A Rush of Blood to the Head

Two Minutes Felt Like Forever

John held on for some time, breathing shallow and stalling. By the time Mark and the technician had returned, he was holding on by a thread. Distracted, Mark didn't notice his slow breaths, or that there was a syringe missing.

"I think we're good to go," Mark said, giving the tech thumbs-up.

Within seconds, he scrolled back inside the CT scanner, which whirred to life once again. Images of John's brain appeared on the monitor in the other room. Had they been looking at brain activity and not just anomalies, they might have found that it was dwindling down.

Mark watched the screen. Nothing was out of the ordinary, although it was too soon to tell.

A minute had passed — still nothing.

"I don't see anything," the tech thought out loud.

"That's a good thing."

he bobbed his head from side to side. "Yeah, but I mean I don't see anything. Normally, it's brighter. Notice how dim the image is?"

"I thought it was just the monitor."

Near imperceptible, he shook his head. "How much did you give him?"

*******************

Suddenly, John was at the tracks. Alone. Snow silently fell, coating his hat and jacket. The faint sound of car horns honked occasionally. He didn't know why he was there, or why he was so afraid, or how long he was going to be there. The urge to break down and cry was intensifying. He couldn't hold it in any longer. In that moment, he felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder. It made him jump and gasp.  When he wheeled around, he couldn't believe what he saw. It was Dennis Gant.

"John? Sorry. What–? What are you doing here?"

He stared at his now blurry friend through tears in his eyes. With a sniffle and cracking voice, he asked, "Would you believe me if I said I was in the area?"

Dennis snickered, however, his gaiety didn't last long. Disappointment sagged through him. "You weren't meant to be here yet," he said, his voice monotone.

"Neither were you," John levelled a half-glare, half-sombre gaze. "God, I mean, we were supposed to– I don't know! I don't know what we were supposed to do, but it's not happening now, is it?"

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't blame you. Or Benton," Dennis huffed out a cheerless laugh. "It's weird, these trains. Any other time, they're always slow or late. But when you're standing in front of one, realising your mistake, trying to climb off the tracks... they come pretty damn fast and on time then."

Despite his downcast countenance, John managed to smile, to an extent. If only it could be said that he was happy.

"I am sorry, John," Dennis' voice cracked. "If I knew– If I thought about how this would affect you, I wouldn't have even considered it. Now you're not sleeping, you're starving yourself, killing yourself. All because of me."

"Would it have stopped you if you knew?"

"Of course it would! I could have saved you, man! I would have."

Either it was hearing Dennis say these things, or perhaps seeing him, period, that made his yearning overwhelming. Whichever it was, it forced John to cut him off with an abrupt, passionate kiss on his full lips. He half expected Dennis to stop him at some point, but he never did. Then again, it may have just been John's brain orchestrating this whole thing. Whatever was left of it. He didn't care. It was enough.

John pulled away gradually, though he remained within breathing space, his eyes locked on Dennis' gaping mouth. He let himself gaze at him for a little longer, his brain scrambling to establish some sense of what he should say. All he could think of was how amazing it felt.

"Sorry. It's just– I've waited so long to do that," John uttered, almost whispering.

"I thought you never would."

John tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing. "But you're not–"

"Gay?" Dennis ventured. "No. Though... there was something about you."

"Yeah. No, yeah. Yeah, me too," John said, nearly stammering his words.

Dennis breathed out an airy chuckle. "Still the nervous wreck I've known and loved, I see."

Right as he was about to go in for seconds, a strange sensation burst from his chest to his limbs. It stung, likened to being electrocuted. He wailed in agony, and in a split second, it stopped.

"What's wrong?" Dennis asked.

"I-I-I don't know," John looked at his hands, then his arms, seeing how transparent he became. "What's happening to–? GAAHH!" He felt it again, stronger this time.

"I think they're bringing you back."

"No," he hastened to say, over and over. He could sense himself being tugged backwards. "I can't. I don't want to go back. I don't want to go. Please!"

"You have to."

John's brow furrowed, his chin quivered, and so did the rest of his body. "I can't lose you again."

"You didn't lose me," Taking in his friend's confused, yet hurting expression, he touched his temple then his chest. "I've been here and here the whole time."

He wept, tears re-wetting the spots on his cheeks where previous ones had dried. "It's not the same."

"No, but... I'm still with you. More than you know."

"I don't want to go,"  What started out as whimpering had become sobbing, then another scream as more electricity shot through his body. Once it stopped, he got his bearings. "I can't do this without you," he wheezed out.

"You've got to," Dennis went to hug him, except he passed through him, as if he was the spirit here. He looked at him, disappointment shining in his rust-brown eyes. "I guess this is it."

One last time, a huge jolt sent him drifting back, his body gradually dissolving from this plane of existence.

Dennis exhaled deeply, his body wilting slightly. "See you later, John."

******************

His eyelids fluttered open off and on, the likes of Mark and Lydia hovering over him, their faces blurred as if he'd drank the night away. Their voices were indistinct, but in the brief moments of lucidity, he made out certain words; rhythm, Narcan, empty, IV, two minutes, his name. There was a twinge in his chest that seemed to increase. His vision grew foggier by the second as he closed his eyes. In the darkness, he heard whooshing in his ears, akin to a pulse through an ultrasound. He mumbled some incoherent gibberish, which got Mark's attention.

"Carter?" Mark pressed on his sternum harder to get him to come to. "Open your eyes."

"I don't think he wants to," Lydia glanced over at the clock above the doorway. Thirty past eight in the morning. "Should we bring him back up?"

Half with it, half not, John lethargically uttered something he probably didn't need to. He didn't care at that point. "There was... something... about me, Mark," Another grin formed upon his face, the type you'd get while completely trashed, or drunk on love. "He liked me back."

"That's good to hear, Carter," Mark let loose a huge exhalation he had pent-up for the last minute and a half. "Glad to have you back. Any longer and we would have lost you."

"I've been right here, though," he said, barely awake. "I'm not going anywhere."

That much Mark could agree with. He wasn't going anywhere. Not if he could help it.