Who: Shiloh & Preston What: A strained conversation Where: Virginia Mason hospital When: Over the weekend Warnings: None
The hospital had become Shiloh’s home away from home ever since Poe ended up there, spending more hours sleeping on the uncomfortable vinyl-covered chairs as he did in his own bed. Coffee kept him going along with a steady diet of vending machine and cafeteria food. It’s not that there was steady news coming about Poe’s progress or anything like that, he just simply couldn’t bring himself to leave. Guilt, regret, the need to make up for so much lost time, it was a nasty combination that chewed at him day in and day out. And now Preston knew, and Shiloh wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He hadn’t wanted to tell him to begin with, but Preston was his brother. Poe was his nephew. He didn’t deserve to be left out.
He tapped his cellphone against his knee, a steady rhythm, as he stared at the television in the waiting room, not really seeing anything that was going on on the screen. He was just waiting, something he was doing an awful lot of lately. Preston was coming. Their parents would be here by the weekend if the snow let up, and he’d make sure Poe got the help he needed. But for now. He just waited.
Preston went over the last several days in his mind, trying to remember if he had been especially unavailable or distant with his brother. He had not sought to discuss Poe, certainly, but he assumed that it would be a sore subject to approach cautiously. No, if Shiloh had wanted to tell him that Poe had been in a goddamn plane accident, he could well have done without too much trouble. What the hell was wrong with the man?
Preston strode confidently through the hospital, bringing with him an air of confidence and expectation of cooperation, something that was usually exclusive to the office. There was some confusion with names and relation to the patient, but it was worked out promptly, and Preston came into the waiting room, unwinding his scarf and smelling of snow and cigarettes. "Shi."
Shiloh was tapping his cellphone against his lips when Preston entered, the smell of cigarettes clinging to him enough to make him physically ache for one. But that was hardly here or there, pushing it aside as he got up to his feet with a nod of his head. “Preston,” Shiloh greeted simply, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m assuming you want to see Poe first. He’s just down the hall. 1205.” There was only a moment where he met Preston’s gaze before he stepped past him, moving down the hall towards Poe’s room without waiting for a response.
The door was open just a hair, the room dim inside, silent except for the standard monitors. Shiloh didn’t enter the room, instead pushing the door open slightly as an invitation for Preston to enter. There was no inclination to enter, instead stationing himself beside the door, arms folded over his chest. “He’s been sleeping a lot. They... have him pretty doped up for the pain. They say it’s easier this way.” One shoe was scuffed against the floor, eyes fixed to the tiled floors.
Preston’s familiar gaze hit Shiloh’s hard enough to hurt, a hard-edged, assessing look to take in his appearance and just how hard he was taking this whole thing. He expected some fatigue, but for once he didn’t feel sympathetic. He was already wound high with tension from the fight with Eli over the phone, and the news that Poe had been in the hospital and nobody had given a damn enough to mention it pissed him off something awful. He would feel sorry for Shiloh later. Poe first.
Without comment, scarf loose in his hand, Preston followed Shiloh down the antiseptic hall and glanced at him as he moved past into the room without pause. Preston stood for a moment at Poe’s bedside, his back to his brother, his shoulders without strength. Why so many reminders that life wasn’t fair? Preston wasn’t even sure he wanted to know how difficult it would be for Poe to ever dance again.
Preston didn’t fill the silence. After the moment stretched into something like forever, he reached out an arm and pulled a chair over to the bed, and then he sat down, folding the scarf onto his lap.
When Preston didn’t emerge from the room, Shiloh entered behind him moments later, though he didn’t approach the bed, instead lingering on the perimeter of the room. “I always make sure he’s sleeping before I come in,” Shiloh said quietly, chin tucked down to his chest, gaze still fixed on the floor. It was hard enough to tell Preston that it had happened in the first place, a much different thing to explain how it had happened. “The doctors seem hopeful for a good recovery, though.”
Preston didn’t look up, so he didn’t notice Shiloh’s expression. “Why? Don’t you want to talk to him?” Preston’s frown said he was thinking about waking up in a place like this without seeing a familiar face.
Shiloh let out a long, ragged breath, finally lifting his head to look over towards Poe, eyes sweeping over that still form. “Guilt. Because I can’t look at him and deal with the guilt at the same time. Why do you think I called Mom and Dad?”
That made Preston look up and turn his head. “You called them?” This sounded incredibly foolhardy to him. “Did they even know about...? Why would you call them? It’s not your fault he wanted to go to Europe, Shi. It’s Europe. He’s nineteen, for Crissake.”
“But it is my fault that he’s in here to begin with,” Shiloh snapped out before stalking out of the room, blowing past a nurse on his way back to the waiting room, his face flushed, his knees shaking as he sat down heavily on one of the chairs. He leaned forward, hands covering his face as he tried to control his breath. Calling their parents had seemed like such a logical idea before, the explanation that he needed a favour, would they come to visit? And now, it seemed like he was making mistakes left and right.
Preston stood up a moment later, reaching out to touch Poe’s elbow where it rested over the blankets before turning and striding after his brother. Just what, exactly, was going on here? Preston gave his fingers a shake from Poe’s unnaturally chill skin as he moved, stripping his coat off so that by the time he was back in the waiting room he had his coat over one arm. His expression was bleak. “What are you talking about, your fault?” he demanded, standing not far from Shiloh’s chair and staring at him.
Shiloh didn’t look up as Preston approached, shaking his head in response to his question. “Nothing. Forget I said anything,” he murmured, pulling his hands away from his face and leaning back, head turned to the side, watching the television that hung in the corner of the room, the news already past the plane accident, focused instead on the weather that hung over Seattle, debilitating the city.
There was a short pause, and some of the tension in the air around Preston seemed to evaporate. His muscles slowly relaxed, as if on the first breath of a cigarette, and a moment later he was hitching up his trousers and taking a seat next to Shiloh, between him and the television. He tipped his chin a little to try to catch the other man’s eyes. “What is it?”
Shiloh glanced over towards Preston for a moment, meeting his gaze for a heartbeat before he looked away again, the guilt clinging to him like a coat. “I just... meant to delay the plane. I didn’t want him leaving on a note slipped under my door. It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.” He rubbed his hand over his face again, pushing it back through his hair and down the back of his neck, fingers hooking there for the moment. Shiloh looked up once more, his expression pulled. “That’s why I can’t be in there with him.” And he left it to Preston to put the pieces together, to fill in the gaps that he couldn’t bring himself to say openly.
“What do you mean, you meant to delay the--” Preston stopped. He knew what Shiloh’s guilt looked like, because he’d gotten up to all kinds of hell when they were children, but this was more extreme. He couldn’t even get Shiloh to meet his eyes for long. Preston’s own gaze sharpened and then widened with horror and realization. “You--you--” He couldn’t say it. “We said we’d never do that!”
Hearing his tone, the words that came with it, had Shiloh physically flinching backwards, a reaction he couldn’t hold back on. “You don’t think I know that?” he said a moment later, and there was that sick feeling in his stomach, settling like a pit, though he had nothing to be sick with. “I know, Preston. I knew the moment it happened, but I couldn’t make it go away at that point. I need...” There was a breath where words should have been, and he got up to his feet, sidestepping away from Preston towards the nearby water fountain. Wetting his hand, he washed it over his face, the back of his neck, his hand shaking.
Preston shadowed Shiloh across the room, lowering his voice to a hiss. “You knew after it happened? What, did you lose control? Look at me.” Preston took a fist full of Shiloh’s sleeve and hauled him back around to face him, blinking at the drops of water that came free. If he had to hold him upright, he would.
He had known to expect anger, to expect this sort of reaction, which was precisely why he hadn’t told Preston immediately after. So when Preston hauled him around, Shiloh held his hands up in surrender, looking at Preston as instructed. “I was there,” Shiloh said evenly, trying to keep his voice steady, willing it not to tremble. “In the parking lot. I didn’t... I just.” He swallowed hard, closing his eyes as he tried to find the words that would lessen the blow that would inevitably come. “I gauged wrong. It was more than I had intended. I just... thought some wind would ground the flight. If it kept on, perhaps cancelled until tomorrow. And then...” Shiloh trailed off, looking away, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.
“You gauged wrong,” Preston repeated slowly. “Meaning you did this on purpose? You were trying to stop the plane? An airplane?” Preston couldn’t believe Shiloh could be so incredibly irresponsible. Especially when his ability had the potential to be so destructive... Preston’s eyes widened again and numb fingers came away from Shiloh’s arm. “You mean the plane, the plane that crashed...?”
Shiloh’s lack of response was answer enough, rubbing the heel of his hand against one eye as he turned away, taking the few steps back to his seat to sit heavily. For a long while, he sat there, absolutely still, and then he wiped at his eyes and leaned back, slumped far down in the chair with his face tilted towards the fluorescent lights.
Preston stood back from his brother in the center of the room, waiting out a fast flicker of emotions. Disbelief, anger, pity, and then anger again. All of those people.
Several minutes passed. Preston stared out a window, frowning past his own reflection, the one that looked so similar to Shiloh’s. Nurses passed by, their shoes trapping the tile no matter how quiet they tried to be. The television flickered with scenes of the horrific weather. Preston turned his head to watch them, his expression bleak. “Did you cause the blizzards too?” He didn’t know what that much wind could do to the weather system, he was no scientist.
At the question about the blizzard, Shiloh looked up sharply, his answer coming immediately. “No! No... That wasn’t me. I tried talking to that person though. If he... could see what he’s doing. So that it doesn’t end up like this.” As the words trailed on, his voice got softer and softer until he simply quieted, wondering if he had ever felt this distant from his brother before. It hurt, that anger that hung just beneath the surface, but he knew he was deserving. He had no pity for himself, either.
Preston felt ajar too. He had never disagreed with his brother so far that he could not see reconciliation in sight, but now, it was all darkness. This thing he had done was beyond murder. It was a massacre. At least he was not the unwitting cause of more death he couldn’t control. “I’ll be back. To see him.” Preston half-turned toward the door, stopped, and then turned back. “Who have you told?”
To see Poe, of course. The rift was great, and Shiloh wondered if it would be best to simply leave. Head back to China. Anywhere. “Only Gwen. I’ve not talked to anyone else about it.” There was a pause, a heartbeat of silence. “Give me a heads up if you’re coming by and I’ll be sure to take off.”
Preston bit off an angry retort, but just barely. He looked sharply away, but projected his voice loud enough to be heard before he moved back down the hallway. “Don’t tell anyone else. Ever. It’s dangerous, especially here.” Shiloh should already know that. They’d talked about it, in college--but didn’t matter now. Preston wasn’t sure what did. He couldn’t look again at his brother, and instead of farewell, he simply walked down the corridor, and was quickly out of sight.