And Many Happy Tomorrows, Chapter 1 (Fic)

[paleogymnast]

And Many Happy Tomorrows
Chapter 1:

July 27, 2009:
Of all the scenarios Mike had thought of, this would have probably been last on the list of “things that will make Chris move our engagement from the theoretical to the definite I-want-you-to-marry-me-now.” Ok, maybe not the last. Last would be like Bill O’Reilly doing a special on the wonders of gay marriage and single-handedly simultaneously convincing every state to make same-sex marriage legal-right that very second. Yeah, that would probably be very last on the list … but this was still pretty far down there.

It started when Mike couldn’t reach Chris on his cell. It wasn’t really that big a deal-after all, Chris usually didn’t answer the phone while filming, and Leverage wasn’t exactly known for sticking to its proposed shooting schedule. Still, Chris was supposed to wrap for the day 3 hours ago, and therefore, should have been free to answer his phone when Mike had called before leaving LAX. Especially since Chris knew Mike was flying in, and they had plans. But, Chris had had a 2am call, and that meant the scheduled wrap was at 5pm, and knowing directors and their precious light, chances were they’d decided to keep shooting until sunset … which in July, in Portland wasn’t until after 8pm.

And it was just 8 now, Mike confirmed with a quick glance at his watch. With a frustrated sigh, he shoved his cell back in his pocket, adjusted his sunglasses, and waked towards the exit of PDX’s secure area.

It wasn’t Chris’s fault, and Mike wasn’t mad at him. Just frustrated? No, not frustrated exactly; vaguely worried because really, Chris would have bugged the director to at least give him a second to text Mike with an ETA. That’s the sort of thing Chris did. So, it was weird that Mike hadn’t heard anything from him. Oh well, maybe their cell provider had some sort of snafu so text messages weren’t getting through. Maybe the director was a prick and hadn’t let anyone break long enough to get their phone and send a text. Maybe Chris was uncharacteristically absent-minded today and had left his cell at home or in his trailer. Yeah, there were a million good explanations, but Mike couldn’t shake the uneasy knot in his gut that something wasn’t right.

Mike looked up to realize that while his mind was lost in contemplation his feet had carried him to the exit for the car rental shuttle. Without further hesitation, he shrugged his carry-on bag higher on his shoulder-thankful he had enough clothes and belongings here in Portland that he didn’t need deal with the hassle of baggage claim-and stepped through the sliding doors and into the oppressive, humid heat. Chris had told him they were having a record-breaking heat wave, but Mike hadn’t really computed that meant temperatures-that-make-LA-look-cool-and-comfy hot.

He went through the motions of riding the shuttle, getting the rental from the express pickup, and wending his way out of the airport before giving in to the urge to try Chris’s phone again. Cell phone laws be damned, he thought as he hit Chris’s speed dial and turned the phone on speaker. It rang and rang and went to Chris’ voicemail… not odd in and of itself-Chris was really paranoid about turning off his phone and left it at least on vibrate whenever possible because of too many close calls mostly involving Jensen’s life and safety-but it was still really weird.

Mike knew he was probably making a big deal out of nothing and tried to turn his attention to following the route he already knew by heart back to the small house Chris was renting. Mike had asked “why a house” considering they were both usually apartment or condo people. Chris’s entertained response had been that house meant privacy and noise-making and not having to worry about disturbing the neighbors. Mike smiled at the thought… he was definitely looking forward to seeing Chris.

Their busy filming schedules had kept them apart for too long, and they hadn’t seen each other in nearly a month. Ironic, since they’d been so sure that Mike’s leaving “Smallville” would keep them more or less in the same place… Then Leverage had decided to film in Portland, and here they were back to seeing each other on weekends and stolen weeks when one of them had extra downtime. Hell, if Mike was still up in Vancouver they’d probably see more of each other than they did now.

Instead, they’d finally managed to work out a little two-week mini-vacation for Mike so he could go to Vancouver and stay with Chris while Leverage finished up the season and finally get to spend some good couple-y time together. They even had plans for tonight… plans that involved going to a nice sports bar, having some burgers and beer and then going home for some long-overdue sex. The sports bar would be open late-bar hours really-so if Chris was running really late, they’d still be able to get food. They might have to wait until tomorrow for the s-

The ringing of his cell phone broke Mike out of his reverie. Careful to stay properly in his lane, Mike glanced down and saw a number he didn’t recognize. He almost didn’t answer-he was driving and all, and getting a stupid ticket for yakking on his cell while driving was not a way Mike wanted to make headlines, but then again, maybe this was Chris calling him to say he was an idiot and he’d lost his phone. And Mike thought, as he turned onto one of the quiet, residential streets that led up to Chris’s-their-house, it wasn’t like he was on the freeway anymore. He could safely chance a phone call.

“Hello?” Mike said, flipping the phone open and cupping it to his ear with his shoulder.

“Hi, Mike?” a slightly uncertain, female voice-one that sounded somewhat familiar-said through the receiver.

“This is Mike-” he started to reply.

“This is Beth, uh, Reisgraff-”

That was why her voice was familiar… from Leverage, and well, he’d met her in person a few times at parties and when he’d visited the set, although he’d done a lot more of that last season when they were filming in LA.

His train of thought was derailed, however, when Beth continued speaking. “I don’t want to freak you out, but-” her tone was more tense now than hesitant.

Mike felt the car nearly skid to a stop and pull over without any real awareness that he was actually controlling the car and pulling it to the side of the road. He new that kind of tone… hell, he’d heard Chris use it talking about Jen before. All of a sudden, the knot in his gut grew and hardened and twisted and seemed to rise in his throat until it threatened to choke him. He could hear his heart beating so loudly in his ears he almost missed what she said.

“Chris was filming a stunt today, and one of the background practical effects misfired, and he got hit in the head with a board, fell onto some props…” Beth’s words came in a rush.

Mike found himself struggling to breathe, headache growing behind his eyes out of no where; he raised his fingers to pinch at the bridge of his nose, knocking his sunglasses off in the process. They landed somewhere on the seat and slid to the floor with a thump, but he didn’t really care. Part of him wanted to snap at Beth and demand he get to the point. The rest of him was requiring every ounce of energy he had to hold onto his sanity. This was one of those possibilities that haunted him, tore at him, always lurking in the back of his mind. Normally stunts were safe and all, but… and it wasn’t like there was any way he’d ever dream of trying to convince Chris not to do stunts. Nuh uh. The “Jason Bourne, kick ass stuff” was what Chris lived for.

He must have let out an audible sigh, because the next thing he was aware of was Beth saying, “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m running my mouth. Chris was knocked out, and they took him to the hospital. I think he’s OK, but they’re not telling us anything.” She sounded exhausted and frustrated and furious through the phone. Mike could imagine her pacing back and forth… she seemed to be the type to pace, well, he’d be pacing anyway, if he were in her situation. She continued talking so fast he could barely make the words out, “We’ve been here for three hours. I went with ‘cause we were filming a scene together, and I tried to find out if they’d at least called you, but they wouldn’t tell me anything, and I overheard one of the nurses talking to the admitting clerk and saying something about a problem with the emergency contacts and HIPAA, and I knew you might not have gotten the message even if they did ‘cause you were on the plane and…”

“Beth, where are you?” Mike found himself saying, swallowing down the terror and preparing to pull back onto the road. His hand caught on something as it went to shift out of “park”-ah that’s where the sunglasses landed. Mike unceremoniously tossed them into the back seat.

“Providence Portland,” was the curt reply followed by an explosive puff of breath.

Why wouldn’t they call me? Mike wondered, frantically. He was listed as Chris’s emergency contact and next of kin on all employment and insurance paperwork, but since they had no legal status relative to each other, no hospital could give out medical information about Chris to Mike with just that. So, of course they’d spent countless hours going through all the bullshit you need to do to “approximate” marital status, like giving each other durable medical powers of attorney which they’d filed with the studio, the production company, their insurance carrier, primary care physicians, and the hospital... Shit. That might explain it. “They weren’t supposed to go there,” he mumbled into the phone slamming his left hand (the one not holding the phone) against the steering wheel repeatedly with bone-rattling force.

“I don’t know why we’re here. I just followed the ambulance,” Beth started again sounding breathlessly apologetic.

“No, it’s ok,” Mike cursed himself internally for letting his frustration spill over and lash out at Beth. Way to shoot the messenger. “I’m not mad at you or anything, it’s just the hospital probably doesn’t have the power of attorney paperwork, so they think they can’t tell me what’s going on and...” he sighed. His voice sounded brittle and sarcastic to his own hears. He tried to let the tension roll off him a little. “What’s the address?” he tried again, fumbling reluctantly for the GPS that came with the rental, hoping it would be some address he recognized.

Beth rattled it off, and Mike was grateful that-given his limited familiarity with Portland-he actually knew more or less where it was, and it wouldn’t take too long to get there. He glared at the GPS and dropped it back in its cradle with relief. No way in hell he wanted to deal with an unfamiliar GPS and its condescendingly calm robotic voice under the circumstances. “I’m on my way to you. You in Emergency waiting?” he added as an afterthought. Yeah, no way in hell he should be driving right now, he realized, as he shakily swerved the car through a U-turn, leaving some rubber on the asphalt in the process.

“Yeah,” Beth replied.

Mike winced at how wary she sounded. If he had any emotional energy to spare on feeling guilty he would. “Ok, I’ll see you when I’m there,” he finished and slammed the phone closed with a sickening click, letting it drop to his lap.

Shit. Shit. Shit! He thought as he drove as fast as he could, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Memories of other frantic trips to various hospitals flashed unbidden through his mind, but in all of those scenarios-which all too often had involved Jen as the person in the hospital-Chris had been by his side, the one keeping everyone sane and calm, dealing with hard-headed, obnoxious, and sometimes bigoted hospital personnel with ease and forceful determination. This was foreign territory. Mike felt lost, like he didn’t know what he was doing.

Before he realized it, he was pulling into the Emergency entrance and looking for a parking spot-at least he had enough presence of mind to actually park and not just abandon the rental in the fire lane or ambulance bay or something equally stupid. He looked at his watch. Fuck! It had been maybe five minutes since he got off the phone with Beth, and the drive easily should have taken him at least ten. It was a miracle he hadn’t gotten pulled over or wrapped himself around a tree… that would be all he needed; winding up in jail or in the hospital himself, when he still wasn’t sure how Chris was doing.

Mike took a minute to steady himself-ran his fingers through his hair, tried to smooth the travel wrinkles out of his jeans and straighten out his t-shirt (at least he wasn’t wearing one of the, uh, whimsical shirts, ‘cause that would add a whole ‘nother layer of awkward to his day that he did not want to deal with). Beth had said she thought Chris was alright. Getting knocked unconscious was very serious-unlike Hollywood made it out to be-but it could just be a concussion; maybe not even one that bad. He took a few long, shaky breaths. He could do this. He just had to get in there give them the power of attorney paperwork…

Which was where? Think goddamnit! Which was in the side pocket of his carry-on along with his passport, boarding pass, and other important documents. Chris had insisted that they carry the documents with them everywhere. Mike had thought it kind of over-kill at the time, but now he understood. They weren’t married yet; hell, even when they did get married, most states wouldn’t recognize it. And that meant simple things like knowing what the fuck was happening to each other, being able to see each other and be there and make decisions required extra legal teeth to back it up.

He felt a surge of bitterness worthy of Chris as he twisted around in the seat and rummaged through his bag to get the necessary document. Might as well grab the passport while he was at it, just in case they needed better proof of his identity than his California driver’s license.

Ok, he could do this. Mike reached for the door, running sweaty fingers through his hair one more time. He glanced momentarily at the sunglasses. No. He wasn’t trying to go incognito or hide who he was. Hell, he didn’t much care if they got outed right now; and wouldn’t that be ironic, considering it was the legal maze of privacy laws that had probably gotten them into this mess in the first place-assuming, of course, that it was a missing power-of-attorney form that had led to him not being contacted in the first place and not something more sinister.

He wanted nothing more than to proclaim to the world how important Chris was to him and he to Chris. Mike just hoped that when all was said and done, the experience wouldn’t have put such a bad taste in Chris’s mouth-the unmistakable flavor of discrimination second-class citizenship-that he wasn’t turned off on the idea of marriage again. It had taken enough just to get Chris over his own hang-ups to say “yes” in the first place. Of course, any unmarried, un-domestic-partnered couple would have to go through the same bullshit, but straight couples could easily lie and say they’re married and get by all but the most stringent medical staff; more importantly, they would be married already-hell he would have proposed years ago-if it was legal everywhere. They’d been engaged for nine months now give or take a few days, and it would be just his luck to go through all that only to have Chris get so hurt and pissed of as to back out. And that made him very, very angry…

Of course, all those worries wouldn’t mean a thing if Chris wasn’t ok.

Mike pushed the “what ifs” from his mind and hauled himself out of the car. Glanced at his watch. He’d just wasted three minutes having a mini-freak out. Not good. Well, he’d just have to make sure the freak out was totally out of his system so he could have the wherewithal to deal with hospital administration types. He’d seen Chris do it enough times to now it wasn’t exactly-relaxing.

Setting the car alarm behind him, Mike jogged towards the sliding doors, not even noticing the heat; grateful he’d traveled in jeans and a t-shirt and not something more suffocatingly hot like a suit. Even if a suit would be better for dealing with well, suits.

“Mike!” he heard Beth’s voice call out as he slid through the sliding doors, the climate-controlled air of the hospital hitting him like a slap in the face.

He turned his attention to the sound of Beth’s voice and saw her pulling her lithe frame out of the uncomfortable-looking chair in which she’d been curled up. Aldis was sitting next to her looking tense and concerned. Mike was pulling Beth into an awkward hug before he realized he’d moved.

“Any word?” he asked trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Beth shook her head, “No, but the admitting clerk I overheard before is still at the desk. She was talking to a nurse, so maybe she knows what’s going on.”  She gestured in the direction of the reception desk with a small scowl.

“Thanks,” Mike said with genuine sincerity. “I’m going to go see if I can get this straightened out.”

Beth nodded and sunk back into her seat, exuding exhaustion.

Mike exchanged a quick nod of acknowledgment with Aldis and headed to the reception desk, trying not to run and attract any more attention than necessary. He wanted to get Chris and get out of this with his dignity intact, not wind up signing autographs or have his personal woes end up in some damn tabloid. Shit… now he was channeling Jensen. He hated hospitals. No matter how many scenes he’d shot in hospital sets, they always lacked the… aura of the real thing, he thought as he shuddered.

“Excuse me,” Mike said quietly, but firmly, to the admitting clerk, a thirty-something, red-haired woman wearing Winnie-the-Pooh scrubs, who was intently focused on the computer screen in front of her. He rested his trembling hands on the edge of the counter, doing his best to just rest his hands there, not hold on for dear life.

She looked up and immediately broke into a smile, clearly recognizing him. Great.

Before she could speak, Mike blurted out, “I’m looking for Christian Kane; I understand he was brought in about three hours ago?” He hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

Her smile faltered slightly, probably disappointed he didn’t seem in the mood to give autographs or gossip. “He is here, but he is still being treated, and privacy regulations prevent us from giving out information about his condition to friends,” she said politely. “If you’ll just have a seat-” she started to gesture to the row of chairs along the opposite wall where Beth and Aldis were sitting.

“No, you don’t understand,” Mike interjected, keeping eye contact with the clerk instead of following her gesture, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I’m his partner; his next of kin; the hospital should have notified me immediately when he was brought in, but-”

“Are you and Mr. Kane in a Registered Domestic Partnership?” she asked curtly.

Oh great, she does not sound happy. Mike hoped it was just disappointment or frustration and not outright homophobia. He seriously did not have the patience or wherewithal to deal with that right now.

“No, but-” he tried.

“I’m sorry; unless you are in a Registered Domestic Partnership, the State of Oregon doesn’t consider you Mr. Kane’s relative for HIPAA purposes.” She really did sound sorry, under the gloss of professional repetition, but she didn’t seem to keen on letting Mike get a word in edgewise. “If you’d just be polite enough to wait with the other friends and family-”

“Listen, lady!” Mike snapped, his voice rising slightly. He took a deep breath to try to tone it down and spared a glance at her nametag-P. Steuart, it read. “Ms Steuart,” he tried again softer, and with more decorum. “I know you’re just trying to do your job, and I appreciate that, but what I’m trying to say, is that I have a durable power of attorney for healthcare for Mr. Kane and his visitation authorization, and I have the forms right here along with ID,” Mike added, fumbling with the stack of documents he’d been clutching in his hands since exiting the car and dangling them over the counter towards Ms Steuart along with his passport. “So, can you please let me know what’s going on?”

Ms Steuart took the documents, and began looking them over. She actually looked a bit chagrined, so at least that probably meant she wasn’t some raving homophobe. She flipped through the documents a few times and glanced back and forth between Mike and the photo in his passport a few times. “I’m sorry,” she started, embarrassment creeping into her voice and turning her cheeks a faint shade of pink which clashed a little with the pattern on her scrubs. “Let me just clear these with my supervisor, and if everything checks out I’ll see if we can get Mr. Kane’s attending physician out here to speak with you,” she finished placatingly before picking up her phone and having a hurried conversation. “Just a moment,” she added after she’d hung up, swiveling her chair around and striding off through a door to an office behind the reception desk.

“Thanks,” Mike croaked out, swallowing hard to try to lubricate his dry throat, his nerves increasing as he watched the clerk walk away with the paperwork. He knew it was crazy, but he was half afraid she’d lose the documents or never come back. Right now they were his strongest link to Chris-well, besides the platinum and turquoise engagement ring he was nervously twirling around his left ring finger, and that had no legal significance at the moment… just immense personal meaning.

Mike stood there twirling the ring, trying to tamp down the fear inside, trying not to think about what might have happened to Chris, how badly hurt he might be. He was so distracted and lost in thought he didn’t hear the clerk reemerge from the office.

“Mr. Rosenbaum?” It was the clerk’s voice again.

He looked up; stopped twisting the ring on his finger. She was now standing in front of her desk on the other side of the counter. “Yes?” he asked, cautiously meeting her eyes.

She was holding his passport and the copies of the documents out to him. “I’m sorry for the miscommunication. Your name was correctly listed as Mr. Kane’s emergency contact, but we didn’t have the proper documentation,” she gestured to the documents. “We’ve kept copies for our records; I trust that’s ok?”

“Yeah,” he nodded wearily.

“Dr. Tucker would like to speak with you. He’s the attending in charge of Mr. Kane’s treatment,” she added, indicating a tall, thin, pale man with sandy hair and square-ish, wire-rimmed glasses wearing the ubiquitous white lab coat who had seemingly materialized next to the reception desk while Mike was lost in thought.

“Thanks,” he croaked out, nodding again as he stepped around the reception desk to meet Dr. Tucker. “Dr. Tucker?” he asked, extending his hand for what was a firm, brisk handshake.

“Mr. Rosenbaum,” the doctor replied, “I am really sorry you weren’t contacted sooner. Would you mind coming with me? There’s a family consultation room right this way.” The doctor was pointing with a clipboard (which Mike supposed contained Chris’s chart) towards an imposingly bleak, white door with a very small window near its top set in the wall opposite the reception desk, framing the swinging double doors that led to into the Emergency Department proper.

Mike gave a nervous glance over his shoulder towards where Beth and Aldis were sitting. Both gave him a hopeful nod of encouragement, which Mike returned. Glancing back at Dr. Tucker he answered, “Ok.”

Moments later, he was standing nervously inside the innocuous room on the other side of the big, white door. Couches lined the walls and a smallish, unimposing table surrounded by six chairs stood in the center. The walls were a soft blue with warm honey-colored carpeting and soft, diffuse lighting. Mike knew it was designed to set distraught family at ease, but until he found out what was going on, until he could actually see Chris and know he was ok, it just felt like an insult; no effort would soothe him.

“Would you like to have a seat?” Dr. Tucker asked with calm seriousness.

Mike felt shock run through him, his body locking ramrod straight.

His shock evidently showed, because Dr. Tucker was making placating gestures. “No, not like that. Just, if you would be comfortable. You might want to have a seat,” the doctor tried again, touching Mike’s arm lightly and steering him towards the nearest couch. “Once again, I am really sorry for the confusion-”

“Is he ok? I mean. What happened? Beth said he was hit in the head by a board?” Mike managed to stutter out, looking to the doctor for answers. He realized the doctor was probably his age, definitely not much older, and wondered if that was old enough to be experienced, to know what he was doing.

“Head injuries are very serious, and when Mr. Kane first arrived, he was slipping in and out of consciousness and wasn’t aware of his surroundings. There was concern about a skull fracture and the possibility of bleeding or a more serious brain injury, so we had to take him for a CT scan,” Dr. Tucker began, his voice serious but reassuring.

Mike felt himself give an involuntary gasp, worst-case scenarios running rampant through his mind; too many horrible images of Chris lying still as death and unresponsive.

“Luckily the scan showed no fracture and no sign of bleeding,” the doctor’s words snapped Mike back to attention. “Mr. Kane does, however, have a moderately severe concussion, but he is conscious now and asking for you,” Dr. Tucker continued.

The knot of fear let go, flooding Mike with relief so strong he thought he might collapse into the couch. He was very glad Dr. Tucker had convinced him to sit. Mike managed to pay attention as the doctor explained the rest of Chris’s injuries: Cut on his forehead from the board which required 14 stitches to close. Two cracked ribs and a sprained wrist from the set piece he’d landed on when he fell. They wanted to keep Chris overnight for observation to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. If his condition improved by morning, they would release him into Mike’s care for a week of bed rest. It wasn’t good-and Mike was sure Chris’s director would be just thrilled to hear he was out of commission for at least a week, especially so close to the end of filming-but it could have been so much worse. So much worse. Or Beth might not have thought to call him, and right now he’d still be waiting, growing frantic, wondering what the hell was going on.

Mike was responding by reflex, every iota of his conscious thought consumed by the relief that was swimming over him. Chris would be ok. I’ll see him soon, he thought to himself as he was led through the maze of wide, white corridors around mirrored corners and through more double doors to a private room with its lights dimmed.

“He’s pretty lucid now,” Dr. Tucker said reassuringly, hand poised over the door handle, “but he is in a lot of pain and quite nauseous. You’ll want to keep your voice low and avoid turning on the lights. A nurse will be through on rounds in about a half-hour; if either of you need anything in the meantime, use the call button.” He depressed the handle, and the door started to swing open.

“Chris’s friends, co-workers, they’re still in the waiting room. Could you please let them know he’s all right? I’m not sure if he’ll be up to seeing them, but…” Mike said, hurriedly, pausing before stepping into the dimly lit room.

“Sure,” Dr. Tucker replied, a small smile crossing his face. “Visiting hours for non-family generally close at 8, but since they’ve been waiting, if Mr. Kane asks, we can let them back for a brief visit. Just-”

“Use the call button?” Mike asked.

“Yeah,” Dr. Turner replied with a reassuring smile, and stepped aside so Mike could enter the room.

The door clicked shut softly behind Mike as his eyes adjusted to the light. Chris looked sickly pale. He had a bandage on the left side of his forehead just beneath his hairline, which was probably covering the stitches-done by a plastic surgeon to avoid scarring, Mike recalled Dr. Tucker saying. Chris’s hair was frizzy and tangled, its natural curl taking over, all traces of Eliot Spencer’s flat-ironed blowout gone. There was also an ace bandage wrapped around his left wrist. He looked exhausted.

Mike tried to be quiet as he stepped closer, but he must have made some noise-either that or Chris really was that attuned to his presence-because when he was about ten feet from the bed, Chris’s eyes shot open, then fluttered, adjusting to the light. Mike cringed when he saw Chris wince in pain.

“Mike? Is that you?” Chris whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” Mike answered, barely above a whisper, voice catching as he stepped closer to the bed, reaching down to pull up chair that stood next to it, careful not to let the chair scrape across the floor. “I’m here,” he added as sat down, catching Chris’s un-bandaged right hand-which sported his hospital bracelet and pulse-ox monitor-between both of his.

“They said they couldn’t call you.” Chris tried to open his eyes again and turn towards Mike, but let out a loud his of pain at the movement. He turned so green Mike thought he was certainly going to puke. Instead, Chris took several deep, steadying breaths until his color improved. He continued, his eyes opening just enough so that a hint of brown was visible through his lashes, “Said they didn’t have the right paperwork. I… it’s in my trailer,” Chris said, his voice sounding crestfallen. He seemed to zone out for a minute, mind apparently wandering. His eyes closed before springing open and squinting again. He caught sight of the engagement ring on Mike’s hand and then over at his own ring-less left hand. “My ring’s there too.”

Chris sounded so pained (and a little pathetic) in his delirium that Mike’s anger at the situation-the stunt gone wrong; the stupid paperwork snafu; the world in general-almost overpowered his relief and giddy glee that at finally seeing Chris ok. It had probably been only an hour since the plane had landed-maybe less; his sense of time was completely shot-and he’d started to worry about Chris in earnest, but it had felt like an eternity.

“It’s ok now,” Mike said words rushing out of him with his relief as he leaned forward over Chris’s body and caught his eye before lowering his lips gently to kiss Chris’s the uninjured side of his forehead, “Beth figured out they hadn’t called and called me herself. I had the proxy, just like you made me carry it. They’ve got it now. We can get your ring later. It’s all right. You’re gonna be all right,” he babbled in a half-whisper, not really aware of what he was saying, pressing a firmer kiss to Chris’s hand before allowing himself to drop his head to the bed, careful of Chris’s injured ribs even though he knew the breaks were on Chris’s other side. Mike’s fingers kept stroking Chris’s hand, reassured by its solidity and warmth.

“I don’ remember what happened,” Chris murmured with a sleepy-sounding, pained yawn. “Know I fell on a stunt but…”

Mike’s hands groped for Chris’s body, tenderly seeking it out and patting on top of the hospital-issue blankets trying to lend more reassurance-for him or Chris he wasn’t sure. He felt himself drifting, his head pillowed on the scratchy hospital sheets, still-raised guard rail poking him bluntly in the shoulder.  Mike wasn’t sure how much time passed; distantly, he knew he should be ready for the nurse to come in, and that he really should make sure Beth and Aldis weren’t just stranded in the waiting room all night. There were probably other things he should be doing, but he couldn’t remember what right now… they were vague notions of responsibility and duty and need floating on the edges of his subconscious, overwhelmed by the urgency of being here with Chris now.

“It’s all right, all right,” he heard Chris murmuring a little stronger than before as he felt Chris’s hand carding somewhat clumsily through his hair. Mike wondered why Chris was comforting him until he felt the dampness on his cheeks and realized he was crying. Sobbing really. Mike hadn’t realized just how deeply worried he was (or how thorough was his relief).

“Sorry,” he murmured into the blankets.

There was more silence. He wasn’t sure how long had passed, but he got the sense the nurse would be coming through on her rounds any minute now. Somewhere during the elapsed time Chris’s fingers had stilled in his hair so Chris’s hand was now resting gently on his forehead. Mike was drooling a little… or at least he assumed he was, as tears weren’t usually quite that sticky. He was about to attempt to gently extricate himself from the rather uncomfortable position when Chris spoke.

“I want to get married now. Soon.” Chris’s voice was surprisingly strong and nearly made Mike jump. “Right away if we can manage,” Chris added with resounding sincerity.

“What?” Mike asked, a little confused, at first, wondering if the apparent non-sequitur was from left-over delirium from the concussion, but when he managed to sit up and met Chris’s eyes, they were open and clear and certain and lucid and fiercely determined.

“I want to marry you, now. Don’t want to wait until California pulls its head out of its ass,” Chris clarified with a hitch that was clearly from pain-whether physical or emotional was anybody’s guess. “I don’t want this happening again. Me stuck here; you not knowing what’s going on.” He shook his head again, just a little jog, but it was enough to have him turning green looking agonized, making Mike flail for the emesis basin he had finally noticed on the table beside Chris’s bed. “I can’t do that anymore, and I don’t have to,” Chris managed to angrily grit out through the pain.

Of course, the nurse chose that moment to quietly knock on the door and enter the room. Mike still wasn’t 100% sure Chris’s discussion of marriage wasn’t some delirious hallucination, especially since he had feared this… incident might send Chris running away from embracing the “heteronormative agenda” that marriage represented.

The nurse was nice though, and both very efficient and considerate, keeping the lights as dim as possible and working as quietly as she could. She checked Chris’s vitals and awareness and offered him more anti-nausea medication, which he allowed her to push into the IV on the back of his hand without protest.

Mike wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried. He knew the pain was making Chris very sick, and he didn’t want to see Chris suffer, but it was a testament to how bad it was, considering that Chris normally tried to refuse medication unless he was beyond miserable… which meant he was probably well past the misery mark now.

“Dr. Tucker wanted me to remind you your friends are still waiting,” Nurse Julie whispered as she finished up. “Do you want me to send them back? Or tell them that you’re ok and resting and have them come back in the morning?”

Right… Aldis and Beth were still out there, Mike thought as Chris caught his eye. There was hesitation there. Mike could tell Chris really wanted them to know he was all right, and well, Mike really felt they deserved it-especially Beth-for looking out for Chris and letting him know, but at the same time, Chris was clearly exhausted and still in a lot of pain. “I think morning is ok?” Mike offered, looking for Chris’s confirmation.

“Yeah. Tell ‘em… I’ll see them in the morning,” Chris said around a big yawn. “And thank them very much for… waiting.”

“Good answer,” nurse July replied, giving Chris and approving smile. She turned to Mike before continuing. “The chair in the corner,” she said pointing to an odd-looking, boxy upholstered chair sitting in the far corner (Mike hadn’t even noticed it was there), “pulls out into a bed.” She looked Mike up and down. “Probably a little short from you, and I’m guessing you’re more the type who’ll want to sit here all night,” she added with a smile, “but if you’re exhausted, give it a try, it’s actually pretty comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Mike replied gratefully as she gathered her supplies and quietly headed back into the hall.

“Still wanna get married,” Chris murmured sounding absolutely alert as soon as the door had closed and it was clear they were alone.

Mike was a little thrown, and maybe impressed, that Chris had picked up the thread of their earlier conversation with such ease. “But,” he protested-and why exactly was he protesting?-”even if we get married, they still don’t recognize it here.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. That was usually Chris’s line.

“So we’ll get a Domestic Partnership too-here or in California-or depending on where we get married we could also do a Civil Union in Vermont or Connecticut or New Hampshire or New Jersey…” Chris replied, the edge of pain still in his voice as he trailed off into an unstoppable yawn. Mike was about to protest, when Chris began speaking again “-all the states have either Domestic Partnerships or Civil Unions recognize each other’s, and it’s ok to have one of those and a marriage, as long as it’s to the same person. I checked,” Chris added solemnly, eyes fixed firmly on Mike despite the obvious pain the dim light was causing him.

“You-asked?” Mike remarked, surprised. Not surprised Chris would do serious research about marriage-after all they were engaged-but surprised Chris had put effort into learning more about the “everything-but-the-name” statuses, which Mike knew Chris despised as hallmarks of exclusion.

“Called a legal hotline… It’s confidential, and they don’t require last names if you’re not comfortable giving them,” Chris explained around another yawn.

“Wow, just… ok, wow,” Mike began, feeling the giddy smile spreading over his face. “Here I was worried this was going to make you change your mind-”

“Don’t even think like that,” Chris said, this time making the mistake of trying to sit up, and remembering a split second too late why that wasn’t the idea.

Mike cringed, feeling especially shitty, when Chris turned sheet-white and made frantic grabbing motions at Mike until he passed over the emesis basin. “Sorry,” Mike said sheepishly as Chris wretched miserably. Apparently that kind of motion was beyond the suppression of the anti-nausea drug. He helped Chris clean up his mouth by swishing with the melt water that had accumulated around the ice chips he’d been given and settle carefully back against the bed.

“I made a commitment to you,” Chris began again, squeezing Mike’s hand and stroking the engagement ring, “and I’m going to honor it. Just I wanna do that now. Not later. I don’t want to take a chance and wait any longer. I’ve been doing enough of that.” He finished with a sigh, the exhaustion stemming from his concussion and injuries eminently clear.

“Well, all right then. Let’s get hitched,” Mike said with an almost-giggle. He was feeling a little emotionally overwhelmed. And yeah. He’d never expected this. “How ‘bout we figure out the details once you’re out of here and resting at home, though?” he added, when Chris yawned again and he noticed how dark the circles under Chris’s eyes were.

“Ok,” Chris agreed, squeezing his hand.

“So, they’re keeping you here overnight,” Mike said a little awkwardly, even though they both knew that. Mike wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself while Chris slept.

“I know. It sucks,” Chris said, sounding disappointed and maybe a little annoyed. “But I don’t want to take any chances,” he added, squeezing Mike’s hand again.

“I’m staying, you moron,” Mike replied affectionately.

“My hero,” Chris teased back. “Hey, you think Beth will be mad I didn’t want to see her? Has she really been waiting the whole time?,” he asked, wrinkling up his brow, and clearly feeling worse for it, as he winced and turned a little green.

“Whoa, careful there,” Mike said gently, not wanting Chris getting sick again. “I don’t think she’ll be mad. She was just worried about you. That’s why she stayed. Aldis was with her,” he added. “I’m sure they’re fine now, and they’ll see us in the morning.”

“She called you?” Chris said uncertainly, his expression searching as if he couldn’t quite remember if he’d heard that.

“Yeah,” Mike replied with a nod. “We owe her like a big huge… something… something big and huge,” he said with a yawn, realizing just how exhausted he really was and finding it hard to form coherent thoughts. Huh, look at that.

Chris patted the bed next to him, with his good hand, careful not to move any more than necessary. “Guardrail… down?” he yawned.

Mike smiled, catching his meaning. He fiddled with the guardrail until it plopped down next to the bed with a bit more metallic clang than he would have liked (Chris was wincing again), and scooted the chair closer, carefully settling his head and chest on the bed next to Chris, almost snuggling, letting the warmth of Chris’s body and the rhythm of his heartbeat soothe him and let him relax. Yeah, the nurse was pretty right about him.

They had both almost drifted off to sleep when a flurry of unwanted thoughts scurried through Mike’s mind. Right, those were all the other things… “Crap,” he groaned aloud.

“Crap?” Chris asked, sounding more sleepy than wary.

“I haven’t called Dave or Jen,” he groaned, propping his head up on his crossed arms and meeting Chris’s half-closed eyes. “They need to know you’re here, but you’re OK… Shit. Jen will kill me… and then Jared will be mad and…”

“Hey, hey. None of that,” Chris murmured, his tone soothing even in its exhausted state. “Call ‘em in the morning and tell them about the wedding. They’ll forgive you,” he added with a reassuring pat to Mike’s arm.

“We haven’t even picked a date yet,” Mike yawned.

“Labor Day weekend. Everyone’s got it off,” was Chris’s sleepy reply. And as they finally drifted off to sleep, Mike was sure Chris was serious. About both the wedding and the date.

So yeah, suddenly Mike had gone from engaged to engaged and planning a wedding in under five weeks. And it had all happened in the least expected of ways. And it was great. He loved it. Knowing there was a definite date now when he and Chris were going to be legally, officially, recognizedly together.

All that was left was planning the wedding, but seriously, how hard could that be?  Right?

Master Post | Chapter 2 | Author's Notes