He was young for a doctor, perhaps mid-thirties. He was handsome too, with dark brown hair that curled at his nape, framing an open, trusting face. It was his wardrobe that was throwing Danny off. Wearing only leather shorts like Arty, with nipple rings to boot, he looked about as far from a doctor as one man could.
“Why didn’t someone take him to the hospital?” Danny barked, careless of how cute and unusual Jason was in the face of what he was seeing. “Don’t ya think he should be in a fucking emergency room?”
“He should,” Jason agreed. “But he won’t talk to either of us. I’d like to get his consent before I make that drastic of a decision for him.”
“He’s got a huge pain tolerance,” Arty cut in, his voice whining. “You can fix him, can’t ya, Doc? Why put him through that?”
Jason cast a glare at Arty, the accusation written all over his face. Arty was more worried about possible legal repercussions than Paul’s life. Rather than respond, he looked back to Danny. “See if you can get his consent.”
“Why couldn’t you?” Danny forced himself to walk toward the bed, realizing he’d been hiding by the door. A part of him wanted to avoid facing this, talking to Paul and seeing the hurt in his eyes. He feared being reminded of the look on his face when he pushed him away. Danny kneeled down on the other side of the bed and reached out, stroking Paul’s hair that was drenched with sweat. His eyes were closed, and Danny would have panicked thinking he actually died. There were no worry lines around his eyes. His face was eerily serene, but his skin was scorching to the touch. “He’s burning up.”
“He’s either sick or he’s got an infection.” Jason touched Paul’s back gingerly, as if looking for something underneath shredded, bleeding skin. Danny noticed for the first time that he was wearing rubber gloves. Where he got them, Danny probably didn’t want to know. Jason’s voice was mystified, as if he were trying to solve a very complicated puzzle. “I can’t find any injury festering, but I could be missing something. It’d be nice to have feedback.”
“Paul Guy,” Danny whispered, brushing at Paul’s hair once more. “Open your eyes for me.”
Paul instantly complied, blinking to stare at Danny, his eyes so dilated there was only a rim of brilliant blue against the blackness. Paul frowned, confusion marring his brow. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, his voice slurred as if he were drunk.
“They called me.” Danny tried to hide his concern that Paul hadn’t noticed him in the room for several minutes. He swallowed, his eyes stinging with the battle against tears. His voice choked as he said, “I—” Tears rolled down his cheeks despite his fight against them. He wiped at them hastily. “This is pretty bad.”
Paul’s eyes widened in panic, his breathing becoming labored. “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” Danny said quickly, shaking his head in denial. “I’m—” He searched for the right words, knowing the last thing Paul needed was to be upset in the condition he was in.
“He’s in deep subspace. He hasn’t responded to anyone else. He obviously sees you as an authority,” Jason coached from the other side of the bed, speaking so softly his voice was less than a whisper. “Play with him. Find out if he’s got an infection.”
Danny cast a skeptical look at Jason, but followed directions out of desperation. “Paul Guy,” he said, willing the sadness and fear into a deeper place in his mind to be dealt with later. His voice wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. “You’ve got a fever. Do you have an infection? Are you hurt somewhere else besides your back?”
Paul’s eyes closed, his body falling limp in a way Danny knew was a form of protection. He was hiding in his own mind, a trick Danny wished he could learn, but knew he probably never would.
He grabbed Paul’s chin, his fingers digging into his skin. “Do you wanna make me angry?”
“No,” Paul said, his eyes snapping open. “I’m sorry.”
“I wanna know where the infection is,” Danny demanded, glaring at Paul in a way he hoped conveyed his determination. “Now!”
“Nowhere,” Paul said, his breathing rapid once more. “Just my back.”
“You better not be lying to me.”
“Just my back, I swear.” Paul gave Danny a wide, open-eyed look of innocence that made him want to double over from the pain it caused. “I’m sorry I’m a freak.”
“You’re not a freak.” Danny stroked his hair again, brushing it away from his sweaty forehead. He finally found a way to lose the tight hold he had on his pride as tears he couldn’t hide rolled down his cheeks. “I’m really¼proud of you.”