ssrsousa | Shakespeare in the ... apartment (Mid January)

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Shakespeare in the ... apartment (Mid January)

It'd taken awhile to actually get this set up. First Daniel had agreed to work a lot around Christmas so people with families didn't, then there was the usual excitement with New Year's Eve (and the extra staffing they had to have even if something didn't go wrong), then there was getting ready for the beginning of the semester at Barton for Tom. They'd rescheduled this enough times that Tom was starting to send Daniel texts about not having to do this if he really didn't want to.

And truthfully, right now, he didn't want to. He'd had a long day of tactical training yesterday that had made his leg sore and then today he'd had to go interview a little old lady who lived on the eighth floor of a building with an elevator that was out of order -- twice. Even the best prosthetic was gonna make his leg complain after thirty-two flights of stairs in one day, but she'd been a good witness, and with her help, they were probably going to be able to make some arrests after about two months of chasing bad leads.

He needed an Epsom bath, an ice pack, some strong painkillers, and a day of not wearing his leg, and he knew all of that. But Tom was also a friend, and it was important to spend time with friends while he could. He'd learned that the hard way in the war and this place was sort of the same. Tom might be gone tomorrow, or Daniel might be. So he took off his jacket, vest, shoulder holster, and tie, unbuttoned the first two buttons of his dress shirt, deleted the text asking for yet another rain check, took three acetaminophen, and went to the elevator with a four pack of beer in his right hand and his cane in his left.

And the elevator was out of order here, too. At least Tom was only on the third floor. He climbed the stairs more slowly than he would have if someone was watching and pushed the door open to Tom's floor. He took a moment to breathe through the feeling of his quadriceps knotting up, then walked down the hall to apartment 12 and knocked.

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Tom catches the knock under something Aaron is saying — Aaron, the very attractive blond from the bar, the day Tom had found out he got to return to Darrow High in the fall. Aaron, who had sent Tom a drink despite Tom sitting at a table with another man, and who had written his number on the napkin the server laid down. Aaron, whom Tom had seen twice more since then, and was now on the phone with, because even though they aren't technically dating, they've had good times so far and Tom feels a little less lonely for it.

"Alright, Daniel's here, so I'll let you go. We'll talk later?" He heads to the door, and rolls his eyes at Aaron's slightly jealous answer. "Well you have no reason not to, because we're just friends." He opens the door, mouths 'hang on' at Daniel, and then steps out of his way to let him in. "No, Daniel is a friend, I told you that. I'm not having this conversation right now." He closes his eyes in very obvious exasperation. "Goodbye."

Ah yes, Aaron, who apparently has a jealous streak a mile wide.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Tom ends the call. "I'm so sorry, Daniel, I thought—" It's while he's turning to greet him properly that he sees the cane, and he stops, expression coasting not-so-briefly over worry and settling on sternness instead.

"Go sit," he says. Daniel looks like hell, and the cane is just one more reason to believe he needs to be off his feet.

Daniel wasn't sure about hearing the end of that phone call. It sounded like whoever Tom was talking to was a little more jealous than was healthy, and he didn't like that for his friend. Jealousy was the reason a whole lot of case reports crossed his desk.

He'd also hoped he looked as normal as possible, but he knew that when he was in pain, it tended to show around his eyes. He'd seen it in the mirror plenty of times. He also hadn't ever used his cane around Tom, and Tom was observant enough to notice that. He hadn't expected Tom to sound almost angry, but maybe it was left over from the phone call.

"You sound like I forgot to turn in my final essay," he joked.

Tom puffs out a weak laugh and his shoulders relax. "I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "Please, come sit down. I'll stick the beer in the fridge; I wasn't sure what you'd want to eat? I have popcorn, or I can make nachos or sandwiches...?" And he is definitely not going to talk about the phone call or the fact that his phone is now wedged in the napkin holder on the counter instead of in his pocket.

"Movies mean popcorn, if you ask me," Daniel replied. It didn't seem like Tom wanted to talk about the phone call, and he wouldn't push right now, but he was gonna check in with Tom a little more often in the next few weeks.

He really needed to sit down before his quad turned into one solid knot and then brought his hip and back to the macrame party, but if Tom needed help with something it was polite to help. Their apartments were pretty similar, so he headed for the icebox with the beer.

"Oh, I didn't realize I'd moved my couch into the kitchen," Tom says pointedly. He holds his hand out for the beer, making a sort of grabby gesture. "Daniel. Please go sit?" He's never seen Daniel use his cane, and maybe they've only really known each other for a short time, but Tom knows him well enough to know that this probably means he's in significantly more pain than he's even showing. The worry returns to his face and tone. "Do you need heat, or ice?" he adds, shooing him with his other hand. Whichever will be more helpful, he'll supply.

"My first apartment had a bathtub in the kitchen," Daniel replied. That place had been an old tenement and probably hadn't been updated since the laws requiring individual plumbing had been passed thirty years before he moved in, but the rent had been right.

That wasn't Tom's point, though, he was sure, especially combined with the third request to sit down, the attempt to take the beer from him, and the actual shooing.

"Ah, heat, if you have it, but it's fine if you don't."

The painkillers would kick in soon, hopefully, and if he got off his leg that would help a lot. He turned and went back to the living room, then carefully sat down on the couch.

Tom waits until Daniel is sitting before tucking the beer into the fridge to let it chill, and grabbing the countertop popcorn popper from its storage space under the counter. He grabs the bag of popping corn, the oil, and the salt, then gets it running. It'll take two or so minutes to start popping, so he heads into the bathroom and pulls out a microwave heating pad from the closet.

"Let me get this started," he says in the way back through the apartment. He hesitates, then says, "If you need to... If it'll help to..." He huffs at himself, annoyed at how strangely difficult it feels to get the words out. "You can remove your prosthetic, if it'll help," he says at last.

It would help, but it was a lot more complicated than Tom was thinking of, even thought Daniel was wearing one of the pairs of trousers that had the invisible zipper on the inseam. Not all the complications were logistical, either. At least half of them were in Daniel's head. He didn't want Tom's pity or his disgust, and seeing someone remove a part of their body seemed to cause one or both of those emotions in a lot of people. Also, objectively, seeing a detached leg was just a little creepy. He'd gotten used to it, but he didn't expect anyone else to.

"Ah, it's -- not really like taking off a pair of shoes," he said, and felt like he'd had the same difficulty getting the words out that Tom had. "I'll keep it on."

Tom's lips press into a thin line, but he doesn't argue. He continues to the kitchen and pops the heating pad into the microwave, running it for about a minute. By the time it's beeped, the popcorn has begun popping, and he flips the heating pad over to heat it through the other side. He brings it over to Daniel when it's finished — it's heavy, beaded on the inside for pressure as well as heat — and then returns to the kitchen to turn off the popper and dress up the popcorn. Then he tips it into a large bowl for sharing, grabs two beers, and heads back to the couch at last so he can sit beside him.

"Thanks," Daniel said as he took the heating pad. He had a few of these in his apartment. They were another of those good inventions of this time, as far as he was concerned.

Tom walked away to grab the popcorn, which smelled delicious, and Daniel wasn't sure if that was deliberate to allow Daniel to arrange things as he needed to, but if it was, he appreciated it. He put the pad on the top of his right thigh just where the worst of the knotting was and stifled a sigh at the heat and pressure.

When he'd sort of told Tom that he had a prosthetic, he hadn't mentioned exactly how far up it went. Maybe Tom would infer how far up it was from seeing the heating pad on the upper middle of Daniel's thigh, or maybe he wouldn't. He was an English teacher, not an anatomy teacher.

Tom settles into the couch and places the popcorn bowl and both bottles on the coffee table, then grabs the remote. The DVD is already in the player, so it's just a matter of getting it started.

"If you'd told me your leg was bothering, we could have rescheduled," he says softly.

"For the fourth time?" Daniel replied dryly. "There's only so long you can make excuses about not doing your assignment before the teacher doesn't believe you anymore."

And there was just a little part of him that, even though he didn't want to climb any more stairs today (which was gonna be real fun when he went home tonight), didn't want to be limited by his leg. He was still grateful to be alive and preferred it to the alternative, but he did get a little tired of not doing things because of it.

"Daniel, this isn't exactly 'my dog ate my homework,'" he points out. "This is your physical comfort and well-being we're talking about."

At the very least, he thinks, they could have relocated to Daniel's apartment so he could be a little more comfortable and wouldn't have had to walk up three flights of stairs. Tom doesn't bother saying that now, though, because the idea of asking Daniel to walk back down three flights of stairs seems inhuman.

He doesn't realize the movie is stalled on the DVD's menu screen right away, partially because he's caught up in their conversation and partially because he isn't used to DVDs not automatically playing the way a VHS tape does.

"Is this damaging to you in any way, to leave your prosthetic on when you're in pain like this?" he asks, genuinely. "Can this have lasting impact? Be honest."

The movie hadn’t started yet, but this conversation seemed a little more important than the movie anyway. He hadn’t really intended to talk about it, but Tom was curious, caring, and used to asking his students to think more deeply about something (which they probably didn’t, but maybe a few did). His thought that Tom would either not notice or not do anything if he did notice was probably undervaluing Tom.

To be fair, though, most of the rest of the world didn’t notice or didn’t do anything about it if they did, especially if Daniel dismissed it.

“I almost certainly won’t be able to wear it tomorrow, but I knew that before I added three more flights of stairs to the thirty-two I already climbed today,” he said. “But, no, there won’t be long-term damage. There would have been if I did something like this when I first got it, but my condition is considered stable now.”

He tried to sound as clinical as possible.

"You're staying here tonight," Tom says firmly. "Unless the elevator is functioning by the time the movie is over, I want you to stay here tonight. No arguments," he adds, when it looks like Daniel might be gearing up to do just that.

Daniel was getting ready to argue, but not because he minded Tom's offer. He appreciated it, actually. It was the logistics of the situation that were the problem, and he shook his head even though Tom had said no arguments.

"Like I said, it's not like taking off a pair of shoes. The things I need are in my apartment. I'll be okay to go down the stairs one more time," he replied.

If he took them slow and rested, it wouldn't be any worse than it already was. And if nothing else, he could go down them on his ass, but he hoped he didn't need to do that. He'd given up a lot of dignity in this whole process, but he still preferred to have some.

"What kind of Shakespeare are you making me watch?"

Tom's lips are back in that thin, unhappy line, and despite Daniel's effort to change the subject, he sighs.

"I just don't want you in any more pain or discomfort than you already are," he says, this time a bit pleadingly.

That subject change definitely did not work, and Daniel was reminded of Peggy when she decided that something needed to happen. There was a core of stubbornness and determination to take care of their friends that was the same as with Tom. They even said "Daniel" in almost the same exasperated way, even if it wasn't the same accent.

Sometimes he still really missed her, even though it'd been three years since she'd disappeared from here, he didn't wear his wedding ring anymore, and the memories were all tangled in his head between the Peggy here and the Peggy he remembered when he got those nine years in his head.

"I took some painkillers before I got here, and the heat pillow's helping," he assured Tom. "I appreciate you letting me use it."

"You're welcome," he says. "And you're still welcome to take the prosthetic off, if it'll help. I'm not going to..." He sighs. "It won't bother me." He doesn't know how else to reassure Daniel that his own well-being is more important, here, than any perceived or predicted discomfort on Tom's part. He might not have ever guessed that Daniel wears a prosthetic, but that doesn't mean he has to always wear it, or that he should be allowed to be in pain because of it.

Then again, maybe Daniel simply doesn't like the idea of someone seeing him like that — vulnerable, unable to move on his own power. Maybe it's more about Daniel's mental comfort than Tom is really allowing for, here.

"I won't look, if that's..." he offers, trailing off.

Tom was really trying to be sensitive, he could tell, and there was a little part of him that wanted to take the damn thing off, to let his skin and his leg relax a little. But doffing it completely meant donning it again, and there was a process to that, which he didn't have the supplies to accomplish.

But maybe he could at least loosen it so that if he needed to wear it again quickly he could just reattach it, and he sighed. That would actually help. Less than doffing it, but more than not at all.

"Do you have a blanket?" he asked. "I really can't take it off, but I can adjust it a little. It won't look weird when I'm done."

The movie is still stalled on the DVD's menu screen, but Tom is still more focused on Daniel, so when he asks for a blanket, he grabs it from the bottom of the coffee table. It's a simple throw, something he'd bought to brighten the place up a little, and when they'd agreed to watch the movie here, he'd folded it up instead of leaving it draped on the couch.

"Here," he says, honestly just glad Daniel is finally doing something to ease his discomfort. "D'you... need me to leave the room? I can do that."

"Nah, should be okay," Daniel decided after he looked at the size of the blanket. "Don't worry, you won't see my skivvies if I do this right."

Tom was sitting to his left, so he might see a little more than he would if he was sitting on his right, but not much more. Daniel draped the blanket over his lap and legs so that only the hem of his trousers and his shoe stuck out, then leaned down over the blanket and started the invisible zipper unzipping. As soon as he got a little past the edge of the blanket, he stopped and then put his hand under the blanket from his waist to grab the end of the zipper pull again and continue unzipping the inseam of his trousers.

"You realize you're gonna be responsible for getting all the refills on popcorn if I do this," he joked, because humor was how he dealt with this shit. If he loosened his leg, he wasn't going to be able to stand up quickly, after all.

Edited 2022-01-04 02:06 (UTC)

"I'm perfectly content to have popcorn duty if it means you're taking care of yourself," he assures. He's a little surprised by the zipper in Daniel's pantleg, but he doesn't watch and doesn't comment on it. Instead, he looks at the screen and huffs a laugh.

"And this entire time, it hasn't been playing," he notes, embarrassed. "I miss VHS tapes." He fumbles with the remote and gets the movie started, at last.

Tom was being really considerate in not looking too much. Daniel wouldn't have done this if he wasn't comfortable with at least a few questions, but he respected that Tom wasn't asking them.

Once his inseam was unzipped enough, he put both hands under the blanket and gently pulled his leg away to break the suction seal and let the rest of his leg rest a little away from the end of his actual leg. It felt better immediately, and he probably did look a little relieved as soon as he did that. Of course, now Tom knew how far up his prosthetic went, but he still trusted the man not to make an issue of it or the fact that now his knees weren't quite in the same place.

"I didn't even notice," he replied, because he hadn't.

Between the blanket and the heating pad, Tom couldn't see any detail even if he tried — and he wasn't trying, attention focused on first the remote, then the movie as it finally begins.

He'd settled on Much Ado About Nothing, because none of the video stores he'd checked had any Laurence Olivier versions, and this one was at least entertaining. He settles the popcorn between them and hands Daniel one of the beers.

"Cheers," he offers as the opening credits begin.

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