Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. Not at all. Notes at end.

Gravity

A story by Ryeloza

Chapter Nine

He hadn't realized he'd been crying until the young nurse returned with a doctor he'd never seen before. Their arrival had broken some mood cast over the room, and he'd sat back with the sudden realization that his face was damp with tears, his hands clammy and shaking. Lynette had stood up, wiping her own eyes and then crossing her arms over her chest protectively, while he got a once-over and a stern lecture about jeopardizing his recovery. Without protest, he'd climbed into the wheelchair they brought in and let them escort him back to his room, only bothered by the lingering glance he threw at his wife that she didn't return.

That had been four days ago.

The following morning, he'd gotten a longer speech from his doctor that included a long list of things he shouldn't be doing. "Like putting yourself under stress," he'd said pointedly. "I know you don't want to believe it, but you're still fragile right now."

"Not knowing was worse," Tom had lied. Not knowing had been bliss. The weight he felt on his shoulders now was crippling, and he'd known by the shrewd look the doctor gave him that his face showed every bit of strain.

"What's done is done. And the fact is that you do need to start moving around more. It's the only way you'll get your strength back. But it needs to be a supervised walk, and if you do go back up to see your daughter, it needs to be during visiting hours. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

It began a cycle of midafternoon walks. After lunch, someone would inevitably show up to escort him around the hospital, walking with him at a snail's pace up to the ICU. Lynette was never there; he suspected that this was a purposeful decision, but tried to shake it off as paranoia getting the better of him. After a half an hour, his escort—usually a volunteer he didn't think could be any older than the twins—would come in and take him back downstairs and that would be it for the day.

At night he lay awake and thought about sneaking back upstairs. Let his thoughts wander until they became dreams of being able to walk without effort; some triumphant moment where he could march into Penny's room and nothing would be wrong. She'd be smiling and shaking her head at him in that way that fourteen-year-old girls had when they suddenly didn't know whether to be amused or embarrassed by their parents. And it would all be okay.

Of course, when he woke up, nothing was okay. Not even close.

A knock on his door cheerfully interrupted his thoughts. It was futile to see the waking hours as anything but depressing now. A cycle of morbidity and fear that could not be broken except in that hour he spent with the volunteer each day, listening to her talk in her overly bright voice, like she'd been coached to always look on the bright side of things. He never knew whether to hate her or cherish her for that.

"Hello, Mr. Scavo!" She burst into his room with a big smile. She'd pinned her hair up today, but tendrils of her wild curls had escaped and were falling around her face in a haphazard way. It made her look more frazzled than usual. "How are you today?"

"Hi Rebecca." He sat up before she was wholly in the room, swinging around and attempting to slip his feet into his slippers. It was a contest—one-sided of course—to see if he could do it before Rebecca rushed in to help; he hadn't won yet, and he almost felt triumphant at his speed today until he looked back at her and saw her still hovering in the doorway.

"You have a visitor," she said. "He said he'd walk with you today if that's okay."

"Who…?" He trailed off as Carlos burst into the room, ignoring the distrustful look Rebecca sent his way as he did so. He felt a strange tug of affection over her protectiveness, but when he spoke, his words came almost brusquely. "Yeah, that's fine. Thanks."

Rebecca nodded and padded out of the room.

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

The words came out harsher than he intended, but Tom felt no hint of remorse. For whatever reason—loyalty to Lynette or proximity or just the plain bother of it—none of the neighbors had spoken to him since he'd moved out. The fact that Carlos was here now after a silence that had stretched as wide as the Grand Canyon meant very little.

"I took the afternoon off. I came by awhile ago, but you were still pretty out of it."

"Oh."

"But I ran into Parker the other day. He said you're getting out of here soon. That you're doing better."

"I guess." Tom shrugged, trying to ignore the sickening feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of leaving the hospital. The doctor had been by that morning to tell him that he thought he'd be going home by Friday. The trouble was he still had no idea where home was.

"But you look like hell, man."

Tom looked over at his friend for the first time, his stoniness softening just a bit. Carlos stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, face etched with the same uncertain expression he'd worn two years ago earlier, after Lynette had lost the baby. Guilt coupled with the inability to apologize. Suddenly, Tom was reminded of a whole other reason to hate him, if only he could find the energy.

"Help me up," he said unapologetically. "It sounds like you volunteered for babysitting duty today, so you get to walk me upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"So I can have my allotted half hour vigil by my dying daughter's bedside. Any more time would be a strain on my health."

Carlos sucked in a breath as though he'd been sucker punched. It made something horrible inside of Tom seize up with glee; some sickening ability to inflict onto others the pain he'd been feeling inside for four days now. Like the world shouldn't exist in shades of color anymore, and it was his job to singlehandedly destroy anyone who thought it should.

"You don't know that," said Carlos quietly. "Lynette said there's still a chance—"

"Have you seen Penny?"

"No. They won't let anyone but family in. But Gaby and I have been by a few times…"

"Then don't act like you know what you're talking about."

"Tom, if Lynette has hope—"

"Lynette is putting on the same act for the world that she always does!" Tom exploded, standing up and lurching wildly. "That's what she does! She smiles and pretends that she's brave when the truth is that she's completely destroyed! You just don't see it!"

He was clutching the side of the bed, white knuckled with rage and indignation he couldn't explain. It nearly blinded him to the subtle shift in Carlos' face—how his eyes narrowed, his frown tightened—and he was almost surprised that when Carlos spoke, his own anger was just beneath the surface.

"I can't imagine the hell you're going through right now, Tom. I'm not even going to pretend I do. But I'm also not going to let you pretend that Lynette hasn't been walking around as some shadow of herself for months now. You can't just ride back in now because you need her and pretend that it's some fucking noble cause. It's not right."

If he had been stronger, Tom would have punched Carlos right then. He was trembling with fury so intense that it was impossible to remain upright; slowly, he sank to knees, wincing back as Carlos approached him and tried to help him up. Carlos had no right—absolutely no right—to comment on his marriage like he understood one fucking thing about Lynette. He didn't. He couldn't see it; no one had ever been able to see her as weak…

Shadow of herself.

The words rang in his head for a moment, echoing in a way that made Tom feel completely hollow inside. As with everything lately, he felt like his response was delayed, like somehow he hadn't heard the words until just now.

Shadow of herself.

He hadn't seen it. These past six months. She'd just been Lynette. Strong and bossy and confident and unbreakable…

But it wasn't true, was it? In the twenty-three years he'd known her, it had been her suit of armor—a mask she wore even at the moments she was most fragile.

Shadow of herself.

Carlos reached out again, and this time Tom let him hoist him back up onto the bed. His breathing felt rattling, like something was tearing apart his lungs. He suddenly felt like he might be sick.

"I'm sorry," said Carlos stiffly. "I was told—"

"Not to upset me. Yeah, I know. Problem is I'm already upset."

He put his head between his knees again, trying to steady his breathing and quell his lightheadedness. "Do you need me to get the doctor?"

"No." Tom let out a long breath and drew in another. Already, he could feel the pounding of his heart relaxing. "I have really fucked things up. And the worst part is I'm only just beginning to realize it."

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, you shouldn't have," Tom agreed. Cautiously, he sat back up, glancing at Carlos and then focusing his gaze on the wall. "I'm not being noble right now. I'm scared to death. And I'm not going to pretend I don't need her." He shut his eyes, letting the words sink in—the first time he had admitted them out loud. Ever. "And she needs me too, even if no one else in the world thinks so. Even," and he turned his glance back to his friend, unrelenting and steely-eyed, "if you think she deserves better now."

"I never said that."

"I don't think you had to."

Carlos was quiet for a moment. He'd visibly relaxed now, back to his old self, sure-footed and assured. When he spoke, it was with a calm confidence. "I think you two belong together. I've always thought that. Gaby and I both have. But I'm going to say something to you as your friend. And as Lynette's friend."

"What?"

"You spend so much time worrying about her. So much time protecting her. I've seen it. But I don't think you ever stop and think about protecting her from the one thing that hurts her the most."

"Yeah?" said Tom, almost laughing at this sudden assurance Carlos had that he knew Lynette so well. "What's that?"

"You. I don't think you see it. Tom, if you could have seen her these past few months…I don't think you understand how much she loves you."

It felt like clinging to a desperate hope—choosing to believe those words. Choosing to believe that she really loved him—needed him—that much every day, and not just now when everything was falling apart. He felt himself reaching out to it like something comforting to embrace; something powerful to believe in. But it wasn't quite enough to suppress that little voice of doubt…

But she let me leave…She wanted me to leave…

"Come on," said Carlos, jarring him forcefully back to reality. With reluctance, Tom left the thought behind. "Let's get you upstairs."

A/n: Writing fic on Sunday nights has become my best way of coping with the fact that I'm not actually watching the show. Plus it's more fun!

Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm glad you're all enjoying this because I'm having a great time writing it. I have been reading spoilers, and I get the impression that Carlos has become a complete and total wreck and is probably nothing resembling the kick ass friend I have him being here, but… Well, at this point this story has gone so far off of season eight that it's AU anyway, right? So I reserve the right to let Carlos be the voice of reason.

Please review. It makes me happy, and I could always use a little more happiness.

-Ryeloza

PS: I really would like to try to do a fic-a-day challenge again in December this year (I think my work schedule will lighten up then), so start thinking up requests! I have a couple that are already in the stockpile, but I could always use more. Season eight, obviously, is off limits since I'm not watching it, but anything else is fair game! Thank you all again! I couldn't ask for more wonderful readers!