A Rush of Blood to the Head

Stupidly Hopeful

They had been on the road for an hour. The time on the car's radio read eleven-sixteen in the morning. If he was working in the ER, John would probably be picking up his fifteenth chart by now, and Kerry would be yelling at him because he wasn't doing it fast enough.

He was almost going to miss this. Maybe when he took some time off, he could do it properly; no worries, no-one else dragging him down, just himself, music and sleep, once he made it to the nearest hotel. Just maybe.

Briefly, Peter took his eyes off the road to glance at John, who had that brooding look he'd sometimes get. "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking... I should have ran faster when I left Chicago," he replied.

"Come on, you don't mean that."

"That's alright. I don't think my heart could take it, anyway," John stared up and out the passenger side window, head tilted back against the door with his hands behind his skull, watching the clouds go by as they drove. He used to do this as a child when coming back from visiting his 'gamma.' He'd keep his eyes trained on the skies, tuning out the arguments, wishing his brother would come and take him with him. Now, he leaned further until he was against the window, his head bumping into the cold glass every time they hit a small pothole. It hurt, but he didn't much care. Without realising it, he said, "I'm not sure it ever could."

"Have you had this for a while?"

John shifted his head to fix his gaze on him, his eyebrows lifting for a moment. "My heart problem? Not really, no. Unless you consider six months a while."

"I would consider it that, yeah."

"It only just started getting worse."

Peter jerked his head at John's chest. "What's it at now?"

"Uh," Putting a finger on his neck, he checked. "Sixty-one."

"That's better. Keep checking every hour. How do you feel?"

"Okay," With a little slapping noise, his clasped hands dropped to his lap. "I'm very tired. Hey, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

As he moved his hands in a way that made it seem as if he was working an invisible Rubik's Cube, John chose his next words carefully, as to not freak him out. "Hypothetically... if you liked a guy — and I mean liked, just one guy — but ninety percent of the time you're attracted to women, what does that make you?"

Peter's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing. "Carter, what are you trying to tell me?"

"Just answer the question."

"It's just that I'm not sure I'm the right person to ask."

"Hazard a guess?" John offered.

"One guy?"

"Yes."

"Mainly women?"

"Mm-hm."

Peter shrugged, keeping his hands on the wheel. "I don't know. Bisexual, I guess?"