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Hey Brennan. A pause, a static-filled breath, the sound of traffic. Something… something bad happened.
He hadn't heard from Vic in weeks. Weeks of glancing at his phone and hoping to see their name. Weeks of tapping out a text and reminding himself that if they wanted to talk to him, they would do it, and backspacing. Weeks of trying to convince himself that it was better this way. Telling himself that it was better for him not to worry where Vic was every weekend—as though he didn't still worry, as though he didn't wonder where they were and who they were with and if they had gotten home safely.
I'm okay. I'm okay, I'm fine. But.
Tonight, he’d almost managed not to think about them at all. At his laptop, gulping a cup of coffee that had long gone cold, wondering why inspiration always seemed to hit at 2 a.m.
When he saw their name on his phone screen, something in him sighed and thought finally. It was immediately followed by a spike of worry. He fumbled with his phone, missed the answer button the first time he tried to press it, wondered if he'd find them giggling or crying.
Maybe it was just a butt dial.
Hey Brennan.
He hadn't realised that he missed hearing them say his name.
Something… something bad happened.
They weren't crying. But he'd never heard them sound so hollow before.
"Vic? Are you okay?"
I'm okay.
They didn't sound okay. Nothing in their thin, trembling voice made Brennan think they were okay.
I'm okay, I'm fine. But.
Brennan is still hearing that goddamn But in his head. Still hearing the way their voice broke. He heard it the whole drive to the hospital.
There's been an accident.
His hands were sweaty on the wheel. The car was silent. He couldn’t play music. Not until he'd seen Vic and made sure they were okay.
Hey Brennan.
At least they'd called him. At least they still knew that he'd come.
Something…
Especially for something that was an actual SOS.
Something bad happened.
He hopes that he wasn't brusque with the woman at the front desk. He didn't mean to be, but he can't remember for sure. He remembers saying Vic's name. She told him that he was on the third floor. Vic will get a kick out of that, Brennan thinks.
I'm okay. I'm okay.
He finds the ward. The door is open. Three of the four beds in the room are occupied, but Brennan couldn't tell you anything about the other two people.
I'm fine.
Vic looks small and pale and young in the hospital bed. They're sitting up, eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall.
But.
All of Brennan's breath leaves him in a rush. "Vic," he says.
Hey Brennan.
They don't look up. "Vic," he repeats. His knees feel weird. Watery.
Vic opens their eyes and turns their head. They have a bruise around their eye and a suture line on their forehead, and when they push themself out of bed, Brennan notices the way they wince. "You came," they say, tripping over their own feet as they stumble towards him.
"I came…? Yes, Vic, fuck, of course I came." He catches them by the shoulders and wraps his arms around them. He needs to touch them, needs to get his hands on them, needs to crush them to his chest and hold on as tight as he can, but they hiss through their teeth and he pulls back, frowning. "What's wrong?" he says. He takes hold of their chin, raises it, turns their face from side to side to inspect it. The bruise looks nasty, a deep purple around their left eye. The stitches hold a cut that reaches the edge of Vic's hairline; the deep black thread stands out starkly on their skin. "Oh, baby," he says. He cards a hand through their hair. "Fuck, baby, what happened?"
"I'm okay," Vic says. They fist both hands in the front of Brennan's shirt. "I'm okay. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He doesn't know what they're apologising for, but he knows that they don't need to. "Honey, tell me happened."
*
Vic doesn't cry. It's not that Brennan wants them to, but he thinks he'd feel a little less worried if they did. They sit on the bed with Brennan beside him, his arm wrapped around their shoulders. They hold his hand and stare straight ahead and tell him what happened. They apologise five times for getting in the car and Brennan says, "You could have called me." They shrug, non-committal, and he says, "You could have. I don't care what else is going on between us, you can always call me."
He finds them an extra blanket because they can't stop shivering, even wrapped in Brennan’s brown leather jacket. He tries to find someone to tell them how long they’ll be waiting before they can get in for X-rays. He talks to a nurse about Tanya and gives Vic the update: stable, broken femur, minor head injuries. Incredibly, incredibly lucky. He feels guilty for the stress he puts on the last part. Vic's gaze slides away from his and they say, "I know."
Vic falls asleep on his shoulder while they wait. A nurse comes in and wakes them up to ask questions and shine a penlight in their eyes. Vic grumbles and the nurse says, "I know, hon." She looks at Brennan and says, "Make sure she drinks plenty of water."
"They," Brennan says. The nurse cocks her head and Brennan says, "Their pronouns are they-them."
"You don't have to do that," Vic says when the nurse leaves. Their eyes are closed again. "Like. I appreciate it, but if you're going to correct everyone who calls me a girl, you're never going to stop."
"Let me do it," Brennan says. "It's important."
They make a noise that either disagreement or gratitude, and put their head back on his shoulder. “You know,” Brennan says. “When I gave your name at the front desk, they said he was on the third floor.”
Vic opens one eye to squint at him. “Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s nice,” they say. They make a choked noise. A sob or a laugh or both. “That’s fun, that’s nice.”
*
The sun has risen by the time Vic is discharged. Their ribs aren't broken, just bruised, and the first question they asked the nurse was how long they had to wait before they could start binding again. Brennan stood beside them, arms crossed over his chest, and noted instructions about painkillers, rest, concussion protocol. "It's all written down here," the nurse said at the end of his spiel, handing Vic a sheaf of stapled papers. "Do you have a way home? Is your boyfriend driving you?"
It's probably a sign of how exhausted Vic is that they don't jump on that and drag Brennan into a weird game of pretend. They just list against his side and say, "He's my friend. And… yes?"
"Yes," Brennan says firmly, because it was never a question.
They go to Tanya's room before they leave. She's lying on her bed, asleep or unconscious, Brennan can't tell. Her parents, two men who clutch each other's hands and don't let go the whole time they're in there, won't let Vic apologise. They try to pull Vic into a hug and Brennan feels like a dick when he stops them, but he thinks Vic would let Tanya's dads actually break their ribs before they even thought about telling them to stop.
Tanya's dads squeeze Vic's hands instead and promise to call the moment there are any updates and explain that Tanya's very strong because she's a Scorpio. Vic nods and apologises and when they tell Vic it's not their fault, Vic apologises again. When they leave the room, Vic slumps against a wall, covers their face, and spends five minutes hyperventilating into their hands.
“It’s okay,” Brennan says, empty and helpless and useless. Vic shouldn’t be here; none of this should have happened. “You heard them, she’s gonna be okay.”
“That’s not the point,” Vic says, muffled behind their hands, and Brennan can’t argue with them. They’re right.
At the car, he helps them into the passenger seat, puts their seatbelt on, and tucks his jacket more tightly around them. "I'm taking you to my place," he says. "That okay?"
"Mmm," Vic says. They’re pale, lips pressed tightly together.
“You okay?” Brennan says. (A stupid question.)
“Headache,” Vic says. They search in the glove box, find his sunglasses, and put them on. "I missed you," they say. Their lips twitch in a tiny, tired smile. "And I like the beard. Very hot."
"Yeah, yeah," he says. He brushes a kiss over their forehead, being careful to stay away from their stitches. "I missed you, too, kid. Let’s get you home."
*
If Brennan lets himself think about tonight, about Vic in that car, about how much worse things could have been, he's going to start screaming.
*
When he gets them to his apartment, he can't help remembering the last time they were here. In his bed, crying and angry and an absolute fucking mess. Their eyes bright with tears and fury. Spots of colour high on their cheeks. Vomit on their breath.
They move around the apartment slowly, tentatively, like they're scared of breaking something— Brennan's things or themself, he's not sure. When he says he's going to run them a bath, they blink at him several times, frowning like they can't work out what he's saying.
"You'll feel better after a bath," Brennan says, like he's talking to a child. A child who looks like they're about to tremble apart at the seams. "Bath, pyjamas, food, rest. In that order."
(The plan is as much for himself as it is for Vic. Steps to follow and keep him focused. His hands are beginning to shake, but there's no time for that. Vic's the priority here.)
"Will you—" Their hands come up to clutch at his jacket, still draped over their shoulders. "Will you stay with me?"
That's how Brennan ends up sitting on the toilet lid with Vic in his bath. The curtain is drawn, but he can hear them moving. The slosh of water, the squeak of their limbs against the sides of the tub. Brennan presses his face into his hands and rubs his eyes. Vic dozed in the hospital, but he hasn't slept at all. His eyes are gritty and sore.
"You still there?" Vic says. I don't want to be alone, they told him. I just… don't want to be alone.
(Hey Brennan. Something… something bad happened.)
"Yeah, kiddo, I'm still here." He straightens up, presses his shoulders back, stretches his arms above his head.
"Can you talk to me?" they say. "About whatever, it doesn't matter. Just talk."
So he talks. He tells them about plans for the new Dimension 20 season. Tells them about Murph and Emily's cats, about all four of them piling on top of Murph after he fell asleep on the couch. Tells them about the books he's been reading.
He talks without thinking about what he's saying. Talks and thinks about how they looked in that hospital bed, thin and pale and broken and bruised. Talks and thinks about how much worse that phone call could have been.
(I'm okay. I'm okay, I'm fine.)
Thinks about Tanya's parents. Thinks about Vic getting in that goddamn car. Thinks about Vic choosing to put themself in danger rather than call him. Thinks about how he made it unsafe for them to call him. Thinks about yelling at them. Thinks about how this is his fault.
"Brennan?"
(Hey Brennan.)
"Brennan?"
(Something…)
The jingle of curtain rings on the rail. Wet feet on the tile floor.
(Something bad happened.)
Water drops on his shirt. A hand curling around the back of his neck, pulling him forward. His forehead on Vic's bare, wet chest. The bruises on their ribs and belly. "It’s okay," Vic says. He tries to tell them not to worry, he’s fine, it’s not their job to worry about him. His mouth won’t work.
(I'm okay. I'm okay, I'm fine.)
They're naked, dripping on his floor and his jeans and his hair. Curled over him, fingers in his hair. "You're okay," they say.
(But.)
“You’re okay.”
*
"You called me baby," Vic says, their eyes closed. They're on his couch, propped up by every cushion he owns; it took a while to find the position that put the least strain on their ribs. They’re wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxers. They have a mug of cooling tea held between their thighs.
"Did I?" He doesn't remember. His memory of seeing them—whole, alive, mostly unharmed—is just a hot flood of relief. The bones of their shoulders under his hands. The softness of their hair. The stitches in their forehead.
"Mhmm. And honey."
He braces himself for the follow-up. The leering. The flirting. It doesn't come. Vic stays quiet, shifts against their cushions, puts a hand on Brennan's knee. "Thank you for coming."
He puts his hand over theirs and squeezes. Any time, is what he means to say. What comes out is, "Never do that to me again."
"I won't." They open their eyes and meet his gaze, more earnest than he has ever seen them. "I won't, Brennan, I promise."
“I was scared, Vic.” His voice doesn’t break, but it’s a close call. He has to swallow several times before he can continue. “I can’t worry about you every night,” he says. “I can’t sit at home and wonder if you’re out, if you’re safe, if you’re hurt.”
“I can start texting you again—”
“Every night,” Brennan says. He doesn’t recognise his own voice. You’re being crazy, he hears, but the voice is at the back of his head and very small. “Whether you’re going out or not. You text me when you’re home, you text me if you’re going somewhere, you check in throughout the night so I know you’re okay.”
Vic could laugh at him. They could roll their eyes and call him a control freak and he would never, ever say anything like that again. They could yell at him, probably, and he wouldn’t blame them for it.
They nod. “Yeah,” they say. “Yeah. I promise.”
Neither of them realise it at the time, but this is the first rule he sets for Vic.