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Beep. Beep. Beep.
Don wanted someone to turn it off. It was so loud it seemed to be vibrating the bed.
The bed… that didn’t make sense. The last place he remembered sleeping was Charlie’s couch.
He tried to open his eyes to see where he was, but they seemed frozen in place. And as soon as he noticed that, he realized that the rest of his body felt the same way. Heavy, his weight pressing down into the soft surface beneath him, as if he was stuck in some kind of living death.
Exhaustion was probably the right word.
He tried to move something, just a finger or a toe, just to make sure he could. His hand twitched, and even that tiny movement felt like a victory. Though a moment later, it felt more like a mistake, as the action sparked a ripple of pain through his body, settling in a spot near his ribs.
Again, Don made an effort to open his eyes. This time, he managed it. A blue-tinged, blurry scene slowly came into focus, and he saw his dad in a chair beside the bed, his head at an awkward angle as he slept. His hand rested on the covers next to Don’s.
Confusion made him hesitate, but memories started tumbling in right afterward, and without meaning to, his hand twitched again, bumping against his dad’s fingers.
Don’t… wake up Dad when he’s sleeping, he thought sluggishly, and the voice almost sounded like his mother’s. Old man needs rest…
Because Dad had always been a light sleeper. He stirred right away, grunting, and then startled upright, turning to face Don better as he fumbled with the book that had been open on his chest.
Don’s eyes were working better, and he caught the title. Dreaming of Sean. “Good book?” he asked. It took physical effort to make his mouth form the words.
Dad looked down at it in surprise, apparently having forgotten its presence, and carelessly closed it on his place, setting it aside. “No, I’ve read better.” He leaned forward, wrapping both his hands around Don’s hand and forearm.
The movement jostled him, just a little, causing a spike of pain, and he closed his eyes.
“Donnie,” Dad said quietly, and one hand squeezed gently.
“Yeah.”
Dad didn’t say anything, and Don dragged his eyes back open. Dad was looking at him silently, his eyes wider than usual.
“Yeah, Dad.”
“You almost died.”
Don thought about the knife, the way he’d felt it plunge in, the even worse way he’d felt it drag back out. How hard it got to breathe. The faces of his agents hovering around him, their words a wash of meaningless sound.
The incessant beep, beep, beep to his left.
Say something, he thought into the silence. Something funny… he’s worried enough.
But he didn’t have anything funny. He was too tired.
“Sorry,” he said instead, and it wasn’t what he meant to say, but he did mean it.
Dad’s expression changed, from worried to scolding, and he squeezed Don’s arm again. “Your mother wouldn’t have stood for that,” he said.
Don smiled faintly, and his eyes closed again, too heavy to hold up. “Anyone else hurt.”
Dad huffed, and it sounded like he shook his head. “No.”
Relief came in the form of even more tiredness. He wondered if his body could sink into the mattress any more. His hand moved, causing just enough pain that he instinctively opened his eyes. Dad was holding his hand, sandwiched between both of his, and still watching Don attentively.
“Back to sleep,” he said, his usual no-nonsense manner tinged with softness. “You need it.”
For a moment, Don stared at him. This had never happened. He’d always known this level of care and attention in his Dad existed, but he’d never seen it put into action. Not toward him.
He’d never almost died before, of course. Never come so close that Dad found out, at least.
Before Bradford, Don would probably have ignored these thoughts and shoved them away, immediately moving on to more important things. Now, he found he couldn’t so easily dismiss them.
Not when it came with a sense of ease and warmth that had nothing to do with the drugs that were probably in his system.
“Glad you’re here,” he mumbled, trying to convey all of those sluggish thoughts with just three words.
His eyes slipped closed one last time, but Don still glimpsed Dad’s smile, his cheeks trembling slightly and his eyes shiny. He briefly kissed Don’s hand, then squeezed it.
“Nowhere I’d rather be.”