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It’s Jeremy’s idea to visit the Foxes. As Jean’s family’s court case grows closer and closer, lawyers asking him question after question, the FBI making more than one stop at their house; Jean’s anxiety baseline has been ramped up to full throttle for the past few weeks. Jeremy can only stand it for so long before he goes into solution mode.
There’s only one person who has been where Jean is standing, whose story has to align with Jean’s so perfectly that no needling and accusations in the court will rip the fabric of their carefully woven half-truths.
It’s off-season for Exy, which means Neil and his ilk are sticking close enough to campus to feed the hungry beast of his and Kevin’s Exy addiction, but the team will only be dealing with pre-season practices acclimating the new freshmen into the team dynamics. It’s a good enough time as any that it won’t raise any eyebrows that Jean is visiting someone who knows the circumstances of his family. Just two teammates visiting a team they’re friendly with.
They rent a hotel right by Palmetto State and book direct flights from California, though Jean isn’t sure if Jeremy charges the rooms to his mother’s credit card or the Trojan procurement card. Either way Jean’s sure Jeremy will have a lot of handwaving to do to explain. Jeremy doesn’t seem stressed at all about their visit, though. He’s got that easy smile on his face whenever Jean catches his eye. Even after a cross-country flight, he looks refreshed and lax, chattering away to fill the silence Jean just simply doesn’t have the headspace to correct himself.
They grab their bags from the circulating belt, and when they step out into the morning air, Andrew’s obnoxious Maserati is already parked.
But it’s not Minyard in the driver’s seat. Neil watches them approach with those intense blue eyes, scarred hands wrapped around the steering wheel. Kevin, surprisingly, is in the passenger seat, and is polite enough to step out and greet Jeremy with a handshake, Jean with a quick grip around his bicep, and helps Jeremy load their bags in the trunk.
“It’s good to see you!” Jeremy grins, bouncing after Kevin. “Thank you so much for letting us crash your plans for a week.”
“Of course, we’re excited to have you,” Kevin responds easily. It’s not quite the false charm he puts on for the camera. Kevin likes Jeremy too much for that. But it’s definitely more polite than Kevin’s ever been with Jean, or anyone who really knows him.
“Don’t judge us for whatever you see at practice. The freshmen are a shit show,” Neil grumbles from the front seat. Jeremy laughs good naturedly.
“The adjustment period is always the worst, but I’m sure you’ll work it out. You chose them for a reason.”
“Not all of them were selected unanimously,” Kevin huffs, and there’s that haughty, cutting tone he usually takes. Neil slams the clutch out of park and peels away from the line of idling cars in the arrivals area.
“Don’t act like your pick isn’t a useless, self-important piece of shit,” Neil snaps back.
“You’re as dumb as your feet,” Kevin hisses in french. It’s a phrase he must have picked up from Jean, though Jean can’t believe Kevin remembers it even now. It has a grin tugging on his face, and Jeremy looks to read Jean’s reaction before smiling himself, small and secret, just for Jean.
“Fuck off,” Neil groans. “Can we not fight about this for two fucking seconds? We’ve got bigger things to deal with.”
Neil’s eyes flash in the rearview mirror, snagging Jean’s gaze like a fish violently jerked on the hook. Jean’s smile falls, and he just stares back. Jeremy puts a hand around the crook of Jean’s elbow and squeezes.
“Now that sounds like a conversation after Jean gets a nap in. We didn’t sleep much on the flight over.”
Jeremy brushes a thumb along the crease of his arm. Jean did not sleep a wink on their seven hour flight. Jeremy had tried to stay awake as much as possible, but there was a good hour or two where his head had slumped to Jean’s shoulder, his breath evening out to little puffs of air. Jean had counted each inhale and exhale in french to try to quiet his nerves. It hadn’t worked.
“We have all week,” Kevin promises. “You guys are going to join us for practice at some point, right?”
“Of course.” Jeremy’s answering grin is hungry and reminds Jean all over again that Jeremy loves Exy just as much as the rest of them, even if he doesn’t need it the same way they do. “Neil, is there any way I can see you on the backline again? I’ve never had to play against such a fast defenseman.”
“Probably. We’ve had to be creative with our drills in practice lately, so everyone’s been trying out different positions more or less. Kevin would actually be a pretty good dealer if he wasn’t so addicted to scoring.”
“If your boyfriend actually put any effort in to defending the goal I wouldn’t have to worry about scoring so much.”
“I’m telling him you said that and he’s going to try even less,” Neil snorts. Kevin looks like he’s debating hitting Neil even at the risk of sending them off the road. Jeremy’s eyes bounce between them as they argue, and amused look on his face.
“You guys really love each other, huh?” Jeremy asks. Both of their faces screw up so comically that Jean can’t help but laugh.
“What’s that got to do with Exy?” Kevin questions. Jeremy’s fingers squeeze at Jean’s arm, a warm anchor.
“It makes a big difference to the Trojans, how we play. But we’re very different teams, and that’s what makes this so exciting. Right?”
“Right,” Kevin agrees, a loyal Trojan fanboy to the end. “I can’t imagine that kind of play style has been easy for you Jean.”
“It is,” Jean responds immediately. “Now, at least. I love them and they love me, and it makes me a better player. Better than a Raven.”
There’s a complicated look in Kevin’s eyes when he meets Jean’s in the rearview mirror. Pride? Jealousy? The same discomfort the other Ravens felt, seeing Jean so defanged? Understanding? It’s so hard to read, which is unusual for Jean when it comes to Kevin.
“Anything is better than playing like a Raven,” Neil declares. “Here, we’re at the hotel.”
Sure enough, Neil pulls off the highway and just off the exit is their hotel.
“We’ll come pick you up again at two so you have some time to rest. We’ll have to swing by the Tower to pick up the others after but we’ll head straight to court from there.”
Neil does get out of the car this time with Kevin to help unload Jeremy and Jean’s things. He has so much presence for someone so short, energy wound tight in all his limbs and defiance always on his face, like that’s his resting expression. He hurts almost as much as Kevin does to look at sometimes. Especially the shiny, flat scar burned into his cheek.
Neil hands Jean his carry on, but doesn’t let go of the handle right away - anchoring Jean to him.
“Later,” he promises. “We’ll talk.”
Some of that weight finally starts to slip from Jean’s shoulders. He nods, Neil releases his bag, and Jean steps back to Jeremy’s side.
“Thanks again for picking us up from the airport. We’ll see you later?” Jeremy waves, and they both wait for Neil and Kevin to climb into the Maserati and drive away before turning to the hotel lobby.
The rest of the morning passes slowly from there. The hotel room is nothing special, and neither is the view. They take turns showering the airport grime off of themselves and change into comfortable clothing. There are two beds, but Jean finds himself in Jeremy’s as they rest. Jeremy against the headboard, Jean’s head in his lap, Jeremy’s fingers brushing through his hair and along the shell of his ear. There’re no sports channels on the tv, so it’s some random show Jean doesn’t care to pay attention to playing from the speakers.
Jean doesn’t sleep, but it’s a close thing as he closes his eyes and tries to slow his racing heart. Jeremy doesn’t sleep either; just soothes his hand along Jean’s scalp and breathes into the quiet of the hotel room.
Two o’clock comes too soon. They rise, Jeremy pressing a sleepy kiss to Jean’s forehead. When they make their way down to the front of the hotel, they find that it’s Minyard this time in the driver’s seat. Kevin is there again, but Neil is missing. Jean and Jeremy climb into the back seat wordlessly.
“We’re only ten minutes from campus,” Kevin says once they pull away from the parking lot. “Jeremy, this is your first time visiting Palmetto State, right?”
“It is! I heard you guys have great facilities. Will we get to see the locker rooms?”
“We can show you around,” Kevin assures. Andrew doesn’t say a word to them.
The car ride passes in a blink of an eye and suddenly they’re pulling up a hill and to the front of the dorms. Standing in front of the building is Neil’s particular group of Foxes. Minyard’s twin, their cousin, and Neil himself. He stands a few feet away from the other two, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He doesn’t bring it to his lips; just drops it to the pavement as the car approaches.
“Frenchie. Out of the car.” It’s the first words Andrew’s spoken to them, and Jeremy tenses at his side.
“Andrew,” Kevin gruffs. The back door is opened, and Neil rolls his eyes.
“What Andrew means is that we don’t have enough room in the car for everyone. I figured maybe you and I could walk to the court. Have a chance to talk privately.”
Guess they’re doing this now, then. Jean nods, sliding his bag over to Jeremy with a tight smile and slips out of the car. Jeremy bites at his bottom lip but doesn’t stop him from going. Jeremy trusts Neil with Jean, for whatever reason.
“Well, hey, sunshine,” the cousin, Nicky, greets Jeremy as he slips into the backseat where Jean has vacated. Aaron gets in after him and slams the door shut. Kevin rolls down the passenger window and eyes them both.
“Don’t be too late,” he warns. “We’ve got too much to work on right now.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” Neil assures. Andrew glances their way, eyes sweeping over Neil. Then he turns, barely giving the others time to buckle before tearing out of the parking lot. Jean can hear Kevin cursing through the open window as they go.
“Dramatic,” Neil chuckles. “C’mon. It’s a nice walk.”
South Carolina is oppressively humid this time of year. It’s nothing like the dry, California summer Jean’s growing used to. Sticky moisture hangs like a cloak over Jean’s exposed skin, hot and cloying. But the road is lined with trees, just enough coverage that they can stick to the shade. Jean’s t-shirt already feels too-thick, his hair heavy around his face. Neil looks wholly unbothered as he walks at Jean’s side.
“What have they been asking” Neil asks, switching easily to french.
“Oh, you know. What criminal activities did I witness my parents commit, who are their contacts, did I still talk to them when I moved to the States, how do I know the Butcher of Baltimore, are you sure you don’t want to go to witness protection? Look what happened to Nathaniel.”
Neil doesn’t flinch, but a dark look passes over his face. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
“Oh, is that it?” he snaps. “Goddamn feds. What have you told them?”
“Nothing more than we agreed to. That I wasn’t involved in my family’s activities, we didn’t speak when I moved. I did not know the Butcher, just of him. That I didn’t recognize you until that first banquet. But the more I tell it, the less they seem to believe.”
“It doesn’t matter what they believe. It’s about what they can prove. Don’t give them anything otherwise, and you’re fine.”
If only it were that simple. Jean has never been able to talk to anyone who wasn’t a Raven, wasn’t approved by Riko for years. He doesn’t know how to lie so easily. Neil lied as easy as he breathed.
“Have they asked you to testify?” Jean asks. Neil’s lips purse.
“No. I don’t think they have anything that ties the Moreau’s to my father. Similar circles, but their crimes weren’t the same. I haven’t heard anyone mention the Moriyama’s either, or the little boss would’ve sent people to take care of us by now.”
How easily Neil talks about being killed. Is he not exhausted by people always having his life in their hands?
“Small mercies,” Jean mutters. It’s a miracle they’ve both made it this far.
“Just say only what you need to. Don’t try to add more details to make something believable or over explain. You’ve been away from your parents for too long to be a good lead for the feds to chase down. That’s the only truth that matters, so that’s what you tell them. You and I only met for the first time at the winter banquet, that’s also the truth. Everything else doesn’t matter.”
“It is not as easy as you say,” Jean insists. There’s too much at stake, and that only makes it all the more difficult. But Neil’s easy confidence in facing the feds does make Jean feel better about the whole thing than he has in months. Small mercies.
In the distance, Jean can see the court rising above the treeline. From where they are he can’t quite see the parking lot, but he’s sure the others have already beat them there.
There’s a car pulled over on the side of the road. Halfway between where Neil and Jean stand and the court. Neil comes to a stop next to Jean, grabbing at Jean’s arm to keep him still at Neil’s side. He’s unnaturally still, like a rabbit catching the scent of a predator on the air.
The car door opens, and a man steps out. A gun glints in his hand.
“Hey, Junior!” He calls, and lifts the gun in their direction. Jean freezes. Neil does not.
In a millisecond, Neil steps in front of Jean and shoves him hard towards the side of the road; towards the cover of trees.
There’s a bang, then another, and Neil grunts but keeps shoving at Jean. Then there’s a click. The gun does not fire again.
Jean’s not used to guns. He’s used to blades, to fists, to fingers around his throat and teeth in his skin. But Jean knows violence, and he knows how to sink into the training so thoroughly beaten into him.
The man curses, looks to his jammed gun, and Jean sprints at him before he can even look up. He tackles the man around the waist and slams him into the road, ignoring the flash of pain as his knees scrape against the pavement. The man bucks beneath him, tries to swing the gun at Jean’s head, but Jean grabs the man’s skull between his palms and slams it back against the road, then again, and again, until the man’s eyes roll into his skull and he goes limp.
Neil stumbles over to them and drops heavily to his knees at the man’s side. He doesn’t seem to have any control over the descent with the jarring sound of his knees smacking against the road. Neil takes the gun and dissembles it with practiced ease. Magazine ejected, chamber emptied, slide unclipped. He tucks the removed pieces into his pockets then tosses the useless gun to the side.
“Fuck,” Neil sighs. “I hate getting shot.”
He’s bleeding. Somewhere in his gut, somewhere by his shoulder, his t-shirt turning a startling dark red with two rapidly-growing stains. He sounds more annoyed than terrified.
“Josten.” Jean stumbles to his feet, heart racing. It was over so quickly. How many seconds had passed? Jean’s body trembles uselessly with adrenaline.
“We should get inside.” Neil tries to get to his feet, but his eyes go glassy and he slumps onto his hands and knees. The blood is pouring from him now, dripping onto the road below him. There’s so much of it already.
“Stop moving,” Jean snaps. Minyard is going to kill him if anything happens to Neil on his watch. Kevin too, maybe.
Jean’s phone buzzes then, a text coming in. It’s Renee.
‘We heard gunshots. Are you two okay?’ A text, instead of a call, so his phone ringing wouldn’t alert to his position. It’s probably not the first time she’s heard the sound of gunfire in the distance. Jean flips open his phone and calls her immediately.
“Jean?” Renee’s voice is the most tense he’s ever heard it.
“Is Abby there?” Jean asks. He tries to keep the panic out of his voice, but he hears Renee’s sharp inhale through the speakers regardless.
“Yes. Abby is here. Are you hurt?”
“No. Neil is. Call for an ambulance, we are coming now.”
“Be safe, Jean,” Renee breathes. Jean flips his phone shut and shoves it in his pocket. He gives one final look to their attacker to make sure he’s unconscious still before steeling himself.
Jean doesn’t ask for permission. There’s no time for Neil’s bristling. He hauls Neil back by his shoulders, gets an arm underneath his knees, and picks him up with a groan of effort.
Neil yelps immediately, his eyes going hazy with pain. He already looks on the verge of passing out, skin clammy and pale. The scars on his face stand out all the more starkly with how paper-white his skin is. And Neil’s eyes never seem to be able to focus on one thing for very long as Jean adjusts him in his grip. Jean can’t run like this, but he moves as fast as he can towards the safety of the court.
“Well this isn’t going to make your conversation with the feds any easier,” Neil laughs. It’s a wheezy, near-hysterical sound.
“Shut up you stupid boy. Do not talk,” Jean snaps back. He’s heavy in Jean’s arms, all compact muscle, and Jean can feel his own shirt growing warm and sticky with Neil’s blood.
“Don’t worry, I’ve had worse.” Neil’s head lolls, and red hair covers his eyes. Jean can barely see the blue between the strands. “Probably.”
They’re within throwing distance of the court when the door slams open. Andrews stands there, eyes furious.
“Give him to me.”
Jean doesn’t hesitate. Andrew doesn’t flinch under the weight of Neil being transferred into his arms. Neil’s head rolls back, and a grin spreads across his face as his eyes land on Andrew.
“Hey,” Neil greets.
“I’ll kill you,” Andrew responds, voice flat. He doesn’t spare Jean another glance as he turns back and speedwalks into the building. There’s no sound of sirens in the air, yet, but there should be. There’s so much blood.
Jean can do nothing but follow after them. Down the hallway, straight into the locker rooms. There’s raised voices echoing from the distance.
The room falls silent as they enter, just for a brief moment. Jean’s eyes find Jeremy immediately, seated on the bench next to Kevin with eyes wide and panicked. Andrew breezes past them all, presumably to where the medical facilities are. The noise immediately kicks in even louder than before.
“Neil, holy shit-”
“Is that blood?”
“We leave him alone for two-”
Jeremy is on his feet and tripping over to where Jean stands in an instant. His eyes roam Jean’s face, the blood on his shirt.
“Are you hurt?” He asks, voice high and tight.
“I am fine,” Jean assures. He takes Jeremy’s hands in his, squeezes them tight. “Neil, he-”
It slams into Jean all the sudden. A man, with a gun. A man who had wanted to kill them. Who had tried to. Neil’s blood, all over him. Jean could’ve died so easily. Neil might die, right here. Right in the locker room of his beloved team.
“Oh Jean, oh.” Jeremy immediately grabs at Jean’s neck to tug him into a fierce hug, uncaring of the mess all along his front. His breath shudders in Jean’s ear.
“What happened?” Kevin snaps, coming to their side.
“Someone was waiting for us. On the road. He was after Neil, I think. Called him Junior.”
“He was shot?” Kevin presses. He sounds desperate, pleading. Like Jean can make this right by contradicting the obvious.
“Yes.” It’s all Jean can say. The truth. Nothing more.
There, there are the sirens in the distance. Coming to the rescue. It’s suddenly unbearable not to have Neil in his sights.
He pulls out of Jeremy’s arms and staggers through the doorway Andrew had disappeared into. It’s easy to follow the raised voices to the exam room.
Neil’s laid out on the table, though Jean can barely see him through the grouping of people around him. Their nurse, Abby, is at the wound in his gut. Andrew is by his shoulder, pressing gauze tight to the bullet hole there. Wymack stands by Neil’s feet, teeth gritted. And surprisingly, Andrew’s twin stands at Abby’s side, eyes focused. Jean doesn’t say a word to them, just stumbles his way to the head of the table.
Neil’s pale blue eyes meet his, but only barely. It looks like he’s fighting to keep his lids open only by the skin of his teeth.
Jean knows this look. From back in the Nest, when Neil had been concussed after only sleeping when he’d been knocked unconscious by a sharp elbow or heavy swing of a racquet. The delirious look in his eyes where he barely recognized where he was, who was with him. Who would hurt him. There’d always been blood on Neil then, too, dozens of cuts for Jean to either sanitize or stitch up. Jean’s hands itch for a needle and thread. He brushes Neil’s hair off of his forehead instead.
“‘s okay,” Neil pants. It’s almost impossible to understand him with how slurred his words are. “Riko can’t… he won’t…”
“Quiet,” Andrew snaps.
Neil’s eyes flutter, then roll to where Andrew leans over him.
“You can’t be here,” Neil huffs. “Not- Drew?”
“We are not there, Neil,” Jean murmurs. “You are home.”
Neil blinks, and some of that cloudiness leaves his eyes. Maybe Jean shouldn’t be here. All he can ever be to Neil is bad memories and a choice he left behind. But Jean’s too selfish to leave Neil here bleeding.
“Oh.” His head thunks back to the table. “Shit. Andrew’s going to kill me.”
“Oh yes, rabbit. You’re a dead man walking.”
Andrew’s hands are red. His arms locked straight as he holds steady pressure. Pinning Neil down so he can’t get away.
“You’re going to be just fine, Neil,” Abby interjects. It sounds more like a warning than a comfort.
More noises down the hallway, and finally the paramedics are rushing in. Everyone backs away from where Neil is laid out except for Andrew, who replaces Jean at his head and glares at the medics every move.
It goes quickly after that. Raised voices and a flurry of hands. Neil is hauled off the table and onto a stretcher, and Jean’s hands flinch at his side to rip him away from them. This is his job, to put Neil back together. His partner.
But he’s gone, back down the hallway, Andrew his shadow.
Kevin appears in the doorway, eyes white all around.
“Jean.” Kevin crosses the room and grabs at the back of Jean’s neck. His eyes are so green, too bright in the fluorescent lights. “The police are here. Come on.”
He shoves at Jean’s back, ushering him out of the room. Most of the other foxes have already disappeared by now. Probably following the ambulance to the hospital. It’s the rest of Neil’s crew that remains. Nicky and Aaron. And of course, Jeremy.
Jeremy’s by his side once again. A hand on his arm, the other linking their fingers together. Kevin’s still got a palm at the small of Jean’s back. Jean’s nose stings with the iron of Neil’s blood still splattered across his front.
There’s a pair of police officers hanging in the corner. Their radios are constantly chattering with unintelligible words.
“Mr. Moreau, we’ll need to speak to you about the incident.” The female officer steps forward, her face a careful mask of impassiveness. Her eyes keep cutting to Jean’s shirt, his hands. Jean is so sick of speaking to cops.
“His english isn’t the best, is it okay if I translate?” Kevin asks. Offering himself up as a shield for Jean to hide behind. Kevin says it with that voice of his he offers the outside world again, a tense smile on his face. It’s his right hand on Jean’s body, holding him still. The one Riko didn’t ruin.
“Of course. We can do it here, but we’ll need his clothes for evidence before you leave.”
So they’re planning on letting Jean go after this, at least. He’s not used to being seen as the obvious innocent party.
“There is not much to tell,” Jean mutters. “I do not think I will be much help.”
“Let me decide that,” the officer counters. So Jean explains the best he can.
Tell the truth and offer nothing more, it’s easier to take Neil’s advice this time around. He and Jeremy are visiting, the car they were taking to practice had been full so Neil and Jean decided to walk and catch up. What did they talk about? Oh, nothing important. When they got close to court there was a car parked along the side of the road, and a man got out. Called Neil Junior and shot at them. Did Jean recognize him? No, he is a complete stranger. Neil didn’t seem to recognize him either, just the danger. Why did the police find the man passed out on the side of the road? Because Jean tackled him when the gun misfired. Must’ve hit his head on the way down. Does Jean think he was also targeted? He cannot not say, but knowing his luck he’d just been collateral damage in a fight meant for Neil. A simple case of wrong place wrong time. And Jean’s not the one riddled with bulletholes.
That seems to be the end of the officer’s questions.
“Thank you Mr. Moreau, you’re free to go. We’ll call you if we have any additional questions.” The officer turns to Kevin.
“Mr. Day. I don’t want to presume, but would the team have anything Mr. Moreau could borrow? We still need to take his clothes.”
“Of course,” Kevin agrees. That’s how Jean ends up in Kevin’s practice shoes and a pair of his socks, a shirt from their backliner Boyd’s locker, and a pair of the cousin’s shorts that ride up Jean’s thighs uncomfortably. Everything borrowed is the terrible, vibrant orange and white of the Palmetto Foxes.
Finally, they’re able to leave the court. Nicky has the Maserati’s keys in his hands and a grimace on his face.
“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” he says as he ushers their group out of the locker room. Nicky’s eyes are swollen and red, but his voice is steady as he herds them all to the car. Aaron takes the passenger seat, and Kevin wedges Jean into the middle seat in the back. Jeremy immediately takes Jean’s hand into his when he slides in after to him, and Kevin tosses his arm over the backrest, his fingers dangling by Jean’s ear. When Jean goes to dig his nails into the side of his neck, Kevin’s arm smacks into the back of Jean’s head in his haste to snag at Jean’s wrist. Kevin pulls Jean’s hand firmly away from his own throat and into Kevin’s lap. Jean’s knee bounces restlessly instead.
“Coach told me which hospital they’re bringing him to, but we won’t get to see him right away. He’s going to be in surgery for a bit,” Nicky adds as he starts the car. “The others are already there.”
The drive to the hospital passes in a blur. Jean can see Jeremy typing away at his phone with his free hand, and judging by the text alert noises that sound at every incoming message, he’s texting Laila and Cat. His other hand never leaves Jean’s.
“Get them to look at your knees when we get there,” Kevin finally says.
“They are fine,” Jean snaps.
“You have rocks in your skin. That bruising doesn’t look good either. Get it checked out,” Kevin retorts.
Jeremy leans over to inspect Jean’s knees and his eyebrows furrow at the sight. Jean doesn’t bother looking at them himself. The pain is nothing, the wounds are nothing. Certainly not worth anyone’s attention.
“Jean, you have to,” Jeremy pleads. Or commands. Hard to tell, in that blurry line of his captain and something more.
“Fine.” Jean presses his lips together firmly, and the conversation dies out again. The silence chases them all the way to the hospital parking lot.
When they enter the hospital, Jeremy leads Jean off to the emergency department while the others go straight up to the surgical floor. Jean doesn’t pay attention to what Jeremy says once they reach the check-in desk, but whatever tale he weaves enough to get Jean waved back immediately for just a pair of scraped knees. He’s brought to a chair, a nurse arrives with a headlamp and no-nonsense attitude, and for the next hour he has bits of asphalt tweezed meticulously out of the gore in his knees, plinking rhythmically into a metal dish every few seconds after they’re freed.
The wounds are sanitized, covered, and Jeremy is given the rundown on follow up care. It could’ve been minutes that passed, or hours, Jean doesn’t know. His mind is still so very far away. Back on that road to the court, Neil by his side.
When Jean stands, the fiery ache of his knees finally catches up to him. He’s slow to follow Jeremy, nearly hobbling, as Jeremy leads him up and elevator and down a series of hallways until they find the surgical waiting room.
All of the Foxes are here. They sit in their little cliques, the older teammates in one corner, Neil’s group in another. Andrew stands on his own by the windows, face completely blank.
Jeremy and Jean join Kevin at his seat, pausing only as they pass by Renee so she can squeeze Jean’s hand silently. When they sit, Kevin eyes the bandages on Jean’s knees briefly then nods. Time ticks on again.
Eventually an older man in scrubs enters the waiting room. Andrew turns on his feet and stalks over while Wymack stands to meet him.
“Mr. Josten’s surgery went incredibly well,” the doctor beams. “He was very lucky. The bullets were through and through, and managed to miss any major organs. We’ll have to see when he’s awake if there’s any impact to his range of motion in his shoulder, but we’re optimistic.”
Relief washes like a physical wave over everyone in the waiting room. Kevin’s head drops into his hands, a deep, long exhale blowing through his teeth. Jeremy reaches behind Jean to squeeze Kevin’s shoulder.
“We’re getting him set up in his room right now, so as soon as he’s settled you’re all welcome to go see him. He may be a little disoriented from the anesthesia, so be patient with him. We’ve asked the police to hold off on asking him their questions until he’s more cognizant, so if any try to enter his room please page a member of our staff.”
With that, the surgeon flashes another smile and turns back through the doors. The receptionist at the desk waves Wymack down, presumably to pass along Neil’s room number.
“Jeremy,” Jean murmurs, turning to his captain. “We should go now.”
Now that he knows Neil is alive and will stay that way, there’s no need for them to be here. Neil is with his family, he’s in the best hands for him.
“We don’t need to leave,” Jeremy assures. “No one is kicking us out.”
Jeremy doesn’t understand. Doesn’t see Jean’s position in Neil’s life, or Neil’s in his. They’re not meant for sweet hospital reunions after a close call.
“Stay,” Kevin says at Jean’s side. “Neil will want to see you.”
Surprise flashes through Jean, but he tamps it down with a nod. Wymack and Andrew leave the waiting room after having secured Neil’s location. Everyone seems to know to give Minyard a moment of privacy first.
More time ticks on, then Kevin’s phone buzzes. He stands. “Jean.”
Jean trails after Kevin, ignoring the annoyed protests of the Foxes’ captain and their backliner Boyd as they leave the waiting room alone. Kevin’s eyes scan the room numbers one by one as they make their way down the hallway until he finds the correct one. Kevin yanks open the door.
“You’re lucky we’re not in season,” Kevin gripes. “How long will you be out of practice?”
Neil is propped up in his bed already looking more alert than he had back at Palmetto State. The glower on his face has Jean dizzy with relief.
“Enough, Kevin,” Andrew cuts in. He’s seated at Neil’s bedside, his hand resting by the pillow like it only recently drifted from Neil’s hair. His fingers curl as if still feeling the memory of Neil’s locks between them. It feels too intimate for Jean to notice, so his eyes skirt away and back to Neil’s face.
“You are more cat than fox with how many lives you have,” Jean murmurs in french. He hates towering over Neil while he’s laid up in bed, so Jean crouches by the side instead.
“Let’s hope that wasn’t my ninth,” Neil grins. “I’ve lost track.”
Jean’s eyes drink in the sight of Neil. They’ve taken his armbands, so the scars methodically carved into his arms stand out in stark relief against his tan skin. His red hair is a wild tangle around his head like he’s woken up with a particularly intense case of bedhead. His face is paler than normal, most likely from blood loss, but a bit of his normal flush is starting to return. Neil Josten is alive.
“Hey,” Neil says softly. “Enough with that look. It’s weird.”
Jean snorts and allows himself to smile.
“I am just wondering how someone could hit such a tiny target twice. He must have been a skilled marksman.”
“Shut up. Big enough target to keep you from getting shot. You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” Jean says sincerely. If Jean hadn’t frozen, if he’d moved when Neil moved, Neil wouldn’t have had to put himself between Jean and the gunman.
“Don’t apologize,” Neil shakes his head. He looks at Jean like he can see the regret in his mind and dismisses it just like that. Since when did Neil know Jean so fully? “That’s what partners are for.”