Sam helps Josh up the steps and when we finally make it inside of his apartment, I can easily see he's exhausted.
"The couch is fine." Josh states, trying to play it cool. I don't think he should sleep there but I don't protest when Sam helps him sit down. He's trying to act casual for the time being. We'll get him situated when it's just the two of us.
Sam runs down to the car once again, grabbing the rest of the bags, and then says his goodbyes. Josh is barely keeping his eyes open so I help him to the bedroom. He protests, telling me he's fine on the couch, but I know better and I think he does too.
"What is this?" He complains loudly as soon as we cross the threshold into his bedroom.
I'm caught a little off guard.
"I'm not sleeping in a hospital bed anymore," he states. "Get that thing out of here."
"Josh." I use my no nonsense voice but he doesn't take much notice. "You can't lay flat on your back while you sleep. Not yet, at least."
"I'm done with the hospital bed," he proclaims, shuffling towards his own queen size that's been pushed into the corner. "I don't even know why you would bring one in here."
"Because you didn't magically heal on the car ride home. If you want a fight, I'll give you one, but this afternoon is not going to end with you laying flat on your back and coughing in your sleep until your stitches tear. So the way I see it is that you can get in the hospital bed or you can go back to the hospital. Which will it be?"
He's staring at me, mouth slightly agape, and completely taken aback by my tone. But I don't waiver. I'm not going to let him stunt his recovery because he's being bullheaded.
He mutters something under his breath and I can barely hear him call me Nurse Ratched, but I don't care at this particular juncture. He gets in bed and I grab a pillow off the big bed for him.
He's asleep before I'm done pulling a blanket out of the closet, so I softly remind him that I love him and leave the door cracked when I exit the room. When he wakes up from his nap, we're going to lay down some ground rules but until that time, I've got plenty of other things to attend to around the apartment.
He sleeps longer than I anticipated, but I gently wake him that evening. He needs to eat a decent meal and take his medication.
He wakes up affectionate, rather than grumpy. He seems genuinely grateful for my help. And it's not just me giving him the benefit of the doubt, as I tend to do. It's a pleasant surprise.
We eat dinner at the dining room table and though I'm sure he's not thrilled about the healthy option I've prepared for him it beats the hospital food he's been eating so he doesn't baulk too much.
He takes a quick shower with the door open, after complaining about the removable medical grade bench for him to sit on, and I wait just outside, should he need me. He protests loudly but it's only a minute before I hear him sit down with a sigh when he runs out of energy. Neither of us say a word about it. Shortly thereafter I hear the water turn off and Josh grabs the towel, but doesn't get up. I continue to wait, wanting to give him the space to do this on his own. I listen closely as I make the hospital bed with comfortable sheets and pillows before pulling out the needed supplies to change his bandage.
I hear the glass door open and he slowly makes his way out of the shower, completely spent from the minimal activity. He makes his way over to me, a hand resting along the vanity for support until he's sure of his balance and strength to make it to the edge of his bed. I know he's exhausted because he doesn't even make any attempt to flirt with me as he loses his towel and I help him change into pajamas. I look over his incision, which is healing nicely, and apply a new bandage.
"Lay with me," he requests, settling into the hospital bed. "Please."
The bed is narrow, to say the least, but I've been craving contact with him for so long that I climb in and lay on my side, finding a way.
He pulls me close with his right arm and smooths my hair a bit before kissing the top of my head and letting out a content sigh.
"I missed this." He tells me.
"Me too." I close my eyes and rest my hand on his leg. It finally feels like we can get back to just being us again and Josh can begin to try and move forward.
He's quiet but I know he's not sleeping. Still, I choose not to say anything. I can tell he's working through something in his head.
"I was cold." He's speaking into the dark room as much as he is directly to me, but I don't object. There's clearly something on his mind. "That night, I mean. Logically, I realize it wasn't cold out and that my body was probably just in shock, but that's not really what I meant. I was alone. I was sitting there, bleeding onto the sidewalk as people rushed by me like I was invisible. I didn't scream out- I couldn't find my voice to scream out- and it was I don't even know how long until anyone thought to look for me. I'm not a doctor but I'm not stupid either. I thought that was the end of my life. And do you know what? I wasn't thinking about the President's polling numbers or how to wrangle legislation through the House Subcommittee. I was thinking about you, Donnatella. And I wondered if you knew how much I love you? If you'd ever truly know."
I feel the tears escaping my eyes and I want to tell him that I understand, and I love him too, but I don't want to interrupt him. He needs to say this. I give his hand a gentle squeeze for encouragement.
"I haven't done a very good job of expressing the full depth of my feelings to you," he continues. "And I'm sure part of that is because I've had a hard time admitting them to myself. It's not that I don't want to, but rather because for so many years I didn't believe I would ever find someone that made me feel like you do. I didn't even know I was capable of feeling a love like this. I guess that's why I kept our relationship so protected. I just knew I was going to do something to destroy us and I wanted to keep us in this little bubble where nothing could ever go wrong. And honestly, I still feel that way to an extent. I've never had a life before because I've never wanted a life before I met you. And the thought of doing something to lose you, or never really showing you how I feel about you? That scares me more than any bullet ever will."
I can't control myself any longer, letting out a muffled sob and turning his head to face me before I kiss the air out of his lungs.
"I understand," I tell him in the soft silence of his bedroom. "Because that's the way I feel about you, too."