Write Your Own Song

Chapter 3

"Hey, what's with the whole Elmo look?"

Jack narrowed his eyes in confusion. He must have heard him wrong. "What?"

"Elmo - hair in the face, all moody and shit."

"Emo," Jack corrected, a little baffled about where his brother came up with this stuff.

"That's what I said. Emo," Bobby said as he dropped into the chair next to Jack's bed.

"No …" Jack started slowly, "you said Elmo. Furry. Red. Muppet. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Does his hair look like shit, too?"

"Like you have any room to talk, Bobby," a shrill, heavily accented voice sounded from the doorway and Bobby sighed dramatically, leaning his head back in exasperation.

"Angel are you trying to drive me insane?" Bobby asked the ceiling as he propped his feet up on the bed, coming dangerously close to hitting Jack's leg. It was immobilized in a clunky brace, a brace Jack had a sinking feeling he was going to be stuck with for quite some time. As the doctor pointed out, it wasn't a good idea to get shot in the knee.

"Angel's not here. He went to the cafeteria to get something to eat," Sofi said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Nothing new, really - there was always a hint of annoyance in her voice. More that a hint, usually.

"He's voluntarily eating hospital food?" Jack asked, grimacing. He'd only been awake for a couple of days, but he was already sick of the food and was wondering if he could make a request to only eat pudding for the three weeks or so the doctor was threatening to keep him in there for.

"He's used to eating food in little foil packets in the desert. Not to mention Sofi's cooking," Bobby said with a laugh.

Sofi scowled at him as she made her way over to the opposite side of the bed. "I'll remember that the next time you ask for seconds."

She leaned over Jack and placed a hand on his forehead. She did that the other day too, and both times he had to resist the urge to flinch away from her. Motherly concern wasn't exactly a side of Sofi they often saw and it scared him a little. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"I'm okay," he mumbled, telling the truth for the most part. He was getting better, that's what the doctor said. It was going to be long, it was going to be slow, and it was going to be painful, but he was going to get better - if his family didn't drive him insane first.

She scowled as she moved her hand to his cheek. "You feel warm. Are you sure you don't feel sick?"

"Jesus, just leave him alone, you crazy bitch," Bobby said, rolling his eyes.

"He could get sick. He could get an infection. He has to be careful." She was shouting across the bed over Jack.

Bobby stood up and matched her stance, eyeing her down like they were locked in an epic battle. Jack leaned back into his pillow, trying to avoid the line of fire. He regretted the movement immediately as sharp pain radiated from his shoulder and through his chest, stealing his breath for a second. Neither of his visitors noticed, though, they were having too much fun fighting with each other.

"That's what the fucking doctors and nurses are for." God, Bobby could get loud.

"Doctors get busy and they get distracted; they make mistakes."

"Well, thank God we have you then. Ain't nothing going to fucking happen on your watch."

Jack felt like he was trapped in the middle of a ping-pong match from hell. His hand inched slowly toward the call button as they continued to throw insults back and forth at each other.