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The bacon was frying up nicely, sizzling on the stove in a way that’d become familiar on his week off. Finally on his last day of medical leave from what happened at Rosslyn, Josh stands in the kitchen, listening for Sam’s keys to unlock the door—he had gone to get groceries an hour ago, should be back any minute.
Ave Maria starts to play on the radio, he turns it up. Somewhere far away he hears Sam come in, but he’s far too focused on the song and its orchestra to notice. It wasn’t until Sam shoved past him that he realized what was happening. He rushes out of the kitchen, knocking the table and sending one of Sam’s piles flying, shards of glass glint in between the sheets of contracts, documents, and late night speech drafts. His vision starts to go blurry and he slides down, against the doorway to his and Sam’s bedroom.
Shuddering breaths rack his chest as his hand stings with the air, his entire palm had blistered, when did that happen? The smell of smoke is choking him, the fire alarm starts ringing in his ears, now somehow further away, Sam curses at the thing. He hears the staggered sliding of their shitty windows coming open and tries to stand to help, to apologize, he gets halfway up. He’s forced back down with a slam as the smoke comes billowing towards him, Joanie’s screaming for him to get out of the house. He’s trying but his legs are lead and his chest hurts. A single, echoing gunshot rings out and Josh is falling, but Joanie’s quiet now. Maybe she got out this time. Toby looks down at him, his friend, his brother, and he kicks him, forcing more blood out of his chest, knocking the wind out of him. His hand and his leg and his chest burn, a dizzying, terribly real pain, the gauze on his hand is too tight—he has to undo them, he has to or he’ll lose the hand. The gauze is bad, it was the wrong move. The doctors were wrong, nothing’s even wrong with his hand, he just needs to get it off—
Something damp pressed against his forehead, he whines, tears rolling from his eyes, whether from embarrassment or fear or both he didn’t know. Josh jerks forward, wheezing and gasping for air, tearing at his arms, his hair, anything exposed and when that doesn’t work he rips at his clothes, screaming, yelling, weeping.
“Joan! Joanie! Where are you?” His pupils are dilated and his voice cracks, he isn’t looking at Sam, he’s looking at his burning sister. Josh curls up, sobbing into his knees, mumbling apologies and prayers, both sounding the same to himself/ the other. Sam pulls him into his chest, using one of his own arms to pin Josh and wrap the other in his boyfriend’s hair, tracing from the nape of his neck to his right shoulder, the entirety of the burn scar he did so well hiding.
“Hey—hey, my love, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, pressing the damp cloth against Josh’s hands, staring at the red marks that followed the path of his nails. “You’re sitting with me, remember? We’re in Washington D.C., just a seven minute drive to the White House? You were cooking dinner but I distracted you?”
Josh starts shaking his head violently from side to side, throwing himself back a few times into the wall. The crack of Josh’s ribs and head made Sam wince.
“Josh, do you want me to let go?” Sam loosens his grip, letting Josh shake and rock in the doorway.
“Sam,” Josh rasps, choking a little bit as he pressed himself against his boyfriend’s chest, sitting between his thighs.
“Hey, honey,” Sam whispers back, gently inspecting his hand. “Take a sip.” Sam holds Josh’s trembling hand as he lifts the water bottle to his mouth.
“That was—was not what I’m used to.” His poor voice is thick with tears. Sam draws lines, from the base of his neck to the crest of his skull, he gently wraps his fingers through Josh’s hair. “It felt too real. I’m sorry.”
“Darling, what are you sorry about?”
“I messed up dinner— your table, the kitchen.” The cry that followed his heartbreaking statement made Sam nauseous.
“No-no, its not important, those were drafts for the speech he made a few weeks ago, I was just hoarding. You’re safe right now and that’s all that matters to me.” He presses his lips against Josh’s neck, tears gathering in his boyfriend's eyes. Sam pulled Josh further into him, so that they were face to face. “I’m gonna order some food, okay?”
“Please-“ he cried, don’t leave me, not right now, not ever. “Stay.”
Sam nods, unbuttoning the top few buttons on Josh’s shirt and loosening his sleeves. Taking a deep breath for the first time, tears stream down Josh’s face. Sam runs the cloth up and down his boyfriend’s back, slowing when Josh winces.
“What’s wrong?” He whispers, pulling as much of Josh’s body weight on to him as he could. He starts to cry.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, you’re too good.”
Sam floundered for a moment, unsure of how to respond. The statement was something Josh would repeat in nightmares and with tears in his eyes as he gasped for breath.
“My love, you’re wonderful,” he whispers back, cupping his boyfriend’s head in his hands. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”
He trails his fingers up Josh’s side and slips both arms over his shoulders, picking up Josh and slowly walking him to their bed, it takes a moment to make the transition from sitting to standing to walking to laying. The mid-morning sun shines bright through the window, Josh sniffles, trying to be discreet. Sam takes deep breaths next to him, hoping the sound would make him try to do the same. He wraps his arms around him, pulling Josh closer. “I’m here,” Sam whispers, holding him tightly, a quick peck behind the ear, down his jawline, on his neck. Josh whines, pressing himself into the crook of Sam’s collarbone.
They laid like that for a while, for maybe three hours, the most rest either had gotten in too long. Josh drifted in and out of sleep and Sam just whispered reassurances while he rubbed circles into his boyfriend’s back.
It was probably noon or so when Josh stirred, whining about the heat.
“Love, why don’t you get up? We can take a shower,” Sam offers, slowing his hand to a stop. He felt the nodding of Josh’s chin against his shoulder. Leading his boyfriend to the bathroom and sitting him on the sink, Sam takes off his own and Josh’s shirt. When he went for his boyfriend’s pants he whispered something he couldn’t quite hear but it sounded desperate. “Okay honey,” he says softly. Tracing circles against his bare skin, Sam presses a gentle kiss into his boyfriend’s jaw. Josh leans his back against the wall, humming Ave Maria.
“She didn’t deserve that,” his voice is thick with guilt.
“She wanted you to get out,” he whispered back. “It was an accident.”
“She burned, Sam.”
“And you didn’t, you were a kid. It was a terrible accident,” Sam says, softening his tone.
The lukewarm water cascades down, a little too cool to be tepid. Sam sits with Josh in their too-small bathtub, lathering his hair and rubbing his back.
As they step out of the shower, Josh presses his lips against Sam’s neck, tracing a line up to his boyfriend’s mouth. “Thank you,” he mumbles, clutching him tight to his chest.