Chapter Text
Light drifted in and out of Scott Hunter's broken vision. He had no idea if his eyes were open or not, just like how he couldn't tell if he was even awake. What he could see were blobs of white, shimmers of blue, a dark patch of green. At the same time, muddled sounds danced around him, not letting him get a solid sense of his surroundings.
His thoughts grasped at any of it to make some kind of sense. What the fuck— Where— What's going on?
A rumble in his chest coincided with a sudden shift in the assault on his senses. The dark green blob interrupted the swirling white light, coupled with a hallow echo much closer to him. When the sound hit him, so did the first wave of pain; sparks ran through his eyes and ears, meeting somewhere in the middle and forcing his body to adjust on its own with a tilt to his side.
"Stay still."
The words sounded like they were spoken underwater, but it was just clear enough to understand the simple command. But Scott's throbbing body wasn't listening to reason. He continued to turn while his stomach gave a lurch. Just as he vomited, something moved in front of his face, and a hand rubbed his shoulder.
The voice echoed once more, clearer this time: "You're alright, babe. I've got you."
Pain and continued nausea kept Scott from taking in the meaning of the words. All he knew was that he was ill and someone was there to catch his upchucks—for which he was already feeling the inklings of embarrassment and shame over.
On instinct, Scott spit out the last of the remnant bile in his mouth and collapsed backwards. By this point, he knew he was on some kind of bed. Staring upwards, fuzzy-edged boxes of florescent lighting came into focus, followed by the tops of a faded blue curtain on railing that seemed to be vibrating on the ceiling.
"Here, drink."
Hands came towards him holding something cylindrical, and a hard tube parted his lips. Instinct took over and he gently sucked. Upon realization, Scott greedily sipped up the ice water, relieving his mouth of the last of its sour flavor. He moaned at the cool relief of the liquid going down his throat and how it gave his brain something else to focus on that wasn't a throbbing pain in his head and most of his body.
"Thank you," Scott murmured on impulse.
"You're OK, babe."
Babe? Who the hell was calling him that?
After a few blinks, the majority of the room came into proper focus. Scott could quickly discern that he was in a hospital room; the curtain was drawn around the bed, the paper-thin mattress dug into his spine, and, to top it all off, he was in a gown that made him feel overly exposed.
Once his physical reality clicked, he turned to the two people standing close to the railing of the bed. The one closest to him, slowly retracting a cup with a straw in it, was young, at least a few years younger than Scott. His dark eyes held worry with equal parts relief. Behind him, a much older, balding man gripped the plastic railing.
"You really scared us, son," the older of the two said before leaning a hand over the railing and rubbing Scott's shin.
The younger man said, "How're you feeling?" and reached his hand towards Scott's face.
On impulse, Scott pulled away from the touch. The young man paused for a brief moment before cupping Scott's jaw and stroking his thumb over his stubble.
"What're you—" Scott said while rolling his head away as far as the pain would let him.
The young man froze for a moment, the traces of relief in his expression quickly fading, and eventually retracted his hand.
"Scott, what's wrong?" the young man asked.
Scott's eyes flicked between his bedside guests. "Who— Who are you?"
—
Kip Grady felt the blood drain from his entire upper body in a rush. What did his husband mean that he didn't know who he was? Scott's eyes were full of skepticism. Coupled with how he'd physically retreated backwards in the bed, Kip was quickly realizing this wasn't some kind of sick joke. Scott barely ever cracked a joke, especially not like this.
His father's hand gently squeezed his shoulder, making Kip jump.
"I'll get the doctor," his father said.
Kip heard the curtain part and his father step out of the room. His eyes stayed focused on Scott.
"You… You don't…" Kip started. But his words failed him. The idea that Scott had somehow forgotten him after getting slammed into the boards by one of the Boston Bears' brutes was far too painful to even entertain.
But Scott was visibly panicking now; Kip knew his husband's tics when he was nervous. His fingers were worrying the thin blanket over him enough that he'd likely rip a hole in it soon. When he wasn't staring at Kip like he was some kind of threat, he let his eyes briefly scan the room while he tried not to chew on his lower lip.
Kip had to do something. He had to comfort his husband however he could, even if he wasn't allowed to touch him, to hold him.
With a courage that came out of nowhere, Kip steeled himself and swallowed. "Scott," he started as calmly as he could, "You got body checked into the boards."
The explanation seemed to give Scott something to cling to, and he stopped his destruction of the blanket.
"And you hit your head, hard." The words also settled something within Kip as well. "That's… That's what this is. You're just…out of it. You're gonna OK." He made to take Scott's hand but stopped himself mid-movement.
Scott's breathing started to slow, and he nodded. Kip returned the gesture in lieu of any other way to comfort him.
After a deep breath, Scott said, "So… Umm…" He squinted at Kip with an expression as if he was trying to find some kind of recognition.
Finally, Kip realized what Scott was asking. "Kip."
"Kip," Scott repeated, "You're…a friend?"
Kip slowly grabbed the plastic railing to keep himself steady. He couldn't keep a quiver from his lower lip from betraying his true emotional turmoil. What could he say to a question like that? Would telling him the truth shock Scott out of this, or would it make things worse?
Blinking away the tears forming in his eyes, Kip just said, "Let's wait for the doctor."
Mercifully, the curtain slid back, and a woman in blue scrubs walked with a controlled pace up to the opposite head of Scott's bed.
"Hi, Mr. Hunter. I'm Dr. Lee, I'm a head trauma specialist here at NYU Medical. You took a nasty hit at this evening's game. Mind if I take a look at you?"
Scott nodded, and Dr. Lee began a very gentle-yet-purposeful evaluation, asking Scott to follow her finger and shining a pen light into his eyes.
"Do you know what day it is?" Dr. Lee asked.
Scott paused for a moment before responding with a wrong guess.
"Can you count backwards from 100?"
He did without much problem.
"Can you tell me what year it is?"
"Um…" Scott searched for the answer for a moment. "Two-thousand…sixteen?"
Kip couldn't control the gasp that slipped out of him. If Scott thought it was 2016, then…
"Do you know who the president is?"
Scott answered with the previous president. Kip's stomach dropped.
"And do you know who these men are?"
Scott gave Kip and his dad a sheepish look before shaking his head.
Kip's dad wrapped an arm around Kip as a sob built in his chest.
"What's… What's happening?" Scott said, unable to contain his growing panic.
Dr. Lee gave him a firm smile. "I'm going to order an MRI to make sure this is just a bit of confusion from your concussion. Your brain definitely got knocked around, Mr. Hunter. But let's not worry just yet. These things tend to resolve themselves with time." Before any of them could ask for clarification, she turned to the Gradys and said, "How about we have a quick chat outside?"
Kip stole a look at Scott before being gently led out of the room by his dad's firm grip. Scott was silently pleading for answers, and Kip wanted to rip himself away and hug him. Seeing his husband, his always self-assured, emotional rock of a husband like that was just…
But Dr. Lee snapped the curtain back after telling Scott they'd only be gone a moment, and Kip forced himself to calm the fuck down. He still didn't have all the information yet. Maybe there was something else that could be done, something that Dr. Lee was about to tell them. He had to have hope that this wasn't… That the Scott he knew and loved wasn't…
"Just to confirm," Dr. Lee said once they were out of earshot, tapping on a tablet that held Scott's medical information, "Christopher Grady, you're Mr. Hunter's husband and next of kin?"
Kip swallowed. "Yes, that's right."
"OK, then." Dr. Lee clicked off the tablet and gave them her full attention. "We'll run an MRI scan as soon as we can to ensure there's nothing more serious than a bad concussion going on here. In the meantime, we need to keep Scott calm so his brain can recover."
"Doctor," Kip said, unable to keep the thought quiet in his mind anymore, "If he thinks it's 2016, then that means… That means he's forgotten about our relationship completely, that he doesn't remember coming out. He still thinks he's in the closet."
Dr. Lee nodded and paused for a moment. "That is…a lot for an amnesia patient to process all at once."
Kip sucked in a deep, involuntary breath.
"As much as I don't want to force a man back into the closet, I think this information should be shared in stages," Dr. Lee concluded. "Was he…aware of his sexuality in 2016?"
Kip nodded. "He didn't date in the city, but…" Not wanting to spill all of Scott's business, he stopped short of the full story and said, "Yes."
"OK. Then I think your relationship should be the first piece of big news." Dr. Lee's expression softened. "He's going to need a lot of support right now. For the next few days to weeks, he'll need plenty of rest, and if you are able, someone to pick up the slack at home for him. Does he have any other family?"
Kip shook his head.
"We're his family," Kip's dad said, and the small circles he was rubbing into Kip's back were the only lifeline Kip had to this nightmare he'd found himself in.
Dr. Lee smiled and sighed. "We can provide social services as necessary, but I'd say he's in good hands. Just take it slow."
—
Dr. Lee and the two…whoever they were left for maybe five minutes, but it may as well have been five hours to Scott. Objectively, he knew he was safe. This was a hospital, one that knew how to handle the unfortunate needs of a VIP patient, namely security. Whoever the two men were that he'd woken up to at his bedside were, they had a good reason for being there, even if Scott didn't know what it was.
If his answer to saying the year was 2016 was wrong, then some amount of time was just…gone. Scott knew some things for certain: He was the New York Admiral's captain; his best friend was fellow Admiral Carter Voughan—why the hell wasn't he here?—and his season thus far had been…not great… If he was getting pushed up against boards now, though, then maybe his game was finally improving. Or someone was sick of him being a fucking loser on the ice. If only he could know—
His phone.
Scott turned way too fast towards the bedside table where his wallet and phone lay, sending shocks of protest through him. He forced himself to contort against what he figured was many blossoming bruises and managed to get his phone into his hands.
Well, a phone. It wasn't his older, smaller iPhone, but rather a larger, unfamiliar black slab.
OK, so I've gotten a new phone. Big deal, I wanted a new one anyways.
Shoving down his concern, he clicked the side button to turn the screen on. The light made him squint for a moment, and he fought against a building headache to focus.
"What the…"
The lock screen bore a photo of the younger man who was currently in the hallway talking to the doctor. He had on glasses and an oversized Admiral's hoodie, sitting at a desk with a small smile on his face reading a large book. The room was dark, but there was something familiar about it.
Who was this man that Scott would put him on his phone's lock screen? What if one of his teammates saw this? They'd think they were together, know that Scott was…
Before Scott's mind could spiral any further, the curtain drew back once more and Kip and the man who must be his father, given their family resemblance, re-entered his room.
"Hey, Scott," Kip's father said. He didn't join his son at the head of Scott's bed, instead sitting at the foot and patting Scott's leg.
Scott nodded to him, but his eyes followed Kip, who scooted a chair closer and sat. He was obviously trying to hide his nerves, evidenced by how his face wouldn't stick to one emotion for more than a second.
"Scott, um…" Kip started, staring at Scott's chest instead of looking him in the eyes. He seemed to finally decide on what to say. "You said it's 2016, yeah?"
Scott met his eyes and let himself really look at Kip. His answer was obviously going to be wrong, so he wanted to find something in Kip's expression he could latch onto. Kip seemed to soften a bit as he stared back into Scott's eyes.
"It's December 15th, 2019, Scott," Kip said.
Ice tightened Scott's lungs for a moment. Fuck. Three years… Three goddamn years were just…
But he held Kip's gaze. Whereas he'd seemed like he was about to cry a few minutes ago, his voice was much more sure and steady. His expression settled into something neutral, if distant.
It made taking in the information less of a harrowing experience. While dread-laced panic pumped throughout his body, Scott was finding some kind of stability in Kip's eyes.
"OK," Scott said, barely above a whisper. "And, um… Kip, you're…"
Kip nearly let his expression slip. Instead, he licked his lips and straightened his posture. "I'm your husband, Scott." He raised his left hand with calm control and showed the silver ring with blue gems that rested on his ring finger.
A lump formed in Scott's throat. Emotions swirled so quickly he couldn't grasp a single one. He looked away from Kip and blinked as frustrated tears formed in his eyes.
"You're safe, Scott," Kip's father—fuck, Scott's father-in-law—said with a squeeze of his ankle. "You're OK."
Who knew about this? His team? His coach? Fuck, if this was real then the potential for being exposed to the public was extremely high. It could ruin him, ruin his career.
"Scott, everything is OK," Kip said and laid a hand on Scott's shoulder. "You're… You're probably worried about getting outed, but just…" He chewed his lips for a moment. "The people who need to know, know. We've been…careful."
Scott looked back at Kip and tried to catch his breath. When he met Kip's eyes and saw how sure, how steady he was, something in him just…clicked. Yes, Kip was right. He knew, somehow, that Kip was telling the truth, that he could trust Kip on this. Trust his…husband.
"You're OK. We're OK," Kip said.
Something about the squeeze from Kip on his shoulder solidified the statement.
"We're OK," Scott repeated.
"That's right."
With an ease that Scott didn't understand—or even fully trust—he nodded.