Only If For a Night(MxM)

Rocky Transportation

Parking garages are the devil's playground. Every human that has ever stepped foot in one knows that it's perhaps the worst thing civilization has thought up.

Second only to traffic jams.

So, picture if you will, a traffic jam inside of a parking garage.

Jet wanted to kill everyone in the garage and then himself.

He had just driven the Telsa to Brooklyn to get it serviced, and he had made the mistake of glancing at the bill. That was maybe what he made in four months, and the kid was dropping that on servicing the car. The Tesla car had made no noise beneath him when he drove it, adding to the fact that he was nowhere near close to getting used to driving the white vehicle. Cars should make some noise, any noise. He was happy that his Suzuki GXS-S was his transport today. God, he loved that bike.

Finally finally finally, the line was clearing up. This snail-paced traffic was going on thirty-seven minutes of snaking through the tunnels behind slow-moving sedans and Priuses. Jet drummed his fingers on the throttle, anxious to get upstairs. Zuko wasn't alone, but he was without a security detail. Yue was great, but they were no bodyguard.

The squealing of tires turned his attention to the left, up the dark entrance tunnel.

A small red car raced his way, head-lights out, accelerator screaming.

" Fuck," He barked, glancing around wildly for a place to slip through. The garage was too tight. There was nowhere for him to go.

The white suburban in front of him was too slow, too broad, too late.

There wouldn't be enough time.

Jet was shocked at how powerful the impact was. He was a marine. He knew getting hit better than how to spell his name. But this, this was something else entirely.

The landing ricocheted in his head, rattling his brain, and vibrating his spine. Concrete was not a forgiving place to fall.

This is definitely going to bruise. Jet thought to himself as he fought for breath. The smell of burnt rubber and the sharp tang of blood invaded his senses.

People flocked to his side, their garbled voices telling him that he would be fine.

Well, of course, I'm gonna be okay, he wanted to tell them, I've gotta be to work in ten minutes.

The world swam around him before it faded from view.

~0~

"For the last time, I am fine. Perfectly, one hundred percent, a-okay," He sighed, eyebrows raised and flicking his gaze between a glowering Zuko and a frowning Maria.

"My ribs have bruised, I pulled a muscle in my shoulder, twisted my knee, and I have a fat lip. All things considered, I think this is a pretty good outcome,"

Maria growled at him, swatting his non-injured leg with her purse.

"Ay! Mama," he called out.

Itzair shrugged. "I've seen him get more hurt falling out of a tree in central park when he drunk,"

"See?" He pointed his hand at his sister. "Also, that was a secret, and you were not supposed to tell Mama about it," he chastised. Itzair shrugged again. She was a nurse here at the hospital, and she had stopped in to visit.

Zuko said nothing and sat in the corner of the room; arms crossed tightly across his chest.

"Are you coming home with me then, Mijo ?" Maria asked, lips tight.

"No, I have to work tonight," He shook his head.

She scolded him in Spanish, telling him that he works every night and that he can come home for at least one night, especially now that he is injured.

"Mama, trust me. I need to work tonight, okay? I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't. Just trust me."

There was no way in hell that he was leaving Zuko home alone. There was not a bone in his body that said this hit and run was an accident. It was the stalker. It had to be. There were three other people on a bike in that line, one wasn't wearing a helmet, and the other was directly in front of the entrance. Whoever had crashed into him had to have followed Jet in, and purposefully sought him out.

"I trust you, Jet. But not to keep yourself safe," She sighed, kissing his cheek.

"I know, Mama,"

"Call me when you get home, my love," She said with her lips pressed thin. She wanted nothing more than to take him home with her.

"Love you too," he said and watched her walk out of the door, her gray hair shifting as she shook her head.

The doctor had come in to talk to him a while ago and said that he was ultimately okay. He was waiting for a nurse to bring the papers in for him to sign. Then he was free to go.

"Oh, I am not excited to pay for this medical bill," he grumbled to himself, scratching at the knee brace they had wrangled him on him. He had to admit, though, the second they strapped it on, a significant amount of the pain went away.

"I'm paying," Zuko said quietly from the corner.

"I have insurance; it'll cover most of it; it's fine, Zuko," he reassured.

"I'm paying for it," He retorted austerely, effectively ending the conversation.

There was no way in hell that Jet would admit that he kind of liked it when he was bossy.

"This isn't your fault, you know. So don't you dare start mopin' around thinkin' that it is," Jet said calmly. He could hardly stifle the groan as he sat up. It slipped through anyhow.

Zuko shifted from foot to foot next to him, hands out, and ready to help.

"I'm not gonna fall," Jet grunted, swatting away his hand.

"I'm not going to walk away," Zuko snapped back.

"Carry my stuff then," he gestured vaguely to the helmet and jacket in a plastic hospital bag on a chair across the room.

"There's blood on the jacket," Zuko said monotonously, letting it dangle by a sleeve. Sure enough, there were dark brown splatters on the sleeve and collar.

"That's how cuts usually work, " he croaked out, standing up on shaky legs. "They bleed. Some of them bleed a lot,"

"It was him, wasn't it?" Zuko whispered while he ignored Jet's attempts at zipping up his coat and doing it for him. He was close enough that Jet could smell the eucalyptus from his shampoo.

"I think so, yeah,"

Zuko sighed, hands resting on Jet's shoulders, so hot that it seeped through his shirt.

"Remember, I told you that this isn't your fault," Jet tried to reassure, but it was harder than he thought, especially with Zuko so close. His scar was harsher in the light of the hospital, bloody looking and shiny.

His posture was ready for war, and his eyes screamed of homicide, but he nodded at his bodyguard. Looking in his eyes was like staring into the heart of a bonfire. Jet was willing to get burnt just to get a touch of it.

"We'll get him, okay? This isn't gonna last forever, I promise,"

"I believe you," He whispered.