DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with QAF, its owner or actors. It’s not to late when it happens, only a little after midnight, and you are not even that drunk, just only slightly inebriated. But it happens so fast, and you’re taken by such a surprise that you don’t even have a chance to use any of the self defense moves Cody had taught you. The only good thing about the whole Pink Posse ordeal was learning how to fight. After the first few punches and kicks, you wonder if you should worry about your head, because hello, a brain damaged head probably doesn’t need to be continually hit. Thankfully, that is one of your last thoughts before everything goes dark. The next thing you know you’re waking up in an ambulance, blinded by the bright overhead lights. Even though all you can feel is pain, you answer the questions that the female EMT, who happens to look even younger than you, asks. You list your extremely long list of allergies and your shorter list of medications, and you tell her of your former head injury and subsequent brain damage. Then you ask her to not let them contact anybody. He doesn’t want his mom to have to answer another phone call in the middle of the night, telling her that her little boy is hurt. He doesn’t want Brian to be interrupted from his nightly pilgrimage to the backroom, especially since you haven’t heard from him in the last seven months since you’ve been in New York. You spend the next few hours in a daze, it’s like this was the last rock to be placed on a glass ceiling that was already cracked, and now its all caving in. You somehow answer the questions that are asked by the nurses, and doctors and fucking x-ray tech, as you realize you have to go through all this again. You listen to them as they discuss what to give you for pain that you’re not allergic to, or that won’t interfere with the antiepileptic that you been taking for the last four years. Even though you haven’t had a seizure since you were in last in the hospital, but you’re too scared to stop taking in case you do have another one. Finally, they figured something out because before long you’re given a shot of something and you silently succumb to the medicated sleep that’s being offered. Not long after you awaken to find a cast on your wrist and something white and bulky on your nose, a doctor comes in and tells you that your wrist is broken but not bad enough to need surgery (and you silently thank God it’s your left and not your right), that they had to reset and splint your nose so that you could breathe properly and that you now have seven stitches across your forehead, but that none were needed for the tears that are down there. You don’t even want to think about that right now. You’re also told that you have a concussion and that they want to keep you for a few hours for observation, and oh yeah, the cops are here to talk to you. The cop enters, and you’re not really surprised that it’s a woman, who looks to be about Brian’s age, although he’ll admit Brian has aged much better than her. When she starts asking the required questions you quickly explain to her that no, you didn’t get a good look at who attacked you, you don’t know anybody who would actually want to hurt him (although he does but Chris Hobbs, Cody Bell, and Craig Taylor all happen to be in the Pitts as far as he knows), and that you don’t want to press charges if they happen to catch whoever did it. You truthfully explain to her that you just really want to go home and forget that anything ever happened at all, and you’re really good about forgetting. What you don’t tell her is that ever since you’ve awoken, you’ve been fighting off a blind terror that keeps creeping up. It’s a terror that you really haven’t felt since the time you woke up in the hospital, only to find that Chris Hobbs hated you so much that he literally tried to kill you by bashing your brains in with a Louisville Slugger. You also don’t tell her that even when your talking to her you’re silently planning on the quickest way to get to Pittsburgh, because even though he hasn’t even tried to contact you in seven months, and a few hours ago you were extremely pissed about that, Brian Kinney always has been and always will be home to you. You know that as soon as you get to Brian you won’t be terrified anymore because you know that as long as he’s around he’ll always protect you, even if all those years ago he wasn’t fast enough. The cop leaves after a few minutes. And as you sit alone, taking in your white, sterile surroundings you realize that you have to get the fuck out of there, like right fucking now. As you feel the familiar tugging of a panic attack approaching, you find yourself slowly getting out of bed and leaving the room, intent on telling the first person you find to give you something to wear so that you can get the hell out of this place. You approach the nurse’s desk and inform Nurse Hatchet that you are about to leave right now so if there is anything he needs to sign or such they better give it to him and can he have his clothes, right fucking now. You then politely ask to use the phone and then call Liberty Air and ask for the first flight out of New York to Pittsburgh, you don’t give a shit what airport. And for once you are glad that your mother made you memorize her emergency credit card information all those years ago when your fucking sperm donor of a father kicked you out of the house. Okay, so he didn’t actually kick you out but he didn’t exactly make sure you were welcome. After Nurse Hatchet gives your clothes, then explains to you that your shirt is a waste and gives you a scrub top, you realize the full implications of the Stupid Fucker taking his wallet and that you have no ID to get on a plane. However you are then blessed with Nurse Hatchet giving you some paperwork to fill out and telling you that the cop left a temporary identification order for you. So maybe she isn’t a Nurse Hatchet but you really aren’t in the mood to make nice. So after another talk with the doctor on what he should and shouldn’t do, and about how he really needed to stay in the hospital for a few hours to make sure his head was okay, cause you know, head wounds can be tricky. Well, no shit you stupid idiot, you of all people know about head injuries and just how tricky they can be, be you really don’t give a fuck, you just want to go HOME. And with that, you take the prescriptions he’s giving you for pain, and antibiotics, and antiFUCKINGretrovirals and you leave the fucking hospital without a plan on ever returning. As you walk outside you realize that you don’t have time to go back to your apartment to pack and you really don’t care if you show up in Pittsburgh with nothing but the clothes on your back. Thankfully the stupid fucker didn’t realize your emergency twenty is in the ass pocket of your pants, so you still have that to use on the subway to get to the La Guardia. When you finally get to the Liberty Air ticket counter and give your identification to the counter lady, ignoring the looks you’ve been getting the last thirty minutes. Yes, you know that you’re covered in bruises and look like shit, but do you really have to fucking stare? The next hour seems to slowly tick by as you’re given your ticket, go through the security gate and find your terminal, call Daphne to pick you up when you get to the Pitts, and waiting to get on the plane so you can just go HOME to Brian. As you arrive in the Pitts, you vow to never fly again while you have a concussion, now knowing why it is considered a no-no. As you approach the passenger pick up area, you see Daphne’s car, and you feel like you’re almost home. Soon, soon, you’ll be in HIS arms, because no matter what has happened in the last year, he has always taken care of you when you needed him and right now, you need him. You greet Daphne hello, and assure her that you are okay, just mugged and can you please drop me off at Kinnetic, and I promise to come over in a few days to have a “girl night out” and no, I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Finally, finally you arrive at Kinnetik, and as you promise to call Daphne later that night, you realize that it’s just now noon, and that twelve hours have barely passed since the Stupid Fucker Incident happened. The lobby to Kinnetik is empty except for the receptionist who thankfully is the same one from seven months ago and waves you on back. You’re lucky because Cynthia’s desk is empty, probably on her lunch break, and you can hear Brian somewhere deep in the depths of Kinnetik reaming out some poor schmuck who did something to get on Mr. Kinney’s bad side. When you enter his office, you feel like its homecoming, because even though it’s not the loft, or even HIM, you know you’re safe, and that Bob the security guard, that Brian actually stole from Vanguard, and always seemed to like him, would never let anyone in that could hurt you. So you slowly approach the couch, and gingerly lay down on it, finally starting to come down from all the drugs the hospital pumped into you, and really, really feeling the pain and feeling safe enough to let down your guard and pass out, hoping and praying that it was all a big, horrible dream.