bit his lip and looked down at his hands. "There's not much to say. I own a bookstore in the Village, and I spend most days there. We do a pretty good online business, but there's not many people who come in looking for physical books anymore."
"That's a shame. I've always loved the crisp pages and smell of a new book, and the softness of an old one. There's just something about them."
He nodded and smiled. "Yes, exactly! I've always loved to read, and there was a time when that was pretty much all I did, so I wanted to open the store for the other readers out there."
"I would love to stop in some time. I'm always looking for a good book."
"What kind of books do you like? I'll set some aside for you."
"Oh, there's no need to do that."
"I insist. We have a varied selection, so I’m sure I can find something for you." Matt was ready to take mental notes so that he could be sure to have a special book or two waiting for her.
"I love a good murder mystery. Agatha Christie is a favorite, but there are many authors of the genre that can spin a nice yarn. And I also like biographies, especially of the classic movie stars. They led some fascinating lives."
"I will certainly keep an eye out for those and let you know if anything good pops up."
"Thank you. That would be most appreciated."
The conversation lulled into silence, and Matt was about to ask her about her job when Tim stepped out of the bathroom and all the thoughts dropped out of his head except one: Tim is sexy. He was wearing a pair of jeans that were snug in all the right places, and a navy blue t-shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and muscular biceps.
"No doctor yet?" Tim looked disappointed as he sat on the bed near Matt's feet.
"Should I go round one up?" Diahann had already stood and was halfway across the room as she spoke.
"No, no," Tim tried to stop her but he was too late. She was out the door.
Matt moved his legs so that he could get off the bed if she did come back with someone who could discharge his friend. They would want to examine Tim one more time despite the fact that he'd gotten dressed. "She's great. We were talking about what kinds of books she likes."
"She's been an amazing friend," Tim replied. "When Andrew left me, I didn't even want to get out of bed. She let me wallow for like four days, and then she came over and got me up, shoved me into the shower, and got me focused on work. It was the best thing anyone could have done."
The door opened before Matt could respond to that, and Diahann returned with Tim's doctor. There was a brief exam, and then Tim was signing discharge papers and accepting a packet of information about caring for his concussion and a prescription for an antiemetic, in case he needed it. He was also cautioned to have someone stay with him for the next 24-48 hours, and Matt stepped up and invited Tim back to his place before anyone else could say anything.
Diahann offered to drive them to Matt's, but Tim wanted to stop by his apartment first to pack a bag. In the end, Matt hailed a cab to take him home so that he could make sure that his apartment was guest-appropriate, and Diahann took Tim to his place and then dropped him at Matt's.
It didn't take long for Matt to settle Tim on the bed with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand. Tim was flipping through Matt's cable package while Matt sat in the floor and did some exercises and stretches that he hadn't had time to do before he went to the hospital that morning.
"Do you do those every day?" Tim asked, when his curiosity got the best of him.
"Yeah. Usually first thing in the morning. I have to keep all the muscles limber."
Tim nodded and turned back to the TV. Matt noticed that he snuck glances every few minutes until he was done with the routine.
He used his arms to pull himself backwards to where the wheelchair was stationed by the wall. Then, he pulled himself up into the seat of the wheelchair so that he could grab his crutches from where they were leaning against the wall and stand all the way up.
"I'm going to grab a bottle of water. Do you need anything?"
Time declined, and Matt quickly grabbed his bottle from the fridge. He put it in the oversized pocket of the track pants he'd changed into after he got home and headed back into the bedroom.
He sat down on the bed, noticing that Tim had his eyes closed despite the fact that the TV was playing an old spaghetti western. "How're you doing?"
"Not too bad," Tim replied, turning his head and opening his eyes to look at Matt. "Just a dull ache."
Matt nodded and started to pull his legs up onto the mattress when Tim's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Can I ask you something?" Tim's voice was hesitant, which made Matt uneasy.
"Of course."
"Would you play something on the guitar?"
Matt frowned and glanced over at the instrument on its stand nearby.
"I've been dying to hear you play since I saw the guitars here last week."
"It's been a while since I played," Matt revealed. "I learned when I was a teenager, and it was good therapy for my hands after I was injured."
"Your hands?"
Matt nodded. "My main injury was pretty low on my back but there was bruising and swelling and everything… Your nerves kind of go haywire."
"Ah," Tim nodded in understanding. "Please, Matty."
Matt conceded by getting up and grabbing the acoustic guitar. It was only a few steps there and back, and he made it without even a wobble despite being tired after his workout. Back on the bed, he strummed a few chords and adjusted the strings. "Any requests?"
"Anything you want to play." Tim grinned and sat up straighter against the headboard. His full attention was on Matt, and Matt started to sweat a bit.
Matt thought about the songs he knew while he played a few chords at random. Finally, he settled on a melody and started to sing.
I can hear your heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time you smile
And when I come to you that's where I belong
Yet I'm running to you like a river's song
You give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
You give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
You've got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down
And when I come to you when the sun goes down
Take away my trouble, take away my grief
Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief
You give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
You give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
Though there were more lyrics, Matt had forgotten them when he looked up and met Tim's gaze. In that moment, he saw the naked love and respect that Tim had for him, and he hoped that it was mirrored in his own expression, because he felt the same way about the other man.
Matt set the guitar aside and leaned over to give Tim a kiss that was full of hope and promise and so many other unnamable things.
~End
Previous: The Tangles of My Heart
Notes: 1) The lyrics are from "Crazy Love" by Van Morrison. I've altered them slightly as I feel Matt would do when singing to Tim. 2) Many, many thanks to everyone who read and commented and encouraged this story.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
embroiderama, elrhiarhodan, and theatregirl7299 definitely kept me going. This is the end of this story, but not the end of this 'verse. Stay tuned for more adventures in the Bookstore!AU.
Also posted at WC RPS
Author: angelita26
Rating: PG-13
Characters and/or Pairing: As fictional characters: Matt/Tim, Diahann, Gloria
Warning: Permanent injury of a main character.
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: Bookstore AU. Matt and Tim's fifth date is sidetracked by a hospitalization, and the couple comes to a decision about their future.
Notes: 1) Title from the Van Morrison song, "Crazy Love". 2) Thanks at the end this time. :)
On Friday, Matt called Tim when he left his apartment to make sure that he had the right address. Tim repeated it to him and let him know that the door would be unlocked when he arrived because Tim was jumping in the shower and didn't want to leave Matt waiting outside the door if traffic was light.
When he got there, Matt knocked once… twice… three times without an answer. He would never walk into someone's apartment, especially not for the first time, without giving them a chance to answer the door. He stepped back to make sure that he had the correct apartment number and then saw smoke curling from under the door. He immediately pressed his hand against the wood, but it didn't feel warm. "Tim!" he called frantically as he opened the door. "Are you in here? Tim!"
Smoke was coming from the kitchen, and the alarm was beeping loudly from the ceiling. Matt hurried into the kitchen and used one crutch to open the oven before spraying water from the sink spigot onto the burning…. something. Matt couldn't make out what it was. Once the small fire was doused, Matt flipped off the stove and checked the floor around the oven, but Tim wasn't anywhere in sight.
Matt dropped one crutch and used that hand to dial 911 on his cell while he made his way back into the living room and then down the hall. He explained the situation as best he could to the dispatcher that answered while looking for Tim and fighting to keep his footing. He stumbled several times as he forced his feet to move faster than he was comfortable with.
As soon as he pushed open the bathroom door, he was met with enough resistance that he lost his fragile balance and fell, landing with a jarring thud on his knees. His phone clattered across the tile and out of reach. He felt around the edge of the door until he touched a foot and then a leg. "Tim!"
Within moments, he had maneuvered Tim's legs so that he could get into the bathroom, where he found Tim unconscious on the floor with a bloody gash on his forehead. There was a pool of water where the shower had leaked onto the floor, which most likely meant a slip and fall. Matt snatched the phone off the tile and then pressed two fingers to Tim's neck.
"Pulse is strong and steady," Matt relayed to the 911 operator, "but he's unconscious. There's a wound on his forehead, and it's still bleeding. No other wounds are visible. What's the ETA on medics?"
"Less than five minutes out, Sir," the EMT operator replied. "Are you able to wake the victim?"
Matt set the phone aside and leaned over the older man, "Tim? Hey, Tim, can you hear me?" He rubbed his knuckles against Tim's sternum and breathed a sigh of relief when Tim moaned.
He grabbed the phone and reported back to the operator, "He's responding to painful stimulus."
"That's good," she replied. "Are you a first responder, sir?"
"I was a firefighter," Matt replied. "Are the EMTs close?"
"Yes. They should be there within the minute. Do you want to stay on the line?"
"No, but thank you for your help." Matt hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. Before he could try to wake Tim further, he heard the pounding of feet coming down the hallway.
"EMTs! Call out if you can hear us!"
"We're in here!"
The EMTs asked him to move out of the way in the small confines of the bathroom, which was difficult for Matt, and he eventually had to accept help from one of them to get to his feet. He watched from the hallway as they assessed Tim and got him on a backboard. Tim was starting to come around, but he was groggy and confused.
In the end, the EMTs wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance, and Matt was stopped by the firefighters who had also responded to the call. He knew the guys, and they offered to give him a lift to the hospital in the engine, but he declined and gathered his discarded crutch from the living room floor before he headed downstairs to hail a cab.
Since Matt wasn't next of kin or Tim's power of attorney, there wasn't much that he could do besides settle in for a long night in the ER waiting room. The nurses couldn’t give him any information without Tim's consent, and all he'd asked of them was that they ask Tim for it when he was coherent.
As soon as Matt sat down, his legs started to bounce anxiously. He got back up and went in search of a private bathroom. Luckily, he found a handicapped one down a side hallway a ways from the waiting room. He locked the door and went to the sink to splash water on his face.
When he closed his eyes, he saw the smoke and the blood and Tim's body, so still and – Matt shuddered and stumbled to the wall so that he could slide down and curl in on himself. It was an awkward position, and it made his back ache, but he needed the shocking bite of the cold tile floor to ground him. Tim would be okay. He was getting treated, and he would be fine. Matt had to keep reminding himself of that as the stress of the night overwhelmed him and tears fell relentlessly.
Eventually, he dragged himself back to his feet and splashed more water on his face. He avoided looking in the mirror, knowing the face that would stare back was tired and drawn and pale without needing the visual of it.
He was going into his second hour of waiting when a pretty nurse with long, dark brown hair found him in the corner, where he'd sat himself away from the crying children and the worst of the coughers. Her brown eyes reminded him of Tim, and he hoped she had good news. "Mr. Bomer?"
"Yes," Matt sat up straight and smiled brightly at her. "Is Tim awake?"
"He is, and he's asking for you. If you'll follow me." She waited patiently for him to stand, which was hard to do since he'd grown stiff from sitting in the terrible plastic chairs, and his legs were aching from falling on the bathroom tile at Tim's. "I'm Gloria."
"Nice to meet you." Matt's mother had taught him to always be polite, and it didn't hurt to get the nurses on your good side. "How's Tim?"
"He's doing very well. We're admitting him for the night because of the concussion, and I'll be his nurse until the morning." She pressed the up button at the elevator banks, and they waited for one of the cars to arrive.
"Concussion?" Matt had horrible mental images of brain damage outcomes running through his head, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and remind himself to breathe for a moment.
"Mr. Bomer, are you okay?" Gloria's hand was on his shoulder, and Matt took a step back and almost fell.
"Matt. Please call me Matt."
"Do you need to sit down, Matt?"
"No," he shook his head and straightened his back. "I just need to see my friend."
She nodded and led him into a waiting elevator car. The rest of the trip to Tim's room was spent in silence, and by the time they got there, Matt had gotten himself under control. Gloria held the door open for him, and Matt made his way to Tim's side.
"Hey," Tim greeted, with a dopey smile. He waved an uncoordinated hand, and Matt reached for it as soon as he was seated in the chair by the bed. His eyes were drawn to the white bandage on Tim's forehead for a moment before he met his friend's brown eyes.
"Hey babe," Matt replied quietly. "How are you feeling?"
"Embarrassed." Tim sighed. "I can't believe I slipped and fell and almost burned the apartment down."
"The important thing is that you're going to be okay." Matt scooted his chair closer to the bed. "What did the doctor say?"
"I have a pretty nasty concussion, and they want to keep an eye on me here tonight, with all this stuff." He raised his IV-impaled hand and pointed at he monitors behind his head. The hand that Matt was holding had a large, white pulse-ox monitor clipped to his index finger.
"How's your head?"
"It hurts," Tim replied, "but otherwise I'm okay. I was sick earlier, but they gave me something."
Matt nodded. "Why don't you get some rest?"
"I'm sorry I ruined dinner."
"It's okay. You can owe me one," Matt smiled softly. "Now, close your eyes and get some sleep. Please."
"Are you going home?"
"I'll stay for a while, but I think they'll kick me out when visiting hours end. I'll come back in the morning though."
"Okay," Tim replied and then yawned.
Matt leaned closer and kissed his forehead. "Sleep well."
The next morning, Matt stopped by a deli near the hospital and got a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit for Tim and a fruit cup for himself. Even though many years had passed since he'd spent significant time in the hospital, he would never forget the gruel they tried to pass off as food.
He knocked lightly on Tim's door and then opened it to see if he was awake. The TV was playing the morning news, and Tim's eyes had been closed, but they popped open as Matt made his way inside. "Morning," Tim greeted politely.
"Good morning." Matt smiled and gave Tim a peck on the lips before he sat down in the visitor's chair and pulled off the messenger bag that was slung over his shoulders. "How are you?"
"I'm okay. Hoping they let me go home today."
Matt grimaced in sympathy. "Didn't get any sleep last night, did you?"
"Not at all. Every time I closed my eyes, the nurse was right there, waking me right back up."
"They do that. I was convinced it was some sort of torture technique when I was stuck in a hospital bed." He pulled out the bag of breakfast food while he was talking and handed the wrapped biscuit over to Tim.
"What's this? Did you bring me breakfast?"
Matt shrugged. "It's not much. I didn't know if you'd be up for food, and I remember how bad the food is here."
"Thank you," Tim said, grateful. He unwrapped the biscuit and took a bite, almost moaning from the taste. "This is the best breakfast ever."
Laughing, Matt reached out and felt Tim's forehead. "No fever. What kind of drugs do they have you on?"
Tim held up both hands to show that they were IV free. "None this morning, unfortunately. But I was made to eat cardboard and concrete last night for dinner." Tim 'mmmm'ed as he finished his breakfast and then smiled at Matt.
"What?" Matt patted his hands down his shirt and then across his face to see if he had anything on him. He hadn't taken more than one bite from his fruit cup, so he couldn't imagine that he'd dropped something on himself.
"I'm just glad you're here."
"I'm just glad you're okay." Matt set his food aside and looked down at his hands, which he clasped together in his lap. "When you didn't answer your door, and then I saw smoke coming out from under it…"
"Hey, Matty," Tim sat up and reached out to grip Matt's hands, "I'm okay. I'm sorry for scaring you."
Matt pulled away and stood, wishing that he could pace like he wanted to. Instead, he took five halting steps to the closest window and put his hand against the wall to help him keep his balance. He stared out at the courtyard outside the hospital and worried his lip. "It's not your fault. It was an accident. Just an accident."
He heard Tim get out of bed and walk up behind him. A moment later, he felt Tim's hand settle on his upper back, between his shoulder blades. "That doesn't make it any less terrifying," Tim said quietly.
Matt's composure broke at the combination of Tim's touch and his words. He turned and threw his arms around Tim, stumbling for a moment when his feet got tangled together, but Tim returned the embrace and held him up. Tears rose in his eyes and spilled out onto the thin gown covering Tim's shoulder.
Tim held him as all of the emotion – the fear and flashbacks and pain and sadness – of the last day released in a weepy mess. He felt Tim's hand rubbing his back and felt the air moving against his ear as the older man whispered reassurances that Matt didn't really hear. It took him several minutes to calm himself, stand up straight and pull away from Tim's arms.
"Are you okay?" Tim asked in a low and gentle voice.
"Yes. I'm sorry. That was…" Matt swiped his hands across his face to get rid of the worst of the leftover tears. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Come over and sit with me." Tim put his arm around Matt's waist and walked with him over to the bed, where they sat down side by side with their legs dangling from the mattress. "Will you tell me what's going on in there?" He brushed Matt's hair back and tapped his temple with one finger.
Matt huffed a weary laugh. "There's so much. I don't know where to start."
"Start with the fire."
"It wasn't the fire. Smoke always reminds me of that day. I don't know why. I don't have an actual memory of it, but every time I see smoke, or smell it, I start to feel claustrophobic and my legs tingle, and I can't breathe." He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. "But that's not… I was so scared for you. I couldn't find you, but I knew something was wrong."
Tim slowly threaded his fingers through Matt's and squeezed his hand without saying anything. Matt twitched but didn't pull away, and after a long moment, he squeezed back.
"There's something else you should know." Matt took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. "My last long-term relationship ended while I was in the hospital. We'd been together for a little over two years, but it was too much for him. We made it through a couple of surgeries, and some rehab, and the prognosis was looking better, but my doctor sat us down and explained all the little things that I have to do to make each day productive.
I watched his face when he realized this wasn't a broken leg that would heal and be 'normal'. This was a lifetime commitment of good days versus bad days, and walkers versus crutches versus a wheelchair, and modifications in the apartment, and I don't… People with spinal cord injuries have a decreased life expectancy. It's a lot to live with every day, and I can't move forward with you until you know that."
Matt's eyes were stinging again, but he didn't want to cry. He didn't want to be the blubbering boyfriend who needed to be comforted. He pulled his hand away from Tim's but didn't get off the bed.
"Matt--"
"Please let me finish. I care about you, and I think that this can be more. I want this to be more, but I don't think I can go through that again. I need to know if this is something that you think you can handle."
Tim was silent for long enough that Matt was forced to look over at him to check his facial expression. To his surprise, Tim was crying silent tears.
"I'm sorry," Matt said, as he slid off the bed. He stumbled when his feet touched the floor earlier than he'd been expecting, and Tim reached out to steady him. As soon as Tim's hand closed over Matt's bicep, they both froze.
"I know it's not going to be easy," Tim's voice broke and he had to take a breath. "And I know that there's so much more that I need to learn about, but I want to be there for you, with you."
Matt held Tim's gaze as the wall around his heart crumbled and he finally let himself believe that he could let someone in, that he could share that part of himself with someone. Finally, he nodded and gave Tim a deep, meaningful kiss.
Two hours later, they were still waiting for Tim's doctor to officially release him, so they were sharing the bed, reclining shoulder-to-shoulder as they half-dozed and half-watched a daytime talk show. In the middle of a segment about using newspaper for streak-free window cleaning, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Tim called out while Matt shifted, trying to get up. Tim put a hand on his thigh to keep him in place.
"Good morning." An older woman with dark skin and a pleasant smile walked into the room. She was carrying a small, leather duffle bag in one hand, which she sat on the visitor's chair that Matt had originally been sitting in.
Tim grinned and motioned for her to move closer. "Diahann, this is Matt, the bookstore owner I was telling you about. Matt, this is my business partner and very good friend, Diahann."
Matt sat up and held his hand out for Diahann. "It's nice to meet you."
"Oh, no, it's so nice to finally meet you." Diahann didn't shake his hand so much as clasp it and hold on for a moment. "Tim didn't tell me how handsome you are."
Matt blushed but had a teasing tone when he replied, "No? That's usually the first thing people say about me."
Diahann laughed and turned her attention to Tim. "As you requested, I brought you the change of clothes from your office."
"Thank you. The clothes that survived the ER all smell like smoke. I'm just going to toss them, but I didn't want to go home with my ass hanging out."
Matt smirked but held his tongue. There were things he would say if Diahann wasn't in the room, but he was raised to be a gentleman, and he wouldn't talk that way in front of a lady.
"It is a nice derrière though, don't you think Matt?"
Matt's mouth dropped open, and when Diahann started to chuckle, he laughed so hard that he almost fell off the bed.
"Haha. Laugh it up." Tim's tone sounded annoyed, but he was smiling as he climbed off the bed and held his hand out for the bag. Diahann passed it to him, and he disappeared into the bathroom to change.
"So, Matt, tell me a little about yourself." Diahann sat down beside the bed and looked over at him expectantly. "Tim has hardly told me anything."
Matt bit his lip and looked down at his hands. "There's not much to say. I own a bookstore in the Village, and I spend most days there. We do a pretty good online business, but there's not many people who come in looking for physical books anymore."
"That's a shame. I've always loved the crisp pages and smell of a new book, and the softness of an old one. There's just something about them."
He nodded and smiled. "Yes, exactly! I've always loved to read, and there was a time when that was pretty much all I did, so I wanted to open the store for the other readers out there."
"I would love to stop in some time. I'm always looking for a good book."
"What kind of books do you like? I'll set some aside for you."
"Oh, there's no need to do that."
"I insist. We have a varied selection, so I’m sure I can find something for you." Matt was ready to take mental notes so that he could be sure to have a special book or two waiting for her.
"I love a good murder mystery. Agatha Christie is a favorite, but there are many authors of the genre that can spin a nice yarn. And I also like biographies, especially of the classic movie stars. They led some fascinating lives."
"I will certainly keep an eye out for those and let you know if anything good pops up."
"Thank you. That would be most appreciated."
The conversation lulled into silence, and Matt was about to ask her about her job when Tim stepped out of the bathroom and all the thoughts dropped out of his head except one: Tim is sexy. He was wearing a pair of jeans that were snug in all the right places, and a navy blue t-shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and muscular biceps.
"No doctor yet?" Tim looked disappointed as he sat on the bed near Matt's feet.
"Should I go round one up?" Diahann had already stood and was halfway across the room as she spoke.
"No, no," Tim tried to stop her but he was too late. She was out the door.
Matt moved his legs so that he could get off the bed if she did come back with someone who could discharge his friend. They would want to examine Tim one more time despite the fact that he'd gotten dressed. "She's great. We were talking about what kinds of books she likes."
"She's been an amazing friend," Tim replied. "When Andrew left me, I didn't even want to get out of bed. She let me wallow for like four days, and then she came over and got me up, shoved me into the shower, and got me focused on work. It was the best thing anyone could have done."
The door opened before Matt could respond to that, and Diahann returned with Tim's doctor. There was a brief exam, and then Tim was signing discharge papers and accepting a packet of information about caring for his concussion and a prescription for an antiemetic, in case he needed it. He was also cautioned to have someone stay with him for the next 24-48 hours, and Matt stepped up and invited Tim back to his place before anyone else could say anything.
Diahann offered to drive them to Matt's, but Tim wanted to stop by his apartment first to pack a bag. In the end, Matt hailed a cab to take him home so that he could make sure that his apartment was guest-appropriate, and Diahann took Tim to his place and then dropped him at Matt's.
It didn't take long for Matt to settle Tim on the bed with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand. Tim was flipping through Matt's cable package while Matt sat in the floor and did some exercises and stretches that he hadn't had time to do before he went to the hospital that morning.
"Do you do those every day?" Tim asked, when his curiosity got the best of him.
"Yeah. Usually first thing in the morning. I have to keep all the muscles limber."
Tim nodded and turned back to the TV. Matt noticed that he snuck glances every few minutes until he was done with the routine.
He used his arms to pull himself backwards to where the wheelchair was stationed by the wall. Then, he pulled himself up into the seat of the wheelchair so that he could grab his crutches from where they were leaning against the wall and stand all the way up.
"I'm going to grab a bottle of water. Do you need anything?"
Time declined, and Matt quickly grabbed his bottle from the fridge. He put it in the oversized pocket of the track pants he'd changed into after he got home and headed back into the bedroom.
He sat down on the bed, noticing that Tim had his eyes closed despite the fact that the TV was playing an old spaghetti western. "How're you doing?"
"Not too bad," Tim replied, turning his head and opening his eyes to look at Matt. "Just a dull ache."
Matt nodded and started to pull his legs up onto the mattress when Tim's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Can I ask you something?" Tim's voice was hesitant, which made Matt uneasy.
"Of course."
"Would you play something on the guitar?"
Matt frowned and glanced over at the instrument on its stand nearby.
"I've been dying to hear you play since I saw the guitars here last week."
"It's been a while since I played," Matt revealed. "I learned when I was a teenager, and it was good therapy for my hands after I was injured."
"Your hands?"
Matt nodded. "My main injury was pretty low on my back but there was bruising and swelling and everything… Your nerves kind of go haywire."
"Ah," Tim nodded in understanding. "Please, Matty."
Matt conceded by getting up and grabbing the acoustic guitar. It was only a few steps there and back, and he made it without even a wobble despite being tired after his workout. Back on the bed, he strummed a few chords and adjusted the strings. "Any requests?"
"Anything you want to play." Tim grinned and sat up straighter against the headboard. His full attention was on Matt, and Matt started to sweat a bit.
Matt thought about the songs he knew while he played a few chords at random. Finally, he settled on a melody and started to sing.
I can hear your heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time you smile
And when I come to you that's where I belong
Yet I'm running to you like a river's song
You give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
You give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
You've got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down
And when I come to you when the sun goes down
Take away my trouble, take away my grief
Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief
You give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
You give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
Though there were more lyrics, Matt had forgotten them when he looked up and met Tim's gaze. In that moment, he saw the naked love and respect that Tim had for him, and he hoped that it was mirrored in his own expression, because he felt the same way about the other man.
Matt set the guitar aside and leaned over to give Tim a kiss that was full of hope and promise and so many other unnamable things.
~End
Previous: The Tangles of My Heart
Notes: 1) The lyrics are from "Crazy Love" by Van Morrison. I've altered them slightly as I feel Matt would do when singing to Tim. 2) Many, many thanks to everyone who read and commented and encouraged this story.
embroiderama, elrhiarhodan, and theatregirl7299 definitely kept me going. This is the end of this story, but not the end of this 'verse. Stay tuned for more adventures in the Bookstore!AU.Also posted at WC RPS