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It was dark.
There were noises, but they were muffled, as if they came from far away, and he couldn't make out the words. There was a touch, a warmth resting against the back of his hand, a slow, soothing caress on his skin. There was a very distinct smell but he couldn't place it, couldn't get his brain to sort through memories and identify it.
There was another sound, then a caress to his hair and a warm touch to his temple. Then the darkness was back, blocking out all sound, all feeling, all warmth.
***
The first thing he became aware of was the sound of footsteps on the floor. They weren't close, they weren't stopping. They passed by, but he couldn't help being instantly alert. The next thing he noticed was a red-hot pain in his left arm, stretching from the back of his hand up to his elbow. Then there was movement next to him, followed by the gentle touch of warm fingers passing over his forehead.
“Ron?”
That voice. He knew that voice. He would recognise it anywhere, and it made him feel better immediately.
“Car?” He tried to speak, but nothing came out besides a hoarse croak. He fought with the dry tongue in his mouth that wouldn't obey him, wouldn't form the words he wanted to say. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were heavy and didn't move when he ordered them to. He felt helpless, trapped, like a prisoner in his own body, and it only made him fight even harder.
“Easy, Ron.” The fingers were stroking over his face and his hair soothingly, their gentle, familiar touch calming him as much as Carwood's voice. “You've been sedated. It'll take a while to wake up.”
He heard the words, but it took him a moment to make sense of them. He felt the gentle touch, though, noted the calm tone of Carwood's voice, and he focussed on them, made them his anchor to reality. He took a deep breath, slow and measured, and tried to open his eyes again. This time it worked, although he only saw blurry shapes. The lights were bright above him and Ron closed his eyes again. There was the sound of people all around them, walking, talking, working. There was that scent again, and now it was easy to place.
He was in a hospital.
“Take it slow, Ron.” Carwood said and Ron worked his eyes open again. He tired to focus on the shape that was bent over him, wanting to see the familiar features, the warm eyes, the beautiful smile. It took a moment before the blurring receded, and all the while, the soothing caress of fingers in his hair remained, guided him, helped him to centre.
“Would you like some water?” Carwood asked after a moment and Ron could only nod. He guessed his voice would work better once he'd had something to drink. Carwood pushed a hand under his head and helped him up enough so that he could take a few sips of water from a metal cup, then he eased him back down onto the pillow. Ron took a moment to look around, quickly taking in the surroundings. The curtains around the bed were drawn, giving the illusion of privacy. The sound of the people and the activities beyond it filtered through, though, and destroyed the illusion almost immediately.
He wondered why he was here, how he'd got that injury on his arm. When he tried his voice again, it was firmer. “What happened?”
“I don't know any details, but the doctor said that he was told you'd been hit by a burning timber.” Carwood's voice hitched, but only for a moment, then he continued. “It must have landed on your arm and knocked you down, and apparently you breathed in too much smoke which was the reason you were unconscious when they brought you in.”
The words sparked a memory and Ron nodded slowly. “Oh right. The little girl in the barn. Is she all right?”
“You were the only one brought in, the doctor said.” Carwood replied, never ceasing the slow caress of his fingers in Ron's hair. “I guess she's fine, then.”
Ron nodded, trying to gather his thoughts, and he only managed to come up with one question. “How did you know I was here?”
“Someone from the hospital called me.” Carwood said with a shrug that wasn't nearly as casual as he probably wanted it to look. “They asked if I knew a Ronald C. Speirs and told me you were being treated for severe burns.”
“How did they know who to contact?” Ron wondered. The guys from the station knew he was friends with Carwood, but since none of the guys were here – they were probably still out fighting that fire - they hardly would have had the hospital inform Carwood. Especially since they didn't know about their relationship, so Carwood wouldn't have been on the top of their list of people to call.
“Are you all right, Car?” Ron asked when Carwood didn't reply, just looked at him with his eyes narrowed and his mouth pressed into a tight line. Carwood was silent for a long moment, then he let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.
“No.” He bent down slowly and pressed his cheek against Ron's, his hand resting on Ron's neck. His breath was warm and wet on Ron's skin and he felt the slight stubble of Carwood's cheek on his own. “But I will be once you're back home with me.”
“I'll be fine, Car." Ron said after a moment, soaking up Carwood's closeness and letting it ease his pain. He didn't tell him not to worry, because he knew Carwood always would, knew the risk of this happening again.
“I know. I'll make sure you'll be fine.” Carwood pulled back and smiled, the gentle little smile he only ever gave Ron, and he pressed a kiss to Ron's forehead. “Go back to sleep, Ron. You need to rest so I can take you home soon.”
It was only then that Ron realised how exhausted he was, how much he wanted to go back to sleep. The darkness etched around the field of his vision, and when he felt the reassuring touch of Carwood's fingers in his hair, he decided not to fight it anymore.
“Sleep, Ron.” he heard Carwood's calm, soothing voice. “Sleep and get better.”
***
When Ron opened his eyes again, Carwood was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a tall blond man about Ron's age, wearing a doctor's uniform, stood at the foot of his bed and wrote on a chart. When he saw Ron move, the man looked up. “Mister Speirs, it's good to have you with us again.”
He finished writing on the chart, set it down and came around to stand next to the bed. He began to check Ron's vitals with an air of practised routine and continued talking. “My name is Doctor Martin Reese. I treated you when you were brought in.”
He offered Ron a cup of water and Ron was glad to find that he was well enough to sit up on his own and drink it in whole.
“You have severe burns on your left arm, from your hand right up over your elbow. Believe me when I tell you that you will have a hard time with those for the next few months. But apart from that, you came out of the incident remarkably unharmed. You were immensely lucky, Mister Speirs.” the doctor said matter-of-factly, not bothering to make things sound any better than they were. Ron appreciated the honesty.
The doctor finished his check and took up the chart to write something down. “You breathed in a lot of smoke, Mister Speirs, but your colleagues got you out in time. A minute later and there wouldn't have been much we could have done for you.”
Ron listened and nodded. He couldn't help a quick glance at the drawn curtains and wondered where Carwood was.
“He's down the hall.” The doctor said without looking up from his chart. “He wouldn't leave you even for a minute ever since he arrived, so I'm quite certain he won't leave now. I sent him out to get a cup of coffee from the nurses' station, because he looked like he was falling asleep on his feet.”
Ron frowned, suspicious of the doctor's casual remark. There seemed to be more to it than the actual words said. “Who contacted him, anyway?”
The doctor went very still, his gaze focussed on Ron with a sudden intensity that up til now, Ron had only ever seen in Doc Roe. When he replied, his voice was very quiet. “I did.”
A smile appeared on the doctor's face, a small one that held an incredible amount of sadness, and he reached inside his collar and pulled out a set of worn dog tags, blackened by age, blood and sweat. With a frown on his face, Ron stared at the doctor's fingers that were slowly passing over the metal in a caress that seemed almost like a habit.
“They're not mine.” The doctor said quietly. He looked as if he was lost in memories for a moment and his lips pressed into a tight line. “He died on a muddy street in Germany, only a month before the end of the war. Bled out right under my hands.”
Ron felt a shiver run through his body and goosebumps spread over his skin like icy fingers. The doctor looked up, his gaze too old and worn for someone his age. “We weren't so lucky to ever receive dog tags like yours.”
Ron was quiet, held the gaze and watched how the doctor's fingers passed over the worn metal. There was something so immensely sad in the gesture that it shook him to his core. He didn't know what he would have done if Carwood had bled out in his arms on a dirty road somewhere in Germany. He couldn't tell, didn't even want to think about the possibility.
No, if he was honest, he knew what he would have done. He would have lost it. He wouldn't have lived to see the end of the war, he didn't doubt that. He would have made sure of it.
His hand closed around his own dog tags, the ones he'd been wearing for the past eight years, and he replied without caring about the risks, “They were a gift from our CO after we'd left the service.”
The doctor smiled, and it actually reached his eyes this time. “You must have had a great CO, then.”
Ron gave a small nod. “Yes, we did.”
Only a few seconds later, the curtain was pulled open enough for Carwood to enter, a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand. He smiled at Ron, then he raised the cup and looked at the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor Reese. It was a good idea.”
“You're welcome, Mister Lipton.” the doctor replied with a friendly smile. “You looked like you needed it.”
“I did.” Carwood chuckled and walked over to stand by Ron's side, right next to the bed.
“When can I leave?” Ron asked, feeling the urge to get out of the hospital. He'd never liked hospitals or aid stations during the war and he didn't like them now.
“This afternoon, but only if there is somebody to monitor you.” the doctor said and glanced at Carwood. “If there isn't, we'll keep you here for another day.”
“I'll be with him.” Carwood's voice left no doubt about it and the doctor nodded with a smirk.
“I already expected that. I'll have a nurse prepare the paperwork to discharge you, then you're free to go.”
Ron just nodded, not bothering to say anything.
“Be back here tomorrow to have the bandage on your burns changed.” the doctor went on, looking at the chart again and making a few notes. “I will have a nurse ready then who will show you how to take proper care of the injury, but you have to come back for a check-up once a week.” He threw Ron a hard look over the edge of the chart. “If you don't, I won't clear you for active duty, Mister Speirs.”
“He'll be there.” Carwood replied before Ron could even say a word.
The doctor glanced at Carwood who stood next to the bed with the cup of coffee in his hands, then he looked back at Ron and gave him a little smile. “You are a very lucky man indeed, Mister Speirs.”
Ron couldn't help his gaze flickering to Carwood, taking in the way he hovered close almost protectively. After a moment, Ron's eyes returned to the doctor and he nodded, a smile tugging on his lips.
“I know.”