Saving Silas

by SJ Himes

  Gael grimaced, thinking he was really close to becoming a stalker, but he took the path through the shops and storefronts, heading back to Boston General. The hospital loomed into view, and Gael dug out his EMS ID and clipped it to his coat collar, and he got inside and out of the public areas without a problem. He knew the way to Recovery, and Silas would be getting his own room sometime this morning, if he hadn’t already. Gael knew most of the staff by name, so finding Silas shouldn’t be too hard.

  Gael carefully drank his coffee as he ducked around a group of men in expensive coats and leather dress shoes hovering in the hall, and he took a quick look past them into the room Silas was in a few hours before. The bed was empty, the blankets strewn about, and his chart was still on the end of the bed. The IV lines were draped uselessly from their stands, and the wheelchair was still in the corner of the room.

  He hadn’t been moved to another room. Recovery rooms didn’t have in suite bathrooms. Silas walked out of the room on his own, and didn’t tell anyone. His doctors and the nurses on this floor wouldn’t have let him.

  Years of being invisible in uniform and knowing how to keep himself off the radar as a public servant lent him the ability to quickly sum up the players in the hall, and he kept going, stopping just around the corner about ten feet from Silas’ room. He could hear them all talking, and leaned back against the wall, focusing.

  “Mr. Warner, I am so sorry. Your son Silas was here. We checked him thirty minutes ago. He was sleeping, and resting comfortably. He must be confused, the medications we had him on can do that. He can’t have gotten far….”

  Warner…Somehow, somewhere he knew that name. Gael eased the slightest bit back around the corner, and was able to see the group again. Tallest man in the center. Muscular, but it was obviously muscle mass built up in a gym on a twice weekly basis instead of from actual physical labor. Late forties. Dressed the best out of the handful of men in the hall. Receding light-brown hairline, and….green eyes. His angel’s eyes.

  Silas was gone. Why? Were the men in their expensive clothing, one of them his father, the reason Silas claimed he didn’t have anyone for them to contact last night? Why would he be hiding from his own father?

  Gael pulled back, thinking. For a person to drag themselves out of a hospital bed hours after nearly dying from a gunshot wound meant there was a powerful motivator, and for the kid to make a fuss out of not having anyone for them to call when he obviously had family meant that the father was the problem. Gael could guess plenty of reasons why a young man would risk his health and safety to escape his own father, and the options left him sick to his stomach. He would worry about the why after he found his angel.

  “Find my son! He was shot, for Christ’s sake, he can’t make it too far. Does this place even have security? Morris, call the local department, I want my son found.” Warner sounded mad, but there wasn’t a frantic component to his tone that most worried parents had when their kids got hurt. He sounded…aggravated.

  Gael looked up, eyes searching. This was a split in the Recovery level, the hall to the right swinging around to more patient rooms, the hall to the left leading to the surgery suites, exam rooms, and x-ray….and the elevator to the staff exit. It emptied out in the sequestered lot the doctors and staff used.

  He headed in that direction, eyes peeled, making swift work of his search. He kept his actions subtle, not wanting to clue anyone in to the fact he was looking for someone. He smiled at the people he knew but kept going, and passed a cart full of clean scrubs, the plastic lid ajar. The pressed piles made it apparent that a pair of pants and a shirt were missing. Someone took them before the cart made it back down the hall to the doctor’s lounge.

  Gael stopped at the elevator, and was about to hit the button, but the staircase several feet away was the better option. No one used the stairs in a hospital.

  He entered the stairwell, letting the door swing shut soundlessly behind him. Gael listened, eyes shut, head tilted to the side. A scuffle, the faintest hint of a quivering breath, just below him.

  Gael opened his eyes and took the stairs down fast, keeping his footfalls as quiet as he could. He found his quarry the next level down, huddled against the wall, tears running down his bone-white cheeks, hands shaking as he tried to push the door open. He was wearing the purloined scrubs, and the dark blue color merely accentuated the pallor of the young man’s skin. Gael moved just as Silas started to fall over, and he caught him about his waist, holding his angel to his side, keeping him upright.

  Silas’ head fell back on his shoulder, and Gael found himself forgetting what he was about to say when a pair of the truest green eyes locked on to his. Every muscle in his body thrummed with electricity, and Gael held him tighter, taking his whole weight.

  “Hi, handsome,” Silas breathed out, giving him a tiny twist of a smile, eyes watering. “I’d love to make out in the staircase with you, but I kinda need to escape right now.”

  …

  When he snuck out of his room and managed to get past the nurse’s station without being seen, Silas though the rest of his well-thought out plan would be easy. Get out of the hospital and run, right?

  Wrong!

  Just putting on the scrubs he stole from the laundry cart made him want to pass out and vomit, not necessarily in that order. Getting down that single flight of stairs made him want to sit down and weep. He managed to sit down and put on his shoes, the only articles of clothing that hadn’t been thrown away, and he groaned and wept just the littlest bit when he pulled himself back to his feet and made his way down the stairs. Opening the door, its heavy metal frame impossible to move, almost took him to his knees.

  Almost.

  The man holding him securely to his side kept him on his feet, and Silas let himself rest. He didn’t even know this man’s name, but he felt…he felt safe. The way this guy looked at him, like he couldn’t believe he was real…Silas smiled.

  He never let anyone touch him like this, but dear god, did he enjoy the shit out of this man’s touch. He wanted more, he wanted everything…he wanted to escape the hospital and his father first, but he also didn’t want to let go.

  “Escape?” the bigger man asked, and sent a quick glance back up the stairs, seeming to put something together. “Your father is upstairs. Warner?”

  Silas’ eyes went wide, and he gasped, trying to pull away. He was here! Pain made him stop, and he whimpered, frustrated. The arm around his waist was like steel. He dropped his head onto the rock solid shoulder of his erstwhile rescuer, and did his best not to cry. His own shoulder hurt like hell and he just wanted to cry like he was a kid.

  “Sshhh, angel.” Lips brushed his ear, and he shivered, pressing his face to the hot bare skin revealed by the low collar of the guy’s leather jacket. A hand was in his hair, gently tugging on the strands, and Silas found himself pushing into the touch, wanting more. “Just relax, I got you.”

  “What…what are you going to do with me?” Silas asked, trying hard not to let himself whine, and he went for sexy, but it just came out pathetic. He wasn’t used to flirting with really hot older men, especially when he was drugged up and in pain.

  “Get you off your feet, for starters. Someplace warmer than a staircase.”

  “Not going back, he’ll find me.” A little bit more pathetic, but he was ready to collapse.

  “He can try.” Calm, yet with a predatory edge that made him want to hear more of that delicious voice.

  Silas lifted his head, and met the rich coffee brown eyes of the man who held him. “What do you mean?”

  “Can you trust me?” Warm eyes. Dark, but clear, and sincere. Every part of him was screaming yes to his question. Silas didn’t even know his name, and he’d never felt safer, never felt more secure than he did in that moment in this man’s arms. Every instinct, instead of telling him to run, to push him away, was saying to lean, to rest, to trust.

  “Yes.” No hesitation.

  The world spun, and Silas was up in the
air, cradled to a hard chest. He sighed, too damn exhausted to object to the damsel routine, and let himself be carried. The steel door opened when his rescuer thumped it with his hip, and Silas snuggled in closer, trying to absorb some of the other man’s heat as the late autumn wind tore through the cotton scrubs.

  “Keep your head down, and hold on.” Silas did as ordered, and wrapped his good arm around Hot Guy’s shoulder, pressing his face to his neck, and he held on. All the muscles under his hands…Long strides ate up the ground, and Silas got glimpses of parked cars, and could hear the hum of engines and tires over pavement.

  Minutes later he found himself deposited on a bench in a shuttle shelter, and Silas blinked in confusion. His rescuer hit a red button next to the seat, and with a harsh rattle and deep hum, an overhead heater kicked in. Silas looked around, and he could see the hospital in the far distance, on the other side of the huge lot. This must be a shuttle shelter for visitor parking or something, and he was lost as to why he was sitting in it.

  A large hand cupped his cheek and tilted his head up. “I’m parked two blocks away. I’m going to go get my car, since I can’t carry you through downtown, people will notice. It’s too damn cold anyway. Stay here. The shuttle runs about every thirty minutes, so I’ll be back before it gets here. Don’t talk to anyone.”

  “Okay,” Silas sighed, too tired to be upset at being ordered around. Not to mention this guy was really sexy when he used his bossy voice.

  “Promise you’ll be here when I get back?”

  “Yes,” he promised, and was gifted with a disarmingly sweet smile in return. His rescuer pulled away, and jogged with a smooth lope out to the street. Silas watched until he lost sight of the other man, and he hit the heater button again, just in case. He didn’t know why he was so certain the other man would be back, that he was going to help him, but he did.

  Absolutely.

  Maybe that bullet scrambled my brains instead of my shoulder….

  …

  Gael got to his car as fast as he could, making the two blocks in record time, doing his best not to run. Runners drew attention. He got in, and threw the heater on high. He pulled out the second there was a break in traffic, and was thankful that Black Friday meant most people were avoiding the hospital, heading instead for the stores in the historic areas.

  He made the distance back to Visitor Parking in less than two minutes, and breathed a sigh a relief to see Silas still sitting where he left him. Less sitting than leaning, but still there. He stopped the car next to the shelter, and unlocked the passenger side door, and got out.

  “You came back,” Silas said, voice small, shivering. Gael picked him up and managed to get him in his car without dropping him. Gael made sure his angel was buckled in and he put the strap behind Silas’ back, to keep pressure off his right shoulder. Hopefully they didn’t get pulled over.

  Gael got in, locked the doors, and no matter how badly his nerves screamed at him to drive fast, he took it slow and easy, so as not to draw attention. He merged with traffic, and for the second time in less than six hours, he drove away from the hospital, and pointed his car for home.

  This time with a passenger.

  Silence ruled, the heater humming loud enough to drown out any conversation. Gael turned it down once it got warm enough that he was sweating, and spared a glance at the young man next to him.

  Silas was sleeping, adorable little snores slipping out past his soft pink lips.

  Chapter Five

  The pain woke him up, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when he woke up in the hospital. Which was exactly where he wasn’t.

  Silas carefully moved his head, blinking away the cobwebs left over from the drugs and what he assumed was lethargy from losing so much blood after he got shot. He flashed back to the gun firing, a man dressed all in black standing over him, and he gasped, battling back terror. He wasn’t there anymore.

  He almost died. This was the worst school break in the history of all breaks.

  Silas let his eyes wander around the room he was in, the long leather couch he was laying on big enough to seat at least five people, the fireplace it was facing, cold and empty. The lamps in the corners of the room were lit, but on low, the golden glow providing just enough light to keep a person from tripping over furniture. Though aside from the huge couch and a large flat screen TV kitty-corner to the couch, there wasn’t much in the way of furniture. The walls were bare, and Silas could just barely make out a few pictures and small items on the mantle above the fireplace.

  There was something missing though, other than a hint of the personality of the person who lived here. His father’s house, the old Victorian showpiece, was festooned with holiday cheer, tastefully arranged by a decorator, and Silas had no doubt that the second Thanksgiving was over the Christmas decorations were ready to go. Not that his father did any of it, no. Franklin Warner hired people for that.

  The room he was in was big, and there was more than enough space for a tree or a wreath…or whatever faith his hero followed, surely he would have some kind of decorations up for the holidays? Maybe he just moved in?

  Cataloging his environment did wonders to calm his heart rate, and Silas gratefully recognized the scent of steak cooking, and onions. His stomach was so empty it was attacking his spine, and he moaned, realizing it had been a few days since he ate anything substantial. He reached up with his left arm and grabbed the top of the couch, pulling himself slowly upright. The room spun a little, and he held still until it stopped moving.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Just hearing that voice made him want to smile. Silas met the eyes of his rescuer, and his brain finally clicked.

  “You just saved my ass, and I don’t even know your name,” Silas quipped with his best smile, needing to be charming. Silas had no clue how to do that, be charming, but damnation, he was going to try.

  He was tired, achy, sore and dear-god-hungry, but all he wanted right that second was to hear this man speak. To keep him talking to him. Tall, Dark, and Dreamy was standing halfway between the kitchen and the living room, coat gone, muscled torso delightfully outlined by the dark henley he wore. This man was so far outside his usual experience that Silas had no idea what to do except go for it. He had nothing to lose, right? He’d already lost everything.

  Mr. Dreamy walked around the couch and reached down, clasping his forearm gently before tugging him to his feet, holding him steady as the room spun again. The world righted itself, and Silas breathed in the scent and heat pouring off the man standing so close to him.

  “My name is Gael Dominic,” he replied, the smile in his voice more apparent in his eyes than anywhere else, and Silas bit back a moan, not wanting to clue Gael in to just how much he affected him. He had to be still high from the drugs, he was never this affected by anyone.

  “Gael?” He did his best to pronounce it like Gael did, the subtle tug on the vowels making the name seem both exotic and strong. The bigger man had a slight accent, something Silas was having trouble identifying, and it was more noticeable when he said his own name.

  “Most people call me Gee. Too many people want Gael to be Gale, so Gee it is,” Gael told him, and Silas found himself being lead carefully away from the warm comfort of the couch and into the kitchen. “And I know your name is Silas Warner. You need to eat, and then sleep.”

  His nose was right; there was a steak smothered in sautéed onions and what looked like portabella mushrooms, and a steaming baked potato nestled in its own deep dish next to the steak. Butter and sour cream rested in a small bowl and there was an unopened bottle of ice tea, condensation running down the sides of the bottle. Silas sighed happily as he was gently guided to the small bar between the kitchen and the dining room, and he slid onto the stool and grabbed his knife and fork.

  Gael sat next him, the same setup in front of him, and Silas tore into his food. He was starving.

  “Don’t eat too fast—you’ll get sick,” Gael warned him, and Silas nodded
as he chewed. The steak was perfect—medium rare, and succulent. Silas’ whole body rejoiced in eating—except for his shoulder, but then he was too hungry to care about how it throbbed each time he cut his steak.

  He forced himself to slow down, not wanting to vomit in front of Gael. He chewed on a piece of beef while sneaking peeks at Gael out of the corner of his eye. Skin that wasn’t quite dark gold was covered sporadically in dark tattoos, and the sleeves of his shirt were pushed up past his elbows, revealing partial tattoo sleeves. Some kind of military tattoo held a huge portion of Gael’s inner right forearm, and he could see the letters CM under the gray-tone design of a sword and two snakes.

  “What does CM mean?” The question came out strangled as he swallowed, and he had to repeat it. Gael gave him a concerned look, but answered when he took a deep breath and went back to eating.

  “I was a combat medic for the army in Iraq ten years ago,” Gael said, reaching for his own ice tea, his left arm thick with muscles, and the sight of ropey veins running under black and red tattoos made it hard for Silas to swallow. Gael was going to kill him, forget dying from his injuries—the sight of Gael up close was making him want to choke.

  Silas finished his bite and risked reaching for his drink, but the motion stressed his shoulder and he froze, a sickening wave of pain almost rolling him under. His head dropped, and he panted through the pain, waiting as it receded. He swallowed back his food, hoping he wouldn’t puke in front of the hottest guy he’d ever seen.

  “Combat medic?” Silas squeaked, refusing to acknowledge how badly he was hurting. He looked up though when he felt the cold bottle moved into range of his left hand, and he gratefully pulled it in for a sip.

  “Go slow,” Gael admonished. “Drink a bit more, then I’m helping you to bed. You need sleep.”

  Silas nodded, sweat rolling down his temple, the pain now a hard throb that beat in time with his pulse. He really needed to lay down. Appetite gone, Silas leaned on the bar, mournfully eyeing the remains of his steak.