A/N: this is a continuation of 'Cold', the first of my (haha) drabbles. I'm so sorry it's so long – I couldn't stop myself.
Visits
Puck hadn't been lying when he said he was okay, that he had only hit his head. Kurt probably thought he was dying or something, when really he should have been worrying about himself.
The trip to the hospital is dizzying – the sirens of the ambulance, the frantic work of the paramedics; it's all overwhelming and making Puck's head spin.
They gave him a quick once-over, checked his pupils and wrapped him in a thermal blanket, but as soon as they deemed his injuries non-life threatening (and decided that he wasn't in shock), they focused all of their attention on Kurt. The other man, paler than Puck has ever seen him except for the large spreading bruise on his stomach, has been in and out of coherence since the ambulance arrived. Since he stopped shivering.
The paramedics have gained a kind of urgency that leaves a pit of dread forming in Puck's stomach. They are yelling something about severe hypothermia and shock and internal haemorrhage – Puck isn't stupid, and he's heard all of those terms before. And he knows that none of them are good separate; they must be even worse together.
One of the paramedics, a short woman with long blonde hair pulled back from her face, shakes her head and says, "We need to start raising his core temperature. They'll probably have to use an intravascular balloon catheter for re-warming in the OR and ICU."
Puck didn't know what the 'balloon catheter' would involved, but he certainly knows what 'OR' and 'ICU' mean. "What's going on?" he demands, and wishes his voice was stronger.
All but one of the paramedics ignore him; a man with short brown hair and a complexion just darker than Puck's glances over and then back to his task of attempting to start an IV. "Your friend is bleeding internally – he's probably going to need emergency surgery, but we need to get his temperature back up. It'll help his chances in the OR."
There is something terrifying and loud scrabbling in his chest as Puck hears himself say, "Won't the cold help stop the bleeding?"
The paramedic shakes his head, but doesn't look away from his task. "No – it's actually making it worse."
Puck finds himself in a place of anxious fear and numbness. He's never felt this afraid before, this useless, as he watches the barely-conscious face of his boyfriend disappear under a large type of oxygen mask attached to a small grey box.
They've been in the ambulance long enough that Puck's hands have stopped burning from the sudden introduction of heat, and he has dropped the grey blanket off of his shoulders. As he watches one of the paramedics gently feel along Kurt's stomach, right over the darkening bruise, Puck realizes something.
"He's not my friend," Puck says, watching as two of the paramedics briefly give him their attention. "He's my boyfriend." The man with the short hair nods and the lady with the long blonde hair gives him a little smile that Puck is sure is supposed to be encouraging.
They pull into the ambulance dock of the hospital within minutes and as the driver comes to a full stop and Puck is ushered out of the back doors so that they can take Kurt out on the stretcher, Puck finds himself whispering, "It's our first anniversary."
A group of people are waiting for Kurt, and Puck tries to keep pace as Kurt is wheeled away, but a hand on his arm stalls him. He tries to break free but another hand comes up to restrain him. "Let me go. I've gotta go with him."
The paramedic from the ambulance shakes his head and says, "No. Hey, listen to me – it's going to be better for him if you don't."
The emphasis on 'for him' and the sincere way the other man is looking at him stops Puck in his tracks. "Where are they taking him?"
"Probably to the OR – you should go get checked out, too."
~?~
The small waiting room outside of the ICU is filled with various families all sitting in little pockets on the lush leather couches. As Puck leans back and sinks into his seat, he wonders if the hospital thought that a comfortable waiting room would actually make people feel better about severely sick or injured loved ones.
It's been two hours since he's seen Kurt and one and a half of those hours had been spent alternatively pacing the length of the ICU waiting room and jiggling his leg up and down when he does sit.
Puck jerks his head up as a short man with dark features and olive skin hovers in the doorway; he has a laminated hospital ID around his neck and dark circles under his eyes. He's here on behalf of one of the patients.
"Family of Kurt Hummel?"
Puck is on his feet and moving within a second, and he realizes from the little flinch of the man that maybe he's looming a little too strongly. But he needs to know – needs to know if Kurt is okay. "I am."
Brown eyes meet his from below and Puck feels irritation and agitation build from the assessing gaze he receives. "I'm his boyfriend," he says, a note of challenge in his voice.
The man takes in his statement with more aplomb than his mohawk. "He's out of surgery and on his way to the ICU now. I was one of the attending surgeons." The man, the doctor, then looks behind himself and down the hall, and turns back to Puck. "They're just wheeling him through right now if you want a glance before they get him situated."
Puck heart jumps in his chest and he feels his eyes widen. "Yeah," he breathes out and steps up beside the doctor in the doorway. From down the hall he can hear the sound of multiple footsteps and the rattle of wheels.
A large bed surrounded by several nurses and what Puck assumes is a doctor approaches, and Puck can see the dark chestnut hair and the fair skin that he is so familiar with peeking out of a blanket. He can see that Kurt's eyes are closed as they get closer, can see the way he has gained a little colour to his cheeks and lips, and that his breathing is only assisted by a nasal cannula.
Far too soon Kurt is wheeled right passed him without stopping and disappears behind the set of doors leading to the ICU. Puck's body reacts by stepping in his direction automatically, and he has to stop himself from running to catch up.
"Will I be able to see him soon?" It is the question that Puck has been dreading – he's heard of gay and lesbian couples being denied visitation before, and he won't let that be the case here, whether the hospital agrees or not.
"You're his partner, right?"
"Yeah." Puck instinctively crosses his arms and tenses his muscles.
The surgeon simply nods his head. "Then yes; when they get him situated and the nurse gives you the go-ahead you should be able to." At Puck's quickly-wiped away look of surprise and suspicion, and surgeon cocks his head a little to the right. "It's your legal right at this hospital."
Puck frowns a little even as the announcement releases a large amount of pent-up anxiety from within him. "I thought –"
The doctor shakes his head. "You can thank President Obama – he signed a memo about visitation rights that will allow you to see him. Regardless of familial tie or marriage status."
~?~
The ICU room is filled with the sound of soft voices and the beeps of heart monitors. Puck walks passed two curtained-off beds before he sees the familiar figure of his boyfriend laid out to his left. A nurse is standing by his head adjusting an IV line and checking a machine's output.
Puck walks slowly forward, eyes locked on the high cheekbones and the stark contrast between the dark circles around Kurt's eyes and the pallor of the rest of his skin. There is something about the white sheets and blue blanket that seem to sap the sass and strength that characterizes Kurt from the other boy, leaving him small and fragile-looking on the bed. It hurts Puck more than he imagined to see all of the reasons he calls Kurt 'Princess' dimmed away.
"He was just awake," says the nurse as he turns to Puck and gestures toward a hard plastic chair. "He's been drifting in and out. But he shouldn't stay asleep too long."
Puck nods and approaches Kurt's side cautiously. Just hours ago he had held the shivering man in his arms and waited for an ambulance to arrive, waited long enough that Kurt lost the ability to think or talk coherently, and stopped shivering altogether.
Collapsing into the chair, Puck reaches forward and wraps his hand around Kurt's, feeling the flesh of the other man under his fingers to make sure he's really there. "He's so cold."
"We have to warm him up slowly. Going too fast does more harm than good, and we want to get him stabilized without any negative effects."
Puck nods and turns his attention back to Kurt, running his finger over the elegant fingers and thin wrist, careful to avoid the IV port taped to the pale skin. As he lets his thumb caress over Kurt's knuckles, feels the softness of the skin between them, he looks up and catches Kurt staring at him.
Kurt licks his lips and rasps, "Hey."
Puck stands and bends over Kurt's bed, bringing his face in close, and brushes an errant strand of hair off of the other man's forehead. "Hey," he says back. "How are you feeling?"
Kurt's eyes drift closed for a moment and then open again. "I'm not sure," he says.
Puck lets out a little huff of laughter. "That's probably the drugs speaking."
"Are you okay?" Kurt's eyes are hazy, but he is trying his hardest to focus.
"I'm fine, Princess. I told you so." Kurt smiles in response and nods a little, and even injured Puck can tell he wants to roll his eyes. "I love you."
Kurt blinks at him and smiles a little wider. "I love you, too."
Everything seems to crash down on Puck at once, like as the pressing threat of Kurt dying is diminished, all of the other emotions are unlocked. His hands are shaking and he feels like he just might need to sit down before he falls down, and there is a sudden tightening in his throat that tells him he is close to tears. He hates crying, but the thought of losing Kurt, the almost-reality of it, pushes all of his compunctions away.
He sits with Kurt's hand in his for a short time, watching as the blue-green-grey of the countertenor's eyes flutter closed a few times only to reopen minutes later. As Kurt focuses on him one of those times, Puck asks, "Did you know about the new visitation rights in hospitals?"
Kurt smiles a little, hand squeezing Puck's with cool fingers. "Yeah. I did."
~?~
A/N: I AM NOT a medical doctor – I'm a mere undergrad studying physical anthropology. I am likely to have made mistakes – any and all information in the previous writing was taken from personal experience, three years of sports medicine and an epic skim of various articles in medical journals. I apologise if I got something wrong; I tried pretty hard to keep everything real-ish, but I just don't have the experience to do so completely.