A Fine Mess, I


"This isn't good for the shooting schedule."

Wryly, Richard replied, "It's not great for my engine." Over the static of the walkie-talkie, Jeremy laughed. "We've got to be close to whatever it is by now."

"Accident. They'd have checked for road works."

"Good point. James, how's the wagon holding up?"

There was no response from their other third, just from Jeremy saying, "He's probably already in Bristol. This has to be the first time he's found a car more reliable than ours."

"Wasn't he the only one to make it to the Spearmint Rhino?"

"No. Remember he didn't make it either. Ran out of electricity."

"Ah, yes."

Richard checked his rear view mirror. Jeremy was behind him in his knackered Honda, with ten miles of tailback - according to the traffic news - behind that. The M4 down was to one lane just up ahead. But at least when they cleared that they'd be away again. Lunch at the Mud Dock was looking less and less likely. And he had to be back in London by four.

In front of them, mercifully, the inside lane started to move, a box van pulling forward about ten feet.

"Oh, god, Richard...." He actually glanced at the handset in the cradle on the dash, hearing the fear in Jeremy's voice. Then he looked up and across, and saw the accident as he heard, "That's James' Toyota."

It was unmistakable. Lime green. They'd taken the piss almost constantly all day, finally settling on the epithet 'Snot Wagon'.

Now though, there wasn't much left of it. The bonnet of the car was bent double around the circular pillar of the bridge ahead of them. There was a red BMW in its boot, so that the wreckage resembled a gruesome cocktail shot.

Two ambulances had reached the scene, parked up on the hard shoulder along with three police cars and an incident response vehicle. There were emergency personnel all over the wreck. And in the centre of it all somewhere, was James.


"Shit!"

Jeremy spat the bright swear word into the dull surroundings of his Honda as he watched Richard throw the MX-5 over into the hard shoulder and throw himself from the car.

He followed suit, ignoring the frantic call from the chase van over the walkie-talkie.

With the engine stopped he pushed open the door and fought with the seatbelt, yelling Richard's name when he saw him running from the Mazda to the scene.

"RICHARD!"

But his shout was lost in the noise of the stationary, backed-up traffic and the piercing sound of metal cutting through metal.

Despite Richard's head start, Jeremy's longer legs allowed him to catch up a moment before one of the policemen - who was also shouting at them to stay away, to get back in their cars and finally threatening arrest - got to him.

He wrapped an arm around Richard's waist, halting his dash towards the smashed up Toyota, hearing clearly the pain in his lover's voice as he screamed James' name over the cacophony of noise all around them.

Richard struggled for a second or two but Jeremy held on, effectively caging him in his arms, telling him - not at all convincingly - that it was okay when he knew damn well it wasn't. It couldn't be. There wasn't enough left of the MR2 for it to be.

(In the queue of cars behind them, a freelance journalist was watching the scene unfold. He recognised Clarkson and Hammond, saw the cars they were driving and took a not-so-wild guess as to what was going on. But he worked mostly for The Sun and the Mirror, and what interested him the most wasn't the accident or the involvement of a BBC-funded television show, it was the way Clarkson grabbed Hammond around the waist. Not in itself usual but that he held on, that the other man stopped struggling and still he didn't let go, that for a moment it became something else - something that looked familiar, comfortable. It was enough to start half a million tongues wagging all over Britain.)

Thankfully, Jeremy saw a dawn of recognition cross the face of the policeman who'd been about to stop Richard in his tracks in a similar sort of way as he had, only not as gently.

"Mr Clarkson...."

"Yes."

Richard had finally stilled and Jeremy could feel his hard breaths.

"The man in the Toyota - the green car - I think it's James May." He dare not ask if the driver was still alive.

"You need to stay back, Sir." The policeman's gaze flickered down to Richard, and cautiously Jeremy loosened his hold. To his relief Richard stayed put. "The driver of the car is alive - he's talking to the emergency crew. They're cutting him out now."

Relief warred with terror inside him. He moved one hand up to Richard's shoulder. "Is he all right?"

"I don't know. He...." The officer's attention was stolen by one of his colleagues, while at the same time, out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy saw one of the women from their chase van making his way between the cars.

Another officer was shouting at her to get back to her car, but she pointed at Jeremy, yelled that she was with them and reluctantly she was allowed through.

The first question out of her mouth was lost under the screech of surrendering metal and the loudly yelled directions of the emergency crews. The vivid green lid was lifted off the Toyota and Jeremy could see them now working to get the driver out.

"Is it James?" she managed to ask.

Jeremy opened his mouth but Richard was already saying, "We don't know. We think so." He managed to get the officer's attention back, and pleaded with him.

Jeremy thanked god for the Hammond magic when the guy caved and led the three of them safely past the emergency vehicles towards the wreckage.

They were working on the BMW too; driver and passengers all talking to the ambulance crew as far as Jeremy could work out. His attention was on what was left of the Toyota and he knew, as soon as he caught sight of the driver's jumper, that it was James.
Richard knew too. It was impossible not to - that infamous purple and black striped sweater they'd been trying to get him to throw out for over a year now. This morning even the cameraman had complained about the clash of colours between James' clothing and his car.

He started forward but Jeremy's hand caught his shoulder before the policeman had to stop him. "Let them help him."

"Jez...."

"I know." He squeezed Richard's shoulder gently. "I know."

The girl from the chase van turned away. "Look... you two go in the ambulance, we'll take the cars."

Jeremy couldn't argue with that. He didn't want to be driving the pile of junk he'd been so proud of earlier and he was sure Richard was in no state to get behind the wheel of the disintegrating Mazda.

"Thanks." He turned to the officer who was already over with one of the ambulance crew, pointing he and Richard out, explaining the situation as he had probably guessed it. He was probably bang on, more or less, except for the most important detail.

Then the ambulance man was beckoning them forward, and they saw James' car up close. How Richard held it together Jeremy would never know.

The engine was where James' legs surely would have been. The whole frame of the car had crumpled inwards on impact, pushed in from the back by the brute force of the BMW.

The first Jeremy knew of James' condition were the tears in Richard's eyes as they were directed into the back of the ambulance. He took a deep breath and looked through the crook of the paramedic's arm at his friend - his lover's - face.

It was scarlet with blood that seemed to have run from a wide, deep gash in his forehead. The vile jumper had been cut open to reveal vivid red marks over his chest and stomach. His trousers too had been cut from him, but as the ambulance doors closed his legs were covered by a white sheet.

Blindly, Jeremy found Richard's hand and grasped it hard, more scared than he could ever remember being. Richard's fingers curled around his, but he didn't take his eyes off the man lying too still under the hands of the two medics.

They sat like that until they reached a hospital. They had no idea where they were, and for now they didn't care. James was whisked away under the scrutinising eyes of two nurses and a doctor, leaving them standing out in the bright spring sunshine.

"Mr Clarkson?"

He focused on a young man in white smiling gently at him. "Yes. We...."

"I know. If you'd like to come with me, I'll find you both somewhere quiet to wait."

~

They sat side by side on a faded blue sofa in a beige room with a large window looking out onto a small flower garden, the sunshine flooding in through sparkling clean glass. Richard had barely spoken a word, had refused the lukewarm coffee the intern had offered them, was sitting staring into the opposite corner of the room.

Jeremy had a good idea what was going on in his head; the same thing was going on in his own, around and around: 'what's, 'if's, 'but's, all the zillions of questions Richard was undoubtedly asking himself.

It was a while before Jeremy became aware of anything more than his own thoughts, and when he did he realised he could feel tremors in the shoulder pressed against his own.

Without a second thought he turned and enfolded Richard in his arms, saying nothing, closing his eyes and pressing his face into the short brown hair. He could feel Richard's heart pounding. There were no tears; just that fast thud and the after effects of shock.

It was a long while before Richard sat back. They could both hear people now, out in the corridor, and Jeremy let him go reluctantly just before the door opened and a doctor stepped inside.

"We'll be moving James to ICU in a little while."

"How's he doing?" The sound of Richard's voice after the hour or so's silence was strangely unnerving.

"He's got a hairline fracture of the skull, three broken ribs, broken wrist, two broken fingers, fractured tibia and a fractured ankle. We're keeping an eye on the head wound - we've done an MRI, we'll do another in a couple of hours - but he's doing fine and if the scans don't show up anything I'd hope to move him out of ICU around this time tomorrow."

Richard took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"Does he have a wife, girlfriend...?"

Jeremy shook his head. "No."

"Well, for now we'll treat you two as family, okay?" He pre-empted Richard's next question. "You can see him for a few minutes once we've settled him in ICU. He'll be very groggy from the anaesthetic, so don't worry if he doesn't recognise you, doesn't know where he is or anything like that. Give him plenty of reassurance and we'll do the rest."

"Thanks."

"All part of the service. I'll let you know when he's settled."

He closed the door and Richard rubbed his face with his hands. "I think I could do with that coffee now."

"I'll go. Everyone out there is going to recognise you."

"Like they won't recognise you?!"

"But I'll deal with it better." Jeremy watched Richard's face fall, squeezed his shoulder and drew him into another hug. "He's going to be okay. A few broken bones, a variety of bruises, but he's going to be fine." Richard nodded against his chest but Jeremy knew well enough neither of them would relax until they'd seen James and spoken to him. "I'll be a couple of minutes."


Recognition ranged from furtive and confirming glances all the way to one woman at the coffee machine asking him if he was "that bloke from 'Fifth Gear'".

A couple of nights ago in a pub in London the three of them had been out for a couple of beers when a guy had asked Richard if he was 'the guy from ITV'. He could still remember his own mixed feelings, and the brief look of loss in James' eyes, before Richard had responded, "ITV, BBC, Sky One, Radio Hampshire and let's not forget the centre stage at Krufts."

Waiting for the coffee as the machine rumbled through the process of mixing brown sludge with water, Jeremy focused on what looked like a small crowd of journalists outside the double glass doors of A&E.

They hadn't yet ventured inside, and he hoped someone from the chase van had called someone from the BBC's press office to deal with them.

At that moment, he didn't care. He didn't want to speak to them - he didn't have anything to say and as far as he was concerned they were trespassing.


Richard was standing at the window when he got back into the room with two steaming hot polystyrene cups of sweet brown water. He put them down on the sill and looked out at the cheerfully contrived garden scene.

"Someone mistook me for Tiff," he complained quietly after a couple of minutes.

Richard glanced up at him and Jeremy was stuck by how tired he looked. "You're much better looking than Tiff."

He smiled. "Thank you."

They went back to staring out of the window - sweet brown water slowly going cold.

~

Panic had set in by the time the doctor who'd spoken to them and reassured them before reappeared almost an hour and a half later.

"Sorry. It's been chaos. The driver and passenger of the car that hit your friend were finally brought in and I've been...."

He didn't get a chance to finish; Richard was almost frantic - ninety minutes of forced inactivity, of helplessness and waiting, rushed to the fore. "I don't care about them! Is James okay?"

Standing behind him, Jeremy squeezed his arm gently, "Rich...."

But the doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know. You're worried sick. James is being moved now. A couple of minutes and you can both see him, although you'll have to wear scrubs - you can find them outside ICU. He's sleeping on and off, like I said he's still out of it from the anaesthetic, but otherwise we're happy with his progress and we'll do another MRI in a couple of hours to make sure his head wound isn't anything to worry about."

The door opened and a nurse popped her head in and nodded at them.

"Right. If you'd like to follow me."


"You look like a penguin."

The words just slipped out as Jeremy looked at Richard standing there in the white scrubs over his jeans and black shirt.

Richard's expression was one of utter bewilderment, but he didn't give a verbal response. He pushed open the door and they stepped inside the narrow ICU. James was in the third bed - at the far end under a frosted glass window. His face was pale, the gash on his forehead covered by a loose, white dressing. His leg was in a brace and propped up in a 'U' shaped support. His wrist was in a cast, three of the fingers of his left hand strapped together. There were tubes and wires Jeremy didn't really want to contemplate.

He put his arm around Richard's shoulders and watched him cover James' right hand with his own, mindful of the IV, and squeeze his fingers gently.

"We're here, James," he told him quietly, "You're going to be all right."


The ICU nurse found them a couple of chairs and they stayed for a while - longer than a couple of minutes - because they didn't seem to be in anyone's way.

Richard held James' hand, Jeremy maintained some physical contact with Richard - shoulders or legs brushing, a hand on his back. He could barely find it in himself to care right then what anyone thought.

He had no idea how long they'd been sitting there when he eventually decided there were people who should be made aware of the situation. He squeezed Richard's shoulder gently. "I should make a couple of phone calls, give someone something to tell the press."

Richard smiled at him gently and nodded, murmuring, "I'll stay."

~

So many things were going on in his head it was best not to touch any of them. Instead Richard watched the strangely calming green line of the ECG, rubbed James' fingers ceaselessly with his thumb and talked quietly - on and off and mostly to himself - about everything and nothing. About music and bikes and cars and racing his new 911 against James' new Boxster.

It was during one of these monologues that it suddenly became a two-way conversation, with James contributing, "Stop talking, Hammond."

Richard got to his feet, alerted a nurse and tried to keep the tears from his eyes. "James."

"Present...." Richard doubted that was completely true, but his smile was enough to acknowledge it.

The nurse came over to check her patient's pupil response, to briefly explain to him where he was, what had happened, what his injuries were. Richard felt James' fingers curl tightly around his as she spoke and he returned the hold.

She reassured him that he was going to be fine, that he was already on his way to recovery, that he'd walk and ride and drive again as he had before.

Then she told him about the second MRI scan and that they would be taking him down shortly.

Richard stayed for a few minutes more until he was asked politely to leave so they could prep James for being moved yet again.

"I'm not going far," he explained, watching glossy eyes interpret what he was saying. "Jeremy's around too - they've given us somewhere beige to wait." It brought a small smile to James' bruised face.

Then Richard glanced up, smiled at the nurse and asked, "Can you keep a secret?"

She nodded, and leaning down, Richard kissed James' forehead, whispering, "I love you," so quietly he'd barely be able to hear it. "I'll see you in bit."

Walking away was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.


He was back in the small waiting room when Jeremy found him. He blurted out the news of James being awake and watched the wrenching relief in Jeremy's expression.

"He recognised you?"

"Yes." Richard smiled. "The first words out of his mouth were sarcastic." Taking a deep breath he leaned into Jeremy's shoulder when the older man sat down next to him. "How are things out there?"

"Oddly polite. Andy's arrived from the office - he's taking care of it." Jeremy dropped back against the garish cushions and hooked his hand around Richard's shoulder, pulling him with him. Richard went, too wrung out to care as he settled under the comforting weight of Jeremy's arm, head back against the hard shoulder, closing his eyes when Jeremy stretched out his other arm to glance at his watch.

"Richard...."

"Umm?"

"It's ten to five."

It took a moment for the significance of the time to really hit him. Then he sat forward, eyes wide. "Fuck!"

"We could... get a helicopter, fly you back into London."

Richard pressed his palm to his forehead. "Jez... I can't, mate. I can't face it." Some afternoons, when all was right with the world and a night with Jeremy and James was just an hour off, he had trouble psyching himself up to go out and do the show. No way was he going to do it with James lying in an intensive care unit. "I'll have to call them." Grabbing his fleece from the arm of the sofa, he shrugged it on, tapping the pocket to make sure his mobile was still there.

Jeremy followed him along the corridor and out of the narrow door into the garden, into the sunshine, hanging back while Richard waited for his mobile to switch on and find the network. A second or two later he heard a series of beeps As he searched his contacts list for someone to call, his phone started to beep - twelve text messages, four voicemails. He ignored them all and finally found the studio number - getting through to the director, whose opening gambit could be heard by Jeremy standing three feet behind.

"Richard! Jesus! What the hell's going on? Where the fuck are you? Do you know what time it is?!"

A flash of anger so intense it took his breath away brought a flurry of inappropriate words to his mouth, but he swallowed them all.

"Richard!"

"There's been an accident." It shut the woman up just long enough for him to form his next sentence, grief replacing anger; adrenalin slowly soaking from his system. He felt sick. "A friend of mine's been hurt."

"What about you?" Her tone was gentler, but he could still hear all the questions she wasn't asking, the ones waiting in the wings.

"I'm fine, I wasn't in the car. We were a mile back." A mile behind when something happened, when James lost control or the car let him down or the BMW smashed into the back of him for some unknown reason. They hadn't been there in those split seconds before impact, hadn't been there when their lover was sitting trapped in the wreckage, unable to free himself, unable to move, frightened and in excruciating pain....

The phone slid from Richard's hand and if Jeremy hadn't been watching, waiting for it, it would have met its end on the concrete path around the flower garden.

But he stepped up and caught it, heard the female voice calling Richard's name and replied, "I'm Jeremy Clarkson, I'm a friend of Richard's."

Richard could guess the response that got, the question that prompted Jeremy to say,

"No. Frankly." …. "We're in Reading."

That was news to Richard. Had they really only come that far this morning?

"I've already suggested that. But his best friend's lying in the intensive care unit. I don't think Richard's able to cope with daytime television at the moment." …. "He's taking some compassionate leave."

Richard started to walk away, hearing Jeremy say, "Tell them one of his dogs died," before snapping the phone closed. Swallowing, Richard carried on walking.


Jeremy caught him up close to the edge of the path that looked as if it led around the sprawl of hospital buildings.

Spreading his hand over the small of his lover's back, Jeremy stood quietly for a couple of minutes before Richard asked, "Got a cigarette?"

"We're supposed to be quitting." But he patted his jacket pockets, finding a scrunched up packet of Malboros. Pulling it out, peering inside, he found two in tact and one bent in half. A red disposable lighter had been pushed down beside them at some point and tipping it out he could see he was almost out of fluid. Probably for the best. They had promised one another they'd try to quit this year.

Sticking both the okay cigarettes between his dry lips, he lit them and handed one to Richard, who took a long drag on it before letting his hand hang down at his side, fag held between index finger and thumb.

There had always been something acutely sexy to Jeremy in the way Richard smoked. Something about taking the edge off the innocence suggested by his boyish good looks and warm, friendly charm.

He watched, momentarily transfixed, as Richard held in the soothing smoke for as long as possible before blowing it out into the crisp, clean air; emptying his lungs slowly.

"They'll fire me for this," he murmured eventually, blinking against the sun which appeared for a second from behind one cloud, only to be obliterated again by another close on its tail.

Jeremy tore his eyes from Richard's mouth to his dark eyes gazing out across the grass and concrete.

"You don't sound devastated."

It was a while before Richard answered. "I want to spend more time with you and James," he finally admitted, "I know it sounds... impossible, but life's too short." He turned his head, eyes as vulnerable as glass finding Jeremy's. "He could have died. We could have so easily lost him and I want more memories. I want reminders, little stupid fucking magnets on his fridge door holding down photos of the three of us."

Jeremy's heart threatened to crack as he watched Richard wipe a single tear from his cheek.

"He told me... one night a couple of weeks back, that he wished things were different, wished he'd got to me first. He said he'd happily have me as his boyfriend." A tiny smile played around the edges of his lips and he raised the cigarette to his mouth, taking a drag, tapping the long column of ash to the ground. "I'm starting to feel at home in his house." He was staying at James' place during the week, and although Jeremy had started off feeling incredibly jealous about the arrangement, he'd taken advantage of the fact that the three of them could quite easily spend nights together at James' without too many lies. "I'm starting to feel so comfortable there. I think I'll miss it when I'm not doing the show anymore."

There was something in his voice, a dark tone underlying it.

"You're not talking about...."

Richard shook his head. "No. No, I couldn't. I can't. And I don't want to. But I do want some time with you two - not just nights snatched between shooting schedules. I want weekends, and to do that I can't be away from home all week."

Jeremy finished his cigarette, dropping the butt to the grass. "You know the worst thing about us? I can't touch you in public. I mean... before, I was happy to put my arm around your shoulders. Now... I'm worried about how it looks because I know how I feel now when I touch you, even just a friendly touch like that. I worry it'll show on my face."

"James told me I beam when you're close to me. But then he said it's always been there - it was there before we got together." He crushed the butt of his own cigarette under foot. "I want to see James when they bring him back up."

~

Jeremy glanced at the ICU nurse and saw her smile as Richard lifted James' hand gently off the mattress and held it. He thought perhaps it was something he should worry about, but right at that moment, when James' eyes opened and he smiled blearily at them, it didn't seem to matter.

"Rich…."

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Battered. Like I… hit concrete pillar."

"Surprisingly, that."

James' eyes lifted from Richard to Jeremy, silent communication flowing two-ways, with Jeremy nodding slowly.

"I am… all right?"

"You're battered and bruised," Richard told him quietly, "a couple of broken bones but nothing that won't heal. I don't get to steal your Harley and you'll be back to chasing Jeremy and I along foreign roads soon enough."

James smiled, eyes falling closed.

"He'll sleep a lot over the next couple of days," the nurse told them quietly. "It's his body healing. The second MRI scan is clear. We'll do another tomorrow, but we're happy everything's okay. If he has a good night we'll move him to a general ward tomorrow."

All they could do was wait now. It was a dismissal of sorts, although Jeremy doubted she'd have kicked Richard out of there if he'd really put up a fight.

Out in the corridor they decided on two things; food and accommodation. Anything - everything - else could wait until the morning.

~