Always Mine

Bumps, jars, hands all over him; images and sensory input stuttered through him like lightning flashes but it was the voices that finally cracked through the fog weighting him down. As they got louder, the fog lifted more until he realized he was lying on a gurney in the mansion's clinic. And the instant that thought took life in his head, the memory was there.

"Blaylock!"

Qhuinn tried to sit up but between the numerous injuries holding reign over him and the many hands pressing him against the bed, it didn't happen. He realized the deep, shaky groan he was hearing was coming from him.

"Easy, boy," Vishous warned, his hand squeezing Qhuinn's shoulder gently. "You don't wanna be tearing out any stitches, true?"

Qhuinn tried to speak but his dry throat wasn't letting anything out after that first scream. He coughed a couple of times, then swallowed hard and tried again. "What happened?"

"Well," Vishous continued softly. "I'd say lessers based on the black blood and the stink but the details are yours, kid."

"Not completely clear on the details," Qhuinn murmured, reaching up to brush a hand over his face.

V caught his hand, then slowly pressed his fingers to the bandage plastered over the gash on Qhuinn's temple. Qhuinn nodded in thanks and carefully swiped his palm down his face.

"I was looking. I wasn't sure I'd find the bastards who... hurt Blay but I was gonna give it a damn good shot. I went through eight or nine of them at a couple of different places but I finally found the ones I wanted. Unfortunately, they must have gotten a call out for backup because the next thing I knew four or five more showed up.

"I know I popped the ones who hurt Blay but everything after that..." Qhuinn faded out and heaved a big sigh and closed his eyes. "I'm pretty foggy after that point," he continued. "Next thing I remember was running into a dumpster and knowing I had to get outta sight. I crawled in behind, hurting like hell, and..." He lifted his hands in confusion. "Nothing. I must have passed out. So, what's the damage?

V ran practiced fingers over Qhuinn's bandaged side, then checked his vision again. "Well, you've got a concussion, not exactly mild but it won't kill you, and a pretty deep stab wound in your right side. Plus a deep gash on your left temple."

"Yeah, I do remember blood running into my eyes when I was behind the dumpster," Qhuinn said.

He looked up as Rhage approached the side of the gurney and leaned over with a grin. "Wrath told Tohr and I to smack some sense into you when we found you. You're lucky the lessers got to you first. Then again, another half hour or so and none of it would've mattered. You almost made sunrise, dude."

Qhuinn's eyes shifted and he caught sight of John standing by the lockers. A twist of shame cut through him as he acknowledged his desertion of his friend. Qhuinn had a sacred responsibility to John; he was the ahstrux nohtrum. He was charged with guarding John's life with his own, if needed. And it didn't matter that he'd given only a bare thought to the idea that John should be safe in his own home, surrounded by the Brotherhood as well as the king of the vampire race. It was his responsibility.

John's eyes reflected Qhuinn's thoughts and he pushed himself away from the lockers and approached the bed. Qhuinn heaved a deep sigh, exhaling hard, and held up a hand to his friend.

"I'm sorry, John, I fucked up." Qhuinn knew to fuck up in this way meant death. It was the law.

John shook his head as he squeezed Qhuinn's hand hard then let go and raised his hands.

It's cool, relax. John's fingers flashed, signing out his words. I understand and I made Wrath understand. He's pissed and you don't want to do this away from the mansion but this time, inside here, we're ok. You're lucky he hates the glymera so much.

He caught Qhuinn's hand again and squeezed his reassurance. Qhuinn took a shuddering breath and nodded, unable to voice his gratitude. Despite the fact that he accepted the possibility of dying for John, and the knowledge that his death would be required if he was negligent in his duty resulting in John's death, Qhuinn didn't want to go yet. There was a lot he wanted to do with his life before he made a final trip to the Fade, no matter what kind of shit covered him from time to time.

But right now, especially, the most important reason was lying in a coma on a bed in the adjoining room.

Blaylock.

Qhuinn had to know Blay was alright, safe. It was the only thing that mattered right now.

He raised his eyes to John, then slid a look at Vishous. He cleared his throat before he spoke but his voice was still nearly silent, cracking with anguish. "Blaylock?"

"Still in a coma." Vishous hurried on when Qhuinn sobbed brokenly. "His vitals are good, though, Qhuinn, strong and steady. So he just needs time to heal and I think he'll come out of this fine."

"Guarantee me?" Qhuinn shot back fast, the edge hard in his tone.

"You know I can't do that," V fired back just as fast. "But it all looks good."

"Except?" Qhuinn pushed hearing the 'but' in V's tone.

Vishous didn't answer, just stepped away from Qhuinn's gurney and crossed his arms over his chest. Qhuinn clamped down on the jolt of fear that stabbed deep into his stomach at the vampire's reaction and pushed himself up on one elbow.

"Except, V?" he snapped out harshly, demanding a response.

"Except he shouldn't still be in a coma," Vishous spoke quietly, frustration cutting through his tone. "His vitals are good, the wounds are healing, there doesn't seem to be a reason for the coma. Havers can't figure it out, either, and I've been researching for hours and just can't --" He broke off with a sharp shake of his head and dragged his hands through his hair.

"Vishous?" Qhuinn's voice, though soft, was shaky.

"You relax; rest." V flashed the young vampire a quick look. "I'll... keep digging. In the meantime, that concussion means you'll need to be woken up every hour or so for today, at least."

"Can I do it upstairs in my room?"

Vishous hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Get John to help you upstairs, though. I don't want you taking a header anywhere between here and there. And he can be your alarm clock for the rest of the day, as well. And you're off rotation till tomorrow night."

Qhuinn nodded. John stepped forward and Vishous clapped a hand to his shoulder before striding away. John dragged his friend's arm across his shoulders and they made their way slowly out of the clinic and down the long tunnel.

"Thanks, John." Qhuinn's voice was a low rumble as he shifted stiffly on his bed. He sighed as he felt the other vampire pull his covers up over his shoulders. "John, what the hell am I gonna do if Blaylock dies? I don't... I can't... shit, John, what the hell?"

He gave in to the press of a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. And saw his anguish mirrored back at him from those bright blue eyes, like a punch to the gut. And the horror spread like a cancer, not just from inside, staining his soul, but from outside as well, now.

It was a living thing, this pain, tearing at his nerves, at his vital organs, at his very cells. And he suddenly realized that if he lost Blaylock, this agony would never be gone. And no amount of approval from the glymera could ever fix that.

Before he could wrap his hands around this thought, before he could make sense of this new discovery, his body betrayed him and he felt himself falling down a black hole, following the pain of his injuries. And the last thing he was conscious of was John's hand squeezing his shoulder; a reassurance and a promise.

CHAPTER 3

Qhuinn swam through a fog for the rest of the day, despite John waking him every hour or two. And then he was there, finally; conscious, awake, focused on the ceiling overhead. Night had fallen. The steel shutters that covered the mansion's many windows during sunlight hours were up and Qhuinn could see moonlight silvering a stripe across the carpet. He was alone and he briefly wondered if the household was at First Meal or if the Brothers were already out patrolling.

He pushed the covers off him and carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. Grunting softly as he slid to the floor, he didn't actually feel as stiff as he had when he'd crawled into the bed. Hopefully, a hot shower would loosen him up the rest of the way so he might actually make it downstairs without having to resort to transporting himself to the kitchen, not a good idea before his head was on straight.

The faint clink of glasses and plates he heard as he stepped out into the hallway told him everyone was still eating and he headed down the huge staircase, gripping the railing tightly. The shower had helped a lot but once he started down the stairs, his muscles started reconsidering. He offered the Scribe Virgin a quick thanks as he made it all the way to the bottom without giving in to the dizziness pulsing through his head and staggered only a little as he crossed the foyer to the kitchen.

He waved a quick hand to acknowledge the greetings he heard and he sank gratefully into the chair John pulled out for him but his eyes stayed locked on Vishous.

"Well?" he got straight to the point.

The Brother's resident medic sucked in a quick breath and shook his head gently. "I'm sorry, Qhuinn, he's still out. And I haven't found any reason to explain it. His vitals are still good but he's just -- not awake."

Qhuinn pushed back. "I've got to go see him," he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.

Several loud protests rang through the room, quickly fading to echoes when Wrath slapped his palm on the table.

"You're gonna sit here and eat something first," the King's voice rang out. "You won't do him any good if you fall over so food up first, then visit the injured."

"Wrath, I --"Qhuinn's protest didn't get far.

"Don't make me hand feed you, boy," Wrath warned, his voice dangerously low. "And I'm still not over that boneheaded stunt you pulled last night or the fact you ran out on John. Don't hold yourself in my headlights for too long or I might start regretting my generosity on the whole matter."

Qhuinn knew he'd been incredibly lucky that Wrath hadn't ordered his death the minute he set foot back in the mansion, injured or not, so he shut up and pulled his chair back up to the table. He already felt like he'd let down Blay, even though he had nothing to do with the male's injuries, and he didn't want to add a further betrayal of John to the mix. He saw Wrath nod once as he started filling his plate and soon the conversations were rolling over him as he picked slowly at the pile of food in front of him.

Vishous and Butch were off duty tonight and Qhuinn found himself following the Brotherhood's almost doctor down to the clinic after the patrols had all cleared out. His fists were tight at his sides and he had to fight his instinct to break loose and run the rest of the way. Yet at the same time, the closer they got to Blay's room, the more nervous he felt. It was almost a reluctance to face his friend.

Qhuinn couldn't understand the contrary feelings swamping him. The only thing that seemed to account for it was his overwhelming feeling that he'd let Blay down. And that made no sense because as he knew he had nothing to do with his friend's injuries. It wasn't as if they'd been in the field together and carelessness on Qhuinn's part had resulted in Blay being hurt. But as he crossed the room behind Vishous and waited at the foot of his male's bed, his confusion slowly lifted.

Qhuinn watched V pull down the sheet and peel back the bandage covering Blaylock's chest. He checked the wound and satisfied at the progress of healing, tossed the bandage in the biohazard bin in the corner. He repeated the steps with the gash on Blay's cheek and the deep stab wound on his thigh.

Despite the fact that all the wounds were closed, there was still an angry redness running the length of the slash across Blay's chest and the dark bruise surrounding the puncture on his thigh drew Qhuinn's eyes. And he knew why he felt like he'd let the male down.

Blay was alone. He was lost in some in-between world; not dead, not alive. And he didn't know that Qhuinn was out here waiting for him, loving him, ready to fight any and all enemies who would try to take him away from Qhuinn. Because Qhuinn had been a coward. Too afraid to buck the system. To stand against the glymera and tell them, "You never accepted me, you never wanted me, yet you still wouldn't let me go to live my own life. To love who I wanted."

And Qhuinn wanted Blaylock. Watching this beautiful male -- his beautiful male -- lying there, unaware, lost, Qhuinn knew he'd let him down by not telling him how much he was loved. By not giving Blay the strength of his love to back him up, to give him a reason to fight harder, to come home safe.

Vishous finished his exam and turned with a nod to Qhuinn, waving him forward. Then he crossed to the sink to wash his hands and with a squeeze of Qhuinn's shoulder, he left the two vampires alone.

Qhuinn snagged the back of the chair from against the wall and dragged it to the side of bed. The wave of dizziness knocked his feet out from under him and he fell heavily onto it, swallowing hard to hold in the sob that tried to escape. He blinked several times, trying to keep the threatening tears in and reached for the pale hand lying on top of the sheet. He watched his hand hover uncertainly above his friend's and frowned.

'Come on, man, what the hell's the matter with you? This is your friend. Remember? The one you'll love till --'

The thoughts slammed to a stop as effectively as a car against a brick wall and just about as painfully. The one you'll love till... when?

Qhuinn wrapped his fingers around his friend's, feeling his friend's fingers wrap around his heart. 'The one I'll love till...'

Till forever. Till I die. Till beyond. And to hell with anyone else. There was no one else. Nothing else mattered. This -- right here, right now -- was the only acceptance he would ever receive. John. Wrath. The Brotherhood.

Blaylock.

This was the only love he'd ever receive. And as he held on tight to the warm hand, motionless under his cheek, he finally accepted that it was the only love he ever wanted. He knew it would be hard to adjust to, at first. His conditioning ran deep; his need to belong and his fear of rejection, of being a freak, had shaped his life so absolutely. But it was time to stop kidding himself and face the cold, harsh facts.

He was going nowhere in the average, everyday world of the vampire race. It had finally come, the day his name had been stricken from all records and his family had turned him out on the road, and Qhuinn had ceased to exist anywhere but here. In fact, after the traditional honor guard had caught up to him, he'd briefly ceased to exist anywhere. The reparation he'd been expecting after he'd stabbed Lash for his attack on John had turned out to be something completely different. It turned out to be from his own family for the shame his actions had brought to them, according to vampire law.

But it had been taken way too far and those dealing out the beating had allowed their hatred of Qhuinn to overwhelm them and one of the participants had literally stomped his heart to death. And when he'd slammed back into his body as he stood in front of the door to the Fade, it had been Blay's lips on his, pushing air into his battered body. It had been his beautiful male giving him life, pulling him back to the only ones who'd ever given a shit about his sorry, miserable existence.

It was his turn now. His turn to acknowledge that everything that mattered in his world was here, lying silently, lost, in this bed.

"Blay," Qhuinn's voice was hoarse, quivering with fear. "Please, come back. Come back to me."

The harsh sob tore from his chest, the depth of his pain echoing through room. "Blaylock, please, don't leave me alone here. I know I'm not worthy of you, you deserve so much better than me. But there's nothing left for me without you."

He raised his head, blinking hard to clear his vision enough to see the face in front of him. He carefully, gently, laid a hand against the pale, warm cheek, stiffening at the jolt that hit him. Like a shot of electricity, the charge rippled through his nerve endings, throwing his heart into a triple time beat and locking his breath in his throat.

"Blaylock!"

Qhuinn was sure he saw his friend's head move, just the slightest shift, but when his position didn't change Qhuinn carded his fingers through the thick red hair. His free hand stroked slowly over the chiseled cheekbone and down the muscled column of Blay's throat.

"Blay, please," Qhuinn pleaded quietly, urgently. "Blay, come on, wake up. I-I love you, Blay. I know you never expected to hear me say that. I know I've pushed you away every time you tried to get close, tried to offer your love, to offer... yourself. I'm so sorry, I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Qhuinn's control bled away as he dropped his head back down on Blay's chest and tears burned behind his closed eyelids. His body shook as his sobs choked out the words he fought to speak, the pleading he couldn't stop, the begging for forgiveness. He stretched one arm across the injured vampire's waist, squeezing tightly as he turned his face into his friend's stomach.

"I nearly lost you, Blay," he continued brokenly. "I can't lose you. I can't let you go. Nothing else matters, Blay; not the damn glymera, not my shallow, miserable family, not those cover-up, fairy tale dreams of me finding a female of worth and starting a family. None of it means anything. And the shit I told you when I ran from your place, after my brother and his goons beat me to death in the road -- by the Scribe Virgin, Blaylock, I can't tell you how sorry I am. It was a lie, it was all lies. I had to protect you. I had to stop you from trying to follow me. Cos I love you, Blay, and I couldn't bear to think of you ending up in the same shit I was in. I couldn't bear to let you ruin your life like that... for me."

Qhuinn's voice trailed off, the anguish crushing him to a wordless, shaking mess. He tightened his hold on his friend, giving in to the hot tears scalding his face and soaking through the sheet to the warm skin of his male's hard abs. He drifted, the emptiness that stretched out in front of him sucking him down, and finally he became aware of a soft sound. A quiet, sibilant sound that slowly became recognizable as a soft shushing noise. The sound of comfort offered to someone in pain. And before he could raise himself up he felt the warm weight of a hand on the back of his head. As the hand stroked gently, he heard a beloved voice shushing him softly.

"Don't, Qhuinn," a soft whisper. "Don't hurt anymore."

Qhuinn choked out a harsh sob and turned his face against the hard, muscled body stretched out beside him. "I love you, Blay, I love you don't leave me please please... "

The words ran together, almost indecipherable in their grief. Qhuinn thought he'd run out of tears. He had to have, he'd shed so many already. But his friend's gentle touch, his soft, loving words, tore at Qhuinn's heart and a fresh wave of scalding tears poured from him. Then he felt Blaylock's hand slid down over his back and a moment later, he felt fingers twist weakly in the back of his sweatshirt. The hand at his back tugged a couple of times before the intent telegraphed itself into Qhuinn's scattered mind.

He raised his head and looked at Blay, who still lay with his eyes closed. "Blay?"

The beautiful face shifted slightly. The bare brush of a smile lifted his lips and Qhuinn felt the hand tug on him again.