Jack was swinging his legs back and forth, the heels of his boots bouncing noisily off the drawers of the dresser he was sitting on. "Jack …" his mother scolded gently.
"What? It's not like they can hear me," he said with a shrug as he continued his relentless abuse of the cheap hospital furniture. He hated hospitals; he'd been in them far too much in his time. And sitting around one for days on end with nothing to do was making him go a little stir crazy.
"They might not be able to hear you, but I can. I don't think my ears can take it anymore," Evelyn said, raising an eyebrow, her wry expression one he knew well. She wasn't mad, but she was fast approaching annoyed.
"Oh, right," Jack mumbled as he forced himself to stop the nervous habit. He pulled his legs up and shifted around until he was sitting Indian style. He started pulling at the fraying edge of the cuff of his shirt, suddenly very interested in a thread that had come loose. He wrapped it around the tip of his index finger, watching as the skin turned an angry red and then a deep purple. It was fascinating and he repeated it three times before he became bored with it.
Without realizing it, he started drumming a beat on his knee. It was a song he'd been working on in New York, just before all this shit went down. Hell, he'd been trying to solve a chord problem in the chorus at the exact moment the phone rang, a rattled Jerry on the other end. He wondered if he'd ever get to play that song now - probably not - and now he was wishing he'd shared it with someone. He never trusted anyone with his music until it was as close to perfect as he could get it without help; he sucked a collaborating, a fact that regularly pissed off his fellow band mates. Now he was regretting the fact that no one was ever going to hear it - it was a pretty kick-ass song.
Evelyn reached over and stilled his hands. "Honey, this is important. You really should be paying attention."
Reluctantly, he slid his gaze to the other occupants in the cramped hospital room. They were arguing, nothing new there; though this argument was a little more hushed than normal, like they were trying to keep it from exploding into an all out war. It was silly, really, like they were trying to keep from waking the guy in the bed. Thing was, chances were slim to none that he was ever going to wake up anyway.
XxXxXxXxXx
"Bobby, man, sign the paper. Staring at it ain't gonna change what it says," Jerry said as he crossed his arms and started to pace, each step echoed by the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the whoosh of the oxygen.
"You're so fucking ready to give up on him, you sign it," Bobby said as he dropped the clipboard and pen onto the bed he was sitting next to. The clipboard had a Do Not Resuscitate form attached to it, a form Bobby had read over and over again until he had it memorized. The doctor had talked to them about it when Jack was first brought in, more dead than alive. He explained everything in calm, even tones that made Bobby want to bash the guy's face in. Two days ago, the doctor had the guts to broach the subject again. Jack didn't have a living will and the decision on whether or not extreme measures should be taken to prolong his life now fell on the shoulders of his brothers.
"Bobby, that's not fair. Jerry can't sign it and neither can I. Since Ma died, you're in charge of this stuff," Angel said from his unofficial post, leaning up against the wall. It was the same spot he chose every day he came to visit, like any deviation from it would disturb the order of the room, the universe, or something. It didn't slip Bobby's notice that the spot was slightly off to the side, the bed not quite in Angel's line of vision. Angel seemed to avoid looking at Jack as much as possible.
Bobby, however, couldn't take his eyes off his little brother. Always watching and waiting for a sign - any sign, really, that his brother was still with them, trapped in the darkness but trying to make his way back. Lately, it seemed like he was the only one of the three of them with any hope left at all. But when it got dark out and he was left alone with Jack, the machines the only sound in the room, he would let the doubt creep in. It was one of those nights that he mulled over the doctor's words and let them sink in. It was one of those nights that he finally accepted the fact that he wasn't going to be able to save Jack this time. That he was going to have to let him go.
The light of day, however, made that fact a whole lot harder to swallow. Bobby meant to sign the consent form, had every intention to sign the consent form, but something was stopping him. Be it stubbornness, be it bullheadedness, he just couldn't let him die without trying to do something, anything. He'd already let him down once, he couldn't bring himself to do it again.
"We talked about this," Jerry sighed, his shoulders slumping. He sounded tired and he looked worn down and beat. "We're not giving up, but he's not getting any better and we need to let him go if the time comes. If, Bobby, not when."
"It's been three weeks," Angel said, his voice stern, the tone matter of fact - like he was ordering a cup of coffee, not making a life or death decision.
"Well, shit Angel, I didn't realize there was a fucking time limit. I'll keep that in mind if we ever have to watch you fight for your life in a goddamn hospital bed. Sorry, Ang, been three weeks, gotta pull the plug." Bobby's jaw clenched, he had a gleam in his eyes that he usually got right before pounding an opponent into the boards. That was usually all the warning they got before they woke up, dazed and confused, sprawled out on the ice.
"We're not pulling the plug …" Jerry started with a frustrated sigh.
"Yeah, but we're just going to let him slip away without a fight. Ma woulda been so proud."
"Don't you dare bring Ma into this."
"Why the fuck not? She's as much a part of this decision as the three of us. She never gave up on him and she sure as hell wouldn't give up on him now."
"You think she'd want him to live his life as a vegetable? Hooked up to machines, brain dead? Jesus, Bobby - do you think Jack would want that?"
Bobby stood up, sending his chair rocking back, threatening to crash to the floor. "He's not fucking brain dead."
"The doctor said --"
"Screw what the doctor said."
Jerry ignored his outburst and continued. "The doctor said his body is failing him. They've done all they can and it's up to Jack. Bobby, he ain't fighting. You gotta see that. He looks worse every day. One more cardiac arrest and --"
Bobby took a step forward, the threat evident in the set of his shoulders. Jerry didn't back down and it felt like the temperature in the room had dropped twenty degrees in less than a minute.
"You don't honestly think this can be solved with a fight, do you?" Angel said as he pushed away from the wall and walked around the bed.
Bobby laughed - a cynical, twisted laugh. "Trust me, everything can be solved with a fight." As if to prove his point, he jerked his head to the left and then to the right, the bones in his neck popping as he drew his hands into fists, readying to throw the first punch.
"Give me a fucking break," Angel said under his breath as he stepped between his two brothers, hoping to defuse the situation before they got thrown out of the hospital. That one nurse had been giving them the evil eye again and he could tell she was just itching to call security on them.
"He's dying," Jerry said, looking down at the floor, his voice breaking. Bobby lunged at that, but Angel caught him before he could reach his target. Angel wrapped his arms around his older brother, first to stop him before things got even uglier, but it soon turned into an awkward hug as Bobby clung to his shoulders, his back shaking slightly. Angel felt his own tears dampen his cheeks as he finally turned his gaze to the patient in the bed.
Jack was a tall, gangly guy, but he seemed to be shrinking, disappearing before their eyes. Cheeks hollowed out with sickness, a grey pallor to his skin. He looked dead. Only the white noise of all those damn machines reassured them otherwise.
"Jerry's right," Angel said and Bobby suddenly pushed him away, almost violent in his actions.
"Just get the fuck out of here, both of you," he ground out between clenched teeth as he hurriedly brushed the tears off his face with the back of his hand. His hands were trembling and he needed to take a steadying breath before he did something stupid.
Neither brother moved as they stared wide-eyed at Bobby.
"Now, damn it. Just leave me alone, leave me the hell alone." Feet dragging, he made his way over to the chair and slumped into it. He didn't notice the look the other two exchanged, concern for him evident in their expressions. Nor did he notice when they finally left, leaving him alone with Jack.
Pulling the chair closer to the bed, Bobby leaned over and folded his arms on the mattress and laid his head on top of them.
"Damn it, Jack," he said aloud, the beeping of the heart monitor his only answer.
XxXxXxXxXx
Jack was standing behind Bobby, looking down at himself in the bed. It was an odd vantage point, to say the least. He looked like crap, he had to admit. The bandages and shit scared him. If he ever did wake up, he was going to hurt like hell.
Evelyn was standing opposite him, also looking down at the patient in the bed, a look of love making her face glow from within. He just stared at her, soaking in the image of her face, branding it into his memory. The fight he'd just witnessed made him think there wasn't much time left and he wasn't sure what was going to happen once all of this went away.
She reached down and ran her fingers over his brow. "Oh, Jackie. Why aren't you fighting? This isn't like you."
"That's not true," Jack said and she looked up at him, shaking her head, a sad expression on her face.
"Then why are you here with me instead of awake with your brothers?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. She always had a way of cutting through the bullshit. Even with Bobby.
"I'm not … this is … this is just some hallucination. They've probably got me on some really good drugs. That's all this is." The words sounded hollow to his own ears. This felt more real to him than anything else had since coming back to Detroit.
"Fine, I'm a hallucination. Well, your hallucination wants to know why you aren't trying your hardest to make your way back to your life. Hanging out with your mom is going to get pretty boring," she said, crossing her arms, her lips compressed into a thin, stern line.
"I didn't know I had a choice. And you're not boring. Bobby would get boring, but you? Never," he said with a crooked grin.
"You always have a choice," she said, ignoring the last part of his statement. "I taught you that a long time ago."
Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, and look at how many wrong ones I made."
Evelyn walked over to him and put an arm around his back, leaning against him, sharing her warmth. He towered over her, but whenever he was next to her, he always felt like that little eleven-year-old kid with the massive attitude and the broken spirit, afraid to trust anyone. He'd pushed and pushed, determined to do the damage before it could be done to him, but Evelyn didn't budge. But even more amazing, she never pushed back.
"Sweetie, you made the right choices when it mattered most. I was always proud of you."
Jack didn't know what to say to that. Stuff like that always floored him, that she could say things like that so easily and without any sort of ulterior motive.
"I don't have anything to go back to," he admitted softly.
"Your band --"
"Sucks," he finished for her.
"They do not. You just need a little soul in your music, more feeling. Right now it just feels mechanical, like you're all just going through the motions."
Jack barked out a surprised laugh. "Thanks for the critique, Ma."
"Well, I do know my music. I don't think I ever told you, but I was at --"
"Woodstock, I know. You should've told me. I would've loved to have heard about it," he said.
She patted his arm. "There'll be time for that later. Much later, if I have my say."
"Fine, there's the band, I guess."
"And your brothers."
Jack shrugged. "They don't need me. I just screw things up."
"Jackie, that's not true." She sounded hurt and gestured to Bobby who was still sitting in that uncomfortable chair. "He needs you more than you know. They all do."
As though he heard them talking about him, Bobby pushed himself upright in the chair, away from the bed. Stretching, he let out a strangled laugh that sounded empty and tired.
"Come on, fairy, enough with the beauty sleep. Wake the fuck up."
"Yeah, he's all kinds of broken up," Jack said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"Bobby just has his own way of showing he cares," Evelyn said as she left Jack's side and moved next to her eldest son.
"Well, he calls me a fairy constantly, so he must really care a lot. You gotta admit, ten years is a long time to keep making the same stupid joke," Jack said, a hint of frustration in his voice.
"Sensitivity is not one of his strong points," she admitted as she reached out and touched Bobby's arm. "He's scared of losing you."
As if on cue, Bobby reached out and grabbed Jack's hand, carefully avoiding the IV running from the back of it as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against their joined hands. For the first time in his life, Jack saw his big brother cry. It was like he'd been hit in the chest with a two-by-four as the air pushed from his lungs and he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He was looking at Evelyn like she could magically solve all his problems. But he wasn't that eleven-year-old punk anymore and she didn't have all the answers.
"If I go back, what about you?" His voice sounded small to his ears, younger than it should.
"What about me?" She was smiling that wry smile of hers again, the one that made her so different from other moms.
"Well, this'll go away. You'll go away." He started to unravel the loose thread on his cuff again, afraid to meet her eyes. He hated goodbyes. He sensed her standing next to him, but he kept his eyes glued to the floor.
"Jackie." There was a gentle insistence in her voice that spoke volumes - she wasn't budging until he stopped stalling and looked at her, really looked at her.
He finally raised his head, his eyes glassy and red from unshed tears. "I miss you," he admitted, his husky voice deep but quiet.
She reached out and touched his cheek. "I miss you, too."
"So, this is goodbye?"
Evelyn nodded and smiled. "For now."
XxXxXxXxXx
"Come on, Jack. Enough of this shit. I'm tired. I want to go home. I want a hot shower and I want to sleep in my own fucking bed tonight."
Apparently Jack didn't care where Bobby slept that night because his plea had no effect. Jack remained still, his hand slack in Bobby's grasp, his eyes closed.
Bobby racked his brain, trying to think of anything that might trigger a response. He was growing desperate. He was going to have to sign those papers tomorrow and even though that didn't mean pulling the plug or any of that other shit he threw in Jerry's face, it still felt like he was shutting the door on any chance Jack had left to come out of this thing.
"I'm gonna sell your guitar and use the money to buy a truck load of Celine Dion cd's ." Nothing.
"Angel and La Vida Loca are moving into your room because it has the better view and the box spring is practically new." Still nothing.
"Okay, Jack, how about this - you wake up and I swear I will never call you a fairy again."
Jack's hand moved, Bobby swore it did. "Jack," he said quietly as he waited for a sign he wasn't hallucinating. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until he let it out in a rush when Jack groaned and turned his head slightly, his eyes cracking open.
Jack squinted up at Bobby, his expression confused and hazy. "Bobby?" he croaked, his voice barely a whisper after weeks of silence.
"Hold on, kid," Bobby said as he jumped up and filled a cup with water at the sink. He held the cup as Jack sipped slowly from a straw.
"Easy, fairy or you'll get sick."
Jack pulled his head back and looked intently at Bobby, his brow furrowing.
"You just promised …"
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."