When I Come Around Part 2
Author: timrod
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Billie Joe/other
Disclaimer: I don't own Green Day.
Part 1 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2953785.html#cutid1
The thick soles of his boots made Billie very conspicuous, squeaking on the polished floor of Mercy’s hushed emergency department, leaving a muddy trail behind him. When he stood in front of the receptionist, rain channelled down the creases of the pants to puddle on the pristine surface, and his helmet, too, made a mess of the desk when he took it off to speak.
“Hey there, I wonder if you could help me ...” The receptionist moved a file out of the way of the small river running towards it and glared at him as if he had just suggested she dance naked around the parking lot. “Sorry. Look, this morning, about eight, eight thirty, some cops brought a guy in. He’d been shot, well, not shot, exactly ....”
“Name?”
“Billie. Billie Joe Armstrong.” He lowered his voice, trying not to attract attention - perhaps a little too late - and turned on his sweetest smile.
“No-one here by that name. I can’t help you.”
“No. No, sorry, that’s me .... I’m Billie. I don’t know the patient’s name. He had no ID. He came in from 27th ...”
“So you are not related?”
“No. Not related.”
“Then I’m afraid ...”
“Look. ma’am, I just wanted to know if he’s okay. Has he woken up? Have they found out his name? Please?”
“Sir, I really can’t ..”
A flash of inspiration illuminated Billie’s darkening mood. “Pity. I wanted to pay for his treatment. You know, all those expensive tests and drugs ..”
The receptionist’s face changed immediately and so did her attitude.
“Sit over there for a moment, please. Someone will be right with you.”
**
By the time Billie got to the third floor room, he was almost dry. He waited outside as instructed, trying hard not to breathe in too much of the smell that always made him feel sick to his stomach, leaning forward on his chair and wondering what the fuck possessed him to walk into one of these places voluntarily. Caught up with the ghosts of the past, a voice calling his name jogged him back to the present.
“Mr. Armstrong? Doctor Mallory.”
Billie jumped to his feet to shake hands and only then realised that he was still wearing his gloves. He tugged them off quickly and stuffed them inside his crash helmet. “Hi. You’re looking after him, then - the John Doe?”
“Yes, he’s mine.” The doctor sat, beckoning Billie to do the same. “He’s conscious. He woke up pretty soon after he got here, actually. He didn’t even need stitches in the wound, it really was little more than a scratch - he was very lucky. He had something to eat a little while ago, and we cleaned him up a bit. According to the nurses, he’s been sleeping on and off for most of the morning, but when he’s been awake he’s been very talkative.”
“That’s great news. So when can he get out of here?”
“Well, we’d keep him here overnight as a matter of course, we always do with head injuries - but there’s a problem.”
“Problem? What kind of problem?”
“He has no memory of being shot. In fact he has no memory at all.”
“So you still don’t know his name?”
“We only know what our tests have told us. Apart from the bump on his head, he’s reasonably healthy - a little underweight, but nothing serious. His general condition suggests he hasn’t been living rough for very long.”
“So what’ll happen to him? Where will he go when you let him out? He can’t go back on the street.”
“The police are trying to find someone who knows where he’s from, but in the meantime he’ll end up in a shelter somewhere in the city, I suspect. If he’s okay overnight, he can leave tomorrow, as soon as we can find a place for him to go.”
“Could I go see him? I suppose the girl downstairs told you ...”
“... that you want to take care of his bills? Yes, she told me. That’s very generous, Mr Armstrong. We have a fund here for people like him, but it doesn’t stretch very far.”
“Billie. Please call me Billie, and no, not really generous. I can afford it, and I feel sorry for the guy.”
“You can see him. He needs to rest, and he will be tired from the pain meds we gave him, but I think he’d like having somebody to talk to.”
**
The man in the bed looked quite different from the last time Billie had seen him. The beard had gone completely, leaving a strong, square jawline on display, and the clean-up had removed not only the grime from his skin, but had also changed his hair colour from muddy grey to a light sandy brown. The very conspicuous bump on his forehead now sported a patch of dark, parallel grazes, there was a small taped dressing over his left ear, and his eyes were open - very blue and very open. He looked up at the new arrival, blank-faced as yet another stranger walked into his life.
“Hi.”
“Hi. I’m Billie. You’re looking a lot better.”
“Do I? Everyone keeps saying that but all I can say is that I must have looked shit before. Do you wanna sit? Are you gonna stay a while? Everyone here seems so busy.”
Billie nodded and sat on the chair at the bedside, leathers creaking as he bent his legs. “I’ll stay as long as you want. I got no place to be.”
“Thanks. Cool.” The patient sat up a little straighter, and grinned. He had a great smile, one of those that made Billie want to smile too. “I don’t suppose you know me?”
“No, I don’t, sorry. The cops found you at my work, down on 27th Avenue. That was the first time I’d ever seen you.”
“Shit. It was worth asking. Sorry if I fucked up your day.”
“No, you didn’t. You kinda fucked up yours, though.”
“I don’t know. The bits of today I can remember have been sort of okay - a hot bath, food, a warm bed. It’s all good.”
“How does your head feel? That bump looks painful.”
“Not bad. They gave me something for the headache - that was good, too.”
“And there’s nothing else you want, ...... shit, what do I call you - John?”
“Do I look like a John? Fuck, that name makes me think of a fucking toilet.”
“Yeah, now you mention it ...” Billie giggled. “Almost as bad as mine ...”
“Huh?”
“Billie Joe - BJ” The man in the bed looked even more confused. “BJ - blow job ... okay, never mind. How about calling you JD? Or just J?”
“Jay .... yeah ... Jay. I like it. It’s cool.“
“Okay, Jay it is. So, anything else you want, Jay?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember what I like. They gave me a choice for lunch and I just took something at random - I didn’t know if I liked it or not.”
“And did you?”
“Yeah, it was okay. I guess I’m gonna get a lot of that until I get my memory back.”
“It must feel weird.”
Jay shrugged. “Dunno. I can’t remember being any other way.”
“I never thought of it like that. The doc seems to think you can go ho... - get out of here tomorrow. That must feel good.”
“Not sure about that, either. At the moment this is the only place I know.” Jay reached for Billie’s hand. “Sorry, it must be kinda hard for you to understand this. I fucking know it is for me. Let’s talk about you. What do you do? Who are you, Billie?”
They talked for hours, Billie sharing stories about his career, his childhood, the city where they found themselves, until Jay started to flag, yawning and responding less and less, and although Jay said no when Billie offered to leave, it was obvious that he needed to rest. Billie said his goodbyes and left him to sleep, completely taken by surprise at just how long he’d been there. Outside in the corridor, Doctor Mallory was in a huddle with another doctor, and Billie waited for them to finish before he approached.
“How did you find him? Did you learn anything?”
“No, he still can’t remember, but I think he comes from around here. Some of the phrases he used - like hella .. it’s a local thing.” He added. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“He does, but the amnesia could have changed his personality. He could be a mass murderer for all we know!”
“Seriously? He seems so .. harmless.”
“I said could have. Chances are he’s just a regular guy, but until we find out more about him, we really don’t know. We’ve sent off some DNA samples, the cops took fingerprints, so we can hope that one of those comes back with a positive ID.”
“And you think he can get out of here tomorrow?”
“I think he’ll be well enough, yes. He’ll need supervision for a few days, just to make sure there are no nasty surprises in his brain after that knock on the head, and to remind him to take meds. He could have some issues with his short term memory.”
“He seemed okay to me. He was asking me all sorts of stuff, didn’t seem to have trouble remembering what I told him.”
“That’s good. Thank you for making time for him. You must be very busy in your line of work.”
“Ah, you know who I am ...”
“My daughter’s a big fan. Your face is everywhere in her bedroom.”
“Oh, god .... “ Billie blushed to his ebony-black hair roots. Twenty years into his career, and the man still had trouble coming to terms with his fame. “Do you need me to sign anything, you know, for Jay’s bills, i mean.”
“Jay?”
“Yeah - he hates the name John - reminds him of a toilet. He wants to be called Jay.”
“I’ll make a note of that, change it on his notes. And you can e-mail us your billing details - no hurry. With your permission, I’d like to run a couple more tests.”
“Yeah, sure, go ahead, anything that you think will help him. Look, I really gotta go now, I’m dying of hunger - I missed lunch. I’ll call in the morning, see how he is. Thank you, doctor.”
The evening was clear and bright, a cold but beautiful moonlit Bay night, and Billie kicked the motorcycle into life and headed for the freeway and home.