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Alex is about two miles away from figuring out his current problem, he can feel it. ‘Course, the blisters on his feet that have formed over his five mile run in the disgusting hot humidity of New York City in July are telling him he should’ve figured his shit out about four miles ago. To which his brain replies something like, ‘listen, it’s not everyday that we discover that maybe all those times fooling around with Liam actually meant something for our sexuality and not just a thing all guys do.’
He’s been on this run for longer than he normally has to go, mostly because he keeps spiralling around the idea that he didn’t even
consider
that he could be bisexual. All the joy he’d felt at pride events as an ally had actually been- but also, if he hadn’t known this, how stupid is he? If he missed this huge piece of himself, had he really earned being Valedictorian in high school or his Magna Cum Laude degree from Georgetown? Does he even deserve to be in law school at NYU right now? How much of his life is a lie? And how could he have been taken down by some ridiculously hot model in Lacoste underwear?
Also this light is taking too fucking long, and he briefly considers just running around the block again rather than continuing to jog in place waiting for it, when he hears a commotion from behind even through his ear-pods.
“David, no, not the street!”
On instinct he turns, expecting to catch an errant child from running into the street, but instead it’s a fucking beagle. Still, he lunges for ‘David,’ skinning his knees something fierce as he grabs the running body and hugs it to him with all his might. He lands on his side, and then his head bounces against the sidewalk and his brain is ringing like a goddamned bell, and the dog is still fucking wriggling in his arms.
“Oh my god-” he hears a voice, all British and posh, float over him. Time and his vision are doing weird things. “Oh Christ, you’re bloody gorgeous, of course you are,” the voice mutters.
Alex tries to focus his eyes to the man now kneeling by him, getting a handle on the squirrely beagle in his arms. He sees a light halo around the man, his hair shining gold, his face beautiful and free from imperfections except for a small beauty mark above his lip which, honestly, Alex would have to argue is not an imperfection at all.
“Are you my guardian angel?”
“Christ, I’m calling 911. You hit your head really hard. It’s going to be okay.”
The dog, at least, seems to have miraculously calmed down in the angel’s arms. “Is he okay?”
The angel looks perplexed, then down at the dog in his lap, even as he has a phone pressed against his ear. “What, David? He’s fine, thanks to you. Thank you, Christ, I’m not sure what I would’ve done. It’s a new harness and apparently I didn’t clasp the buckle correctly and then a car horn scared him and he was just taking off and then- Yes, hello, I’m at the corner of…of Ocean and Newkirk Avenues, I need an ambulance. A jogger has fallen and hit his head and seems disoriented and I just- just want to be cautious and not send him away with a brain bleed or something, right, yes-”
The Angel’s posh voice fades into the background, but Alex doesn’t want to be disconnected from him, so he reaches out his hand and pets over the beagle’s soft fur. He hears the background voice hesitate, and then the Angel’s tentative hand is resting on his, spreading comfort there too.
Another bystander, an older black woman with salt and pepper braids, drops to her knees next to Alex’s head. “Sir? I’m a doctor with —--” She says some clinic in a thick Long Island accent and Alex’s brain definitely doesn’t want to comprehend that. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Alex, Alex Claremont-Diaz.”
She looks relieved that he can at least produce that information. “That’s excellent, Alex. May I touch you to take a look at your injuries?”
“Sure. Don’t look so worried, the Angel said I’m going to be okay.”
She snorts as she looks over at the Angel, reminding him so much of Nora that his heart pangs. “Yeah, definitely a concussion. Did he hit anything else when he fell?”
“His knees, and maybe his shoulder?”
Now that the Angel mentions it, Alex’s shoulder does hurt. He moves it, and immediately cries out in pain. “What the fuck?!”
“Okay, let’s not do that again,” the doctor says in a calm voice. “I can hear the ambulance. I’ll catch the EMTs up to speed with what I’ve found. Your angel was right though, Alex, I think you’re going to be okay once we patch you all up. I’m just going to stay right here with you until I can talk to them, okay?” she continues in a calm, soothing voice.
Alex nods, then decides against that kind of movement again because it makes him feel nauseated. But his fingers running through the beagle’s fur ground him somewhat. “Are you Gabriel? That’s why my parents chose that name, you know, so I’d always have someone to watch out for me.”
The Angel smiles down at him, his teeth white and perfect. “No, love, my name’s Henry. And I’m extremely grateful you are apparently my dog’s guardian angel, and very sorry that you’re so injured.”
“Henry…Henry…I don’t remember any angels named Henry, but it’s been quite a few years since Confirmation. Sorry, Henry.”
“It’s okay, Alex. Just relax.”
Alex tries to follow the Angel’s directions, but the sirens are so loud now, they feel like they’re blasting his brain apart. He closes his eyes against them as if that will help somehow. Blessedly, they stop soon after that, but then Alex can’t open his eyes because the bright red lights are like spikes in his head.
“Male, Alex, early 20s, definitely some type of head injury, also complaining about shoulder pain,” the doctor is telling someone else.
“And his knees,” Henry adds, and that’s when Alex involuntarily gets a look at his skinned knees for the first time, and how the wounds are thoroughly embedded with dirt and debris from the sidewalk, sluggishly bleeding red, and he turns his head away and immediately throws up all over his good shoulder and the sidewalk nearby.
“Okay, you’re all right, Alex, my partner and I are going to get you on a stretcher and we’ll get you out of here and feeling a lot better, okay?” asks a new voice, and Alex is having a hard time keeping track of all these new people.
“Sure. Let’s do that.”
Time gets all wibbly-wobbly, and there are movements and rides and scans and IVs being placed and at some point Henry and the beagle go away, but then Henry’s back again, in a room full of white that makes him look even brighter and more angelic than he had on the street.
“How do you go around without everyone knowing?” Alex mumbles, and it comes out as more of a coughing slur than actual words, but it draws Henry’s attention to him.
He quickly moves his chair over and takes Alex’s hand. “What was that, Alex? Are you in pain? Should I get the nurse?”
“No.” Alex closes his eyes, trying to get his brain to push thoughts out around his mushy tongue. He opens his eyes to meet Henry’s and tries again. “You’re an angel and you’re just walking around New York? How does everyone not know?”
Henry looks amused. “I’m not an angel, Alex. I’m just Henry. Just a man, a very, very thankful and sorry man.”
Alex squints. “Are you sure?”
“Unfortunately, yes. If I was an angel, I’d heal you right now, but sadly, all I can do is hold your hand. Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
“Like your hand,” Alex mumbles, drifting off again.
The next time he wakes, it's to definite pain, both in his head and his shoulder. “Fucking shit,” he groans, trying to shift away from the pain on his side.
Henry’s concerned face hovers in front of his, stopping his motion. “Careful, love, you don’t want to pull it back out of place. Your shoulder was dislocated in the fall, so it’s more susceptible right now to getting pulled back out.”
“Hurts.”
Henry nods. “I’ll call the nurse right away.” He reaches over Alex’s body and presses a call button, then sits beside Alex and looks anxious.
“Am I- is my brain okay? Feels like I have fucking ice picks gnawing at my head.”
“You have a concussion, but your MRI came back clear, no brain bleed or anything.”
“Good. Like that blood to stay there. Need all that shit for school.”
Henry gives a little smile at that. “They cleaned up your knees, and you had some blisters on your feet that they bandaged as well. And then there’s the shoulder. You’ll have to have your arm in a sling while it heals.”
Alex nods, letting his eyes slip closed again. “And June’s off like, talking to the doctor or something?”
“I’m not sure who June is…”
He opens his eyes back up again to Henry’s concerned frown. “My sister didn’t bust down the doors of the hospital to find me? Wow, I’m so not getting her a good Christmas present this year.”
“Ah, well, Alex, all we have is your name, but you didn’t have ID on you, so we couldn’t really call anyone. And your phone is locked, though I did bring a charger for it, so it’s working. Oh, but you aren’t allowed to look at screens right now because of the concussion.”
It takes Alex a few moments to process all that. “327327, that’s the code on my phone. My sister’s in there as Junebug. If you could contact her?”
“Of course! One moment.”
Henry turns away, and Alex is distracted by a nurse who asks him his pain level, takes his vitals, and orders some more medication for him. Once Alex clues back in to Henry, Henry’s sitting on the side of his bed and holding his phone out. “June’s on speaker. I gave her the quick rundown of what happened this afternoon, but she wanted to hear your voice, of course.”
“Hey bug,” Alex says, feeling like he might fall asleep again soon as the pain medication starts hitting his bloodstream. “Can you bring my wallet?”
June’s laugh sounds a little teary and manic over the phone, but she agrees, telling Henry and Alex she’ll see them soon.
“I hope you don’t mind, I left my phone in your number, just so you can contact me for hospital or ambulance bills or anything. I’m capable of paying for it all, and I know the insurance here is shite. Please, please, please do not hesitate. I put it in as Henry Fox from the Hospital. I am beyond grateful for how you saved David.”
Alex feels his forehead wrinkle as he looks up at this beautiful man. “I thought maybe I misheard you before. You really named your dog David? What is he, an accountant?”
Henry laughs, his grin a quick flash. “After Bowie, love.”
“Then why not name him Bowie?”
“Bit on the nose, don’t you think?”
That makes Alex want to laugh, but his head is too fuzzy. He closes his eyes, settling into his pillows. “Can’t believe I already scored a hottie’s number. I have to be the fastest to speed run bisexuality. Go me.”
With that, he’s out like a light.