Letters from the Empty

Control

Simon got into the habit of playing with Baz's hands. He didn't know how it started, maybe when he began taking Baz's hand and squeezing it for comfort (for Baz or for him he wasn't sure).

Now he was scooping one up as soon as he entered.

Baz had large hands with slender fingers. If Simon pressed their palms and together, Baz's fingers extended out several centimeters more. Simon folded his hand into a fist, then flattened it again, then repeated. He rubbed Baz's knuckles and the back of his hand, massaged the joints.

He got it in his head that Baz somehow liked it, though there was no way to tell. And if Simon had done this while they were at Watford Baz would have likely wrenched his hand away and punched him.

Eventually Simon grew tired of this, and settled with holding Baz's hand instead as he watched him.

Like usual, he talked about meaningless things.

"I saw a flower in someone's room. It looked very pretty. Would you like me to get you a flower, Baz? Would that make you wake up?"

"I suppose you'd say, 'don't be an idiot, Snow. How could a flower wake me up!? Enchanted poppies make people fall asleep, which would only make this situation worse."

"Well, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"'Of course you wouldn't know.'"

"Maybe I'd have more time to study if I didn't have to figure out what you were plotting all the time."

"'You'd never study, Snow. You're an idiot.'"

Simon tried to imagine Baz sneering, but for some reason the image faltered. He hadn't seen Baz sneer (or show any emotion for that matter) for such a long time, he'd forgotten how it looked, forgotten the way his lip would curl.

Simon's eyes suddenly felt damp and he didn't know why. Did he actually miss Baz's sneering? Well it was better than this blankness, he supposed. This emptiness.

A sharp clunk caught Simon's attention and he turned to see a doctor entering, pushing a cart of medical supplies (at first it reminded him of a surgical tables but then he saw it was only filled with more tubes and those drip bags filled with fluid and other packaged up materials).

He smiled, trying to place a name, but faltered as her eyes grew wide.

"Who are you?" she snapped. "What are you doing here? Does the family know you're here!?"

Simon flinched, lapsing into stuttered 'um's and 'uh's as he tried to figure out what went wrong.

"You shouldn't be here! Get out!" The doctor snapped, pointing at the door.

Simon was in shock. None of the other doctors did this. They just assumed he was a friend and let him be.

"Get out before I call--"

Simon leapt up, and scurried out of the room before she could finish.

His pulse raced. Only later did he wonder if he actually could have been punished for entering someone's hospital room. On his mind was only the idea that Baz's family might find out he was there.

He made it to the waiting room on the ground floor before he had to make a beeline for the bathroom. He knelt in front of the toilet. Shaking. Stomach churning at the idea.

He imagined how Penny might have felt if he switched places with Baz, if Simon was the one empty and broken, trapped in a hospital bed withering away. He imagined the shivers that would have crawled down her spine if she found out that Baz had been there. That Baz had been visiting, watching Simon sleep. When Simon was weak and helpless and unable to protect himself.

He imagined it and his stomach flipped in response. He wretched.

Simon would never hurt Baz in the state he was in, but something felt wrong inside him. Like he had messed up. Like what he was doing was awful.

Like it wasn't right for him to go see Baz unless Baz knew he was there. Unless Baz could say for himself that he wanted Simon to be there.

But Baz couldn't. He was under control of everyone around him. He couldn't even live without them deciding it. One day they could just stop taking care of him and he'd just die.

And that would be the end of it.

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Simon went back after he calmed down, walking slow and looking over his shoulder for the doctor. He peered through the window of he door which had been shut to be sure that she wasn't inside.

There, hanging above him on the racks, one of the drip bags had changed color. Instead of being clear, it was a dark crimson. Simon didn't need to wonder what it was.

On one hand it was good that someone was giving Baz blood. (Paid to keep quiet about it maybe.) On the other hand, it just seemed like another strike. Another thing against Baz.

Another way he was fragile.