Page 98 of Walking Wounded

Luke blinks the crust from his eyes and takes a minute to look over his best friend.

Hal’s jacket and suit coat lie at the end of the bed, so he’s left in his rumpled shirtsleeves. He’s lost the tie somewhere along the way. He needs to shave, and his hair sticks up at crazy angles, like he’s been running his hands through it again and again. His shirt, Luke sees when he squints, is flecked with blood. The bags under his closed eyes stand out dark and hollow.

Luke passes the end of his tongue over his lips, finds them chapped and cold. “Hal,” he croaks, and though the sound doesn’t carry, Hal snaps awake in an instant.

“What?” He jackknifes upright on the bed, head swinging. “Are you – what is – are you okay?” He blinks and Luke can see his eyes struggling to focus.

“Hal,” Luke says again, a little stronger this time.

Hal does one last scan for threats, and then finally looks at Luke’s face, his own a roadmap of raw emotion. He shoves off the bed, wobbling – he’s tired, so exhausted, needs a real bed and real sleep – and comes to Luke’s side, hands cupping his neck like something fragile. “Are you okay?”

Luke swallows, and it hurts. “Matt?”

Hal lets out a breath. “He’s fine. He and the family are back in Virginia.”

“But you–”

“Diego and Lee are with them. I had to be with you.”

Luke swallows again. He feels sick. “But it’s your job to–”

“I had to be with you,” Hal repeats, muscle twitching in his jaw. He looks like he wants to hit something, or cry maybe. Or he wants to hit something so badly it’s going to make him cry. Either way, it’s ferocious.

Luke might want to cry too if everything didn’t hurt so terribly. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days.” Hal’s thumbs flick up, and he rubs at the underside of Luke’s jaw.

“Any brain damage?” Luke tries to joke.

Just like Hal tries to smile. “No more than you’ve always had.” His breath catches and he leans in, tucks his face into Luke’s throat. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. So sorry. I never shoulda–”

“No, no,” Luke says. “Shh. None of that.” He feels the wet slide of tears on his skin, pooling in the hollow of his throat.

---