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Bruce sighed with relief as he entered his apartment. It had been a long day and an even longer shift and he was tired beyond belief. One of the other therapists had called out and the director had asked Bruce to also cover those patients. It wasn't… quite… an order but it was close. As a result, his workday had been eleven hours, almost without a break.
All he wanted now was a quick meal and about twelve hours of sleep.
Tossing his keys on the kitchen counter, Bruce noticed that the message light on his phone was blinking. Deciding he'd deal with it after he woke up, he headed for the fridge. Opening it he quickly realized his choices were limited.
"Hell, at this point a bowl of cereal will do," he muttered, grabbing the milk.
Five minutes later as he was contentedly eating a spoonful of Wheaties when his phone rang. Rather than rush to answer, Bruce waited for his machine to pick up.
"Bruce, I know you and I don't always see eye to eye but I believe we have a common concern where Johnny is involved…"
Recognizing the voice as belonging to Reverend Gene Purdy, Bruce stopped chewing to listen.
"He's just received some devastating news about his mother and I'm very worried about him. He's refusing my calls and won't answer the door. I was wondering—"
Bruce had started moving upon hearing "devastating news", picking up the phone and switching it on.
"Yeah, this is Bruce. What devastating news?"
"Ah, Bruce… thank God!" Purdy breathed with relief. "You must understand that we did what we thought was best, to protect Vera Smith's reputation and her legacy. And I really didn't believe that Johnny's gift was real—"
"What news?" Bruce demanded, struggling to keep from shouting.
The reverend cleared his throat, then quietly answered, "Johnny's mother didn't die of heart failure. She, uh, she committed suicide."
"Suicide?" Whatever Bruce had been expecting, this definitely wasn't it. "Jesus. And I'm just finding out about this now?"
"If you would check your voicemail you would see that I called and left a message for you yesterday," the older man retorted.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Bruce sighed. "I was out of town, covering a shift for a friend at another hospital. Where's John now? Is he at home?"
"I don't know," Purdy admitted. "I tried to get Sheriff Bannerman to let me in but he said that since John hasn't been missing for twenty four hours yet—"
"—he can't do anything," Bruce finished. "Shit."
An awkward pause descended, then inspiration hit.
"Reverend, where is John's mother buried?"
"Of course," Gene groaned. "Why didn't I think of that? I'll go—"
"No," the younger man snapped. Closing his eyes and making an attempt to rein in his temper, he said, "Let me go. Seeing me isn't going to bring a lot of old memories crashing down on him."
"You have a point," Purdy conceded. He gave Bruce the directions to reach the cemetery, then said, "Please, Bruce, would you call me when you find him? I just need to know– I need to know that he's okay."
How can he be okay? Bruce wondered, shaking his head.
"Yeah, I'll call." He hung up and grabbed his keys, his exhaustion forgotten in the face of the crisis of his friend.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
John had long since given up standing, choosing to sit on the ground in front of his parents' graves. The damp ground woke even more aches and pains but the blond found he was beyond caring.
His mother had committed suicide. It had been hard enough accepting that she had died while he had been comatose, but he had come to terms with his loss. Or so he had thought.
Until the night he had set foot in one of the rooms he hadn't seen since before his accident. And the visions had started, eventually leading him to demand explanation from Purdy.
It was knowledge he wished he hadn't pursued. But there was no way to go back now. Somehow he had to find a way to deal with this heart-wrenching news.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bruce's sense of relief upon spotting Smith's battered Jeep was short-lived when he saw the man sitting on the ground by the graves. Even at this distance he could see the slump of the shoulders, as if they were no longer capable of carrying the burden placed on them.
How much more can the man take? Bruce shook his head. First the loss of years, his career, his fiancée and his son. Then the life that should have been. And now, learning about his mother's death, that she'd taken her own life?
Fearing for his friend's sanity, Bruce approached slowly but made no effort at being quiet about it. He didn't want to startle the man.
When he was within a few feet, he said, "John? I'm here, man, if you need me."
The blond snorted, seemingly unsurprised at his company.
"Let me guess… Purdy called you." It was said as a statement, not a question.
"Yeah, he did. The dude's pretty worried about you, John. Can't say I blame him." Eyeing his friend closely, Bruce frowned as he saw the lines of stress around the other man's eyes.
"Don't worry about me." Smith brushed the concern aside.
"Uh-huh." Ignoring the other man's statement, Bruce made himself comfortable on the ground next to his friend.
The blond shot him a glare meant to intimidate, but Bruce smiled benignly.
They sat in silence for quite a while until John stirred and cleared his throat.
"My mom always seemed so strong after Dad died," he began. "He took care of the finances and the running of the household. After he died, everyone thought she'd fall to pieces. But she didn't. She just picked up the reins and got on with whatever needed to be done."
"I'm sure she was strong," Bruce said. "After all, from what you've said she basically raised you on her own all those years. And knowing you, that couldn't have been easy. Bet you gave her a real run for her money sometimes."
Johnny chuckled. "Yeah, that I did."
"Tell me more about her," the other man urged, honestly curious.
And so John spent the next half hour telling stories of his childhood. Of the parties his parents used to host… Of his mother's attempts to keep him on the straight and narrow… And of her unfailing support of his desire to be a teacher, even though he didn't need to work, strictly speaking.
"She sounds like she was an incredible woman," Bruce finally said.
Johnny nodded. "She really was. I wish—" His eyes suddenly misted over. "I wish you could have met her, man. She really would have liked you."
"If she was anything like her son, then I know I'd have liked her too."
Again a comfortable silence fell between them. Bruce shivered lightly, realizing that the temperature had dropped several degrees as the skies had darkened – a storm on the horizon.
Getting to his feet, he reached out a hand to his companion. When John looked puzzled, Bruce pointed to the changing sky.
"Unless you want to get rained on, we'd better get out of here," he said.
He was pleased that Smith did not refuse his offer of help to get him on his feet. Bruce cautiously let go when they were both standing, but when Johnny faltered and nearly fell, Bruce grabbed hold again, taking on most of the man's weight.
"C'mon, let's get you home. That leg needs some serious work."
"What about my Jeep?"
"We'll get it later. I don't think anyone's going to be going anywhere with it, John. They wouldn't know the secret code."
The blond looked puzzled. "Secret code?"
"Yeah. The combination of ignition starts, pedal pumping and swearing that's necessary to get it started each time," the other man clarified, looking amused.
Johnny laughed. "Good point."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bruce cranked the heat in his car, relieved when it seemed to relax his passenger a bit. Still, he knew they would both feel better when he got the psychic home and was able to work on that leg a bit.
Before they had driven a few hundred feet, Bruce remembered Purdy. The man often made his skin crawled but he honestly seemed to care about John. With a sigh, the physical therapist pulled out his phone, knowing the reverend's number was there somewhere.
Ah. Found it. Pressing "send," he waited for the call to connect.
"I've got him and he's okay," he said without preamble when Purdy answered.
"Thank God. I'll be right over—"
"No, no, that's not a good idea right now. What he needs is a good massage and some rest." Bruce's tone brooked no argument. "I'll take care of him, Reverend. I promise."
After a long pause, Purdy quietly answered, "I know you will, Bruce. Thank you."
When Bruce hung up and put his phone away, he caught Johnny staring at him.
"What?" he asked, feeling a little defensive. He knew he hadn't been exactly polite to the old man.
"Nothing." Smith waved his hand in a vague gesture. His lips twitched in a smile. "It's just—"
"Just what?" When there was no answer, Bruce insisted, "C'mon, John, just what?"
"Not many people win arguments with Gene. I'm impressed."
"Yeah, well, I've had some practice dealing with his kind," Bruce answered cryptically.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
An hour later found John slowly getting out of the shower. He grinned when he saw the clean clothes resting on the edge of the sink. He hadn't even heard Bruce come in.
He often wondered how he had come to deserve someone like Bruce Lewis in his life. Bruce's care of him went far beyond the duties of a physical therapist. And he never complained – at least not seriously.
Drying off and pulling on his clothes as quickly as possible, John opened the door to his bedroom. He wasn't surprised to find that Bruce had brought in a small space heater, making the room pleasantly warm.
"Lose the pants and get on the bed, genius." Bruce gestured to the towel he had placed over the bedspread.
John raised an eyebrow at the commanding tone but didn't have it in him to argue. The prospect of those hands working their magic on his stiff and aching limbs was worth it to him.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bruce frowned as he worked on the knotted muscles. Damn, they hadn't been this tight since he and John had first started working together. But gradually he felt the tension ease.
"Thanks, Bruce," Johnny slurred, clearly fighting off sleep.
"You're welcome. Now shift over so I can pull back the covers for you." Bruce lightly smacked the man's hip.
Once he had the psychic covered and comfortable, reality crashed down on the therapist.
He knew he cared too deeply for Johnny Smith, had from the very start, in fact. Despite the other man's attempts to drive him away, they had eventually formed a close friendship.
As he settled into the big recliner in the corner of the room, Bruce tried not to focus on the other emotion he felt for the blond. That would be madness. The minute he let himself think about it, the greater the chance that Johnny would pick up on it.
And if that ever happened, Bruce knew he'd have to leave Cleaves Mills and start over again. There was no way that a straight arrow like John Smith was ever going to consider anything more than being just friends with a man. But Bruce had already decided that best friends beat not having John in his life at all.
Pulling the afghan from the back of the chair, Bruce covered up and closed his eyes, deciding he could use a little nap as well.
~ fin ~