Swing Shift

by HJ Raine

  Anthony took off black plastic glasses, rubbed bloodshot brown eyes, and used the sleeve of his mostly black scrubs to clean the lenses. Ed took a moment to admire the view. Anthony's Italian heritage stood out with a beak of a nose, full lips, and dark curly hair. He was taller than Ed, and his upper body was solid enough to hold down violent patients with ease. Anthony's hands spanned an entire basketball but could fly sure and swift over intricate sutures.

  "Sorenson." The statement of Ed's name was more distant than Ed was used to hearing from Anthony. "You here for the kid from the Fashion District?" Anthony asked and tucked the reading glasses into the front pocket of his scrubs, but he looked at the floor instead of at Ed.

  The expression kicked Ed's curiosity into gear. After seeing the man wade through dozens of bleeding and moaning victims, Ed didn't think the moroseness could be because of one beaten kid.

  "Yeah. How bad is it?" Ed asked. "I have to take the now pictures, and I'll come back..."

  "In three days when the bruises are going to be really spectacular, hm?" Anthony's tone was flat, and Ed bit his lip against asking what was wrong. They'd only ever met here, during intense moments of mayhem, so it wasn't Ed's place to make any of this personal.

  It didn't help that Ed had a long-buried crush on Anthony. One of the gang turf battles had put a bullet into his partner's gut and another into Ed's upper arm. Anthony had listened intently to Ed and gotten Scott on the acute list. It had saved Scott's life, and Ed still remembered what it felt like sitting under Anthony's needle, listening to Anthony's melodic voice tell him that Scott was going to be all right.

  Tonight the place was dead quiet, and the lights were off everywhere but the nurses' station. Nearly all of the examination rooms were open and empty.

  They walked, and in the twilight Ed squinted at Anthony's shoulder. "Are those skulls?"

  "Huh?" Anthony stopped and looked down at his scrubs before snorting and moving on again. "Oh, yeah. My pirate bone scrubs."

  "Didn't think chicks dug pirates on Valentine's Day," Ed said, dryly. "Isn't it supposed to be something pink and fluffy?"

  "Lucky for Bryce, I'm on bad terms with the cherub." Anthony seemed to realize the amount of venom behind his words, and he gave an apologetic smile to Ed. "Sorry, this late into my shift, I get kind of cranky."

  "Huh. Not exactly on speaking terms with the fat baby myself," Ed murmured and grinned at the look of surprise.

  "Got left?"

  "Yeah. They hated my hours."

  Anthony grunted, "If I hear, one more time, that they don't know if I'm coming or going..."

  "How do you handle these twenty-four hour shifts? I thought twelves were bad," Ed said.

  "You nap when it's slow, and the four days off in a row are great," Anthony answered. "Or were until..."

  Anthony shrugged and stopped before a closed door. "Here we are. Knew you'd be by, so I didn't want to move him into a regular room until morning. Poor kid has a broken arm, two broken ribs, and while he isn't concussed, he did get hit hard enough on the head to stay unconscious for too long for my liking. Doc's worried about brain bruising and clotting, so wanted close observation. I'm checking on him every hour."

  "And his name's Bryce?"

  "Yeah. Bryce Anderson. Single, twenty-three, no family in the area, but his parents are flying in tomorrow. He was just shopping at James and took the wrong way home through an alley instead of hitting up a taxi."

  "Shit." Ed frowned as the expletive slipped out, and Anthony raised one dark eyebrow before knocking on the door. There was no answer, and Anthony quietly opened the door.

  The nightlight was on by the bed, and Bryce lay all the paler against white sheets and the ever-popular white cotton hospital gown. In light that wasn't the narrow glare of a flashlight, Bryce's hair looked Harry Potter brown, cut in the same manner, and it made him look all of about fifteen. His torso was bulked out, and his left arm was now in a cast and slung up above his body.

  Dark lashes fluttered open, and Bryce stared at them both blankly before he blinked again and made to sit up. Ed winced when Bryce whined with pain. Anthony moved to the kid's side in an instant.

  "Hey, hey, don't move." Anthony's hands were already gently shifting Bryce back into his old position.

  "Want to sit." Bryce's breath hissed between his teeth.

  "Sure, sure, I'll get you up. Don't have to move an inch," Anthony soothed, while he pressed the buttons for the pneumatic bed. The back lifted, and Bryce eased onto his pillows with relief.

  Ed moved closer to the bed only after Bryce was more upright, not wanting to loom. "Hi, Bryce, I'm Detective Sorenson."

  The dark eyes went wide. "You... you're the one who chased them off. I remember a shadow with a flashlight... and your voice." Bryce held out his uninjured right hand, which shivered when Sorenson shook it, but Bryce's look held a heavy dose of worship mixed with a flicker of desire. The kid suddenly looked down at his blankets with guilt marring his features.

  Ed sighed, glanced up at Anthony, realizing an apology or some version of the 'I don't think of people I work with like that any more than you do' talk was going to be due in a very short while. Ed also knew that making this personal could hurt in the long run, and professionally, it could be a real mistake if the kid blurted it to the press or the court; but he couldn't stay closeted like this.

  Ed pulled up one of the visitor's chairs and took the kid's hand in both of his own. The look on Bryce's face was only rivaled by the one on Anthony's.

  "Hey, Bryce." Ed waited until Bryce met Ed's gaze. With careful emphasis, Ed said, "It's not your fault. You never asked for it just by being you. There's gonna be some counselor in here to say the same dammed thing, but you might hear it better from another gay man." Ed let that sink in, felt Bryce's minute lean forward, before he let himself continue. "Look, being homosexual doesn't mean anyone, and I mean anyone has the fucking right to beat on you. Not in school, not at home, and certainly not on my streets. You hear me?"

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw Bryce's stunned nod echoed unconsciously by Anthony. Refusing to speculate on what that might mean, Ed tugged on Bryce's hand. "I am going after them, going to do my best to see that they not only pay for what they did to you, but understand why it was wrong." Bryce's eyes grew brighter at Ed's earnest words, and Ed realized he'd made the right decision.

  "I am, however, going to need your help. I need a statement, while it's still fresh and painful, I'm sorry to say. I'm going to take pictures of what they did to you, so we have the evidence to help a jury decide, without a doubt, that what those assholes did makes them guilty of aggravated assault with intent and a weapon.

  "It'll be easier if I can have Nurse Santoro here help you, since unlike me, he knows how human bodies are supposed to bend."

  "Damn it, call me Anthony," Anthony said, pronouncing his name AN-tony with a glint of humor. "Nurse Santoro makes me think of some fat woman with dyed flat-black hair in nurse whites, fallen arches, and a mustache she really shouldn't have."

  "And I think we're all thankful that's a misnomer," Ed said and got a fleeting grin from Bryce. "You all right with helping me out, Bryce?"

  "Yes, sir," Bryce said. "I didn't even know who they were..." he faltered. "But, I'll do what I can."

  "That's it," Ed said quietly. "That's all I'm gonna ask of you." Gently he squeezed the cold fingers lying in his hand so trustingly. "Okay, let's get started with the pictures, and you can talk when you feel like it."

  With Anthony's gentle strength and Bryce's eagerness, Ed got his photographs. Ed did his best to keep Bryce's dignity even when getting pictures of bruises on the boy's hip, left thigh, scalp, shoulder, arm, and ribs. He remonstrated himself gently for not getting here before the casts had gone on, but in three days the full extent of the damage would be glaringly apparent.

  As they positioned Bryce's slender frame for the pictures, Bryce found his voice and gave them the appallingly
simple story of just wanting to treat himself to a shopping trip instead of sitting alone at home on Valentine's Day. On trying to talk about the beating itself, Bryce broke down and cried.

  When Bryce reached for Ed, he didn't have the heart to refuse and ended up with an armful of sobbing young man. The good thing was that in the shelter of Ed's arms Bryce managed to corroborate the general physical characteristics of all three perpetrators, even down to the Greek letters on the breast. Anthony wrote it all down in Ed's notebook in slashing lines of penciled script. Finally, exhausted with weeping and pain, Bryce nodded off in Ed's arms. Ed glanced at Anthony, who grinned at him.

  "Help me out here?"

  "Why?" Anthony looked far too smug. "You look good with him in your arms. You sure you're not gonna ask him out?"

  "Anthony..." The warning in Ed's voice only made Anthony's white teeth flash brighter. A soft, sleepy murmur of protest from Bryce pained Ed, and he was suddenly in no mood to play. "Come on, bastard."

  "Okay, okay..." Anthony's hands went out in a placating gesture, and he soon had Bryce nestled into blankets again, the bed down flat, and the arm back in its sling.

  "There now, safe and sound." Anthony brushed a gentle touch against Bryce's brown hair, and the boy sighed and relaxed in his sleep.

  Silently, trying to squash a sudden longing for Anthony to touch him like that, Ed gathered up all his equipment. Suitably burdened, Ed followed Anthony out the door, only to see the same glower Anthony had greeted Ed with at the entrance to the department. After the intimacy of what they'd just done together for Bryce, Ed's sense of propriety snapped.

  "What the hell is wrong with you tonight, Anthony?" Ed asked, exasperated.

  Anthony stopped and frowned at Ed, before moving into one of the open private rooms and closing the door after them. Ed set all his stuff on the floor, expecting a tirade or an accusation, but to Ed's utter frustration, Anthony just stood there, looking at the floor.

  Ed stepped in closer, and their differences in height allowed him to look up into dark eyes. He tried to channel his father's sternness. "Come on, man, out with it."

  "Do you like the boy?" Anthony threw in from way out in left field.

  But it was a ball, and Ed knew how to catch. "Like him like a little brother I want to protect."

  "But you cannot always protect him, you know, no matter how brave your protests." The dark gaze was sober, and Anthony's big hands gathered into tight fists. "You cannot protect us all."

  Ed would have preferred getting hit to hearing that bit of truth. He frowned and then realized the pronoun Anthony had used. Us. He searched Anthony's eyes and found a sardonic glint in their dark depths. Ed had used more encouraging words to help Bryce, but he could tell Anthony needed all the honesty Ed could offer.

  "No. Not really," Ed admitted and tried to ignore how his body started to shake. "I can't stop them all. Three boys with baseball bats, one angry man with a gun, or hell, one smarter person with a knife who knew how to hide in a dark alley. I can't stop any of it. Especially when some kid makes such a target of himself."

  Anthony nodded. "That could have been us, if we were not so well hidden."

  The silence between them ached, and Ed swallowed both triumph and fear at being allowed under Anthony's armor. Suddenly, Ed found himself angry that they had to have armor at all.

  "Fuck hiding," Ed spat.

  Not having any idea what he was doing, Ed moved in flush to Anthony and put his arms around the heavy torso. To his utter relief, Anthony didn't strike him or pull away in disgust. Instead, strong arms pulled him into an embrace. Ed suddenly found himself clutching at Anthony as if the big Italian was his sole anchor in a completely crazy world, and maybe, in a way, Anthony was exactly that.

  Ed caught the glint of one dark eye, and he turned at the same instant Anthony did. Lips collided in a hungry mesh of mouths. Teeth bit, and tongues dueled in a slick lash of wet muscle. Ed's eyes closed, and he blindly followed when Anthony backed up to lean against something. Anthony pulled Ed closer until their hips ground in that oldest of dances. Dizzy when blood flow headed south and reveling in the meeting of his strength with strength, Ed stroked soft cotton scrubs, grabbed Anthony's tight ass, and groaned when he felt Anthony's thickening desire through thin cloth.

  "Damn..." Anthony swore when they broke the kiss, both breathless and panting. "Damn... damn... damn..."

  "I'm on duty," they both said in exact synchronicity.

  Eyes wide, Anthony started to laugh, and Ed helplessly followed him.

  "Shit. That's why they always leave us," Ed said and put his forehead on Anthony's shoulder, felt a big hand stroke through his hair and down his back with exactly the tenderness he'd longed to feel.

  "Ah mercy, no wonder..." Anthony hugged Ed, and then they both backed up a few inches to look at each other. "You okay, Sorenson?"

  "God damn it, Anthony. If I have to call you that whole thing, and not just Tony..." Ed grinned at Anthony's decisive shake of shaggy hair. "Didn't think so, but after that taste of heat you have to call me Ed."

  "Ed." Anthony frowned over the syllable and released Ed. "Is it short for Edward?"

  Ed, ignoring the feeling of loss, straightened out his tie and suit. "Yes."

  "Then I shall call you Edward. It befits your dignity, I think," Anthony said, with a smile. He reached over and flipped Ed's collar straight. "There. You are now presentable for what is left of the night. When are you off?"

  "In an hour. Midnight. And you?"

  "Eight in the morning." Anthony weighed the possibilities. "My shift officially ends at seven, but I have to transfer all the cases, and I want to make sure Bryce gets moved comfortably before I go."

  "Breakfast?"

  "We could meet at Alfie's on 22nd?"

  "We could..." Ed hesitated, but he saw a smile quirk at the corner of Anthony's mobile mouth. Part of him panicked at the thought of bringing anyone into his one room apartment, but he had a feeling Anthony would understand Ed's Spartan tastes. "I live half a block east of Alfie's, and I have breakfast ingredients, a shower, and a... uhm... bed if you want it."

  Anthony cocked a dark eyebrow. "I want," he purred in obvious greed. "I'll be there at eight-thirty."

  Ed spent the rest of his shift in a blur of efficiency. He turned in the evidence, wrote and filed his report on the Anderson case, and even did some research into Waters after Judge Reynold's odd reaction.

  After reading a stack of articles, Ed sat back and put tired feet on his desk. Waters was publically gay and lived with his lover, but that had nothing to do with Judge Reynold's respect for the man. The records showed that Waters was a retired veteran of the security detail guarding the most influential people in the country. He had passed the federal government's toughest requirements and had literally thrown his life in the way of assassins' bullets, even when everyone knew that some of those highly placed officials wanted to see Waters burn in hell for his orientation.

  That led Ed's thinking to Maxwell Clark, decorated veteran and now the owner of Glow, the bar where he'd met Waters. Another man who was publically gay and not any more or less vulnerable than Waters.

  A knock sounded on the surface of Ed's desk, and he started out of his reverie. Adams stood there, watching him.

  "Lost in thought there," Adams noted.

  "Yes, sir," Ed said and put his feet on the floor.

  Adams pulled up a chair, and Ed braced himself. "Wanted to say I'm sorry I outted you earlier."

  "Uhm..." Ed wasn't quite sure what to say in answer.

  "But I'm not really that sorry." Adams shifted, widening his stance. "Because we need you as you are."

  Ed cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

  "You're working Mirbest, where we have the greatest density of homosexuals in the City," Adams said frankly. "And we've got one of the lowest crime reporting records of all the precincts."

  "I thought it was because with all that wealth a
nd security, we didn't get that much crime." Ed frowned when Adams shook his head.

  "Nah, there's been studies, and we're still lower than we should be even with that taken into account. The experts are sayin' it's 'cause, on the most part, they don't think it's useful to talk to us when something does happen." Adams pursed his lips. "Or it's cases where, like with your boy tonight, they're too scared or too ashamed to do the full run-up. I saw your report; it's dead solid. I want you to do more, if you're willing."

  "What? You mean let everyone know I'm queer, too?" Ed used the label deliberately. It felt both good and strange to take ownership of it.

  "Yeah, exactly like that," Adams said with a chuckle. "Up front and proud of it, and just as proud as you are when you're protecting and serving this city."

  Ed took a deep breath and felt the burn through his whole body at Adams' words. Ed was proud of his record, proud of the fact that he did his job well, but the idea of being proud of his orientation in that same way floored him. Ed suddenly realized that Adams would never have proposed this if the whole of the NAPD wasn't going to stand behind Ed and his disclosure. That by doing this, the whole of the West Side detective division was going to be climbing out on a limb with him.

  "Think about it, okay, son?" Adams asked and stood up to put the chair away.

  Ed got up too and went around his desk. Adams raised one eyebrow when Ed stuck his hand out. "Sir, I'm willing to come out with the Anderson case, if that fits your plan."

  Adams grinned and shook Ed's hand. "Sure does, and thanks, son. We'll back you up."

  "I'm counting on it," Ed said softly and watched Adams stroll away with the gait of a long-time patrolman. "I'm counting on it."

  Eight hours later, Ed had gotten home, picked up, showered, napped, and dragged himself out of bed with the alarm he set for seven-thirty. He blessed his choice of living in the heart of the city when he managed to find a dozen assorted pastries, excellent European coffee for his vacuum flask, and a newspaper within a block of his apartment. The weak winter sunlight felt good and the wind had died down. The sidewalks were filled with morning commuters, but Ed slipped through like a fish in water and made his way to the sidewalk flower vendor at the base of his apartment.