Sidestory:
Torqueo
The nurses often wondered how she could bear it, sitting by his bedside hour after long hour, staring blankly as she watched him go through coma massage, quiet as a mouse. Sometimes they saw her reading, and as they'd encouraged her, a lot of the time she just talked. Other times - most times - she just stared, the first two fingers on her right hand laid very gently on the boy's wrist, just above the IV.
At the moment, she wasn't touching him; the redhead was making an attempt to read a textbook, pencilling rude notes in the margins as she kept up running commentary on what she was reading.
"Y'know, biology was boring this year. You took biology? I never asked. You seem more of an economics person, anyway. Bet you you fainted when you had to dissect something. Y'know, cutting up the dead rats was the best bit. Or maybe I've gotten it entirely wrong and you were a complete bloodthirsty bastard, huh, Tibbs?"
For a tantalizing moment the question hung in the air as if the figure on the bed were merely sleeping and would wake up and answer, but there was no response from that direction. Instead, a friendly voice answered from the door, "We had frogs, not rats, but Tibbs made a good show of throwing the entrails at me anyway. Very brave of him," the interloper added in mock seriousness.
Jace looked up, and a wan smile spread over her face. She was getting thinner every day, obviously so; her grey eyes had dark smudgy shadows beneath and her face was gaunt. "Oh. Hey, Thomas." She leant back in her wheelchair. "He seems the type to throw entrails everywhere. Knew it... Come for a visit?"
"Don't mind if I do." He sauntered into the room with the manner of someone who is comfortable in any situation, but there was something hollow in his movements; he was simply going through the motions. In reality, he found the hospital scene very disturbing. It wasn't just the fact that his best friend was lying there in a coma, it was the sight of the living girl keeping vigilance at his bedside and the way the life seemed to drain out of her bit by bit. Damn you, Tibby, thought Thomas, you're dying and you're taking her with you. Can't you see that? But Tibby couldn't, of course, and Thomas knew better than to speak ill of the comatose boy. It would only throw Jace into deeper despair. "So," he finally managed, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt, "how are you holding up?"
"Pretty damn shitty." Her voice was soft. "Especially since - " Jace cut herself off, shaking her head, crimson spikes falling over her face. Angrily, she brushed them out of her eyes. "... They say that when he wakes up, he's going to have a case of mushbrain. Light's on, but nobody's inside and drinking tea."
The words came down like a lead weight on Thomas's shoulders. He fumbled for the chair near the hospital door and collapsed in a heavy heap. He suddenly felt a good deal older than eighteen. And yet, in a way he felt so much younger, because he could think of nothing to say.
"I'd kick his limey ass if that happened." Jace managed to let out something that was supposed to be a weak chuckle but more like a sob. "I mean, he's got Oxford to go to. He'd be so pissed off."
"Eurgh," said Thomas, choking on his own saliva. He wrung his hands together. This made it all the harder to tell Jace the reason he was here. "Eurgh," he managed again.
Jace wheeled her chair over to Thomas, hands simply folded in her lap. "Look, Britboy. I promise. Tibby won't die, okay?" There was a slightly crazed edge to her dark-grey eyes, and Thomas could tell she sincerely believed what she was saying. "I won't let him. He... he just can't. He can't die now. So don't you go all angsty on me, all right?" She expelled a shuddery sigh. "Besides, you... you knew the bastard better than anyone."
"Yeah," Thomas sighed in relief, running his fingers through his hair. "He's a fighter. His football team won the regionals twice in a row with him at the lead." That seemed to cheer them both a bit.
Suddenly, there was a soft rapping at the door and a nurse leaned her head in, looking meaningfully at Thomas. "They're here," she said.
"Just give me a minute," he replied. The nurse seemed to understand and slipped back out into the hallway. Then Thomas turned to Jace. "Jace, I, uh, do you want to go for a walk?"
The redhead raised a crimson eyebrow. "Who's here, Willoughby?"
Thomas floundered once again. "I-- well, y'see..." He took a deep breath. "It's Tibby's parents. They just arrived at the hospital from the airport. And, well, the nurses thought it'd be best if we weren't, y'know..." He looked up at last, locking eyes. "Here."
Jace looked as though somebody had just slugged her very hard in the stomach, the reality of the situation smacking her over the head once again. Tibby's parents. Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Oh, sweet zombie Jesus. She didn't quite know why, but the entire prospect made something deep inside her twist and she nodded in hasty, slightly bewildered agreement.
"Geez," she managed to grumble. "Nobody around here tells me - anything-. Right. Walk." Jace sucked in a breath, looking up at Thomas with surprisingly huge eyes, innocent and almost childish. "Are they... going to take him back to a British hospital?"
"I don't know," Thomas admitted. "We'd just better leave, let them figure it out." He sounded just as wounded as she did. "We can go up to the roof. It should be a nice sunset."
Jace gritted her teeth, a nervous habit quite obviously learnt from Tibby, and nodded. With a sigh, she readied her wheelchair again, hands sure on the wheels. "I can live without sunsets. Too many memories. C'mon, Thomas."
Thomas followed her out of the room, mouth pursed into a thin line. He didn't care where they went, so long as it wasn't here. He could hear footsteps approaching from the direction of the hospital entrance and a woman's sobbing. He never looked back. He couldn't.
"So where to, Jace?"
Jace aimlessly meandered down the corridor in her wheelchair before reaching the end of it; an out-of-the-way dead end, it just consisted of a backway stairwell and a window. She leant her cheek against the glass, watching the city's skyline slowly deepen into orange and pink hues as the sun went down.
"What was he like?" she asked suddenly. "To you. You know, when you two were alone."
Thomas took a moment to think about how he could respond to that. "He was... he was a good mate. Funny. Used to make us all laugh. He could be dead serious, too, but most of the time we were laughing. And so uptight all the time, too!" Thomas chuckled at the memory. "He'd have his way of doing things, and that would always be the right way. Not because it was his, but just because he always did things right. 'Perfect Parfett' we called him. He always took it good- naturedly. And--" his voice dropepd conspiratorially-- "he had a helluva kick for football."
She gave a small laugh, rather tired and tiny. "Y'know, I never pegged him for soccer. Only later, when he told me. He walked like an athlete, though." Jace's voice trailed off, suddenly frustrated. "I can't believe that we're talking about him in the past-tense already. I'm not going to give up on him."
"No, not at all," Thomas quickly agreed. "Tibby'll be back on the field in no time. And then we'll all go out and get some Italian. Or pizza?" There was almost a perceptible twinkle in Thomas's eyes as he said that.
Her cheeks quickly went raspberry. "And how much did he damn well tell you about the pizza?"
"Oh, nothing," replied Thomas, quickly looking away in a vain attempt to hide the smirk on his face. Feeling Jace's eyes on her back, and perhaps sensing her rising intent to murder, he added, "Tibbs was-- is my best mate, not to mention my roomie. We don't keep many secrets."
"Oh, great." Her cheeks were, if possible, even redder, voice sardonic to try and mask her embarrassment. "Was I apparently any good?"
Very seriously, "Gentlemen don't tell, not even to their mates."
"And Tibby was a gentleman." Jace's voice was almost dreamy, though she smirked. "And he was really, really sexy naked - "
"Oh? I bet I've seen 'is bum ten times more than you have!" retorted Thomas.
"Thank you for that mental image, you retard. I did not need to think about you and him engaging in hot mansex. Unless I was filming it." She looked towards Tibby's hospital room, looking subdued again. "I don't think they're going to finish any time soon."
"I'll walk you home," suggested Thomas, holding up two bus passes. "Well, perhaps not 'walk,' but I'll at least accompany you."
She was about to retort, "I don't need it," but eventually nodded. "All right. I'll go with you to the bus stop. Then I can get home by myself."
With Jace, that was probably the best he could hope for. "After you,
milady." "Who're you calling 'milady', Captain Fairypants?"
"Then after you, Captain Fairypants!"
As they headed down the hall to the elevator, Jace and Thomas looked happier than they had in weeks. The air around them had lifted, if only for a brief moment, and they were able to pretend the hollow laughs and smiles were real.
But they could never forget that a few doors away a very dear friend was struggling for life. Even when they had gone down the elevator, out the front door, and down the block to the bus stop, even when they had parted ways and left the hospital to be obscured by trees and other buildings, they could not leave their friend behind.
Thomas stared at his room. It seemed so... empty. Tibby's parents had already come around to collect all of his things, and Thomas's things were packed as well, save for a few toiletry items and sets of clothing. He was supposed to be out of the dorms in a week to make room for new students. Thomas ran his finger along the little ledge where Tibby had fed his pet mouse. Since Tibby's hospitalization, the mouse had not come back, though Thomas left crackers and small bits of cheese just in case. He flicked a piece of rotting cheese into the trash can.
One week. The plane tickets were in the outer flap of his khaki bag. Thomas had always liked that bag. It had a lot of pockets, good for storing pens and scraps of paper. Two years ago he had bought Tibby a bag just like it for Christmas. That was the first year they roomed together...
Thomas shook his head. Best not to think about that now. With a sigh, he turned and headed into the hallway to use the payphone. Phone service to the rooms had been turned off a few days earlier. There were a few students in the halls busy arranging transportation for their belongings. Thomas mostly ignored them, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out his last phone card. After about three minutes of punching numbers, he finally had a ring. "Willoughby residence," a voice on the other end answered.
"It's Thom. Can I speak to mum?"
"Certainly, sir, it'll be just a moment." There was a click as Nigel put the phone down on the table.
Thomas mentally ticked off the minutes left on his phone card as time passed. He studied the decor of the hallway, taking in its hardwood floors and wood paneling. At long last there was a noise on the other side of the line. Thomas steeled himself. "Hullo, mum. ... No, there's nothing the matter. Just rang up. ... Oh, that's good. And Da? ... Mrs. Peterson would say that. Uh huh. ... Well, it's all right if you like that sort of thing, if you know what I mean. No, no, I don't mean it that way, mum, it's just that that's a bit frilly for my tastes. Go ahead and do it. It doesn't matter. ... That's the thing, mum... I'm not. Not coming back. No, I'm not daft, mum. I've just got to stay here for a little while. ... I know I've been accepted, mum, and I'll just re-apply next year. ... Don't say it like that, mum. That's not the way it is. Tibby's still in the hospital, and I-- ... Yes'm. But I couldn't forgive myself if I weren't there when he does wake up. ... I'm glad you understand, mum. Don't worry. I'll be fine. I've got a nice apartment all lined up. It's downtown on the market. You remember, the place where they sell all the flowers. ... Just wire me a couple hundred quid. I've got to go now, the phone card's about up. ... I will. Tell Da hullo for me. I love you too, mum. Bye." Click.
Thomas returned the phone to its cradle. There. It was done. Now all that was left was to sort out everything else.