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Two Weeks

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"Fuck," John murmured as he leaned back against the cold wall and closed his eyes. His arm hurt a bit less than in the morning, but not by much.

He heard Sherman drive off and only then did he release his breath. Even if they weren't partners anymore Sherman still hung out with him sometimes, which John usually didn’t mind, but right then he was thankful that Sherman didn't push the issue and went home. John knew the kid was worried, but he really needed his space right then.

His arm hurt, so did his back, and John just pinched the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth. He had told the doctor he was fine earlier, but maybe it wasn't the best idea after all.

About a week earlier he had been running after a suspect, a stupid kid who had wanted to impress his friends, if John could call them that, by stealing stuff and shooting at police officers. As John had ran after him, one of the kid's friends had tried to trip him, but when that plan had failed, he had just shot at John, hitting him in the forearm. In the end John and Sherman had caught the kids, but John had to stay in the hospital for a while to make sure the wound was healing properly.

However, while he felt much better than he had a week earlier, his arm still bothered him more often than not, and the fact that it was his right one made everything even worse.

As soon as John sat down on the couch he felt his phone vibrating, and he groaned as he took it out of the pocket of his jeans.

beer n steak?

John felt the corners of his lips rising slightly when he finished reading Caesar's text.


He wasn't a fan of texting, especially now that he had to type everything with his left hand, but Caesar always preferred texting, claiming that it was quicker and more efficient than calling. John decided not to argue with him.

anything else?


Putting the phone on the table, John leaned back against the backrest, closing his eyes.

He hadn't seen Caesar for the last few days, since being a firefighter kept him busy often, but they had been texting a lot, which forced John to learn how to operate a phone with his left hand. That seemed to amuse Caesar more than anything else, which might have been the main reason why the man made sure to text him as often as possible.

John must have dozed off as soon as his eyes closed, because knocking on the front door some time later woke him up. He sat up, maybe a bit too quickly, his back muscles protesting at the suddenness of the move, and yawned.

"Shit," he muttered. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a few deep breaths, trying to relax his muscles. The knocking continued, so John finally got up from the couch, trying not to move too fast .

"Sorry, I forgot the keys," Caesar said when John opened the door, and the man didn’t even wait before moving past John to walk into the living room. He was also carrying two bags of groceries, which was definitely much more than just a steak and beer he had suggested earlier. “Don't look at me like that, man. You need food and it's not like you can carry these yourself right now."

"I told you I'm fine," John said, but Caesar just snorted at that and carried the bags to the kitchen, leaving them in the middle of the table.

"You can barely text with your left hand, much less do anythin' else."

John just rolled his eyes at the other man, following him to the kitchen, and started to put away all the canned soups and frozen food Caesar had bought. There was a lot of it. John wouldn't have to go shopping for at least another week.

"You're not on painkillers right now, are you?" Caesar asked him, before grabbing two bottles of beer from the bag, looking at John with a raised eyebrow.

"Just give me the damn beer, Caesar," John growled when the other man smirked at him, handing the bottle over.

Caesar did cook for him later, and decided to spend the night at John's place, too. Even if John repeatedly told him that he could handle himself, Caesar still insisted on making sure John was okay, and the man could be annoyingly persistent when he wanted to be.

"So, how long do you have to wear that?” Caesar asked, taking a brief break from chopping vegetables to point at John’s bandaged hand, and John groaned quietly.

"Two weeks."

"Shit," Caesar whistled. "Well, at least you get to relax a bit, yeah?" John only grumbled in reply, taking a sip of his beer, and Caesar snorted quietly. "Come on, man, it won't be that bad. Now you're being an overdramatic asshole."

Not dignifying the comment with an answer, John turned on the TV, and he didn't even realize when his eyes closed as he listened to the sounds of Caesar cooking and some kind of an action movie playing in the background.

Once again he had no idea how much time he has spent napping, but when he felt someone's hand on his shoulder he was reminded why falling asleep on the couch sitting up was never a good idea.

"Come on," Caesar squeezed his shoulder gently. "The food’s done."

John opened his eyes to see Caesar watching him carefully, the only detail giving away how worried about John he really was being the frown on his face, which didn’t fully disappear even as John sat up, massaging the back of his neck with one hand.

"What time is it?" John asked, licking his lips briefly. Damn it, he felt even more tired than he felt before taking a nap.

"You slept for an hour. D’you wanna eat something or go back to sleep?"


"Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. You can’t say no to my steaks, man."

John felt himself smile as Caesar winked at him. Caesar’s attitude never failed to make him feel better, and it looked like the night won’t be as bad as John had thought a few hours earlier.