The knock on the door the next morning woke me up. I'd felt for Carlisle's hand between the sheets, about to stop him from getting up, until I heard him thank the person as he opened it

"Breakfast," he told me. I couldn't quite see what was on the tray in his hands, but he was struggling to hold the weight steady despite his smile. I hoped he meant breakfast for us and not just me.

My fears were abated as he set it on the bed beside me - the carefully packaged cartons were quite obviously meant for two people. I held it level on the duvet while I shifted upwards to lean against the wall, catching his hip with my free hand as he sat down to tug him closer to me.

"Where'd you find somewhere that delivers breakfast?" I asked him through a stifled yawn. I slipped my hands over his waist as he leaned forward to get one of the containers, guiding him back into my lap, my arm locked around his middle.

Laughing a little, he showed me the app on his phone, twisting to kiss my jaw. "We don't have to be anywhere today, right?" he checked. I caught his hesitance, how little he didn't want to have to go to see anyone today, how much he doubted his ability to keep track of his own appointments.

"No. Did you get some sleep last night?" I supervised while he started to unbox our food, my chin resting on his shoulder. He hadn't been overly well the night before, uneasy and a little dizzy, but it seemed to have passed.

"Yeah, I'm feeling better," he assured me.

"Good." I pressed my lips to his throat, my fingertips teasing his side.

.

.

Everything was delicious. The coffee was wonderful - the involuntary groan I let out at the first sip having everything to do with it being my old order; black coffee didn't hit the same, but it's all I'd had over the last few months while my caffeine intake had increased dramatically and I couldn't warrant that quantity of sugar.

"I'm glad you like it." He was smiling at his lap, fingers clasped around his own disposable cup. "Do you still want to see a movie today?"

I nodded. "If you're up to it." It didn't matter what we did - I just craved the time together where he wasn't feeling awful. "Did you have something in mind?"

"No, I just want to go out with you," he admitted. "I don't mind what we see."

"Me neither." After a few more eager mouthfuls, I back peddled. "You're not going to make me sit through another horror, are you?"

He struggled to swallow a mouthful without choking as he tried not to laugh. "You're twenty eight years old, Garrett."

"There's no age limit on hating scary movies, Carlisle," I teased.

"I'll hold your hand and we can keep the light on tonight?"

I waited until he'd set aside his bowl before playfully pushing his shoulder, both of us giggling as he over compensated and nearly fell into my plate in his attempt to correct himself. Quickly swallowing my last mouthful, I coiled my arms around his torso, trapping his arms by his sides and pulling him into me. His struggling got him nowhere. He was fully at my mercy while I held him hostage.

He didn't seem to mind. His weak efforts at escape - all through muffled laughter and mild insults - were ridiculously easy to overcome. It still made him out of breath and red in the face. I felt my smile start to fade, the lump in my throat returning. It didn't used to be like this. I used to at least have to try.

I kissed his cheek, softing my hold but still drawing him against my chest. "We can see whatever you want; twenty eight is too old to be scared of a film."

He was still teasing, twisting in my arms. I loosened my grip on him further, letting him face me, pressing kisses across his collarbones and up his throat, my hands softly running up his spine, silently willing him to stay so closely.

He did, lying across me as I lay back - with only a short grumble about not spilling our drinks on the white bedding. My lips pressed to his again and again, one of his hands knotting in my hair, pulling as I grabbed at him. Briefly, as his eyes met mine, I wanted to ask him to marry me, for more than just his residency, to get back on track with our engagement - I would have if I wasn't so afraid of the answer.

.

.

The cheesy comedy must have been made at least a thousand times before, but it was still enjoyable with him next to me. The normality of it all was a relief, to have him smiling and relaxed while we rolled our eyes at the jokes. There weren't many others in the theatre, it being mid-afternoon on a weekday, and we'd made ourselves at home with the snacks we'd smuggled in from the department store next door.

By the time the lights flashed on, the hospital and all the appointments felt far in the distance. My fears that he'd be horribly ill by the time I could see him again were immediately dashed - he still looked fine, reluctantly starting to pack our things away. "Let's get something to eat before we leave," I suggested.

I had been banking on the mall still being relatively quiet, and it had worked in my favour; there were still only a few other customers around when we ordered at the cafe, the shop still empty enough that I could reassure Carlisle that I was fine. The novelty of being able to have meals out after two years of dating definitely helped.

We had lunch together before Carlisle assured me he was still feeling well enough to walk around the other shops for a little while. Wandering from store to store, I kept my hand in his and an eye on him, watching for any signs that he might need to go home, but he seemed to fare alright as long as I didn't rush him.

"Ulterior motives?" I asked him as he coerced me toward a bookstore. I had no qualms about being there really; it was a relief to see him at least mildly interested in anything. And it wouldn't hurt if he retired the novel he'd been abusing recently - the thing was about to fall apart.

"Caught red handed," he agreed, failing to hide a smile. "I won't be long. Please?"

I nodded, obediently following him in. He obviously knew what he wanted, not wasting much time in locating the fiction section and narrowing it down to the author. He seemed unaware of me as he searched for the title he wanted, dropping my hand to kneel down to the lower shelves. I'd seen the book enough times that I could recognise the spine of the one he already had, the same author on the one that he pulled out of the row. "If it has a sequel, why have you read the first one so many times?" I teased.

"Because I was sick, and I couldn't go to the library."

"I could have picked it up." I caught his waist as he stood again, pulling his hip into mine.

"I didn't want to ask you to do more for me," he admitted. His eyes remained fixed on the blurb on the back of the cover as he spoke, free hand drifting to wrap around himself.

I swallowed the reminder that I would have done anything for him at this point, with all that he'd put up with over the last few months, all that he'd seemingly forgiven me for. "Ask me next time," I told him instead.

He nodded guiltily. "Okay." Quiet now, he led me to the cash register. His interaction with the woman behind the desk was painfully awkward as he paid for it, and I was left trying to figure out what had changed in the last few minutes.

"You alright?" I asked carefully.

Again, he nodded. "Do you want to look at anything else?"

I shook my head. By the time we'd reached the taxi stand, his silence had made me nervous - I couldn't pick what I'd done wrong but something was definitely different. Cautious, I brushed my hand down his back, a wave of relief washing over me as he turned into my shoulder. "What's up?" I tried again.

There was an uncomfortably long pause before he answered. "I don't want there to be a next time," he mumbled. "I don't want you to have to look after me like that again, but from what the doctor said, I can't avoid it."

Sighing, I pressed a kiss to his forehead, my hand moving up his spine to rest between his shoulder blades. "I mean…probably not, but it'll be alright. I don't think it'll be so bad, as long as you don't…don't do anything intentional, Carlisle."

He pulled back enough to be able to look up at me. "I haven't, Gar, I haven't done anything in weeks. You know that."

"I know," I assured him. Granted, he hadn't had enough privacy in weeks with both Alistair and I hovering over him. "Never again, though. There's help if you need it, and-"

"I'd rather not talk about this right now. We've had a good afternoon - not today," he pleaded.

Tilting his chin up with my finger tips, I kissed him softly, again when he managed a small smile. "Not today, then. I love you."

.

.

The discomfort between us had passed by the time we reached our room. We watched another film lying on the bed, but I'd lost track of the plot the moment he started stealing kisses. Now, with his knees on either side of my pelvis and his lips hungrily against mine, the TV was all but forgotten. I held a fistful of his t-shirt, my other splayed across the small of his back. His mouth trailed along my jaw, down my throat as I tiled my head back, the clothing between us frustrating. Arching my back under him, I grabbed at his hips, off balancing him until he fell into me, both of us giggling.

As worked up as he had me, my suspicion that he'd exhaust himself before we got anywhere was confirmed as he pressed his forehead against my collarbone, sliding off me to rest against the mattress. I forced a few steady breaths as I lightly rubbed the back of his neck.

"I think my heart rate is a little high," he told me breathlessly, mumbling into my shirt. His leg still rested over mine, my hand sliding down to squeeze his thigh.

"Mine too," I chuckled. It can't have been half as pleasant for him - it'd made him visibly anxious, tension locked into his body suddenly. "That was a bit much, huh? Do you need some water?"

He shook his head. "I'm dizzy - I just need a minute."

Propping myself up on my elbows, I rolled him back against the pillows, softly kissing his temple. His hands trembled as he folded his arms over his face, the flush that had been in his cheeks fading. I maneuvered his wrist to where I could see his watch, his pulse on the screen, the number slowly dropping again as his breathing regulated. "Is it getting better?"

"Yeah. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be." One of the blankets had fallen onto the ground, and I felt around the side of the bed to grab it, throwing it over both of us. "I had a really good day today."

"Me too." He offered me an exhausted smile, sinking further into bed, one hand straying to loosely grasp the collar of my shirt. "Stay with me a bit longer?"

"Of course." My lips lingered against his with the next kiss, his heartbeat palpable through his shirt as I lightly rubbed his sternum. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah."

He didn't recover for the rest of the day. My hopes that he could sleep if off came to nothing when he couldn't fall asleep in the first place. I ate dinner alone at the two person table in the corner, the shower we took together for his safety rather than anything else when he couldn't get control of the shaking. Even with me there, he struggled to stand under the hot water for more than a couple of minutes, out and dry and dressed by the time I'd washed myself down.

"I think we pushed things a little hard," I commented as I slipped between the sheets again.

He hummed in agreement. The threads in the top blanket were starting to come loose as he anxiously picked at it. He'd been in bed by the time I'd made it back into the room, the uncomfortable way he lay making it look like more of a collapse than an intentional decision to be there.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I pressed.

"I'm not feeling so well," he finally admitted. The brief second he managed to meet my gaze only resulted in a harsh blush.

"I didn't think so." Especially if he was feeling awkward with me again. I fixed the blankets, tugging them from his hands to cover us both, my eyes still trained on his face. If nothing else, it made him relax a little, the tightness easing from his shoulders as the weight of the covers settled over him.

"Maybe I'm just tired."

I doubted it. "I hope so."

.

.

The darkness of the room didn't make immediate sense. Carlisle had gently nudged me awake, softly murmuring my name until I was coherent enough to respond to him. I'd assumed it was morning, that he was trying to get me up to make it back to the clinic on time, but it was 4am when I glanced at the alarm clock beside me. "What's up?"

"I really need some tylenol."

I switched on the bedside lamp to see him properly. It wasn't an unusual request - I still had his tablets kept under lock and key at home and had done my best to hide them here. It restored my faith just a little that he'd asked. "Are you alright?"

"Mmm." He squeezed his eyes shut against the light, turning his face away but still trying to nod. It didn't hide his grey complexion at all. "I can't go to sleep; everything aches. I didn't want to get you up, but-"

"I'm glad you did, Carlisle," I interrupted. I planted a kiss on his temple as I climbed out of bed, watching him in the dim lighting as I filled a glass with water and dug out the pills. With them stashed deeply in my bag, I'd hoped he'd accidentally wake me up before he found them if he tried anything while we were in the hotel. "Are you sure that's all you want?" Over the time we'd been here, he'd barely taken anything that wasn't compulsory, even with his injuries less than a week before. It can't have felt good. It really wasn't a surprise that it had caught up with him.

"Yeah. We have to get up in a few hours; I don't want to be sedated." He didn't look well. He sat up enough to lean against the wall, sipping at the water I handed him to get down the tablets. "I'll be alright - it's not bad, I'm just uncomfortable." That was a lie; it would have been far more than discomfort that had convinced him to wake me up.

"You've been doing well these past few days." Sitting on top of the covers, I squeezed his leg through the blankets, taking the cup from him once he was done.

"I can deal with things better here; it's easier." It wasn't looking easier now - he'd melted back into the bedding as soon as he could, slouching down in what his spine must have considered an absolute sin. "I still feel terrible, but I can cope with it when I'm not so anxious."

"We need to be serious about moving when we get home, if it's making this much difference to you." I brushed my knuckles along his jaw before I reached around him to tug his pillow up. "Have you thought about where you'd like to go? I don't mind where we move - it would be nice to be a bit further from my hometown. You are the expert in cross-country moving, after all."

He swallowed tightly. "I don't think we should move until I've renewed my work visa."

"Marry me," I tried again, the words out before I could stop them.

"Garrett-"

"Really, let's get married when we get back. Then you can apply for residency, and we can find a new home together." Pulling his arm over my lap, I traced the lines of his hand with my fingertips, skipping over the bruising for fear of hurting him, hating the way it curled around his wrist, yellowing purples scattered up his forearm. I tried to remember when he'd stopped needing the bandaging - I wasn't sure he'd ever tolerated my touch against the marks before now. It hadn't healed well - not when he'd disturbed it again and again.

"It was so hard to find a place last time," he whispered. "I don't think I can do it again right now."

"We'll manage, Carlisle. I'll go by myself and take pictures for you if I have to. Maybe we could actually get a house instead of an apartment, if we move to the right state. We could have somewhere with a yard, and get a friend for Fox." We'd teased the idea of getting a dog before, always as a fantasy, but it could be achievable if we shifted from the city center. "She's not an outdoor cat, but I'm sure she'd adjust."

"I can't afford my medical bills, let alone anything else." His voice shook a little, the breath he let out unsteady.

I linked my fingers through his to squeeze his hand as he tried to snatch it away from me. "I'll pick up more hours at work. It'll be alright."

"Please get back in bed," he pleaded softly, shaking his head.

I didn't make him grovel. Instead, I got back in beside him, slipping my arm over his shoulders as he curled into me. "The last few days have been really hard, but at least we have a plan now. It's going to get better." For a few long minutes, he was silent, struggling to hold it together while I watched the ceiling and prayed I wasn't about to cry again. I knew I would if he did. "Relax," I urged. "You need to sleep."

"I'm trying," he mumbled into my shirt. He was quiet for so long that I'd started to fall asleep. The warmth of his body against mine was comforting, soothing, easily drawing me back into unconsciousness. I forced myself to stay awake; there was no way he was going to wake me up a second time if he needed more medication.

I lay awake with him for the best part of an hour, until he shoved the blankets off of himself and started to get up. "I need to stand under the shower again," he mumbled when I prompted him for an explanation.

"Do you need me to come with you?" The last thing I wanted was to get out of bed, second only to him falling in the bathroom. "Be careful under the hot water, Carlisle," I said as he refused. I listened to the water run, then shut off, then the faucet run at the sink as he brushed his teeth to start getting ready for the day - at 5AM. I contemplated pretending to be asleep when he got back, but figured he knew damn well how pedantic I was being regardless.

He didn't look any better. The heat had mottled his skin, the harsh flush in his cheeks making it look like he'd run a marathon in the dim lighting.

"You're allowed more pain killers, you know. You don't have to make yourself miserable," I reminded him carefully.

"I don't need it," he insisted.

"You're feeling unwell, though."

"It isn't pain so much." Unsteady, he'd all but collapsed onto the mattress beside me. His chest sucked in sharply with each breath, not hidden under his shirt, until I was sure he was having a panic attack, tension flooding his body again. "My pulse is too fast," he told me before I could ask.

I barely avoided reprimanding him for the temperature of the shower again as I sat up. "Do you want water?" I asked instead - chronically the only thing I could offer him. When he shook his head, I shuffled closer to him, gently combing my fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face, my hand lingering against his forehead.

"I don't want to get sick - my stomach isn't feeling right." For a few uncomfortable minutes, he tried to ride out the sensation, eventually feeling well enough to relax slightly and reach for my free hand on the covers. "I really hope this isn't because of the medication."

"The doctor said you're more susceptible to viruses at the moment; maybe it's just that." I wasn't sure how we'd gotten to the point where we were wishing he had an illness.

"Yeah."

"Don't get up when my alarm goes off; I'll get things ready and wake you up a bit later."

.

.

He barely escaped a hospital admission in a foreign town. His pulse was high, his blood pressure low, the dizziness making him pale and shaky. Though he insisted it was just muscle aches, he was struggling to remain on his feet, the six stairs we walked up to get into the clinic leaving him breathless and unsteady. He'd gotten so bad standing outside the doors that he'd had to sit on the edge of one of the benches, bracing himself on his knees until his lungs caught up. We were late, but the nurse was understanding the second she caught sight of him.

I made a few phone calls once we were back at the hotel. The airline wouldn't push our flights back unless we paid entirely new fares. Our room was booked from the moment we left, so we'd have to change floors if we needed to spend more time at the hotel. It would take up to ninety days to get the results of his work visa once he reapplied, but we could get a marriage license within a week, and be married twenty four hours after that. Alistair was losing his mind - apparently Carlisle hadn't been communicating anything of substance. My boyfriend slept through all of it.

Despite the hours passed, I waited until he'd woken himself up before bothering him. His immediate response to me joining him on the bed was to shift enough to rest his cheek against my thigh, my hand automatically shifting to his hair as I leaned back against the wall. It took no time at all for him to start to drift off again. "What's for dinner?" I asked. The question hung heavily in the air as he groaned to avoid it, reluctant to wake himself up enough to think about it.

"My stomach isn't feeling great," he told me again.

"Sore?"

He shook his head.

"You've been doing well with it until today."

"I felt okay until last night." His hand tightened on my leg. "Why don't you choose? There is a folder of menus on the bench?"

"Let's look at it together, then." Surely something in the book would appeal to him a little. With reluctance, he finally dragged him upright, agreeing so long as I came back to him.

The restaurant he picked at random after I'd pressured him into making a choice didn't deliver. The place wasn't far, and the short walk seemed like less effort than cornering him into something else. I made him promise not to get up while I was gone - the first time he'd be alone alone in god knows how long.

The last few days were easier to process while he wasn't with me. On the street, the sudden wave of emotion took my breath away momentarily. I forced steady breaths all the way to the restaurant. Took advantage of a park bench on the way back, careful not to rub my face when the lump in my throat won out for fear he'd notice. Hiding it felt worse than the affair. The guilt of grieving for my very-much-alive boyfriend while he waited for me to come home.

I hurried the last few streets. In the elevator, I made myself calm down, everything under control as the doors binged open. We could deal. Find some way to pay for someone to help him when he needed it. For the first time in a while, I regretted not getting an education after high school - I doubted I'd be able to find a job that covered him under my insurance policy without a college degree. And again, he'd need to marry me, which was apparently offensive.

My stomach instantly dropped when I pushed the front door open.

"Hey- hey, did you hurt yourself?" I shouldn't have even bothered trying to hide my concern - he must have heard it straight away. Despite my hurry to put down the food, I still didn't know where to touch him once my hands were free. "Did you fall? What happened?"

"No, I'm fine, Garrett, it's just a nosebleed. It's alright." It didn't look alright. His shirt was soaked in blood, as was the sink as he leaned over it, the tap running.

I couldn't do anything but stare for a few moments. "That's new. Sit down, come here." I caught his arm, guiding him toward the table, careful to keep him off of the carpet. Breaking out in a cold sweat, I ignored the sparks in my vision and the tingling in my fingertips as the blood started to run down his forearm, soaking into the sleeve of his sweatshirt once the tissues were saturated.

"Please don't faint," he whispered to me. "I need you."

"I won't," I told him as surely as I could. Granted, it'd gotten a little less squeamish over the last few months, but I still didn't cope well. It didn't help that we were in a hotel room and everything was fucking pristine and white.

Over the next half hour, I pitifully passed him napkins, kicking the trash can in front of him when he swallowed too much and started to cough. I had my hand on his shoulder when his body convulsed, my eyes trained on the ceiling as he was sick into the bin. "Don't look, Gar," he mumbled.

"You okay?"

"It's just- it's a lot of blood." His voice broke.

"How much is 'a lot', Carlisle?" I asked cautiously. I knew I needed to look. To check on him and make sure he wasn't about to bleed out in a hotel room. I still regretted my glance at the trash can. Not enough to hospitalize him, I didn't think. Enough to make me woozy though.

"You want to sit down?" he asked me nervously. "Please? I'm not going to be able to do anything if you pass out."

"I'm good, I promise." The metallic smell was making me queasy. I suddenly wished Alistair had come with us - he was better at managing this than me. "Are you feeling alright? You need to tell me if you're getting lightheaded."

"It's not too bad," he lied. It was another ten minutes before it started to taper off. The amount he'd accidently swallowed upset his stomach until he couldn't keep it down any longer, my quiet relief that he hadn't triggered it again only amplified when I realised he'd somehow managed not to stain any of the furniture or bedding.

Trying to clean himself up had left him in tears. Every slight movement of the feeding tube restarted the bleeding again, making it near impossible for him to do anything about it. His distress only worsened when his attempt to flush the tube jammed, the water not going down no matter how hard he pushed the syringe, his panicking about it feeling wrong not making sense until he looked at the measurement on the side. "It's moved," he cried to me. "It's not in as far as it was before. I think I've pulled it."

My call to the doctor's office was painful. Once we'd established how much it slipped, the man wanted to guide us through the tube's removal to avoid a trip in. It was simple, apparently. Carlisle freaked out, didn't follow his directions, didn't do the breathing exercises as he tore it out.

I saw stars. My knees wobbled until I sat back on the bed. Carlisle was a horrible colour as well, looking as faint as I felt. Much to everyone's relief, he hadn't made himself bleed too badly again.

The man on the other end of the phone wasn't worried once it was over. Assurance that it was a minor procedure didn't help while my partner was in the condition he was. With shaking hands, he'd washed his face, blood and residue from the tape on his cheek gone.

"Are you in pain?" I asked as I hung up the phone. It had taken a few steady breaths for the pins and needles to fade from my hands.

"No, it's- I think it's fine." That didn't change his complexion. His legs wobbled under him as he collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, his arms crossed against his knees as he ducked his head against them. "I don't feel so good though."

I felt safer touching him while he wasn't actively bleeding. I crouched in front of him, kissing his temple, stopping him from slipping forward. "We can go back to the hospital if you think you need it." My insistence that he should lie on the bed was met with a quiet reminder that his shirt was written off, the tremor in his hands glaringly obvious as I tried to help him into a replacement.

Apparently the shirt wasn't worth the effort of trying to wash - it went straight in the trash. He still shook. Gasped to get enough air in.

"I can call an ambulance, Carlisle," I reminded him again.

"It just gave me a fright," he got out. Shaky, he let me help him to bed, not looking much better until he was able to get down a few cautious swallows of water.

We still had dinner together once his stomach had settled. Crisis averted - he was tougher than I gave him credit for sometimes. All we had to do now was get home in one piece.