Bad Company

Hermano

"Wait, let me say goodbye first," I begged, gripping Don's uniform sleeve. We were standing in one of the hospital's hallways where Don had been leading me towards a room to have my ribs examined. Once again, sadness welled in my chest at the thought of not getting to say goodbye to Greg, of not letting him know how much people had been hoping and praying for him to pull through successfully. "Please. I need to...to talk to him before we go, for closure's sake."

"E," Don paused in his tracks and sighed wearily, running a free hand through his tousled hair, "he won't be able to hear you."

"I know." Tears gathered in my eyes, and my throat constricted at the onslaught of sudden emotion. "I just need to say a few things before we leave, please. I want him to know that he wasn't alone, that I never left his side when he begged me to stay."

Don's shoulders seemed to slump beneath the weight of my words, and he suddenly looked twenty years older than he was. Pain flashed behind his eyes, and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, drawing me into his strong chest like an older brother comforting his sibling. "You're only going to wind up driving yourself crazy talking to someone who can't talk back. Trust me; I'm all too familiar with it."

"Please, Don," I begged softly, turning my face up to catch his attention.

A deep sadness rested in his chocolate gaze, and several moments passed in silence before he consented. "Alright. But we're getting you examined first. Greg can't go anywhere but your ribs sure could, and, trust me, a punctured lung hurts like hell."

I simply took a deep breath and nodded, knowing very well that I wasn't going to convince him otherwise. "Thank you." Don broke away from me but kept a steadying hand under my elbow. "I'm not fragile, you know," I teased lightly, hoping to ease the heavy cloud of emotions settling over us.

"No, but I've seen the bruises on your skin," he simply responded. Don's eyes remained forward facing as we walked along the busy hallway. His body was in the center of the walkway with mine closer to the wall as an extra precaution from being bumped. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he briefly tossed me a side eye to add, "Also, you couldn't walk a straight line sober."

Laughter bubbled to my lips, and I desperately fought down the urge to grimace. "You always did tell me I was more dangerous sober than drunk."

"Well, yeah," he exclaimed, finally giving me his full attention. "That's cause it's true."

"Is not!"

"You jumped out of a window twice, and alcohol wasn't involved in either of those decisions." Don rolled his eyes, but I could see the light-hearted humor shimmering beneath his tough façade. "I tell everyone who asks me that you were the reason I was so good going into medicine. I could improvise a leg brace better'n any of those damned city boys, and I proved it on many occasions."

I cringed at the memory of my tibia jutting out from a gaping hole in my shin, but it didn't last long as I eased back into a smile. "Glad I could help. Let me know the next time you need to practice a medical technique."

"I mean, now that you mention it, I could use some extra practice on intensive burn care." His tone was joking, but a brief flash of fear made itself known. "Never mind. You might accidentally take me up in that offer. Just...stay away from open flames, vale?"