Archive of Our Own

The place was dark as Roy DeSoto navigated the family car down the long and slightly bumpy drive. Johnny said the potholes would help set the mood. Roy thought it was more likely the scattered decorations along the way; the potholes were just potholes. He heard his children whispering excitedly from the backseat and had to grin. Johnny had been waxing poetic about turning his house a bit haunted for Halloween, even if Chris and Jenn were the only kids who’d probably get to see it. Roy would say that wasn’t true. After the trick-or-treating was long over, Johnny was hosting an adult party and Roy knew for sure at least two of their station mates were kids at heart and would get a kick out of the fake spider webs and spooky atmosphere that had taken over Johnny’s house. He’d been summarily dismissed from preparations beyond the first initial stages, but knowing Johnny as he did, the place was going to be great.

And a party would be just the perfect thing to help forget about what had been going on lately.

“Oh, look at that scarecrow,” Chris said, voice high-pitched with awe and excitement.

Roy had to admit the scarecrow was impressive. Hung from roughly hewn crisscrossed posts right where the drive turned into an unpaved and unofficial gravel parking area, the creation was realistic enough to be scary but fake enough to not be truly alarming to his kids. Johnny had carefully avoided coffins and gravestones, Roy saw, and he was grateful. Last year had been rough on the kids, the morbid nature of the holiday such that they didn’t even bother dressing up. They’d kept the porch light off and stayed in, making popcorn balls and caramel apples, the traditions Joanne had brought from her own childhood. He smiled at that reminder of Joanne, and at the one in his backseat right now.

“Hey, Sport. Where’s your sister?” Roy asked, ruffling Chris’s hair.

“Da-ad, not the hair,” Chris grumbled, ducking away from his dad’s hand. “She and Uncle Johnny are upstairs doing something.”

“Hmm.” He studied the top of his son’s head for a second, while Chris studied the schoolwork in front of him with a curious, thinking-hard expression on his face so like Joanne’s it still gave Roy a pang now and again. Not nearly so many as the first year without her, but they happened from time to time. “What are you working on?”

“We started long division. It’s stupid.” Chris chewed on the metal end of his pencil. “I don’t get it.”

“First of all, it’s not stupid. Second, let’s see if I can help, huh? Believe it or not, long division comes in pretty handy in many parts of my job,” Roy said.

He sat next to Chris and peered at the paper. He didn’t remember learning long division until grade four or five. Kids were learning stuff so much earlier than he ever did, and so much more. Just the thought of the possibilities his kids would have made his heart swell.

“Really? Long division helps your work?”

“Well, maybe not long division, but math for sure. Math is important in fighting fires – the engineers need to know a lot, and it’s also important in medicine. So, you might think it’s stupid right now, but someday you’ll need to remember the basics.”

“Oh,” Chris said and he did not look convinced.

Roy chuckled and rolled up his proverbial sleeves. Truth be told, it had been years since he’d thought about long division specifically. It didn’t take more than two minutes for him to get up to speed, though, and soon he found a rhythm in steering his son while not giving him all of the answers. He loved spending one on one time with his kids when he had the chance, and homework was as good a reason as any for it. Still, after ten minutes or so he started to wonder why Jenny or Johnny hadn’t come downstairs. Chris was well on his way to finishing his assignment, so Roy left him to it.

“Let me know if you hit a snag, huh?” Roy said. “I’m going to see what the terrible Js are up to.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks for helping.”

When Jenny and Johnny were together, it usually resulted in raucous noise and laughter. Both things were welcome in this house and in his life, as far as Roy was concerned. The problem today was that he heard neither, and it troubled him. He didn’t know why, exactly. Johnny was great with both of his kids. He assumed they’d be in Jenny’s room, but they weren’t. He heard voices from down the hall and went toward them on light feet.

“You don’t think daddy will be mad?” Jenny asked, uncertainty clear in her tone. “Or sad?”

There was a long pause, in which Roy could imagine the myriad of expressions flitting across Johnny’s face. Roy had no context for Jenny’s question. He didn’t need any, to picture Johnny. He hung back, didn’t want to interrupt the moment. Something in the way his daughter sounded told him it was important to her, and she’d gone to Johnny for a reason.

“I don’t think so, honey. Well, maybe a little sad, like maybe you are a little too, huh?”

“Sometimes.”

“And that’s okay. Mostly, though, I think your daddy’ll be proud of you.”

“Proud? Oh!”

“Your teacher said to pick a costume of your hero, and your mom’s the first person you thought of, Jenny,” Johnny said, words drenched with emotion. “Most girls mighta picked Wonder Woman or Barbie or somethin’.”

“They’re not real. Mommy was,” Jenny said quietly.

“She still is, sweetheart. And this stuff is perfect. You’ll be the spitting image. And you know what? I have a great idea. I have an old friend who can sew like the wind. What would you say if I borrowed one of your mom’s favorite dresses and had one made to look just like it, only in your size?”

“Oh, could you?” Jenny clapped. Her next words were muffled, “You’re the best, Uncle Johnny.”

Roy poked his head around the corner and saw Jenny and Johnny in the middle of a big hug. Joanne’s favorite string of pearls dangled from Jenny’s fingers. Johnny spotted him instantly, stared at him with eyes so deep with emotion Roy thought he could drown in them. If anything, what had been going on in the last few weeks made this moment all the more poignant to him. The horrible reality of intolerance had brought them even closer together, which was a silver lining of sorts Roy wasn’t about to take for granted.

The pearl necklace was too long for such a little girl, so they’d draped it around Jenny’s neck twice. It had been Joanne’s favorite. Jenny also had her hair swept up in a style similar to the way Joanne had last been wearing hers, thanks to his neighbor Ida Mae. And the dress was perfect; Johnny’s friend Margo had done a fantastic job with it just like he’d said she would. Jenny looked every bit her mother. Johnny had been right; Roy was so proud of his girl he was fit to burst. All other hero costumes paled by comparison, as far as he was concerned. Seeing Jenny’s happy face washed away most of the bittersweet feeling Roy had at the reminder of his late wife.

“You guys be sure to tell Johnny what a great job he did,” Roy said, though the prompting was unnecessary. His kids doted on Johnny so much they probably thought he could walk on water. He’d let that bother him, except he knew they loved him even more. “He really wants us to like it.”

“We do, Daddy,” Jenny said. “Look at all the Jack O’ Lanterns. Oh, they’re so spooky.”

The pumpkins lined the walkway up to the house and were piled seemingly haphazardly around the porch, like bright orange skulls in an ancient catacomb. It was chilling, yet somehow cheery. Only someone like Johnny could manage such a dichotomy between scary and sweet; he did, though it teetered on the edge of being a fire hazard. In fact, if any other house had been decked out like this, Roy might have cited them. As it was, he enjoyed the careful planning and placement of the pumpkins, some of them macabre by total accident. Those, Roy had helped with. The whole A-shift crew had carved pumpkins for the better part of their last shift, so many he’d lost count. He smiled as he recalled the strong pumpkin guts smell that had filled the station, and his mouth watered at the thought of the seeds he knew Johnny had planned on roasting and serving tonight.

“Giant spider!” Chris shouted and pointed to one whole corner of the porch filled with a huge stringy web.

Roy laughed as he pulled the car next to Johnny’s truck. He was glad the kids had wanted to wrap up trick-or-treating early to head out here. They’d have plenty of time to play with Johnny before the adult party started, explore all the fun things Johnny had set up with them in mind especially. He loved these family moments they’d managed to create for themselves, full of meaning the outside world couldn’t possibly know. He tried not to think about how his own children didn’t even fully understand. Someday they would.

He had barely turned the engine off before Chris and Jenn were tearing out of the car, the spurs on Chris’ cowboy costume rattling. Roy laughed, such a feeling of contentment welling up in him he’d be embarrassed if anyone knew. As he slammed the car door shut, he noticed the driver’s side window of John’s truck was open. He started to trot around to shut it. Though the forecast hadn’t called for rain anytime soon, it was just good practice to keep the windows shut.

“Daddy, you comin’?” Jenn called.

Roy turned to his girl, distracted from the task at hand. Eh, a rolled down window was low on the priority list when he had two kids and his … Johnny waiting for him. He pivoted to change direction and joined his kids at the porch, where they were admiring the Jack O’ Lantern display. He noticed right away there was a swath cut through the cluster on the right side of the porch, smashed pumpkins. It lent an air of chaos to the display. He had to hand it to Johnny, when he got in the spirit of things, he did not hold back. Roy chuckled when Jenn squealed at the large papier-mâché spider tucked into the ropey web Johnny had rigged.

“Let’s go find your Uncle Johnny, huh?”

Johnny had insisted they go around to the back of the house first, and Roy was more than a little curious about why. He wouldn’t go so far to say as he was brimming with as much (candy-enhanced) excitement as his kids, but from how spectacularly spooky Johnny had made the front, the back must be something really special. They rounded the corner, both kids still twisting their heads to take in all of the decorations along the side of the house, and Roy felt an icy chill sweep down his spine. The change inside him was instant, visceral, as he quickly scanned the scene in front of him. His heart started to race. This was not some elaborate scheme of Johnny’s; Johnny wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do something this … this, oh, damn it.

Roy choked back a cry, but the sound he made was enough to pull Chris and Jenny’s attention. His eyes flitted around the scene quickly, noticed the blood, the multitude of places someone could hide. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He wanted to rush forward, fall to his knees next to his partner, but he couldn’t. He spun his kids around quickly, before they could see what he saw, and half-dragged them back to the front of the house.

“Dad, what’re you doing?” Chris protested, trying to yank his arm free.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. That icy chill settled into Roy’s veins, his bones brittle with it. Oh, God, Johnny. It was so cold he felt numb all the way through him. This was … it, no. It couldn’t have come to this. He was nauseated, but couldn’t indulge in his own fear. His kids. Oh, shit.

Roy ached from his exertions yesterday, but he couldn’t complain about it. Until a little less than a month ago, he hadn’t had sex in a car since he and Joanne were teenagers fumbling at each other at Lover’s Point. That memory would remain a favorite, for sentimental reasons more than how mindblowing that first time had been. At the same time, doing it when both people involved knew what they were doing was … not better, exactly, but more satisfying. So much so that after the first time, he and Johnny had done it several more times in the back of the Rover, including last night. He could still taste the tang of Johnny’s sweat on his tongue. He swallowed thickly and straightened his shoulders at the sound of the other men around him.

Yeah, the station locker room was not the place for fantasizing about sex with Johnny. Speaking of, his partner hadn’t shown up for duty yet. The Johnny of old frequently rushed in at the last moment, but the Johnny with Roy was always on time. Roy smiled. They influenced each other in positive ways. Despite the activities yesterday, Roy felt alive with energy and a zest for his life and his work.

Johnny came into the locker room with only five minutes to spare. Roy buttoned his shirt and studiously did not check Johnny out while he slipped from his jeans and into his uniform. Even not looking at his partner, Roy could tell Johnny was off. After an evening like they’d had, Johnny should be bouncing off the walls with barely-contained happiness. Roy frowned and chewed at his lip, sneaked a glance at his partner to catch only a tight jawline and jerky movements.

“Better hurry up, Gage, or you’re on latrines again,” Chet Kelly said.

It wasn’t much of a taunt, considering the ribbing Chet usually gave Johnny. But Johnny snapped, “Shut up, Kelly, I’m not in the mood today.”

And that was all Roy needed to confirm something was definitely wrong. To his surprise, Chet merely shrugged and backed out of the locker room like Johnny was a live explosive. Even the Phantom wasn’t totally oblivious to social cues.

“Hey,” Roy said quietly when they were alone. “What’s up?”

“Roy, I will tell you everything. I need to tell you,” Johnny said, “but I can’t do it here.”

The look in John’s eyes when he finally met his made Roy feel like someone had punched him in the gut. Oh, it was bad.

“Daddy,” Jenny said. She was shaky and near tears. Her gaze was directed toward the back of the house. “Daddy, what’s going on?”

For a second, Roy panicked and thought she’d seen Johnny. She couldn’t have. He didn’t want her to have. He was having a tough enough time coming to grips with it. He swallowed back his own tears and tried to be the calm, strong father Chris and Jenny needed him to be. He took a deep breath, focused on his kids and not what was in Johnny’s backyard.

“Sweetie, I’m not sure. Chris, I want you to keep hold of your sister. Both of you get in the car, now, and lock all the doors, okay?” Roy said as he opened the back door and waved his arm.

“Dad, what are you going to do?”

“Please. Please do this for me. Get in and stay low. Do not open the doors unless it’s for me. There’s something…” Roy swallowed. His throat felt so tight. “I think something’s wrong and I need you two to be safe until I can figure out what.”

“Uncle Johnny,” Chris whispered.

His son was a smart boy. Yes, what was wrong was Johnny, lying in a bloody heap in his own backyard. Maybe dead. Roy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath. He had to lean against the car to stay upright, realizing in the back of his head that he was doing a terrible job of being strong. It was what got Chris moving, though, and Roy watched mutely as his son ushered Jenny into the backseat and clambered in after her. He was already reaching for the front, then back passenger side locks when Roy shut the door.

“I’ll be right back,” he said through the glass. “Remember what I said and keep the doors shut and locked. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Chris nodded, face white as milk and cowboy hat askew. Behind him, Jenny stared wide-eyed and looking so much like Joanne Roy’s heart clenched. If Johnny was … he could not lose two people he loved in such a short amount time. He simply couldn’t. He’d thought that before, once, under far less scary circumstances than this. What was different this time was that he would not run, if only Johnny were okay. He would stick with his partner, absolutely, no matter what. Johnny just had to be around for him to stick with.

Roy pressed his hand against the glass and tried to smile when both of his kids raised their hands to press on the other side. He hated the fear he’d just caused his kids but he didn’t know what else he could have done. Removing them from potential threat had to come before anything else, but the thing was, now he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to run as fast as his shaky legs would take him to Johnny’s side, but he didn’t know if whomever had left him so bloody and broken were still around. He also needed to phone for help; it’d be a good hour, hour and a half before any of the party guests arrived. He couldn’t wait. Even if someone showed earlier, Roy had to … there were things he had to clean up. He blinked in utter confusion at finding himself suddenly on his knees at Johnny’s right shoulder, with zero recollection of getting there.

Up close, Johnny looked grotesque from the brutality inflicted upon him. Face almost unrecognizable, blood and bruises and Roy couldn’t ascertain if John was breathing by sight, for his own eyes were full of tears, or by sound, for the ringing in his ears. Roy prided himself as being able to remain calm under very extreme circumstances sometimes, but here and now he was afraid he was going to pass out.

“Please,” Roy murmured, as close to voluntary prayer as he’d gotten in fifteen years. “Please.”

His hand shook harder than his legs had, but he had to know. Johnny’s skin was cold beneath his fingertips, almost made Roy pull back. Training took over. Johnny didn’t have time for him to panic like this. His fingers felt like they didn’t belong on his own hand, too numb to be any good. He had to … there, oh, there was a pulse. He pressed his fingers deeper to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.

“Oh shit, thank you.”

Roy kept his one hand on the pulse point at Johnny’s wrist, and with the other fervently wiped at the tears now escaping his eyes. Help. He needed help here. He looked wildly about, like they were on duty, on a call with so many others around to lend a hand with a simple shout. He was alone.

They never talked about it unless they were alone, and these days that meant en route to a scene. Roy found that just one more facet to hate about all of this, that even the squad was becoming tainted by it. He knew the answer to the question before he asked it. It was written all over Johnny’s face again. He had to ask it anyway, the second after Johnny told him to take a right out of the station for their first run of the day.

“Another one?” Roy exhaled a long breath. “Damn it.”

Johnny let out a choking sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. Months ago, when it had been Roy receiving mysterious messages and he’d overreacted big time, Johnny had taken him to task, said that sort of thing was something they should face together. Roy was trying, he really was, but he wasn’t the one being threatened. As far as they could tell, whoever was terrorizing Johnny didn’t know Roy’s identity. That was a gift horse neither of them could look in the mouth.

The first had been a simple, “I saw you, fag”, left in a mailbox smashed off of its post. They were all the same variation of a theme after that. There’d only been a handful in the past few weeks, but then hate like that couldn’t be quantified. Some of the messages were foul. None of them were as bad as that first one, somehow.

“Johnny, we have to do something about this.”

Something besides cease and desist in everything regarding their relationship outside of work and the familiar buddy time spent at Roy’s home. Never at Johnny’s anymore, the place they’d thought was buffered and safe but clearly wasn’t. Roy didn’t know what to do beyond that, though. This kind of thing was their worst nightmare come to life. If they reported it, they would be outed. Or at least John would, Roy thought unhappily. He had a sneaking suspicion his pigheaded, beloved partner would do everything in his power to keep Roy out of it, no matter what. The problem with that was that Johnny seemed to have no idea that bearing the weight alone wasn’t dealing with it together like he’d insisted they do before.

“Roy, there’s nothing we can do. You might not have as much experience with real prejudice as I do, but even you have to know that if I say anything, it’ll get worse. It won’t be just this one person,” Johnny said, wrecked and angry. “I know how it’ll go. I’ll be drummed out of the department. I will be labeled all these things this jerk is calling me, probably by at least some of the people I consider friends, if not most. No.”

Roy wanted to argue all of that. He wanted to be able to fix this, for Johnny and for himself. But Johnny wasn’t wrong and Roy was sick with that knowledge.

“John,” he said, helpless.

“No. Now listen, I am not ashamed of who I am, of who you are, and of who we are together. I’m not. If asked about it, I’m not gonna lie, and the cops would ask if there’s truth to them if they saw these threats. It’s just … there’s a difference between telling people of your own volition and being exposed like you’re some, some, some deviant.”

Grim silence filled the cab. There were days Roy actually felt like a deviant and he wondered if deep down Johnny felt the same thing. It was an oversight on his part, Roy realized, that he’d never had a conversation with Johnny about this sort of thing outside of that one time when they were trapped together. That one had ultimately been a good conversation, about a friend’s support and how love could see them through anything. He … wasn’t sure now, that love could, considering how they’d cooled off on that front. He could live without sex for a time, absolutely, so for him it was more that he was terrified for Johnny. Love couldn’t stop an angry mob, not in the real world.

“I worry, you know that,” Roy said as they pulled up to the house. He eyed the man sprawled on the front lawn, ladder next to him on the ground. “What if they start upping the ante? You could get hurt.”

“Aw, Roy.” Johnny sighed and reached across the cab to squeeze Roy’s forearm surreptitiously. “He’ll knock it off when he gets bored. Until then, I’m getting real good at mailbox repairs and painting.”

“Johnny,” Roy said. He nudged his partner’s shoulder, but was careful not to shake too hard. “John. Come on, baby, wake up.”

The reaction he’d hoped for didn’t come. Roy frowned at the implication, though he knew that was only the first of several attempts he would make to engage Johnny. He needed to see Johnny as a regular, nameless victim, but that was a distance Roy could not seem to achieve here. There was too much blood, too many bruises marring a face he loved for him to act as quickly and efficiently as he should. His hands would not stop shaking. He needed a moment that Johnny didn’t have, and it was that which finally got him moving.

He carefully ran his hands along Johnny’s arms, legs and torso, looking for breaks. Left knee was badly swollen, several fingers on his right hand definitely broken. Examination of Johnny’s head came next. First. Should have been first. Roy recoiled when his fingers came in contact with wet, matted hair and a very large lump at the base of Johnny’s skull. The probing should have elicited at least a moan. It didn’t. Jesus. Blood. He had to see if any of the blood was from the nose or the ears. It was too dark. He couldn’t see through it, or through his tears. The back porch light should help. He got to his feet, acutely aware he wasn’t handling any of this the correct way. He needed light, and he needed to get an ambulance here and his kids, what if they disobeyed him and focus. He had to focus.

He ran for the back door. As he neared, he noticed it was ajar. Roy didn’t know if whomever had done this was still around, waiting for the first person to show up. Waiting for the other half of the gay couple he or she was so virulently opposed to, and look, there Roy was. And his kids. His knees went even weaker and adrenaline made his skin itch. He shot a look back at Johnny and couldn’t believe a woman had managed that amount of damage. He also wasn’t sure one man alone could have. He gulped and squared his shoulders. He had no choice.

He didn’t do more than reach inside the door, sliding a hand along the wall in search of the light switch. With a simple flick, the back yard was flooded with more light. Roy knew what he’d see when he turned around, but with the illumination it looked so much worse that he couldn’t withhold a gasp. He stepped off, headed back for his partner. In his peripheral vision, he saw movement and recoiled defensively. He hit the edge of the porch at an odd angle and fell back.

The door had barely snicked shut when Roy found himself pushed against it bodily, head thumping against the wood. He shifted to get out of the strong hold on his wrists, the pressure of a thigh nudged between his legs. He didn’t make any headway, didn’t really want to. Hot breath tickled against his right ear, just a second before an open-mouthed kiss with teeth and a little suction was laid on him.

“Johnny,” he gasped.

Johnny nipped at Roy’s neck, chuckled at the way Roy rubbed against him in response. Roy couldn’t help it. His dick was hardwired to that location on his neck, and Johnny knew it. He yanked his arms free and brought his hands up to pull Johnny closer rather than push him away. He moaned softly, but his brain was still functioning enough to know this wasn’t exactly right. They weren’t having sex these days. He was only there to help unload a truck full of lumber for a fence project Johnny planned to work on during their off shifts.

“I thought we weren’t going t –”

Johnny stopped sucking on his erogenous spot, pulled his head back without moving his body. He caught Roy’s gaze and held it. A half smile lit his face, but he looked sad at the same time. And determined.

“Well, we are,” Johnny said. “I’m tired of this anonymous asshole terrorizing my happiness, Roy. From now on, we do everything we’d do under normal circumstances. I help you around your house, play with your kids.”

Johnny kissed him, deep and slow, and it didn’t take long for any objection Roy might have feebly come up with to disappear and pure want to take over. He made a hungry noise at the back of his throat when Johnny pulled away, ducking his head forward to follow that mouth.

“You help me around my house.” Johnny waggled his eyebrows. “Play with my –”

Roy shut Johnny up with a kiss of his own, and a deft hand at the fly of his jeans.

He saw stars. He looked up where he lay on his back, the night sky just darkening to show the first bright gleams of light. Roy blinked a few times, then heard hushed, distressed voices and clumsily got to his feet. His shoulders slumped when he saw who it was, Mike Stoker shielding his family from the sight of the backyard and shooing his wife and kids back to the front of the house.

“Oh my God, Roy,” Mike Stoker said, rushing forward after his kids were out of sight. “I saw Chris and Jenny in the car, but I … shit, shit.”

The relief was almost immense enough to have Roy sag into a supine position again. Instead, he grabbed Mike by the arm when the man reached him. Mike looked uncharacteristically rattled and wild-eyed, but the expression lasted only a blink.

“Johnny … is he?”

“Beat to hell, but alive. I just. I just got here,” Roy croaked, though he had no idea how much time had actually passed. He felt like he’d been there forever. “I found him like that.”

“Have you called for help?”

“Nuh. No.”

“I’ll call for the police, and squad and ambulance. I think I can clean up the worst of it before anyone gets here,” Mike said. “Go to John.”

There was little Roy could do for Johnny without any equipment and both of them knew it. Still, having a friend there settled him so that he could conduct basic triage and simply stay by Johnny’s side, hold his hand. He had no idea what Mike and his family was doing there so much earlier than the rest of the guests were scheduled to arrive, but he couldn’t take the time to ask. While Mike raced around to eliminate the sexual content and slurs in the graffiti (blood, John’s blood), Roy continued his basic injury check and treatment with Johnny. In the back of his mind, he knew they were making a mistake, but he didn’t know what else to do. Unfortunately, the bigotry couldn’t be erased totally, and Roy wouldn’t want that. He wanted someone to pay for this. Also unfortunately, it would not be a leap for anyone to think this was racial.

Johnny wouldn’t respond. Roy worried at his lower lip about that, but was relieved to find no blood in his lover’s ears, and the blood from his nose could likely be from a punch. It was a small comfort. Shaking Johnny, pinching the base of his fingernails and a sternum rub did not provoke any kind of response and Roy knew better than most how bad that was. He had no way to guess how long ago Johnny had been attacked, but he’d been there at least ten minutes. The longer Johnny was out, the more likely he’d never wake up.

“What can I do?” Mike asked, falling to his knees on the other side of Johnny. He looked pale as he took in the horrible bruises and all the blood, the tears in Johnny’s clothes. “Jesus Christ, Roy, he looks bad.”

“Nothing. You already did the most important thing,” Roy said hollowly. He had Johnny’s lax hand in his, hated how cold and limp it was. He clutched it harder. “Mike, he, he won’t open his eyes. I can’t get him to wake up.”

Mike put his hand on top of Roy’s, but the sound of sirens kept him from replying. Roy jerked at the sound and the sudden movements around him, as Mike took off for the front of the house and came back with people and equipment. He refused to let go of Johnny’s hand as the guys from Station Eight began treating Johnny, tried to give them what pitiful information he’d gathered. He refused to look away when the cops started asking him questions.

Time seemed to ebb and flow after that, and it disoriented Roy to the point some bits were clear as crystal and others were hazy. He experienced the clear moments in flashes that seemed out of order. The shock of seeing the ugly, purple bruises along Johnny’s torso. The tinny sound of the doctor speaking from Rampart. Chris and Jenny’s faces, still locked away in the back of the car. Mike stepping up and telling the cops they could interview Roy at the hospital. Chris and Jenny’s faces, crying as he told them to go with Lisa Stoker and her boys so he could take care of their Uncle Johnny. The continued vitals check, with numbers that were piss-poor at best.

The exponentially mounting fear.

Everything whirled and spun and the next thing he knew he was sitting on the sofa in the doctor’s lounge, a strong hand on his shoulder as he breathed through hyperventilation. Roy didn’t know who it was there sitting next to him and didn’t care. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there and he didn’t care. He saw Johnny’s face, swollen and lax and wrong. He heard the beep of the heart monitor. He leaned in, closed his eyes and tried to breathe. A nudge to his shoulder made him open his eyes to see a hand bearing a glass of apple juice in front of him, the whiteness of a nurse’s uniform worn by someone standing in front of him.

“Drink,” Dixie McCall said. “Tachypsychia. You’re fine, you’re going to be fine.”

“Dix,” Roy said. He could barely hear himself. Ringing in his ears. “I don’t think you can say that to me right now.”

This was déjà vu. He’d had this exact conversation before.

“Oh, Roy.” She sat next to him, on the side unoccupied by the person he hadn’t looked at yet. Her softness pressed into his hip and thigh, her arm around his torso providing what comfort she could. She wrapped his fingers around the glass of juice. “Come on, drink this.”

He did. It tasted too sweet, unpleasantly slippery against his tongue. It hit his stomach, which rebelled.

“See, now that’s what I’m talking about,” Johnny said, husky and slightly slurred. “Normal activities.”

Roy managed an inarticulate murmur, all he could muster after that very vigorous and thorough blowjob. It had been fraught with need and fear and desperation, and Roy kind of loved it as much as it scared him. They hadn’t made it beyond the foyer at all, hadn’t tried. They hadn’t touched each other for so long and God, how he’d missed Johnny’s hands and mouth on him. He struggled to regain his breath and to get feeling in his legs, gave up on both and slid down the wall. He snatched at Johnny as he went, laughing hoarsely when they ended up a mess of arms and legs.

“Except wasn’t it supposed to be you playing with muh…”

“Shut up,” Roy muttered the same time he kissed Johnny, their lips already parted in speech.

Johnny opened wider for him, and Roy shivered at the taste of himself, the slickness of it still in Johnny’s mouth. He was still shit-scared about whoever had started targeting Johnny, but they were doing this. His hand returned to its original action, what he’d been doing before Johnny dropped to his knees and fellated him into a white haze of pleasure. He found Johnny hard and needy and stroked him as they lay sprawled on the floor still mostly wearing all of their clothes. They were sticking by each other no matter what, and that meant no one could truly hurt them, not where it was important.

The two gulps of juice he’d taken ended up in the sink next to the coffee machine, followed by bitter bile and Roy couldn’t stop retching. He’d been a fool. He should have insisted John report the harassment. He should have reported it himself. If he had, then maybe his lover wouldn’t be at risk of a major internal hemorrhage. Maybe Johnny wouldn’t be dying as he stood here losing his stomach contents. He leaned, rested his forehead on the cool metal rim of the sink.

Strong hands clasped his shoulders, squeezed gently at his tense muscles. Roy didn’t feel like he deserved the support, but he needed it. He stood, glanced at Mike’s empathetic blue eyes and wanted nothing more than to collapse against the other man and sob out his worry. He couldn’t do that. He’d fallen apart too much already and had to get a grip. He wasn’t doing anyone any good by acting the wreck he felt on the inside. If … when Johnny was in recovery, he’d need someone strong by his side, not someone who couldn’t stand upright without assistance.

Roy thought about all those times he had done just that, when he and Johnny were friends only and Johnny had ended up at Rampart for one mishap or another. He considered, too, Joanne’s steady presence when he himself had been injured, and while he always knew that she was quaking inside, she never let it show in public. It took a certain amount of fortitude to watch a loved one hover so close to danger and death and not crack. Roy had been living it for this year, and part of last. He’d been living with it longer than that, if he were going to be one hundred percent truthful.

This was different to being injured on the job, though, and it was the nature of it all that had him shaken to the core. He’d been afraid of something like this, he realized, but deep down had never believed it would happen. Well, it had. He had to come to terms with that. Roy wasn’t about to let the monster that had hurt John so hurt him as well, not when his partner needed him. He took a deep breath, head clearer than it had been even a few minutes ago. His body and brain were recovering from the shock.

“Mike,” Roy said. “You’re still here.”

“Of course,” Mike said. “Not going anywhere.”

“Uh, thanks.”

There was too much in Roy’s head all of a sudden, like his brain had stored up the nights events and was releasing them for him to process well after the fact. Too many images he couldn’t erase, and also still too many gaps. He distinctly remembered being kicked out of the treatment room, because he was off duty and too close to the victim. God, victim. Johnny. He remembered the waxen quality to Johnny’s face, the scant few parts of it not bloody and bruised. If Roy wasn’t careful, he’d vomit again at the memory alone. He itched to race back to that room, even as he never wanted to see Johnny looking so motionless again. Roy looked at his watch, cringed at the late hour and oh, it hit him all of a sudden. With it, guilt.

“My kids,” he said dazedly.

“Are at my house, remember?”

Roy shook his head, then nodded. It sounded vaguely familiar and the seed of anxiety for Chris and Jenny dwindled before it took root. Mike was there for him, all the way. He knew that, so knew his kids were okay. He looked over at Dixie still sitting on the small sofa, her eyes locked on him watchfully. Her eyes narrowed with scrutiny, but eventually her face relaxed ever so slightly and she nodded. He smiled, tight and humorless. Yes, he was fine. He wasn’t the one to be worried about. Except maybe that wasn’t exactly true.

“Right. Thank you,” Roy said. “Thanks, Mike. Do they know…?”

“Not details. Lisa left with them before Johnny was wheeled around to the ambulance. We didn’t think they needed to see that, or you covered in Johnny’s blood.”

Roy looked down at his hands, remembered vaguely scrubbing at them in the men’s room in the emergency department, catching sight of the reddish-brown stains streaking his face from where he had brushed aside tears. God, this was a mess. His hand shook, so he balled them into fists and crossed his arms, tucked them into his armpits to keep anyone from seeing. It didn’t work. He watched Dixie watch him, purse her lips and stand. She still had that damned glass of juice in her hands, and handed it to him after she reached his side.

“I can see you’re less shocky and confused,” she said. “But you should still drink this.”

He took the glass and drank it quickly, face twisting in distaste. It would do him good to keep his energy up and the physical trauma from emotional stress at bay. Roy started to feel embarrassed for his reaction to all of this, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop seeing Johnny lying there, broken and twisted. He was no stranger to hate, but the level of it … shit. He saw it on Dixie’s face, now that he knew to look, the dread that Johnny wasn’t going to survive these injuries.

“Dix,” Roy said.

“They’re taking pictures of his skull right now. How about I go see how things are going?” Dixie said, resting a hand on Roy’s forearm for a moment.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“We both would,” Mike said.

Dixie left without another word, and as much as he was grateful to her for her unwavering friendship, Roy was more than a little glad to see her go. He collapsed onto the sofa, aware that Mike followed him down. He was unsurprised by the hand clamping him on the shoulder.

“I just can’t believe this is happening,” Roy said stupidly. “It feels like some sort of terrible Halloween prank. I keep expecting John to pop through that door and tell me it’s all a joke.”

Johnny slid through the locker room door without his customary good cheer, aplomb and hellos for everyone. It had been weeks since Johnny had been that happy-go-lucky Gage the whole of the A-shift team had come to depend on. Roy might be acutely aware of why due to his and Johnny’s relationship, but he was also aware others had noticed something wasn’t right. One look at his partner spoke volumes. Roy frowned at the dark circles under Johnny’s eyes.

The person harassing Johnny hadn’t gotten bored yet.

“John,” Marco said. “Have a nice few days off?”

“Sure,” Johnny said. “They were great.”

Roy fiddled with his street clothes, hanging the shirt haphazardly as he fumbled for his uniform shirt. He hadn’t had the chance to speak with Johnny, too busy with a visit from Joanne’s parents. While he genuinely liked them and was happy for their continued involvement in his kids’ lives, the timing made the visit more stressful. He wanted Johnny to stay with him, so they could keep safe.

“Jeez, Gage, what happened to your arm?” Chet said.

Attention grabbed, Roy snapped his head up just as Johnny was sliding a sloppily bandaged right arm through his uniform shirt. That hadn’t been there two days ago. In fact, Roy thought he saw tinges of red soaking through the white gauze. He frowned. This was getting out of hand.

“Cut it.”

“You should have Roy look at that, pal,” Mike said softly.

“Don’t worry,” Roy said. He held Johnny’s alarmed gaze with a steely one of his own. He and his partner had to have another talk, it seemed. “Roy will.”

Johnny didn’t even protest when Roy hauled him to the squad, sat him on the bumper and pulled out the kits. Roy took that as a blessing and a curse. He knew better than anyone a silent Johnny was not a good thing. He did them both a favor and didn’t call the injury in, worked quickly and efficiently to peel back the bandage John had clearly applied himself.

“This doesn’t look too bad,” Roy said, relieved that the cut was long and jagged, but shallow.

“It’s not,” Johnny whispered.

“What happened?”

“Brick through the window.”

“Damn it,” Roy said. “John, you’ve got to report this. Tell me you’re going to report it this time. It’s going too far now.”

Johnny shrugged and looked sad, pale, miserable and frightened.

“The brick had the word queer painted on it,” he said.

“It’s no joke, Roy,” Mike said. “How long has Johnny been having problems like that?”

Roy shook his head. Of course Mike would figure that the threats had started long ago. An attack like this took build-up. He looked at his friend.

“Couple of weeks after Labor Day.” Roy’s eyes welled up. It was his fault, all of it. He was the one who’d started the sex al fresco. He pressed the butts of his hands into his eye sockets. Strong. He had to be strong. “How do you combat something like that? We didn’t know what to do. Even if it weren’t true, if word of that kind of thing got out, it could cost us everything.”

He swallowed in an attempt to lessen the lump in his throat. It wasn’t us. It was Johnny, and look what happened anyway.

“And I know not reporting it might have cost Johnny so much more.”

“No. No, Roy. It probably would have happened anyway. Don’t blame yourself, or Johnny, for trying to protect yourselves the only way you really could.” Mike was the picture of misery, but also certainty. He squeezed Roy’s shoulder. “I hope we did the right thing, tampering with Johnny’s backyard like that.”

“Oh man, the police. They’ll notice that.”

“They asked on scene while you were with John. I told them I started cleaning before I realized it was a crime scene. Said I didn’t want my family exposed.”

“They buy it?” Roy asked, thought with some awe how good a friend Mike was turning out to be. Always quiet, Mike was proving to have incredible depths.

“Was true,” Mike said with a shrug. “You talked to them too, backed up the story. Remember?”

Roy didn’t. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Damn it, he could have really messed things up while in such a stunned state. He rose, paced back and forth between the sofa and the coffee machine, steps faltering and unsteady but he was moving under his own power and that was progress. He glanced at the door, longed for Dixie to return to tell him Johnny’s injuries weren’t as bad as he feared. He couldn’t believe it was possible. He might not have treated Johnny, but he understood too well the words spoken by Kitts and Janssen from Squad Eight and their unspoken body language. Doctor Brackett’s, too. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned heavily on the counter again.

He straightened when he heard the door open. Thinking it was Dixie, he took a step forward only to realize it wasn’t her. Captain Stanley stood there, face drawn and expression worried.

“Roy. Mike,” Cap said. He took one close look at Roy and blanched, faltered back against the doorframe. “Oh God, is he…?”

“No, Cap,” Mike said, standing. “But it’s not good. We’re waiting for news.”

Cap entered the room, followed closely by Chet and Marco. Roy nearly lost it again, though there was nothing unusual about the A-shift team banding together in the face of adversity. He hated so much the reason for it tonight and was glad that he had had time with Mike ahead of the rest of them arriving.

“What the hell happened?” Chet asked, anger and concern plain. “Do they know who did this?”

“No,” Roy said. He cleared his throat. “But you guys should know Johnny’s been having … trouble for a while now.”

“Trouble.” Cap frowned, ran a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t you?”

Roy’s head spun. Those were loaded questions. He expected nothing less from his friends, but at the same time could not give them the answers they wanted. No matter what he said, it wasn’t going to change what had happened to Johnny. He had to say something, though, but before he had the chance to formulate words that made any sort of sense, the door burst open.

“Roy, we need you,” Dixie said. She took in the crowd, appearing ruffled around the edges. “Right now, please.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. Roy’s legs were overcooked spaghetti. He took a shuffling step forward. So did the rest of the guys.

“Just Roy. Sorry fellas.”

Mike caught Roy’s elbow as he moved like a zombie out of the lounge. He bobbed his head once, trusted that Mike would tell the others what he could. He couldn’t relive it all over again, not when he was about to face something even worse. Dixie’s gait was clipped as she maneuvered through the busy corridor without checking to make sure Roy followed. He had to believe that she wouldn’t pull him in the exam room like this just to tell him Johnny had died before anyone could help him. He paid no attention to the crowd, knew that Halloween was one of the holidays that saw an increase in emergency room visits, until someone bumped into him. He cringed at the black cloak, the plastic scythe and the blood pouring from a gash on the Grim Reaper’s forehead. It was like a blow to Roy’s gut. Some coincidences were too apt. He didn’t want this one to be.

A sharp whistle pulled his attention back to where it needed to be. Dixie had paused at the door, resumed studying him with concern and that something worse Roy dreaded so much.

“He’s not conscious or truly responsive yet, but he’s agitated,” Dixie told him. “It can be a little scary.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Dix.”

Roy thinned his lips and brushed past her. Johnny was alive. That was all that mattered at the moment, or was until he stepped into the room and saw Johnny laid out with a sheet covering his lower half. His bare torso was a mass of deep bruises, some of them circling round to his back. None of it was unexpected, but oh hell. Worse than the obvious contusions or the horrible stillness from before was how uncoordinated Johnny’s movements were. It was similar to when a person started coming out of general anesthesia, like it was John but nothing like John at the same time. Roy didn’t look at Dixie, knew his face was reflecting the horror she’d warned him he’d see.

“Roy,” Doctor Brackett said, face set in a frown. He dispensed with pleasantries, as was his style. “We can’t get a clear image of John’s skull because he’s moving too much. It’s a fair bet he’s got a hematoma, but we need to see what we’re dealing with as far as fractures go before we proceed. None of us can get through to him and sedation is not an option. We were hoping you might try.”

He was already at the head of the gurney, staring at his lover from up above. Aware that he was not alone, Roy still couldn’t keep the hot tears at bay. The lights were too bright, too revealing and Johnny was so damaged. Roy took a deep breath, at war to keep the emotions rolling through him at bay. At the front of those emotions was hatred for whomever had done this. He glanced at Dixie, still by the door with a hand pressed to her lips, and wondered if this was actually a subtle way to allow him a goodbye. He swallowed hard.

“Johnny,” Roy whispered.

That was all he could get past his tight throat, but it was enough.

“It isn’t going to be enough,” Johnny said. His shoulders slumped. “But I did it, Roy. I reported the broken window.”

Roy startled from his careful watch of the pot of water as he waited for it to boil. He turned quickly, knocking the box of elbow macaroni for the casserole onto its side. A few of the dehydrated noodles hit the kitchen floor and skittered under the cupboard and across the room. He didn’t think Johnny would alert the authorities; that he had revealed exactly how afraid he was. They were too cautious to display emotions while on duty, well versed in the practice of buddyship for the sake of their careers, but Roy couldn’t help but go to Johnny’s side and pull him into a quick hug.

“I’m glad, John,” he said into his lover’s ear. “It might not make a difference, but then again, maybe it will.”

Johnny’s arms came up around Roy’s back, one hand at the nape of his neck. For one second, he pressed his nose against Roy’s collarbone. He squeezed Roy, then let him go. His eyes were bleak and somber.

“Without any kind of lead to go on, they’re going to start by interviewing my neighbors.” Johnny ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe someone’s seen something and didn’t know what it meant.”

“Is it possible it’s one of them who’s been doing this?”

To his surprise, Johnny wasn’t surprised by the question. Instead, he gave a crooked half-smile.

“I’ve lain awake nights thinking about that. I don’t want to believe it, but considering how there’s a big part of who I am that stays behind closed doors, who am I to say one of my neighbors isn’t capable of such hatred?”

Not completely behind closed doors. Roy scowled. If he’d been able to keep it in his pants and inside… He stepped back, heel crunching a macaroni noodle beneath it. He pretended not to notice the way Johnny flinched. Damn it, though, damn all of this. He was so glad Johnny had found distraction in that haunted house and Halloween party of his. If John was determined to live his life the exact way he would if he were not being threatened, then Roy could only support that. Besides, a bit of harmless fun did everyone good.

“Anyway, let’s not talk about things we can’t do anything about,” Johnny said. “Pot’s boiling. Dinner, we can do. Gotta give my boys the energy to carve all these pumpkins for the shindig tomorrow, huh?”

“Speaking of, I brought an extra dull knife for Chet to use,” Roy said, abiding by Johnny’s wishes to not talk about heavy stuff. He grinned when Johnny’s troubled expression transformed into glee. “Not much of a prank, but it might still be funny to watch.”

“Ah, Roy, I love you, man.”

The intent behind it was kind and good, Roy knew, but the plate of sausage, eggs and biscuits set in front of him did nothing to stimulate his nonexistent appetite. He couldn’t bear the thought of eating, and the smell alone might have had him vomiting again if he had anything in his stomach to expel. He gently pushed the plate aside.

“Oh, no,” Cap said. “Roy, pal, you’ve got to eat something.”

“After,” Roy said. “After we hear about Johnny.”

“I suppose that’s fair, but I’m holding you to it.”

For eight hours, they’d sat together waiting. Longer, counting the hour before Johnny was rushed from the emergency department. One or two of his shiftmates would step out now and again, but Roy stayed, sat on the proverbial fence, not sure if the outcome of Johnny’s surgery would bring him joy or tip him over into grief. He knew eventually he’d be alone there; everyone had families to tend to, lives to lead. So did he, only he couldn’t face his kids right now, not when he was still so unsettled. Not without knowing if his secret little family would stay together or be broken the way his first family had. It was truly one of the longest, darkest nights of his life, and he’d had his share of them.

“Surely they’ve got to be almost done,” Chet said. “Or give us more news at least.”

Dixie had given them status updates throughout the early hours of the morning, obtained through her extensive ways and means. There wasn’t much to tell. The brain bleed was severe, the pressure built in Johnny’s head so dangerous they hadn’t had any choice but to go in to relieve some of it. That didn’t even factor in the tear to his right kidney and his liver. Those injuries were significant. Roy knew it. Everyone in the room knew it, the tension hanging over them. Despite the danger of those internal bleeds, the cranial pressure was the most important hurdle to overcome. It was a gamble, putting those on the watch list rather than go in to determine the severity. Roy worried that the length of this surgery meant they’d had trouble on the table and no one had told them.

“I need to stretch my legs,” Mike said. “Get some air.”

Mike made a show of circling the small table, and looking over the ignored breakfast plate at Roy’s elbow. He stopped when he stood directly behind Roy, who jumped when strong hands clasped his shoulders.

“Anyone care to join me, Roy?”

Roy’s immediate reaction was to reject the offer. He didn’t want to leave the room, in case Johnny’s surgeon, Brackett or Dixie came with news. After a moment’s pause, though, he thought Mike might be giving him a chance to unbottle some emotion again. He’d kept himself numb in deference to the rest of his teammates, who couldn’t know what was really at stake for him. Mostly, though, the numbness came as a defense mechanism. The longer he sat, the more he couldn’t believe this had happened. It was the malodorous smell of his well-intentioned breakfast that made his decision for him.

“Yeah, I’ll think I’ll do that.”

“We won’t go far,” Mike murmured to him. “Just far enough.”

Roy nodded and shuffled after Mike, tried to disguise his achy muscles the same way he kept his emotional turmoil under wraps. Working the kinks out was probably a good idea. There was no telling how much longer they’d have to sit around, and he didn’t want to fall over from muscle disuse upon hearing Johnny’s new prognosis. He’d probably fall over anyway. He and Mike walked silently, took a few laps of the circular floor. Roy kept his eyes on the floor and barely noticed when Mike stopped. He stopped too, looked up and saw Mike had led them to the bank of payphones.

“Gonna call Lisa,” Mike said. “It’ll be just a minute. Stay here?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t want to eavesdrop on Mike’s conversation. Roy leaned against the wall, head turned in the direction of the waiting room as he scanned the corridor for signs someone was coming to deliver news. The walk had woken him up a little. He wouldn’t say he felt better, exactly, but more present. He didn’t know if he’d make it through this without his station mates. Mike, especially.

“Hey.” Mike touched Roy’s arm to gain his focus. “Lisa says your kids are up. They’re asking where you are. Want to talk with them?”

Of course. He took the phone and swallowed hard. The second he heard Chris’s voice, though, Roy felt like he exited his body. He heard himself speaking, knew the right words to say, the proper assurances to give to his frightened children. He didn’t remember any of it the second he dropped the phone receiver onto the cradle. It was a perfect, disastrous confluence of events that there Brackett was standing in the corridor outside the waiting room, Dixie and another scrubs-clad doctor at his side, just as Roy got done trying to calm his distressed children down when he felt like such a wreck himself. It was that he knew Dixie McCall and Kelly Brackett so well that, even from a distance, he could tell the news wasn’t good.

There wasn’t anything for him to do but lose muscle tension in his legs and slide down the wall that had done its best to hold him up.

He barely felt Mike hoist him back to his feet, knew only that walking shakily down the long hallway to face the bleak news waiting at the end had to be what a death row inmate felt on his last day. Roy wanted to run the other way, as if fleeing would make it all go away. He wanted Chris and Jenny, wanted to pull them close and hug them and feel his family with him. He wanted Johnny.

“Roy,” Brackett said, normally robust voice hoarse with exhaustion.

“Doctor Brackett. Is he … is Johnny…?” Roy couldn’t quite say the word.

“Let’s go sit,” Dixie said. “There’s a room full of guys needing to hear this too.”

He vaguely heard Brackett tell the surgeon he’d handle informing the relatives. Again, Roy didn’t think he would have made it without Mike’s steady hand guiding him. He sank into the uncomfortable sofa, dread a pit in his stomach. The lack of a direct answer to his half-muttered question did not bode well.

“Doc,” Cap greeted, half rising.

Marco and Chet stood, posture stiff, hand stuffed in pockets.

“I’m not going to sugar coat this. I’m too tired, and frankly, you all need to know what Johnny is facing. The surgery was touch and go, but he pulled through. He did not suffer a skull fracture, as you know, however the internal bleed from his liver caused him to go into cardiac arrest on the table as we were relieving the pressure caused by blood build up at the base of his skull from the hematoma.”

“Jesus,” Chet whispered.

“It obviously complicated things and extended the time in surgery. In turn, that has extended his risk in recovery. He’s still highly critical. It’ll be several hours before anyone will be allowed in to see him, and even when you do … guys, given the length of time he was unresponsive prior to his arrival and before we took him in and the other complications, there’s a good chance Johnny may never wake up or if he does, he will very likely be compromised in some fashion. Memory loss, speech problems, loss of motor control are all good possibilities.”

“Compromised,” someone murmured.

“All we can do now is monitor him,” Brackett said with a sigh. “Survival is up to him, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, fellas. I wish I had more definitive news for you. I think you ought to prepare yourselves.”

The roaring in Roy’s ears was compounded by the resounding silence Brackett’s words provoked. The news was a sucker punch none of them were equipped to handle. Roy leaned forward, buried his face in his hands. He hid there, just for a minute, as the men in the room came to life at once, voices overlapping each other in a jumbled mess Roy couldn’t make sense of, nor did he want to.

“I know you have a million questions, but that is all I can tell you at this point. In fact, it’s more than I should share. I’ll be contacting his family,” Brackett’s voice cut through the din. “I’d like you all to go home, get some rest. There’s nothing you can do here, not for several hours at least.”

Roy was stuck on what Brackett had said about Johnny not recovering fully or at all. About contacting Johnny’s folks, which Johnny never wanted unless the chances were great that he … no. Not this time and not this way. Johnny was going to be fine. He had to be. Roy turned it over and over in his head, suddenly back on his knees at Johnny’s side, in the dark and cold, with the blood. This wasn’t happening to him again. It couldn’t. And his kids. He needed to go to them, knew it was what a good father should do. He also knew he couldn’t leave, couldn’t rest. He couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even breathe.

Everything faded to a dull gray for Roy, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in an awkward position on the short waiting room sofa. The light coming in the window indicated it was late afternoon. He wasn’t sure if he’d passed out or fallen asleep, and he also wasn’t sure he cared. He’d needed a reset of sorts. He was actually kind of relieved to have missed some time. He flipped to his back and stared at the ceiling for a bit. Ambient hospital noise filled the air, and something else. Voices. Young voices. Young voices he recognized.

“Look, he’s awake, Uncle Mike.”

Children weren’t allowed up here, so Roy’s first thought was that in all this turmoil he’d fallen off the edge. He sat up to confirm, only to be greeted by the faces of the two people he didn’t even know how much he’d needed to see until he saw them. They peered at him from kneeling positions next to the sofa, no longer in Halloween costumes and no longer looking so terrified. To him in that moment, they both bore expressions just like Joanne used to turn on him when he was upset and it gave him comfort. He’d never seen such beautiful creatures in his whole life, and he finally wised up to what he still had, if … if this turned out for the worst.

“Dad,” Chris said.

“Daddy,” Jenny said right on his coattails.

Roy blinked in confusion and spotted Mike standing at the door with his arms crossed and a small smile on his face. He had no more time to process before his arms were filled with his two children and he could only hug them back as tightly as they held onto him. He mouthed a thank you at Mike, knowing strings had been pulled. Mike nodded once, then ducked out of the room, empty except for the huddled DeSoto family.

He held his kids for some indeterminate time, answered their questions about Johnny again and what had happened the best he could and then simply sat with them on either side of him. It made the wait easier to bear, but there wasn’t a second he didn’t also long to be by Johnny’s side, see for himself if his lover would pull through or fade away. These were thoughts that weren’t going to go away.

“Dad, is Uncle Johnny going to leave us like Mom did?” Chris whispered. “You’re sad just like you were when she died.”

It was as if Chris thought saying it in a regular tone of voice would make it so. Roy knew the feeling. He took a deep breath, glanced at the door in case Mike might rescue him from this as well and buy him some time to swallow past the lump in his throat. Mike wasn’t there, but Doctor Brackett was, looking even more exhausted and grim. Roy’s stomach flopped when the doctor’s frown deepened as he took in the kids.

“Roy,” Brackett said sternly. “You know there are no children permitted up here.”

“Uncle Mike said Daddy needed us,” Jenny said defensively.

Roy winced, but Brackett softened his frown and the weariness in his eyes was lit with something akin to sympathy. Akin to sympathy was as good as the real thing with Brackett. His lips twitched into some semblance of a smile.

“Do you know where your Uncle Mike is right now? I’d like a word with your father.”

“Right here, Doctor Brackett,” Mike said.

Under other circumstances, seeing Brackett jump at the sudden, quiet appearance of Mike Stoker right behind him might have caused Roy some amusement. He couldn’t smile, though. He knew what was coming. He gently pushed his kids toward Mike, who grabbed their hands.

“I think I spotted a vending machine somewhere around here. How about we split a bag of chips?”

After Mike, Chris and Jenny were out of eye and earshot, Brackett joined him on the sofa. He put a hand on Roy’s knee and squeezed gently.

“I was just checking on that partner of yours,” Brackett said.

“How is he?” Roy asked quietly. “Really?”

“Not great, Roy, but we’re in early hours still.”

Brackett’s frown was back firmly in place. He let go of Roy’s knee and leaned his elbows on his own, hung his head down. All that did was ratchet Roy’s stress up.

“The damage done to him was considerable. You know that. I still can’t believe anyone could be capable of it,” Brackett muttered. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up as far as his prognosis goes, but if you’re ready, you can go see him for a few minutes. See with your own eyes that he’s still hanging in there.”

Roy nodded, stood silently when Brackett did and followed the man down the hall. He hazily looked around, spotted Mike and the kids and offered a slight wave. He knew Mike would be there for him. For them. He felt numb again, barely heard Brackett’s cautionary words about Johnny’s appearance. No amount of preparation would be enough, and he knew that. He closed his eyes for a moment.

It wasn’t a common occurrence. Roy shifted only slightly so as not to disturb Johnny, who sprawled all over him like a floppy, warm octopus. Oh, they’d occasionally pass out after giving each other mind-blowing orgasms, but that wasn’t the same as this, waking to the morning slowly, slowly introducing light into the dark room. He twisted his head to enjoy the play of shadow and light across Johnny’s face. His lover’s shaggy hair didn’t detract from the beautiful picture John made though it covered one of Johnny’s eyes and tickled against Roy’s shoulder.

He couldn’t resist bringing his own left arm to stroke the bicep of Johnny’s right arm, draped over his belly. Johnny didn’t flinch or twitch. There was change reflected on his face to suggest he was close to awake, yet the arm Roy’s fingers trailed over automatically pulled tight, hugged Roy closer. He smiled, wrapped his fingers around that slightly skinny, but strong bicep. He could watch Johnny sleep forever, loved how peaceful he looked in these moments. Sleeping Johnny was such an antithesis to the sometimes frenetic energy he had when he was awake and moving, always moving and talking and filling the space around him with vitality.

The stillness brought no peace to Johnny’s beaten features, only an awful mimicry of death. The machines hooked up to him belied that, but were all that kept Roy from thinking it was over, that he had lost someone he loved again. The second Roy focused his attention on his lover, he wanted to run to him and from him in nearly equal parts. Heavy white bandages circled his head, and his torso was bare. This early in recovery, access to wounds was more important than modesty. Johnny wasn’t really there to feel embarrassment or chagrin at the loss of his hair.

“He is responding to some stimuli, Roy, which we’re cautiously optimistic about,” Brackett said softly. “Talking to him might help. Both of you.”

Brackett clapped Roy on the shoulder, and gave him a little push.

In the few short steps it took to reach Johnny’s side, too many thoughts flitted through Roy’s head. Continued disbelief, grief, anger. A violent need for answers and justice. He shakily took Johnny’s limp left hand between both of his, rubbed the skin in a vain attempt to warm it. Johnny’s eyelids moved, but that was the extent of his response. Roy’s legs gave out. He managed to control the fall to his knees, but once down he stayed down. He bent his forehead down, pressed it against Johnny’s hand.

“Johnny,” Roy said, muffled by hospital sheets that smelled too strongly of bleach. “Don’t you dare die on me. Please don’t.”