Shiloh Preston (estudier) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-03-21 22:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | ballerina, piers knight, viola |
Who: Shiloh, Poe, and Preston
What: A hospital visit
Where: The hospital near Harmartia
When: The morning after the blackout
Warnings: None to speak of. Awkward father and son moments?
It seemed to take forever and a day to make it to the hospital, and that was interrupted by plenty of honked horns and questionable gestures which led Shiloh to wonder if his manners completely evaporated the moment he was upset. But somehow he made it to the hospital in one piece, parked his Prius, and all but ran to the hospital. Plenty of people yelled at him to slow down, to walk, but he paid them little mind as he raced up the stairs (for elevators were too slow and he couldn’t stand still that long) to the fourth floor. A nurse in green scrubs was nearly ran over as he flung the door open and raced down the hall, slowing his run to a panicked walk the closer and closer he got.
409. 411. 413. There.
And now that he was there, his heart racing, blood rushing in the ears, he felt this moment of panic that froze him where he stood. Poe was hurt. Poe was in the hospital. And while all of this was happening, Shiloh had been curled up in bed with Athena, ignorant to the fact that his son was in danger. His son. He suddenly felt light-headed, weak in the knees to the fact that he had to press a hand to the wall to keep himself upright. Behind him, a voice asked if he was alright, and he waved her off, shaking his head. He wasn’t ‘alright’ but he would be fine. Certainly better than Poe if the boy was in the hospital.
There was no more time to linger at the door and do nothing, instead knocking on the door once in warning before he turned the knob and took a step in, eyes instantly seeking out the bed, and more importantly, the boy on the bed.
Poe was curled on his side, looking small and insignificant in the hospital bed. He was garbed in a green robe that was too big for him, and the right side of his face was a mess of bruises and swelling, despite the cold compresses they kept pressing to it every few minutes. When the knock came at the door, he rolled over with a whimper that woke him quickly and entirely. “Preston?” he said at first, confused, and then when he had a change to focus fully on Shiloh’s clothing, he settled back and looked at him. “Oh, hi,” he said, an acknowledgement that he knew it wasn’t Preston at the door. “I’m not dying,” he said immediately after, because that was reassuring, he thought. “I just got in a fight.”
The sight of the bruises gave Shiloh an almost instantaneous surge of anger, but he stamped it down as it would do neither of them any good in here. Shiloh didn’t know what to say in the wake of Poe’s assessment of his condition, instead closing the door behind him and moving over to take one of the chairs at the side of the hospital bed. That light-headed feeling hadn’t left him yet, nor had the silence as he looked Poe up and down, finally settled on his bruised face.
“At least tell me the ones who did this to you look worse?” Shiloh said quietly, trying to find some humour in a situation that made his stomach ache. Not waiting for an answer, Shiloh clasped his hands together and leaned closer, eyes closing. “I’m just... Preston scared the hell out of me when he called. Just glad to see you in one piece. I’m...” The guilt was heavy, the guilt over what he had been doing as this all transpired.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you last night. I... should have been here.” Shiloh lifted his head then, meeting Poe’s gaze for only half a second before he looked away, hands unfolding and pushing back through his hair as he sat back in the chair.
Poe watched all of Shiloh’s movements with a curious eye. Shiloh was, to him, something completely new. He didn’t understand his father, who seemed so mature and sure about some things, and so unsure about others, and so he didn’t interrupt during any of the talking, choosing to just listen instead (and watch).
“Um, the other guys look way worse,” Poe said honestly, not clarifying that it was the terrifying girl who had beaten them up and not him. “I tried to call you and Blake first, but there wasn’t any power,” he explained, not understanding that the outage had been citywide yet. “Preston was the only one who answered. He shouldn’t have worried you. It was no big deal, really. I was going to leave on my own last night, but he made me stay.” He sounded pouty when he said that, like Preston really should have let him go home.
“We didn’t have any power at Bathos, either,” Shiloh said quietly, his arms coming down, hands resting loosely in his lap as though he wasn’t sure what to do. But the news that Poe had tried to call him (even if it has possibly been after Blake) was reassuring, and he tried to focus on that and the fact that Poe was, for the most part, fine. “He didn’t worry me,” he continued a moment later, leaning forward again, hands hesitating in the air as though there was something he wanted to do, to touch, but had lost confidence halfway through.
Shiloh took in a big breath and released it slowly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “It’s good that you stayed. In the hospital, I mean. They can make sure you’re safe. Make sure there’s... nothing else wrong.” The words felt awkward, clumsy, and he felt sick to his stomach at all of it. This was wrong, wrong, wrong, and he had no idea how to make it right. He wasn’t a touchy feely sort of guy, and the memory of how Poe had ducked out from the hug at the ballet school hadn’t escaped him. He he sat back, folding his arms over his chest (yes, the position was closed off, he knew that, but he felt clueless as to how to hold himself suddenly), looking Poe over once more.
“Dare I ask what happened? All I heard was a fight. Or... that you were jumped.” His eyes narrowed faintly, worry crinkling the outer corners.
“It was a fight,” Poe assured him without hesitation. He glanced to the crossed arms, but he realkly didn’t think anything of them, not beyond registering that maybe Shiloh was angry at him. “Preston says people beat him up for being gay all the time,” he added, as if that was something Shiloh would know about and could add to.
At the initial answer, Shiloh opened his mouth to say something, but the second the added information came, his mouth closed, his posture tightened and his eyes narrowed a bit more. It wasn’t that Shiloh had any issue with his brother (and now Poe’s) sexual orientation. Quite the opposite. No one could choose who they loved, and if the people his brother (and son) cared for were of the same gender, who was he to judge them. No, Shiloh had problems with people who beat other people up for who they liked. That was something he had a hard time processing, a hard time accepting.
“That’s no excuse for what they did. Not to you and certainly not to Preston.” Shiloh sighed, uncrossing his arms and wiping a hand down over his face, fingers sliding to rub at the back of his neck, a headache swelling slowly but surely. “God dammit. Why do people think this sort of behaviour, messing up people just because they like something different, is right?” Shiloh stood, shaking his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand.
“Do you walk to and from school? Or do you get a ride somehow?” Shiloh asked, turning his attention back to Poe, lines of worry creasing his forehead.
Poe watched Shiloh go from not knowing what to say to anger, and then something else entirely. “Do you think it’s wrong?” he asked, even though that had nothing to do with what Shiloh had asked or said, because he wanted to hear it, even if it sounded like Shiloh thought it was wrong to beat someone up for it. Poe really wasn’t sure that meant he didn’t think it was wrong, though, so the question was still worth asking, “How we are, I mean, not what they did.” He was pretty sure Shiloh was opposed to the latter. “And, um, I’m not sure it was just coincidence. I heard them saying someone paid them, and I was trying to think of who this morning, and maybe it’s someone who wants my role in the ballet.” It was the best he’d come up with for being any kind of target, at least the kind people would pay money to hurt. “I walk. The bus costs money.”
It took Shiloh a moment to realise what Poe was questioning, and when he put two and two together, he let out a sigh, shaking his head as he moved over, abandoning the chair this time and actually sitting gingerly on the side of the bed. “No, I don’t think it’s wrong,” Shiloh said quietly. “I’ve been around enough people that do think it is, and their attitudes disgust me.” His mother and father came to mind, then, of the stress they put Preston through so many years ago. How different things might have been had their family been more accepting. “But it doesn’t bother me. You like who you like, and who am I to pass judgment on that?” For the first time since coming to the hospital, a faint smile came to his lips, his gaze soft as he looked at Poe. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes his father had, Shiloh decided. He might be late to the party, but he could still do some good.
“We’ll figure out who did this. If someone paid them to do this, then...” His face twisted into disgust, melting away moments later as he took a calming breath, not wanting to take this sort of irritation, disgust out on Poe. He wasn’t the reason for it anyways. “As for getting to school. You’re not walking any longer. I’ll drive you. To school, from school. I don’t want you walking, at least not until we get behind this.” He paused, picking at the hospital sheets with one hand, an idle gesture. “Do you feel safe at Harmartia? Living by yourself?”
Poe wasn’t quite sure how to say what he had to say without hurting Shiloh’s feelings, not when it was really obvious that Shiloh was trying really hard. “They’ll just make fun of me if my father drives me to school and back,” he said, an apology in his voice as he talked. Then, a little stronger, he added. “And I shouldn’t have to get rides. It’s not right, and I’m not going to hide and be all scared of them.” He wasn’t, either. “I’ll take bus money, though?” he added, a question.
The nurse came into the room a second later, and she handed Shiloh the release papers, along with follow-up instructions, and when Poe asked if he could get dressed, she gave him a nod. He climbed off the bed with a wince, hunching slightly as he padded into the bathroom to change.
Shiloh had been about to say something in return, perhaps to insist on the rides, but he didn’t have a chance to before the nurse arrived with the release papers, leaving Shiloh to look over them as Poe slipped into the bathroom to change.
He listened to the sound of the door shutting in Poe’s wake, a pressure settling in his chest, wondering why such a simple offer as a ride back and forth was rebuked. He had thought it reasonable, some way to prevent this from happening again, but no. Bus money he would do. It wasn’t his preference, but if that’s what Poe preferred, then that’s what he would do.
It was Shiloh’s turn to get up from the bed, picking at the rumpled sheets, the heat that lingered from where Poe had been lying. He felt lost in what he was supposed to be turning, and if he had a normal life, a normal family, he might of turned to his own parents for guidance. But that was a joke and a half; he could already hear their voices, chastising him for having a child out of wedlock, a child he hadn’t known about for eighteen years. And Shiloh wanted nothing to do with that.
Folding the papers over and laying them on the bedside table, he looked around the room for something to do, something to keep himself busy and his thoughts travelling in one direction. So he picked up, gathering anything that seemed to belong to Poe, straightening the blankets, folding this and that.
Poe came out of the bathroom a few long minutes later, wearing his shirt and jeans from the day before, both of which had heavy splotches of dried blood and dirt on them. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed almost immediately, holding his stomach and looking up at his father. “Did they say anything about taking something for the pain?” he asked hopefully, looking up at him with eyes that he kept blinking quickly to avoid crying, because he was going to be more mature from now on, no matter how much it hurt.
Shiloh looked up as Poe returned from the bathroom, the sight of the bloodied clothes driving home the reality of what had happened quite firmly. He said nothing for a moment, still busying himself with folding, tidying, keeping his hands busy. At the question, however, Shiloh blinked, staring at Poe for a long moment before he shook his head, pulling himself from his reverie.
“I think I saw a prescription in here,” he said, reaching for the folded papers, rechecking to be sure he wasn’t telling the boy a lie. “We’ll get it filled on the way home.” He paused, glancing back over towards Poe. “I... am allowed to driving you home, right? Please don’t tell me you want a bus. I don’t think I can handle that right now.”
Poe looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap now that the sharp pain in his stomach had passed. “It might be ok to go wherever you live,” he said tentatively, not really wanting to be alone when he felt like he did every time he moved. “But Matty might need a drive home, too, maybe,” he added, knowing his new friend had stubbornly come to the hospital and insisted on staying in the waiting room. “She might have helped me beat the other boys up,” which was a blatant lie, given the fact that not one of his knuckles was bruised. “Um, and I don’t have the money for any medicine.”
“I’ll make sure everyone gets home. And...” Shiloh paused, looking Poe over again, and he realised that even if he had wanted to go home, alone, he wouldn’t have permitted it. “If you want to come and stay with me until you feel better, that’s fine. As long as you need, as long as you’re comfortable with it.” Shiloh paused, refolding the papers and sliding them into his pants pocket. “As for money. Don’t worry about it. Please. I’ll... take care of it all.” The museum had good insurance and it covered dependants; something to get filled out as soon as everyone had a moment, when the world wasn’t falling apart.
Shiloh went quiet for a moment, moving to stand in front of Poe where he sat on the bed, hands coming to cup the boy’s face, looking straight at him. “I just want you to be safe, Poe. And if there’s anything I can do, please, let me help. Please.”
At that moment, Preston reappeared. He’d been talking to to people behind desks about tiresome forms and money, but that was where Preston was at his best. In hand he had a sheaf of paperwork and he looked as tired as he was, with a strained night and no rest. “They’re releasing you--Oh.” Seeing both and Poe in street clothes. “Is Shiloh taking you home?” To the latter, with a little bit of relief.
Poe was just about to tell Shiloh that he was sure he’d feel better by tomorrow, really, despite the fact that the release papers said someone should keep an eye on him for the next seventy-two hours at the least, but then Preston walked in and distracted him from it. Poe nodded, and he thought maybe Preston had been hiding from him and his questions (oh, he remembered, alright). “He doesn’t think he can handle me taking the bus,” he told Preston, because that helped him save face. Of course, it didn’t cover how he was going to stand up without whimpering like a baby. “Can they give me something before I go? For the pain, maybe?” he asked Shiloh.
Shiloh pulled his hands away as Preston entered, standing up straight, managing a faint smile at his brother before he gave a nod. “I’ll get him and... his friend? Home. Do you need a ride back?” he asked, jingling the change in his pocket, fidgity, antsy. When Poe’s question came about the pain, Shiloh cursed under his breath, digging in his other pocket for the discharge papers, the prescription folded within.
“I... will go get this filled downstairs. At the pharmacy. And Preston...” Shiloh started towards the door, nodding his head towards the papers his brother held. “I’ll take care of those. I’ve got coverage. It’ll cover him too.” And then he was out the door, jingling his change. Didn’t the first time most fathers got a prescription for their son was when they had a cold or the sniffles? He had to laugh to himself at the situation they found themselves in as he took the stairs down to the pharmacy to get the pain medication that had been prescribed. Yes, they could have done it on their way out, but he needed a moment to himself, to get his head cleared, and he’d even be good and pass on the cigarette he was itching for. Bad habit. Fathers shouldn’t smoke.
“Shiloh--” Preston didn’t get a chance to tell him he’d just paid cash, because there wasn’t time to work out that whole insurance thing, and insurance people were very good at stalling activation. He let the man run out the door. “I don’t need a ride,” he said, sighing. Then he looked at Poe. “Are you alright?” He was out of bed, and he had expressed concern about talking to Shiloh. Preston smelled like cigarette smoke; it seemed he wasn’t as good as Shiloh planned on being.
Poe watched Shiloh run out of the room, and then he looked at Preston. “He likes to do that a lot,” he said, a hitch in his voice. “You can go; I’ll wait with Matty. I kind of want to tell her what I want to tell my friends happened,” he said, the nurse edging past Preston with a wheelchair just then. The blackout was over, but the hospital was still crowded and they needed the room. “Um, the waiting room?” he told the woman, and then he glanced back at Preston. “You look like you need sleep,” he said observantly. “My uncle was just leaving,” he told the woman, tipping his head back and looking at her upside down.
Preston didn’t want to leave Poe, but he thought Shiloh would pull himself together, and he was aware enough of his own limits to realize when he was only going to be a negative influence instead of a positive support. He thought about telling Poe he would get to the bottom of this attack, but he realized as he put his younger self in Poe’s shoes that it would make no difference. After a moment, he ducked his head in a sort of acknowledgment, then moved out the door.
When Shiloh returned, less than fifteen minutes later, he found room 415 already emptied, and for a moment, panic gripped him. His hand held tighter to the white pharmacy bag Poe’s prescription sat in before he turned and moved purposefully down to where the waiting rooms were supposed to be. The moment he saw Poe, looking small in the wheelchair, he let out a sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry for rushing out. I just...” He held up the pharmacy bag. “...before you had to leave the room. I was just trying to help.” Shiloh swallowed hard, collecting himself as best he could as he approached once more, offering the boy the bag and a bottle of water he had picked up as well. “Preston left.” It was more of a statement than any sort of question, a hand rubbed over his face. He didn’t blame him, nor had he expected him to stay, but they needed to talk. A conversation better held privately, he was sure.
“Where’s your friend?” Shiloh asked, glancing around the waiting room for anyone that looked as though they might be with Poe. All he wanted then was to get everyone home. He wanted Poe with him, at Bathos. He’d tuck him in, make him soup, whatever it was one did for someone who had been beat up.
“I think she was too badass to need a ride,” Poe said, the statement slightly awed, slightly confused. Matty wasn’t like any of the ballerinas at the ballet school, and he didn’t really know what to make of her yet. He pushed himself up from the chair with a whimper, wrapping an arm over his stomach as he stood straight, and he motioned to the double doors at the entrance to the emergency room. He looked more tired than he had in the room. “I need to call the director when we get to your place, I guess,” he said, sounding forlorn, more forlorn about that than being beaten up in the first place.
Shiloh’s brow was furrowed with worry and concern as he watched Poe rise from the wheelchair, wondering if it was appropriate to stop him, to sit him back down and run off to pull the car up. It was hard to gauge proper reactions and actions in this sort of father-son push and pull. So instead he took a couple quick steps to walk alongside Poe, close enough to be there for support, but far enough away that he wasn’t crowding.
“Or I can call. I think it’s reasonable enough to have your...” Shiloh paused, the word catching in his throat for a moment. “...father call to explain such things, isn’t it?” He led the way to the first level of the parking garage, the Prius parked close, thankfully. He opened the doors wirelessly, stepping forward quick enough to open the passenger side one for Poe. Once he was settled, door closed, Shiloh slid in to the driver’s seat, the car soon coming to life with a quiet hum. Putting it in gear, Shiloh pulled out and started the drive home with much less stress and anxiety than he had had in coming.
“I’ve got an extra bedroom you can stay in. Hell, it can be your room, if you want. I mean...” Shiloh stopped, rubbing his hands over the steering wheel for a moment. “If you want to stay. Move in. Something. I don’t know how to ask or offer, so you’ll have to pardon my clumsiness right now.” He cast a sidelong glance towards the boy, his lips quirking up in a small smile before he got his eyes back on the road.
Poe didn’t know how to explain that he might not be able to dance, and there really wasn’t very much that was more important than that, not really, and no call from his father to the director was going to fix the fact that the company would never take him on if he missed this season. There were three final spots and thirty dancers in his year, and two of the spots were sure to go to ballerinas. But he couldn’t say that, not without crying now that he’d finally realized he could barely stand up straight. And then Shiloh offered a room, and Poe had wanted that for so very long, for his father to want him that way, to want him to live with him, but he didn’t know if he wanted that anymore, not now, not when everything was falling apart.
Poe closed his eyes in the car, turning his cheek toward the window, and he didn’t answer. If he was asleep, he wouldn’t have to answer right away, right? He could see how it was, how he felt in the apartment, how he felt if he couldn’t dance anymore. He could see, right?
The lack of an answer, or any response at all, should have worried him, but Shiloh took it in stride, glancing towards Poe again before settling in for the remainder of the ride to Bathos. He couldn’t imagine how this felt, what had happened, the shoes Poe filled, and all Shiloh knew was that he had to be there, to support, to keep safe. It was a role he knew he could fill.
Pulling in to the parking garage, Shiloh killed the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the car. He was going to offer his help, an arm, whatever Poe might need, but it was clear by the stubbornness (etched through with exhaustion) that Poe wasn’t going to accept that offer. So Shiloh kept pace with him instead, leading the way to his apartment, thankful for the lack of stairs for the boy to deal with. Unlocking the door, he gestured down the hallway towards the spare bedroom. “Get in there and lay down,” he said quietly. “I’ll bring your pills and some water in momentarily.” Nothing more was said as he watched Poe walk carefully down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom moments later. Shiloh followed soon after with the water and prescription, setting them on the small night stand beside the bed.
He lingered in the doorway for a moment, glancing towards Poe, unsure of what to say. “If... there’s anything you need. Just holler. I’m staying in today. So... don’t hesitate, hmm?” And then the door was shut quietly in his wake, leaving Shiloh to stand in the hallway for a long moment, rubbing his face over with one hand.
Shiloh was about to duck in to his own bedroom to get a shower when something on the floor caught his eye. Stooping, he picked up the slip of paper, glancing at the scrawled number and name that was on it. Lips pursed slightly and he looked over towards the closed door, and then, slipping the paper into his own pocket, Shiloh retreated to his room.
A shower. Something to eat. And then he’d make the phone calls.
It was going to be a long afternoon.