Fun fact (sort of): If you didn't know, cardiac arrest and heart attacks are different things. Cardiac arrest occurs when the rhythm of the heart (which has to do with electrical impulses) is disrupted and completely stops. Arthur experienced cardiac arrest, which is what the AED is used for. Cardiac arrest is more dangerous than a heart attack, because the heart actually stops. (And if you didn't know, now you know, Mr. President ;)
Soooo... last chapter Arthur made a pretty dumb mistake. Do you know what it is? Coupled with the fact that anorexics have scarily low heart rates already, this proved too much for his body to handle. (Hint: Alcohol is a depressant. Xanax is also a depressant.)
And there's my educational tidbit. You'll be receiving unwanted medical notices throughout the rest of the story. Congrats. :P
Arthur shifts uncomfortably, growling at the onset of consciousness. He feels a sudden rush of air rocket through him without his permission, inflating his chest painfully.
Slowly, he cracks his eyes open. A host of shady, yellowing ceiling tiles meets his gaze. As if in a dream, he gradually becomes aware of his surroundings. The first thing he notices is the giant apparatus taped over his mouth. A whirl of panic flows through him, dizzying in its force. The steady beeping that has been going on all this time accelerates. A heart monitor, he recognizes that.
Arthur realizes he can't very well breathe on his own as he tries to calm himself with a deep breath only to realize he can't. Slowly, he lifts his fingers, bluish in the electric light and touches the large tubular contraption coming out of his mouth. The buzzing sucking noise it makes forces air in. Then, out. He tries to swallow and suddenly feels the tube rustling somewhere in his throat.
His heart beats faster and he looks about in panic. Hospital. He's in a hospital. How did he get here? At his movement, there's a painful, unfamiliar pull on his abdomen. Arthur sees through the thin covers and gown that some shape sticks up. Cautiously, he peels back the covers, craning his neck against the onslaught of tubes. His hospital gown has buttons in the front. A couple are undone and a thin yellowish tube trails outward and down to connect with some other machine.
Arthur pulls the buttons undone with shaking fingers. The tube continues straight up to his stomach and then disappears into a small, gunky hole there. Feeding tube. The words hit him sharply. Like he's been stabbed. There's so many things wrong with this situation. He can't think clearly about how he feels. All he knows is that he's afraid.
No one is in the room with him. Arthur looks about wildly, wishing there was a way to get the stupid ventilator out of his mouth. With it there, he can't move. Can't speak. Can't make a sound. He's trapped with his thoughts and those are hardly good company.
In many ways, he wants to figure out what happened. But in others... Fanatically, he rips open the remaining buttons and
claws at the feeding tube... He doesn't want to know at all.
It only takes a few seconds for the exhaustion to hit him. He can't hold his head up against the weight of the ventilator tubes any longer and has to drop it back onto his pillow. His ugly blue fringe is slick against his forehead with sweat. The ventilator fills his lungs up and then releases mechanically. He sees the tips of his bluish toes peeking out from the tousled covers. A violent shiver wracks through him. His breath would have hitched, but the machine keeps him terribly accurate.
As he begins to resign himself to the position for the rest of eternity, the subtle sound of voices becomes audible outside the open door of his hospital room.
"...able to stabilize him for the time being. ...not our most pressing concern... Doctor... insertion of a feeding tube..."
"Be honest with me. How bad?"
Arthur's heart rate spikes. That's Alfred. Alfred is out there. A crushing frustration makes him want to scream. He can hardly make a sound with the ventilator in.
"Please," Alfred continues. "His father signed off in my involvement. I know Arthur would want this. He hasn't got any family here."
There is silence for the moment. Arthur cranes his ears to catch the conversation.
"...severely underweight. His experience tonight is due largely to previous bradycardia caused by extreme weight loss and further worsened by the effects of drugs and alcohol. Like I said, we've stabilized him for the time being, but our next steps are to be taken with care. You would say that he has difficulty eating?"
"Yes," Alfred whispers quietly.
"Then most likely he has a severe form of untreated anorexia. Already, this has had dangerous detrimental effects on the muscle of the heart walls. Doctor Jacobs is anxious to do a full examination on him tomorrow to check for any other signs of organ failure."
"You mean..." Alfred's voice lowers, shakes. "You're telling me... He could die from this?"
Silence.
"The most important thing is to assess the damage and promote weight gain. I would-"
"No, answer my question. He could have died, couldn't he? He could have died!"
"Mr. Jones, please lower your voice!"
"Then answer my-"
"Yes, he could have died. This episode is the conclusion of long term starvation. He is in serious condition. Even now, we are not out of the woods. The insertion of a feeding tube was necessary. Without intervention, he is in such critical condition that it is not likely he would last another week."
"But... but how could... how did nobody know?"
Silence.
"How much does he weigh?" Alfred plunges on, sharply. "How... how much? He didn't... He didn't look this bad before... when he left."
Silence.
"Well, he just has to eat, doesn't he? Why don't you make him? Why is this difficult? Why are we waiting?!"
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Then.
"I have to go," Alfred whispers. "I really have... to..."
Arthur's eyes widen in disbelief. Go? They haven't even seen each other. Alfred can't go yet. Alfred can't leave him here. Tied to a bed. Filled with insanity. Deluded doctors all around that are just going to try and fix something that isn't broken. He isn't broken!
He makes an unearthly groaning noise, feeling the horrid tube against his throat. Don't leave! He can't leave yet! Arthur needs him. Arthur... Arthur... He feels tears start to pool and puddle on his cheeks. He needs Alfred.
The noise brings the gray-haired doctor around, looking surprised to see him awake. He comes forward quickly, adjusting the tube so that the pinching sensation suddenly vanishes. Arthur can't muster a glare for the doctor. Only one of asking. Get Alfred. He thinks as loudly as he can. Please. Get Alfred.
"Mr. Jones?" The doctor moves out of Arthur's line of sight, so that he can see Alfred in the doorway.
He can't make another noise. How he wishes he could talk but he can't.
Alfred, still dressed in athletic shorts and his Seahawks hat, looks exhausted. Arthur wonders briefly how long they've been here. But that's out of his mind quickly. Alfred is acting strange. He has a weird look on his face. Why won't he come into the room? Can't he see... can't he tell that...
Arthur shifts around restlessly, glowering at the doctor. The man's thick fingers refasten the buttons of his gown, leaving one for the feeding tube to poke out. Then, he gently pulls the covers up and reaches for a clipboard at the end of the bed.
"He's awake?" Alfred asks the doctor like it isn't already obvious.
"Yes and he can hear you." The doctor adds with the slightest of smiles. His deep brown eyes soften as he lowers the clipboard. "He needs to rest, but it would perhaps put him more at ease to hear the story of how he arrived. Would you like to tell him?"
Alfred swallows hard, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "No. I think you would do it better."
"Very well." The doctor turns to Arthur with a sort of rusty sigh. "Mr. Kirkland, you seem to have had a bit of heart trouble." He sighs again. "Jokes aside, I must tell you that you're lucky to be alive. If your boyfriend here hadn't acted so quickly, I can't say exactly what would have happened. There are several things we will have to discuss in the future that pertain, but for now, I think that should help you to understand why you are stuck here. Tomorrow, we'll be having our resident psychiatrist come up and speak with you. For now, please try and rest. After such an eventful flight, I imagine you're ready for a nap." He pats Arthur's knee lightly.
Arthur scowls, ignoring the thundering of his heart. Though, they all know about it as the heart monitor broadcasts it to the universe. Alfred avoids his gaze.
The doctor looks between the two of them, before the beep of his pager draws him elsewhere. Alfred stands like immovable stone in the doorway, and Arthur begins to feel afraid.
He tries to make a noise, move around. Anything that will get Alfred to look at him. Alfred doesn't notice, though and goes on staring at the floor. He eventually manages a suitable squeaking sound, but by this point it dawns on him that Alfred isn't looking on purpose.
The exhaustion of the effort forces Arthur's head back against the pillow. He can't move anymore. He's tired, so tired. His vision sparks with black spots. The full force of his situation hits him like a train. The tears start up again and even against the stream of the ventilator he begins to huff as the tremors shake his chest.
Alfred finally looks up. His blue eyes are full of reluctance. It seems as if he has to force himself to take the few steps to Arthur's bed and even then he stops about a foot away. Arthur watches him through the tears, feeling too worn to hold them back. What's the matter? Why doesn't Alfred want to see him?
The surprise shines in his eyes when Alfred reaches forward suddenly and grabs his wrist. He holds it up, Arthur too tired to resist. His thick fingers rub over Arthur's. Easily, he dwarfs Arthur's hand with his. He sets it down.
Looks away.
What's wrong? Arthur thinks wildly. What's wrong with you?
"I'm sorry," Alfred tells the wall. "This... th-this is hard for me." His breath hitches and he quickly covers his face with his hand.
Arthur's heart beats faster. Alfred's emotion is too much. What is Alfred upset about? He's fine. Obviously, he's fine.
When Alfred starts to walk away, he panics. Wait! He can't be left alone. There's nothing wrong with him! Alfred can't leave him here by himself. They were supposed to go home and spend the holiday together. This wasn't supposed to happen! He's fine now! His heart is fine! He'll rest! He'll sleep in Alfred's bed! Alfred has to still want him! That's why he came back.
He squeaks pitifully, wriggling to the best of his abilities. If Alfred's leaving, he's leaving too. His vision sparks and he nearly faints. He waves a hand outwards and smacks it hard on the bedside chair, only prompting more tears.
Alfred turns back to see him in a half-slumped sitting position with tears streaming. Can't he tell... can't he see... can't...
"Stop it." Alfred says with a bothered frown. "You're going to hurt yourself." He hesitates, glancing back at the door, before taking the final steps to close the distance between them. Gently, he takes the back of Arthur's head and steers him forcefully to rest against the pillow. "You need to rest, remember? You need to rest."
His hand wavers for only a second before he brings it down to stroke Arthur's hair back. With each stroke, Alfred seems to grow more relaxed. Finally, he meets Arthur's worried green gaze.
"You're afraid," he says quietly. He drops his hand to cradle Arthur's cheek and looks away. The silence continues and a couple more tears slip from Arthur's eyes.
"I am too." Alfred murmurs, barely audible. "And I'm... I'm having a hard time... Usually, I can just tell people that it'll be alright, but every time I look at you... I'm... I..." Arthur watches in horror as Alfred's blue eyes fill with tears.
"Why did you lie to me?" Alfred asks with a watery laugh, rubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. "Why did you say you were fine? Why did I let you leave? It's just... I don't understand why things happen like they do." He shakes his head.
Arthur frowns up at him worriedly, finding that he's too tired to even attempt thinking about the answers to any of those questions.
"I'll... I'll stay for awhile." Alfred finally manages. Something grabs his attention near the bed. "One of the EMTs rescued this for us. I'm glad to see you like it." He reaches over and grabs the plush green bunny. Arthur feels a sudden longing for it, but he doesn't have to do anything. Alfred is already gently tucking it in beside him.
"Also, this is very new." Alfred reaches up to touch his sweaty blue hair. "I almost didn't recognize you at first. You're always surprising me." He combs at Arthur's hair gently with a sad smile. He falls into silence, just petting him in a soothing motion.
Arthur's heart feels like it's swelling. It's not what he would have hoped for his return, but in many ways this is the core of what he wanted anyway.
"Hey," Alfred taps him lightly on the tip of his nose. "Don't try to stay awake, goofball. If your eyelids slip, let them. You need it."
But Arthur certainly doesn't want to sleep. He fears that if he closes his eyes he'll wake up and Alfred will be gone. The soft pad of Alfred's thumb brushes away the remainder of his tears. Arthur watches him seriously. He wants to ask how long it'll be before he gets out of here.
Seeing that Arthur is being as stubborn as ever, Alfred smiles. He bends down and gently kisses him on the forehead, no doubt feeling the hefty tube contraption brush under his chin. "Christmas was boring as hell without you. There was a movie special on Hallmark. We could have spent all day watching romcoms and cuddling. You would have complained and I would have ignored you. And then at that one scene in It's A Wonderful Life, you know the part where Zouzou says, "Every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings"? I was going to kiss you. It doesn't really make sense, but I thought with the old music at the end, where everybody's happy together... we could usher in a good New Year. Things wouldn't have been so hard."
He laughs tiredly. "As it was, I spent all day by myself and ate all of our chocolate. The decorations are still up, though... I thought that when you got back we could have our own holiday, but... I see now that's not-" He clears his throat, rubbing quickly at his eyes. "Probably not in the plans."
Arthur scowls. Not in the plans? Says who? The second he can actually speak he's talking his way right out of here.
Alfred just smiles at him until his expression softens. "I love you, Arthur," He says quietly.
He settles himself on the edge of Arthur's bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Alfred doesn't look at him for long periods of time. Perhaps it's the hospital gown, the tubes? He doesn't understand.
"You seem like you want to talk." Alfred remarks suddenly with an almost coy smile.
Arthur rolls his eyes, causing Alfred to laugh.
"Here. I have an idea." He holds up one finger. "I'll be right back."
No! Arthur wants to shout, but Alfred has already darted from the room, leaving him alone. Damn the stupid ventilator to hell and back. He can totally breathe on his own anyway. Doctors are entirely overly cautious.
Alfred reappears before he can really start to worry though. He holds up a pen and a piece of paper with a wink. "Just admit it. I'm brilliant. You like writing anyway. Here, let me help you sit up."
Once Alfred has gotten him into a sloppy sitting position, Arthur uses the retractable tray as a writing desk. He finds as he sets the pen to paper that now he has no idea what to say. Looking up at Alfred, who blinks earnestly, he can only think of one thing.
I missed you.
He expects Alfred to respond with an obnoxious, "Duh." Instead, Alfred quickly looks away with a pained laugh. He scrubs at his eyes again with an irritated groan.
"Ah, thanks, buddy. I missed you, too."
Arthur frowns skeptically. He would have preferred the duh.
What's wrong with you?
"Me?" Alfred blinks and then sighs. "Nothing. It's just hard... I can't imagine what would've happened if on the plane..." He trails off, biting his lip. His eyes shimmer and he looks away again.
Arthur's heart rate picks up. Alfred is worried. Worried about him.
Don't worry about me.
"That's easier said than done." Alfred pretends to punch him lightly in the shoulder. "I know you're tough, though. You're gonna try. I know you will."
Arthur frowns harder. He's not sick, he thinks. But something stays his hand from writing the words.
Are you going to stay with me?
"Do you want me to?" Alfred asks quietly.
Yes.
Alfred flinches at how quickly he writes the answer. Soon his gaze is fixed on the wall again. "I'll stay for as long as I can. P-promise."
Arthur hesitates.
Why won't you look at me?
Alfred stares at the words for a long time. Then, he looks at the ceiling.
Arthur quickly begins to write again. Is it because of the tubes or the gown? Don't worry about them Alfred I'll be fi-"
But Alfred stops his hand suddenly and looks into his eyes. "Arthur," he whispers, his voice going rough. He blinks and breathes out heavily. "Arthur, please don't pretend. Don't pretend anymore. It's so... so much worse than when you left. Please don't pretend anymore."
Pretend? Arthur shifts uncomfortably at Alfred's emotion. Since when has he been pretending?
"It... hurts me." Alfred continues softly. "It hurts me... to see you hurting."
Arthur swallows heavily, carefully taking up the pen again.
I don't understand. How am I hurting you? I'm sorry I frightened you. I'm okay now. Look at me! I'm fine!
He begins to write desperately. As Alfred sees the first words, he immediately looks away. Suddenly he stands up, spinning towards the door and threading his fingers violently through his hair.
"I can't do this, Arthur." He tells the wall. "You don't listen."
Don't listen? How is he not listening! Arthur shifts anxiously, praying that Alfred won't leave him alone again.
"Arthur..." Alfred continues brokenly. He drops his hands and his shoulders sag. "You know the truth. How can you not? Arthur, you don't eat. You don't eat and it's killing you. That's why your heart stopped. That's why you feel the way you do. That's why you're stuck here. Can't you see that? Please..." His breath hitches. "Please don't pretend anymore. It hurts so much more. You have to know. You're... you're scaring me."
Silence.
Alfred slowly turns back around. Throws a glance at the paper, but Arthur has written nothing. His green eyes are hard, and he glares at Alfred angrily. Alfred was the one person he thought he could trust on this. Alfred was the one person who wasn't going to push or bother him. Now, it seems Alfred is just like everybody else.
"Arthur..." Alfred starts in a worried tone.
But Arthur scrawls sharply, I'm fine. And shoves the paper Alfred's way. He doesn't want to talk anymore.
Alfred takes one look at the words and the most pained expression yet crosses over his features. He suddenly grabs the sheet and crumples it, throwing it as hard as he can against the ground. His hat soon joins it on the floor as Alfred chucks that too. He looks ready to scream in frustration. Such a violent reaction has even broken Arthur's harsh expression for a second.
"Fine, fine, fine. Aren't we all fine?" Alfred laughs, almost manically. He reaches down and scrapes his hat off the floor. "The lights are on, Arthur! But every time I knock, nobody's home!"
Arthur watches him warily. He seems to have flown completely off the handle and is bordering on psychotic.
"That's alright, though." Alfred laughs again. "That's alright. I'm alright. We're all alright." His laughter which is highly charged and stressful starts to crack. "I mean, why bother with the truth? The truth can k-kill you. It's why I didn't ask. It's why I never asked you. Now... Now..." He looks at Arthur and his blue eyes fill with tears.
"You're fine way too often, Arthur," he says brokenly. "No one's ever that fine."
Arthur watches him quietly.
Alfred breathes out and scrubs at his face again. A large sigh seems to shake his whole body. In slow motion, he reaches down, grabs the paper, and smoothes it out. "I'm sorry." He murmurs, gently putting the pen in Arthur's hand again. His voice shakes, but he clears his throat. "I shouldn't get so worked up. I know that doesn't help. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"
You can try not to go so bat shit crazy. Holy fuck, Alfred.
Alfred reads his note and laughs tiredly. He doesn't look very sorry though. He almost looks hurt. "Okay, I'll keep it monotone. Who doesn't love a little melodrama, honestly?" His smile is strained, but he manages. He leans forward and gently kisses Arthur on the forehead. "I'm sorry."
Arthur has the odd urge to yawn around the ventilator but isn't quite sure how to manage that. Alfred grins. "Let me help you." He pushes the retractable tray out of the way, puts his hand gently under Arthur's and helps him settle into a more comfortable position.
"There we go." Alfred kisses him lightly again. "Try to sleep. Okay?"
Arthur nods, closing his eyes and enjoying the gentle rubbing sensation as Alfred brushes at his hair.
Next time he opens his eyes, Alfred is gone.
He attempts to ask the nurse what happened. His gestures are lost on her. Finally, he manages to mime writing and she goes to fetch him some paper.
Have you seen the man that was in here earlier? He had golden blonde hair and blue eyes and a Seahawks hat. Do you know why he left?
She shakes her head, giving him a slight shrug. "I didn't see anybody in here. He must have left before my shift."
When did your shift start?
"Last night at about 2:30a.m. Was he here early in the evening?"
No, it was late.
"Then, I must have just missed him."
Arthur scowls at her smile, dropping his gaze to his hands. Alfred promised.
Once she's gone, he takes the opportunity to throw the stupid green bunny at the wall.
0 0 0
"Try to calm down, Mr. Kirkland." The gray-haired doctor murmurs, watching the heart monitor skeptically.
Arthur glowers at him through tears. He doesn't understand. His body... when he doesn't take... He needs...
Finally, he slaps his hand against the bed in frustration, gaining the doctor's attention again. He waves, pointing towards the far wall. If they're not going to give him pills, they can at least give him this. Please understand, he thinks.
The man isn't as stupid as he looks. His deep brown eyes trail slowly in that direction...
He begins to walk over there and when he comes back:
"Looking for a friend, aren't we?" He says and gently sets the bunny in Arthur's hand.
Arthur wonders if it's possible to choke with the ventilator in. His tears still fall rapidly and he looks away. Refusing to speak to the psychiatrist hadn't been his proudest moment. Now in the aftermath, he finds himself thoroughly convinced that he's broken beyond repair.
"Now," The doctor says quietly. "We'll give him a few days, alright? Your family has given their consent to his involvement in your affairs since they can't be here. He seems like a good guy, just a little frightened."
Arthur swallows heavily, turning his face as more tears gather.
"It probably doesn't seem like it right now, but he cares about you. He's derailed. Every time he looks at you, he sees his own mistakes. Can you understand that? He sees every time that he could have said something or done something. He wonders if he's better off elsewhere." The doctor trails looking slightly regretful. "Don't worry too much. We'll give him a few days, alright? Then we can call him up and see how things are shaping out, okay?"