Read Online First We Take Manhattan by Mina MacLeod - Free Book Online
Authors: Mina MacLeod
Tags: Sci-Fi, M/M romance
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overnight. The ache comes in dull spasms. Overall, it's leaps and bounds better than it used to be. Now he barely winces when he sits up to start massaging it.
The birds are quiet by the time Gabe rubs the morning ache from his bones. He gets his good leg on the floor, then follows suit very carefully with the bad. The movement after seven hours of rest still sends tingling pain up through his nerves. Gabe inhales sharply through his nose. He waits it out.
When the throbbing fades, he reaches for the cane propped up against the nightstand. It has a strong handle and four ferrules. Gabe's used to it; it feels like an extension of his arm now.
He makes it to the bathroom and times his morning routine. It's still equipped with the modifications, but he is slowly relying on them less and less. In a few weeks, he might be able to shower without holding onto something for support.
Accounting for the careful movement, he still manages to get ready for the day in less than half an hour. Freshly shaved, clad in jeans and a green pinstriped dress shirt, Gabe looks almost like he did a year ago. Breakfast is downing the smoothie he'd blended the night before.
His gym bag is by the door. It's a small backpack, and it contains only the essentials: his track pants, t-shirt, painkillers, water bottle, and deodorant. Anything else—shampoo, shower gel, shoes—should still be in his locker. If not, he'll borrow from Dave.
Gabe puts on the backpack, grips his cane, and heads out the door. The walk to the elevator is relatively simple. The ride down gives him time to prepare for the walk through the lobby. He's done it many times by this point, but always accompanied by someone. He's alone now, and there's no one to lean on; the distance seems greater.
Once he gets a cab, he's winded but proud. He managed it all by himself. It's the first step.
*~*~*
There's something wrong. Dave is trying to hide it, but Gabe has known him for years. Their mutual survival depended on being able to read each other like books, so Dave's ruse lasts only as long as Gabe's patience.
Gabe doesn't have much patience for others these days, if only because his body demands so much for itself. "What is it?" he demands, bent over in a hamstring stretch.
Dave is spotting him, hands correcting and maintaining his form. When Gabe asks the question, he feels Dave start. "What do you mean?"
"You've been upset all day. You're pissed, or maybe frustrated. Either way, something's got you wound up." He switches legs, slowly bending his bad knee as close as he can so he can stretch out the other leg's hamstring. It smarts, but he does it.
Dave's hands return, one on his shoulder, and one running down his back over the line of his spine. It comes to a rest against his lower back, checking how he bends. That kind of touching isn't necessary for a hamstring stretch, but Gabe doesn't say anything.
"Got chewed out again for disagreements with Alan."
"Bullshit," Gabe calls it. He straightens up and then lies back, settling onto the practice mat. He grits his teeth when he bends his knees, but the pain isn't as bad as he was expecting. "You're always getting chewed out for disagreements with Alan. This is different."
Dave grumbles something and holds Gabe's feet down. "There are whispers … no, look: Gabe, you don't want to hear about it anymore than I want to talk about it."
When Gabe comes up for his first sit-up, he lingers long enough to glare at Dave. "David, do you know how many times you've patted my head and told me not to worry about something this past year?"
Dave searches his face, looking a mite uncertain. "Uh, I'm guessing often?"
Gabe descends, resting for a moment. "And how much longer do you think I'm going to put up with it?" He comes back up. "As soon as I'm strong enough, I'm kicking your ass."
"Good," Dave says, thinking they've changed the subject. "That can be the goal you work towards. I'm sure it's Alan's goal, too."
They're interrupted
The birds are quiet by the time Gabe rubs the morning ache from his bones. He gets his good leg on the floor, then follows suit very carefully with the bad. The movement after seven hours of rest still sends tingling pain up through his nerves. Gabe inhales sharply through his nose. He waits it out.
When the throbbing fades, he reaches for the cane propped up against the nightstand. It has a strong handle and four ferrules. Gabe's used to it; it feels like an extension of his arm now.
He makes it to the bathroom and times his morning routine. It's still equipped with the modifications, but he is slowly relying on them less and less. In a few weeks, he might be able to shower without holding onto something for support.
Accounting for the careful movement, he still manages to get ready for the day in less than half an hour. Freshly shaved, clad in jeans and a green pinstriped dress shirt, Gabe looks almost like he did a year ago. Breakfast is downing the smoothie he'd blended the night before.
His gym bag is by the door. It's a small backpack, and it contains only the essentials: his track pants, t-shirt, painkillers, water bottle, and deodorant. Anything else—shampoo, shower gel, shoes—should still be in his locker. If not, he'll borrow from Dave.
Gabe puts on the backpack, grips his cane, and heads out the door. The walk to the elevator is relatively simple. The ride down gives him time to prepare for the walk through the lobby. He's done it many times by this point, but always accompanied by someone. He's alone now, and there's no one to lean on; the distance seems greater.
Once he gets a cab, he's winded but proud. He managed it all by himself. It's the first step.
*~*~*
There's something wrong. Dave is trying to hide it, but Gabe has known him for years. Their mutual survival depended on being able to read each other like books, so Dave's ruse lasts only as long as Gabe's patience.
Gabe doesn't have much patience for others these days, if only because his body demands so much for itself. "What is it?" he demands, bent over in a hamstring stretch.
Dave is spotting him, hands correcting and maintaining his form. When Gabe asks the question, he feels Dave start. "What do you mean?"
"You've been upset all day. You're pissed, or maybe frustrated. Either way, something's got you wound up." He switches legs, slowly bending his bad knee as close as he can so he can stretch out the other leg's hamstring. It smarts, but he does it.
Dave's hands return, one on his shoulder, and one running down his back over the line of his spine. It comes to a rest against his lower back, checking how he bends. That kind of touching isn't necessary for a hamstring stretch, but Gabe doesn't say anything.
"Got chewed out again for disagreements with Alan."
"Bullshit," Gabe calls it. He straightens up and then lies back, settling onto the practice mat. He grits his teeth when he bends his knees, but the pain isn't as bad as he was expecting. "You're always getting chewed out for disagreements with Alan. This is different."
Dave grumbles something and holds Gabe's feet down. "There are whispers … no, look: Gabe, you don't want to hear about it anymore than I want to talk about it."
When Gabe comes up for his first sit-up, he lingers long enough to glare at Dave. "David, do you know how many times you've patted my head and told me not to worry about something this past year?"
Dave searches his face, looking a mite uncertain. "Uh, I'm guessing often?"
Gabe descends, resting for a moment. "And how much longer do you think I'm going to put up with it?" He comes back up. "As soon as I'm strong enough, I'm kicking your ass."
"Good," Dave says, thinking they've changed the subject. "That can be the goal you work towards. I'm sure it's Alan's goal, too."
They're interrupted
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