The telly is still flickering blue light through the dark sitting room, but I've got the volume turned down all the way; it's been the same news for the better part of the day at any rate. It's gone three in the morning when I finally hear the taxi pull up in front of the house. I step up to the window and push the curtain aside a little to see Quinn climbing out of the back.
It takes him forever to make it up the stairs and when he finally gets to the door I am holding wide open, I realize he's not wearing his uniform but surgical scrubs instead. Makes me wonder just how many times he's had to change his clothes today. He walks into the flat just far enough so's I can close the door behind him and leans heavily against the hallway wall.
He glances at the telly, half visible through the door to the sitting room and sighs. "Will you shut that off please? Don't think I can take any more of that today."
I hurry into the sitting room to switch off the telly. When I return he's still leaning against the wall, hasn't moved a bit from what I can see. "Was it bad?" I ask and then get the urge to kick myself for asking such a stupid question in the first place. He's an emergency room nurse, of course it was bad.
"Yes," he mumbles.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.
"No. Not today, probably not ever," he replies quietly. "Just want to forget it ever happened really."
I can understand that. "Bed?"
"I'd love to. Need a shower first though. Don't think I managed to get all the... don't think I got it all off," he says.
"Right," I nod. "How about you go and get out of those scrubs, collect some decent clothes, and I'll run you a bath."
"Think I'd like that," he smiles faintly. Then he's slowly walking down the hallway towards our room, infinitely weary.
I hurry into the bathroom, start drawing a bath with liberal amounts of bubbles. Quinn usually hates those, says they're frou-frou—his word, not mine—but somehow I don't think he'll mind them tonight. I leave the overheads off and instead settle for the light spilling in through the open door from the hallway. If Nicky for some inexplicable reason decides he needs to get up in the wee hours of the morning then—well, then he'll just have to learn to live with a couple of naked blokes in his bath tub, won't he? Not that's it's very likely; Nicky's been known to sleep through riots before.
Quinn seems beyond caring too, because he appears in the doorway in the altogether carrying some shorts and a t-shirt and even like this—looking like death warmed up—he's still the best-looking man I've ever had the good fortune of laying my eyes on. Have I mentioned lately how totally, utterly, completely head-over-heels I am? Days like today make me think I don't say that nearly often enough.
"Ta love," he says, the beginnings of a smile gracing his lips. "I'll forgive you the bubbles this time."
'Course I should also mention he's the most pig-headed, infuriating, mind-boggingly annoying of all of god's creatures; but I signed up for the package deal a while ago, so there's no use in starting to complain about it now. He puts the clothes down on the edge of the sink and steps into the tub, slowly sitting down and sliding back until he's up to his neck in the water. Then he closes his eyes.
I watch him for a while; can't really tear my eyes away. I might be imagining things, but it seems to me that he came home today with a few more lines on his face. Not that that changes anything, just makes him even more beautiful and somehow more human. Eventually I startle out of my thoughts and start stripping my own clothes off. I'm just selfish enough to think that there's no way he'll get that lovely hot tub to himself.
I nudge him slightly. "Shift forward a bit," I whisper. "Not going to stay out here in the cold if there's a warm tub to be had—or a warm lover."
He smiles at that, his eyes still firmly closed—the first genuine smile I've seen since he came home—and moves forward. I climb in behind him, arrange my legs at either side of him, and then pull him back so his head is resting against my chest. After I've warmed up a bit I start running warm hands across his chest and shoulders, try to massage the weariness out of his bones, and fuck me sideways if he doesn't start to rumble and purr like a tomcat—though I'd never call him that to his face, leastways not unless I were looking to commit suicide.
"Sometimes I really hate my job," he finally says haltingly. "On days like this I'd rather be anything except what I am."
"I know," I murmur softly. "That's not what you signed up for, is it?"
"No," he says, "days like this you just have to let go, have to pretend they never happened at all, otherwise... I became a nurse to help people Rob, not to stitch them back together in a haphazard manner after they rip themselves and each other apart."
I don't say anything. What could I possibly say to that?
"It's changed though," he sighs. "I used to live for the work. I still like it most days, still want to help people, but that's not the driving force any more."
"What is?" I ask.
"Coming home," he replies. "Knowing that at the end of the day I'll be coming home and you'll be there. It makes it all worthwhile somehow."
Have I mentioned lately how much I love him?
© KJB 2002-2003.