A/N: We're baaaaack! Sorry for the wait, thanks for your patience, and we hope you enjoy this chapter! Reviews are always appreciated!
George walked out of the room and looked at Olivia, who was sound asleep. He stifled a yawn and walked to his own room. He sprawled across the bed before sighing and turning on his back. He was so tired- tired, anxious, nervous, relieved, angry, he could go on.
This close, this close to losing him. It angered him that he could hardly do anything but bandage Elliot up. So what if he'd thought about Michael in time? What if he hadn't? His heart clenched. Elliot would have died, plain and simple, and the thought made him sick.
Elliot was okay, of course; he was in the guest room, the wound carefully stitched up, and he was resting. But he could just as easily be dead.
And if that wasn't bad enough, there was the hurt he had seen in Elliot's eyes when he'd said that he just wanted to be friends. That wasn't what he wanted at all. He wanted to tell Elliot everything. How much he loved him. How scared he had been when he opened the door to see Olivia holding him with blood on his shirt. How much he needed him.
But his mind told him that Elliot wasn't ready for that type of confession. Elliot might just be reacting to the fear from almost being killed by latching on to those close to him. He might end up doing something he, and by extension his loved ones, would regret later.
When Elliot was fully healed, he would have that conversation with him. After all, if what he'd seen from Elliot was anything to go by, his feelings were reciprocated. He just wanted to wait and make sure. He hadn't thought this would ever happen, and it made him feel incredible that Elliot even wanted to be more than friends. He had to get this right; everything had to be perfect.
George's eyes started to droop, and he turned over on his stomach. Later, he would sort through everything. And he was going to have to check on Elliot, but right now it was time for him to get some rest.
Elliot gave a small groan as he opened his eyes. He was still in pain, but it was so much better than before he had been given the medicine. He felt as if he had been hit by a tractor trailer. Maybe that would hurt less. God, he hated the feeling of being shot. It was part of his job, but still very unwanted.
He was lucky to still be alive after tonight. He owed everything to Olivia, George's doctor friend, and George himself.
George. Elliot cringed when he thought about George only wanting to be his friend. He wanted more. He should have known that the doctor wouldn't feel the same. Why had he ever thought he would? Elliot was supposed to hate him, hate everything about him. That's how it had been since they first met. And now it seemed like after all that time, George had started to agree. Maybe he didn't hate Elliot, but he didn't love him either.
That wasn't what Elliot wanted. He wanted George to be his in every possible way. He was beyond wondering why, wondering what it was about George that was so different from everything in the past. The fact was that it was there, and no amount of arguing with himself would change it. The only question left was what he was going to do about it... and that had been answered already.
It had been nerve-wracking, the first time he'd realized how deep his feelings for George ran. He had been through the "I'm not gay, I have kids, and had a wife" phase. Then there was the "I hate him so I'm going to fuck with him and make him miserable" phase. During that whole time he just let loose all his anger at the doctor, but he still had the feelings. He was just venting them in the easiest way- but it also hurt while he was doing it.
Then he had finally accepted it. He was attracted to a man, and there was nothing to do but wait for the attraction to go away or for his feelings to be returned. He had eventually accepted that it wasn't going to go away, and he had hoped that George would reciprocate, but now that opportunity was gone. The doctor wanted to be his friend. Great- he would rather them just argue and hate each other.
There was no way that he could be just friends. No way. He felt too much for such a platonic relationship. It made him feel like a jerk, but it would hurt too much, seeing him to go watch a baseball game or see a movie and knowing that that was as good as it was going to get. It had to be all or nothing- he wouldn't able to handle being stuck in the middle.
When he got better, he was going to thank George, but add that they didn't need to be friends. On good terms, acquaintances, but not true friends. There was no way he was going to torture himself.
Elliot shifted on the bed, wanting go back to sleep and forget everything for a while, but groaned in frustration when he realized that he had to go to the bathroom. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was so dry. He was pretty sure that no one would hear him if he tried to call for help. He felt so pathetic, even though he knew it wasn't a logical feeling, seeing as he had just been shot. But Elliot didn't do "taking help".
Elliot grimaced as he tried to sit up, and then he fell back to the bed. This was going to harder than he first thought. George was probably going to kill him for this, but he had to go. There was no way he was going to be able to hold it and he was not going to embarrass himself by urinating on the bed.
He tried to sit up again, and this time he succeeded. The grinding of teeth echoed through the quiet room as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was now feeling a bit dizzy, so he sat there for about a minute before he went to stand. He quickly grabbed the nightstand for support, and finally he was up on his feet.
Elliot took a tentative step forward, still gripping the nightstand tightly. He let go of the dresser and took a step by himself. As he did so, he felt pain shoot through his body, and he clutched his chest. That was really bad, he thought. He was starting to rethink his decision but his bladder seemed to scream at him that he was going to have an accident soon if he didn't continue. Opting to listen to it, he continued.
His steps were short as he tried to make his legs work. He leaned against the door of the guest bedroom before popping his head out into the hallway. There was a small part of him waiting for George to jump out of nowhere and scold him for being up. It didn't happen and Elliot sighed as he continued his painful journey to the bathroom.
Finally he was in the room. He leaned against the sink before he unzipped his pants and moved forward until he was over the toilet and he gave a small sigh of relief. When was done he turned slowly and started to walk to the door. Pain shot through his chest and his legs stopped cooperating with him. He tried to grip the sink but he felt too weak and his legs gave out. A pained yell echoed through the bathroom as he fell.
George shot up on his bed before he got off his bed and ran out of his room. He saw the light on in the bathroom and rushed towards it to see Elliot on the floor trying to get up. George carefully helped him up and Elliot placed most of his weight onto the smaller man.
George made to start walking, but Elliot commanded, raspily, "No, don't move." They stood there as Elliot shifted his weight off of George and grimaced. "Okay," he said, and George helped him back to the guest bedroom, at a snail's pace. George lay Elliot back down and checked the stitching of the wound before re-changing the bandage.
"What were you thinking?" George demanded, and Elliot set his jaw in defiance.
"I had to pee," Elliot said, voice still coarse.
George looked at him for a minute, then set his jaw and left the room, coming back with a glass of water. He held the cup as Elliot drank from it, and soon Elliot pulled away, relieved that his throat didn't feel dry anymore.
"You could have hurt yourself more," George said once Elliot was done. "You need to be careful."
"I'm fine," Elliot said, stubbornly.
The doctor frowned. "Damn it, Elliot, you've just been shot."
"You think I don't know that?" Elliot said angrily.
George glared at him. "Elliot, you could've ripped your stitches open or injured another part of your body," he said. "Can't you just accept that for once in your life, you can't just say, 'Oh, no big deal, I'm a Marine, everything's fine'? You aren't fine. You have a gunshot wound. It doesn't matter how tough you are on the inside, you can't just muscle through this one."
Elliot glared back at him. "Why the fuck do you care? You've never cared before, so why start now?" Elliot asked accusingly, not caring about the pain. The words didn't sound nearly as good as they had in his head- he sounded like a lovesick teenager. But that probably wasn't far from how he felt at the moment. He felt hurt and betrayed, and making George feel the same helped some.
George looked at him, shocked, and Elliot could see the hurt in the man's eyes. George looked away and opened his mouth, but then he shut it and turned away. He quickly left the room, leaving Elliot in silence.
"Fuck," Elliot said softly, looking at the ceiling. He had ruined everything, again.
George stood in his kitchen, leaning against the counter as his mind raced. He cared. He had always cared- there was never a time that he hadn't. True, it didn't always show in ways that others, especially Elliot, could understand, but... it still hurt to hear Elliot say that.
But he knew that he and Elliot had always had a very shaky relationship, despite the fact that he had cared. They argued all the time. He never tried to get to know Elliot on a personal level unless it was during a psych evaluation, and he certainly didn't use what he learned there outside of that room. Elliot had every reason to think George didn't care. The truth was that George was a very stoic individual- it was the way he had been raised- and that meant very few people ever got to see his true emotions, and even then, they were always carefully controlled. It was just who he was.
Maybe it was time for that to change. He couldn't do it overnight, couldn't just let his walls drop all at once, but maybe he could lower them just a little, just for Elliot. He needed to show Elliot how much he really cared, and sooner rather than later.
