by Abigail Roux
A survey of the room showed that all the windows were shut. But the window near the fire escape in the bedroom wasn’t. It was open a few inches, letting in the frigid winter air. Julian’s blood ran just as cold, and he moved through the apartment with even more care, searching the shadows for anything untoward before he closed and locked the window.
The bedroom was dark and empty except for a little spill of light coming from the bathroom door in the corner. The room behind the screens was heavily shadowed, what with the blinds drawn and the fireplace cold. Clothes lay scattered messily across the floor rather than neatly tucked away as usual, and pillows and quilts sagged off the end and sides of the mussed, empty bed. All that was very unlike the normally tidy Cameron. Julian headed for the light, investigating quickly as he moved toward the bathroom.
“Cameron!” Julian finally called out as he pushed open the bathroom door.
His lover sat on the floor, crumpled against the wall, a fever-flushed cheek pressed against the decorative tile. Each breath rattled as he pulled in air and caught on a thick rasp as he exhaled. There were several prescription bottles on the counter, a couple knocked over into the sink, along with an open bottle of codeine cough syrup and a sticky spoon.
“Jesus,” Julian breathed as he lunged toward the man and took his face in his hands. An odd mixture of intense relief and increased worry struck Julian hard. “Cameron?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?” he asked as his cold hands burned where they met Cameron’s skin.
Cameron gave a weak whimper and blindly leaned against the cool skin that touched his cheeks.
“Did you take all this medicine?” Julian asked as he set his gun on the tile floor and reached into his jacket to grab his phone.
Dragging his bloodshot eyes open, Cameron looked around dazedly, drawn from his fevered sleep by the voice. “Julian?” His voice was mangled and hoarse, and the words came out broken. “You’re here?”
“I was worried,” Julian answered as he dialed the phone. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he told Cameron firmly.
“Doctor said I’m sick,” Cameron rasped weakly, slumping against the wall. “Gave me medicine.”
“Your doctor should be shot,” Julian spat angrily. He held the phone to his ear and spoke Cameron’s address curtly before hanging up. “Come on,” he urged as he tried to help Cameron to his feet.
“Where’re we going? I’m too tired,” Cameron protested helplessly. “Can’t breathe.”
“Hospital,” Julian murmured.
Cameron wavered for a moment before he moved. He was part-way up when his breath caught, starting a terrible coughing fit, and his legs gave out under him as he tried to clear his lungs and throat. Julian caught him and held him as the coughs wracked his body. Once the fit ebbed, Julian hefted him up into his arms, carrying him out of the bathroom.
Although Cameron was smaller, it still wasn’t easy for Julian to carry him out of the apartment and down the stairs. Julian was certain it was adrenaline that made it possible; he could feel it coursing through him as he moved. While it would have been easier, a fireman’s carry would surely have made Cameron’s condition worse, and Julian couldn’t bear the thought of tossing Cameron over his shoulder like that.
When the sharp cold outside struck them, Cameron flinched in his arms and tried to suck in a breath, moaning aloud. The chill against his hot skin must have been painful, because he started shivering violently, and Julian wanted nothing more than to hold him close and keep him warm.
A sleek black Lexus pulled up in front of the building just as they exited, and Julian carried Cameron to it. A thin, light-haired man jumped out of the driver’s door and hurried to help him.
“Closest hospital, Preston,” Julian ordered quietly as they struggled to get Cameron into the back-seat quickly. The driver nodded and hurried back to slip behind the steering wheel. Julian shut the back door and pulled Cameron to him, cradling his head in his lap and struggling to get out of his heavy coat so he could cover Cameron with it.
Cameron opened his glazed eyes again. “Julian?” he asked, like he didn’t remember that they’d just spoken a few minutes ago. He stopped to fight his way through a couple breaths. “Is it Tuesday?”
“It is,” Julian answered gently.
“Couldn’t call,” Cameron rasped as his head lolled in Julian’s lap. “No number.”
Julian’s apology was an agonized whisper.
One of Cameron’s hands crept up to press lightly against Julian’s chest, and he lapsed back into a fitful doze.
Julian covered him with his coat and rubbed at his shoulders as the car whipped through the city at worrying speeds. He paid it no mind. Preston was a professional. The only thing Julian worried about was Cameron.
It was quiet in the hospital room now that the doctors and nurses had come and gone. Tucked into the bed, Cameron looked pale and even smaller than usual with the oxygen tube set in his nose and the IV in his arm. He was out cold, drugged to the gills—both to counteract the drugs he’d been given by the Convenient Care doctor and to treat what was really wrong.
Pneumonia, the doctors said, and a really bad case of it.
X-rays confirmed the fluid filling Cameron’s lungs, and it had worried the doctors enough that he had been admitted immediately. They’d even considered a breathing tube. Now, with Cameron settled, Julian paced restlessly in the hospital room, his overcoat and scarf trailing behind him like a supervillain’s cape as he prowled.
Long minutes passed before a nurse came in to check Cameron’s vitals again. She paused just inside the door, surprised to see the dark-clad man there. “Hello?”
“How is he?” Julian asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
The nurse gave him a look and went to check the machines hooked up to Cameron. “He’s just fine,” she told him. “Reacting well to the medicine and resting easy.” She looked back at Julian in slight annoyance but then seemed to notice the tension in him. “You don’t have to stay. I promise we’ll take good care of him,” she offered.
“I have nothing more important to do,” Julian responded without tearing his eyes away from Cameron.
Her expression softened. “You may be more comfortable in the chair,” she said. “There’s a cafeteria downstairs; it’s open twenty-four hours. Don’t you get sick too,” she scolded gently as she left the room.
Julian meant to murmur a thank-you as she left the room, but his attention was all on Cameron. He moved closer, his mouth dry and his chest tight. Cameron’s face was still, drawn, and shadowed. Even asleep, he looked exhausted. Julian reached to touch him but stopped before his fingers made contact. It wouldn’t do to wake him.
He examined Cameron carefully, feeling sick over just the thought of what might have happened. He moved impulsively and this time ran his fingers gently through Cameron’s hair. Heat still radiated from him, despite how pale he looked. Deep in the drug-induced sleep, he was totally relaxed against the mattress.
“Don’t you do this to me again,” Julian whispered to him. He’d faced many things in his life that most people never faced, but he was not immune to terror. He’d discovered tonight that being scared for someone you cared about was an entirely different animal from simply fearing for your own life and limb.
He turned slightly when he felt someone else enter the room. “Shall I park in the overnight lot, sir?” Preston asked him in the same soft tone Julian usually used.
“No,” Julian answered with a shake of his head. “You may go for the night, Preston. Thank you for your speed.”
“Yes, sir,” the man murmured with a nod of his head. “Will he be okay?”
Julian simply nodded and turned back around.
Soft footsteps shifted a little outside the door, and the nurse re-entered just after Preston departed. She looked at Julian sympathetically as she moved closer and changed one of Cameron’s IV bags.
“You’re Mr…?”
“Bailey,” Julian answered softly as
he watched her hands move. He’d slipped enough bags of tainted saline past hospital security to know how it was done, and he found he couldn’t quite bring himself to trust anyone completely. Definitely not with Cameron’s health and safety.
“Mr. Bailey. Visiting hours are over at eight for non-family members,” she said. “So from now on, you’re his brother,” she advised.
“Thank you,” Julian said to her sincerely as he looked back at Cameron and chewed worriedly on his lower lip.
“I’ll be in every couple hours to check on him. He should sleep well into tomorrow.” She gave him another smile and left just as quietly as she’d come.
Julian stood for several more moments before he gently took Cameron’s hand and sank into the chair beside the bed to wait.
The night passed mostly undisturbed, and although the noise around them picked up come morning, the closed door to the room kept most of it out as the sun reached the angle to shine in the window and fall across the blanket that covered Cameron.
Julian slumped in the chair next to the bed, finally having fallen asleep just thirty minutes before sunrise. He jerked awake and sat up as the sun hit him, blinking away the grogginess as he looked around. When he relaxed and looked back down, Cameron was watching him.
“Hi,” Julian greeted in surprise.
Cameron’s mouth opened just enough that he could moisten his lower lip with his tongue. His reply was barely audible. “Hi.”
“You scared me,” Julian whispered immediately, unable to think of anything else to say.
Cameron’s eyes widened slightly. “Sorry,” he whispered, fingers tightening on the blanket.
Julian reached up and ran his fingers through Cameron’s hair. “Go back to sleep,” he urged softly.
Eyes fluttering, Cameron turned his head just slightly against Julian’s fingers. He pulled in a very slow breath, his lungs still clogged with fluid. “Okay,” he managed in a thread of his normal voice before dropping off quickly.
Julian watched him silently as he felt the minutes ticking by, knowing he needed to leave very soon. Finally, he stood up and turned around to find Preston standing silently in the doorway.
“Your appointment, sir,” the man reminded. Julian nodded.
Cameron slept peacefully, half in the sunshine. He was still pale and very ill, but something about him looked better. Julian watched him longingly for a moment, and then he swept out of the room with Preston at his heels.
Julian rested his head against the damp brick wall behind him and closed his eyes. Preston stood beside him, calmly loading a spare clip as they waited.
“I’m certain you could postpone your appointment until tomorrow, sir,” Preston said softly as the clink of each round snapping into the clip echoed through the early morning.
“We know where he is right now,” Julian argued without opening his eyes. “We won’t tomorrow.”
“We’ll know again soon,” Preston pointed out confidently.
Julian opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to look at his companion. The man’s icy blue eyes were as emotionless as ever, but Julian knew him well enough to see a hint of worry in his expression.
“You’re tired,” Preston observed as he pushed the last round into the clip and slid it into his pocket. “Mistakes could be made.”
Julian nodded distractedly. He was thinking more of Cameron lying unconscious in the hospital than about the job at hand. Which was bad, to say the least.
The man they targeted wasn’t atypical, as far as Julian’s targets went. He was crooked and probably skimming off the wrong people. He’d definitely pissed someone off. He was nervous and paranoid. He had bodyguards. He had security coming out his ass. He took a different route to work every morning, and he split his nights between four different condos throughout the city.
Julian didn’t know what he did or why he needed to be confronted. His job today was not to kill the man. They were there to scare him and drive him further into his shell. From the little Julian had observed of him, they were probably going to cause a nervous breakdown. But mental defects as the end result of his work were not his problem. Whether the man ended up six feet under or in therapy was not his concern unless his orders specifically said to put him there.
“Sir?” Preston prodded gently.
Julian nodded and rubbed his tired eyes, trying to banish the vision of Cameron from them so he could focus on work. “You know the plan?” he asked hoarsely.
“Yes, sir. It’s not a very good one,” Preston observed neutrally.
“We’re taking a few shots at him to scare him. It takes more skill to miss intentionally than it does to hit the target,” Julian reminded.
“If we’re attempting to make ourselves look second-rate then why not simply lob a bottle of flaming vodka at his car and run away?” Preston asked in a flat voice.
“Because with my luck, we’d actually kill the bastard,” Julian answered grimly. He checked his weapon, a hot automatic he’d bought off a jittery man in the back of a stolen van several nights before. Anything they could do with this job to make it look amateur, they had done. “Ready?” he asked his companion.
“Yes, sir, by all means,” Preston drawled as he pulled a black ski mask over his head. “Let’s go get shot at.”
Cameron stuck his thumb in the book and closed it as he reached out to pick up the glass of ice water and take a careful swallow. He set it down with a wince and let his head fall back against the raised mattress behind him, surprised at how tired even that simple action made him.
He felt better even though he was still weak, and his chest still hurt so badly. Miri had come by to catch him up on what was going on at the restaurant and with the dogs. He caught her looking at him funny a few times, but she never said anything. He was too tired to try to figure out why. She’d brought him a few books, a top-secret ramekin of crème brûlée from the pastry chef, and a promise to visit again very soon.
So he’d slept and then slept some more. He’d read a little bit and even managed to get some food down since the nurses wanted to take out the IV line sooner rather than later. He grimaced. It just hurt so much to swallow. He sighed and looked out the window at the cityscape, his mind wandering.
When he turned his attention back to the room, Julian’s large shadow darkened the doorway. Cameron’s breath caught, and he swallowed on the cough that threatened. “Hey,” he managed to rasp.
“Hello,” Julian returned as he cocked his head in familiar fashion and looked around the room warily. His cheekbone was badly scuffed, and his eyes appeared shadowed and dark. He looked exhausted. “How are you?” he asked.
“A little better,” Cameron said in his ruin of a voice. He peered at Julian, seeing the marks on his face and the slump of his broad shoulders. “Are you okay?” He gestured to his own eye to echo what he saw on Julian.
“Better now,” Julian answered quietly as he moved into the room, a slight limp slowing him. He didn’t otherwise outwardly acknowledge the purpose of the question.
Cameron didn’t move. He simply tracked Julian’s movement with his eyes and frowned slightly. Julian was hurt; that much was obvious. “Better?” He sounded like he didn’t quite believe him.
“Seeing you,” Julian clarified. “I worried for you.”
The corner of Cameron’s mouth quirked up. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t exactly plan on getting sick.”
Julian shook his head as he took Cameron’s hand and sat on the edge of the bed. “When do you get to go home?”
Cameron curled his fingers through Julian’s. “Couple days, maybe,” he said. “Nurse says I’m doing good.” He swallowed hard, but had to cough. It was still a hacking, painful sound.
Julian scowled and nodded, looking around the room again. “I see you’ve had visitors,” he observed.
Cameron’s free fingers brushed over the book. “Blake came by this morning. And Miri too.”
“She may well have saved you,” Julian informed
him.
“She got me here?” Cameron asked, not remembering much of anything from the past couple days.
Julian looked down at the floor sadly and then up at Cameron with a weak smile. “In a way.”
Cameron shook his head slightly. “In a way? She did or didn’t. Don’t remember, but I thought I was carried.” He looked at Julian speculatively. “Miri couldn’t do that.”
“No,” Julian agreed readily.
Cameron turned his head against the pillow so he could see Julian better. “You can,” he whispered.
