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Nines was smiling to himself as he slipped into the front of the autocar, pleased with how well his interview had gone. By next week he’d know for sure if he’d be hired at Claire’s Florals and Pots, but there was a certain air to the interview that gave him a hunch he’d made it (plus an analysis that put his chances at 96%). He was excited to return to the workforce after two months of having nothing better to do than wait for Gavin to get home from the youth shelter, and though exchanging stories with Chris Miller on the horrors of job searching was entertaining, he was ready to move on with his life.
The autocar roamed out of the parking lot, making its way through the afternoon traffic of Detroit. Nines was perusing possibilities for dinner when an incoming call popped up on his HUD.
“Good afternoon, Simone,” he said, trying to mask his confusion with a polite tone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“No pleasure, honey,” Simone answered. A pit started to form in Nines’s artificial stomach at her gentle but somber voice. “I needed to call you before the hospital did. Gavin’s been taken to Ascension St. John’s.”
The pit in Nines’s gut opened wide to swallow his crashing thirium pump, sending a feeling of short circuitry throughout his system, dulling all his senses. The only thing keeping him tethered to the present was bright red text right below Simone’s contact image, warning him of his rising stress levels.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
When he found his vox modulator, Nines stammered, “I-I’m sorry?”
“He took a fall down a flight of stairs. A bad one. I— I’m not sure how he’s doing…”
Nines hung up the call with the barest mutter of what may have been a thanks, leaning forward to interface with the autocar. With that utter numbness swirling inside him, he changed the vehicle’s destination to the Ascension St. John hospital, overwriting travel priorities to “Emergency Trip,” and trying to keep the despair itching at the back of his processors from enveloping him.
*****
Nines moved without feeling throughout St. John’s, spoke at the front desk without thinking of his words, or inwardly registering the nurse’s. Lucky for him, his HUD took care of displaying the room Gavin was staying in, and he at least had the frame of mind to pick up the words “stable” and “can go see him.”
He didn’t quite run down the halls, some rational part of his mind knowing that causing a commotion would only end up slowing him, but he certainly wasn’t walking. Rooms and people went by in a blur as flickering memories of Gavin’s bloodied, unmoving form consumed Nines. Gavin had been stabilized that day, too, and surely a flight of stairs couldn’t inflict as much damage as a literal killing machine?
But Nines knew that wasn’t a reliable equation, and worst-case scenarios continued to fester in his mind, his internal database bringing up countless real life cases of “bad staircase falls.”
So engrossed was he in what may or may not be reality, Nines almost missed room 345. Catching himself, he slowly backed up the few paces he’d overshot. All Nines could do for a moment was stare at the door handle, unable to find the courage to open it. He knew, however, that he could not stay in this tortuous state of unknowing forever, and so, inch by inch, he raised a hand to grasp and turn the knob.
The scene that awaited him was not like any of the ones Nines had pictured. Gavin was on a hospital bed, but he was sitting up, and both his legs were dangling over the edge. Granted, one of them was swathed in a cast that ran from his mid thigh to where his toes began, but besides this, some bruising, and a square patch of gauze taped to his forehead, the former detective looked fine.
Both Gavin and a doctor that stood at the foot of the bed turned their heads as Nines entered. Gavin gave a half smile in greeting and said, “Heya, tin can. Knew you’d make record time.”
Nines could only stare. He’d been building up too many nightmare scenarios for relief to flood him. The lingering dread must have shown on his face, because Gavin’s grin quickly fell, replaced with lilted eyebrows.
The doctor, however, took no notice. “Ah, you must be Nines,” the human stranger said. “You’ve been informed on your partner’s condition?”
Nines blinked once, twice, three times before reality came to flood past his dazed mind, finally letting him recognize and respond to the present. “I— No. Or, maybe? I-I can’t quite—”
“That’s alright, sir,” the doctor said. Gavin narrowed his eyes at Nines, concern still laced in his features as the doctor used the base of a pen to point down a clipboard he held. “Mr. Reed has suffered a dislocated fracture below his right knee that didn’t require surgery, extensive bruising along his arms, legs, and back, and a mild concussion. His forehead required three stitches, which can be removed in five days.”
The doctor lowered the clipboard to look up at Nines. “It’s not the best ‘falling down the stairs’ case I’ve seen, but after crashing down 38 steps, I’d consider it lucky.”
Lucky. Nines had been picturing the worst, countless worsts, been brought back to a touch-and-go night he’d been trying to keep shoved in the back of his memory banks, for “lucky.”
The doctor looked between Nines and Gavin, not a one of the men saying anything for a moment. “I’ll, uh, give you two a moment. Someone will be back in an hour to check his vitals.”
As the doctor left, Gavin once again attempted a smile to ease the air. “They’re makin’ me stay for a couple more hours to make sure the concussion doesn’t end up being worse than they thought, but they’re taking the fact that I still remember the fall as a good sign.”
Still trying to process that Gavin was injured but nowhere near death’s door, all Nines could say was, “What… happened?”
Gavin leaned back, using his arms to prop himself up. “A few of the kids had the brilliant idea to play dodgeball inside. I caught on to their antics the hard way. I take it from your face you didn’t really know anything?”
Once again, Nines stayed silent. At Gavin’s gesture, he joined the human on the bed, gently placing himself at his boyfriend’s side. “I… Simone just said you had a bad fall. I didn’t get any information beyond that.”
“Well, it probably did look bad,” Gavin said. He waved absently at his cast. “This wasn’t exactly keeping me quiet, and when heads bleed, they bleed a lot. Plus the kids were freaking out.
“But I’m alright, Nines, see?” he said, moving one hand to squeeze Nines’ shoulder. He gave another half grin and said, “We’ll just add it to the list, huh?”
It was the joking attitude, the nonchalance, the normalcy after 20 minutes of pure dread that broke Nines. Saline tears welled in his eyes and the android began to quietly shake, relief coming to join all the worry that had formed in his core, creating a terrible roil that he could only release through sobs.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Gavin said, voice soft as he pulled Nines into an embrace. “I’m OK, tin can. It’s OK.”
Nines gripped at the back of Gavin’s shirt. “I-I thought— I th-thought—”
But what had he thought? That Gavin had died? The possibility had certainly crossed his mind several times on his journey to the hospital, but it wasn’t the only scenario that had presented itself. Life support or a coma, significant or complete loss of memory, paralyzation, for hope to be given only to be ripped away moments later, they’d all played equal parts in tearing him up, and the wound they’d created could not be so easily mended with a joke.
Gavin carded a hand through Nines’s hair, shushing him. “It’s alright, Nines, it’s OK. I’m sorry for scaring you. We promised each other no more near death experiences, didn’t we?”
Though he was still crying, Nines managed to nod into the crook of Gavin’s neck. “I just— I was so worried—”
“Shhhh, it’s alright. I’m right here,” Gavin said. “Nothing to worry about.”
Nines let the last bit of reality sink in, feeling Gavin’s warmth, the steady pulse at his neck, the movement of his breathing. Gavin must have retracted the artificial skin of his two prosthetic fingers, because Nines felt little bursts of connection each time Gavin slid his hand through his synthetic locks.
Nines would calm down eventually, these factors of assurance working to mend the worry he’d accumulated since receiving Simone’s phone call. For now though, he clung to Gavin’s grasp, needing the comfort of his boyfriend’s existence to confirm his world had not yet ended. That they were each still there. Together.