Author's Note : I promised this one to my friends over at WFCTGIO - to (hopefully) make up a bit for the lack of screen time during the aftermath of the ABRC. This one's for you, guys. Hope you enjoy.
Reviews as always much appreciated! Thanks!
TLC, Tender Loving Christian...
I watch him as we sit in the back of the cab that takes us home. His eyes are closed, and he looks frail and exhausted. I worry about him. It's obvious to me that he's barely recovered. Maybe he should have stayed in the safe and competent hands of the doctors and nurses at the hospital for a bit longer. But they decided he was well enough to come home. And I do want him home. With me.
I'm never letting him out of my sight – not ever again...
I nearly lost him.
The thought of it hits me. Again. It has many times already over the past 24 hours, but still, each time, it grabs me by the throat, nearly choking me.
As if he senses what I'm thinking, he opens his eyes and smiles at me. I'm not sure how he does it, just a little smile, and I feel my fears dissipate.
"Stop looking at me like that, Christian" he reassures me "I'm fine!"
He reaches out and takes my hand in his, squeezing it tightly. "I'm so glad I'm coming home" he whispers.
My throat constricts and the words I want to speak are unable to find their way out, but there is no need.
He understands.
The taxi slowly drives past the Argee Bhajee and I can't resist a look.
And again that feeling of dread.
This is where I nearly lost him.
He squeezes my hand. He knows what I'm thinking. Just like I can read his thoughts.
Before all this, I thought there was no possible way I could love him even more than I already did. And then I saw him, standing so bravely and so strong in front of his parents. I was so proud of him. And in that exact same moment I knew that I'll always love him more.
All that hope.
Before we went, I tried, in vain, to impress on him to lower his expectations. I know he tried to, I know that in fact, he knew in his heart that he was in for a disappointment. But feelings like this are so hard to control. Who better than me understands that? So all I could do was be there for him. Hold his hand and just be there. Knowing that he needed me to go with him, but that my presence might actually only inflame things more, put me in an impossible dilemma. But in the end, I just had to be there, to catch him if he fell.
I just didn't know how much it would be needed.
All that hope.
Only to be crushed down again. Viciously. Without mercy. I know that his parents' rejection has hit him harder than that roof beam has. He tries to hide it, doesn't want me to worry. But I know him. This has knocked him sideways. More than he's willing to admit.
All that hope again.
His eyes shining at me this morning when he told me he'd seen his mother. He really believes that Zainab came to see him. How I wish it was true. I really do. For his sake.
I was heart-wrenching for me to be the one to crush his hope this time, but I had to.
For his sake.
Over the past 9 months, I've seen him blossom, I've seen him transform into a strong, confident man, who is happy with his choices and happy in himself. Of course I know that being outcast from his family has left painful scars, but he's worn them bravely and graciously.
But Zainab is his mum, of course, and Syed will always long for her understanding, for her love. Even after all the stuff his parents said to him at the party, he still hoped they'd come to see him in the hospital. Hell, even I had expected that they would... Surely the well-being of your first-born child goes beyond and before anything else?
But apparently not...
The sadness in his eyes when I had to tell them that they hadn't been, nearly killed me.
The car pulls up at the flat, and I quickly jump out to help him. But he's stubborn – of course – and wants to do it by himself. My heart swells with pride as I watch him struggle out of the car, and hand him the crutches. I joke about it to hide my emotions, and he smiles at me with that all-familiar twinkle in his eye – despite it all, it's still there ...
I'm so glad he's safely home.
His expression changes, he looks at something over my shoulder, and I turn back.
Zainab.
He insists he wants to talk to her, and there's no way in hell that I can stop him...
0+0+0+0
I can't hear what she's saying to him, but I know it's not good. From a distance I see his shoulders sag in defeat, and it's as if his whole body shrinks, as he listens to her. And then she just walks away from him. I suddenly hate that woman with a vengeance. She walks past me without even a look. For Syed's sake, I stop myself from lashing out. He wouldn't want me to. But the way she treats him makes my blood boil.
I rush over to him.
"Guess you were right about the painkillers" he says with a thin voice. I see the hurt in his eyes, and it breaks my heart.
"You're going to have to let it go, babe" I say, as gently as I can, and reach out to help him.
But he squares his shoulders – and in that instant he reminds me so much of her – and starts making his own way.
As I watch him go, suddenly it hits me. Suddenly I know with absolute clarity that it never was a dream. It wasn't the drugs. She really was there. And now... she trampled all over his heart again.
I curse her, and I curse myself for not believing his word... I feel like a fool.
Inside the door, I offer to help him up the stairs. But he won't have it.
"I'm fine, Christian" he insists. "I can do it. The physiotherapist explained it all, how best to make my way up and down a staircase... I can do this..."
"I will do this" he mutters from between clenched teeth, looking up defiantly at the mountain of stairs in front of him. His voice is almost angry.
"If you want to be helpful, Christian, you carry these" he says and thrusts the crutches in my hands. With a determined look on his face, he grabs hold of the banister on either side of the staircase, puts his good foot on the first step, keeping as much of his weight as possible off the injured one, and slowly starts making his way up.
I can only watch him in awe as he stubbornly struggles on. From where I am, closely following behind him, in case he falls backwards, I can only helplessly witness how the muscles of his back and his arms tighten and flex with the effort of hoisting himself upwards. And though I can't see it, I know the expression on his face. I know the way he bites his lip, how his face is set with deadly determination. Determination to do this, not to let that pain and disappointment inflicted on him by his mother – yet again – get the better of him. Instead he makes it into his driving force, pushing him upwards and onwards. And though my heart bleeds for him, and I physically have to stop myself from offering him my support, again I can only love him more as I watch him do this...
My beautiful strong man.
It seems to take forever. Progress is slow. But I have to let him do it on his own terms. The higher we get, the more effort it takes him. When he finally reaches the last step, where the banister ends, he hesitates. Not sure how to do this, and too stubborn now to ask for help, he stands there and wavers. I can't bear it any longer, and carefully, supporting his back, I squeeze past him.
"Well done, my love" I wink at him lovingly, keeping it light-hearted, as I extend my hand to him in support. He doesn't protest this time and gratefully takes it, offering me a tentative smile. I was right about the determined look on his face, but he looks so pale and exhausted, it worries me.
With my right arm firmly locked around his waist, I fumble with my left hand to unlock the door. He smiles a bit at that.
And at last we're inside.
Two steps inside the door, throwing my keys on the table, I turn to him, and wordlessly fold my arms around his body. He doesn't fight me. Tentatively he circles his arms around my chest, pushing his hands beneath my coat and pressing them against the fabric of my shirt. Again he seems to sag as exhaustion steals over him. It's half in defeat, half in relief, that he allows his head to lie on my shoulder, and he squeezes his eyes shut, letting his mind and body rest. Just for a moment. Right here, with me.
He feels frailer, thinner than he did two days ago.
I nearly lost him.
I push away the fear that steals over me again.
"Welcome home, my darling" I whisper in his ear. I feel him tremble.
"You okay?" I ask gently, carefully rubbing his back, making sure I don't hurt his already damaged limbs.
"Yeah" he sighs. His voice is barely a whisper "I'm just tired, that's all" I feel him wobble unsteadily on his feet.
"Okay then... Enough of all this heroism." I say determinedly, "Let's get you into bed" and start to lead him in that direction, but he protests.
"No, Christian... I don't want to lie down. I just want to sit on the couch for a bit and catch my breath..."
He looks at me with those puppy dog eyes, and of course I give in.
So I help him settle down, I fuss around him, fluffing the cushions behind his back, putting a pillow under his leg.
"I'll get you a cup of tea... or do you want a hot chocolate... or I could..."
He waves it away "I don't want anything, Christian... I just... I just want ... "
He swallows, there's a forlorn look on his face that he can't hide from me, no matter how hard he tries.
"Do you think you could spare another hug?"
I slide down next to him and carefully wrap my arms around him. Before I know it he's fiercely pulling me close, into a tight, desperate embrace. I'm amazed by his sudden strength.
I don't know how long we sit there, just holding each other. I know Syed must be exhausted, but even so, he's unnaturally quiet. Too quiet for my liking. His breathing is irregular, and his body is rigid, as tense as a string, as if he's trying to keep every emotion at bay, every feeling in check. I recognize it – I remember it from way back, when things were still so different between us. When he was still fighting me, still fighting himself. I hate it to see him like this again.
I'm not sure what to do. So I just hold him close to me, his chest pressed against my side, his face buried in my shoulder, hoping that my being there will offer him some comfort, manage to calm him. I don't speak for a long time, but at long last I can't stand it anymore.
"Are you all right, my love?" I ask him again quietly, tenderly raking my fingers through his hair.
"Yeah..." but his voice is tight, barely audible. I hear the sorrow in it, and it breaks my heart
"Are you sure?" I insist, holding him. He tightens his arms around me, shakes his head against my shoulder, but he doesn't say anything.
I wait. He takes a deep, quivering breath.
"No..." he mutters, his voice is breaking "No.. I'm not..."
He finally can't stop the tears anymore, but he angrily wipes them away as he pulls out of my embrace.
"I don't want to cry" he sputters, but he can barely stop himself.
I pull him close again. His head's resting against my chest.
"I'm sorry, darling" I say.
"What for?" He looks up at me in surprise. The question is genuine, he has no idea what it is I am sorry for.
I brush away the hair from his beautiful, sad face. "For not believing you" I say.
He lowers his eyes again when he understands what I mean.
"It wasn't a dream, was it, Sy? She really did come to the hospital, didn't she? " I ask
He nods wordlessly, an involuntary sob escaping his lips.
"So what did she say to you, just now?" I know it can't be good, but I have to ask it.
He swallows hard, and I have to strain to hear him.
"That it was a mistake... One she won't make again..." he sighs, and I can see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes.
"Oh Sy... I'm so sorry" I whisper. I don't know what else I can say or do to ease his pain.
He shakes his head angrily.
"I'm not going to cry!" he says defiantly. "I'm not going to cry about this anymore... It's done.. It's not worth it..!" But his voice is breaking and belies the determination in his words.
"I don't know what I was expecting... Why I even thought..." He shakes his head.
I feel so helpless. And so angry. Why do people do these things to those who love them most...?
Strangely, it is him who comforts me. Seeing that I am close to losing control, he reaches out and gently touches my face.
"When I made my choice, Christian... When I chose you... I did so, knowing full well the consequences of that decision. I knew that if I chose you, I'd loose them. I'd be cast out and rejected. I knew that. And yet..." his thumb caresses my jaw "If I had to do it again, I'd make the same decision in a heartbeat."
His voice is shaky but I can hear he is forcing himself to make it stronger.
"I would"
"This is what I want, Christian. I've never been happier than I've been since I'm with you. I don't want to change a thing. This is where I belong..."
As if to emphasize his words, he reaches out for my hand and I feel his fingers wrap around mine, stroking my palm softly, reassuringly.
He smiles at me. It's a beautiful, but wistful smile.
"I made my choice, Christian, and I have no regrets. They don't want to see me, don't want me in their lives anymore, that's their choice... It's their loss. I know where it's coming from and it doesn't surprise me. Not really. I didn't expect anything else. I didn't … hope for anything else..."
His voice trails off. "Of course it stings... I'm not denying that. But it's okay. I've accepted that they cannot accept it. That they cannot accept me, or my choices. I can live with it. Because I have you. And I'm happy...so happy..."
He suddenly runs out of steam. A ragged breath escapes him.
"And yet... " He closes his eyes at the memory.
"I opened my eyes last night, and there she was. My mum. My mum, Christian! For a moment I really did believe it was a dream. But it wasn't. She touched me. She looked at me..."
He swallows hard "She looked at me, Christian, as if she finally saw me again. Me... Not the embarrassment, not the disappointment. I saw her eyes, Christian, and it was as if she could see beyond that... beyond that label of shame they put upon me, the "being gay" part, the only way they see me now, as a shameful, unredeemable sinner. It was as if... as if she finally noticed me again. Me. The person beyond all that. Her son. For just a moment, I felt like her son again..."
He's struggling. "And I felt..."
Again he shakes his head as if to shake the thought away. Suddenly he can't be brave anymore, and his voice is tight and filled with pain. He leans in and buries his head deep against my chest.
"Why did she do that, Christian? Why did she come back into my life, touch me... touch my heart... and give me all that hope...? If she didn't mean it? If she was only going to crush it, trample on it again today... I don't understand... What have I done to deserve that? "
I'm not sure what I can say to make it better for him.
Words seem inadequate, so I show Syed my support in the best way I can. I lift his chin and draw his face to mine. I tenderly kiss both sides of his bruised lips, then both cheeks. Gently, with my thumb, I rub a trace of a tear away from under his eye.
And I hold him close.
He sighs.
"I made my choice, Christian. This is my life. I belong here, with you. This is my home. And whatever happens, I'm not going to compromise on that. I refuse to compromise on it. On my life. On being me. On being with you. And if they can't accept that, then..."
He shrugs, and looks away. Trying again to hide his pain.
I don't want him to hide anything from me.
"Look at me" I say, and he lifts up his eyes at me with no hesitation "you're the one, Sy" I assure him. "And I'm very proud of you"
He knows why I'm saying this, he understands what I am talking about. His eyes shine with the threat of tears, but he holds them back, scrunching his nose up, trying to force a smile. It doesn't quite work.
I touch the corner of his mouth with a finger, lifting it as you would do to a baby.
"Please... give me a smile" I plead with him, gently.
His beautiful brown eyes are almost black with emotion, the look in them is reflective, full of melancholy.
The smile, when it comes at last, tentative, soulful... nearly breaks my heart.
I pull him gently towards me, pressing his dark head against my shoulder. He doesn't resist – he has no strength left to resist. Sheer physical and emotional exhaustion threaten to overcome him again, but still he fights it. I tangle the fingers of one hand gently into his soft, unruly curls. With the other, I rub his shoulder in small, soothing circles. Eventually, I feel him relax against me. His breathing quietens.
0+0+0+0
"You're exhausted, babe" I say softly, pressing my cheek against the top of his head. "I'm taking you to bed, and I'm not taking no for an answer"
He surprises me with a soft giggle. "You never do, do you, Christian?" he sniggers against my neck.
Only now do I realize the ambiguity of my words, and I nudge him playfully.
"You're going to sleep, mister! No funny business today!"
"Oh..." he even manages to sound disappointed, and I'm so glad the mood has lightened.
I carefully help him up. "I'll carry you" I try again, but he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
"It's 20 feet, Christian... I think I can manage 20 feet. Six steps..."
But he doesn't resist when I wrap my arm around him in support and slowly ease him towards our bed.
As I help him settle down, I suddenly notice a small spot of blood on his shirt sleeve.
"Sy, you're bleeding!" I gasp.
He glances down at his arm. "It's nothing" he says. "It's just that gash. It'll be fine. Just let it..."
"No!" I object. "I'm going to redress that wound. And I'm doing it now" I'm already on my way to get the first aid kit and a bowl of lukewarm water from the bathroom.
"Christian... seriously... it's okay!" he calls after me, but I'm not listening. I put the first aid stuff and the bowl onto the night stand, and go find some clean towels.
He changes tactics "I see, you're worried I'm going to spoil the sheets, aren't you?" he jokes.
But I don't think it's funny.
The thought of my beautiful man hurt and bleeding is sending shivers down my spine.
It just reminds me.
I nearly lost him.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, and look at him in all seriousness.
"I'm going to take care of you, Sy, proper care, whether you like it or not..." He sees the look in my eyes and knows it's a losing battle.
"Okay then" he sighs and starts to roll up his sleeve.
"No..." I say, "come on, take that shirt off, Sy. I'm going to clean and dress all your wounds, and put on some of that cream that they gave me at the hospital for the bruises.. and..."
I'm already dipping a towel into the water.
"There's no need, Christian" he protests. At first I think it's because he's just too tired, but there's an edge to his voice that makes me look up.
"Sy?"
"There's no need!" he insists. He's adamant.
"Darling, I know you can be stubborn sometimes, but this is ridiculous. Why won't you let me help you?"
He doesn't answer me, and looks away.
I tilt up his chin and look into those big brown eyes.
"Talk to me, Sy." I beg him.
He swallows hard. "I just... don't want to take my shirt off" he confesses.
I don't quite understand what he's saying.
"Why? You've never had a problem with that, have you? Taking your shirt off for me...?" I joke, trying to relieve some of the tension.
But this time it's my attempt at wittiness that doesn't fly.
He just looks at me, so serious, and I don't know what to say anymore. I take hold of his hand and squeeze it reassuringly.
"Sy...?"
His voice is shaky when he speaks again at last.
"I don't want to take my shirt off ..." he sighs and closes his eyes.
"Because ... I'm all covered in cuts and bruises, and scars, and... It's... ugly... I'm all black and blue... It looks... I look... awful...!"
I can't believe what I'm hearing. I suddenly realize why at the hospital he sent me away to get a coffee when the nurse came in to redress the bandages. Why he was all dressed and ready to go when I came back from a visit to the gents. He didn't want me to see his injuries.
I gently wrap my hands around that beautiful face, which to me, even bruised and damaged, could make the angels sing.
"Sy... my darling..." I struggle to find the words "how on earth could you possibly think that you look anything but stunning? It is breaking my heart that you feel that way. You are the most gorgeous man alive!"
I softly caress his lower lip with the edge of my thumb, and his eyelashes flutter closed at my touch.
"Alive being the operative word here" I continue gently. "I nearly lost you, Sy... and the thought of that..."
I can't go on, and shake my head as the emotions threaten to overcome me.
I swallow and start again.
"You are so beautiful, Sy. A few cuts and bruises aren't going to make me love you any less... "
My words seem to reassure him a little, but he's still embarrassed and not looking at me.
"Remember when you looked after me, after I got beaten up... ? All those bruises..." I remind him "Did it change the way you felt about me...?"
He looks up at me, and his eyes are suddenly shining.
"Yes" he says, momentarily taking me aback
"Yes" he repeats and his voice is husky "It made me love you more"
My heart skips a beat, when he reaches out to touch my face, at that spot under my eye where I was beaten so badly.
For an instant, I feel hurled back into the memory.
"I'm sorry, Christian" he mutters, and gives me a tentative smile. "I know I'm being silly"
"You are!" I smile at him encouragingly "Very silly... but I love you anyway..."
He takes a deep breath, as if he needs to gather up his courage, and starts to unbutton his shirt.
As he peels it off him, slowly revealing his golden skin, I have to hold back an involuntary gasp. He wasn't exaggerating. Syed's chest and back are marred by dozens of welts and grazes, cuts and bruises, and in some places the skin has split and bled. Seeing his injuries in their entirety, I feel my throat constrict.
"Oh my poor darling" I breathe, and without thinking, I bend down, and press a soft kiss on a mean-looking cut just under his collarbone, close to his heart. He lets out a sigh.
My hands are softly hovering over his exposed and trembling skin.
"You are beautiful, Sy." I whisper, as I tenderly kiss his lips.
I gently help him to unwrap the bandage on his arm. It's a large, jagged laceration where the beam grazed him, and the sight of it makes me shudder. Syed lies back and closes his eyes as I carefully start to clean the wound. He winces as I carefully brush over it, and I apologize profusely. I put on some antiseptic cream, and wrap a new bandage around his arm.
Then I carefully start cleaning the rest of his wounds, starting from the gash on his collarbone, unhurriedly working my way downwards, softly wiping traces of blood away with my damp towel, and placing soft, lingering kisses on each inch of skin that I can see. I finally toss the stained towel away and take the cream, spreading a generous amount of it onto my fingers and gently start to massage it onto Syed's chest.
His eyes are closed and he softly groans as I smooth the ointment over his wounds.
"Roll over, darling" I whisper to him when I have finished with his front. He turns slowly as if every movement is exhausting him. His back looks better than his chest, there's less injuries here. But they need my attention and care just as much. I take a fresh towel, dip it into the water and start again.
When I've finished, I take a moment watching him, lying on his stomach on the bed, his head resting on his crossed arms. I wonder if he's asleep.
But he's not.
"Thank you, Christian" he mumbles under his breath.
"You're welcome, my love" I say and, leaning over him, I put my hands gently on his shoulders, and press a soft kiss behind his ear.
I feel the tension in his bruised and battered shoulder blades, and gently start rubbing them, pushing in at the muscles on both sides of his backbone.
Syed groans quietly and moves back into the pressure.
"Don't stop" he says. So I continue rubbing his back, kneading at his neck, knuckling the knots under his shoulder blades, the softer muscles lower down.
I can tell he's enjoying this. His breathing slows, becomes more regular.
"You're very good at this, Christian." he suddenly mutters.
"Don't sound so surprised...!" I joke in mock-anger
"But I thought I was the specialist..." he shrugs "At least, I'm the one who did the course, right?"
"Yeah, well... you see, I learnt from the master. I paid attention, didn't I?" I smile.
"Did you, then?"
"Does that surprise you too?"
He chuckles softly. "Well, yeah... "
His face is hidden, buried in his pillow, but I swear I can see him roll his eyes
"... judging by your reactions when I give you a massage, I didn't exactly think you were paying attention to technique..."
"Well... it appears that I have then, doesn't it?"
"Good" he says "I'm glad you did..."
He yawns wholeheartedly and I lean over him, putting my mouth by his ear.
"Why don't you get some sleep now, babe?"
"Yeah..." he mumbles, "I think I will..."
0+0+0+0+0
I don't know how long I sit there, leaning against the headboard, watching him sleep.
My beautiful, beautiful boy.
I nearly lost him.
I want to lie down next to him, wrap him in my arms, hold him close, never let him go again.
But I hold back, I don't want to disturb him, the way he sleeps so beautifully. I could sit here for hours and just stare at him.
And thanking my lucky stars.
My beautiful Sy.
I didn't need a roof beam nearly crushing him to remind me how much he means to me. But it certainly has driven it home to me.
I really wouldn't know how to go on without him now.
As I gaze at him, he stirs and tentatively opens his eyes. He smiles when he sees me sitting there.
"Hey you... What are you doing over there?" he reaches out to touch my hand.
"Watching you, of course" I smile back, and let my fingers entwine with his.
"Too far..." he mumbles "Why don't you join me over here?" as he pulls back the sheets invitingly.
He doesn't have to ask me twice. I slide down next to him, and he cuddles close.
I sigh a breath of relief to find him nestled safely in my arms again. His head rests over my heart. I feel the softness of his dark hair against my skin and I breathe him in.
Just as I think he's fallen asleep again, he speaks up.
"Ask me again, Christian" his fingers trail across my chest.
"What?" I'm not sure what he means.
"Ask me again if I'm all right" he says softly.
I lean in and kiss the top of his head.
"Are you all right, my love?" I ask, echoing my question from before.
He lifts his head and looks right into my eyes.
"Yes I am" he says, and there's no hesitation this time. "I'm perfect"
I know he's telling me the truth, it shines right from his radiant eyes.
"And you know why?"
Before I can even think of a clever response, he presses a swift kiss on my lips.
He grins at me.
"See... There's this guy I know... he's holding me right now... and... I love him"
"And do you know the best bit?"
I wordlessly shake my head when the emotions stop me from uttering the words I want to say.
"He loves me right back"
For once I am speechless, and he smiles at that. Not taken aback at all by my stunned silence.
He presses another kiss on my lips, and lies down his head on my chest again.
And then, just then, I feel something turn over inside of me.
All the fear and the worry have gone.
Yes, I nearly lost him.
But I didn't.
He's here, right here with me. In my arms.
Loving me.
And yes, I love him right back.
I want to tell him that. But he's already sleeping, a smile on his face.
I close my eyes and cradle him softly.
There will be plenty of chances to tell him.
We have a whole future ahead of us.