Chapter 2

"Attention, passengers on Delta Air Lines Flight 232 to Portland. This is an announcement for passengers on Flight 232 to Portland... The flight has been delayed due to 'mechanical issues.' At this time, we are rerouting passengers to another flight. Please stop at the check-in desk at Gate 26 so the agent may give you a new itinerary for your travel today. We're sorry for any inconvenience this may cause."

DAVID:

That's great. I really don't want to have to change our flight, because Michael won't be able to find the right gate to go to. Speaking of which, I wonder where he is? He should have been here by now. Doubts begin to creep into my head as I wonder if he might not be coming at all. Would that surprise me? On one hand, no, but on the other, I guess I was really hoping for a chance for a life together for us, away from Pittsburgh, or more accurately, away from Brian. I can't help the contempt I feel just thinking about that arrogant bastard. To get Michael away from him would be...

"David?" I hear, interrupting me from my musings. I heave a sigh of relief and feel vindicated as I whirl around to face my lover. My initial happiness at hearing his voice turns to shock, however, as I observe Michael's disheveled appearance and the fact that he's sitting rather than standing.

"Michael? MICHAEL! What the hell happened to you? Did you fall or something?" I couldn't think of him getting into a fight, knowing how easygoing he is. But this...this I didn't expect. "Why are you in a wheelchair?" I notice the uniformed man behind him watching our interaction curiously as I tell him, "Here, Sir, I can take it from here. Thank you for helping him." I hurriedly reach into my pocket and take out a ten, pushing it into his hand.

"Happy to be of service," the gray-haired man responds congenially. "When I saw this young man get out of the taxi and then show difficulty supporting himself on that one leg, I grabbed a wheelchair to help him before he could fall. I don't think he would have made it in, otherwise."

I nod with a short smile in return. "Well, I'm grateful you were there. Thanks again." With a tip of his cap, he turns and heads back down the terminal toward the main concourse as I redirect my attention back to the matter at hand. "So, Michael, tell me how you wound up this way?"

I notice his face redden as if he is embarrassed as he exclaims, "Shit, David! Can you believe it? I fell down a flight of stairs at Emmett's apartment complex. I realized I had left something there when I moved out that I really wanted to take with me, so I went over there first. I was in a hurry and didn't watch where I was going. I must have missed a step on the way down."

I sigh in exasperation. "Well, I hope it was worth it. How bad is the knee? I can see it's already swelling. Are you able to stand on your leg and get on the plane? I can wheel you down the passenger boarding bridge, but I'm afraid you can't take the wheelchair on the actual flight."

His anxious expression relaxes as he nods eagerly. "I'm sure I can make it that far. Are we flying first class? If we are, I won't have to walk that far."

I roll my eyes. "Of course, we are!" I stand there, studying his face closely as I notice something else. "That being said, what happened to your lip? That's swollen, too, and it looks like it's been bleeding." My gaze narrows as I watch Michael avert his eyes before he looks at me again.

"I fell face down... and... and I think I might have bitten it on impact. Now that you mentioned that, I can feel the swelling," Michael tells me, sticking his tongue out and licking the swollen area.

I sigh heavily at our unexpected, additional inconvenience. "Well, we need to get a move on. Right before you arrived, they announced a reroute because our plane is having some sort of mechanical issue. We need a new itinerary for our flight out." I push him over to the side, out of the way of bustling passengers as I instruct him, "You stay here, and I'll go up to the desk and get our new flight info." He nods as I turn and stride confidently up to the ticketing agent, disregarding a couple of other people who are no doubt grumbling about my pushing ahead in line.

"Excuse me; I had reservations for two on Flight 232 to Portland. There was an announcement a few minutes ago about needing a new itinerary due to the plane having mechanical issues. Would you be able to help me with this?"

The woman's eyes bore politely into mine as she inquires, "Who were the reservations under?"

"David Cameron and Michael Novotny."

She arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow at me, her lacquered fingernails poised over the computer keyboard. "And you are..."

"I'm sorry, I'm Dr. Cameron. My partner has taken a bit of a tumble and is currently sitting in the wheelchair over there. So, if I could get his flight information, too, that would be most helpful. After all, we are traveling together."

She nods in understanding. "Let me see what I can do for you. Um, well... I have another flight leaving in one hour and twelve minutes. It has two layovers - one in DC and one in Denver. I'm sorry to say that between the two layover times, the total flight will take nine hours to reach your destination. It's the only thing available unless you want to reschedule for a different day."

I comb the fingers of my right hand through my hair in frustration and sigh. "No, I don't want to reschedule, but I want you to know I'm very displeased with this."

"I am sorry, Sir, but there is nothing more I can do. So, do you want this flight? There are only three seats left in first class, so if you are going, you might want to book them right away."

I nod, still perturbed but resigned to our fate. "Yes, book them. How far to the other gate?"

She glances down at the computer monitor. "One moment... It will be departing at Gate 54. You should have plenty of time to get there."

My mouth hangs open in dismay. Could this get any worse? "But, but, that's on the other side of the airport! Not to mention a different concourse."

"It's actually on Level Three. You can take the elevators to that floor. If you need help in locating it, there are maps throughout the airport, or you can ask our representative over there."

I huff in annoyance. "No, I'm perfectly capable of getting there myself. But this is very inconvenient for me, and especially for my partner."

"I understand," she replies, but from her demeanor, I would hardly say she seems all that sympathetic. "Would you like me to reschedule for a different day, sir?"

"NO! Just give me my new tickets."

As I make my way back to Michael a few minutes later, I can't help but think if I wasn't so anxious to get Michael on the plane and out of Pittsburgh, I would have definitely opted for a different day and a more direct flight.

"Michael, we have quite the trek to the next gate, so we'd better get moving. Where's your luggage?"

"I already checked it in. All I have is my carry-on," he says, indicating the bag on his lap.

"Let's get going. We have to take the elevators up to Level Three. If I take your bag, are you able to wheel yourself?"

He looks up at me with those big, brown eyes that get to me every time as he replies, "I'm not sure how fast I can go; I've never had to use a wheelchair before."

Yeah... this is going to be the flight from hell, I decide with another sigh as I think of an alternative. "Well, I have both my carry-on and laptop. If you think you can set them on your lap, though, I suppose I can push you."

"That would be better, I think. Thanks," he tells me with a smile.

"Let's go, then. Did you stop and see your mother and uncle as you had planned?" I ask as I begin to wheel him toward the elevator located past the moving sidewalk.

"Yeah, it was after that I went to Emmett's." He reveals, "He wasn't there, though, so I never did get what I wanted."

"Which was?"

"It's not important now. Do you by any chance have any pain meds on you? My knee is really hurting. Could you also put the leg rest up? I'm wondering if that would help alleviate it somewhat."

Despite my feelings for my partner, I can't help rolling my eyes. Sometimes Michael can be such a baby. "I don't have anything on me. We could stop at one of the shops and see what we can find. They'd have bottled water there, too."

"That's good. I was going to stop and pick up some Dramamine, anyway, so I can do that then. I've never flown before, so I want to be prepared just in case." I nod as we reach the elevator and I press the button to enter.

Fifteen minutes later as we are trying to check out at the airport shop, I hear a buzzing again. "Michael, is that your phone?"

"I think so. But I can't get to it with everything on top of me. I'm not worried about it, though. I've already said goodbye to everyone, so it can't be anything important."

"I beg to differ," I point out as I hand the cashier a twenty and indicate with a brush of my hand to keep the change. "That's the third time I've heard it go off," I remind him as we head back out into the concourse.

"That's okay, they can leave a voicemail. I'll check later."

"If you're sure. What if it's your mother or uncle?"

"David, I've already said goodbye, so will you drop it already?" Michael literally snaps at me, his voice rising. I squelch my surprise, attributing it to the great deal of pain he must be experiencing.

"Well, here, take these," I tell him as I hand him a Dramamine and a couple of Advil, along with the water. "It's the best I can do. The Advil should help with the inflammation and swelling."

"Ever the doctor, aren't you?" Michael replies as I walk around to face him. He pauses to take a sip of the water to swallow down the medicine before he continues with a half-smile. "Sorry, David. I'm just really in a lot of pain."

I clear my throat as I take the bottle from him and stuff it inside my jacket pocket. "Don't worry about it. Our gate is just up ahead. We can probably board soon, and they should have some ice on the plane. That should help with the knee, too."

When we get to the bottom of the passenger boarding bridge, Michael can't even stand on his leg, so I have him lean into me as much as possible, and with his arm around my shoulders, we make our way inside. Thank heavens for first-class. I'm not sure I could have dragged him along much further, and there isn't much room for the two of us in the aisle. As it is, the flight attendant had to carry our bags.

"I'll sit by the window, so you can stretch your leg out. Hang onto the seat back for a minute so I can get these bags up in the bin, and then I'll slide in first."

I look at the stewardess still standing there, glancing at her name badge as I say, "Julia, could you please bring us some ice in a towel?"

"I'll get right on that, Sir. Is there anything else you need?"

"Is it too early to get a drink? I'd like a double bourbon. Michael, anything for you? You shouldn't have anything alcoholic, though, after taking six Advil and two Dramamine. Why don't you bring him a Diet Pepsi?" I balked a while ago at Michael taking more of his medicine, but the initial dosage hadn't seemed to alleviate his pain enough, so I had reluctantly allowed him to take some more.

After I get everything situated and take the window seat, I try to help ease Michael down into his. I hear him groan in pain before he tells me, "It's not working, David. I can't bend my leg to sit."

I glance down at his knee and see the denim stretched so tightly over his knee, it's no wonder he can't sit.

"Michael, I think we are going to have to cut your pant leg. Your knee definitely needs to get out of the constraints of your jeans."

"You can't cut these! I just bought them, specifically for this trip." I wince at the high-pitched whininess of his voice.

"Okay... Well, who were you trying to impress? They look like they're a size too small. No wonder the knee is so confined." For the first time, I study the more upscale appearance of my partner. His jeans do look brand new, and instead of one of his juvenile 'superhero' shirts, he is wearing a stylish sweater that molds firmly against his torso. Definitely not something from the Big Q.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He glares back at me, his voice rising in volume and sharpness.

I feel my skin warm in embarrassment as a few of the other first-class passengers peer over at us curiously. "Michael, lower your voice NOW!" I hiss at him. "Try using the rules of decorum when you speak."

"Huh?"

I close my eyes and mentally count to ten. I sometimes wonder just how he was raised. This is not the first time I've had to do this with him. I was hoping that the trip to France would have taught him a little something.

"Sir, here are your beverages, towel, and ice." The flight attendant is clutching a towel already dampened from the ice in one hand, and a small, oval tray with our drinks in the other.

"Thank you," I tell her with a faint smile. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask another favor. Do you have any surgical scissors onboard? My partner's knee has swollen so much that I'll need to cut open his pant leg to relieve some of the pressure. I'm a doctor," I explain, not bothering to mention that my specialty is chiropractic in nature. As she nods and turns to retrieve what I need, Michael speaks up again.

"Fuck you, David, I told you NO! I am NOT having my jeans cut!" There's that loud, raised voice again. Why do I even fucking bother?

"Michael, then sit down and be quiet. Weren't you taught anything growing up? This is NOT how you act on a plane, especially in first class. I was only trying to help with the pressure on your knee. So, you can just sit and suffer."

"I can't, David."

My God. What IS it with him? My patience has run out and my nerves are frazzled. "Then cut the jeans, Michael. We can buy another pair once we get to Portland. If you had any common sense, you would have realized that to begin with. Now, for God's sake! Stop with the whining and the loud voice!"

Julia arrives back with the surgical scissors and I set about slicing Michael's jean leg from the hem up as he glares at me angrily. I come to a halt at the base of the knee. It is so swollen I can hardly force the scissors to move.

"Michael, find something and bite down on it. This is going to hurt. I can't help the pressure you are going to feel."

Julia hands him the extra towel she was holding, and sure enough, Michael sticks it in his mouth as his eyes widen with fear. Good thing he does, because he starts screaming into it.

When I get the jeans cut above the knee, I can't help but stare in horror at the sight of it. I've treated many football players with a lot of knee injuries, but I've never seen anything that looks like this. It's very purplish/blue and has a funny shape to it. I don't think it's broken, but it's not lying straight, either.

"Michael, exactly what the hell did you do to your knee?"

He opens his mouth wide enough to tell me with a huff, "I told you, I fell."

I eyed him skeptically. "I don't think you can do that much dam..." My phone suddenly rings, interrupting me as I glance at the Caller ID, and I frown before answering.

"Yes?"

"David, is that you? It's Vic."

"Yes, I saw that. What can I do for you?"

"I've been trying to reach Michael, but he's not answering."

"Yeah, the plane is getting ready to leave. Is there a problem?" I peer down at Michael, who has this odd expression on his face that I can't quite place.

"Justin was attacked tonight at his Prom in the parking garage. I'm here with Brian at the hospital. He's tried calling Michael, but he's not picking up, and then he remembered he was flying out with you tonight."

My eyes widen in horror and surprise at the news I'm receiving. "My God. Do they know anything yet?"

"Justin's in surgery," he tells me, his voice sounding shaky. "They aren't sure he's going to make it."

"What exactly happened?"

"Brian had shown up for Justin's prom just as the last dance was playing, and after they finished, he and Justin walked out to Brian's jeep. Some fucking lunatic homophobe came out of the shadows with a baseball bat, hitting Justin in the head. Brian yelled out to warn him, and Justin turned just as the bat came down against the side of his head. Brian ran to try and prevent it, but he was too late. He did manage to pick up the bat and hit the guy in the knee before he rushed back to help Justin, because he figured the guy wouldn't be able to walk, but after he called 9-1-1 and the paramedics were taking care of Justin, he looked up and the guy was gone."

"Do they have any idea who it might be?"

"No. All Brian could tell them was that the guy wasn't wearing a tux, so it doesn't sound like it was one of the other students. He didn't get a good look at the guy because it was dark. He was too worried about Justin, and he thought there was no way the guy could get away. But the police just left the hospital and told us they found a small, fresh spot of what looks like blood and saliva they're hoping will lead to the identification of the suspect. They're also dusting the bat for fingerprints. They don't know yet who it belongs to, though."

I glance down at Michael who has his head laid back against the seat with his eyes closed. I wonder if the Dramamine and Advil are taking effect. Then I see his swollen lip, and automatically look down at his knee. "Please keep me advised," I tell Vic. "I'll check my messages as soon as we touch down."

After receiving reassurance from Michael's uncle that he will, I can't help asking, "Which one is it?"

"Which one is what? You mean which knee?" Vic questions.

"Yes," I confirm, as dread begins to settle in my gut.

"The right one. Why?"

"Just curious," I respond, as I once again look at the horror that is Michael's right knee.

TBC