#avery morrison

“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

“Hang in there,” he muttered in Morrison’s direction, because god-fucking-dammit he couldn’t even go over and help right now. Instead, he crouched down at the sofa, leaning over the equally curled up form of his brother, “what do you mean you’re puking blood?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the urgency out of his tone, “are . . . are you sure? The stuffed mushrooms had tomato sauce . . .” 

At the mention of the food he’d eaten, Gabe’s mouth twisted with disgust and he gagged, fingers scrabbling for the edge of the sofa cushion. Nothing came up, and Adam let out a relieved breath that yeah, it must have been the sauce. Except almost immediately Gabe retched again, so violently the rest of his body froze, and then he half-coughed, half-spit a spattering of red-tinged saliva onto the coffee table and floor. Red that didn’t look at all like tomatoes. Gabe groaned, “don’ feel great,” and then retched again.

Adam would have laughed at the understatement if it hadn’t been so frightening. What kind of problem made you puke blood? He didn’t realize he’d said that out loud until Avery made a pained sound that was almost a laugh, if laughter sounded like getting the wind knocked out with a wrecking ball, - “getting shot, for one,” he croaked. He’d dropped down to sit fully on the floor and now lay his head on the seat of the chair, resting on his arms. “That’ll do it every time.”

“Not helping, Morrison.” Adam knew it wasn’t the guy’s fault, but he wasn’t in the mood for jokes, even jokes with a hint of truth behind them. But it did mean that Adam could ignore him for the moment without feeling too guilty. Sure the guy was in agonizing pain and kept trying to throw up more of his scrambled eggs - but that was kind of . . . normal for him right now. He could deal on his own for a couple of minutes while Adam took care of Gabriel.

At least that’s what Adam told himself because Gabe was an absolute mess. Pale as fuck and curled up in a tight ball on the sofa, arms locked around his knees. Adam planted a hand across his cheek, grimacing when he hit saliva and who knows what else. Clammy, not feverish, which struck him as good. He pushed sweaty hair off his brother’s forehead and felt there too even though he wasn’t sure what else he was checking for. “Where does it hurt?” 

Gabe gazed at him through glazed eyes. “Stomach,” he mumbled tiredly. There was a little bit of what, are you stupid? underneath it and Adam felt a small thrum of relief, that Gabe could snark. Except then his expression grew blank and his mouth contorted and he turned his head just in time to puke on Morrison’s floor. Stuffed mushrooms and whiskey and . . . fuck. 

Adam didn’t move, even though it was disgusting. Gabe drooled and panted helplessly and Adam squeezed his shoulder and made comforting noises until he finally stopped gagging and slumped back into the cushion. “Guhhh . . . “ he groaned weakly, making sounds that almost sounded like words,. “I . . . I . . .” - he sucked in something closer to a real breath and blew it out. And then again, eyes squeezed shut. Adam wasn’t sure if the worst of it had passed or he was trying not to throw up again. 

“Ummm,” he began, the odd sensation of being at a loss for words piling on top of the stress of trying to help the two sick men, “d’you . . .?” he began, unsure what he was going to ask. Before he could come up with a reasonable question, Morrison made a sudden sound -  half cough, half groan - from across the room. “Izze. . .  okay?” Avery’s voice was wrecked too. He rocked back and forth, knuckles white where they grasped the edges of the kitchen chair. 

“Whattayou fucking think?” Adam shot back, even though that was unfair, “are you?” He shook his head, half to himself, and tried to think. Problem solving was one of his talents, and damage control. Sure, usually the damage was one of his clients caught in a scandal that could hurt their political aspirations but the concept was the same: come up with a plan and a story that made sense and was not too complicated. Implement the plan. Don’t show fear.

Okay, so maybe Adam was failing at that last one, but Avery and Gabe were too much in their own pain to notice. Gabe had opened his eyes again and was looking listlessly towards the kitchen. Adam followed his gaze. “Do you want Gatorade?” 

“Huh?” Gabe moved his head the slightest bit in Adam’s direction. “Gatrrr . . . no,” - his head bobbed a little more, “nauseous.” He shifted restlessly on the sofa, palming his side with one hand. It was shaking, Adam could see.  “ Burns.”

 “Burns? Like, heartburn?” Adam blew out a breath, “I swear, Gabie, if you gave me a heart attack because you ate too much fucking sausage I’m gonna . . .” his words died on his tongue when Gabe’s stomach spasmed again and he cried out, spitting up bile and saliva and yes, flecks of blood.  

“Uhhhh,” he breathed out, forehead scrunched in discomfort. “Notheartburn.” 

Adam’s phone was sitting on the coffee table. He could Google, find out what Gabe’s symptoms meant, make a plan. Fix this himself. That’s what he might have done a year ago, when Adam’s ego had been fully in control of his confidence. Both had been battered over the past months, though, and that made him pause. 

There was another option - he could drag Gabe to the hospital right now.  And maybe that was the responsible thing to do, except that would mean leaving Morrison here in his own misery. He probably didn’t need the ER himself, but it felt like an asshole thing for Adam to do, even though he knew Morrison would understand.

There was a third option, one that had been swimming around in Adam’s brain since Gabe had first announced he was puking blood. He could call Drew, get the nurse’s advice. It was personally unappealing, which was one reason Adam had been trying to convince himself that Gabe wasn’t that bad off. And he hated himself a little bit for that.

Gabe had gone quieter on the sofa, his body calming, and Adam’s nerves calmed too. For about half a second everything felt more okay. Avery shuffled in his spot on the floor and winced and Adam took a hesitant step towards him.

But before Adam could ask Morrison what he needed, Gabe’s eyes flew open, “Fuck!” He lurched suddenly to his feet, so quickly he almost knocked Adam over. “Bathroom,” he muttered, already stumbling towards Avery’s bedroom, moving faster than Adam would have thought possible, given the fact that he was hunched over like a question mark. Self-preservation giving him a weird burst of strength, apparently. “Don’t . . . don’t follow,” he ground out, before the door slammed behind him.  

Shit

Adam and Avery stared at each other, even while Adam was grabbing up his phone. The text to Drew was short and to the point, and he stared at it for a few long seconds, willing an immediate answer. One didn’t come, and when he looked up again, Avery was trying to get to his feet. Doing a bad job of it too, swaying and shaking and almost falling over the back of the chair. Adam swore.

“Fuck, hold on,” he muttered, practically jumping over the coffee table to get to Avery before he gave himself a concussion, - “don’t . . . I can’t . . . just hold on -” - he reached the guy in time to grab him by the shoulders and wrench him down into the chair. It wasn’t that gentle and Avery hissed with pain.

“Ow . . . fuck,” he groaned, folding in half over his lap like a puppet with its strings cut. Adam kept his hands on his shoulders to make sure he didn’t tumble out of the seat again. Avery breathed slowly, in and out, chest rising and falling under Adam’s fingers. His breath was still coming unevenly when he twisted his head to look up, “help me . . . t’the . . . sofa,” he panted, the words punctuated by a soft burp at the end, “careful.” 

He was trying to sound tough, Adam could tell, and failing miserably at it. He rolled his eyes. “I’m always careful, Morrison.” Instead of hauling the guy up by his armpits, which would have been the easy solution, Adam held out his arm, right in Avery’s line of sight, “c’mon, don’t make me do all the work.” 

“Asshole; I’m injured,” Avery snarked back, but Adam didn’t miss the almost grateful look that flashed across his face when he grabbed onto Adam’s arm and pulled himself to his feet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He wasn’t exactly standing totally upright, but supporting his own weight, which Adam knew he’d count as a win. “Be useful, Calder; isn’t that what you came over for? Or was it just to watch my big TV?” 

“It was to make sure you don’t fall on your ass.” Adam tried to make it seem like he was letting Avery walk by himself; neither of them were really fooled, though. After only two steps Avery blew out a breath and leaned against Adam’s side and Adam tried not to enjoy the feeling of the agent’s body pressed solidly against his side. He forced a tease into his tone, “besides, my television’s bigger and you know it.” They shuffled across the floor and Avery huffed out a laugh.

“That’s the only thing that’s bigger and don’t you forget it” he retorted easily, squeezing Adam’s arm to keep his balance, “here, help me get down.” 

“Is that an offer?” Adam matched Avery’s tone; flirting with him was just too easy. But he couldn’t really get into it, not with Gabe there and so sick, but it distracted him from the panic. For a second, at least. He glanced down the hall to the still-closed bedroom door. “Should I go check him?” 

Avery had curled himself up at the other end of the sofa from where Gabe had been. “I dunno,” he muttered, whatever energy he’d had for teasing Adam sliding away into a wall of fresh pain. He gagged emptily and winced before blowing out a queasy breath, “Yeah.” 

Adam wasn’t sure which question he was agreeing to but it didn’t really matter because at that second his phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime request from Drew and Adam had barely connected the call before the nurse was demanding to be marched down the hall to, as he said, “put a visual on Gabe.” 

“Uhh, I think he’s in the bathroom and he’s uhh . . .” Adam made a lame gesture with his hand that he hoped Drew would interpret without Adam having to say the words, losing half his insides out through his ass. But even the thought of what he might find in the bathroom didn’t stop him from following Drew’s orders. He could admit it was a relief to let someone else be in charge right now. He squinted at Drew’s image on the screen. Scrubs, stethoscope around his neck, eyes sharp. The guy looked calm and competent - exactly the opposite of what Adam was feeling at the moment. “Should I open the door?” There weren’t any sounds coming from inside and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

“Maybe you should knock first,” Drew said wryly. He didn’t add the idiot, but Adam heard it loud and clear. He rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“You alive in there?” Adam tried to sound unconcerned, “I’ve uhh, got Drew on FaceTime.” He held up the phone in the direction of the door as if Gabe had somehow developed x-ray vision and could see him. 

“Watch it, Calder; I can’t help your brother if I’m motion sick. Hold the damn phone still.” 

Only then did Adam realize his hand was shaking. He stilled it and then knocked again, and steeled himself to burst in and see - whatever he was going to see. There was a soft groan from inside. “Yeah . . . c’min,” Gabe answered, just barely loud enough for Adam to hear. He held the phone up near his head so Drew would see whatever he did, and pushed open the door.

Thank fucking god it wasn’t as horrible inside as Adam had been imagining. Gabe was slumped over on the floor next to the - thankfully flushed - toilet and his jeans were mostly pulled up, although unbuttoned and unzipped. His skin was sweaty and gray and there was a pool of cloudy liquid on the floor under his mouth that Adam didn’t look too closely at. “Hey,” he muttered, twisting his head to squint up at his brother, “where’s Drew?” 

“Right here, sweetheart; best telehealth in Boston,” Drew sang out, sounding almost like he was standing right there in the bathroom too, “‘wanna tell me what’s going on? What did your brother do to you?”

“I didn’t do . . .” Adam began weakly, and then snapped his mouth shut when Drew shushed him.

“Put the phone down by his head,” he instructed briskly, “I need to see him.” Adam obediently propped the phone against the bottom of the toilet, level with Gabe’s face. He was going to have to sanitize it later but this wasn’t the time to be prissy about germs. 

Drew began questioning Gabe and Adam knew he should probably pay attention but his mind kept drifting to the other room, and whether Morrison needed help too. Just because it was kind of normal for him to be puking blood, that didn’t mean he was okay. And Gabe had someone looking out for him now, kind of. He cleared his throat.

“. . . .minutes. My shift’s about done anyway.” 

That snapped Adam back to the present. He snatched up the phone. “What’s going on?” 

Drew stared at him a moment too long. “Weren’t you listening? I’m coming over. Gabe may need the hospital and I can’t tell over FaceTime.” His tone was faintly disappointed, as if he expected that Adam would have figured that out already and brought him in. 

Morrison’s here too, he wanted to say, and he’s also sick and I couldn’t just leave him. But that sounded whiny and too close to the truth, that it was really too much for Adam, trying to manage Gabe and Avery by himself. “Thanks,” he muttered instead. He actually meant it, but he wasn’t sure Drew believed him. The fact that all of this was taking place in Morrison’s apartment would obviously not be lost on the nurse, who’d probably have plenty to say about it later. 

“. . . Gatorade; only a few sips, if he can keep it down.” Drew was still talking and Adam didn’t want to admit he hadn’t been listening again.  

“Yeah,” he muttered into the air, eyes landing on his brother. Maybe he’d be able to tell him what Drew had said but he wasn’t too hopeful. Gabe’s eyes were glassy and unfocused and kept fluttering shut. He was shivering, so Adam grabbed a towel off the hook on the wall and laid it over his shoulders. Gabe shifted and looked up at him. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled through cracked lips. “I’ll get up inna secon.” 

A snort came out of the phone, still propped against the toilet. “Don’t you dare move, Calder, not until I get there. There’s no way your brother can lift your ass by himself.”

“Hey,” Adam protested, although Drew probably wasn’t wrong. Gabe looked like dead weight, lying there on the bathroom floor. He could drag him, maybe, but that was about it. He picked up the phone.

“Text me when you get here,” he said, “I’ll buzz you in.”  

Even through the phone, Adam could see how Drew’s lips tightened. “Morrison can’t do that?” he asked, and again Adam felt like he’d done something wrong.

“He tried to eat,” he explained, feeling awkward but unsure why, “it uhh, didn’t go too well.”

“What did he have, if you know?” Drew was in his car now, only half his face visible on the screen. Adam tried to remember how far Mass General was from Morrison’s apartment.  

“Scrambled eggs,” he answered promptly. At least that was something he knew, “and I brought him yogurt; he had some of that.”

Drew made an impatient sound. “Dairy’s still tricky; he should have known that.”

“Sorry,” Adam said, feeling guilty since he’d been the one to bring the apparently tricky yogurt. Not that he’d forced Morrison to eat it or anything.

“Not your fault,” Drew said, and strangely, Adam thought he actually meant it. “I’ll be there in ten and we’ll get both of them sorted out. Don’t worry.” 

Adam latched on to the we. Gabe seemed to have fallen asleep, curled up on the floor and there were no terrible sounds coming from the living room. Adam felt a little bit of his panic ease. “Thanks,” he said, hoping Drew could hear the sincerity in his voice.

Avery packed up his computer and headed out of the office with a list of the people their coworker Shane had been planning to interview that afternoon. The case was a big one involving gang activity and a lot of the agents were involved in one way or another. Avery and Rory’s other partner Jack had come down with the bug that morning so Avery was already doing extra work - now it looked like he’d be picking up more projects at least until Rory was back 100%. 

It didn’t matter to him; Avery loved the energy and excitement of fieldwork and being this busy helped him avoid having too much downtime. It was a good thing, working himself to exhaustion and only going home to collapse into bed when he could barely stand upright. Sleeping curled up on one side of his bed, too tired to be alone with his thoughts. That’s what Avery would be doing this week.

Because his thoughts meant Adam Calder and what an idiot he’d been about the man, yet again. But what else was he supposed to think, when Adam had agreed not to hook up with anyone else? Avery hadn’t assumed too much - certainly not that Adam was a boyfriend - he wasn’t that stupid or even that needy. But he also hadn’t expected that as far as Adam was concerned, their arrangement had a termination date - and only Adam could decide when that was. 

Avery was pretty confident his surprise and anger were justified. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me and all that, but this time something was different.  This time he didn’t only feel stupid for falling for Adam’s charm and justified for lusting after his body. This time, Avery thought he had every reason to believe Adam’s promises, and this time it hurt when those promises broke. 

They’d been having breakfast, for fuck’s sake - omelets he’d made in Adam’s fancy cookware - and Avery couldn’t even remember how the topic had come up. Adam had been almost casual when he corrected Avery after he’d wondered out loud what their friends would think about the two of them. He assumed they’d have to tell them something; it would be too hard to keep it secret for that long.

“What’s that long?” Adam had asked in between small bites of toast. “They’re all so busy with work and wedding planning and holiday shit; surely we can keep it quiet for a month or two,” He pushed his plate away, omelet barely half eaten. “I think I’m done.” 

And so was Avery. Because if Adam was already thinking that the two of them had an expiration date just a month or two down the road, how was that any different than the one-night stands they’d had so far - the ones Avery had clearly said he wasn’t interested in? He threw down his napkin. 

“Have you already set your Grindr profile to reset after New Years?” He didn’t even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Adam actually had to gall to wince. “You know I don’t use Grindr, Morrison.” 

Avery stood up. “Well forgive me for not congratulating you for that; I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone elsewhere after you’re done with me in two months. Or maybe earlier.” 

“Oh come on Ave, that’s not fair and you know it.” Adam got slowly to his feet, pressing his hand against his side and wincing again. Avery ignored the display of pain - he’d asked if sex was a good idea so soon after gall bladder surgery and Adam had assured him he was fine - so he wasn’t going to feel even a little bit guilty about the blow jobs. Especially when there were bigger issues to discuss.

“Ave? What the hell’s that?” Avery considered dumping his plate in the sink but then decided to fuck it and let Adam do all the clean up. “Forgive me, but what gave you the idea that we’re at the cute nickname stage?” He stared dispassionately while Adam stifled a burp into his fist. “Or is that just for “two months” and then I’m back to just Morrison?” The air quotes were petty but Avery didn’t care. Because until now Adam had mostly called him Morrison or a sarcastic sweetheart, or occasionally his first name. Never anything more intimate and certainly not shortening Avery to something that sounded . . . . that suggested they were . . . something they clearly were not. Goddammit.

Adam hadn’t answered immediately. If Avery hadn’t known him so well, he would have said Calder was thrown off by his use of the endearment. But if there was one thing Avery knew, it was that Adam Calder never did anything by accident. If he looked uncomfortable, it was probably just indigestion from eating too fast. 

And maybe Calder offered some sort of excuse - but he didn’t deny how temporary he viewed their arrangement, and Avery didn’t really want to hear anything else.

It wasn’t enough, and so Avery left after telling Adam that he needed some time to think. A stronger man would have ended all contact there. Said not to reach out again, and if they were forced to be together it would be purely civil. And Avery Morrison was not a coward, except, it seemed, when it came to walking away from Adam Calder.

Over the next few days he wished he’d had the guts to do it, though. Because it seemed like Adam’s interpretation of Avery’s need some time meant that he could still text whenever he wanted, as long as his messages were only friends and didn’t ask for benefits: A photo of his matcha latte because he knew Avery thought they were disgusting, a jab about latest Chiefs loss, questions about an episode of To Catch a Smuggler, which he’d started watching after Avery had missed one of their meet-ups because he’d been out catching real smugglers himself. The kind of texts that would have been fine and fun from anyone else, anyone Avery hadn’t - again, goddammit - caught feelings for. 

Avery had always lived out loud and with his heart on his sleeve and being in limbo like this just sucked. He needed to be focused on his job at a time when there was too much work and not enough healthy agents to do it. Instead he couldn’t stop thinking about Adam’s thighs wrapped around him in bed or his mouth, quirked in a smile when Avery said something amusing. Or, just as likely, snarking back.

So he kept volunteering to pick up the slack from sick coworkers; anything to keep his brain occupied and his body exhausted. That way, Avery was way too busy to spend any more of his valuable time on Adam Calder. Not when there were drug dealers to round up and trafficked weapons to confiscate and gangs to monitor. 

Still, every time his phone buzzed his hand flew there as if dragged by a magnet.

Rory: three interviews done

Rory: going to do paperwork you’ve got the other four witnesses right?

Avery: Roger that cowboy

Rory: (eyeroll emoji)

Noa: Is Rory really busy or is he trying to get out of cleaning up the condo? 

Avery: we’re all busy sweetheart but I’ll kick his ass if he leaves the mess to you. Glad you’re feeling better 

Jack: puked four times this has to end soon right?

mom: going to Rylee’s baby shower. I’ll put your name on the gift. It’s at the Botanic Gardens - should be just lovely. I’m driving Aunt Kathy there. She gave up her car because she’s worried about her eyesight. But otherwise doing very well. I hope you aren’t working too hard - are you lonely?  Love you!

It had been something of a family scandal when Avery’s cousin Rylee had announced she was pregnant, that she’d done it on purpose, and there was not going to be a father in the picture. Apparently all of that was old news, if there was going to be a shower. Avery sent his mom a quick “tell Ry congrats for me - I’ll call this weekend” and hoped that was enough. He certainly did not want to involve his mother in why he might - or might not - be lonely right now.

Sean: fuck now Grant is down too; you’re on at Mattapan - 7 2 7 WRF

The text from Avery’s boss was not a request but an order - to be undercover in the neighborhood where they’d seen increased gang activity from 7pm to 7 am Wednesday night  through Saturday morning. Avery made a mental note to pick up candy bars and water since he couldn’t always get out for real food when he was stuck in his car or some abandoned building. Mattapan was a rough area so he’d have to look the part - no fancy protein drinks or expensive clothes, not that Avery had many of those. Damn he hoped it wasn’t supposed to rain.

Rory: You told Noa you’d kick my ass? Some partner you are

Avery: Love you; love Noa more. Go clean the condo

(Rory sent back a photo of his middle finger)

AdamNoa’sBro (that was how he’d put the contact in his phone months ago and he refused to change it). 

Avery squinted tiredly at the name. This was the fourth time Adam had texted since Avery had walked out over a week ago. Not much contact, not really. Hell, there had been days when they’d exchanged 10, 20 messages, easy, if they’d gotten caught up on some tangent about god knows what. Like if AI could be of value in police work or whether the Masked Singer was a legitimate talent competition. Important stuff. 

But now . . . he stared at the name a little bit longer and stifled a yawn. There was so much work to do - more even after Sean’s text - and he’d be perfectly justified ignoring Adam’s message. So of course he clicked it open.

AdamNoa’sBro: heard there was a big drug bust in Roxbury last night - one of yours?

It had been, hence the yawning, although Avery wasn’t going to say much about it. So far he’d mostly responded to Adam’s chatter with emoji’s or maybe a word or two of acknowledgement. Now he sent a thumbs up and “yeah top secret,” then stopped. Maybe next time he shouldn’t answer right away, keep Adam on read for a little while. Maybe that way he’d get the message and not text so often and Avery could stop overthinking so much. Maybe.

Avery rubbed his eyes and yawned again, then jumped up and down, trying to get some feeling back into his feet after standing so long in the cold. The Mattapan neighborhood bordered last night’s drug bust and he had to be on his guard for gang activity even when things on the street were quiet. Avery was already pulling 12 hour days there and now that he was going to be adding nights, they were about to get even longer. And he loved it - the exhaustion was usually overshadowed by adrenaline and feeling he was doing something good. Sleep was overrated; he’d catch up eventually. And being in the field meant he could avoid his desk and the mountains of paperwork he’d have to complete when the case was over. 

Two days later some of Avery’s adrenaline had worn off in the face of long hours spent walking around the neighborhood or sitting in his car, pretending he lived in it.  Which right now he kind of did. Even before this week it usually looked a bit of a mess, with takeout wrappers on the floor or a bag of dirty clothes he needed to take to the laundromat in the back seat. Until recently the Subaru’s disheveled state hadn’t mattered to him. It got him where he needed to be and the car’s run down appearance fit into the more seedy neighborhoods where Avery spent a lot of his time. 

Adam loved to give him a hard time about it though. A couple of weeks ago he’d come over with a roll of duct tape for Avery to keep in his glove box just in case, and he regularly pointed out even more dilapidated vehicles they passed, asking if Avery needed an upgrade. When some of the trash disappeared from the floor mats, Adam smirked at him before flicking the corner of the newly hung air freshener.  “I think it’s a lost cause, Morrison,” he’d announced. “But I appreciate the effort.”

Over the past week the mess had returned, likely to stay this time. Avery didn’t care. His car had to stay parked on site so on Friday afternoon he took the subway home to get some extra blankets - the temperature had dipped below freezing last night - and tried to catch up on all the texts he’d missed. There were a bunch - from Rory and Jack, who was finally recovered from the flu, his best friend from home, his mom.  But of course his eyes fell immediately on Adam’s name near the bottom of his screen, a message - the fifth - sent about an hour ago. His hand hovered over it for too long before he convinced himself that it was irresponsible to read it first, before the ones from his partners. So there was that, he supposed.

Rory: How’s Mattapan so far? Sleeping in your car much?

Avery: You know it - when u gonna be here to spoon me?

Rory: u gotta fight Jack - we’ll be there Saturday to work on transfer - until then you can find someone else to snuggle with.

Avery: have I told you that I hate you?

His mom wanted to give him the rundown from the baby shower - apparently his cousin Kylee’s girlfriend had come and the entire family was in a tizzy over the news since no one had known she had one. Or that she was anything except straight. Of course his mother had asked if Avery had known - as if his status as a gay man made him more aware of these things. While in the middle of assuring his mother that he was as surprised as she was but let’s not make a big deal of it, another message popped up on the screen and for a half second Avery’s heart did a weird flutter.  

Drew

Oh. Get a grip, Avery.

Still, it was unusual; Drew texting him. The last time Avery had had any individual interaction with the nurse was months earlier when they’d both ended up on the same flight to Atlanta and Drew had gotten sick from accidentally taking too many meds. Avery liked Drew but hadn’t talked to him much since then - all the time while he and Jeremiah had been working out the bumps in their relationship. Now he was relieved to have a reason to ignore Adam’s message and clicked on Drew’s instead. 

Drew: half the FBI agents in Boston have been in the ER this week for fluids - u okay?

Avery: Immunity of a Marvel superhero, that’s me.

It wasn’t strictly true; Avery caught bugs as much as anyone else. Still, he’d somehow avoided this one and given how much it sounded like everyone was puking, he wasn’t upset about it. 

But now he had nothing left to do except look at Adam’s name. Tried to talk himself out of reading what bit of randomness he might have shared this time, and opened the message anyway, hating himself a little bit. 

AdamNoa’sBro: You’re wrong about Vittoria - the best cannoli in Boston are at Modern Pastry

Avery groaned to himself. Adam knew how easy it would be to suck Avery into a debate about this since he loved cannoli almost as much as he hated matcha. God-fucking-dammit. 

Avery: Working sorry

It was technically true; he hadn’t been home in nearly 14 hours and it would take another 30 minutes on the T to get back to his neighborhood. He could look over his notes on the ride, which would have the added bonus of helping keep him awake. If only Adam would just stop texting him. That didn’t seem to be the case - his phone buzzed twice in quick succession but only one was from Adam, sending a thumbs up. The other was Drew. Trying not to think too hard about how quickly Adam had responded, he opened the nurse’s message.

Drew: Well don’t be a hero if you start feeling sick. Hard to chase bad guys if you’re puking.

Avery stifled a grin at Drew’s choice of “bad guys” for what the agents called suspects and perps. He, Rory and Jack had laughed more than once over what their friends seemed to think they did - all Law and Order and NCIS and 24 - constant shootings and explosions and courtroom drama and none of the boring paperwork. 

Adam thought he knew a lot of Avery’s job just because of his work with a couple of police unions, and Avery loved lecturing him about all the details he got wrong. Hell, he probably thought the Roxbury takedown had involved a full SWAT team in riot gear and a shootout in the street or something. The truth - that Avery and another agent had walked up and arrested the suspects as they unloaded groceries from their car - was a lot less interesting. He smirked at the thought of lecturing Adam that he shouldn’t believe the drama and then remembered he wasn’t talking to the guy. He cast around for something to distract himself and finally sent another message to Drew.

Avery: so it’s really that bad there?” 

Drew responded immediately, which made Avery think it might not be that busy after all.

Drew: Just your regular highly contagious gastro virus, except that FBI agents are apparently incapable of taking care of themselves. Dehydration is no joke, Morrison!

Avery: Noted. Anyway I’m heading home so I’ll be away from all the germs. 

No reason to explain that he hadn’t been interacting with his coworkers this week anyway.  Did gang members get stomach flu? Probably, but that wasn’t Avery’s concern. What did matter was getting home, grabbing a blanket and throwing on a clean shirt under his hoodie in time to be back in Mattapan, in his car, by 7 pm. If he rushed he might even have time for a quick shower and a power nap somewhere horizontal. He tapped his foot on the subway floor, as if that could make the slow train move faster. The phone in his hand rang suddenly, startling him out of his mental planning for home. Calls usually meant work and he assumed it was Sean or Rory, but Drew’s name popped up instead.

Confused - hadn’t they just been texting? - he connected the call with a chuckle. “Butt dial, Thorton?” 

But Drew started speaking immediately, the words almost tripping over each other so Avery couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “You live near Weston Ave right? Any chance you can grab a package they’re holding at Commonwealth Books? For Jer’s Christmas gift. Thought I’d make it before they closed but I got . . . held up. I can meet you at your place, is that okay?”

Avery sighed to himself. Yes, he walked right by the secondhand bookstore on his way home and normally wouldn’t  mind grabbing whatever they were holding for Drew. Something special and personal, most likely - Commonwealth was known for its unique and rare books. Probably a really thoughtful first edition of something Jeremiah would love, almost as much as he loved Drew . . . 

Did you get an engraved invitation to that pity party, Morrison? 

The snarky voice in his head sounded too much like Adam Calder, and he fumbled with the phone, almost dropping it as he gasped out an answer to the nurse.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll grab it, no problem.” It would take him out of his way and probably eliminate most of his time at home but of course he wasn’t going to say so. Drew and Jeremiah seemed to have finally worked things out for themselves and truly, he was happy for them. Truly, truly happy. And maybe he’d still have time at home to figure out what to wear to his pity party. Adam Calder not invited, goddammit.

“G-g-good . . . thanks.” Drew sounded out of breath and Avery felt a stab of guilt that he’d even considered saying no. The guy’d obviously been trying to rush to the bookstore himself.  The T pulled into his stop and he jogged up the steps and turned in the opposite direction of his building, making it to the shop just minutes before it closed. 

“I’m so glad we were able to find a set in such good condition; with these older cookbooks a lot of them can be in poorer quality.” The bookstore saleswoman - who looked like she might be the owner - looked delighted as she held up three books with similar covers that all looked like they might be from the 1950s. “From what you told me, your boyfriend is going to love these. Historical recipes are so much fun to make.”  She smiled knowingly at Avery. “And you’ll enjoy being his taste-tester, won’t you?” 

“Oh, he’s not . . . “ Avery began, and then decided it wasn’t worth the effort to clarify, “uhh, yeah, he will. He uhh, loves to cook, uhhh - “ he squinted at the title on the top book - “festive foods for the party season.” 

“When you told me your boyfriend was interested in mid-century history and food I knew these would be perfect.” The saleswoman dropped them into a bright green and red shopping bag and handed it over.  “And you’re sure you want to wrap them yourself?”

When Avery tried to wrap gifts they tended to look like a five-year-old had done it - with one hand tied behind his back - but maybe Drew was more talented in that area. He’d have turned down the offer anyway - his precious minutes at home were slipping away and he really wanted to change his t-shirt. Body odor might have been part of the homeless act but that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed smelling his own sweat. Not in this situation at least.

The phone in his hand had stayed silent while he walked - trying not to jog because it would be just his luck to drop the books - but it buzzed again just as he got to his front door. 

AdamNoa’sBro: bringing some when you’re done so you admit I’m right

Avery didn’t have time for cryptic texts. For a guy who prided himself on reading people well Adam Calder was being fucking obtuse and the worst part was that Avery knew it was an act. He just didn’t understand what Adam was playing at.  Before thinking it through he questioned the message and fumbled for his keys, but Adam’s response came before he could even pull them out of his pocket. 

AdamNoa’sBro: Cannoli sweetheart - isn’t that what we were talking about? 

Avery really needed to change Adam’s contact name - something like FuckingCalder might do the trick. And would responding I didn’t know we were talking about anything get his point across or just give Adam fuel to keep texting? 

“Hey.” 

Salvation, in the form of Drew pulling up in his car, prevented Avery from going any further down that rabbit hole. He turned in the direction of the Volvo ready to engage in friendly but brief banter with the nurse. Then hand off Jeremiah’s gift and get the hell upstairs for a nap.

“I hope I get an invite for some festive . . . oh shit.” Avery’s friendly banter died in his throat as soon as he got a look at Drew’s face - pasty and pinched with discomfort and coated with a thin sheen of sweat. “You got it.” 

Drew gave a tight nod. “Hoped I could make it . . . heh . . .“ - he blew out a queasy burp - “ . . . here in time but . . . yeah.” He stopped talking and gulped down. 

Avery had been holding out the bag from the bookstore, ready to hand it through the car window. “Shit, hold on . . . “ he fumbled with the books, trying to get them out of the bag so he could shove it into Drew’s lap. 

Drew shook his head. “I’m not . . . gimme a second -” he reached to the seat next to him and produced a green hospital emesis bag, “just need to . . .” he drooled into the bowl while Avery huffed impatiently.

“Stop talking for god’s sake. It’ll make you feel worse.” He’d transported enough nauseated drug dealers to know that much.  Drew gave a hiccupping burp and spit something into the basin.

“Impossible,” he croaked. “Already feel like crap.” He turned back to the basin again and panted unevenly before his expression finally cleared as the nausea receded. “Thanks for picking up Jer’s gift. Jus’ need to get it home and hidden before I vomit.” He held out a shaky hand towards the bag.

Avery rolled his eyes at the display. “Yeah that’s not going to happen.” He held the gift out of Drew’s reach and watched while the man’s glare deteriorated and he dove back over the bowl to burp some more.. Avery was going to lose all his time to clean up and sleep but it was clear he couldn’t just leave Drew to drive home - he’d  either puke in his lap or get in an accident.. “Come up and spend some time in my bathroom,” he urged. As long as Avery was in an Uber in the next . . . 57 minutes he’d be fine to make it back to Mattapan in time to move back into his car for the night.

It was a testament to how bad Drew was feeling that he didn’t argue.  After another moment of careful breathing he pulled his car against the curb and climbed out to follow Avery slowly to the front door of his building. “Hit . . . hit fast,” he groaned, swaying dangerously as he trudged up the stairs. Avery threw out his arm and pulled Drew into his side, pretty much dragging him up the last three steps to his apartment. “Should’ve known though, Ima nurse.” He gagged emptily and stopped, frozen just inside the doorway. “Where’s . . . bathroom?” 

“Almost there; try not to puke yet.” Avery tugged Drew along and manhandled him into the bathroom, saying a silent prayer of thanks that it was clean. “Aren’t nurses and doctors the worst patients though?” 

“Jer’sNot,” Drew mumbled weakly, words sticking together as he lowered himself down in front of the toilet and lifted the lid.  “He’sa good patient. An’ doctor.” His body jolted with a heave and he hauled himself to his knees to hover over the bowl. “You don’ hafta stay; I know how to puke alone.”  Drew waved vaguely in Avery’s direction, burping wetly. “Really.”

Avery filled a paper cup with water and ran one of his washcloths under the tap while Drew’s panting grew heavier. “I don’t mind keeping you company - you don’t strike me as one of those people who like privacy when they’re sick.” The comment about Jeremiah had been a dead giveaway. Drew didn’t disagree, so Avery put the water in his line of sight and sat down. His bathroom was as small and crappy as the rest of the apartment and he shuffled as far away as he could and pulled his knees to his chest. “I’m just sorry you’re stuck with me and not your boyfriend.”

Drew shrugged. “You give off ‘boyfriend’ vibes, you know.” He tilted his head to find Avery, and even through the nausea, his expression was sincere. “I don’t mean to me, don’t worry.  But in general.” He hiccupped and leaned over the toilet again. 

“Yeah, so I’ve been told,” Avery muttered. When Drew shuffled uncomfortably on the floor he scooted forward and touched him carefully on the arm. “Anything I can do to help?” Obviously he wanted the guy to feel better but also, there were only 42 minutes before he needed to leave; surely Drew would throw up before that, right? “Does Jeremiah know you’re sick?” 

Drew shook his head and then buried it in the toilet to let out a grating retch. Avery braced himself to hear liquid hitting the liquid but instead Drew retched again. His hand fumbled on the floor, knocking over the cup of water and Avery jumped up.  “Hold on, I'll get you more,” he said, but Drew waved him off.  

“Don’ . . . don’t need,” he gasped, knuckles white where they squeezed the edge of the toilet seat. His back arched with another empty heave and right after that a small stream of vomit came up.

“There you go,” Avery encouraged. He felt like kind of an idiot for saying something, as if Drew needed praise for puking. But he’d offered to stay, and just sitting there watching the man throw up felt intrusive. Drew grunted and strained, rocking back and forth on his knees before burping up a much bigger mouthful. 

“GahhhHeurruk!” Avery wasn’t sure what - if anything - Drew was trying to say, so he just patted him lightly on the shoulder and made what he hoped were comforting sounds. Jeremiah would have known what to do, of course, but Avery had no idea if Drew liked softness or to be treated with the mix of tough love and sarcasm he used on Adam every time the guy had gotten sick in front of him. 

“Do you . . .uhhLHLP! . . . Gatorade?” Drew threw up again. It sounded liquidy to Avery so hopefully he was nearly done. “For after.” 

“I do.” Avery jumped up, relieved for something to do that didn’t involve playing stand-in boyfriend. He ran to his kitchen, debated for a few seconds over which flavor Drew would like, and then grabbed bottles of orange and blue. His crappy apartment was small enough that he could hear clearly when the nurse heaved again, more liquid spattering into the toilet bowl, and then a bunch of spitting. By the time he returned to the bathroom Drew had flushed the mess away and was slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. Avery held out the Gatorade bottles but he waved them away, gagging. 

“Not yet,” he rasped. “Stomach’s still spasming.” He put his hand on the toilet and rose slowly to his knees.  I’ll take it in the car.” As soon as he was upright all the color drained out Drew’s face. “Oh god,” he groaned, lurching back over the bowl with a harsh burp. This time only a little bit of bile came up and he finally leaned back again, taking the washcloth Avery handed him and burying his face in it for a few seconds. “Okay I’m done.” He reached for the Gatorade and then stopped, swallowing hard. “Mostly.”

“Dude, there’s no way you’re driving.” Avery was done being encouraging. “Seriously you’re about to fall over.” He bit his lip as Drew struggled to his feet and tried to brace himself over the sink. “Fuck this -” he grabbed Drew’s hips to hold him steady he tried to splash water into his mouth and almost lost his balance, “- you’re getting in my bed.” 

Drew let out a sound that was half laugh, half burp, and spit into the sink. “Is that a proposition? Cause I’m not in top form at the moment.” He leaned into Avery and let him shuffle them both the five steps into the bedroom. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Avery chuckled. “I don’t do one-night stands, Thornton. Especially with guys who are taken. C’mon, lie back; I promise my sheets are clean.”

Drew didn’t object, and sighed with relief when his back sunk into the pillows. He accepted the garbage can Avery handed him with a soft ‘thanks’ and then fixed him with a knowing expression. “And what about with someone who isn’t taken? But who you might . . . want to be?” He took a small, careful sip of Gatorade and stared, unblinking.

Avery remembered that Drew was known as something of a gossip. Flat out denial would just pique his interest so instead he went for humor. “I have absolutely no idea what - or who - you’re talking about,” he said with a grin. “I can assure you that I’m fully and completely single and that’s not likely to change anytime soon.”

“I told you Morrison, you give off boyfriend vibes.” Drew’s expression had gone pinched again and he pulled the garbage can into his lap. “You deserve someone who . . . wants that.  Sorry, Gonna puke again.” He leaned forward and drooled into the bin. “And that’s not Calder.”  Drew burped up a mouthful of vomit. “I saw him you know,” he continued when he finally raised his head again, - “stitched him up after he pulled out his sutures the day you two . . . when you left.” 

That was news to Avery, and it gave him a million things to ask, but of course at that moment the alarm on his watch vibrated. There was no question that he had to leave, no matter how much he wanted to stay and question Drew in between rounds of puking. At least this was his last night sleeping in his car. Rory and Jack would join him at 7 am and he could hopefully hand off the case, get his paperwork done, be back home by noon.

“Stay here,” he urged Drew. “Until Jeremiah can pick you up, okay?” He was already moving out of the room, no time to wait and see if Drew agreed.  Whatever; he was an adult and would figure it out.

For the first time since the surveillance had started, Avery didn’t look forward to going back to the streets. Not only had he lost his break, but taking care of Drew had taken more energy than he wanted to admit. And the revelation that Drew had been with Adam right after he and Avery had fought?  What was that? If Drew hadn’t been miserable with the stomach flu right now Avery would have been blowing up his phone already with questions. Since he absolutely wouldn’t ask Adam. Even though the guy was a fucking mind-reader.

AdamNoa’sBro: having dinner with Jer and heard Drew’s sick and in your bed

That was all. No snarky sexual innuendo, no joking reminder that Drew was off limits, just the facts without a question attached. Avery knew what that was because he used the technique himself at work. It invited a response that was more than a yes or no - sometimes a lot more.

Avery was tired enough to be incautious and he typed back without stopping to think: at least I know he’s staying for a while - hitting send with a satisfied click and then immediately regretting it. 

It took Adam ten minutes to text back, during which Avery forced himself to put his phone down and focus on the group of men congregating in front of a house across the street. Other nights had been rowdy but tonight they were pretty quiet, with a lot of coming and going. Rory and Jack would need to be briefed on the situation tomorrow and Avery needed to be accurate.

AdamNoa’sBro: Touche sweetheart

Avery’s stomach swooped and then deflated. Well good, he didn’t have to respond to that. Good. He slowly got out of his car. There was a gas station down the block where he used the bathroom, and it would give him a chance to get a better look at the house across the street too.

By midnight he was exhausted to the point of feeling dizzy. As far as anyone knew, Avery was just a local vagrant - he had to keep up the act a little bit longer. But when he got back to his car after another trip to the bathroom, freezing because he’d fucking forgot an extra blanket - it was hard not to just give up then and drive home. He’d sleep on the sofa if Drew was still there. Only the fact that Avery wasn’t a quitter like that - and more specifically that his boss would kill him, kept him in place. But 7 am could not come soon enough.

Except that 7 am turned into 9, and 9 turned into noon because Rory and Jack got held up on another part of the case. When Rory texted they were finally on their way Avery got out of his car for another walk of the area  just to keep himself awake. 

But that turned out to be a stupid idea. Because while he was paying attention to what was going on across the street, he didn’t notice the two expensive cars that suddenly pulled up from either end of the block. His own gun was still in its holster when a window rolled down and shots rang out. The pain was shocking. Avery’s knees buckled and he fumbled at his chest. The noise of yelling voices and gunfire rose and fell around him. The screeching of tires . . . it was hard to breathe . . . a familiar voice yelling -  Morrison! . . . he needed to answer . . . exhaustion . . . 

AdamNoa’sBro: you off work yet? I’ll bring you the cannoli

AdamNoa’sBro: Hello? Earth to Morrison?

“That’s some serious day drinking.” Adam raised his eyebrows at the row of bourbon glasses and made a show of checking his watch, “you sure you can handle it? We’ve got a lot of basketball to watch.” He took a careful sip of his espresso martini. 

“That’s what March Madness is for,” protested Gabe, “good brackets and bad decisions. Besides,” - he picked up one of his stuffed mushrooms - Logan’s on some yoga retreat for the weekend, so what else do I have to do?” He stuffed the entire mushroom in his mouth and chewed shamelessly. Grease from the sausage dripped down his chin and Adam sighed and shoved a napkin at him.

“I thought your girlfriend was supposed to improve your manners,” he complained, but Gabe could tell he really didn’t mean it. It had been a long time since the two of them had been able to hang out together and the overwhelming feeling was one of relief that they could, and somewhere else than in a hospital room. Now he opened his mouth wide to show Adam his chewed up sausage and mushroom.

“Wan’some seefood?” He shook his head back and forth and sprayed gooey crumbs on the table.

“You’re a menace.” Adam flipped Gabe off and then flicked a chunk of sausage back at him. “Seriously, you’re almost as bad as Morrison. Man practically needs a bib when he eats spaghetti.” 

Gabe swallowed the next mouthful a little too quickly, wincing at the slimy feeling of the unchewed lump of mushroom falling into his stomach. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Adam and Avery had been hooking up, but he’d never heard Adam talk so openly about one of his partners before - and he didn’t normally have meals with the guys he slept with. And yet here he was, casually sharing that he and Morrison had spent enough time together to eat spaghetti as if it was no big deal. Gabe forced a cough, trying to clear his throat of the feeling that something was stuck in his esophagus. He took a bigger-than-normal gulp of one of the bourbons. “So you’ve. . . ahem . . . seen him since he’s been home from the hospital?” The bourbon went down, fortunately taking the rest of the sausage and mushroom with it and landing heavily in his stomach. Gabe blew out an uneasy breath, not sure if he felt better or not. 

Adam didn’t notice. He’d frozen at Gabe’s question, and Gabe got the impression he hadn’t quite realized what he’d said, or maybe how revealing it sounded. He recovered quickly though, snorting before taking a bite of his quesadilla and purposely chewing with his mouth shut and swallowing before he answered, “I had to pick his ass up from the hospital, didn’t you hear? Rory had a conflict, Noa was sick, I was free.” He shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “and I was coming down with the fucking stomach flu so Rory owes me, big time. And then I ended up giving it to Morrison, so Rory probably owes him too.” 

“Or maybe you owe him, since you’re the one who got him sick.” Gabe hadn’t heard any of this; he’d had the bug himself and even before he’d fully recovered he’d gone back to work, where the deal he’d been working on had consumed all his time for the past week. Usually Logan caught him up on the news he missed but then she got sick herself and Gabe had spent what little free time he had making sure she was really okay from her allergic reaction. 

“Fuck yeah, it totally sucked. He was a mess - puked on me.” Adam grimaced, but Gabe thought he sounded more sympathetic than disgusted. “Actually I need to stop by and pick up my clothes; do you mind?” 

“When did he puke on your . . .?” Something occurred to Gabe, something he wouldn’t have considered before dating Logan - but Adam must have been talking to Avery regularly, to know he’d caught Adam’s stomach flu, “ - you went back later, didn’t you?” If he thought he was being observant, figuring that out, he was disappointed when his brother rolled his eyes.

“Of course I went back,” Adam scoffed. “Morrison’s also recovering from being shot, remember? I’m not such an asshole that I was going to leave him to deal with that plus a stomach bug all by himself.” He shook his head at Gabe as if he’d been stupid to even suggest anything else. “He was in a ton of pain.” Adam signaled at their server for the check, “hopefully he’s feeling better now.”

Gabe was startled. “We’re leaving? I thought we were watching basketball.” He frowned at his empty plate - he didn’t even remember finishing his stuffed mushrooms - and most of his bourbon was gone too. He wasn’t exactly hungry anymore but he’d been eyeing the menu anyway - maybe something sweet to clear the taste of greasy sausage from his mouth. Adam shrugged. 

“Morrison has a big TV.” That was all he said, so when the server came over, Gabe just handed over his credit card. Apparently they were going to watch the NCAA basketball tournament at Avery’s apartment. Or maybe Gabe was going to watch the tournament and Adam was going to watch Morrison? Gabe had questions about what exactly was going on here, but he wasn’t Noa; he didn’t need to know any more than what he could see and hear himself. And anyway, the thought of sitting on a comfortable sofa instead of a hard wooden chair didn’t sound exactly bad right now. He could probably even unbutton his pants. They were digging into his stomach more than made sense, for the amount he’d eaten; maybe they’d shrunk or something? 

“We have to stop and pick up Gatorade; there’s a Key Foods two blocks from Morrison’s apartment.” Adam had been texting while Gabe was paying and now he looked up. “All he’s got left is the blue shit Thorton brought him; I told him we’d get the orange. And some more melba toast; he likes that more than saltines.” 

Again, Gabe kept his mouth shut about how much his brother seemed to know about Avery’s habits. “I thought you said he was over the flu?” Standing up eased some of the pressure of his pants around his middle but the uncomfortable heaviness in his stomach remained. He forced up a burp and followed Adam out of the restaurant, wondering if he should pick up some Pepto at the market. 

“He got shot in the gut, bro.” Gabe couldn’t see Adam’s face but he was sure he was rolling his eyes. “Eating’s been a fucking chore.” He waved down the Uber and climbed in after Gabe, “maybe I should pick up some yogurt too - that should be gentle on his stomach, don’t you think? Or pudding - the kind with protein should be good.” 

“I didn’t know you had a dietician’s degree,” Gabe teased. He didn’t mention that neither sounded that appetizing to him at the moment. He kept his mouth shut at the grocery store too, even while Adam debated whether to get plain yogurt or fruit flavored, and vanilla or chocolate pudding. There was a heavy dull pressure in his middle, not quite a cramp, but with the suggestion it could go that way. When Adam’s back was turned to the yogurt, Gabe dug his hand into his side, trying to ease some of the discomfort. A bubble of air worked free and traveled up his throat, but before Gabe could properly burp it dropped back down. Now he felt even more bloated. He rubbed uneasily at his chest. Fucking indigestion.

“Eh, I’ll get both.” Adam dumped the containers into the basket he’d given Gabe to hold. It was weighing down his arm now, filled with not only the food but a half dozen bottles of Gatorade and a couple of boxes of Pedialyte popsicles. Oh yeah, and the melba toast. 

“What the hell is melba toast?” he asked, squinting at the picture on the front of the package. “Looks like cardboard.” The basket was pressing against his stomach and he tried not to wince.

“Tastes like cardboard,” Adam laughed, “but Morrison likes it - says it’s so dry it soaks up all the extra stomach juices that make him nauseous.” 

Gabe choked back a gag, masking the sound with a cough, “ewww,” he complained, shoving the basket at Adam. “Hold all your crap.” It was getting harder to ignore how often Adam was dropping random bits of knowledge about Morrison, to the point Gabe knew he probably should say something. Give him shit at least - and Gabe would have, if not for the fact that it was also getting harder to ignore the persistent burbling in his stomach, or how his last couple of burps seemed to linger in his mouth, making his breath feel heavy and sour. 

Adam took the basket without complaint. “D’you want to grab some beer? Morrison doesn’t have any.” He was checking his phone again, texting something with one hand. Gabe blew out a breath.

“You seem to know a lot about Avery’s . . . groceries,” he teased, swallowing down air in another futile attempt a at better burp. His guts grumbled at him, and when he saw a small box of Pepto tablets near the checkout lane he threw them in the basket. 

Adam didn’t take the bait, which Gabe thought was weird itself. “I pay attention,” he said mildly, handing over his credit card to pay for the groceries. “Isn’t that something Logan taught you to be better at?” 

On another day Gabe might have pointed out that Logan was his girlfriend and therefore had an interest in Gabe’s behavior, and what exactly were Adam and Avery to each other? Today, with his stomach sour and heavy, it just felt like a lot of work. He grabbed the Pepto out of the grocery bag and shoved a tablet in his mouth while he followed Adam down the street to Avery Morrison’s apartment. 

******

Adam wasn’t an idiot. He knew what his brother meant, teasing him about Avery. And yeah, maybe he’d gotten a little too invested, given that the guy had turned him down so thoroughly and kindly, but Adam was still determined to be a good friend. Besides, it was Gabriel, one of the most chill people on the planet. Adam certainly didn’t need to edit himself for his brother. Especially not his brother who was currently bitching at him as he huffed up the steps to Morrison’s apartment.

“No . . .ahem . . . elevator?” Gabe glared at Adam, who was already up to the second floor landing and waiting impatiently outside of Morrison’s door.  Adam rolled his eyes.

“It’s one fucking flight, Gabe. Don’t tell me investment banking has made you that soft.” 

Gabe finally joined him at the top of the stairs. “Fuck you, it’s like twice as many as a normal staircase; it’s like a tower.”  He rubbed at his middle. “I have a cramp.”  

Adam ignored him; Gabe could be such a baby sometimes when he wasn’t getting all the attention. He could hear shuffling around inside Morrison’s apartment and tried not to count how long it took him to get to the door. What he couldn’t help were the words that burst out of his mouth as soon as it did.

“Fuck; don’t tell me you’re still sick.” Avery had said in their last text that he was over the stomach flu, but the man standing in front of the doorway still didn’t look well. Morrison’s face was pale, except for the circles under his eyes that looked like bruises - Adam knew he hadn’t been sleeping well. And he was hunched over a little bit, his arms wrapped around his waist like a shield. He hobbled back to let Gabe and Adam into the apartment.

“I’m not; I’m fine,” he said unconvincingly. “I was about to eat something.” He gestured at the counter where a carton of eggs was sitting next to a loaf of bread and one of his bottles of liquid nutrition. “Just trying to figure out what will . . . taste good.”

Adam could hear the doubt in Avery’s voice that anything was going to taste good. While Gabe plopped down onto the sofa and began flipping through television channels, Adam put the groceries he’s brought on the counter. “I brought pudding and yogurt,” - he began lining the containers up on the vinyl-topped card table that Avery used for meals - “if either of those sound appealing.” Avery gave the items a slightly disgusted frown, so Adam added, “and Melba Toast.” 

That earned a slight smile. “No, you’re right,” Avery sighed, “I need to eat something besides crackers. I was thinking about a scrambled egg and . . . yogurt?” He picked up one of the containers and sighed again, as if just the sight of it was exhausting.  “You can have the chocolate pudding; I know it’s your favorite.” 

“I forgot I told you that.” Without asking, Adam took Avery’s sole frying pan out of a cabinet and dropped it on the stove. He did have a weird affection for pudding, a habit left over from childhood bouts with strep throat. “I’ll make enough eggs for both of us - Hey Gabie, d’you want scrambled eggs or pudding? Or both?” - he waved one of the plastic cups enticingly in the air, - “we’ve got the vanilla swirl flavor.” 

Gabe lurched to his feet and Adam assumed he was coming over to grab one of the desserts. “Can I . . . bathroom?” His hand flustered in the air in the direction of Avery’s bedroom. 

“Yeah, of course.” Avery waved him towards the hallway, “I even put a new roll of TP in this morning; have at it.” 

Gabe disappeared and Adam turned back to the stove and began cracking eggs. “It’s okay if we stay for basketball? I know I said I’d bring you Gatorade and stuff but if you want us to leave . . .” he left the rest of the sentence hanging. Of course he didn’t want to leave, but maybe Morrison wasn’t up for Adam’s usual brand of bulldozing. Especially with Gabe tagging along. As much as Adam usually didn’t edit his behavior, right now Avery seemed kind of . . . fragile. Still hot as fuck, though. But Adam wasn’t going to give him a lot of shit if he wasn’t in a place to give it back. 

“You’re making me food and I didn’t even have to put out?” Avery shot Adam something close to a smirk. “I won’t say no to that.”

“Asshole.” Still Adam couldn’t help but grin back. He carefully stirred the eggs while Avery took a tentative spoonful of vanilla yogurt and hummed with appreciation. 

“Never thought I’d be so excited about eating yogurt. I’m so tired of those stupid hospital nutrition shakes.” He took a bigger bite and Adam tried not to watch the way his tongue chased the food off his spoon. 

“Wait until you taste these amazing eggs, then.” Adam pushed a plate across the table. “I didn’t put any seasoning on them because I don’t know what you can handle.” He divided the rest of the scrambled eggs onto two more plates for him and Gabe and added salt and pepper to his before taking a big bite. “Delicious.”

“If you do say so yourself,” Avery laughed. He nudged one of the other chairs. “Sit. You already cooked; I don’t want to feel like you’re actually serving me too.”

Adam understood immediately. “You sure you didn’t mean ‘servicing’ you?” he grinned before plopping down into the chair across from Morrison. “Cause if you need some exercise, the offer stands.” He flexed his hands suggestively, knowing Morrison wouldn’t think he was really propositioning anything. Indeed, the man didn’t even look up from his eggs while he flicked him off. Some of the tension had left his shoulders by the time he looked up from his empty plate. “Did you say you brought Gatorade?” 

Adam was about to snark back when Gabe appeared suddenly back in the living room. Adam whistled. “Fuck, bro, what happened to you? You get in a fight with Morrison’s showerhead?” At some point while he’d been gone Gabe had pulled off his button-down and the t-shirt he was wearing underneath was sticking to his skin. The front of his hair was damp too, as if he’d splashed water all over his face - his weirdly pale face, Adam noticed. Somehow in the fifteen minutes he’d been gone, Gabe’s skin had turned almost gray.

He collapsed gingerly onto the sofa. “Fuck . . . fucking stuffed mushrooms,” he said, lip curling with disgust, “went right through me.” He flicked his eyes at Avery, “sorry man, I lit a match when I was done.” He let his head fall back onto the sofa cushions. “Fuck.” 

Avery waved him off. “Not the worst thing that bathroom has seen lately, I can assure you.” He glanced at Adam, face unreadable. “I get it if you need to leave though . . . if you need Adam to take you home, I mean.” 

Gabe huffed out a queasy-sounding laugh. “Not sure he’d forgive me for . . . that.” He immediately turned his head to muffle a burp into his shoulder. It was thick and wet-sounding and Gabe looked a little dazed after it ended. 

But at least it was a distraction from what he'd just said. Adam jumped up and grabbed one of the extra Gatorades so he didn’t have to acknowledge that yeah, he didn’t exactly want to leave yet. “Here,” he said brusquely, shoving the bottle at his brother, “so you don’t get dehydrated.”

Gabe’s lipped curled and he weakly pushed the bottle away. “Can’t,” he mumbled, the word sounding sticky in his mouth, “‘M nauseous too.” He sunk lower into the sofa cushions for a second, staring off into space, and then pushed himself up to his feet again. “‘Scuse me . . . “ he belched, frothy and disgusting, and rushed back down the hall. He was walking nearly as bent over as Avery. The bedroom door slammed shut. 

“Fuck,” Adam groaned. He was thinking mostly about the mess if Gabe needed to puke while he was sitting on the toilet, “you have a garbage can in your bathroom, right? Maybe I should go take him one,” - he reached for the cheap plastic container under Avery’s sink, pulling out the overfull bag inside and putting it aside so he could run the bin down the hall - “just a second.” 

Gabe had closed the door to both Avery’s bedroom and the bathroom, and the sounds coming from inside made Adam wince. He knocked lightly on the bathroom door, focusing on the practical question first - “hey . . . d’you need a garbage can?” 

More disgusting noises, and Adam really hoped he wouldn’t be needed in there. 

“I . . . got one,” Gabe gasped, his voice just audible through the door. The toilet flushed, and a few second later Adam heard water running. The door opened slowly.

“Kill me now,” Gabe croaked, listing heavily to the side so he could lean against the doorway, “I mean it.”

“Nah, too much paperwork, and I don’t want to deal with mom,” Adam teased, but when Gabe swayed he grabbed his arm and hauled him over to the bed. “Maybe you got it all out of your system?” 

Gabe flopped heavily onto Morrison’s unmade bed. “Still feel like shit.” He curled into a ball, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Really crampy and . . .hrHRUP! . . . nauseous.” He muffled the burp into a corner of the bunched up comforter and for a second Adam thought he was going to throw up.  He didn’t, but grabbed the trash can out of Adam’s hand so he could spit into it. “Totally thought I was gonna puke too.” 

“You haven’t?” Gabe was white as a sheet and there was a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead and the bridge of his nose. He gingerly shook his head.

“Nauseous as fuck but nothing’s . . . ugh . . . coming up.” Gabe gagged off to one side and then froze, as if making sure that was still true. Then his body slumped again. “There’s more in there; I just don’t know if it’s gonna go up or down.” A full body shiver ran through him, strong enough that Adam could see it, and his stomach whined. Gabe palmed his side and gave an uneasy grimace. “Tell . . . fuck . . . tell Morrision . . .” - Gabe slowly pushed himself off the bed, “ - tell him I’ll pay . . . cleaning . . . “ He gagged, hard, and stopped talking while he stumbled back towards the bathroom. This time he didn’t bother closing the door, and Adam watched as he crashed to his knees in front of the toilet. His back arched with a harsh retch, and then another one, and Adam heard the plopping sound of Gabe’s lunch fall into the bowl. He groaned miserably, rocking back and forth, trying to bring more up.

Adam had seen his brother vomit before, plenty of times, and vice versa. It didn’t usually bother him, but this was visceral and loud, and honestly, Avery’s small bathroom smelled disgusting. Adam bit back a gag of his own. “I’m gonna . . .” he began, trying to think of a reason to escape for a second that wouldn’t make him seem like a total ass, “ - Gatorade. I’ll uhh, be right back.” 

Gabe, busy burping up more of the tainted mushrooms, just gave a weak wave. 

Glad Gabe seemed to be managing his own illness for the moment, Adam went back to the living room, fully intending to wait at least a couple of minutes before he returned with the electrolyte drink for his brother. 

“Hope you don’t mind if Gabe . . . oh shit.” Adam’s joke about Gabe sleeping in Avery’s bed died on his lips. Avery was braced against the sink, leaning heavily on his arms and panting into the basin below. He glanced over at Adam, pain etched clearly across his face.

“You took . . . garbage can,” he gasped. There was a line of saliva hanging from the side of his mouth and Adam had to resist the urge to run over and wipe it away. 

“What happened?” he asked stupidly, Morrison had been fine ten minutes ago. He took a few steps closer, just as Avery’s body jolted with a hiccup. He turned back to the sink again. “Eggs . . . fuck . . . eggs were a mistake.” His back arched with a dry retch and he whimpered, almost folding in half to rest his head on the counter. “Fuck it hurts.”  

Adam pulled over a chair. “Fuck, here, sit down before you fall over,” he plunked the garbage can on the ground, “are there meds you can take?” He knew there were; Avery had come home with a whole drugstore’s worth of painkillers. But he shook his head.

“I’ll just puke ‘em up,” he groaned, “fuck, I thought I’d be able to keep fucking eggs down. Stomach won’t stop spasming.” 

Even though he didn’t want to say anything, Adam had to ask, “maybe it was the yogurt?” He’d take the blame if it meant Morrison would go easier on himself. 

Avery huffed and there was almost a hint of amusement in it. “Only had two bites; you’re off the hook,” he mumbled, “and I keep burping up the taste of eggs. Sorry if that’s gross.”

“It’s a lot less gross than whatever is destroying my brother’s body right now.” Adam handed Avery a paper towel to wipe his face, “I meant it when I said he might end up sleeping here.” And Adam needed to go check on him again, but he was having a hard time making himself leave the kitchen; surely Gabe was able to take care of himself for another minute or two?

“Probably won’t enjoy having that Calder in my bed nearly as much.” Avery looked like he was about to say something else, but then his entire body shuddered and he curled over the garbage can. “Oh god it hurts,” he moaned. His knuckles were white from where they were squeezing the edges of the bin. 

Adam felt helpless. “What can I do?” But Avery, lost in a series of horrible-sounding dry-heaves, didn’t answer. He was trembling so badly Adam thought he was going to fall off the chair but he didn’t want to grab his shoulders in case that hurt him more. He was hovering behind him, hands fluttering uselessly in the air, when Avery gave a huge burp and threw up into the garbage can, whining in pain. The next retches and gags were empty and violent and Adam gave in and rested his hand on the man’s heaving back.

Avery spit, trying to clear his throat, and Adam leaned in with another paper towel, ready to actually wipe Avery’s mouth this time. The saliva was tinged with blood and Adam felt his stomach drop. Was that normal? He didn’t want to make Morrison panic, or panic himself - “ummm,” he began, not sure what to say, “d’you umm . . .” A movement out of the corner of his eye made him stop.

Gabe had made it back to the living room, somehow.  Adam wasn’t sure how he was upright - his skin was gray at this point, and his face and hair were soaked in sweat. It looked like he’d thrown up on his shirt and then tried to wipe it off - the stain smeared across his middle. Adam stood up.

“You okay?” he asked stupidly, because of course Gabe wasn’t. His brother shook his head. “Something’s wrong,” he croaked, and stumbled the few steps to the couch. “I think I’m throwing up blood.” 

He tried to say something but his throat was paralyzed and he choked instead. When he tried to push the light away pain erupted all along his side. He grunted, the only sound he could make, and a weight fell onto his shoulder. A hand squeezed.

“You’re still intubated; don’t try to speak yet.” The light finally disappeared and Avery’s eyes focused enough to see an unfamiliar face hovering over him, blurry at the edges.

“We’re going to raise you to partial sitting; it may be disorienting.” Another figure joined the first. Avery blinked because that was all he could do.

The voice wasn’t lying; his head began to rise and the world tilted and spun. There was nothing holding him up and he felt like he was falling but he still couldn’t move. And then the weight was back, hands pushing on his shoulders to keep him from pitching forward. Nausea swirled in his belly.

“When I count to three I want you to cough, okay Avery?” Hands floated in front of his vision. “A big one if you can, one, two . . .” 

Avery wanted to say that wouldn’t be a problem but he was too busy gagging before the voice even got to three. And then there was a scraping in his throat and the bottom dropped out of his stomach and he threw up all over his lap. 

“Herugh,” he gagged again, and then finally managed to suck  in a breath. The spike of nausea eased and the world clicked into place - enough for him to understand he wasn’t out on the street anymore. “Wh-wh-what happened?” he gasped.

Even after Rory and Jack told him, he could barely believe it - he’d been shot? It was like something out of a bad episode of Law and Order. Except he couldn’t make up the looks on his partners’ faces or the fact that his parents - who hated leaving his small hometown in Kansas - had come all the way to Boston. Mostly sitting quietly in the corners of his room, but here. Avery wasn’t sure if they’d come to comfort him or wanted reassurance themselves that he wasn’t dead, but on some level he appreciated their presence. 

And then there was the pain. Even if the story was unbelievable the pain was real enough that sometimes he wished he was still unconscious, just for an hour or two. He’d been shot in the chest and abdomen and had so many tubes coming out of his body that he felt like an octopus, sprawled helplessly on the sand.

There were tubes in his chest to keep his lungs inflated and an IV with multiple lines in his arm, delivering antibiotics and fluids and pain meds. He’d gotten blood transfusions in the emergency room and during surgery and now they were monitoring his blood pressure every ten minutes with a cuff around his arm. The catheter in his dick was an entirely different kind of uncomfortable but he couldn’t exactly stand up to pee right now. 

But worst of all was his stomach. It had taken the brunt of the bullets and although the doctor said it would heal, right now it was barely working at all. The drops of liquid nutrition they introduced through a feeding tube in his side made him nauseous and bloated, but even when it was empty, his stomach always hurt. And oh yeah, there was a drainage tube - for bile and “gastric juices” as a nurse called them - just the thought of that made Avery gag.  

So it definitely all sucked. Too many pain meds made him woozy but the one time he tried to go completely without them he was writhing in agony and throwing up less than half an hour later. Another man might have folded, taken drugs to knock him out for hours, shut himself away in misery.  But Avery had the advantage of being a naturally optimistic person, and right now, two days after coming off the vent,  he was practically giddy to be alive. 

“You’re making me look bad, Morrison.” Rory glared at him from his seat by Avery’s bed. “How can you be so fucking happy?” 

“Cause I’m grateful not to be dead?” Avery wasn’t surprised at Rory’s attitude but he wasn’t going to share it. “It’s enough work to get my physical body healed; I don’t have the energy to be depressed about it too.” 

“Very healthy of you,” Noa nodded. She’d been with Rory every time he’d visited Avery and he assumed the couple hadn’t spent more than a couple of minutes apart since the shooting. “But make sure you don’t suppress your feelings, okay, hon?” Noa peered meaningfully at him. “That’s not healthy either.” 

“Lucky for me I’ve got the world's best therapist looking out for me then.” Avery gave Noa what was supposed to be a cheeky grin but felt like more of a grimace. His pain meds were wearing off again but as soon as they gave him more he’d get too loopy to have a conversation and he wanted to keep talking to Noa and Rory as long as he could.  It was kind of annoying to feel like physical crap when all he wanted to do was hang out with his friends.

As if summoned there by his thoughts, the door pushed open and Gabe walked in, Adam right behind him. 

Avery slapped the smile back on his face. “All the Calders at once? I didn’t know I was so popular.” He considered raising the head of  his bed a little more so he could look the new arrivals in the eye but quickly decided it would hurt too much. Let them do the work if they wanted to see him. 

“Don’t let it go to your head Morrison; we came to see Rory.” The words were Adam’s but his tone was missing some of his usual snark. Or maybe Avery just couldn’t hear him clearly, lying practically on his back like he was. This wasn’t the first time Adam had come to the hospital but Avery’s memories of those earlier visits were hazy - had he said anything? Avery wasn’t sure. Things had been . . . not great weird between them right before he’d been shot, and right now he didn’t have the energy to think about it, so he didn’t. There’d be time to tell Adam he needed to stop texting so much when he was feeling better in a week or two. 

Still, if Adam was being obnoxious it required that Avery return the favor. He managed a weak snort, trying not to wince when the movement made his chest burn. “Whatever you say . . . sweetheart.” He didn’t have a lot of air and the word got almost swallowed up at the end. Across the room, someone made an impatient sound.

“Dude, stop talking.” Rory’s voice carried better than Adam’s had. “You can barely breathe; do you two really need to do this right now?” 

“Not . . . doing anything,” Avery protested weakly. If Adam agreed, he didn’t say so - at least not so Avery could hear. A wave of nausea washed over him and then eased up, but the pain in his stomach stayed. He closed his eyes for a second. This was what he wanted, to have people here, talking and joking. It was really annoying he couldn’t enjoy it enough right now.

There were other quiet conversations going on around him, but he didn’t pay attention because he needed to focus on breathing through the discomfort in his middle.  The pain was one thing; he could have handled that for a while longer, if his stomach hadn’t been so upset too. Jeremiah had explained that it wasn’t able to digest properly right now, but it kept trying, and the effort was likely to make him queasy. Just another thing to deal with.

He’d just managed a semi-relieving burp when Noa was suddenly leaning over his bed, talking. “I’m taking Rory to get food; he’s barely eaten.” Avery opened his eyes and gave her a slight nod of understanding that his partner wasn’t taking care of himself right now.  Typical Rory, but he was lucky, cause he had Noa to look out for him when he couldn’t do it himself. As if reading his thoughts, she shrugged apologetically. “He’s making Gabe and Adam stay here with you.” 

“Of course he is,” muttered Avery. He tried to look around, failed, and let his head fall back into his pillow. “Where’s Logan?” She’d been there the first day, he was sure of it. Or at least, pretty sure. Noa gave a small grimace.

“Stomach flu - Gabe got it from Jeremiah and now Logan caught it from Gabe. She started throwing up last night.” Noa glanced across the room. “Gabe came here after work but I know he’s antsy to get home to her.” 

Avery’s brain felt scrambled. “I thought . . . Drew,” he mumbled. The nurse had been the one sick - he’d puked in Avery’s bathroom - it felt like just yesterday that Avery had left him there. But no, Drew had been at the hospital - checking on his IV - yesterday? The thought that Drew had recovered and then passed the bug to Jeremiah and Gabe and now Logan - all while Avery had been unconscious - was disorienting.

“Whaddabout. . . n’vermind.” Avery didn’t really care who else might be waiting to get sick. “Go feed Rory. “M’ fine.” 

“I’ll tell the nurse to bring you more pain meds.” Noa didn’t bother to ask Avery if he was ready for them. Good thing, because he might have been too stubborn to say yes. Noa rested her hand on his shoulder, which was one of the only places that didn’t hurt right now.  “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll come by on my lunch break and Jack said he and Rory will meet here after work.” 

“‘Kay,” he breathed out. He was aware of Noa and Rory leaving - even said goodbye to them he was pretty sure - and then closed his eyes again. Gabe and Adam could talk to each other; he really didn’t care right now. His chest was burning around the chest tube and his stomach was rolling and breathing hurt, but of course he couldn’t just stop. Instead he panted shallowly, which made him feel lightheaded but at least it didn’t hurt as much as taking regular deep breaths. He reminded himself - again - to be grateful he was even aware he had these problems when days ago he’d been unconscious on a ventilator. His parents had even left that morning now that he was out of danger. In a week or two he’d be feeling so much better, so he just had to be patient. 

Gabe and Adam weren’t trying to distract him, which was kind of a surprise but also a relief,  that he wasn’t even expected to be social right now. When he heard the door open he gave a relieved sigh and opened his eyes to welcome the nurse coming in with his pain meds. 

Except the nurse wasn’t there. Neither was Gabe; instead, Adam was standing alone at the foot of Avery’s bed, staring at him with a tense, unfamiliar expression on his face. When he saw Avery looking back at him his face relaxed into something approaching a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Gabe left,” he explained unnecessarily, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Logan’s home sick.” 

“Yeah Noa told me,” Avery rasped, and then because Adam didn’t seem ready to say anything else, added, “did you get it?” 

“No!” For some reason the question seemed to cheer Adam up. He took a step closer. “I mean, not yet at least. Still time though, I guess; I was with Logan the other day, we were talking for a while and she . . .” Adam stopped midsentence and shook his head, half to himself. “Never mind.” 

“I always mind, Calder; you know that.” Avery was feeling increasingly lousy but also stubborn, and having Adam here alone filled him with a strange sort of adrenaline. Now he kept talking, breathing carefully between thoughts to keep ahead of the nausea, “that’sit, right? . . . that I mind . . . too much.” One of the machines attached to him began beeping, the noise filling up the space. Adam shook his head.

“I never said . . .” he began, and then peered at Avery’s face. “Are you okay?” 

Avery shook his head. “Can you . . .” - he swallowed and gestured shakily at the counter and its stack of emesis basins - “gonna puke.” 

“Oh shit, hold on,” Adam leapt for a bag while Avery gulped down and tried to keep his stomach under control for a little while longer.  He knew from experience that throwing up without pain meds was going to hurt. He couldn’t hold back a gag, though, or the moan of pain that slipped out right after. His stomach gave a slow, nauseating flip. 

“Here, d’you need help sitting up? I don’t want you to choke.” Adam hovered over him, trying to maneuver the emesis bag under his chin even though Avery was almost flat on his back. 

There was liquid crawling up his throat and he couldn’t answer. His body convulsed in a retch and he moaned again, suddenly so dizzy it felt like his bed was tilting sideways. He reached out to grab something to stop from falling and found Adam’s hand.

“I’ve got you, here, puke if you need to.” Adam’s voice seemed to be coming from the end of a long tunnel. His body was close, though, one arm braced behind Avery’s back to hold him in place and the other hand thread through Avery’s both of them holding the blue bag against Avery’s mouth as he gagged and spit up some of the liquid nutrition they’d been trying to give him through the feeding tube. 

“S-sorry,” he gasped between heaves, “gross.” 

“Yeah, well, we seem to do gross a lot together, don’t we?” Adam sounded almost cheerful. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen you puke, Morrison.”

“Likewise,” muttered Avery. He shuffled uncomfortably on the bed, trying and failing to ease the pain spiking across his middle. Adam’s arm tightened around his back.

“Here, can you sit up any more? You’re drooling onto your chest.”

“No,” Avery grunted, slumping instead into the man’s side. The cheerfulness he’d felt when Rory and Noa were there had evaporated in a haze of pain and nausea and the fact that he didn’t care about putting on an act for Adam. “Hurts.” He started panting again, pushing air in and out in pained little gasps, burping up small mouthfuls of puke in between. “Fuck.” 

“Give me about a minute and I’ll have you in much better shape, okay sweetheart? And then we’ll get Calder out of here and you can rest.” Drew’s voice was cheery and soothing as he started injecting meds into Avery’s IV - “something for the pain and an anti-nausea; let me know when you start feeling relief, okay?”

“Kay,” Avery agreed. There was already warmth seeping into his limbs and he sucked in a deep breath and then blew it out, groaning when the effort didn’t make him erupt in pain. “Better.” 

“The magic of morphine,” explained Drew. “I’m adding a bag of IV hydration to help balance your blood pressure.”

Avery was beginning to feel the out-of-body floatiness he associated with strong pain meds.  “Thanks,” he mumbled into Adam's shoulder. “For helpin’ me puke.”  

“To be fair, you did most of that yourself; I just helped hold the bowl.” Adam’s voice was soft on Avery’s cheek. “Let me take this, okay?” He tugged his hand away, and the emesis basin. “You’re looking better.”

“Feelin’ better,” he agreed, sinking into his pillow and closing his eyes. It would be good to rest . . .

Why didn’t you call me earlier? He doesn’t need to suffer like that

Avery’s eyes fluttered open. Was Drew talking to him? His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Someone else answered before he could, much closer: I thought Noa’d told you - figured you were just too busy to come right away

And I figured you were enjoying your ‘alone time’ too much. Think maybe it’s time to get off his bed? If I remember correctly, you’re not welcome there anymore.

Fuck you, Thorton. The warmth and weight at Avery’s side suddenly disappeared. He tried to reach for it to bring it back, but his arms felt like lead. The voices were fading as the darkness pulled him under.