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Ed sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the brightly lit recovery room, aware of another patient and their guest behind a dividing curtain, not really giving him and Joe any privacy. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to be with Joe. His partner. The man who nearly died and had emergency surgery and was now slowly, slowly coming around from the anaesthetic as Ed held his limp, cool hand.
Ed had been trembling ever since he got the phone call from a very stressed Miles, and cried so much his eyes ached. That didn’t stop more tears welling up as he looked down at Joe, sleeping in the bed before him. Because he looked… awful.
Such pale skin, sickly and unnatural. Messy hair that in normal circumstances Joe would have meticulously fixed. All the wires and tubes snaking from his body, connecting him to an ECG and another bag of blood (how much blood had poor Joe lost, to need so many transfusions?) and the tank supplying oxygen to the little tubes up his nose, and so many more things that Ed couldn’t pretend to understand. He wasn’t a doctor.
And he wasn’t a police officer, despite the lanyard still dangling from his neck. If he was, maybe he would have been there when Joe got stabbed three times, deep wounds to his thigh, shoulder and abdomen. Perhaps he could have stopped it. No, that was wishful thinking. Ed knew that if he had actually been there, he’d have probably made everything even worse.
Every few minutes, Joe stirred for perhaps ten seconds, lids heavy and eyes bleary as he squinted in the light. His head lolled to the side, eyes landing on Ed, and he mumbled, “Ed… Why’re you… crying…?” But he always fell back asleep before Ed could properly reply. This must have happened ten times by now. But the repetitiveness didn’t bother Ed; he just wanted Joe to properly wake up. He wanted Joe to get better. However… the state of his injuries told Ed that Joe wouldn’t be better for a long time.
Eyes burning again, Ed blinked, and the tears spilled over. Refusing to let go of Joe’s hand, his free hand reached up and brushed tears from his blotchy cheeks.
And with nothing else to do, Ed just stroked Joe’s hand and hoped and begged and prayed that Joe would pull through.