Archive of Our Own

His parents and sisters had left earlier that day. He still had their presents all around him. Plus the gaudy balloon that said "Happy Birthday" with "Lionel" scribbled beneath. He'd thanked them and forced a smile to his face because that's what they wanted and expected, but the moment they had left the smile had faded and that feeling of being alone in the world settled back in around him.

There was a knock on the door. Lionel felt tempted to fake sleeping.

"Come in," he said eventually, though, hoping that maybe whoever had knocked was gone by now. No such luck. The door opened.

It was Hank, and Lionel sighed in relief.

"I saw your mom," Hank said, unsuccessfully trying to tone down his excitement.

"I could have introduced you to her."

"Oh no, that's really... I didn't want to disturb you."

"You wouldn't have," Lionel said, and it was the truth. Even in that first moment when Hank had yelled at his torturer to leave him alone for a second, that they all knew that the therapy was necessary but they were still human beings, weren't they, Lionel hadn't felt imposed upon.

When everyone else just seemed to expect one thing or another from Lionel, to get better, to work out, to get over John's death, Hank simply hung around, chatty, eager and just a bit anxious. Although Lionel certainly understood the last, with what Hank had gone through.

Hank was still wearing the corset around his whole upper body, for the moment covering the numerous wounds inflicted on him. And even that was somehow easy with Hank. He'd told Lionel the story without hesitation, although he had to stop a few times when the narrative was breaking down into nervous babbling.

"Did they bring cake?" Hank asked.

Lionel smiled. It didn't hurt anymore to do that. "Yeah," he answered, pointing at the nightstand next to him.

Hank shuffled closer. "May I?"

Lionel found it amusing, how much a grown man could look like a puppy. "Of course," he said because really, there was no question of denying Hank.

Hank started stuffing his face with the cake. "This is good," he said around bites. "Did your mother make it?"

"I doubt it," Lionel said.

"Of course, she's a busy woman," Hank said, as if chastising himself for even thinking that a star like her would bake.

Lionel watched him finish off the cake. It was almost strange how he didn't mind Hank's admiration of his mother. It always made him uneasy when people found out that he was the son of Faye Price. He never knew if they treated him the way they did because of who he was or whose son he was. With Hank, though, it hadn't been an issue. He'd immediately told Lionel that he knew who he was when they'd first talked, and somehow the way he gushed about his mother was disarmingly honest. When Hank talked to Lionel, Lionel always knew Hank meant him and not Faye Price' son.

"I should leave you to rest. You must be tired."

"It's okay," Lionel said, although he was feeling like he could use a nap. "You can stay."

Hank nodded and started chatting about how he'd watched their torturer talking to the cute nurse on the night shift. Lionel nodded, not really listening to anything but the soothing up and down of the voice, and drifted off to sleep.