#jamey

“Jenny said you got hurt at work.” Jameson scratched the back of Geo’s head, and the Crobat looked over. He sat up properly, waddling across Jameson’s lap to perch on the bed railing and give Jamey a croon of mingled disapproval and concern. Geo was tiny for a Crobat, but Jameson still wheezed as he stomped across his lap and stomach. “What happened?”

Jamey didn’t want to talk about what happened. He looked to the side, picking at the fraying edge of the chair arm. “It’s nothing,” he lied. “Not that bad.”

Jameson obviously didn’t believe him. Jamey had been gone for a couple of days in the hospital - or was it more? Jameson couldn’t keep track of time, not anymore - and now he could see gauze patching up the right side of Jamey’s neck, head, and a bit of his face, near his eye. And Jameson knew when his son was lying through his teeth. It happened more and more often these days.

“Don’t tell me it was the generators,” Jameson said quietly. Judging by the way Jamey’s mouth tightened, Jameson had guessed correctly. He swore softly and dropped back against the pillows. “Fuck. You were right, switching the old stuff out for the new GE shit was a bad idea.”

“But it’s cheaper,” Jamey muttered, the sarcasm in his voice as heavy as the shadows under his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Dad, I’ll be fine. They said I can still use the rest of my dependent care leave before I have to use my OI days.”

Jameson shook his head, and didn’t stop Geo when the Crobat hopped from his lap to Jamey’s. Jamey grunted from the weight; even being much smaller than any other Crobat either of them had seen, Geo was still sizable, and Jamey had difficulty fitting his free arm around him. His face went a little ashen and he sucked in a quick, short breath when Geo leaned against the arm in a sling. Jameson wondered just how ‘not that bad’ it really was. “Fuck, kid, I don’t think Geo can nurse us both back to health,” Jameson said with a weak laugh. Jamey let out a small chuckle of his own.

“Get outta bed, then,” he challenged his dad. “Your turn to take care of the old bat for once.”

Geo trilled smug agreement, leaning into Jamey’s hand as he scratched at the base of the Crobat’s ears. He couldn’t feel anything on one ear, so the Crobat adjusted his head to guide Jamey’s hand to where he could actually enjoy the petting.

Jameson snorted. “Yeah, give me five more minutes,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. Jamey had hurt himself, been in the hospital for a few days, and he’d be losing more work than he already was. With how extensive the injury looked… hell, that was one more bill the kid was getting saddled with. Jameson cursed under his breath.

Jamey’s head snapped up. “You okay?” he asked, misinterpreting the muttering. “Nurse got you your meds this morning, right?”

Lifting a hand to brush off his son’s concerns, Jameson took in a breath to speak, and inhaled wrong. Instead of words, harsh coughs racked his body, and he hunched over. Geo let out an alarmed squeal as Jamey lurched to his feet, dumping the Crobat out of his lap.

“Dad,” he said anxiously. On reflex he tried to pull his right arm out of the sling so he could help, but flinched. “Fucking A - Dad, you all right? What d'you need?”

Jameson waved him off, but Jamey just caught his hand and guided it to the cup of water he’d brought it. Once he’d taken a sip and gotten the coughing under control, he cut Jamey a sidelong look.

“Just water?” he complained, and saw Jamey relax out of the corner of his eye. His son rolled his eyes, making an annoyed noise in the back of his throat.

“You aren’t supposed to drink alcohol with all your meds,” he pointed out. After a beat, he added, “‘Sides, I drank the rest of it.”

“And you call me the alcoholic,” Jameson huffed. The faux annoyance finally prompted a slight smile onto Jamey’s face, an expression that was all too rare these days. And Jameson knew that he was about to make it all the rarer.

“Nah, you moved on from that.” Jamey reached over to pick up one of the orange pill bottles on the sidetable, shaking it pointedly. “You a druggie, now, old man.”

Jameson grinned at him. “Always wanted an excuse,” he said. “Don’t have to worry about those random tests, now. They give you anything good for your arm?”

“Don’t need it,” Jamey said, settling back in the chair.

Translation: Can’t afford it.

Jameson eyed him, then reached across the short space between his bed and Jamey’s chair, resting his hand on his son’s knee. He had to lean over the edge of the bed to reach. “Hey,” he said quietly, then paused, tensing, feeling another coughing fit coming on. Jamey was faster this time, standing up to shift Jameson back against the pillows as he coughed, and coughed, and coughed.

Jameson lost track of time. The coughing subsided, but he didn’t open his eyes, too damn tired. Too damn cowardly, the back of his mind whispered, but he knew if he gave away the game, he wouldn’t have a chance. He dozed off again, and it was the western sun creeping across his blanket and into his eyes that finally woke him up again.

Jamey was still there, but he’d clearly dozed off, too, in the bedside chair with his legs stretched out under the hospice bed. Geo cuddled up against his chest, and Jamey’s free arm was draped around the Crobat as best as he could manage. Jameson watched him for a long moment. The kid was barely into his thirties, but he looked too old already, stress and fatigue painting lines and shadows across his face. Jameson’s gaze dropped to where Jamey’s hand showed at the end of the sling. Even from the bed, he could see the tremor.

That hadn’t been there before.

What’d you do to yourself, kid?

He’d missed Jamey, those days where his son had been at the hospital. Jameson didn’t have any problems with the nurse they’d hired, and she’d stepped up admirably to pick up the slack until Jamey was released. But they were both running out of time, and all he could feel was resentment towards whatever accident had stolen those precious days from them. Jameson should wait - but he couldn’t.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, each movement sharpening the dull ache, each breath short and labored until he was still again. Geo opened his eyes and crooned softly, nudging Jamey’s arm until he groaned.

“You all right?” Jamey asked, even before he opened his eyes. Jameson made sure to have a smile in place, force himself to relax, to stuff down the pain that he shouldn’t be feeling just then. Jamey’s injury had one side benefit; the nurse never insisted or saw through the lie when Jameson told her he didn’t need the morphine that day, that he was feeling just fine. It was harder to pull one over on his son.

“I’m fine, kid.” Jameson tilted his head. “C’mere.”

Jamey sighed, but he dislodged Geo carefully, and got to his feet. He grunted as he stretched out his arm overhead, then went to the side of the bed. “What do you need?”

“I need you to stop fussing,” Jameson said wryly, as if there was nothing to fuss about. He patted the blanket. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

Jamey didn’t sit down. “Talk about what?” he asked, suddenly wary. Jameson didn’t answer right away; he had thought he had the words, but looking up at his son, they all suddenly failed.

“...I’m sorry.” Jameson reached up, trying to wrap his fingers around Jamey’s. “You shouldn’t have to deal with me.”

“Stop,” Jamey interrupted, his voice abrupt and sharp and scared. “It’s fine, Dad. I don’t - I don’t mind - it’s not dealing with you.” He looked down at their hands; Jameson’s was already slipping back down, and Jamey grabbed it. Jameson tried to hide the wince at how tight his son’s grip was. “It’s fine.”

His voice cracked. Jameson gave Jamey a long look.

He couldn’t do this.

“It’s fine,” Jameson agreed, forcing another smile. He leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes. “Can you go to the store for me?”

He felt Jamey’s hand relax around his. Letting out a short breath, Jamey hesitated. “You gonna be all right if I leave you alone?”

“I won’t be alone, I got Geo,” Jameson reminded him. “I’ll be fine, I’m just fucking sick of drinking tap water -”

“I’m not getting you any booze,” Jamey warned him. Jameson cracked one eye open and flashed him a grin.

“Gatr-ade,” he bargained. “The blue one.” He could see the hesitation on Jamey’s face, still, and sighed. “Look around, dumbass,” Jameson said, gesturing with his other hand. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

“If I find you at the bar again, I’m strapping you down,” Jamey warned him. He groaned. “Fuck, the only place that has the blue Gatr-ade is all the way across town.”

Jameson knew that. He sent Jamey a pleading look, until his son’s mouth quirked. “Fine,” he grumbled, squeezing Jameson’s fingers before letting go. “I’ll get your blue fucking Gatr-ade. Geo, sit on him, don’t let him get up again.”

The Crobat straightened up in the chair Jamey had left, moving one wing up to his forehead in a mock salute. Jamey adjusted his sling as he headed for the door, pausing just long enough to say over his shoulder, “Love you, Dad.”