You're Only Dead

by Jack Parker

  Victor erupted into hysterical laughter, clapping his hands on either side of Emery's face as he bent down and kissed his forehead hard.

  "Oh, Emery," Georgie breathed.

  "I'm alright, I'm…" Emery panted. "I-I think I'm alright…"

  Victor grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up, where he immediately felt Georgie's arms around him as Victor's hand ruffled his hair. "Shit, Em, I really thought we fuckin' lost you."

  Emery haphazardly tried to return Georgie's embrace before she pulled off. "You did," he murmured deliriously. He turned slightly over a shoulder to Kurt behind him, who was trembling like a frightened dog. Like he didn't believe what he was seeing. Then he pitched forward, grabbing Emery and burying his face into the back of his shoulder with a quiet but bone-wracking sob. Emery closed his eyes. He wanted to comfort Kurt, but he was still too weak to move much.

  "Easy, Gabler," Victor said gently.

  "It's okay, my darling…" Emery whispered. "…You know full well I'd never leave you again."

  Kurt shuddered again and Emery could feel his shirt already soaked through with tears.

  Emery exhaustedly looked up to meet Victor's eyes again. "Saving my life again?"

  "You really think I'm gonna let you die while you still owe me money, you piece of shit?" Victor asked, grinning joyfully.

  Emery smiled back gratefully. "Thank you, my friend."

  Victor gripped Emery's knee.

  Just then a great commotion sounded at the entrance to the room. They all looked up in alarm. Georgie pounced back on her gun and Kurt drew his. It was a large group, at least a dozen by the sound of their footfalls. Emery tensed, gripping Kurt's arm around him. Then men were filing into the room, all armed and staring them down. Their frontrunner was none other than Kenneth McDermott.

  The Irishman looked around, lowering his gun and scanning the bodies on the ground before his eyes went back to them. "A fine mess this is."

  They all sagged, Georgie dropping her gun and wilting in relief.

  McDermott studied them. "The fuck happened here?"

  Emery watched as a group of McDermott's shooters wandered over and kicked at Thompson's lifeless body.

  "Oh, just your typical shit," Victor replied, voice cracking.

  "Please," Georgie said, looking up at him. "Get us out of here."

  McDermott tipped his hat, and quickly went to help her off the ground.

  Emery didn't feel totally lucid just yet. He thought he had a fair grasp of his world when revived, but once he was forced to move everything became a bit disorienting again. Kurt had to help him walk, bearing most of his weight as they made their way to a car waiting outside the laboratory for them. Georgie went around to the front seat to sit alongside a driver while Victor filed into the back, helping to pull Emery inside before Kurt climb up as well. He felt so jostled and useless. As soon as the door shut, the car was moving, and Emery fell into Kurt's side blearily. He still felt cold. Arms wrapped around him and a hand pulled his head into Kurt's chest where there was warmth to spare.

  "He'll be okay," he heard Victor's voice distantly. "I'll give him another shot in a bit here, make sure it's all flushed, but he'll make it."

  Kurt's lips pressed into his head. "Stay awake for me," he pleaded softly.

  Emery weakly nodded. He stared listlessly ahead of him, out through the windshield up front, into the blackness of the night sky where he could see no stars. He listened to the motor of the car purr and the tapering gunshots fade into the background as they drove further and further away. He felt the beating of Kurt's heart in his ear and the steady breathing of Victor next to him and Georgie ahead of them, and in that moment, found himself another glimpse of peace.

  * * *

  Kurt didn't think he'd ever been so mentally and physically fatigued, but he dared not sleep. Instead he lay in bed, eyes pinned to the wall in the dark, Emery's forehead against his collar bone and his limp body bound tightly in his arms. He was unsure yet how to process the horror of the day. Mostly he was overjoyed, but underneath he felt a strange whirlwind of grief, fear, and self-doubt. The thing he feared most on this earth had not happened…but it should never have come so close.

  Their return to the safe house had been tedious. Victor had sat Emery down and forced him to repeat things, recite things, and remember things while his behavior was gauged. After this Victor had administered another shot of Narcan and Emery had gotten worse before getting better. He was flushed for much of the night, sweating, restless and sick to his stomach. His discomfort was notable and Kurt did his best to help him. After a few hours, when the side effects began to subside, Victor instructed that Emery eat. He did so, but could not keep it down, and remained feverish. This set Kurt's nerves on edge. He continued to suggest a doctor, but Victor dismissed all of it as normal. "He's essentially having withdrawals," Victor had explained. "He'll be fine once it leaves his system."

  A few more bouts of vomiting and Emery came back around. He drank more water, stopped sweating so very much, and managed to eat a bit of soup without repercussions. By then he was smiling some and making the odd joke. Georgie disappeared unannounced and returned to offer him ice cream and he was fully subdued for the rest of the evening. Shortly after Victor had given the green light to allow him to sleep, with the recommendation that Kurt keep an eye on him. This was where Kurt had been since, remaining vigilant, deeply comforted by the rise and fall of Emery's chest against him. Things were calm now. The storm had passed. But in Kurt's mind, tides were still churning.

  Emery had died. It had been a miraculously temporary state, but it was nevertheless the case. He had watched the love of his life perish in his arms and even though it had been revoked, his mind could not let go of the pain. It wouldn't stop replaying in his head. How many times would he face this? He'd gone to such lengths to keep Emery from danger, ever since meeting him, but it was becoming quite clear that he would never have a guarantee. Something may well always be waiting in the wings to swoop in, be it an avaricious kidnapper, a delusional stepfather, a sinister drug mogul or a simple appendicitis. There was no telling when another shot would be taken at Emery's—or Kurt's—life, and no way of knowing which of them would eventually be successful.

  The only thing Kurt could think to take away from this was that he could no longer afford to leave a single thing left unsaid or undone. How long had he waited for a right time? How many opportunities had he been blessed with to offer Emery all that he had, and how many times had it nearly been too late because he'd stupidly postponed it? What if Emery died without Kurt ever having asked him the question he realized, with increasing fervor, he needed to ask? It couldn't be allowed. Time was so fleeting, and Kurt knew he must make better use of it. If Emery had died like that…if Emery was dead…Kurt couldn't stand the stifling pain of the thought. He began to feel sick, so he forcefully redirected his thoughts.

  It was difficult to believe that it was all over. He still felt as though tomorrow he would open his eyes to a new danger. That something was missed, that something would come back around. It was possible for there to be some sort of backlash from Thompson's many investors, suppliers, and political allies. But then none of them truly knew who he was. The man was a cipher whose deeds were carried out by multiple third parties, his face rarely seen, his true identity a mystery even to those he met in person. Perhaps they would think that he'd taken the money and run. Perhaps they would simply blame Hennessey's gang for his operation's decimation. Whatever the case, the likelihood of his death being traced back to any of them was rather slim. Thompson's allies may never know who killed him, and may indeed never even know that he was dead. The price of anonymity, Kurt supposed. At least there was some comfort there…

  Kurt was wrenched to attention, unaware that he had even been dozing off until there was suddenly a presence above him. There was an arm reaching across him and he grabbed it immediately.

  "Relax," a voice said.

  Kurt blinked up at Victor
, who was looking down in him in the dark.

  Victor motioned to Emery. "I'm just checking him."

  Kurt quickly let go of Victor's arm and shifted slightly so that he could examine the unconscious man in his arms.

  Victor felt Emery's head before carefully pressing two fingers into his pulse, staring off and seeming to be counting in his head. Then he nodded, pulling his hand away. "Good. He's good. He'll be over this by the time he wakes up. Get him to drink some water when he does."

  Kurt nodded. "Thank you, Victor."

  Victor drew back and patted his shoulder. "Yeah. Get some sleep."

  Kurt felt like he wanted to say something else, but didn't know what. Victor had done more for him than anyone he knew save Emery. He was, however, blisteringly inexperienced with friendship, and didn't know how to show it. Instead he had to remain silent as Victor exited the room and shut the door. Kurt sighed quietly. Then Emery shifted against him, disturbed by the motion. Fingers clutched into his shirt and Emery groaned. "Get up…" he murmured. "Get up, Kurt, come on…"

  Kurt clutched him tighter. "What is it? What do you need?"

  Emery's voice sounded miles away, a tranquilized monotone. "…you'll be late for work…"

  A breath of laughter pulled itself from Kurt's lungs and he nuzzled into the top of Emery's head. "No," he muttered. "It's….it's the weekend, love. No work."

  Emery sighed deeply and nestled further into him. "…Stay here with me, then…"

  "Of course I'll stay with you, Emery…" Kurt closed his eyes. "For as long as you'll have me."

  "…forever," was the whispered reply.

  Kurt nodded resolutely. "Forever, then."

  Chapter 32

  In the morning, everything looked new.

  Emery sat alone on the bed, feeling like the drug had finally passed out of his system, a water glass cradled in his hands and his mind going over the events of the last few months in awe of all that had happened. Against all odds, he was alive. He and Kurt had been reunited. Victor and Georgie were out of danger. Anyone who posed a threat to them seemed to be dead. The Dutchman, Hennessey, Hunter… There were no enemies left. Nothing to run from. Nothing to fear. It all seemed so sudden.

  Emery pulled himself out of bed and washed up a bit, then went out into the dining area where Victor and Georgie were seated. Her arm was unbandaged and Victor was cleaning up the wound carefully, a new spool of gauze laid out on the table. They both looked to him with intrigue as he emerged.

  "Hey buddy," Victor greeted, fingers working nimbly without having to look. "How you feelin'?"

  "Good," Emery decided, stretching an arm. "Are you two doing alright?"

  Both of them nodded. Victor began to wrap up Georgie's arm again. "Where's Kurt?"

  "Showering," Emery said. "It takes more than a little death to upset that man's morning routine."

  Victor snorted. "I believe it."

  Emery wandered over and sat down with them, looking around the flat and leaning his elbows onto the table. "I never really got a chance to say it, but I'm awfully sorry about your last flat, Georgie."

  Georgie sighed, shrugging her uninjured shoulder. "It was only a flat. That's not to say I wasn't fond of it, but I'm quite used to drifting. I'll be just as fond of somewhere else in due time."

  Emery paused, momentarily unsure of what to say. Where could she go? Without Ludkov and his brigade she was unemployed, and he very much doubted her references should she look for work elsewhere. "Well…whatever you find, you can be sure it'll be better than this," Emery gestured around him.

  "Ain't that the truth," Victor remarked. "I woke up with a goddamn cockroach in my shorts this morning. I wish I was fucking kidding."

  Emery chuckled. "Sorry to hear it."

  Victor huffed. "Most action I've gotten in months."

  Georgie watched Victor finish binding her arm and touched at it with her fingertips. "Thank you, Victor."

  "No sweat," he replied.

  At that she stood, rubbing at her face and wandering off. "Excuse me, gents," she said, taking a pack of cigarettes off the table and heading outside onto the balcony. She shut the door behind her and Emery turned back to Victor, who was watching her carefully.

  Emery frowned. "Is she alright?"

  Victor looked back at him and began to clear up his supplies off the table and into a med kit. "I don't think so. She's…been pretty quiet since she saw Ludkov."

  Emery looked down at the table. Memories resurfaced and he wished he could push them back down. In a sense that man had been all Georgie had left. She must have felt terrible. "You know, for all of his ill-repute, he really was quite extraordinary."

  Victor nodded somberly. "Shit…if you would've told me a month ago that I'd be sitting here broken up over Aleksei Ludkov's death, I would've told you to take your meds." He looked out towards the balcony and leaned over a chair where he stood. "You think she's gonna be able to get over it?"

  Emery worried his lip and shrugged. "I'll speak to her. I was the last person to see him alive. I heard his final words; maybe…maybe I can offer her at least some measure of comfort."

  They both looked up as Kurt entered the room, looking refreshed and serious. He eyed them both before his gaze settled on Emery.

  "Howdy Gabler," Victor said.

  "Vic," Kurt nodded to him politely. He put a hand on Emery's head and stroked him tenderly, apparently indifferent to his affection being witnessed. Emery's cheeks felt warm.

  "Well I don't know about you guys, but I'm fucking starving," Victor said. "I could eat a ten course meal. I'll bring back breakfast. Anyone have any preferences?"

  "I'll go with you," Kurt said unexpectedly.

  "Yeah?" Victor asked. "Alright. I'll drive."

  Victor went off to fetch the keys to the car and Kurt bent down, kissing Emery's face. "Be back shortly."

  Emery leaned into him. "You'd better be."

  Kurt petted his head again and pulled off. He donned his jacket and shoes, then he and Victor were headed out the door, the latter blabbing on about the best pancakes he'd ever eaten at a diner in Georgia. Emery smirked to himself for a bit, then looked back out towards the balcony. He stood up and pushed the chair away before making his way over.

  Outside, Georgie sat on the ground facing the iron gate around the balcony, her legs through the bars dangling over the ground below whilst she smoked and stared out across the cityscape. Emery hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and stepped out, shutting it behind him. Georgie didn't look up as he approached. "Kurt and Victor went to get us something to eat," he said.

  "That's good news," Georgie remarked. "I could murder an omelette just about now."

  Emery sat himself down next to her, his back against the bars and head turned to look at her. "Can I have one?"

  Georgie obligingly offered him a cigarette, which he pushed between his lips. She lit it for him and he nodded his thanks, taking a drag. "I'd quit," she said, looking mildly exasperated as she followed suit. "Years ago. Funny…it doesn't taste the same as I remember. A bit of a letdown, actually."

  "I've been meaning to quit for some time," Emery said conversationally. "Kurt's never said a word, but he's a bastion of physical health. I'm sure it bothers him."

  "Perhaps." Georgie kept her eyes out on the city, pouring smoke from her lips in a long, silent sigh. "You were right about him, by the way."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He didn't let me down," Georgie explained. "In fact he saved my life…and he didn't have to. I was right to trust your judgment."

  Emery stared at her for a long moment before looking back down between his legs at the concrete balcony floor. "…You were right, too. About Ludkov."

  Georgie said nothing, taking another long puff.

  "I'm so sorry, Georgie. I can't help but feel like his death was my fault."

  "It wasn't," she said quickly, glancing at him. "He knew the risks, just as we all did. We were incredibly fortunate to suffer only a single
casualty."

  "Maybe. But that doesn't make it any easier on you," Emery pointed out. He folded his arms over his knees, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. "Everything you said about him was true. Behind that horrid persona he allowed the people around him to build into legend, there was real nobility. I'm sure it doesn't help…but he died painlessly. And, it seemed, without regret."

  Georgie was quiet for some time. "Usluzhlivyy durak opasnee vraga."

  "What does that mean?"

  Georgie leaned back, her hands on the ground behind her as she shook her hair from her face and looked up at the sky. "It's a Russian proverb. It means, roughly, that a fool in your midst is worse than any enemy. When Aleksei began to recruit a bunch of clueless idiots, it was a prevailing sentiment of mine. I even had the gall to recite said proverb to him on one occasion."

  "And what did he say?" Emery asked.

  "Durak zavyazhet, u umnyy ne razvyazhet. The fool ties a knot that even the clever cannot untie. His way of insisting on their use. In retrospect, I suppose we were both right…I just never anticipated that I would be the fool in both scenarios."

  Emery rolled his cigarette between his fingers idly. "I don't think you're a fool, Georgie."

  "As his supposed ally, I did vastly more harm to him than his enemies. I did more than my fair share of tying knots that could not be untied, no matter how hard I endeavored. That's about all he got for making the mistake of taking me back." She paused, pulling her cigarette back to her lips. "I don't know if Aleksei died with any regrets. But I know he should have had at least one. It's a pity he never knew it."

  Emery shook his head. "You're wrong about him."