The next time Brock saw Brian, his shoulder still throbbed. "How're you feeling today?" He asked, taking him into the same room they were in last time. The chart had been updated, and he was still looking over it as Brock made himself comfortable in the small chair he sat in before. "And how's your arm?" He added, the small grin never leaving his face.

"I'm okay." Brock answered, "But my arm… Well, that's a different story."

Brian frowned, "Does it hurt more than before?"

"It's been aching since the first therapy session."

"It must have been that you overworked it. It should hurt less, as long as you keep coming to these appointments of course." Just like last time he came here, Brian poked gently around his shoulder. Brock winced when certain spots were poked but overall it wasn't too bad. "Okay nothing in your arm seems abnormal. Unless your injury somehow gets worse, these sessions should only be about trying to get back the strength your arm had." He explained. Brian then dragged another chair in front of Brock. "Let's test your flexibility real quick and then we can have you lift weights. The weights will gradually get heavier as you come to more sessions and by then you should be okay."

"So I guess I now have to mimic what you do?"

"Yep."

That's how most of the session went, Brock copying Brian as much as he could before Brian suggested that he held a five pound weight while copying him. After a few more movements of lifting, Brock felt his arm grow weaker. He shook his head at Brian, "I can't, I feel my arm getting weak." The twinges of pain rushed through him to his shoulder, and he was about to let the limb fall before he felt his physical therapist's warm fingers on his bicep, helping him to hold his arm up. Brian stood close beside him, assisting Brock in lifting the weight fully.

"Don't give up, if you want to get your strength back, you have to push yourself." The Irishman concluded. But Brock could only roll his dark eyes at that one. Isn't pushing himself how he ended up injured in the first place? Pushing himself was the cause of all his problems. However, Brian's hands remained on his muscle, continuing to help him move the weight in different directions. "See? I got you." Brian reassured. And Brock used all his might to concentrate on his physical therapist's gentle fingers on his skin to keep the weight up. He had to admit, even if it was just a five pound weight, it felt good being able to move his arm this way again, just being able to lift again. However, the aching got worse, and his arm began to shake from straining it so hard.

He shook his head, trying to ignore the pain, "I don't think I can keep this up much longer." He admitted.

Brian gave a small grin, "You're doing really great though, even with my help." They continued to go at it until Brock felt his arm give out. But he had no time to react before he accidentally dropped the weight which, with his wonderful luck, happened to fall on Brian's foot, then rolling to the floor with a dull thud. "Oh fuck!" Brian cursed and doubled over to check on his foot.

Brock wiggled out of his grip and picked up the weight with his good arm. His face was flushed a crimson red and he felt like it was about a million degrees. He tried his best to compose himself before he managed to stutter out, "How hurt are you? Oh god, I'm so sorry! It was an accident!" Brock rambled on apologies and excuses before the physical therapist finally cut him off.

"It's fine, I'm fine! Don't worry, it happens sometimes." He grunted out. Brock still wasn't entirely convinced that Brian was alright but he let it be, not before apologizing once more. "Brock quit worrying, I'm fine it stopped hurting already. But I think that's enough for today, your arm needs some rest. I expect you next session though, hopefully you'll be able to lift a heavier weight." He finished, leaving his damaged foot alone. Brock nodded, still embarrassed of what had just happened and was quick to leave the room, bidding a quick goodbye with another apology to Brian. He sat in his car with his head against the steering wheel, he could never return there. Brian must hate him now. What was the point of this if he couldn't even lift a five pound weight!? Brock ignored the thoughts for now before he left the physio center and made his way back home.

It was time for another session, well it was the day before, the center had called him various times to confirm if he was still going but he ignored them every time. He could never go back there after what happened. He was too embarrassed, still not convinced after he had dropped that weight on his physical therapist's foot. He was took weak, there was no sense of him going back. What if he really got Brian hurt because of his bum arm? He couldn't live with himself if that were that case. It was time for another session with Brock and Brian did not see him anywhere in the center. Brian at first dismissed it as he was just late, but then twenty minutes had passed. Brock still had yet to show up and Brian had no choice but to skip Brock's turn and attend his next patient.

Brian had another session with Brock this week and he had failed to show up again. Was he avoiding him? And if he was, for what reason would he have to do such things? Brian debated calling him but that wasn't his responsibility, and he felt like he'd be invading Brock's privacy if he did call him. He instead called Dr. Fong to see if he had heard of Brock at all this week. "No, I haven't heard of him. He hasn't come by here, he still wouldn't have because his appointment here is a week away. Give him time Brian, I'm sure he'll come around." Brian hung up and Dr. Fong's words did little to reassure him, what if something happened? He couldn't do anything about it except worry and wait for Brock to show up, as much as the wait killed him.

Session after session passed by, and there was still no word from Brock. The bruise still lingered on his foot, and each time the Irishman saw it or felt it, he found that his mind would drift to Brock. The older man had captured him somehow, and he didn't understand why. But worry still filled him and each time another session passed by, he could feel the worry growing worse. Where was Brock? He tried to keep a positive mindset, but still, it was proving to be difficult. Another three sessions had come and gone, and there was still no sign of him. Brian tried not to blame himself, but he discovered that his mind wouldn't let him find other reasons for Brock skipping out on physical therapy.

Multiple missed calls, voicemails, and appointment reminder text messages lingered on Brock's phone, and he could only sigh before getting rid of him. He was done, that was all there was to it. No more doctor's appointments, no more physical therapy, no more Brian. He would live the rest of his life with a weak arm, and although he wasn't truly content with that, he'd rather go through with it than face his physical therapist again. He was weak, and he wasn't going to gain any strength if Brian had to practically do every exercise for him. 50/50 flashed in his mind throughout the sessions he missed, but he knew from not going, his odds had decreased even more. There was no way his arm would ever get better now.

His shoulder pain was nearly unbearable, because doing all this had only made things worse than they already were. Hell, he could barely lift his right arm anymore, and no amount of medication would lessen it. But Brock continued on, trying to ignore it the best he could. Nevertheless, it didn't work. He found himself unable to do normal daily activities, unable to even sleep on his right side because the irritation was too intense. Would he lose feeling in his right arm completely? That thought absolutely terrified him, but it was one that came across his mind quite a bit ever since he began skipping his physio sessions.