Autumn - 2. The Ties That Bind

Dr. Prescott Harding was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico to working-class parents. They encouraged their son to excel academically, knowing it was the way Pres could have a better life than theirs. Short in stature, Prescott worked tirelessly on developing his body to compensate for his lack of height. By the time he'd finished high school, he was a magnificent specimen of solid muscle.

He accepted his parents’ guidance, and followed their advice, spending twice as much time studying as he spent time in the gym. At eighteen, he graduated at the top of his high school class and was accepted to the University of New Mexico. Prescott earned enough scholarships, to pay his tuition, books, room and board, with some left over for personal expenses. In college, he discovered the joy of sex.

The combination of looks and brain, made it easy for him to bed any of his classmates he found attractive. From the captain of the cheerleading squad, who badly wanted to snag a trophy husband, to the Wolves basketball team's star point guard, who towered over his shorter friend. The tall athlete was happy to give Pres complete control over his body, whenever the opportunity arose. There was never a need to use his relations to compensate for deficiencies in his studies, but by the time he graduated, he’d also conquered several of his professors, both male and female. He was one of the most popular students on campus.

Harding subsequently attended and graduated from Duke University School of Medicine. He then chose Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center, in New York City, for his residency. Preston remained at Columbia for a couple of years, concentrating his efforts on infectious disease research, and the treatment of HIV.

In 2004, he accepted the position of Director at the George Washington University Milken Institute of Public Health, and moved to Washington, D.C. After settling into his new home, Dr. Harding became actively involved in both the addiction-recovery and gay communities, serving as an advocate for people living with HIV.

During his time in New York City, Prescott had discovered his affinity with the leather community, becoming a fixture at Rawhide and NYC Eagle. His aggressive and domineering demeanor had even the largest of studs willing to bend to his will. He was a hit at the D.C. Eagle after his move to the nation’s capital. In 2004, he won the Mr. Eagle Contest and represented his new hometown in the Mid-Atlantic Leather competition. To this day, pictures of him wearing boots, chaps, a harness, and a cover, grace the walls of many gay bars around the world.

That same year he moved to Washington, Preston met and fell in lust with a newly minted physician from Alabama, a recent graduate of John Hopkins Medical School. He befriended Dr. Matthew Calhoun and asked him out on a date. Unfortunately, both preferred to top, and since neither was willing to become the other one’s catcher regularly, it made them sexually incompatible. They did become good friends, and in 2009 created a partnership, opening up a private medical practice.

As Doc’s business partner, Prescott met and interacted with all members of the Elite Eight; he would have happily put a collar around any of their necks. However, out of respect for Doc, he kept his distance and didn’t pursue any of them.

When their office manager walked into Prescott’s office to let him know Detective Thomas Kennedy had been shot, and was on his way to the emergency room, the police officer became his number one concern. With Doc out of town, he was the cop’s primary care physician.

“Levi, please cancel and reschedule all remaining appointments for this afternoon,” said Prescott as he started walking towards their office’s private entrance. “Explain the reason why, and send anyone requiring critical care to the clinic next door. I’m on my way to the ER.”

“You got it, Prescott. Please let me know what’s going on as soon as you can. I’ll call Matt and fill him in. He’ll probably want to return to D.C. when he hears the news.”

Detective Kennedy had his husband, John Paul Smith, listed as his emergency contact with his employer. Minutes after his shooting, his partner’s frantic call for back-up, and the dispatching of emergency personnel to the location, JP received a call in his office letting him know what had happened. The police dispatcher told JP a patrol car would be waiting for him in front of the Australian Embassy to transport him to George Washington University Hospital.

Trembling and trying hard to control his tears, JP walked over to his assistant’s desk, told her what had taken place, asked her to let the Ambassador know he was leaving the office, and was unsure when he would return. In a daze, he walked outside the embassy building, towards Massachusetts Avenue. The driveway in front of the main entrance was bordered by concrete planters, placed as part of the consulate’s security measures.

“Mister Smith? I’m Kumar Warsi, if you’ll please get in the car, I’ll have you at the hospital in no time.” Officer Warsi was a dark-skinned young man, with features that made JP assume he was Indian or Pakistani.

“Thank you, officer. Do you have any news about my husband? All they told me on the phone was he’d been shot. They said he was alive, and on the way to GW Hospital.”

“Yes, sir, that’s what I was told too. Detective Kennedy was alive, on his way to the emergency room, and I was instructed to get you. Hopefully, he was wearing his vest.”

“He was! I saw him put it on this morning while getting dressed.”

The drive from the embassy to the hospital would normally have taken around fifteen minutes; with lights flashing and sirens blaring, JP was delivered to the Emergency Room entrance in under ten, just as the ambulance carrying his partner arrived. Those few minutes felt like an eternity. After the short conversation with Kumar, he called César, to let him know what was going on. His friend told him he was on his way to pick CJ up in Arlington and would drive to the hospital as soon as he had the kid with him.

Brett was on the phone with Rashid, having called the attorney to let him know he and César had CJ with them. He thanked their friend for his help and asked him to convey their gratitude to his boss.

“Thanks for calling, mate. I’m glad the kid’s safe, I’ll let the big boss know.”

“One more thing, King… Tom Kennedy was shot. He’s been taken to GWU Hospital. We’re on our way there now.”

“Bloody hell! What do you know about it? How bad is it? How the fuck did this happen?”

“Hey, hey! All we know is he was shot twice, we’re guessing his bulletproof vest probably saved his life, but he’s injured nonetheless. Bud, I need to call a couple more people about CJ, please let Dragon know about Tom. Once we get to the hospital, I’ll call again as soon as we have more information.”

“Fuck! I have a meeting with a client in a bit, but I’ll head over to the hospital as soon as I’m done with him. Call me.”

“We’ll see you there, Rash.” Brett turned around in his seat to check on CJ, who was awfully quiet. “How you doing, champ?”

“I’m okay, I guess. I’m still pissed about what happened to me, I want to hurt those two dirty cops real bad. But I’m scared about Uncle Tommy.” The boy swiped his eyes with the back of his hands, wiping away moisture before it turned to tears. “I love him and Uncle JP almost as much as I love the two of you…”

“Just think positive thoughts, CJ.” César looked at his son in the rear-view mirror. “We’ll be there in a bit, and we’ll find out more about what happened. JP said Tom was wearing his vest, and it probably saved his life. There’s a gym bag behind my seat, I have wet wipes in there. Grab some, clean your face, and change shirts. You’ll find a couple of clean ones in there.”

“Okay,” CJ replied while wiping his eyes with his hands once again. The boy did as his father suggested: opened the bag, took out wipes, and a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Brett noticed he smiled when he saw the design on it: the front of a motorcycle and a sign reading ‘Motorcycle Parking Only’ in the background.

“Thanks again for calling the police department, Sir.” Brett was now on the phone with his boss. Colonel Edwards was delighted his young friend was all right and considered the call he’d made on his behalf insignificant.

“I’ll be calling the Chief back, Captain. I’m not gonna let the matter drop. Somebody really fucked up, and I want their ass.” Brett grinned at the thought of his CO being pissed off; the cops arresting CJ were in trouble. His boss was known to blow up at those who crossed him; the result was never pretty.

“One other thing before I let you go, Sir. Our friend Tom Kennedy has been shot. We’re on our way to the hospital now. I think we’ll be staying in town this weekend, so we can visit with him and help out in any way we can.” The Colonel had met and interacted with Detective Kennedy several times, most recently at the wedding, and they were on friendly terms.

“Please call me when you know his status, Captain. I like that man. You have my cell number, use it.”

“Will do, Colonel.” Brett closed his eyes for a moment after finishing the call and let out a loud breath of air. “Shit! What a fucking day.”

“Yes, sir, I’m fine. My father asked me to call and thank you and the Senator for your help.” Brett listened to CJ’s conversation and figured out his son was speaking with someone at Senator Rubio’s office. “The Chief of Police apologized, he promised to deal with the two officers, and to let us know what would happen. Yes, sir, I’ll forward a copy of whatever the chief sends us.”

Levi Olken handled Dr. Harding’s instructions quickly and efficiently. Patients in the waiting area were informed of the circumstances, referred to the Urgent Care Clinic if necessary, or had were rescheduled for another day. The receptionist was asked to call anyone with appointments later in the day and make the proper arrangements. Incoming calls were transferred to the answering service.

“Helen, I’d like you to stay behind with the receptionist for about an hour, in case any of the afternoon patients don’t get our message.”

“Sure, Levi, I’d be happy to. I may see you at the hospital when I close up the office. I already texted Chatri, and he’s trying to get over here. We’ve met Detective Kennedy, we were at his wedding, and both of us think the world of him. I hope he’ll be okay.”

“That’s fine, Helen, I’m going to scoot over to the hospital and see what I can see. I hope I get to see you and your hunky fiancé later.”

The Israeli-born man, well known to the hospital staff because of his association with Doc and Prescott, had no problems getting through the massed number of staff and police personnel out front. Finding JP looking a bit lost, he took his arm, and steered him toward the back of the ER. Levi knocked on a partially open door, a female voice invited them to go in, and he guided the Aussie into the department supervisor’s office. Following introductions, she invited the men to help themselves to coffee and promised to be back as soon as possible with any information she could find about the detective’s condition. JP paced inside the small space, waiting for the woman to return, mumbling prayers asking for his husband’s survival.

JP’s phone chimed, indicating a text message

parking… c u in 5

It was from Brett. JP told Levi where he was going, walked out of the small office, and headed towards the Emergency Room entrance. Levi said he would stay behind, waiting for the ER supervisor to return.

‘Uncle Pope, Uncle Pope!” CJ called out, as he saw JP walking towards the front of the reception area. A hospital employee was asking the milling police officers not to block the entrance when JP heard CJ’s call. He turned around as the teen launched himself at the older man, wrapped his arms around him, and repeatedly said how sorry he was. The emotional display of affection and concern, brought tears to JP’s eyes, the first he had shed since receiving the initial news of the shooting. His resolve to remain calm and not break down crumbled.

Being surrounded by CJ, César, and Brett, JP realized his family was with him, he wouldn’t be facing the ordeal alone. A feeling of relief enveloped him, and his emotions finally rose to the surface. Still in the boy’s arms, the man reached a hand towards the back of the nearest chair to support himself, slumping down into it as soon as he had grabbed the edge. He didn’t trust his legs not to buckle. CJ let go of him and took a seat by his side.

“How is he? Is Uncle Tommy hurt bad?”

“Hey, CJ, I think Tommy’s gonna be alright. I’m waiting on an update on his condition from the ER supervisor, but the cop who drove me here told me wearing a Kevlar vest improved the odds of him surviving significantly. César, Brett, thanks for coming, mates.”

“Where the fuck else would we be, Pope? We’re family.” It was Brett’s chance to wrap his arms around his friend, and whisper his love for him and Tommy. César repeated the process, uttering almost the same words when it was his turn.

“Lots of police officers standing around the Emergency Room,” César observed. “I guess when one of their own’s injured, they all come out to show support. And I think most of them are staring at us right now.”

“What do you expect? A kid in running shorts and a t-shirt, two guys in business suits, and a Marine in uniform, all hugging in the middle of the room. You’d be staring too! And as soon as they realize I’m their fellow cop’s husband, they’ll all be coming over.” JP removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt’s sleeves, revealing his distinctive Maori-style tattoo. There was a noticeable increase in the whispered conversations coming from the police officers surrounding them. He heard someone say the dark-haired man with the inked arm was Detective Kennedy’s husband. Another cop said he recognized the marine, and the tall, olive-skinned man, as the other couple in their fellow officer’s joint wedding. He also mentioned the good-looking kid appeared to be the Marine’s son since he kept calling him Papa.

One by one the officers approached JP and shook his hand while saying kind words; they then did the same with César, Brett, and CJ. The parade of officers paying their respect continued through the afternoon. They came and went as time and their duties allowed; Cesar later said he had lost count after the D.C. Chief of Police and the Mayor stopped by.

“Howdy, guys.”

“Matt! How’s my husband? When did ya get here, mate? Please tell me he’s gonna be ok.” JP had exploded out of his seat when Doc greeted his friends.

“Yes, he is, John Paul. And I’ve been here for a bit. Came over straight from the airport, used the staff entrance, and went to talk to my partner, Prescott. He’s been with Potus from the moment he was brought in. That hard-headed Irishman is gonna be just fine.”

JP slumped into one of the chairs, sobbing and mumbling “thank you” over and over. It was CJ who sat next to him, put his arm around the older man, and held him until the tears stopped.

“Here’s what’s going on, folks. He was hit by two bullets. One struck him on the upper left side of his chest and was stopped by the vest. The area is tender, it’ll hurt for a while, and he’s gonna have a hell of a bruise there. The other bullet punched a hole in his right thigh, missed the femoral artery, and lodged in the muscle. Prescott was in the operating room as an observer, he said the surgeon had no problems removing the slug, and closing him up. Tom also hit his head on the pavement when he fell. The MRI revealed a hairline fracture of the cranium, but no signs of brain swelling.”

“He’s in recovery and still sleeping. We’re going to keep him sedated overnight, then put him in the tube again, to snap more pictures. If there’s still no swelling, we’ll allow him to wake up on his own, and then re-evaluate him later in the day. I expect him to be out of the Intensive Care Unit in a day or two. We’ll move him to a regular room then, but we’ll keep him in the hospital until later in the week. The fucker’s gonna have a bitch of a headache. I can take you back to see him for two or three minutes, but then I’d suggest y’all go home and get some food and rest.”

“Let’s go!” said CJ, taking charge.

“Dad, how ‘bout you stay here with Uncle JP and keep him company. Papa, you and I can go home, so we can clean up and change. On our way back, we’ll get some take-out, and bring it to the hospital so we can all eat together.” CJ and his two dads had spent a few minutes each with Detective Kennedy, who was sleeping with no apparent discomfort. The teenager had come out of the ICU room smiling, certain his uncle would be okay.

“Excuse me? Who the fuck died and left you in charge?” Brett tried not to laugh at his son’s comment; it wasn’t the first time the boy exhibited initiative and leadership. Yet each instance came as a surprise.

“Move it, Marine, we’re wasting time!” said CJ laughing, scampering away to avoid the head slap being aimed at him. Suddenly, he was a fifteen-year-old, smart-assed kid again. Both fathers liked it, when their little boy came out from behind the mature young adult they dealt with most of the time.

“Fuck! The kid actually makes sense. Guess I better follow his orders. What do you want for chow, babe?”

“You nuts? I ain’t gonna even make a suggestion, I’m sure General CJ has it all figured out.” César kissed Brett on his cheek, slapped his butt, and pushed him towards the corridor, where their son waited.

On their way to the parking garage, they ran into Dragon, King, and Danno. Brett gave them a two-minute summary of the situation, asking them to stick around until they returned with food.

At home in Georgetown, the two men showered and changed in record time. Dressed in jeans and t-shirts, Brett called ahead to their favorite Vietnamese restaurant, while CJ packed his tablet and a few other things into a backpack.

“Damn! That was good food. Thanks, guys.” Dragon had eaten his share, and then some. The man still ate as if he was on the football field every day. He would likely end up gaining weight like many former athletes did unless he changed his eating habits.

“You’re welcome, bud. You can thank CJ for the extra food. He suggested I order enough for eight, in case Doc joined us.” Brett was sitting on the floor, between César’s legs, with his back against the front of the couch. There weren’t enough seats in the small waiting room for all of them; he and CJ had taken a spot on the floor to eat. The boy was picking up grains of rice he’d spilled when Doc walked in.

“You better not be planning on eating that, CJ.” Doc smiled as he looked at the kid, picking up a sprig of fresh basil, from the gray industrial carpeting. “I don’t think the five-second rule applies here. The daily vacuuming is probably not sufficient to leave the floor clean enough to eat from.”

“You think I’m crazy, Uncle Matt? We thought you’d gone home, so we didn’t save you any food, sorry.” CJ had gotten up and was going around the room, collecting paper plates and chopsticks from everyone.

“Nope, since my office is just two buildings away, I walked over there to clean up and change clothes. I stopped and ate in the staff dining room. I have another patient in the hospital. I came back to check up on him and Tom before going home for the night. I think you’ll like the news on your husband, JP.”

“Really? Is he really going to be okay?” JP’s voice held hope and relief.

“Yes, he is, my friend. He’s stable, all vital signs are normal, and I’ve already ordered the second MRI, for first thing in the morning. The surgeon felt with Tom being in great physical shape, his body will heal faster than most people would. Why don’t you all go home and get some rest?”

“Can I stay with him tonight?”

“I thought you’d want to do that. Come over and meet the nurse in charge of the overnight shift, he’s about to go on duty. I already spoke with him. He’s fine with you sleeping on the recliner in Tom’s room.”

They all walked up to the nurse’s station in the middle of the unit and were introduced to Caleb. The nurse was a good-looking, soft-spoken man who reassured JP he had no problem with him staying. He pointed out it was past visiting hours and suggested the rest of them head home. They could return tomorrow morning, any time after eight.

“I’m spending the night, Dads. Hospital food sucks, so bring me breakfast in the morning?”

“Mate, you heard the nurse, only I’m allowed in there. Go home and get some rest. You had plenty of excitement for one day yourself.”

“Nope, I’m staying until Uncle Tommy himself tells me to go home.”

“Come on, CJ, be reasonable. Your day has been hectic enough, you need some rest.” César pleaded with his son. The look of reluctant acceptance on his dad’s face told CJ he’d already won the argument.

“I’m staying, dad. Don’t make me act my age and throw a tantrum.” CJ smiled. It was all for fun now.

“Fucking Cuban men, they're all headstrong, pushy, dictator wannabes!” Brett had a smile on his face too; CJ thought Papa had also given in already.

“Watch it, Jarhead. OK, you can stay, CJ. But you better get over this Fidel Castro complex real soon, or I may have to spank you!”

“Promise, Daddy?”

“Oh no, I’m out of here. I’ve seen this comedy routine before when I stayed with them. JP, Caleb, call me if anything comes up. I’ll be here making rounds tomorrow morning. Tom should be back from his MRI by then.”

“Are you really his nephew, CJ?” the nurse was amused by the family interaction playing out in front of him.

“Well, I think of him as my uncle, even though we’re not blood relatives. I think the ties that bind us are just as strong, though. I was the best man at his wedding if that helps.”

“I think that counts. I just can’t let you in the room with him at the same time as Mr. Smith is in there, even though I’ll recognize you as next-of-kin if something comes up. You’ll have to hang out in the waiting area.”

“Works for me,” said CJ shrugging his shoulders. As long as he was nearby, in case something happened, he didn’t care where exactly he was. Plus there was only one comfortable recliner in the room anyway.

“I’ll keep an eye on your son, sir. I may ask you for advice on how to deal with teenagers later on; my wife just gave birth to a boy.”

“Ship him off to boarding school as soon as they start talking! Behave, bud. You have your phone?”

“Yeah. I’ll hang out in the waiting room. I brought my tablet, so I can read or surf until I crash.”

Before JP went into Tommy’s room, a large African-American man wearing a security officer’s uniform, walked up to the nurses’ station, and introduced himself as Dallas.

“Hey, Caleb, I’m assuming these two gentlemen are relatives of the police officer who was shot today?”

“Yes, sir, this is his husband, John Paul, and his nephew, CJ. They’ve both been cleared, and have permission to spend the night on the floor.”

“Good to meet you, sir. You too, CJ,” said the guard. “I promised the officers milling around downstairs, that I'd spend extra time on this floor. There’ll be a cruiser, with two officers in it, parked outside all night long. They don’t want journalists or other crazies trying to get up here. Call me if you need me."

“Thank you, Dallas. I appreciate everybody’s efforts to keep my husband safe. And, Caleb, CJ’s our nephew. No qualifiers needed. I’ll probably crash out as soon as I go sit by Tommy. If anything comes up that CJ can handle, and he’s still awake, I’m okay with him dealing with it.”

“Go rest, uncle JP. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be up for a while reading. If any reporters show up, I’ll deal with them.”

It was almost midnight; CJ was engrossed in reading The Luxorian Fugitive, a gripping science fiction story involving a spaceship full of gay men. The teen, sitting in the small waiting area by himself, noticed movement outside the large glass window, facing the center of the intensive care unit. A man dressed as a priest, accompanied by an older couple, approached the nurses’ station and spoke with Caleb. The boy saw the nurse shake his head, and point towards the room CJ was sitting in. He put his tablet down, on top of the backpack resting on the chair next to him, and walked out of the room. He thought he might as well find out why he was part of whatever conversation was being carried on.

“Hey, buddy, this couple claim to be Detective Kennedy’s parents. Do you recognize them? They want to know what room he’s in so their priest can administer last rites. CJ’s the detective’s nephew, Father Enger.”