#phewph

‘ last linc heard, david was in surgery. ’ then, so softly that michael could hear the apology in sara’s voice. ‘ we’re not at the hospital, michael. ’

‘ it’s okay. you and mike need to be at home. ’ it was michael’s turn for his voice to be writ full of apology, so thick that it came heavy in his tone; i’m sorry that i’m not coming home to you, my wife, to our son. i’m sorry that i’ve put you through so much. i’m sorry, but i have to see him, alive or dead. i have to know. ‘ i have to go to the hospital. ’

‘ i know. go. ’

the calm has snapped but it doesn’t immediately translate into panic; it’s more of a creeping, gradual feeling, it’s acid rain eating away at stone, making it porous, weakening the structure. it was clogging up michael’s lungs and throat by the time he got to the hospital, by the time he ignored reception and started looking for the cops. they’d know better than the admin.

turns out the first law enforcement he found weren’t cops at all, but federal agents, one sitting either side of theodore in a waiting area. he’d clearly found someone sympathetic to the plight of the father, even with snapped necks considered; michael slowed to a stop at the sight of him and t-bag lifted his hands in answer, jerked wrists in handcuffs and gave a little sardonic wave. it was only this that alerted the agents to michael’s presence, and one of them moved to stand and speak, but t-bag cut through the pre-noise and drawled: ‘ boy’s alive. ’ michael’s exhale was so blatantly relieved that he barely heard t-bag’s snide, ‘and i will be well on my way back to the good old clink ‘fore long, you shall be pleased to know. ’

’ where is he ? ’

‘ mm. in there. ’ head jerking.

michael considered that this might be the closest to a truce he would ever be willing to reach with t-bag; the acknowledgement that they both cared about whip, albeit in vastly different ways. this didn’t prompt him to say goodbye or impart any words of thanks or kindness to t-bag; he’d never done so before and had no intention of starting now. it didn’t even cross his mind, not when he was busy pushing his way into the room. the only thing that really crossed his mind in the blank seconds before he saw whip in the bed was that he was happy whip wasn’t on a ward.

michael had thought about being angry, during the drive to the hopsital. furious that whip had disobeyed him and gotten shot as a result. that whip had nearly, very nearly, died because he couldn’t keep his shit in line for once. and on some level he was angry, but - not really with whip. it was hard to articulate. he didn’t know. but by the time he was dragging a chair over so he could sit next to whip’s bed, the screech of wood on linoleum waking the bleary whip up from a morphine stupor, michael was just - glad to see him blinking groggily over at him. even so, before whip could speak, he said: ‘ hey, david. ’

‘ uff. ’ michael didn’t firstname him a lot and they both knew it. ‘ hey. i’m in trouble, huh. ’ 

‘ so much trouble. ’ it didn’t really carry any weight, though, especially not when michael’s voice scraped into a weak, huffing laugh at the tail end of the sentence. ’ i’m sorry i wasn’t here sooner. ’

’ you went home ? ’

michael’s blink was slow and then his expression turned scrutinising, looking whip over. he knew there was a long list of lies and half-truths he had told whip, and there was going to be a period of adjustment. to sharing, being shared. but he could at least make it clear that he wasn’t going to abandon whip, not after this long. he leaned back in the chair, one ankle bracing over the opposite knee and saying, ‘ no. i was with the authorities. i came straight here after they let me go. i had to see you. and i’m not going anywhere. ’

whip seemed kinda like he wasn’t sure if he was happy or if he didn’t actually know how he felt about that. he waved his bandaged hand and opted for, ‘ s'just a few stitches. ’

firmly: ‘ you were shot. twice. you had surgery. you could’ve died, you probably almost did. i’ll find out from your doctor. ’

‘ yea, and guess what? they closed it all up with a few stitches. ’

he says it in a so there tone of voice that michael doesn’t buy. that, even if whip bought it, he wouldn’t. whip looks exhausted; absolutely alive, but thoroughly immobilised by his wounds, confined in a way that stray dog types like whip never like to be. michael sighs, and his hand reaches out across the gap between chair and bed, curls around whip’s wrist. between the embedded iv drip and the injury to his hand, michael is reluctant to try and tangle whip’s fingers in his own as he’d really like.

‘ let me worry about you. you’ve done enough. ’