You're Almost Dead

by Jack Parker

  "Whoah—shit, hey! Okay, okay, come on, sit the fuck down, let me do this," Scott said, pulling him back. "Drop it. Drop that, come on."

  Emery released the rag in his hand automatically and it fell to the floor with a soft splat. He allowed himself to be pushed into a chair. "I never meant for any of this to happen," he uttered.

  "Yeah, I know. How many fingers am I holding up, huh?"

  Emery blinked at him. "Two."

  "Good. Fuck, just sit."

  "I killed men today."

  Scott shrugged. "Shit happens. It's part of the business."

  "I'm not in this business."

  "Yeah man, you are." Scott took him by the shoulders and studied his eyes carefully for lucidity. "Like it or not. Look, don't get all bent out of shape about shooting some armed goons, alright? You think any of those guys gave a shit about you? That anyone in the goddamn Russian mob is some poor Joe Blow just trying to get by? Those people are sick sons of bitches. They've probably killed more innocent people than you've ever even met. …Anyway, fuck it. You also saved someone." Scott gave a head toss Kurt's way. "Focus on that."

  Emery's eyes drew back to Kurt and he let out a long breath. That was true, he supposed. He hadn't done it all for himself. He'd done it to spare the only person left who truly mattered to him an undeserved fate. A man who was willing to give his life for love's sake despite being so unfamiliar with it for most of his existence. Failing him would have been the worst possible outcome…and from that perspective things really didn't seem as grim. Kurt's life was well worth some inner turmoil. Emery suddenly felt much calmer, looking up at Scott with a nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right."

  Scott nodded back, eying Emery carefully before pointing to himself. "Genius." Then he turned back to the table and continued mopping up.

  CHAPTER 22

  Kurt was on a beach somewhere.

  It was imagined, most likely, as he'd never been to one. Not one that he remembered, anyway. He sat staring, throwing rocks into the ocean and thinking about how one day he'd like to cross the water. Leave for good. But England was a desert island and he'd been stuck here shipless for decades. Nothing ever changed. Graham sat next to him and sighed. "Lovely weather, eh?"

  Kurt's eyes scanned the murky clouds above. "Not really."

  "Such a pessimist."

  "Shouldn't I be?"

  Graham shrugged. "That's up to you, I suppose. Some people like the rain."

  Kurt slowly looked over at him and shook his head. "…I don't want to leave him."

  The blonde boy laughed, flashing him a wide grin. "Who said anything about leaving him?"

  "I don't think I have a choice. I think…" he looked down at his blood covered hands, "…I think I'm dying."

  "There's always a choice. Even when it seems like everyone's doing they're bloody best to rip those choices away from you, you rip them right back. It's your world too. Don't let them forget it."

  "How can you say that?" Kurt demanded. "How can you have any damned optimism? Death isn't a choice, and you ought to know it. You're dead."

  Graham nodded and leaned back into the sand. "Yeah. I'm dead. …But you're not."

  Kurt's eyes opened and his first reaction was alarm. He was still in a firefight. He jerked, scrambling to sit up, but hands where holding him down. "Kurt! Eas—easy now, stop!"

  He continued to struggle for a minute but the arms around him tightened and he froze, leaning awkwardly against someone's chest.

  "That's it, that's it…shh…please, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself…It's just me. You're alright. You're safe."

  "Em'ry?" he slurred dizzily. Hurt was right. Suddenly he could feel everything. His chest was on fire. Breathing was a terrible chore. The world around him was just a nauseating blur of color and light. He groaned weakly and closed his eyes.

  "Yes, it's me. I'm here. Easy now…That's right. Calm down. It's alright."

  "…Where…?"

  He was slowly pushed back down onto the surface he'd been lying on. "Don't worry for now. You're safe. Just trust me."

  "I…I do trust you…" he muttered blearily.

  "Good. Just rest. I'm here. I'll be right here."

  Kurt wanted to ask where here was. He wanted answers. He wanted…wanted…

  His world spun, plunging him into darkness, and he ceased to want.

  * * *

  Emery rubbed at his face tiredly, stroking Kurt's brow in slow, rhythmic movements as he watched him twitch in his sleep. He hadn't slept himself in a full day, but he wasn't going to just leave him like this. He couldn't stand seeing him so uncomfortable.

  Scott slowly approached from behind and bent over the couch, where Kurt had been moved to a day ago, to look down at him. "He out?" he asked quietly.

  Emery nodded, not taking his eyes off Kurt. "He can barely sleep…" he said sadly. "He's having fits…thrashing about…he's going to make it worse. He's got to have something for the pain, Scott. He needs real rest."

  Scott blew out a breath. "I'm trying. The guy I get morphine from is some ritzy addict. He's hard to get in touch with. He seems like he's handling it pretty well, though. It's no surprise that Kurt's tough."

  Emery shook his head. "Yes, well I watched him cut off his own finger without batting an eye, so I sort of think he's adept at masking his pain."

  "Fuck, he did that to himself?" Scott blanched. "Okay, I can't handle the suspense anymore. What the hell went on between you guys when I left?"

  Emery sighed deeply, palming Kurt's cheek before slowly pushing away and standing up. He looked at Scott and gave a head toss towards the kitchen.

  As the two men wandered in, Scott went over to the fridge to rummage around for a beer while Emery sat down hard at the meticulously cleaned dining table with his head on a hand. Scott came over and sat down across from him, setting a package of some sort of chocolate biscuits in front of him. Emery shook his head in refusal, but Scott just pushed them closer. "Eat 'em. You need the sugar. You still look like shit and I'm not in the mood for another transfusion."

  Emery listlessly tore the package open and pulled one out, breaking an edge off with his teeth.

  Scott took a long swig of his beer and stared hard at Emery. "So what is this? What happened with you? Where's Sheridan?"

  "Dead, I think," Emery muttered.

  "Shit…and Sterling?"

  "Definitely dead."

  Scott whistled. "Fuck me. Was it the Russians?"

  Emery rubbed at his face again. "Yes and no. The Russians probably killed Sheridan. His car was still there when we got away. I killed Sterling."

  "No shit?" Scott leaned forward. "Why?"

  "He didn't give me much choice…he was going to kill Kurt."

  Scott sat back and thought for a moment. "Okay. What am I missing here? Since when are you and Kurt BFFs? Last I understood it the guy hated your fucking guts."

  Emery stared ahead numbly. "We started having sex not long after I was kidnapped."

  Scott choked on his beer, spraying some across the table before he held a hand to his mouth and hacked it back down. "What?"

  "It was…just after you took my tooth…I think."

  "Having sex? You were—" Scott blinked repeatedly. "With Kurt?"

  "Yes."

  "Kurt Gabler?"

  Emery gave him an annoyed look.

  Scott backed off. "Sorry, I…Jesus Christ, for that long? Why? I-I mean…well shit, I don't know what I mean…No, wait, that is what I mean: why?"

  "It was…we just…" Emery set down the biscuit in his hand. "It just happened. And then it kept happening. And…then it was more than just that. I know it sounds…Well I know it is absolutely daft considering the circumstances. But we fell in love."

  Scott was silent for a long moment. Then he straightened up, suddenly breaking into a snorting, hacking, disaster of a laugh.

  "It's not terribly funny," Emery chastised weakly.

  "Shit, I'm sorry, but I didn't see it." His laughter die
d off and his face became serious. "I really didn't see it…damn."

  "What would you have done if you'd known?" Emery shrugged. "It wouldn't have changed anything."

  Scott looked down at the table. "I don't know, maybe I would've…maybe I could've stayed. Stopped Casey, you know? It would've been three against two, then. I didn't know you two were on the same side. Hell, I didn't even know that Kurt was…you know…"

  "…Homosexual?"

  "Actually I was gonna say 'human'."

  Emery's eyes drifted down. "He is. I can promise you that."

  Scott shook his head in amazement. "This is the fucking craziest thing I've ever heard…How the fuck did you two get out of all this?"

  Emery looked up, trying to think of where to even start. "Sheridan…was angry, once he found out about Hunter's affiliations. He decided to turn me in for the money after all. I begged Kurt to just go along with it, but he wouldn't. He created a confrontation. I shot Sterling, Sheridan ran. Then we were ambushed. Kurt was taken captive and I was taken to my stepfather."

  "Yikes. How was that?"

  Emery thought back to the complete heartbreak on Hunter's face and set his jaw. "Euphoric. He now knows exactly what I think of him. He knows I mean business and he knows I'm capable of killing…He won't dare bother me again."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  No. No, of course he wasn't. Even if Hunter realized that Emery would never love him, it was always possible he'd pursue him out of revenge. "For now."

  "Okay, but you really should find somewhere else to crash, man. Somewhere far the fuck away from us."

  Emery furrowed his brow. "What for?"

  "To save yourself. Does Eaton even want you back at this point, or does he want you dead after all that hassle? I can take care of Kurt. You should high tail it the fuck out of here."

  "No. I'm not just leaving him here helpless and unconscious."

  "Do you really think you can protect him if these people want us dead?"

  Emery picked up a biscuit again. "I'm too bloody tired to think…but what I know is that less than forty-eight hours ago he tried to give his life for mine. I won't hesitate to return the favor if need be."

  Scott began to peel the label off of his beer bottle as he absorbed every outrageous detail. Emery wasn't sure what he must have thought about all of this. His allies were dead and the cause of it was sitting here in his house eating his food and demanding use of his medical abilities. He'd be well within his rights to be a little irked. "It was pretty ballsy coming here like you did. How did you know I'd help you?"

  Emery looked away. "You seemed like the sort. I always felt like you had a heart. You were the kindest among them. Perhaps the only good person in the lot. At least that's what I thought before I got to know Kurt."

  Scott's cheek twitched. "I wouldn't say that."

  "Why not?"

  "You do remember that I kidnapped you, right? And I probably put you through the worst physical pain of your life? Anyway I'm a criminal. A cold-blooded killer. You took a huge risk tracking a guy like me down."

  "It paid off," Emery pointed out. "Besides, I hardly think a punch to the face in some pub row really qualifies you as a cold-blooded killer."

  Scott was silent for a long while, not looking up. "No, but running away from it for the rest of your life does…Shit do I ever regret telling Sheridan that story. He thought it was so fuckin' funny."

  "His sense of humor did leave something to be desired," Emery said.

  Scott took another drink and stood up. "I have a lot of shit in this back bedroom, but I'm gonna clear it out. That way we can move him to a bed to recover for a while."

  Emery looked up with overflowing gratitude. "Thank you, Scott."

  Scott wiped the beer out of his beard. "It's Victor. And, you know, whatever."

  "Victor, then. I don't know what I would have done."

  "Yeah, well you're lucky I've been forced against my will to become a field medic over the last few years. Guess it's given me a soft spot for people with open wounds. …Besides. Can't let him die if you 'love' him or whatever," he huffed, wandering off. "That'd just be too goddamn sad. Get some fucking sleep. I meant what I said before—you look like shit."

  Emery smiled. "Goodnight, Victor."

  * * *

  When Kurt's eyes opened again, there was more light than before. Afternoon sun was coming in through some window and his mind was buzzing with questions. He was on a couch. That much he could register. He was only wearing boxers and there was a blanket covering his lower half, his chest exposed but bandaged and bloody. He was so drained that didn't feel as though he'd slept at all. The pain almost made him fade out again, but he determinedly stayed conscious. Where in the hell was he?

  "Kurt?" Emery's voice came from across the room and he quickly sat down on the coffee table by the couch. "Victor, he's awake," he called.

  "…Victor…?" Kurt asked.

  "Yes. That's where I brought you. To him," Emery said, a hand reaching out to gently run fingers through his hair. "You've been fixed up, but try not to move, alright?"

  Kurt had just enough clarity to obey. He relaxed at the soothing touch and studied as much of the surrounding area as he could. It was a small house, unkempt but not filthy. An old television covered in shirts sat in his line of view. Pornographic magazines lined the coffee table. Outside it was silent. Kurt looked up. "…Emery…are you…alright?"

  "Am I alright?" Emery blinked down at him. "Of course I'm bloody alright. Thanks to you."

  Kurt nodded in satisfaction and closed his eyes again. He opened them when he heard a second set of footsteps. Victor stood above him then. "Hey Gabler. Welcome back."

  Kurt regarded him skeptically. "Victor."

  "How do you feel?" Victor asked.

  That was a stupid question. Kurt simply stared up at him with an unamused face. Victor cleared his throat.

  "Same old Kurt…at least he doesn't have amnesia," Victor dismissed, stepping back to sit in a chair on the other side of the coffee table. "Sorry about leaving you raw like this. I'm getting ahold of something to numb you up. It's just gonna take me a day."

  "How did we get here?" Kurt asked, lifting his head again to look around. "And where is this?"

  Emery pushed him back down. "Whitchurch. I drove us here after some prick shot you up. Don't you remember?"

  He did, in fact. The impact of the bullets still echoed in his aching body. It wasn't the first time he'd been shot at, but it had definitely been the most devastating. "Were we followed?"

  "No. And at this point I'm not sure that we will be. It's been three days and I've seen neither hide nor hair of Hunter's little entourage."

  "That doesn't mean you won't," Kurt said, trying to get an arm under himself to sit up. "You've got to get…out of here."

  "I'm not going anywhere with you like this, so forget it. Don't worry for now. Please relax." Emery's other hand came up and rested on his uninjured shoulder.

  Kurt reluctantly lay back and did as he was told for lack of options. He'd never felt physically weaker in all his life. His eyes flitted to Victor, who was watching them with the sort of objective fascination of a man who's just seeing some alien life form for the first time. Kurt raised an eyebrow at him.

  "Sorry," Victor said, holding up his hands. "I just can't fucking believe this. I mean Jesus, Kurt, we've known each other for over a year and I had no idea you were gay."

  Kurt glanced at Emery and returned Victor's stare nonchalantly. "An irrelevant personal detail. I can't think of a single circumstance we've ever shared where it would have been pertinent to mention."

  Victor shrugged. "Fine. Point made. I guess I never really knew anything about you anyway. But…shit, that doesn't surprise me half as much as the idea of you having feelings. That's too much."

  "Are you insulting me?" Kurt asked monotonously.

  "Hey, better get my kicks in while you're too laid up to beat the shit out of me, right?"

 
Kurt turned his head back towards the ceiling and tried to move his good hand to lay it over Emery's, but failed. Emery saw this and moved his hand obligingly. "Does it hurt badly?" Emery asked.

  Yes. It really bloody did. "I'm alright."

  "We're going to try moving you to a bed today. Do you think you can handle it?"

  "Certainly."

  Emery smiled down at him. "Are you lying to me?"

  Kurt met his gaze and then looked away sheepishly. "…Let's do it anyway, shall we?"

  * * *

  Emery rather liked Victor's house in Whitchurch. It was comfortable. Isolated. He could see why the man was so partial to it. It reminded him quite a bit of his home in Brighton as a child, despite not being crammed tightly between two other houses filled with crying babies at all hours. Oh, yes. He'd forgotten about that. How his father would roll his eyes every time the little brats started up in the morning, making a show of pretending to keel over dead at the breakfast table in exhaustion. How his mother would sigh and say every time with equal parts irritation and pride, "Emery never cried like that."

  It was the little things he remembered most. The way one of the chairs at the table was uneven and how he would always sit in it to rock back and forth and the way he'd plastered his room with Star Wars paraphernalia. His mother's smile, the one that was wry and mischievous when she tickled him and not the one that was sad and proud when she'd kissed his face for the last time. He'd only known him for eight short years, but his father was still so clear in his memory. Even though Emery looked more like his mother, it was Jerome Fletcher's sense of humor and easygoing nature that he inherited. His real father. The one who loved him the way that a person should love their son. The more he thought about it, the more memories he realized he'd repressed. Perhaps out of guilt or out of an attempt to be merciful on himself he had buried them, but they were still there.