Chapter Text
He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he ran down the hospital corridor, trying to keep his eyes on both the signs and the color-coded stripes painted on the formica floor. Yellow—laboratories, red—emergency, green—outpatient clinic.
Blue, intensive care.
He skidded around the corner, almost bumping into a nurse. "Sorry, sorry..."
"Ray!"
Fraser, in a sea of Vecchio faces.
"How is he?" He was in front of Fraser, a hand on his arm. "Is he okay? Is he—?" He couldn't finish the question.
"He's still unconscious. The doctor's with him. Ray, come sit down." Fraser's hand was on his shoulder, his back, leading him away.
"I tried to get here sooner but I had to sign over Carvers, that son of a bitch, and then I must've hit every fucking traffic jam and even with the siren—what did the doctor say? God, there was a so much blood—" He realized some of it was still on him, on his shirt, his arm. The arm he'd put around Vecchio while he'd used his hand to try and staunch the blood. It was crusted on his cuticles, under his nails.
"Shit—" He stood up again—too fast maybe because the hallway seemed to spin for a minute—and he looked around frantically until he saw the sign reading "Mens." He took off in that direction and as he reached the door he heard Fraser call his name again but he didn't stop. He pushed through and made his way to one of the sinks, gripping the edge as he tried to catch his breath, putting his head down. He noticed the blood on his shirt again and grabbed it, yanking it over his head, hearing it rip and the sound of a button hitting the floor someplace. He wadded it up in a ball and tossed it toward the garbage can next to the wall, and turned on the tap, shoving his hands under the water. He scrubbed, hearing Fraser come in, his boots echoing in the empty bathroom.
"Ray."
He kept scrubbing.
"Ray. Ray." Fraser came up behind him, turned off the water and grabbed his hands, held them still. "Ray, stop." His voice dropped. "Please."
And Ray looked up and saw Fraser reflected in the mirror behind him. Pale. His eyes suspiciously wet and his jaw tight, his lips pressed tight together like he was afraid of what might get out if he didn't keep his mouth shut.
"Oh, shit." God, what was he thinking? Fraser loved Vecchio, too. "Frase, shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered, and he turned and put his wet hands on Fraser's face and kissed him, again and again, and then the words started tumbling out of his mouth, low and fast and frantic. He couldn't hold them in. "I can't lose him, Fraser, I can't, we can't." And Fraser trembled under his hands and returned his kisses, holding him close, until Frannie banged on the door and told them her brother was going to be just fine.