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The thing about frequenting hospitals was that, if you kept at it, inevitably you were bound to stumble upon a stranger in the midst of some kind of distress. It had already happened several times throughout the years, and it certainly hadn't become any more infrequent since he had started volunteering. He had gotten good at judging, by now, which situations merited intervention—which people would invite the presence of a stranger interrupting their wrestling match with misery—and which probably wanted to be left alone in their grief, or fear, or confusion. Often, with the former, it was simple enough to figure out whether they would benefit most from a friendly ear, a confessor, or if what they actually needed was a distraction. Sometimes, when he was feeling charitable, Janus might even take the time out of his day to be that listener or that distraction, though it wasn't an impulse that he caved to all that often.
(Technically speaking, he was already being "charitable" just by showing up for the children twice a month, but that was neither here nor there.)
Of course, the man currently sobbing in the bathroom stall behind him wasn't a stranger in the same way most others were. He knew Patton Bishop by name, in fact, even if it was only through his visits. Nurse Bishop wasn't part of the regular rotation in the children's burn unit, but the man frequently took on extra shifts when he could manage to cover shortages in other departments when they needed it. It seemed as if today were another one of those days, and considering it was the third month in a row that the man had been on duty in the ward when Janus came around. It begged the question what the man did when he actually had spare time...
Though, the sounds in the stall behind him also begged the question of just how well he was actually managing "whenever he could manage".
Janus had seen him go in, noticed his hurried gait as he entered the bathroom ahead of him, and it had been clear from his stiff posture and fraught expression that he was in some kind of hurry—spurred by an emotional urgency, rather than anything less fortunate. And Janus...well, he had needed to use the restroom himself, and he wasn't about to detour just to find another one. Weighing the inconvenience of getting involved in someone else's crisis over that of probably taking an elevator to an entirely different floor, Janus decided he would rather just take his chances.
He couldn't see the man right now, however, so it was difficult to gauge what the best response would be. He could ignore it—it would cost him nothing, after all, if he did. Perhaps the man wasn't a stranger, exactly, but it would have been a stretch to even call him an acquaintance. And it wasn't as if he had any way to guess just how long he intended to hide himself away. Still...he had already finished his show for this visit, and it wasn't as if Janus had anywhere else he needed to be. And Patton...seemed like a truly kind soul, and Janus had known far too many nurses in his lifetime to have illusions that kindness was an especially easy thing to hold onto in that line of work. At any rate, the children on the ward liked him well enough, and it was easy to tell when that was the case.
And so, quietly cursing himself, Janus chose to wait until Patton emerged before deciding on his approach.
Fortunately, he wasn't left to wait for too much longer. The stall opened up only a few moments later and the nurse shuffled out, red-faced and puffy with his face-mask hastily stuffed into the front pocket of his scrubs to save it from the inevitable, wet consequences of a tough cry. He was also, unfortunately, visibly embarrassed to find someone else was there to witness it.
Janus was standing at the sink with his back to the stall and briefly caught his eye in the mirror. He chose not to call any attention to it, simply tipping his hat briefly before pretending to ignore him while he finished up what he came in for: swapping out his prosthetic eye. Typically he either went without or wore the more...dramatic one that he favored during his regular performances. Unfortunately it was somewhat...intense for an audience of young children handling an already terrifying time in their lives, so he changed it out during his visits for one that was much subtler. Still, he never thought that he looked properly like himself when he was wearing that one, so he usually took it out soon after.
He debated only briefly whether to replace it, but he was sure he recalled encountering Patton with the usual one in at least once, so he decided he may as well. If the man gave any signs that he found it off-putting, that would just be a fair enough excuse to leave and mind his own business.
While he was occupied with that, Patton seemed to break free of his hesitation and stepped up to the sink to wash his face. His breathing was still just a little uneven, and even as he tried to stop it, his shoulders began to hitch. And, unfortunately, it seemed as if he had already begun to lose the battle against tears once more.
There was an easy solution for this, he thought. It was a gamble, but Janus always had preferred to take a chance.
"Here..."
Turning around to face the other man, he reached into the pocket of his coat as if to pull out a handkerchief...only to stop with a frown when he came up empty handed. Patton stared at him in perplexed confusion for a moment before Janus offered him a faint smile.
"Sorry, wrong pocket..."
Reaching behind the mask tucked into Patton's pocket, he produced the folded linen handkerchief he had palmed from his coat, presenting it to the man as if it had been hiding there all along.
Patton stared at him for only a few moments more before he choked wetly on a snort and accepted it gladly.
"Th-thanks," Patton managed as he dried his eyes.
And they still carried a sheen, but at the very least the offer had at least done its job of startling Patton out of another full-blown fit.
"I take it you're having a rough day?" Janus asked.
But Patton shook his head.
"No, it was...fine," he insisted, "I just...had a few things come back and hit me kind of out of the blue. Wasn't really ready for it."
Janus gave an understanding hum. Diagnosis: an open ear was definitely called for.
"I understand if it's private," Janus offered, "however if it would help get those things off your mind...?"
Patton's reluctance was obvious, and he visibly struggled with the offer before finally giving in.
"I, uh, I lost someone," he said leaning his weight against the counter. "It wasn't recent, I just... I was thinking about him again. About the time we wasted..."
"What makes you think it was wasted?" Janus had to ask.
"I was there for him, when he-" Patton cut off, fighting another hitched breath. "I was there, but...his last words weren't my words. I wasn't-"
A new fall of tears came to his eyes and he nearly choked on them.
"It just...I hate thinking that I kept him from them, you know?" Patton said. "That, whoever they were, he never found them properly because he was with me."
Janus couldn't help the air he sucked in through his teeth.
"That's nonsense," he said, unable to prevent that either.
Patton looked up at him, visibly startled. Clearly this was not the sort of response he had been expecting. Indeed, Janus had his doubts it was anywhere in the same neighborhood to what most anyone else had said to him. Society so revered the idea of soulmates after all—of destined meetings and the importance of the connections that fate had decreed for you. He could easily imagine the kinds of stupid things that even well-meaning people might have said about it if they knew.
"W-what?" he managed, shaken.
"Did you love him?" Janus asked instead.
Patton stared at him for only a moment, his tears restarting as he shakily nodded his head.
"He- Yeah- I- I think I did," he said. Then, stronger, "No, I know I did."
"And did he love you?" Janus asked softly.
There was a moment of stunned hesitation before Patton nodded again.
"I- I think so."
"Then none of it was wasted," Janus said. "Whether you were his soulmate or not, it wasn't wasted."
He leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling...very tired. He let out a sigh.
"People get so...fixated on those words," Janus said. "And I'm sure, in some ways, they're meant to be important. Who or whatever force decides they're worth showing to us ahead of time, no doubt there's a reason. But...I feel like every word matters, not just the last ones, don't you? In fact, I feel like the last words we hear from someone might matter the least. After all, everything the person said before that...that's who they were to us, wasn't it? Not just in the last moment we had them with us, but in every moment before it."
Unsurprisingly, this sentiment inspired a new wave of tears, to the point where his poor handkerchief was working hard to earn its keep.
"N-no, you're right," Patton said, sniffling into it.
"Did you ever find out who his soulmate was?" Janus asked. "Did they ever come forward?"
Patton shook his head.
"No. I- I don't know if I would have, either, if I were them," Patton said weakly. "I just...I wish I knew. I wish I could know what he really meant to them. What they meant to him. I hope whatever they did have that it was special. I just... I hate not knowing."
And Janus could imagine it also stung not knowing that it wasn't him.
"I like to think," Janus said slowly, "that, sometimes, not knowing can be a blessing."
Patton frowned back at him, looking a little startled.
"What do you mean?"
He gestured, not just to the rather obvious scarring on the side of his face, but down the whole span of his left side.
"I was in a house fire when I was six," Janus said. "I lost my mother that day, and my eye, and...because of the scarring, I lost my words as well. My father raised me, afterward, but he hadn't been in the picture before then. She never told him what my words were, never wrote them down, and I didn't remember them either."
It was so long ago, such an old wound, familiar as the scars themselves and, like them, they had long become a part of who he was. But it was always a new thing to whoever he told the story to. And he was used to the pity they usually expressed on hearing it. At least Patton's reaction was subtle, likely tempered by the familiarity of his visits to the burn unit. Between his appearance and his time spent entertaining children who had suffered similarly, certain parts of his past probably weren't difficult to guess...
"And I've had other challenges in my life, of course," Janus said, "but...it took me a long time to square with the idea that I would probably never know what those words were, or who would say them. I used to mourn that loss. But...the more I wound up thinking about it, I eventually realized I'd been spared that final moment so many people dreaded. Of knowing the person I was destined for only when it was too late to do anything more with them. And really, I think I'm the lucky one. One day I'll walk out of someone's life, or they'll walk out of mine, and I likely won't know that the words they said to me were their last."
It really had pained him to think about. First when he was a kid, grieving his mother, and then later as a teen lamenting a connection he thought he had lost before ever having the chance to find it. But that connection would come one day, whether he recognized it or not—the words were an inevitability as far as anyone had managed to test it. He would likely never know, but that moment—as well as every one that came before it—would be no less meaningful. The best song you ever heard would be no less beautiful if you never learned its name, nor the best meal you'd ever eaten any less memorable for never meeting the chef who made it.
People came in and out of each others lives all the time, after all, and it was so easy to underestimate the impact someone had until years later... And Janus was in his thirties, it was very possible that he had already heard them.
"And I'll likely never know the pain my own words will leave them with," Janus finished. "So the best I can do is try to make that pain worth it. But then, I feel like that applies to everyone in our lives, doesn't it? Or at least everyone that matters... We have to make the most of it, the most of us, whatever form "us" takes between any two people, before they're gone. We have to make all of it count. I think maybe that's what the words are actually for...people just lose sight of it. "
Perhaps this was a lot to lay on a man he barely knew, a man who was already distressed, but... These thoughts had given him comfort over the years, and they were all he had to offer. And in the end wasn't that really all that anyone could offer in the face of someone else's heartbreak: To reassure them that love still mattered, even once it was lost? That perhaps it mattered more once it was lost, when its memory was all that remained. To promise them that the pain—at least as it existed at its gut-wrenching, breath-stealing worst—wasn't everlasting...
"I- I guess you're right," Patton said tiredly. "The words just...they feel so important..."
"And they are," Janus said. "I'm sure they are very important, in some way. But it's also important not to let them be the only things that matter. I'm sure whatever he had with his soulmate was special, but what he had with you was special too. And imagine, just for a moment, that his last words had been yours. What do you think would be any different? Do you think that grief would have mattered more somehow than what you're feeling right now?"
Patton shook his head, appearing somewhat taken aback by the question.
"N-no," he said. "I guess not. I- I guess I always assumed it would somehow be worse if he we had been each other's but...I don't know if it'd be possible to miss him more than I do already."
"I'm sure you'll mourn him all your life," Janus agreed softly, "in all the small ways and the big ones, either way. Even once you've found whoever it is that's still out there for you, I doubt that much is going to change."
Patton looked him over, briefly.
"Do you, uh, have anyone?" Patton asked.
"You mean romantically?" Janus asked.
Patton nodded.
"No I don't," Janus said. "Not for lack of wanting, exactly, but I also haven't actively been looking... And Lord knows I'm certainly not the most approachable."
A quiet moment passed, the words acknowledged briefly with a faint smile and little else. By now, at last, Patton had gotten his tears under control and though his face and eyes were still red, there was hope that these signs were on their way to subsiding—hopefully in time for him to get back to however much was left of his shift. And Janus might have taken the chance for a strategic retreat at that point—made his excuses and bid the other man good-day, except that Patton seemed to be hesitating over something he still wished to say—hands fidgeting with the handkerchief and teeth worrying his lip. But finally he seemed to overcome his nervousness.
"I, um, oh geez," he fumbled, wincing as he spoke. "This is probably a really...awkward time to ask, but if I don't right now I don't think I'm gonna. But do you...maybe want to get some coffee some time?"
And Janus certainly hadn't been expecting that. Which was unfortunate, because the laugh that escaped him probably wasn't the best response he could have managed after an exchange that had otherwise been so heartfelt. And he could have kicked himself from the way he saw Patton's expression start to crumble...
(The last thing he needed was the cause the poor thing any further tears today.)
"Sorry, you just...surprised me," Janus said.
Which seemed to help mitigate the damage, but it couldn't erase all of Patton's obvious, visceral discomfort.
"I'm sure it sounds kind of...bad, asking something like that when I just..." He trailed off—which was fair, because how did one describe the conversation they had just shared? "But...I mean, I've kind of been...wanting to ask you? For a while now? And I don't know how much longer Virgil is going to let me get away with offering to fill extra hours when you show up for the kids before he raises concerns..."
Oh. Well. That was...quite different than he had expected.
"I-" Janus cut himself off before he could say anything stupid, taking a couple moments to collect himself before he continued. "You know...I put on a friendly face for the kids in the ward, because they need it but... In real life, I'm actually kind of an asshole. I wouldn't want you to get drawn in by false advertising."
The tension in Patton's shoulders finally loosened a bit and he offered Janus a soft little hint of a smile.
"I think the fact that you do that says a lot," Patton said. "I'm sure you can't be that terrible."
And Janus sighed, as if he had been worn down.
"Well," he said, "if you want to take your life into your hands...I suppose I wouldn't mind. Besides, I will eventually need my handkerchief back."
Patton blushed, looking down at the poor, abused little piece of cloth in his hands.
"I'll wash it, I promise..."
They went through the song and dance of exchanging numbers, and discussing schedules—Patton had a few hours still left on his shift, once the break he had run away for was over, and a regular shift the following day, so it most likely wouldn't be until the weekend. And Janus bid him farewell with another tip of his hat and left him to wash the last evidence of the tears from his face.
And in the restroom, once he was gone, Patton pulled the neckline of his scrubs top aside to look at the small words that were written there in black, just above where his pocket would sit.
Words that said: "We made every one matter."