Date: Wed, 20 Dec 2000 21:11:05 -0800
From: whippedcream@audiohighway.net
Subject: Slow Down My Beating Heart (chapter two)

Once again, I don't know the Backstreet Boys, and they don't know me. I
don't know a thing about their sexual preferences, but Nick looks so cute
in pink lipstick.

Special thanks to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers for inspiring this, and for
netting me a hundred dollars the other night.

Okay, so you asked for it, you got it.
Send all complaints to whippedcream@audiohighway.net

JJ


Slow Down My Beating Heart
Chapter Two

"Aw, shit, Keyshawn, you're supposed to catch the damn ball! Jesus! Damn,
you'd think with the amount they paid him, he'd fucking know how to play
the game!" That last part was addressed to Brian, who only nodded his head
and decided it would be in his best interests to agree and just keep his
mouth shut. If Nick noticed his friend's lack of response, he didn't get a
chance to respond as the Bucs lined up for third down.

"C'mon, c'mon," Nick muttered, his hands clenching the sheets, his eyes
closed in half-prayer. In some part of his mind, he knew it was rather
ridiculous to get so worked up about a football game, but dammit, they had
a chance at the Super Bowl this year. The Super Bowl, the Holy Grail of
football.  And to play it at home... Nick let out a cheer as Shaun King
completed a 23-yard pass to Warrick Dunn, who rushed another 20 yards for a
touchdown that all but guaranteed the game.

"Yeah!" he crowed, bouncing and almost falling off the bed in
excitement. This time, Brian couldn't help himself, as a bubble of laughter
escaped. Nick turned his head to look at his friend.

"What!" he protested, before grinning goofily. "So I get a little worked up
about football. It's not like you're not the same way with Kentucky."

"Hey," Brian replied, spreading his hands. "It's all good." Nick studied
him carefully, and Brian gave him his most disarming smile. "I think it's
safe to say you're feeling better."

"Yeah," Nick laughed. "Maybe I can go home soon." Brian nodded, his smile
turning up a notch. Technically, they should have been watching the game
from the comfort of their own homes, but a spike in the reading on the CAT,
or the EKG, or the ABCXYZ, or whatever the hell it was called, had worried
the doctors enough that they'd insisted Nick stay a few more days. A
precautionary measure, they'd called it. Of course it had amounted to
nothing except Nick becoming increasingly restless, and the staff becoming
increasingly short-tempered, but prevention was the best medicine, right?

In any case, what Brian had hoped was a one-time visit to the hospital had
spawned a second and he had returned unwillingly, only the pleading in
Nick's voice that *someone* had to watch the game with him (and what was
Aaron doing? Brian wondered) convincing him to overcome his inherent
dislike of the place. But the radiant look on Nick's face as he'd walked
through the door, not to mention the rare pleasure of hearing such foul
language from his usually clean-mouthed friend, was enough to assure him
that he'd made the right choice, even if the sound of medical professionals
hurrying past the door sent chills down his spine.

"Hey, Nick," Brian started, as he stood up. "I'm gonna go get a Coke. You
want one?"

"Yeah, sure," Nick replied, his attention drawn back to the game. There
really wasn't much else to watch, unless the Rams pulled an 82-yard
touchdown from out of thin air in twenty seconds. Stranger things had
happened, Brian reminded himself.  After all, he was here again. He walked
to the door, closing it partway behind him. Glancing down the hall both
ways, he headed in the direction of the nurses' station.

"Hi," he said, as he approached the desk. It was the same pretty young
nurse, he realized.  She looked up at him, a slight smile on her face and
he couldn't help but notice how much more faded she seemed, as though every
day spent in this place sucked a little bit more life out of her. But
that's what it was all about, he thought, the sick stealing the life from
the healthy.

"You should be wearing your mask," she scolded, her brow creasing as she
frowned. He reached up to feel the crisp paper of the mask around his neck;
he'd completely forgotten about it.

"It was kind of bothering my friend," he evaded, "so I took it off for a
while." She shrugged.

"I can't force you," she replied, "but it is in your best interest." He
nodded. It was always in his best interest.

"Sorry," he said, but didn't replace the mask. She noticed, but didn't say
anything. "Um, can I get a Coke around here?"

"Sure, around the corner, there's a vending machine." He smiled and thanked
her.

He turned the corner, scouring his wallet for singles, his head down as he
concentrated on his task, so he didn't the man standing in front of the
Coke machine. It was a good thing, too, as it gave him almost no time to
react once he finally registered who it was.

Matt (he was fairly certain that was the one) stood, his hands gripping the
sides of the machine as he leaned his forehead against the lighted sign,
his eyes half-closed, as if, by some little-known method of osmosis, he
could somehow ingest its contents. Brian came to a halt, his breath coming
out in a rush as the panic rose in his throat. Before he could do or
anything, the other man turned to look at him.

"It's broken," he said, then frowned. "Do I know you?" Brian didn't respond
as he took one, then a second, shallow breath. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Brian finally responded, successfully stomping the panic back
down, and locking it back into its hiding place.

"You look like you're about to either pass out or hurl," he replied. "The
first I can handle, the second I can't." He flashed a brief grin, revealing
too-perfect teeth. Caps, Brian thought idly.

"I'm fine," he repeated. He shook his head slight as though to emphasize
his point.

"I do know you!" Matt suddenly said. Brian waited for the inevitable. "You
stopped outside our room the other day." Brian blinked in surprise. They
had seen him?

"Uh, yeah, I was wondering what you were watching," he answered lamely.

"The news. Nothing interesting."

"Yeah."

"I'm Matt, by the way," he said. Brian almost replied 'I know,' but caught
himself at the last minute.

"Brian," he replied instead. Matt held out his hand and after a slight
hesitation, he took it and shook it firmly.

"I'm not going to bite you, or cough on you, or whatever it is you're
freaking out about." He smiled again, showing off those perfect teeth once
more. Brian flushed.

"It's not... I mean," he stammered, not really sure how to explain
something he didn't understand himself, or for that matter, wasn't really
all that important. A silly childhood fear.

"It's okay, hospitals freak you out," Matt said, shrugging. "They freak me
out too. If it weren't for the fact that Julian is better off here, we'd be
at home."

"Julian is..."Brian started to ask, then paused, unsure of how to phrase a
question he shouldn't have been asking anyway.

"A friend," was the short reply.

"I'm visiting a friend, too," Brian replied, feeling the need to repair his
social gaffe.

"Yeah? I hope he's okay."

"He's better now. He was heckling the Ram's offensive line when I left
him," Brian replied with a smile. Matt returned it.

"Let me guess, the blond in 167?" Brian nodded, surprised.

"How'd you know?"

"He's, uh, very vehement about his favorite teams," Matt said. Brian
laughed.

"Yeah, Nick can be a little too loyal."

"Yeah, Julian's a big hockey fan. I prefer basketball myself."

"Really? I love basketball too."

"You play?"

"Some. Not as much as I used to though."

"That's too bad."

"You?"

"Every chance I get," Matt replied with a smile. "Even if it's just
shooting a few hoops in the driveway."

"Yeah," Brian replied.

"Not terribly exciting, but it works." It could be worse, Brian thought
silently, but outwardly, just smiled.

"If you don't mind me being incredibly rude," Matt continued, "but what
position did you play? You're not, um, exactly built like a basketball
player." Brian bristled slightly, like he always did at the implied comment
on his height.

"Point guard," he replied tersely. Matt stepped away from the machine,
noticing the change in Brian's demeanor.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, taking a brief step toward him and wincing
slightly at the familiar stiffness searing his hamstring. Brian couldn't
help the slight widening of his eyes.

"What..." he said, before he could stop himself, then flushed. "Wait, that
wasn't..." Matt looked at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"I don't play much basketball anymore," he said, softly. Suddenly, Brian
felt incredibly trivial.