Elliot felt his heart stop as the pounding on the door continued. His eyes darted around anxiously as he considered his options. He quickly came to the conclusion, however, that the only person he really wanted to be on the other side of that door was Tyrell. After several seconds of indecisive pacing that felt like hours, the knocking stopped. Shit. It was now or never. Should he call out, find out who was on the other side? But what if it was Darlene, or worse, Angela? He wasn't in a position to explain anything to them right now. What if it was Joanna?! He had the eerie feeling that her words to him had been some sort of threat, and being that she was easily twice as creepy as her husband, she definitely knew where he lived. Fuck.
For the first since waking up in Tyrell's car his fear was verging on hysteria, yet at the same time he was so, so tired. Feeling disconnected from his body he lunged forward to yank the door open and was met with the sight of an unconscious form slumped at his feet. Elliot froze as his mind frantically supplied him with yet more questions, and the hysteria began to make him dizzy.
Like a kick to his shins that spurred him into action his brain managed to supply him with its first useful thought: the pale, unconscious form in front of him was Tyrell. A wave of emotions washed over him- relief, joy, fear, yet more panic – as he grabbed Tyrell under the arms and dragged him very ungracefully into the apartment.
With no small amount of difficulty given the difference in size between him and Tyrell, he managed to get him onto the bed. For the first time he properly took in his appearance. To his great relief, he looked completely unscathed, no cuts, bruises, or outward signs of physical harm. Good. However, he was pale (more so than usual), with dark bags under his eyes and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Not so good. Hesitantly, Elliot reached for a pulse, breathing out a sigh when he found a steady rhythm. He was cold though, too cold, Elliot realised with alarm, and he quickly covered him over with a quilt. Satisfied that Tyrell wasn't in any immediate danger, Elliot pondered what to do next, and fought away feelings of disappointment that he still had to wait for some answers.
Inspecting Tyrell closer, he realised that he was, sickly pallor aside, his usual immaculate self. Whoever had left him at Elliot's door (and shit, why hadn't Elliot thought to look out the window to catch a glimpse of who it was?!) had been uninterested in taking any of Tyrell's possessions. The expensive watch was still on his left wrist, wedding ring on his finger, and a quick pat down revealed that Tyrell still had his wallet and phone. Clearly the person who left him here had known exactly who he was, and of his ties to Elliot. Had he left him there to send a message? Elliot ground his teeth together to stop himself groaning with frustration. This person, whoever it was, was yet another person who knew more than him, who understood more about his own life than he did. Why couldn't he remember the last three days? Why were there more questions than answers?
Wait! This is weird. It is weird, right? You think so too?
He barked out a laugh as he realised that he was so hysterical that he hadn't even acknowledged the fact that there, tied to Tyrell's right wrist, was a single, red balloon. And honestly, with everything that was going on right now, maybe the balloon wasn't even that strange. Though Elliot suspected it was. Untying it from Tyrell's wrist he brought it to his face. Unsure what he was supposed to do with it, he sniffed it tentatively, before laughing again at his own insanity. Nothing made sense any more. Everything about this situation was so bizarre that Elliot couldn't even begin to imagine what a normal person would do in his shoes. He found that thought oddly comforting, and with his confidence in his own sanity somewhat restored, he jolted into action. Deciding that he was just going to do what felt natural to him, he picked up a knife from the counter, and popped the balloon. Nothing happened (though he didn't really know what he was expecting). Perhaps he was just hoping the noise would wake Tyrell up.
He briefly considered whether Tyrell needed medical assistance, but another check of his pulse and breathing reassured him that he didn't, at least not for now. He also wondered if he should reach out to Joanna; surely she would still be worried about where her husband was. Elliot shivered as he remembered their unsettling conversation, and quickly decided that this wasn't a road he wanted to go down. Also, selfishly, he knew he wouldn't get any answers, and more than anything right now, he needed answers. He rationalised that Tyrell must have been left at his door for a reason, that some all-knowing part of the universe had brought him here, but once again, whether that was how a sane person would see it, Elliot didn't know.
Overwhelmed by another desperate wave of frustration Elliot took Tyrell's wrist and began shaking it. Gently at first, then more vigorously, in the hopes the older man would start to stir. Slap. A gentle blow to Tyrell's face, then another, harder one. A few more slaps, until Elliot stopped himself abruptly, with a sharp intake of breath. Feelings of guilt washed over him, as an angry red coloured Tyrell's cheeks. Still, the man didn't even stir, and again Elliot wondered whether he needed medical attention.
Making a deal with himself that he would hold out for an hour before seeking help, Elliot resigned himself to the fact that he was just going to have to be patient. He leaned down to do another quick check of his pulse, feel the temperature of his skin (warmer now, thankfully), and gently brush the hair off his forehead (an act of kindness he saw as making up for the slapping).
In place of the usual fear and unease he felt towards the man, Elliot found himself feeling compassion, and the strange urge to make Tyrell aware that he wasn't alone. Not wanting to hold his hand (too intimate), he settled for resting a gentle hand on the man's shoulder, as he perched awkwardly next to him on the bed. It was strange seeing him like this. In sleep his features were relaxed, peaceful. His usual air of arrogance had dispersed, and Elliot couldn't see the bright blue eyes that acted as a battlefield for the power, hunger, and unhinged madness that swirled within him. Even in his vulnerability though, there was still a sort of commanding presence about him, which Elliot found compelling. He moved again to brush the hair from Tyrell's forehead, before closing his eyes, in an attempt to calm his raging thoughts.
It wasn't long before a groan brought him out of his state of drowsy half-sleep, and he snapped his eyes open to focus on the man lying next to him.
Tyrell was stirring slowly, a pained expression clouding his face as he appeared to struggle to open his eyes. Reacting quickly, Elliot bolted round to the other side of the bed, crouching on the floor to be at eye-level with Tyrell.
'It's OK, you're safe. It's Elliot. I'm here. Tyr-' Elliot was cut off by another moan as Tyrell slowly opened his eyes. Hazy, bloodshot (but no less startlingly blue) eyes met Elliot's wide-eyed stare, and for a second it felt like time had stood still. Elliot, finally snapping out of his reverie, was about to ask Tyrell if he was alright, when the other man rolled over sharply and began to dry-heave violently over the side of the bed.
'Shit!' Elliot sprinted to the kitchen, grabbed the first bowl he could find, and quickly returned, placing it under Tyrell's head.
Several long, and painful-sounding minutes of dry-heaving continued, as Elliot awkwardly held Tyrell's fringe away from his face, and gently rubbed his back.
Eventually he finished, and managed to gingerly sit up, with his back against the wall.
Elliot, remembering how his dad used to look after him when he was sick, snuck off to fill up a glass of water, and grab a damp washcloth.
Tyrell flinched when Elliot rested the washcloth on his forehead, but gratefully accepted the water. Elliot noticed with concern that Tyrell was breathing with some difficulty.
'Just breathe…slowly…in-' Tyrell cut him off with some slurred words that Elliot couldn't make out, but suspected weren't English.
'Tyrell, I don't understand what you're saying. Just breathe, don't talk.'
Finally, Tyrell's murmuring ceased, and he seemed to manage to calm himself.
After what seemed like an eternity to Elliot, he opened his eyes again, and Elliot was relieved to find that they looked sharper and more focused than before. He was still shaking, and looked feverish, but he seemed a lot more aware of his surroundings.
Elliot didn't quite catch it the first time as Tyrell's voice was quiet and hoarse, but the second time was clear as a bell.
'Elliot…did we do it?'