Confession
A/N: . . . yeah, I don't know exactly what was going on here either.
Two weeks. That was how long Avery gave himself to recover from getting shot, not counting the week he was unconscious. So actually three, total. A long time.
It would be fine; he was strong, he was young, he was motivated - all things his doctors told him were on his side. They warned him it would take time - used words like be patient, and don’t over do it, and expect setbacks - but he was motivated, remember? And strong. And young. Three weeks. Practically a month, really.
It would be fine.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get back in bed? Dude, you’re gray.” Rory huffed with impatience when Avery ignored him. “You’ve already done two laps; that’s enough for today.” He grabbed Avery’s arm.
“I’m not’ssst . . .ow!” Avery hissed in pain when it pulled on his stitches and he was forced to a halt. “I don’t remember, when did you get your medical degree?” He carefully shook off Rory’s grasp, not wanting to admit he was relieved for the break. “One more lap. Tomorrow I want to do it without the walker.” He glared down at the metal contraption the physical therapist insisted he keep close by. Because apparently he was a fall risk, not that he’d been allowed out of bed enough to test that out. Rory and Jack teased him about it, of course. Rory had brought bright neon tennis balls to put on the back legs and Jack contributed a hideous crocheted bag that he’d looped over the front of the frame. Avery had laughed heartily but he’d taken them off as soon as his friends had left. The walker himself was the next thing he planned to shed; this week if he had his way.
“Why are you such a stubborn fuck?” Rory didn’t try to touch him again but his hands hovered close as Avery grimaced and started his slow shuffle forward again. For someone used to being constantly on the move it was agonizingly slow going but he was determined to make one more loop of the hospital floor before he gave into the exhaustion and went back to his room. By now he was thoroughly sick of it - the sterile walls, the weird smell, the constant beeping of machines and middle of the night nursing checks. And his body still wasn’t working right, even though he was doing his best to ignore that.
“How’s . . . work . . . going?” he asked, trying to modulate his tone so he didn’t sound so out of breath. Pulling too much air into his damaged lungs hurt, but it was better than feeling like he was suffocating from lack of oxygen. “Sean . . . chill out?”
“Stop. Talking.” - Rory grabbed an empty wheelchair parked next to the nurses’ station - “or I’ll sit your ass down and push you back to bed, I mean it.” He stopped walking and waited, arms crossed.
“Fine,” Avery muttered. Who was a stubborn fuck now? He didn’t say it though because his chest was aching and he just wanted to finish this lap. He just had to focus: push the walker forward a couple of inches, pick up his foot on his weaker side, step, and then force his other foot to follow. Then do it again. And again.
“Whoa, careful,” - this time Rory grabbed the edge of the walker, and Avery couldn’t shake him off, - “you’re veering to the side, don’t tell me you’re okay.” It sounded like his voice was coming from the end of a long tunnel.
“I’m . . . dizzy fine,” Avery tried to say, but the words got lost in the tunnel too. Somewhere above him he heard an impatient huff and he was suddenly sitting, and moving quickly - so fast that the edges of his vision blurred. “Whaaa . . . Landis,” he groaned as soon as his sight cleared and he could recognize the walls of the hospital - not rushing past as fast as it had felt - “what the hell?”
“Yeah, don’t bother thanking me for saving you from falling on your ass.” Rory sounded not just angry but actually upset. He pushed the wheelchair into Avery’s room and right up to the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were about to pass out?”
“Because I wasn’t?” Avery climbed gingerly back into bed and tried not to show how good it felt to be lying down again. “I just got a little lightheaded; there’s no reason to go all Grey’s Anatomy on me.” He pressed his hand subtly against his side, unsure if was feeling nauseous or just sore. “I’m fine.”
“Your knees buckled; I wouldn’t call that fine.” Rory grabbed the blanket folded at the end of the bed and threw it roughly over Avery’s lap. “Luckily I was there to catch you this time.”
“This time? When else did I . . . Oh.” Avery sunk back into the pillows. They hadn’t had the conversation yet but he’d figured it was coming. Rory was too . . . Rory, not to be consumed by what had happened. It probably would have been better to talk to Noa about it first, get a sense of exactly where Rory’s head was, but oh well. And anyway, Avery had a pretty good idea where Rory’s head was.
“You’re thinking it’s your fault, but it’s not.” He had a sudden, weird moment of thinking I sound like Adam, because that was the kind of self-assured comment he’d make. Rory looked immediately annoyed, and of course he did, because Adam’s attitude was infuriating. He shook his head.
“If we’d gotten there earlier . . .” he began, but Avery wouldn’t let him finish.
“If you’d gotten there earlier then maybe you or Jack would have been the one shot, or both of you, and I’d be the one feeling guilty.” Rory didn’t look convinced and Avery stifled a frustrated groan. He was feeling more nauseous, but now that they were talking about it he didn’t want to interrupt by calling the nurse for meds. Rory’d probably insist on leaving if he knew Avery was feeling sick. So he blew out an airy, unrelieving burp and tried to glare, “hell, I shouldn’t have gotten out of my car, so we may as well blame me.” Under the blanket, his stomach pulsed uncomfortably and he carefully pushed his fingers against it, avoiding the stitches, but kept speaking, “or, I don’t know, maybe it’s on Sean, for assigning me to that location, or Mother Nature, because if it had been raining, no one would have been on the street.”
Rory wasn’t ready to give in. “We knew you’d been up all night; we should’ve tried to get there faster. Or . . . split up so I could come relieve you sooner.”
“And broken about a million rules and pissed off Sean; yeah right.” All the talking loosened an air bubble in Avery’s gut and when he leaned forward he was finally able to bring up a better belch. “S’cuse me,” he muttered. He looked around for a towel or something he could spit into, and finding nothing, just swallowed down the saliva that came up. His stomach grumbled in protest. Maybe all the walking hadn’t been such a great idea.
Rory, fortunately, seemed too caught up in berating himself to notice his partner’s upset stomach. “We could have done something differently,” he insisted stubbornly, “told you to wait for us, at least.”
Avery changed tactics, “you could have,” he agreed, “and maybe I wouldn’t have gotten shot. But tell me . . .” - he stopped and burped into his fist again - “tell me how that helps anything now.” He thumped the mattress next to him. “Our job is dangerous; we already knew that. Don’t make it worse by beating yourself up, pretending you could have prevented this.” He could tell his words had an impact; the fire in Rory’s eyes dimmed a little bit. He sagged in his chair.
“Noa said kind of the same thing,” he admitted finally, “and that ruminating about the ‘could haves and should haves’ is not productive for my healing. Or yours.” He gave Avery a sheepish smile, “she’s going to yell at me when I get home.”
“One of the many things I love about you is that it doesn’t even occur to you not to tell her.” Avery sat forward a little bit even though it sent a fresh spike of pain through his middle, “you two are perfect for each other, have I told you that?”
Rory’s next smile was more relaxed. “You may have mentioned that once or twice.” He stood up. “Actually, mind if I leave? I uhh, promised her I’d bring home dinner.”
“Go,” Avery waved him off, “eat something good for me since I can’t,” - he pointed sharply at Rory’s chest, “ - and do not feel bad about that, I can see it on your face.” Truly, he was relieved his friend was leaving, not that he’d ever admit it. Or the fact that thinking about food was completely unappealing right now.
“We’ll both come by tomorrow,” Rory promised, “and I think Logan too; Gabe’s on a deal and living at the office.”
“Sounds . . . sounds good.” Avery plastered a grin on his face. “And, thanks, man. I love you, you know that.”
Rory grinned back. “I love you too.”
Avery waited a full minute after Rory left to make sure he wasn’t coming back, and then grabbed the call button. “I need . . . ‘M nauseous . . .” was all he managed before he bent forward over his lap and retched. Fire exploded across his belly. He tried to hold back the next heave, scared of how much it would hurt, but the nausea was relentless. He retched again, this time bringing up some of the liquid nutrition he’d managed to swallow earlier. It splattered across his lap just as the door pushed open and Drew walked in.
Instantly there was a bowl under his chin. “Get the rest up,” he instructed briskly, “and then I’ll get your meds started. You’re an hour over; why didn’t you call?”
Avery gripped the side of the bed while he rode out another wave of queasy pain. “Rory . . .” he managed, but felt too sick to explain more. There was a bubble of pressure sitting in his chest that refused to move either up or down. The discomfort was unbearable. “Guhhh . . .” he gagged, desperate for relief, “need’t’puke.” Tears leaked out of his eye but he couldn’t loosen his grip on the bed rails to wipe them away.
“Relax your stomach muscles,” Drew instructed. His voice was incredibly calm, “and your jaw, if you can. Don’t worry if you spit up, I’ve got a towel on your lap.” He rested a hand on Avery’s back. “I’m going to pat and try to get the air up, okay?”
Avery gagged emptily. “‘Kay,” he managed, trying to follow Drew’s direction to unclench his muscles. A wave of revulsion washed over him. Drew thumped him on the mid back and then moved up to between his shoulder blades and the bubble of air moved too.
“HeurrRP!” he belched, and then threw up a mouthful of bile, tinged with blood. “F-fuck.” He groaned, spitting onto the towel underneath him and still feeling horribly sick. He didn’t think there was anything else to come up, though.
Drew busied himself at Avery’s IV. “Let me get the meds loaded and then I’ll get a fresh change of bedding,” he promised, “that better?”
The familiar warmth of pain meds spread across Avery’s middle and sunk into his limbs. “Yeah,” he sighed, finally relaxing into the mattress. The nausea began to recede too. “Thanks.”
“Your friends know you’re taking meds; next time don’t wait to ask,” Drew chided, “I know it may not feel like it, but you are improving. I heard you managed to get up and down four stairs in PT this morning.” He pulled a new sheet and blanket out of the cabinet and stripped the ones Avery had vomited on off the bed.
“Won’t lemme go home ‘til I can do a flight,” he mumbled sleepily, “my ‘partment’s on the seconnn floor.”
“I remember; I puked in your bathroom.” Drew tucked the new blanket around him and adjusted the flow of the IV.
“Yeah . . . ,” Avery agreed. His thoughts were getting floaty. “Adam did too. Puked in my’partment.” He wanted to say more but instead closed his eyes.
“Yes well, let’s hope Adam understands you need some peace.” Avery hummed in something that sounded like agreement, and the nurse gave a satisfied nod. Adam hadn’t been back to the hospital in the past few days and Drew hoped he’d gotten the message that Avery needed the least stressful environment possible to heal. And stress and Adam Calder seemed to go hand in hand.
“Peace,” Avery agreed, “home.”
“Home. Soon,” Drew promised.
It wasn’t as soon as Avery wanted though. Three weeks and three days after the shooting, after the deadline he’d given himself for recovering, he was still in the hospital. And yeah, he was finally going home today, but only on the condition that a home health nurse would check in once a day. At this point, Avery might have agreed to having the nurse move in, if it meant getting free of the hospital.
Rory was coming at noon to drive him to his apartment, which Noa had spent the day before cleaning and stocking with things like toilet paper and the few foods Avery was sometimes able to tolerate: clear broth, jello, applesauce. Not to mention a case of liquid nutrition from the hospital. He'd finally gotten the feeding tube out yesterday and now was supposed to drink at least one can per day by mouth. Oh joy.
Avery missed cheeseburgers. No, that wasn’t true; he missed wanting cheeseburgers. His little bitch of a digestive system still insisted on rejecting a lot of what he put in it, and what he did manage to keep down still made him bloated and nauseous. He didn’t even want to think about how much weight he’d lost.
The door pushed open and he straightened up and slapped a genial grin on his face. “You’re late, asshole,” he called out, “you were supposed to be here at . . . oh.”
“Surprise.” Adam stood awkwardly in the doorway as if waiting for an invitation to come in. He was wearing what Avery called his “fancy-assed gym outfit” and looked sweaty and rumpled and gorgeous, like he’d been in the middle of a workout or something. Well, fuck.
“Did you come from the gym?” It wasn’t what Avery had meant to say; he actually hadn’t meant to say anything. Because why had Adam decided to come visit him now, today of all days? He hadn’t been to the hospital in over a week, and never alone. Him being here now was was weird, is what it was. Weird, but also not entirely unwelcome, much as Avery didn't want to admit that. Adam hadn't been texting lately - radio silence was unlike him and Avery wasn's sure how to play this. Why couldn't he have come yesterday?
“Umm, thanks for coming to visit but this isn’t actually a great time.” He held up the plastic bag with his discharge paperwork and meds, “I’ve finally been sprung, just waiting for Rory to come pick me up.”
Adam grimaced. “Yeah, about that, Rory can’t come, something with work.” He rocked back and forth on his feet and looked around, eyes landing on a spot on the wall above the bed.
Avery frowned, “what about work?” He grabbed for his phone, Adam’s visit forgotten. He’d been doing his best to keep up with things at the FBI and didn’t remember any cases that might have pulled Rory away last minute. “Is there an emergency?”
Adam shrugged, surprisingly unconcerned. “He didn’t say, just that something came up, and could I pick you up instead.” - he spread his arms wide - “I said yes.”
It registered that Adam hadn’t actually come to visit him, still, that didn’t explain why he was here, “what about Noa?” he asked. She made more sense, except that Rory probably thought Avery was going to need someone strong enough to carry him up the fucking stairs. Which he didn’t, “Or . . . Gabe?”
Adam spoke very fast. “Gabe and Logan are on some fancy work retreat. Noa was supposed to come but she’s sick. So you get me.” He gave a non-committal bob of the head - “unless you’d rather stay until Rory’s free?”
“Hell no; take me home.” It might have been weird but Avery didn’t care, besides, he’d taken plenty of awkward car rides with Adam Calder before; what was one more? The sooner they left the sooner he’d be home. Preferably sitting on his sofa with something good on television and no interruptions.
Things got awkward way before they got to the car, though. Hospital protocol required patients to be transported to the exit in a wheelchair, but the orderlies were backed up at least an hour, maybe more.
“Fuck,” Avery growled in frustration at the nurse who’d come to deliver the news, “just let me walk; I’m fine.” Seriously, didn’t they know he’d already spent like a million hours in physical therapy just to prove he could walk upstairs to his apartment? “Let’s go.” He pushed himself up off the bed, overcompensated, and immediately stumbled, arms flailing like a windmill as he tried to find something to grab.
“Whoa, shit, watch out,” Adam grabbed his shoulders to prevent him from pitching forward but Avery’s head slammed into Adam’s chest anyway. This would have been the time for him to snark, maybe a joke that if Avery wanted him so badly, he just had to ask. But Adam was oddly humorless. “You okay?” He let go as soon as Avery was upright again and took a couple of steps back. “I’ll push him; my car’s with valet,” he told the nurse, who immediately scurried out to find a wheelchair.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Avery tried to decipher Adam’s silence and failed, “I could’ve walked though.”
A smile played around Adam’s mouth but there was no joy in it. “Yeah, because you did such a good job getting out of bed.” He threw up his hands - “just let me get you home in one piece, Morrison. Then you can walk all over your apartment if you want.”
He sounded frustrated, probably annoyed his workout had been interrupted for nursemaid duties. Avery was kind of surprised he hadn’t said so outright; Adam loved to talk about his exercise routine. He called it his protocol even though Avery always gave him shit for that. While he was still deciding if he should say something, the nurse came back, bringing the stupid wheelchair.
A hint of Adam’s old swagger returned. “I forget, who was in one of these last time? You or me?” He locked the wheels and made a grand gesture towards the seat, and Avery thought that if he said something like your chariot awaits he’d have to punch him.
“It was me,” Avery said shortly. He didn’t have a choice so he sat down, holding his plastic bag of meds on his lap and feeling like an idiot while Adam pushed him out of the room. He didn’t quite believe he was actually leaving for good, or that he’d be sleeping in his own bed tonight; he half expected to see one of his doctors walk up and tell him they’d made a mistake and he actually needed to stay. Just the thought, even if untrue, caused unfamiliar anxiety to bloom in his chest. He leaned forward, unconsciously urging Adam to move faster. Of course, he slowed down.
“Are you trying to fall out? Sit the fuck back, Morrison, or I’ll tie you to the chair.”
“I bet you’d like that,” Avery snarked back without thinking. The wheelchair stuttered to a stop for a moment, and then began moving again, but Adam didn’t say anything else. Fuck. They rolled in silence the rest of the way down the hall except to acknowledge the nurses who called out goodbye or good luck.
“Where’s Drew?” he asked as they approached the elevators. Jeremiah had been by that morning before surgery, promising to visit on his day off next week. But his boyfriend had been absent, even though he’d come to visit nearly every day Avery was in the hospital. If he thought asking an easy question would get Adam talking again, he was mistaken.
“Eh, probably busy.” Adam jammed his finger into the button to close the elevator doors. “I’m sure Miah will catch him up.” Before he could ask what that meant the elevator dropped with a swoop and Avery’s stomach dropped with it. He’d gone almost three hours today without nausea, so it was annoying to feel sick again. He decided to ignore it.
“Or I can . . . eurrph! . . “ the elevator jerked to a stop and pushed up a bubble of air. He turned his head to burp just before the doors opened and then tried to sit up and look less unwell as Adam pushed him through the lobby. He burped again while they were waiting for the valet to bring the car and Adam dropped an emesis bag into his lap.
Avery had to crane his neck to glare up at him. “I’m fine,” he said petulantly, shoving the bag into the closest part of Adam’s body he could reach, which happened to be his hip, ”I don’t need it.”
“You look queasy and I don’t want you puking in my car.” The valet pulled up and before Adam could push him outside, Avery braced himself on the armrests of the wheelchair and lurched to his feet, ignoring the way it made his stomach roll.
“Fuck you, Calder.” There, that felt better; he told Adam fuck off all the time. Except he forgot he had his bag of meds in his lap. It fell on the ground and he wasn’t so stupid to think he could lean down and pick it up. So he had to wait for Adam to do it and his triumphant walk to the car was more like a shuffle.
It was maybe twenty feet, and Avery managed to make it without stumbling, which felt like a win. Getting into Adam’s Audi SUV required a step up, and he deliberately ignored his outstretched hand, hauling himself into the familiar passenger seat.
“Show off,” Adam muttered. Avery rolled his eyes.
“For getting into the car by myself? Give me a little more credit than that please.” He pulled at the seatbelt, which felt uncomfortable and tight across his middle.
“Earn it and I will.” Adam’s mouth was tight. He pulled out of the hospital parking lot a little too fast and Avery slid into the side of the door.
“Watch it,” he warned, shuddering through a wave of unease, “you don’t want me to puke.” It occurred to him that he hadn’t ridden in a car in over three weeks; was that enough time to forget what it felt like? The scenery was rushing by more quickly than felt natural, but a glance at the dashboard confirmed they were driving within the speed limit. Shutting his eyes increased the disorientation so he kept them open, swallowing hard.
“I thought you said you were fine,” - without looking over, Adam tossed the emesis bag at him again - “are you saying I’m a bad driver, sweetheart?” There was an undercurrent of something in his tone that Avery thought he should recognize. He chanced a quick glance, peeling his head off the back of the seat to try to figure out what Adam was thinking.
He was still looking straight ahead, a vein twitching in his jaw. When he felt Avery’s gaze on him his mouth relaxed, parting into a familiar smirk. “You’ve never complained about my speed before.”
Avery forced up a burp so he could retort without sounding like he was about to gag, “but we’re not on the same road right now, are we? Sweetheart.” Now he understood what they were doing - this was how they’d talked to each other when they first met - more barbed than flirtatious, each jockeying for position. Avery could barely remember back to those days, but the pattern of their banter came back easily enough. If Adam wanted to play that game, then fine, Avery could too. Even if it was a kind of jerky thing for Adam to do to a guy barely out of the hospital and on all kinds of pain meds.
Adam’s brow furrowed for the briefest second and then smoothed out. “We’re in the same car, so that means we’re on the same road,” he said easily, taking the turn onto Avery’s street, “unless you were talking about something besides traffic, of course.” He shrugged, seeming completely unconcerned with the direction the conversation was going.
“Just fucking park,” Avery growled, or would have growled if he hadn’t been so fucking nauseous. The puke bag was still sitting in his lap and picked it up and spit into it, and then hovered for a second while his stomach decided what it wanted to do.
“I knew you were gonna puke,” Adam said with satisfaction, and that more than anything made Avery gulp down the liquid that was trying to crawl up his throat. He breathed heavily for a few seconds and then finally straightened up so he could give Adam a triumphant grin.
“Nope; all good.” Undoing his seatbelt helped more and by the time he’d climbed down from the SUV, his queasiness was back to its regular, minorly annoying level.
“Let me guess, you can get upstairs by yourself too.” Adam sounded annoyed again. He rubbed idly at his stomach and handed Avery his housekeys before stifling a small burp into his collar.
“Maybe I should give this to you,” Avery held out the crumpled emesis bag. “Did you actually make yourself carsick with your own driving?”
“Fuck you.” Adam ignored the bag and burped again, deeper this time, “it’s just my pre-workout; it’s not sitting well,” he gave Avery a pointed look, “normally I would have sweated it all out by now but my protocol got interrupted.”
Avery refused to feel guilty. “So go back to the gym and finish your protocol. You did your duty and got me home,” - he waved Adam away with the back of his hand - “I’ve got it from here.”
“Even if I believed that, which I don’t, Rory and Jeremiah’d kill me.” Adam held up Avery’s duffle and the plastic bag of meds and medical supplies. “Besides, someone’s got to carry all your crap.”
“Don’t do me any favors, Calder.” Avery considered the staircase in front of him, had it always been so steep? The little wooden steps he’d practiced on at the hospital felt like doll furniture in comparison. Whatever; he could do this.
There were seventeen steps up to the second floor landing where his apartment was, and Avery’s lungs were burning by the time he was halfway. The nausea was back too, with a vengeance, but he didn’t have the breath to ask for the emesis bag. Spitting up on the stairs it was, then. He turned his head mid-heave, and the floor under him flipped sideways. Strong hands grasped his hips.
“Fuck, Morrison, can’t you give me some warning at least once?” Adam wrapped his arms around him from behind. “Sit your ass down; you’re swaying.”
Avery finished burping up a mixture of bile and spit and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Gimme a second,” he panted, trying to catch his breath, “jus’ a little dizzy.” He’d lied about it to Rory last week but Adam clearly wouldn’t buy an act. Besides, he’d be lying if said it didn’t feel good to have the guy’s arms around him for a minute. Fucking hellish as that was to admit. “I . . . I can walk the rest.”
“Well thank god, because I’m not about to carry you.” Still Adam kept his hands on Avery the rest of the way up the stairs, and Avery wasn’t so stupid as to refuse the help. He let go the moment they made it to the landing, and stepped back to let Avery fumble with his keys and push open the door.
“Whoa . . . “ - Avery was momentarily speechless, staring at what Noa had done, “- god I love your sister.” She had done a lot more than clean - there were fresh flowers on the coffee table, a new, cozy-looking blanket folded on the sofa next to a pile of pillows, a counter full of his favorite snacks, and a big sign on the wall that said Welcome Home Avery in big, colorful letters. Even the damned walker tucked in the corner couldn’t dim his delight at being home. “She really outdid herself.”
“She always does,” Adam agreed, “but can you please sit down? You’re making me nervous, standing like that.” He started clearing a place on the sofa, moving the blanket and pillows to one side and pushing the coffee table out of the way. His energy seemed nervous too, Avery thought, watching Adam putter around the space that functioned as his living room. He arranged and then rearranged the pillows and even bent down to straighten out a corner of the crappy area rug Avery had gotten at Goodwill and kept meaning to throw out.
Avery was still giddy about being out of the hospital. “Adam Calder, nervous around a guy? That’s a new one,” he teased. He waved at the food on the counter. “Can I offer you cheese and crackers, sweetheart? Maybe a glass of wine? I’m not quite in shape for anything myself, but we could put on some porn.” It was obviously a joke; even at the height of their hooking up he and Adam had never watched porn together. But Adam didn’t take the bait.
“Can you blame me for not wanting to see you get a concussion?” he asked, stepping back and gesturing at the sofa. “You’re still looking kind of green.” He wrapped his arms around his waist and waited, impatience oozing out of every pore.
“Yeah, well, so are you,” Avery huffed. Seriously, Adam looked downright queasy, standing there. He wasn’t wrong though, and Avery lowered himself down carefully, unable to hide a groan of relief when he wasn’t standing anymore. “Maybe you should skip the pre-workout, if it makes you sick.”
Adam didn’t seem to have heard him. He was looking around the room, seemingly checking out his sister’s handiwork, and when he finally spoke, it was if he’d already had half the conversation in his head. “You’re not, you know.”
Avery had no idea what he was talking about. “Not what?” There were a lot of things he was not at the moment - not feeling great for sure, but not dead either - that was a really good thing. And also not understanding the expression on Adam’s face. Maybe he really was nervous, which was totally weird. If there was one thing Avery knew about Adam Calder, it was that he was pretty much always confident. Right now his hesitance was almost . . . endearing. Avery flushed, and then again when he realized Adam would absolutely clock his discomfort. He braced himself to be called out.
But Adam barely seemed to be looking at him. He bit his lip, and for a second Avery thought he’d totally misread the situation, and that Adam wasn’t nervous, but trying not to puke after all.
“Not just any guy,” he said instead, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but here in Avery’s apartment. He rocked back and forth on his feet, “you know that, right?”
Avery was still confused; didn’t Adam know he was on about a million painkillers right now? He rubbed his hands over his face. The adrenaline from being home was fading and he wanted to take a nap. “Calder, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He didn’t actually say the can it wait out loud, but didn’t try to hide the meaning in his tone. Or maybe they could just text later. “If this is about the cannoli . . .” he began, thinking back to the flood of messages Adam had been sending him before he’d been shot.
Adam ignored him, blowing out a shaky breath. When he spoke, it sounded like he was trying to swallow his words. “Maybe we should try again.” He finally looked up and met Avery’s gaze. “You and me; this,” he explained, gesturing inelegantly at the space between them,” you know?”
Avery heard the words, knew it was a question, but was Adam actually proposing . . . “you want to start hooking up again?” It seemed like a ridiculous thing to ask, especially right now. Adam would absolutely know better than to suggest it at all, let alone the day Avery got home from the hospital. “You know I don’t . . ."
Adam interrupted him, vigorously shaking his head, “No! That’s not what I . . . fuck; I wasn’t planning to . . . fuck.” He began pacing back and forth across the small space in front of the sofa. “I just thought . . . you didn’t like that I didn’t want to tell anyone, right? And that I said we’d start hooking up with other people, at some point.” Adam dropped down to sit on the coffee table, his expression disarmingly open, “what if we didn’t do those things? Like, we wouldn’t keep it such a secret from our friends, and we could . . . hang out and whatever, as long as we wanted. No ‘expiration date’ as you put it.” Adam leaned forward as if he was going to rest his hands on Avery’s knees, but at the last second pulled back. “You’ve told me those things were a problem, so what if they weren’t?”
While Avery stared at him, a whisper of Adam’s familiar confidence returned, buoyed, no doubt, by the fact that Avery hadn’t immediately shot him down. Which he couldn’t have, because he still didn’t completely understand what the fuck was going on. And yet Adam kept talking, “I mean, you have to admit, Morrison, we’re good together. And I don’t only mean in bed.” He held out his arms, seemingly signalling all the things he and Avery were good at together. “Right? We’re good?”
“Right,” Avery stuttered back, almost involuntarily. He was nauseous and in pain and he was having an out of body experience, so he couldn’t be responsible for anything he said. But Adam looked satisfied and that felt like a problem, and one that couldn’t wait for a text to explain.
“Actually . . . “ - he slowly shook his head, “- I don’t know what I . . . no, I don’t know what you mean.” He dipped his head to muffle a burp into his collar and then looked up to find Adam watching him. “Are you saying you want to be friends with benefits again, but this time we tell people? Is that it?” That didn’t seem much better than what they’d been doing before; surely Adam knew that, though.
Adam slowly shook his head. “Not exactly,” he agreed, clearly reading the skepticism on Avery’s face. He leaned forward again, and this time did make contact, resting one hand on Avery’s knee. “What if . . . and hear me out here . . . but what if we decide to be . . . more?”
Avery’s brain was too sluggish to keep up. He slowly shook his head that he still didn’t understand, but Adam misinterpreted. “Don’t answer right now,” he said quickly, squeezing Avery’s knee, “I didn’t explain all the . . . I mean, it’s not what it . . . god-fucking-damn.” He buried his face in his hands for a second, fingers digging into his temple, “when you got hurt, I realized . . ." - he suddenly pulled his face up and grabbed Avery’s knee again, “ - but that’s not why, I swear, no matter what Drew says.”
“Drew?” Avery looked around, half expecting the nurse to have appeared, “Adam, I don’t . . .”
“. . . I like you, okay?” Adam blurted out, and Avery froze. What the fuck?
“What?” This had to be the drugs, making him hallucinate. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Calder, if this is some kind of joke . . .”
“It’s not, I swear it’s not,” the earnestness was back in Adam’s expression, “c’mon, Morrison, you know me better than that.”
“Do I?” Avery muttered. It was true that he’d grown to understand a lot more about Adam Calder over the past year, but the guy admitting he - what - had feelings? That was not something he knew what to do with. And he hadn’t actually said he had feelings for Avery anyway - not in those words. “So you . . . like me?” he asked slowly, “Adam, I don’t think I can . . .” - an enormous yawn split his face, - “sorry - I . . .”
Adam jumped up, “No - don’t answer now, you don’t have to . . . this was stupid, I know.” He looked wildly around the apartment, “you need to sleep, right? And . . . meds?” - he picked up the plastic hospital bag and waved it in Avery’s direction - “are you still nauseous?”
“Yeah,” Avery wasn’t sure which question he was answering at this point. He leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes, “I’m s-s-sorry . . . can I . . . later?” He opened them again. Adam was still there, staring. “Later,” he mumbled.
TBC
A/N: We're going to see the second part of this again from Adam's POV in the next fic.
