#danbie

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When Danny awoke again, Begbie was gone. A glance at the bedside clock told him it was 10:00 in the morning. It had been several hours since…. A heavy sigh escaped him. Since they had fucked. Since they had looked into each other’s eyes and come. Since, and Danny winced to think of it, but it was what it was: since they had made love. It seemed perverse to think of anything between himself and the raging psychopath as loving, but that was the best fucking way Danny knew to describe it. For all their fucked up months together, all the rage and fury, all the shouting and violence, he and Franco had, for the first time this morning, made love.

Danny had quickly fallen back asleep, exhausted for having spent much of the night awake, fretting and thinking. He had fallen back on his pillows and closed his eyes, warm from his head to the tips of his toes, and oblivious to whatever Franco would do. Now, awake and alone in this sacred spot, Danny felt cold and very alone.

Dread filled him as he looked around. All of Begbie’s clothes were gone. There was no sign that the man had ever been there. Except for the ring on Danny’s fourth finger. Except…. The door of his bedroom was ajar and light flooded through it from the large windows in the living room. Danny’s eyes narrowed as he watched shadows play across the door frame. Was someone moving around in the other room? Or was it only the shadows of clouds passing?

A cough came from the other room, which immediately answered Danny’s pondering. It was a short, abrupt sound, like someone clearing their throat. Relief flooded Danny, only partially washing away the dread that permeated his mind. At least Franco was still here. He had distanced himself, but only as far as the next room.

Danny got up and stretched, feeling the ache of muscles that he hadn’t felt in weeks. It felt fucking amazing and he shivered as the dull pain throbbed through his thighs and his calves and his lower back. How he had fucking missed waking up to feel the aftermath of a night of being vigorously fucked.

Heading into the bathroom off his suite, he shut the door, leaving it open just a crack. A closed door meant a closed invitation and Danny wanted to leave it open on the off chance Begbie heard him and decided to join. He attended to the necessaries first, before running the shower and jumping in. The water was frigidly cold against his aching muscles and heated skin. He adjusted the temperature slightly, but only enough to bring the water to just below room temperature. He wanted to cool off. He felt feverish, though it was probably only excitement and nerves.

Begbie did not join him, so he made it a quick shower, scrubbing himself clean all over and shampooing his hair. He didn’t want to get out to find Begbie had already left, scared off by the sounds of Danny’s wakefulness. When he was done, he shut the water off and toweled dry before going back into the bedroom and throwing on a pair of pants and his emerald green suit trousers. More coughing from the living room, this time a loud hacking fit that lasted several moments. He left himself shirtless and hurried out into the other room.

There he was, perched on the edge of Danny’s sofa. There were a few bottles lying around the glass coffee table. At 10-fucking-a.m.? Danny thought, incredulous. Franco seemed unsteady on his seat. He was hunched over the table, weaving back and forth a bit. Then Danny heard it. A quiet, methodical clicking noise against the glass top. His heart sunk.

“Franco,” he said, urgent to draw Begbie’s attention away from what he was doing. All he got in reply was a ugly snorting noise as Begbie bent low over the table and sucked a line of the putrid drug into his nostril. He leaned back in the plushness of the sofa, seeming to melt into the leather as the cocaine went to his brain. Danny heard him groan quietly as he came around to the front of the sofa to see the damage.

“Fucking Christ!” he exclaimed. There as a large packet of cocaine sitting on the table, along with several empty bottles of lager. How many had he had already? Eight? Nine? Danny shook his head. By the looks of it, that had not be the first line of coke to be taken in either. Begbie’s nostrils and moustache were stained grey-ish with the white powder, and Danny himself could smell it on the air.

“What the fuck are you fuckin’ doing, Frank?” Danny shouted. He couldn’t help himself. This morning may have been the most important fucking moment of both of their fucking lives, and here was Begbie trying to drown it away in a sea of booze and cocaine.

“FUCK AFF, YA OUGLY CUNT,” Begbie snapped. His eyes were closed, his head resting on the back of the sofa, but an expression of anger still passed over his face. Danny reached down, grabbing a number of the bottles off of the table and carrying them to the kitchen. When he returned, Franco was leaning forward again, his blade cutting another long line of powder to be inhaled.

“FRANCO, STOP!” Danny’s voice was almost a scream now, his pitch higher than he liked. He ran forward, trying to reach for Begbie’s arm to stop him before he could suck the vile shite into his body. He was too late. The line of coke disappeared through the straw in Begbie’s hand. Nearly immediately, Begbie’s chest was wracked with another violent fit of coughing. “FRANCO!” He knelt beside the other man on the sofa, placing a hand on his back, trying to support the force of the hacking. Begbie shoved him off, and Danny was pushed to the floor. He cracked his elbow on the corner of the coffee table, but it didn’t matter. Begbie once again had his blade in his hand and was pouring more of the powder from the little plastic pouch.

“NO, FRANCO. STOP!” Danny reached for the hand in which the blade rested, stupidly, not thinking about the consequences. His only thought was that Begbie was going to kill himself. Right here and right now, the man was self-destructing. And it was all Danny’s fault. He had brought Begbie to this point. With his selfishness last night, and his selfishness all those weeks ago, he had brought Begbie to the point of wanting to feel so numb it would stop his brain.

His hand went over Franco’s on the hilt of the knife. Begbie jerked it away from him, dragging the sharp edge of the blade across the pads of Danny’s fingers. He gasped from the pain and looked down at his hand. The contaminated blade had left traces of the drug on him, and the cuts were deep. Already blood was dripping to the floor.

“FUCK!” Danny shouted, leaping to his feet. Franco, too, was on his feet, holding the blade out in front of him like he expected an attack. His eyes were wild, large, and bloodshot. His nose....

“Franco, yer nose,” Danny said, his tone just as critical, but his voice softer now. “Yer fuckin’ nose is bleeding.” It wasn’t just Danny’s blood staining the carpet of his flat. A heavy stream jetted from Franco’s left nostril, matting with the hair of his moustache before dripping over his mouth, his chin, and rolling down the jumper he wore. Begbie lifted the hand not brandishing the knife in front of him and wiped at his moustache, interrupting the flow for a second. He looked at his hand, his gaze unfocused. Then he looked back up at Danny and his face contorted in pure hatred and fury.

Begbie lunged at Danny. Danny, taken by surprise, tried to take a step back, but Begbie caught him. He was slammed up against the over-sized window and heard it creak under the strain. Franco had one sweating head around his throat, holding him in place. The other held his blade level with Danny’s eyes. For the first time since meeting the sociopath, Danny was truly terrified. The man had lost his mind. He clawed at Begbie’s wrist and the hand on his neck, trying to catch his breath. Begbie was choking him. He couldn’t fucking breathe! His cut hand smeared his own blood over Franco’s hand, mixing with the blood he had wiped from his nose. Blood was still pouring from the man’s face. Danny felt dizzy, unsure it that was from the cocaine in his bloodstream from the cut on his hand or from the lack of oxygen.

“Franco,” he gasped, struggling to pull in enough air to form words. “Franco, please.” He tried to pull Begbie’s hand away again, but the other man was much stronger than he. His plea only seemed to irritate Begbie further.

“SHUT YER FUCKING MOOTH, YA DISGOOSTIN FAGGOT SCUM!” Begbie screamed. Spittle tinged with blood flew from his mouth, spraying Danny’s face. “AH’M GAUNNAE FUCKING KILL YA, DEVINE! AH’M NO GAUNNAE PLAY THIS FUCKING NAE MAIR!” He brought the point of the knife very close to Danny’s face and Danny closed his eyes immediately. Not that it would fucking help, but at least he wouldn’t see it coming. “AH’M NO GAUNNAE BE YER FUCKING PLAYTHING NAE MAIR!”

Danny tried shaking his head, tried to speak up, but Begbie’s hand only tightened about his throat, cutting off his air supply completely. He choked, dragging his nails across Begbie’s skin to get him to release him. He was going to die. He’d taken it too fucking far this time, and he was going to fucking die. The man he loved, the fucking psycho lunatic that he had fallen completely in love with, was going to murder him.

“YOU FUCKING DAED THIS TO US!” Begbie was screaming. “YOU FUCKING MADE US THIS WAY!”

Maybe Danny fucking deserved it, he thought. Maybe it was fair fucking payment for the hell he’d put the other man through. Maybe, but no. NO! He wasn’t innocent, but he hadn’t fucking forced Begbie to do a thing. Everything, well, almost everything, the other man had done had been his own fucking choice. Danny didn’t fucking deserve to be fucking stuck with a knife like a pig. His eyes flew open, ready to make his last stand.

He never got that far. There was a gurgling noise from Begbie as white foam began pouring from his mouth. His eyes went unfocused, unseeing and his whole frame went rigid. In the long moment before Begbie collapsed, Danny wondered if the man was rabid. Then Franco fell backwards, his head smashing into the glass coffee table. The glass shattered, sending shards everywhere. Begbie was convulsing violent amidst the broken glass. The shards ripped through his jumper and through his skin, more blood pouring from his body.

“FUCK!” Danny exclaimed, his voice hoarse from his recent strangulation. He rushed for his mobile on the bedside table and ran back to collapse at Begbie’s side. The foamy saliva trickled down the side of Begbie’s mouth, stained pink with blood. He made an awful choking noise as if the foam was filling his air ways. His eyes were rolled back in his head and all Danny could see were the whites of his eyes. His whole body was rigid, bucking and twitching obscenely.

Danny tried to prop the man up on his side to keep him from aspirating. He didn’t know much about medical emergencies, but he’d fucking learned that when he was a child. He flipped open his phone, his fingers shaking as he tried to dial. 9. 9. 9.

“Please don’t fuckin’ die on me,” he pleaded desperately just before the operator answered.

“Hello, emergency service operator. What is the nature of your emergency?” a woman asked.

“I need a fuckin’ ambulance,” Danny replied urgently. His hands were shaking, his head swimming. Then, without really thinking about his words, he added, “My boyfriend’s collapsed. I think he’s fuckin’ OD’d.”

---

Danny’s breaths were still coming fast as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital for news on Franco. He had been sent into an exam room shortly after they had taken Begbie back. They had asked him what seemed like a thousand questions. Who was he? What was his relation to Begbie? What substances had he used and how much? Danny had told him all that he could. His head was spinning and his heart racing. He felt ill. His throat ached and his hand was killing him.

He told them, not in great detail, what had happened. Told them about the cut on his hand with a contaminated blade. He told them that Begbie had gone insane, tried to strangle him, before collapsing. A nurse looked at his hand,  and they cleaned it, stitched it up, and sent him back into the waiting room with a heavy bandage wrapped around it.

It felt like hours before they came out to talk to him again. It was a woman, a young doctor. Danny couldn’t help but notice that she was very pretty, her long auburn hair swept into a loose ponytail and a round-cheeked youthful face. And she looked very kind. She offered him a small smile as she approached. That had to be a good sign, Danny thought, his mind spinning less now that the adrenaline and whatever cocaine had gotten into his system had begun to wear off. She held out her hand to him, that little smile still in place.

“Mr. Devine?” she asked. Danny could only manage a frantic nod. His throat felt tight, like he couldn’t speak even if he tried. “I’m Dr. French,” she said shaking his hand as he extended it slowly. “I’m the overseeing physician for Mr. Begbie.” Danny nodded again, wishing she would just fucking get to the point. “First, let me just say that your boyfriend is going to be okay.” Danny balked at the word ‘boyfriend’. Franco would kill him if he knew he had let that little bit slip out, even if it had been in the panic of calling a paramedic.

“He’s not… not my fuckin’ boyfriend,” he said, correcting her automatically. “He’s just….” He trailed off, unsure what to say or call their relationship. He had told the paramedics when they first arrived that he was Begbie’s boyfriend. He had told the nurses who had asked him all those questions when they arrived so, too. For some reason, now that the excitement had died down, it felt wrong to say it when he knew Begbie would be furious. “He’s just fuckin’ Begbie,” he finished, lamely.

Dr. French’s smile turned into one of sympathy, like she somehow knew what was going through his mind. How could she fucking know, the fucking bint? How could anybody fucking know? She reached out and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, a gesture no doubt meant to reassure him. He shrugged her off.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” he snapped, without really thinking. Fucking Christ, he was turning into Begbie. The pretty doctor withdrew her hand, brow furrowed slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, and her tone felt honest to Danny. He immediately regretted snapping at her. “I know this is hard. Your… Um, Mr. Begbie is going to have a hard recovery ahead of him. He had a severe overdose of cocaine, which was exacerbated by the amount of alcohol he had also consumed.” Danny nodded, looking down at his shoes.

“But he’ll be okay?” he asked. He looked up at her, searching her face for the truth. She gave him a smile and a nod.

“Yes. He will be okay. Eventually.” She motioned for him to follow her and he did. “He is going to need to stop using, though, and that is going to be the hardest part. For both of you. He is going to need your help, I’m afraid. And detox is never easy for those closest to the victim.” She led him through several sets of double doors and down a long hallway. “He is stable now, but he had complete grand mal seizure, the collapse you witnessed in your flat. When the paramedics brought him in, he was severely tachycardic. The strain on his heart was very great, and he did require electrical defibrillation to prevent cardiac arrest.” They passed under a sign for the ICU and came to a smaller door that Danny could tell led into an patient room. Dr. French turned to face him, her expression reassuring. “He also sustained a concussion from the fall as well as many minor to moderate lacerations from the broken glass.” Danny took a deep breath to steady himself and reached for the door handle. The doctor reached out to stay his hand.

“He’s not awake yet, and you need to be ready for the state he is in. He’s got IV catheters hooked up to medications and fluids, a breathing tube, a pacemaker in case we need to regulate his heartbeat again, monitoring equipment. We had to stitch him up in several places and we’ve placed a bandage over the wound on his head. Just be ready. I know it’s not often an easy sight to see.” She released his hand and Danny opened the door and stepped into the room.

The room was painted an awful salmon pink color, with floral curtains over the window. In the center was a single bed and around the edges of the room were chairs, a desk, a chest of drawers, and a television. Danny’s gaze though focused only on the man in the bed.

Several machines were beeping loudly, blinking at him. The doctor followed him in and went over to the machines to check the readings. A nurse came in as well to change out Begbie’s IV bags. Danny just stood there, dumbfounded.

All manner of tubes and wires seemed to be attached to his lover. His mouth was gaping, the breathing tube the doctor had mentioned running to the oxygen machine whirring beside him. It was so wrong. He looked so fucking peaceful and so… wrong. Danny wanted to get closer, to touch the other man to make sure that he was real, but he couldn’t move. Dr. French seemed to notice his distress.

“He should be waking up soon,” she said, coming back over to stand beside him. “As soon as we know he can breath on his own, we can take the endotracheal tube out. We have him on medications to keep him stable while he detoxes. Unregulated withdrawal would be a stress to his system that his heart can’t handle right now.” Danny snapped his head around to look at her, his eyes narrowed.

“Ye’re detoxing him now? Here?!” he asked. What a fucking stupid idea. As if the man wasn’t going to angry as it was, and Danny was supposed to fucking tell him that he had to go off the ching. For fuck’s sake!

“We don’t have a choice, Mr. Devine. This is what we need to do.” She motioned for him to step closer to the bed and he did, but only a few feet. “He will be sedated as well, to keep him calm--”

“Fuckin’ calm-ER,” Danny muttered. She smiled.

“Calm-er,” she agreed. “We need to reduce the stress to him when he wakes up, whatever you can do to help with that.” I can fucking leave, Danny thought bitterly. He’s not going to want to see me of all fucking people. He didn’t reply out loud, though, only nodded.

“Are you okay?” she asked next. He wasn’t sure if she was inquiring about his physical well being or his mental. Danny shrugged. What fucking business was it of hers? He wasn’t her fucking patient.

“Just a bit fuckin’ banged up is all,” was all he said. His gaze was drawn back to the bed as Begbie began to stir. Fucking fantastic. The nurse who had changed his IV came to the side of the bed and glanced at the doctor. Dr. French nodded to her and the nurse placed a hand on Begbie’s shoulder.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch him,” Danny snapped, rushing to the opposite side of the bed.

“Mr. Devine!” Dr. French exclaimed. The nurse withdrew her hand as if she had been burned. Danny ignored the pretty woman behind him, glaring at the nurse.

“If you want him to wake up calmly, don’t fuckin’ touch him,” he explained. Behind him, he heard Dr. French give a noise of understanding. The machines were beginning to beep faster now. Begbie’s heart rate was increasing.

“Mr. Begbie,” the nurse said softly. Begbie’s head turned slightly in her direction. Danny could see his eyes beginning to move under his closed lids. “Mr. Begbie. You’re in hospital and you have a breathing tube in. You need to remain calm, and we can remove the tube as soon as you are awake enough to breath on your own.” Begbie’s eyes snapped open and they were wide with alarm. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite find the strength yet. The muscles in his neck were hard as iron, bulging under his skin. “Mr. Begbie, please remain calm,” the nurse said again. She placed a hand on the man’s chest to hold him down.

“NO!” Danny shouted. She pushed the nurse back from across the bed, throwing her arm off the other man before someone got hurt. Then he turned to Begbie.

“Franco?” he said, just loudly enough for Begbie’s drug-addled mind to hear him. “Franco, calm the fuck down. Ye’re in hospital, okay? You fuckin’ overdosed, you stupid fuckin’ loser. They can take the fuckin’ tube out of your throat in a minute, just fuckin’ calm down.” Begbie turned his head to look at Danny, his eyes narrowed with fury. His mouth moved like he was trying to say something, but he couldn’t speak with the tube in.

“I know I’m the last fucker you wanna fuckin’ see, Franco. Believe me. But… you almost fuckin’ died. And I’m not going fuckin’ anywhere until I know ye’re fuckin’ alright.” He saw Franco’s neck relax and saw him swallow once or twice. The nurse saw it too and she tentatively stepped forward, keeping a close eye on Danny.

“Mr. Begbie, I’m going to take your breathing tube out now.” She unhooked the tube from the strap holding it in place, moving slowly as if she expect something to jump up and bite her. Danny didn’t really blame her. “If you could just cough for me, Mr. Begbie. And again. Good.” And the tube was out.

Begbie licked his lips and swallowed a few more times. He motioned for the jug sitting on the dresser which had been filled with water. “Gie us a fucking drink, ya cunt,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and not his own. Danny hurried to the dresser and filled a small plastic cup with the cool water. He brought it back to the bed and Begbie took it in his left hand, wires and IVs trailed behind it. Begbie winced as he lifted the cup to his lips and Danny wondered if it was from the cuts caused by the glass table or aching from the seizure.

“Slow sips,” the doctor warned, but Danny knew Begbie wouldn’t obey her. He chugged the water down and as he lowered the cup, he chucked it at Danny’s face. The flimsy plastic cup bounced harmlessly of of Danny’s forehead and Danny gaped at the man, shocked.

“GIT THE FUCK OOT AY MAH SIGHT, YA FUCKING BUFTIE!” Begbie screamed at him. His voice was very hoarse and he couldn’t tell Begbie could get the volume that he really wanted. Danny took a step back, shocked. The nurse leapt away from the bed, startled by the sudden outburst. The doctor ran forward.

“Increasing lorazepam dose to 3 milligrams per kilogram,” she told the nurse. Begbie was reaching for Danny, trying to leap out of the bed. The wires and tubes tethering him to the bed were straining under the tension.

“YOU FUCKING DAED THIS TO US, YA FUCKING POOF. YA FUCKING DISGOOSTIN FAGGOT.” Danny was frozen in place for a moment, his brain trying to catch up with everything that was going on. He felt fucking light-headed. He felt numb. And then his mind caught up and he felt fucking furious. He puffed himself up, larger than fucking life, and began to rip into the stupid man.

“I FUCKIN’ DID THIS, DID I?!” he screamed. He took a step closer and shoved Begbie back into bed by a hand on his chest. “I FUCKIN’ DID THIS TO YOU?!” He laughed and it sounded manic even to him. He was vaguely aware of the nurse pressing a red button to call for more help. “YOU LISTEN HERE, YA FUCKIN’ COCKSUCKIN’ FUCKIN’ LOSER WASTE OF FUCKIN’ AIR! NOBODY FUCKIN’ DID THIS TO YOU BUT YUR OWN FUCKIN’ SELF! DO YOU FUCKIN’ GOT THAT?” The machines were beeping and sounding their alarms as Franco’s heart rate rose higher and higher. “I TOLD YOU THIS WOULD FUCKIN’ HAPPEN. I TOLD YOU TO STOP SHOVING THAT SHITE UP YUR FUCKIN’ FACE. BUT YOU NEVER FUCKIN’ LISTEN, DO YA? FUCKIN’ NO! AND NOW LOOK WHERE YA’VE FUCKIN’ LANDED YOURSELF, HUH? IN THE FUCKIN’ INTENSIVE FUCKIN’ CARE UNIT, THAT’S FUCKIN’ WHERE!”

“Mr. Devine, please!” he felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him away, but he yanked himself free.

“I TOLD YOU IT WOULD FUCKIN’ KILL YOU, DIDN’T I?! DIDN’T I FUCKIN’ SAY, FRANCO?” He grabbed the front of the hospital gown Begbie wore and drew himself close enough so that their noses almost touched. The alarms on the monitors had stopped. The increased dose of sedative had finally kicked in and Begbie was lying back again, limp but still alert. Danny didn’t care. He had things he needed to fucking say, and he would fucking well say them. “YOU FUCKIN’ ALMOST DIED, FRANCO, YOU STUPID FUCKIN’ LOSER. YOU COULD’VE FUCKIN’ DIED BACK THERE IN MY FUCKIN’ FLAT. AND YOU KNOW FUCKIN’ WHAT?!” Two very strong sets of hands gripped his arms and pulled him backwards, away from his lover. He was vaguely aware, through his fury, of Begbie shaking his head and trying to reach a hand out. Was he trying to stop them? Or was he only trying to finish the job he had started and strangle Danny for good and ever? Danny struggled against the hands holding him.

“I’M GLAD YOU FUCKIN’ LIVED, YOU GREAT FUCKIN’ COCKSUCKER OF A FAGGOT. I’M GLAD YOU FUCKIN’ DID, YA FUCKIN’  LOSER. BECAUSE I FUCKIN’ LOVE YOU. I FUCKIN’ DO. AND IF THAT’S FUCKIN’ WRONG….” He trailed off and stopped struggling as he was pulled out of the door of the room backwards. “... then I don’t want to see your fuckin’ face anymore,” he finished, all the hot air gone out of him, but he knew Begbie couldn’t hear him anymore.

The security guards holding him threw him roughly into a chair in the hall and watched him closely. One of them kept a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him down, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Danny had no more left in him just now. He collapsed into the chair, his face in his hands. What had he fucking done? All he wanted to do was fucking help Franco recover. And instead he had set him off like a fucking firework. As fucking usual. They were both so volatile, both had tempers like bull fucking elephants. He really had to find a way to cap his fury when Begbie recovered. Maybe it would be best for him to just leave and never show his face to Francis Fucking Begbie ever again. That was probably the best bet. He made to stand up, but the guards shoved him back down in the chair.

“I’m fuckin’ leaving,” he told them. “I’m fuckin’ done here.” The two men looked at each other, skeptical. Danny tried again to get up and though the guard with the hand on him hesitated, he was met with no resistance. He took a step towards the exit just as the door to Franco’s room opened and the pretty young doctor came out. She gave him a reprimanding look and stood directly in front of him. Danny was a short bloke, but this bird only came to his fuckin’ shoulder. Still, she had an enormous presence and seemed to tower over him in her anger.

“That was a stupid thing to do, sir,” she told him, plainly. “Do you want your boyfriend to die? Because that is exactly what we are coming to here.” Danny was taken aback and couldn’t think of a reply. Dr. French sighed and seemed to take pity on him. “Look. I can see that you care about Mr. Begbie. I can tell you are upset by all this, and whatever ridiculous mating display that was in there, I think you do want to be with him.” Danny could only nod, feeling ashamed of his outburst. What the fuck? He screamed and shouted his head off for a living. He had never quite felt ashamed for it before.

“He’s very sedated now, but he’s asking to see you,” Dr. French told him. She looked wary. “I am willing to give you one more chance, but you need to try to keep him calm. His heart can’t take that strain right now, and if he goes into cardiac arrest, he may very well not survive. Do you understand that?” Danny nodded again. He lowered his head and looked down at his feet, feeling like a schoolboy being told off by the headmistress. The doctor cleared her throat softly.

“Go on, then,” she said, stepping aside to allow him access to the door. Danny looked up, a bit surprised by the forgiving nature of the woman. What a wonderful fucking human being, he thought as he walked to the door. He expected the security guards to follow him, but she held them back. So trusting…. Danny wasn’t sure if he even trusted himself right now, but here was this little brunette doctor essentially putting Franco’s life in his hands.

He stepped into the room once more. The nurses were gone. The doctor and the guards were all gone. It was only him and Begbie now. Franco looked around slowly as he heard the door open and a profound expression of relief came over him. It was quickly washed away by one of anger, however, as Danny pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and threw himself into it. He tossed his feet onto the edge of the bed and lounged back, not taking his eyes off of the lunatic’s face for a moment.

“Fuck aff,” was all Begbie said, but his words were slurred and his vision unfocused. The sedatives were bearing heavily down on him.

“No,” Danny replied simply. “You wanted me here, so here I fuckin’ am.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. A large wad of cash was inside and he rifled through it, not really looking at it. It was a relaxing habit he had formed years ago, reassuring to know that whatever else was going bonkers in his life, he still had his money. He fiddled with the bills absently, still not looked away from Begbie. Begbie’s eyes followed the movements of Danny’s fingers, drifting slowly closed until he was peering through small slits.

“Take a fuckin’ rest, Frank,” Danny offered, trying to sound nonchalant, but probably failing. “I’ll still fuckin’ be here when you wake up.” Begbie’s eyes popped open slightly as he tried to resist sleep. His mouth opened and he seemed like he was trying to say something.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it,” Danny said, curious but not enough to force the man to talk. Begbie gave a little shake of his head, as if trying to clear the fog of sedation from his mind.

“Din… dinnae fucking… tell anybody,” Begbie murmured. Danny’s hand froze and he lowered the money to his lap. He frowned. Would the man ever be okay with the world, he wondered. The whole world wasn’t as behind the fucking times as Franco Begbie. But still.... Franco still seemed to want to trust him, and Danny didn’t want to break that.

“I won’t say a fuckin’ word,” he promised, knowing he had already done so. He would have to make sure those fucking nurses wouldn’t give it away. He would have to talk to that fucking pretty bird of a doctor out there. But for now, his assurance was enough. “I won’t tell a fuckin’ soul.”