The thunder shook the house with each rumble, persistent, and it had drowned out our argument. We were sitting in silence; I'd sheltered on the couch after pissing him off - he didn't have the energy to yell back, but he apparently did have all the energy in the world to shut me out. It was my fault, as usual; we'd only been bickering until I'd opened my mouth. Apparently 'At least Heidi never put me through this shit' was the absolute worst thing I could have ever said, and he hadn't spoken to me since.

The building rocked as the wind picked up again, creaking and groaning, and it was enough to make him pick his head up off the table top. "Garrett." My name was quiet, nervous, and I squinted at him through the darkness.

"What?" I grumbled, not ready to make up yet. Even if it was my fault. I knew I was being a dick and he didn't deserve it.

He didn't speak, letting the tense silence return.

"What, Carlisle?" Too harsh. I was being mean again. He didn't deserve any of this.

Swallowing, he put his head down again. "Nevermind," he whispered.

Twisting where I sat, I swiveled around to put my feet up on the couch so I could face him. "You minded enough to start," I reminded him softly.

"That was that before you snapped at me," he mumbled. "What'd I do to upset you?"

"Nothing, I love you." It sounded too bitter to be true. Seeing what he was about to say, I tried again. "I don't know how to fix this-"

"Maybe you should stop throwing your affair in my face!"

"I know, I'm really sorry. It's just hard for me when-"

"This is hard for you?!" he exploded. "This is self induced, Garrett. You did this to us."

"I know- I know, that isn't what I meant, but how am I supposed to keep looking after you when you find every reason not to trust me? How do you want me to prove that I love you? I don't know what you want from me," I tried to reason, well aware I was digging myself further into a hole.

"Every time it starts to feel like we're going to be okay, we fight about Heidi again," he muttered miserably. His fingertips dug into his scalp as he pulled at his hair, groaning again. "I can't- just break up with me, Gar, I know it's coming and I can't stand waiting for it any longer. It's stressing me out, and it's making my headaches worse, and I just want this to be over so I'm not in purgatory anymore."

"You're stressed because you think I'm going to leave?" I groaned. "We've had that conversation; you know I'm not going anywhere-"

"You said you'd rather be with her!"

"No, I didn't, Carlisle, I said-"

"That she didn't-"

"You're jumping to conclusions. I know you're having a hard time, and that you're a little insecure right now, but I don't want her, baby. I promise."

"I need to move out." He was really panicking, unable to get a steady breath in and starting to pale. "I can't live like this."

"Weren't you scared that I was leaving?" I frowned, nauseous suddenly.

"You can't leave me if I go first," he whispered.

"Carlisle, you're sick. You can't be doing this," I tried to reason.

"Can I- please let me take Fox- please, Gar, I don't want to be alone. Please."

"She's yours, Carlisle, she was always meant for you." My stomach hurt. The cat wouldn't come near him while he was upset, sensing he was unstable, no matter how many times he'd tried to capture her. "Think this through; you're ill. We already know you don't do well on your own. I know you hate me, but it really isn't safe."

"I don't hate you; I just want you to be nice to me. I know I'm difficult and I'm hard to live with, but you shout at me whenever things get uncomfortable, and-" There was a deafening crash outside, the cups on the shelves rattling on impact, and he cut himself off with a quiet gasp, his eyes darting to the door.

My chest started to ache; I knew what he was checking for. "He's not out there, Carlisle," I reminded him softly. Curious, I got up from my spot on the couch, squeezing his shoulder as I passed him to look out the window for the source of the noise. Another tree had come down, blocking the road, flooding the street as it blocked the gutter. Another flash of lightning lit up the building, and I turned back to find wide blue eyes on mine. "We might be stuck in here a few days, if it goes on like this. I hope you like tinned spaghetti," I tried to tease.

"The building's security system is down if we don't have any power," he murmured, pleading with me almost.

"Caius isn't going to come after you," I reminded him. Seeing it didn't have an effect on him, I sat down in the chair next to him, reaching across the tabletop to pat his hand. He was gripping the wood so tightly his fingers must have ached. Be gentle. "Carlisle, he can't get near us right now. Even if he wanted to, he'd end up straight back in court. He can't touch you." I weaved my fingers through his, relieved when he didn't reject it, and squeezed lightly.

"He's going to kill me, Garrett. Or worse."

"He's not going to so much as see you," I soothed. "And we can call the police if he even breathes in your direction."

Gentle. His hand was clammy in mine, trembling ever so slightly as he barely held it together.

"What do you need from me to feel better tonight?" My hand shifted to massage his wrist, tracing the lines of the bandaging under his sleeve. "Anything, baby. I'll do anything for you."

"I don't know," he admitted. Still he looked like he was trying his best not to cry - again - and I knew it would be my fault if he did.

"Do you want to call Alistair? My phone is at 30%, if yours is dead." It might kill our relationship, but at least he might feel better. If Al wasn't still being a dick.

He shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

.

.

I made a bed on the couch, assuming that he wouldn't want me near him now we were back in a bad place. It sucked though. It was so cold, and he hadn't been able to pick himself up from the kitchen table. It was well past midnight and I just wanted him in bed so I could settle for the night and turn the light off. "You awake, Carlisle?" I asked eventually. I couldn't tell while he had his forehead pressed against the table top, but his breathing was too uneven for him to be unconscious.

"Yeah," he mumbled into the wood.

"You should get some sleep?" I tried not to make it condescending, but it did sound like I was parenting him. And he needed it.

He shook his head, his shoulders slumped. "...can't…"

"It's late," I reminded him.

"I can't, Garrett," he repeated.

"Yeah you can; I'm sleeping out here." Scratching the back of my head, I tried to be patient, to not give him an excuse to work himself up again. It definitely didn't take much to send him off the deep end. I was sure his mental health was getting worse, but he wasn't exactly about to let me help him.

"No, I mean I can't get up."

"I can help-"

"Why? So you use it against me later?" Hostile again. A weak cover for hurt from earlier

"No, so that you can lie down and get some rest before you collapse." God knows, we weren't getting an ambulance in this weather. I dragged my tired legs across the kitchen to hover beside him, reaching for his arm but not letting myself touch him.

"I can't see properly," he admitted finally.

Frowning, I carefully pressed my palm over his forehead, biting my lip to hide a smile as he involuntarily leaned against my touch. Still no fever. "Are you lightheaded, though?"

"A little. I have really bad double vision." He risked a glance up at me, nervous. "My head hurts, Gar. Worse than normal."

"Let's get you in bed, huh?" I draped my arm around his shoulders, pulling him against me, the edge of his collarbone digging into my stomach. He was far too skinny, really. Once he'd nodded, I gave him my hand to lever himself up with, finding myself holding him before I meant to, my fingers gripping his waist.

He stumbled, tripping over his feet and knocking hard into the doorframe. It knocked the air out of him, and I left him to catch his breath while I pulled back the bed covers. I squinted at him through the darkness once it was done, trying to figure out whether he was alright without asking. "Can I have a hug?" he whispered eventually, hanging onto the bedroom door frame for dear life.

"Yeah, come here." I let myself relax once I finally had my arms around him, slowly stroking his spine as I leaned my cheek on the top of his head. "What do you need?" I asked again.

"I need you, Gar." He turned his face into my shirt, muffling his words.

"Then I'm here, baby. Do you want me to check on you in a little bit to make sure you got into bed okay?" I doubted he wanted me standing over him while he got ready for bed.

He fidgeted. "Do you wanna...it's so cold, come to bed with me? Unless you're mad at me, and don't want to…" he trailed off, unsure of himself.

I smiled, though I doubted he could tell. Wind was howling through the glass, rain lashing the window, and I suppressed a shiver at the sound. "Yeah, Carlisle, of course I want that."

Another crash of thunder, this time so loud it made my insides flutter. I didn't see him move, but Carlisle knocked into me a second later, weaving his arms around my neck, pulling me down to him. "I hate this; please come to bed with me," he pleaded again, whispering into my shirt.

I leaned my cheek against the top of his head, letting his shivers run through me. "Are you sure, now that we've argued?" My heart still frantic, I gently kissed his temple, smoothing his shirt down his back.

"Yeah, because then you're going to sit out here and think about her, and I'll have to lie in there and know that." His voice cracked, his breath hitching, and nausea latched in the pit of my stomach.

"If that's what you're sure you want," I conceded. Seeming as I'd been terrible to him since we got home, I was in no position to refuse him anything. Especially something as simple as this. I followed him through the blackness of our room, watching his silhouette as he stripped off as much of his clothing as he was comfortable with.

"Please, Garrett." His voice broke again. I suspected there were more tears, but I couldn't tell without lights.

"I don't know what you're asking for, Carlisle?" I shrugged my shirt over my head, releasing my belt around my waist and dropping both items of clothing to the carpet. The bed dipped under my weight as I sat, but he was still standing, hovering a few feet away. Cold air was nipping at my skin, and I crossed my arms around my bare chest, rubbing my hands over my biceps for warmth.

He didn't respond, silent. With each flash of lightning, bright light bleached through the curtains, illuminating his figure. He stood with his arms tucked against his torso, his elbows digging into his stomach and his head hung in his hands.

"Carlisle, baby." I outstretched my hand to him, willing him to take it.

"I'm going to puke," he mumbled eventually, his gasps shallow.

"Lie down with me?" My hand fell to the bed, ignored. I wasn't sure if it was a figure of speech or if he really was nauseous.

Carlisle buffered for a moment, swaying dizzily in place before bolting, rushing for the bathroom. The slammed and bounced open again, the lid of the toilet slamming against porcelain as he knocked into it. I heard his stomach heave and watched his shoulders tense, letting my feet carry me to the doorway. "Go away," he told me miserably, sensing my presence. "You don't need to watch this." He pressed his cheek against the toilet seat, gasping to get his breath back.

"Uh, can I do something to help?" I questioned dumbly.

"Go away," he repeated, more hostile this time. "And close the door." The last word was a sob.

With not much for it, I shut the door with a click, tracing my footsteps back to the bed. I lay there, flat on my back and steering that the ceiling, for what seemed like hours, squinting into the darkness at shapes that didn't exist. Several more times, I heard him vomit, but the bathroom had been quiet for so long that the sound of my own heartbeat was driving me crazy. "You alright in there?" I asked hesitantly. Not sure if he heard me over the storm, I crept to the door again, cracking it an inch. "Carlisle? Do you need a hand?"

He whimpered so softly I wasn't sure if it was real. My eyes wouldn't adjust to the complete darkness, and I could see him. I took a few hesitant steps forward, feeling the tiles with my toes before pressing my weight forward, until I felt his skin brush mine. Crouching, I felt the shape of his hand, cold and clammy in my own, his fingers limp.

I fumbled for my phone in my pocket, flicking on the torch to get any sort of light in the room. The harsh white burned my eyes, but gave me enough of a glimpse of Carlisle to know I couldn't leave him. His clothing was soaked, whether in vomit or sweat, I didn't know and didn't want to know, and he was far from conscious. Stupidly, I knelt down to hold my hand against his chest, checking for shallow breathing and finding laboured gasps. His arm was trapped under his body, bent under his weight, straining his shoulder and his neck, his leg jammed against the wall at the wrong angle, threatening to pull his hip. It looked like it hurt.

"Carlisle." I shook him rather roughly, jerking his body away from the wall, straightening his limbs. Unfortunately, the motion made him sick. I couldn't stop myself dry retching in response. My stomach was churning, but he obviously felt worse, and I forced myself to kneel next to the mess on the floor to cradle his head in my lap, pressing my hand over his forehead. "Baby," I whispered.

He hummed, coughing but managing not to vomit, and pulled his knees to his chest, his arms moving to grip his stomach. Through the poor light, I could see how pale he was, the beads of moisture pebbling his forehead, feeling the shivers coursing through him. "...dizzy…" he slurred after far too long.

"We need to get you cleaned up," I murmured, trying to soothe him. "Can you sit?" Slowly, I helped manoeuvre him upright, supporting him as he leaned on the wall. The shaking was worse now, consuming him, and the tears had started again. I ran a sink full of water, swallowing the lump in my throat as I realised I couldn't make it warm - our lack of power had long taken that from us. Gathering towels, I rang out a cloth as much as I could, setting it on the sink as I turned back to him. "Can I do this for you?" I asked, hesitant that he might refuse me.

He was too dazed to give me consent, starting to slouch and sliding on the tiles.

"I'm really sorry," I murmured to him. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, I pulled it up over his head. I didn't notice it at first, not able to see properly, but as I slowly started to wash him down, my heart lurched. Under dark handprints on his arms - my own, I realised, from being rough with him earlier - were gashes, deep into his flesh and still seeping, dribbling down his biceps to soak into the ruined bandaging around his forearms.

I gagged again, stomach acid rushing my mouth that I forced myself to swallow back. Again. He'd cut again. Not just one incident, by the look of it. I glanced back at his face as my cloth brushed the wounds, surprised to find his cheeks burning brightly. He'd noticed my reaction - of course he had - and we both knew he was about to apologise for it. "Don't," I warned softly.

He bit his lip to hold back a sob, his shoulders shaking anyway. No wonder he wouldn't lose his shirt at my parent's.

"We'll get you fixed up, Carlisle," I soothed. I took my hand off his arm to brush his cheek, hating the heat there. "Can you talk to me yet?"

"...s-sorry…" he said, stumbling over the word.

"Stop it," I pleaded.

It took far too long to get him tidied up enough to crawl back into bed. I carefully wrapped his arms for him, barely holding down my stomach contents, and helped him into a clean change of clothes, dragging him to bed after he'd insisted on brushing his teeth. He was trembling violently, freezing from being exposed for so long and the cold water, and deathly pale. His cheeks still burned, no matter what I did, though I guessed waking up in a pool of your own vomit and having to strip in front of your ex-boyfriend did warrant mortification.

I didn't touch him as I lay beside him in the darkness. I knew he was in tears, based on the quiet sniffles and fidgeting, but everything was screaming to leave him alone. "Carlisle?" I broached carefully.

"W-what, Garrett?" he asked, coughing to cover the wobble.

I didn't know what I was asking. I just wanted him to say something, to prove he was conscious enough to speak.

"Are you going to leave?" he whispered.

"What? No, I keep trying to tell you that," I reminded him.

"Yeah, but...that was before you knew, a-and-"

I deemed it safe to touch him again. I moulded my body around the shape of his, my arms coiled around his waist to pull him flush against me. "I knew you'd been struggling," I murmured. "I'm not leaving just because you aren't feeling well." Pressing a careful kiss on his shoulder, I felt another tremor run through his body. "And I don't want you to go anywhere either."

"You can't even look at me - you're disgusted by me."

"That isn't...I find it a little hard to stomach, but it's not you. It's knowing that you felt bad enough to do that to yourself." Another kiss, this time against his overheated cheek. "It doesn't change my feeling towards you in the slightest. I still love you, Carlisle."

.

.

I woke up with his head on my chest the next day. I doubted it was intentional, especially after last night; he obviously still wasn't himself. It seemed like forever before he started to stir, the fidgeting beginning again and his breaths becoming uneven. "How are you feeling this morning?" I probed gently. My fingertips brushed his scalp as I combed his hair from his face, and I softly kissed the top of his head.

He hesitated, pretending he wasn't awake enough to comprehend, his cheek still pressed against my shirt. "Uh, less like I'm going to throw up," he admitted eventually, new warmth in his face.

"Good...and your head?" When he glanced up, trying to gauge what I meant, my lips brushed his forehead.

"...Not so good...after last night." Now he was really blushing, and I hated it.

"You don't need to be ashamed for, uh, not feeling well," I reminded him. "I want you to be able to tell me if things are worse." My hand drifted, rubbing the back of his neck, my fingers edging under the collar of his shirt. "You have a bleeding disorder; I know things are difficult for you right now, but you can't be...we need to find a safe way to deal with this."

He didn't comment, just hid his face in my arm. "Is the power still out?"

"Yeah, it is. Are you hungry? I can make us breakfast?" It wouldn't be anything fancy, seeming as we couldn't heat anything, but I was sure I could make something passable.

"Not really."

"Your stomach is still hurting?" I guessed. My hand moved to his middle, rubbing lightly, my knuckles brushing along his ribs above his own arm. It made him squirm uncomfortably, and I quickly stopped it, drawing my touch back.

It took a moment for him to regain his composure, the tension in his body released with a quiet sigh. "Y-yeah. I'm so cold, Gar, I really wish we could turn the heating on." He clenched his jaw. "How long is this supposed to last? I mean, the power outage?"

"I don't know. Come closer to me, if you're freezing." I shifted down in the bed, opening my side to him, hoping he was miserable enough to give in.

He paused, considering his options, but did snuggle closer once he realised he was shaking, his leg creeping between my knees though his arm remained locked around his waist. "I'm so sorry about last night; I didn't mean for you to have to see that, and I'm not sure why I was sick like that. We were fighting and I guess I got upset, and-"

"It's okay, so long as you're feeling better. I should have known better than to stress you out; it's no wonder you were ill, really." Stroking his back, I felt him start to relax again, the knots in his spine loosening under my fingertips. "I shouldn't have said that to you, Carlisle, I'm really sorry; it was mean and unfair, and I shouldn't have even thought it."

"I don't care about that anymore; I'm just not feeling well," he whispered.

"Well, neither of us can leave the house at the moment, so that's the perfect excuse to stay in bed, isn't it?" Smoothing his hair down at the nape of his neck, I kissed his forehead, his cheek, wherever he would let me, trying to soothe him back to sleep. It wasn't working while my very presence made him uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I guess. Garrett, if I have something that you can catch- if this is a stomach bug-"

"I don't think it's a virus; you were sick at my parent's place, and you were sick long before that. I'm not catching anything."

"But-"

I propped myself up on one elbow, rolling him onto his back to settle him into the pillows. "I'm not worried. Even if I get a stomach ache for a few days, it's not the end of the world. You haven't got a fever, and you've got a headache; it's not a bug. It must just be part of whatever is going on with your body at the moment." Seeing that he quite clearly didn't believe me, I hugged him against me again, my fingers knotting in his hair as he smothered any space between us. "When is your next doctor's appointment?"

"Friday," he mumbled.

"Good," I sighed. "I'll drive you in."

.

.