One Step at a Time

He was drowning.

No, not drowning. Suffocating.

He was suffocating. He was being suffocated. A cloud had settled on top of him, a thick fog weighing him down, trying to keep him from breathing. He gasped for air and the fog took this opportunity to fill his mouth, his nose, his lungs. No matter how hard he tried to push it out, the fog permeated every inch of his lungs. The fog was winning, stealing his breath away.

But he wanted to breathe. He didn’t want to suffocate. If he suffocated, he would die, and if he died, he would never see Greg or Warrick again. He couldn’t leave them, not like this. He wanted to be with them, not separated from them by this cloud.

So he fought the fog, pushing against it, pushing through it, trying to escape from it. The fog fought back, but he was sure he was stronger. It was just air, right? He could defeat air.

Or so he thought.

The more he fought, the weaker he grew and the darker the cloud became. The fog began to gain ground, ground he couldn’t recover, and just as the fog was about to bring him down, he saw it. There was a tiny space near the top where the fog was weakest. He could see the light through it and he gave a final push into the fog, tearing at its weakness. The fog fought back, pressing in closer on his lungs, but he’d reached the top.

With a silent cry of triumph, he broke through and the cloud scattered, letting him breathe freely once more.

Slowly, Jack opened his eyes and breathed out the last of the fog.


Warrick stood before the glass staring into the room where his lover slept. Jack was not permitted to have visitors, not yet. He and Greg had wanted to be there, sitting at Jack’s side so they were the first ones he saw when he woke up, but he wasn’t out of danger. Once his doctor was certain he was stabilized, she’d move Jack to a private room and then--and only then--would they finally be allowed to touch him, to take his hand and feel for themselves that he was safe.

While he may not have been allowed entry into the room itself, nothing was going to tear Warrick away from the window. Not that it would have mattered too much since they had Jack so doped up even when he was conscious, he wasn’t aware of his surroundings, but it mattered to Warrick. It mattered to Greg, who had left for just a moment to give an update to those still in the waiting room. Even being able to look at him was better than the uncertainty of having Jack locked away in a room somewhere in the hospital, forcing them to rely on reports of him.

Warrick shifted his weight onto his left foot, his right one having begun to complain. It would only be a few minutes before the left one started to complain and he’d shift again. He’d been standing for too long, but if he sat down, he couldn’t see into Jack’s room, so he continued to stand. He wasn’t going to lose sight of Jack ever again.

“Hey,” Greg said, sliding an arm around Warrick’s waist, which he reciprocated, looking down at the blond man.

“Hey yourself. How’s everyone doing?”

“They’re thrilled to hear he’s awake and that the prognosis looks good. Most went home to sleep, but promised to come back later.”

“You could do the same,” he said, and Greg gave him a look that clearly said ‘Yeah, right’.

“I’ll go home to sleep when you do.”

Warrick smiled, giving him a quick kiss and tightening the arm around his waist. “Kind of figured that, but it was worth a shot. Looks like we’ll be here as long as he is.”

“Looks like,” Greg nodded and they both turned to stare through the glass. “He’s going to be all right.”

Catching the uncertain note in Greg’s voice, Warrick gave him a reassuring nod. “Damn right he is. We’re going to see to that.”


Once he was moved to a private room, Jack’s lovers could be found on either side of his bed, each clutching one of his hands as he drifted in and out of a healing sleep. They refused to leave his side, needing to be there for those times when he was awake, needing each other for the time he spent asleep. From the very second they’d been allowed into his room, they tried to think of absolutely everything they could do to help him get better. Greg, in fact, only waited long enough to give Jack a kiss before picking up the room’s phone.

“Greg, what are you doing?”

“He can’t stay here,” Greg answered as he waited for someone at the nurse’s station to pick up.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at this place!” he said, waving to the room. “Jack can’t stay here.”

“It’s like any other hospital room.”

“Yes, but he’s claustrophobic. He at least needs a room with a window.”

Warrick pulled Greg into his lap, the younger man refusing to relinquish the phone pressed to his ear as he allowed his neck to be kissed. “You think of everything, don’t you?”

“He’s been through enough. He doesn’t need anything else to worry about.”

There was a sigh from the bed. Though his moments of consciousness were few and far between, they were enough to ensure Jack didn’t miss a thing where Greg and Warrick were concerned. “Like I told you when you first walked in, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Warrick said, reaching around Greg to take Jack’s hand in his, being careful of the tubes attached to his skin. “But that’s why we’re here.”

“We’ll take care of everything. The only thing you have to worry about is getting better.”

Jack sighed again and closed his eyes, thankful for the drugs racing through his system that had him fast asleep in under two seconds.

“Poor guy,” Warrick said, giving Jack’s hand a squeeze before laying it back down on the mattress. “This has got to be hell for him.”

“Especially without a windo--yes, hello? I’d like to request a room change.”

Keeping one eye on Jack and one ear on Greg, Warrick hated to think of how right all of this felt, especially with Jack lying injured in the bed, but he honestly believed this accident was bringing them closer together. After this, nothing was going to be able to separate them.


“Jack, you’ve got to stop moving around. You keep knocking your I.V. loose.”

Jack growled, having grown quickly tired by this routine since the first day he’d been given leave to move about. “Greg, the damn thing has been taped to my arm--by the nurse, by you--it’s not going anywhere.”

If Greg noticed the edge in his voice, he didn’t comment. “Could you just please stop moving?”

“What do you want me to do? Turn to stone?”

“If you think it’ll help.” Jack responded by swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, which sent Greg into a panic. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re not supposed to get up!”

“I’m not supposed to get up so long as I don’t overdo it. Greg, I’m getting bedsores from sitting in this thing! I want to go for a walk.”

“You can’t. You’re not well.”

“I’m fine!”

“You were shot! You are far from fine!”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Warrick said, walking into the room. “What’s going on in here? I could hear you from out in the hall. Jack, what are you doing out of bed?”

With the two of them in the room, Jack knew he didn’t have a chance. “Nothing,” he sighed. A resigned look falling across his face, he allowed them to place his legs back onto the narrow hospital mattress, wondering how much longer their overly-cautious behavior was going to last. From the determined gleams in his lovers’ eyes, he suspected it was going to feel like forever.


The doctors kept Jack for two weeks before allowing him to go home--against the protest of the criminalists, who thought another week would have done him good. Fortunately for him, the doctors disagreed and he was finally freed.

Jack left the hospital with a novella of instructions that both Warrick and Greg memorized, and they immediately set about making sure he obeyed each and every one. He didn’t try to interfere with their fussing and worrying--after the first couple days, he’d quickly learned all his objections were endeavors in futility. If their actions in the hospital hadn’t been a big enough clue, their near-insane care of him after arriving home would have been more than enough to inform him he was basically their prisoner.

The food restrictions, the lack of mobility, the excessive need for sleep as his body recovered--those, he could handle. He put his foot down, though, when they locked up all his instruments in Greg’s house after he’d tried to ease his boredom with practicing. He’d fought himself sick after that, which they’d just used as proof that he wasn’t ready yet. Without his music to give him an escape, Jack realized his freedom was a lost cause and he had no choice but to sit quietly with Parker by his side, moving only when they wanted him to, doing only what they asked.

And if Jack seemed a little more tame than before, a little less forward, Greg and Warrick wrote it off to him being tired or in pain. They’d say what they hoped were the right words, give him the right drugs, and then place him in bed where he slept alone. He hadn’t wanted to, but the first time one of them accidentally elbowed his stomach while asleep, the guilt had been too much for them and they sentenced him to warming the bed on his own.

In the end, maybe it was their unintentional alienation of him that did it, or maybe it was their constant concern. Whatever it was, even though Jack’s body was healing, he seemed to be fading. Greg and Warrick saw this and wanted to help, but they didn’t know what to do. Every time they tried to do something more to help, it only seemed to make him worse, so they agreed to stay out of his way and let him do his own thing, but only so long as he remained within the parameters of their comfort zone. In other words, nothing changed. Their constant care suffocated him and he had more and more trouble remembering how to breathe.

Three weeks passed and Jack continued to withdraw, keeping only Parker for company, distancing himself from them. It wasn’t that he rejected his lovers, but he didn’t accept them either. He was completely apathetic towards them, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the hurt in their eyes when he would go a day without looking at them or speaking to them. He could be standing right next to them, and they would feel like he was a thousand miles away. They might as well have not even been there.

For the first time since welcoming Greg and Warrick into his life, Jack almost wished they weren’t there. He almost wished they would just go away and leave him alone. The bullet may have been the thing that had torn him up, but they were the ones who were slowly breaking him, and in return, he could see he was crushing their hearts, and the fact that he was starting not to care just made him hurt even more.


[Chapter completed June 21, 2005]


A/N: My apologies about taking so long to post this chapter. I was having issues about Jack’s recovery--yes, I could go into agonizing detail about the hospital stay and the whole long process, but I really didn’t feel like lingering. Thus, the erratic jumps in time (hope you could follow) and the more telling than showing. I just want to start getting the three of them back on track. :) Thanks to all of you for your reviews and support! It’s much appreciated! Love, D