Broken Glass
They arrived at Rampart only a few minutes late. They went their separate ways quickly, she to the women's locker, he to his office. He only needed to switch coats, and get on with his rounds, but once the door clicked shut, he found he couldn't move a muscle. He just stood in the middle of his office, and stared at the wall, as a slow tremor began in his fingertips, in the palm of his hand, and made its way up his arm, to his shoulder, his neck, and finally, the scrambled mush of his brains. He should stop, he should get his lab coat, he should ask someone to look at his hand/shoulder/arm/brains, he should sit down, he should leave, he should laugh, cry, wail, speak - he just stood there, motionless, except for his arm, which had a movement all its own.
A knock at the door startled him from his trance, and the tremors dropped away like flaking scales, leaving him strangely exhausted, but with the outward appearance of calm. The door opened before he had a chance to answer the knock. Joe Early. Kel watched him shuffle in and sit down in one of his chairs without invitation. Joe got settled, looked at the relatively clean surface of Kel's desk, and twisted to look up at Kel, who was still staring down at him. Joe raised his eyebrows. "Everything okay? You're running a little late. Mike said he saw you come in with Dixie - her car break down?"
"Something like that," Kel murmured, and forced himself to walk to his closet. He changed coats with a difficulty that alarmed him - he was stiff and weak, and the strength of his grip seemed to fluctuate without rhyme or reason. "Can I do something for you, Dr. Early?"
"I hope you're not still sore at me," Joe said easily.
"And what if I am?"
"Well then I have to go working myself all up to be sore at you again - we have to maintain equilibrium, after all," Joe said with a smile.
Kel sighed. "I'm not still sore," he said. He had no idea if he was or not - the truth was, Joe Early was the last person on his mind. The first person on his mind was someone he very much didn't want to think about, but he had to - he couldn't just pretend the problem didn't exist. He'd go mad before anything was ever resolved if he did that.
"Okay, good. Did you talk to Stanford yesterday?"
"Why?"
"Because he's saying things that are setting off alarms up in Psychiatrics. The good folks in the jail ward think he's exaggerating, but they see a prisoner, not a close companion of a good friend."
"Joe, he is a prisoner, and if I'm the good friend to which you refer, well, he's no close companion of mine. Not anymore."
Joe looked him up and down then, as if really seeing him for the first time. "This isn't like you."
"What isn't like me?"
"To run from a friend in need. You're a doctor - the finest I know. You don't turn your back on people, you stick it out with them to the bitter end, no matter who they are, or what they've done."
The tremors returned to Kel's hand. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked around his desk, where he could drop down into his chair and use the desk as a shield for his cracking composure. "Everybody has a limit, Joe."
"Sure, Kel, but I don't understand what he could have done to push you to yours, when your limit is so much further than the rest of us."
"I'm not a superman! You make me sound like I'm... I don't know - a superior species! Like I'm a demigod who won't stay on the pedestal you've set up! Well, guess what? I keep falling off that pedestal because I belong down here with the rest of you!"
"Take it easy-"
"Why?!" He gripped the arm of his chair with his good hand, and tried to press the other one between his thigh and the chair, to stop the shaking. "Why should I? None of you will take it easy on me! You all expect the world of me, every second of every minute of every day! So why should I relax! Better yet, how can I relax, when nobody here thinks I need a fucking break?!"
Joe looked surprised. "Kel... nobody thinks you're superhuman - we just... admire you, that's all." He looked hesitant. "Do... do you need to talk to someone-"
"No, Joe. I need... I need to do something I don't want to do, for someone I don't want to help, because I won't be able to live with myself if I don't do it. But I'm having the helluva time getting out of this chair to go do it - and waxing philosophical about my emotional state, and the regard to which you all hold me is not helpful!"
Joe leaned back in his chair, and had the good grace to look abashed. "I'm sorry, Kel. I don't mean to add unnecessary pressure. What can I do that is helpful?"
The question caught Kel off guard. "I..." He searched Joe's face, but he saw no ulterior motive lurking under the surface of those sad, quiet eyes, no whiff of reproach, no sarcasm. "I don't know."
Joe nodded, and sat quietly for awhile. "Well, maybe you should just get it over with?" He shrugged. "Then the deed is done, and you can start the process of trying to move forward from there."
Kel snorted without amusement. "You sound like you're explaining life after a stroke to the confused family."
"Aren't I?"
"No," Kel said irritably. "Nobody's had a stroke."
"No, it's not a stroke, but it is the commission of a crime." Kel looked away, suddenly unable to meet Joe's hard gaze. "In many ways, it is the same thing, Kel. His life is never going to be the same again because of this event, no matter how much everyone wants it to be. And that means neither is yours, no matter how much you want it to be - even if you leave him, and never see him again, that's a change, Kel - a big one - and it's come about because of this catastrophic event in his life that can't ever be undone. Your lives are forever affected by whatever it is he's supposed to have done - by the fact that he's even been accused of having done something, regardless of his guilt or innocence, either real or in the eyes of the law - but life still goes on."
"But stroke victims are victims, Joe! He's no victim!"
Joe shrugged. "Okay. So that's a major difference. He's also not necessarily going to be physically impaired for the rest of his life - assuming he doesn't get a little more jailhouse justice - but that doesn't matter. What matters is that your life has now been permanently altered by a major disaster in his life, and now you have to figure out how you're going to pick up the pieces and put together a new normal for yourself."
Kel closed his eyes and tipped back in his chair, until his head came to rest on the cheap plaster wall behind him. "I'm pretty sure I said I didn't want any philosophizing or psychoanalyzing, Joe."
"You did, but I didn't ask you want you wanted, I asked you what you needed, and you don't have an answer for me, so I'm doing the best I can."
"Fine, fine! Fine." He sat up again. "Okay. So I go up there, and I... I tell him I'll help him with his legal woes. And then I've done the responsible thing, to get him to trial. That won't make it go away, though. Which means my discomfort won't go away. Which means this is all going to be an exercise in pointlessness."
"So then don't do it," Joe said simply. "Let him take his chances."
"But I can't do that!"
"Then it isn't an exercise in pointlessness. The point is to do what you must so that you aren't not doing what you can't not do."
Kel blinked. "What? Get out. I - I - who comes up with that? Leave, go do your work, I have things to do."
"Sure, Kel." Joe got to his feet. "Don't wait too long, though. He might wind up in psychiatric himself - I'm telling you, he doesn't sound long for this world. And if he goes down that road, there might not be anything you can do to help him."
Kel ignored Joe, and held his breath until the door pulled up shut. Then he let it out in a gust of exasperation and... something he couldn't quite place, something that had been nagging him since he'd walked back out of the house that fateful night. Something that coiled tight in his belly and sent shivers across his shoulders, something that nipped at him in the night, that would swallow him whole if he didn't drown it in wine and semen through all his free hours.
Fear. He was afraid.
"Oh, this is ridiculous," he said to the room, and shoved up out of the chair. "He's not a monster, for heaven's sake. He's just a man, Kelly, a stupid, perverted, tired old man." But the thought of Stan's eyes boring into his soul was enough to knock the wind from his sails, and he fell back into his seat in a daze.
Joe was right. He had to do this, to get this over with as soon as possible, so he could get back to the business of trying to keep his shit together on his own.
He forced himself to his feet once again, and put one foot in front of the other. Out the office, down the hall, to the elevator. Up to the sixth floor, over to the guard on duty. Into the high security ICU. Past the rows of empty beds, the trays of machinery and fine edged medical tools, to the one drawn curtain on his left. He paused next to it, and swallowed down the faint vapor of bile and terror, and slipped through the curtain.
Stanford's eyes stared straight at the ceiling, unblinking, unmoving. For just the tiniest moment, Kel thought he was dead, and his throat tightened in some nameless emotion. But then Stan's eyes flicked towards him, and the strange feeling was replaced with a split second of euphoria, and then blood chilling terror. Those ice cold eyes were like stilettos, and they pinned him, like a tiny bird pinned to a corkboard, all spread out and defenseless. He couldn't even run. All he could do was stare back into the blue-white abyss and wait for the hammer to drop.
"You came back," Stan said. His voice was strong, but quiet. It was smooth and soothing, like a tranquilizer slipped into a hot toddy. Comforting, relaxing. Permanently so.
Kel opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"It's alright, Kelly, it's alright." Stanford smiled softly. Anyone else would have thought it was kind gentleness that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Kel knew better. The sharp, cold gaze told the truth. It was far from alright - it was the worst kind of betrayal. But he would take it, because what choice did he have?
Kel shook his head. "No."
"No? What do you mean, Kelly?" The hardness in Stan's eyes was slowly replaced with confusion.
"I mean, no, I'm not... I'm." His legs began to shake, and he grabbed a little plastic chair just before they gave out altogether. "When do - have you gone before the judge yet?"
Stan's face closed immediately. "Why?"
"Because I intend to post bail."
Stan gaped at him. He'd obviously convinced himself that Kel was going to leave him to rot, and now Kel could see him scrambling to catch up to this shift in the situation. "You do?"
Kel nodded. "Yes. I have to. I... I still don't like this, Stan. And I'm not..." He had to pause and turn away from Stan. He couldn't look him in the eye and finish his thought, not if he was going to get all the way through it. "I'm not going to be available to you the way I used to be. I can't... I'm not doing this so we can ride off into the sunset together."
"Okay," Stanford said quietly. "May I ask why you are, then?"
Kel tapped his name badge. "I'm a doctor. I can't just stand by and let the vultures eat you alive - not yet. You haven't been convicted of anything."
"I see. And if I am convicted?"
Kel shrugged, shook his head. "Then it's up to the courts to protect you. It'll be out of my hands in that case. But at least you'll make it to trial. I wouldn't... I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if... if you... if they... you know. Before you could be tried."
A strangled sob was Stanford's answer. Kel jumped, surprised. Stan reached for his hand, and tugged it to his lips. He kissed Kel's hand over and over, and finally, when he could speak without crying out, he whispered in a voice so small and tremulous that it rocked Kel to the core, "I'll pay you back. I'll pay you back, I promise."
Kel shushed him, and tried to pull his hand back, but Stanford held on with an iron grip that contrasted with his feeble weeping. "It's fine, Stan, really. I'm doing this for me, not you."
Anger and hurt flashed over Stan's face, before he settling into resignation. "No, I suppose you wouldn't be doing this for me, would you," he said under his breath, and settled back to his original position. He stared at the ceiling with half lidded eyes, and went stock still. "I can't really blame you," he said just as quietly.
Kel pulled his hand free from Stan's limp one, and checked his watch.
"Gotta go?"
"I'm late for work."
Stan smiled. "Funny. I always wanted to steal a little time with you when you still trusted me, but I never could. Now that it's all ruined, I finally gotcha. Even if it was just for a minute."
Kel didn't know what he was supposed to say to that, so he ignored it, and got to his feet. "Try to get some rest, Stan."
"What would it take, Kelly?"
"Excuse me?"
Only Stan's eyes moved. Again, Kel had the impression of being pinned into place. "To earn your trust again. What would it take?"
He shrugged. "I haven't the slightest," he said plainly.
"Sure you do. First thing that comes to mind, just blurt it out. You can't hurt me any worse than I've already been hurt, Kelly. Can't do anymore damage I haven't already done."
Okay. "Don't jump bail."
Stan turned fully to face him. "I wouldn't dream of it. But you know, you might have an easier time keeping track of me if we stick together when I get out of here."
Irritation surged through Kel. "I'm leaving now."
"No, wait! I'm not trying to be clever, Kelly, I mean it! I understand, you don't -" He seemed to choke on the thought. "Our relationship has been pushed to the limit. I'm not trying to push it further, not if you don't want that. I just... I just want a chance to earn your - your respect." He nodded absently, as if he'd only just realized what it was he'd ever wanted out of life.
Kel looked at him with undisguised suspicion. "So you think you can earn my respect by coming back into my personal space, after you've turned my life completely upside down with your double-dealing bullshit? Really?"
Stan shook his head sadly. "No. I just wanted you to see that I'm sorry, and that I'll do anything you want, anything you need, to show you I can do better than this. I can be better than this."
"I already thought you were better than this, Stan."
Stan closed his eyes. "I'm not asking you to take me back."
"Then what the hell are you asking me for?"
"A trial. A chance to prove that I'm not unreformable." His eyes snapped open. "Please, Kelly - doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?"
"I've agreed to post bail, haven't I?"
Stan looked pained. "Does that mean I can't come home?"
Kel looked away. "I don't think it's habitable right now anyway."
"What do you mean?"
Oh, buster, you don't want to know the answer to that. "I wasn't avoiding your calls, Stan. I wasn't there to take them." Kel peeked at Stan, and his heart began to ache at the look of saddened curiosity. "The neighbors... they weren't very happy about the drama. And they've let everyone who drives past our house know it, I hear."
Stan's face fell, and then he began to cry again. But this wasn't the dramatic silent sob he'd used a moment ago, nor was it the put upon weeping of a man who'd been put through oh-so-much just because he'd done something he had no business doing in the first place. He turned his face and swore violently and profusely, and swiped angrily at his face with the back of his hand. "Is it still standing?"
"I don't know. I can't bring myself to go back." Kel blinked away hot, unwanted tears. "There's nothing for me there now."
Stan looked at him in horror. "Where are you staying?"
Kel smiled a little bit, grateful he didn't have to tell a lie, or confess an ugly truth. "With Dixie."
Stan wrinkled his nose. "Stupid question."
"Would you have me stay in that hornet's nest where you left me?"
Stan shook his head, and laughed gruffly. "Of course not. I'm glad she's taken you in. She's a wonderful lady. I know I don't tell her that, but if I did, she might think it was okay to steal you away from me-" He bit off the end of his words, as if only just realizing his error. "Tell her, would you? That she's a beautiful person, and I'm glad-" He turned away again. "I'm sorry, Kelly."
Kel sighed and watched Stan struggle to reign in his emotions. But his own were spilling over, and threatening to send him crawling into Stan's arms, and he couldn't have that. With a heart laden with confusion and pain, he forced himself to slip back out of the curtain, and began his work.