testdog65 (testdog65) wrote in qaf_challenges, @ 2007-02-20 19:36:00 |
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Original poster: _alicesprings
Title: It Would Take A Miracle
Written By: asm614
Timeline: Post-513, about a year or slightly less
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst
Summary: An introductory chapter of sorts, with future parts to come. Justin returns to Pittsburgh as Brian's life hovers in a precarious position.
Author's Notes: This has turned out to be a work in progress, so it is a finished segment, but not a finished story. Thanks to shadownyc, _kiden and mclachlan, who provided feedback on its initial version.
You never thought you'd find yourself in a position where you'd have to watch Brian fight for his life. You definitely never thought you'd have to do it twice.
The cancer hadn't really been an extreme case, in the grand scheme of things; Brian had been mostly out of the woods by the time you'd found out, and then you only had to deal with the nasty side effects of his treatment.
This time, the only indication you have that he's still alive in his comatose state is the steady blip of his heart monitor, as it bounces up and down on the screen next to his bed. Reflecting on this for a moment, you force a bitter laugh. It proves to the world what you've always known – Brian Kinney does indeed have a heart.
It was a drunk driver who hit him that night, totaling the Vette. He'd been on his way home from Babylon when the SUV plowed into the driver's side of the car, leaving Brian with a ruptured spleen, cracked pelvis, diffuse axonal injury resulting in brain swelling, and enough bruises and gashes to make his entire body appear discolored. He's damn lucky he made it out alive. Barely. And every time the respirator makes his chest rise and fall with its sickening whoosh of air, you remember how precariously he's teetering between life and death.
While you're relieved that you weren't in the car, you know you'd give anything to change this, to trade places… to leave Brian before he has the chance to leave you. But then you think maybe you already kind of did that, and maybe this never would've happened if you hadn't.
You wish you hadn't been in New York when you got the call. Maybe there never would've been a call if you'd been in Pittsburgh with him. But people have been reminding you left and right that now's not the time for what-ifs. It doesn't change the man lying before you in the bed, his aesthetic perfection a distant memory of the past.
Ben had been the one elected to call you to deliver the news, and now that you're back, you can understand why. You don't think anyone else could've handled it.
Michael's been walking around like a zombie, and you wish Mel and Lindsay would come down from Toronto for a few days. Seeing J.R. would give him something positive to focus on, and Lindsay and Gus could be there when Brian wakes up. When.
Ted has been by to visit once in the eighteen hours since Brian's hospitalization, but he's flustered and scared, just like everyone else. No one has ever seen Brian in such a vulnerable, helpless state.
However, Ted's promised that he and Cynthia will see to it that Kinnetik will be looked after in Brian's absence. Emmett and Hunter have been in and out periodically.
However, ever since Ben picked you up at the airport, you haven't left the bedside, lightly holding lifeless fingers in your palm. You hope that one of these times, when you squeeze his fingers, there will be some kind of response, though the doctors have warned you that it may be involuntary, if at all.
"Here Sunshine, have something to eat," Debbie encourages, pressing a warm container into your hands. You didn't even hear her walk in. You inhale the steam and realize that this time, you can't taste the
sodium. When you force yourself to tear your eyes away from Brian's face, you see that she's brought you a thermos of homemade vegetable soup instead of the vending machine chicken soup you've been relying on over the past few hours.
"Thanks," you say quietly, taking a small sip, even though you're not really hungry at all. Your eyes return to the form on the bed in front of you.
"Any change?" Debbie asks softly, pulling a hard plastic chair alongside yours.
"No… he hasn't shown any responsiveness so far," you sigh. Your gaze keeps settling on the purplish yellow bruises marring almost the entire left side of his face. The doctor says it probably happened by the force of his own arm as he tried to shield himself from the crash.
"I never thought I'd see him like this."
"I know how you feel, honey," Deb replies, gently stroking the back of your scalp with her fingernails. You find it to be comforting, though her words sadden you because you know she's had more than her share of tragedy. It's been barely more than a year since Michael was in a bed on the exact same floor, and Brian has told you about all the time Debbie spent in the hospital with Vic.
"He'd never believe he could look like this," you laugh a little.
"Maybe I should take a picture to show him when he wakes up."
Debbie smiles sadly. "That's a good idea, sweetie."
You know you're both wondering if he'll wake up, but neither of you will entertain the thought aloud. As much as youre trying to stay optimistic, at this point, it seems like it would take a miracle. The doctors have tried to remain encouraging, but you can see the doubt in their eyes, their polite smiles, as if they're hesitant to give you too much hope.
You know that to some, the picture idea would sound completely morbid, but deep down, you feel like Brian Kinney would never allow that to be the last picture ever taken of him. He'd have to find his way back to save his reputation.
"They even shaved part of his head for that," you gesture at the tube protruding from the right side of his skull, just above his forehead. When you'd asked, the nurse explained that it was a probe used to monitor his intracranial pressure from the brain swelling.
Emmett had been there and lightly joked, "After all this time, whoever would've thought that Brian's head actually wasn't big enough?" You'd forced a laugh, because otherwise, you would've cried.
Debbie's quiet for a few moments, and the only sound is the gentle whirring of the monitors and machines that are keeping Brian alive. Finally, she speaks. "Honey, why don't you go home and get some sleep? We'll take turns with him. He won't be alone for a second."
You appreciate her thought and gestures, but you can't bear the thought of leaving, of walking back into the loft without him there. You could go to your mom's, but she'd fuss over you, and in all honesty, if you can't be with Brian, you don't want to be with anyone else. You're staying, and you tell her so. She simply nods, and you know she gets it.
After another half hour or so, she stands. "I'm going to leave for awhile, but I'll be back later," she tells you. "You'll call me if there's a change?"
"Of course," you assure her. She kisses your cheek and gives Brian's hand a squeeze, then with a wave and a watery smile, she's gone and you're alone again.
You continue to watch Brian, hoping for some sign that he's still in there, a twitch, a sigh, anything. He still hasn't completely cleared the 24-hour window of his coma, but that he's still holding on gives you hope. The mess of tubes connecting to various IVs and the fucking life support makes it hard.
You stand up and lean over his form, placing a kiss on one lone unmarred patch of forehead. He doesn't react. You lean toward his ear, and with as much force as you can muster, you murmur, "Don't you even fucking think about leaving me."
...TBC