Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Murder, etc.
"That's enough for today, Phil." His physical therapist, Christina Morgan, helped him to settle the weight back into the holster, before assisting him into an upright position. "You're making remarkable progress. In fact, you're about two weeks ahead of schedule in your therapy." She informed him. "How's your pain level?"
"Not too bad." Phil assured her, smoothing a hand over his scar. "It just burns a little bit. Nothing too bad." And really, it was much better than usual.
Retrieving his shirt, the therapist patted him on the shoulder. "Still, I'll get you a hot compress and some Tylenol. Can't have those muscles tensing up, can we?"
With that said, the therapist wandered off to do as she had said. Phil carefully slid into his shirt, before slowly climbing to his feet and shuffling over to a low, flat bed. There is a somewhat pleasant aching in his muscles and joints, and a subtle burning from where the stitches had once been. Christina assured him that he was rebuilding his core muscles at an impressive rate, and that he'd be able to return to action sooner than planned. When he'd been shot, he'd torn two abdominal muscles and many had come close to atrophying while he waited for the initial wound to heal. Now, he was so close to getting everything he'd lost back.
Christina returned a few moments later, the hot compress in hand. Rolling up his shirt a little bit, she laid the towel on the afflicted area and set the timer for fifteen minutes. This was common during their sessions. If he was in pain before they began, she'd help him stretch out and apply a cold compress or ice-pack for ten minutes. At the end, it was almost always the hot towel. She then handed him two Tylenol capsules and a Dixie cup of water, helping him to sit up just enough to swallow them down without choking. Once he was finished, she crushed the cup and threw it into the waste bin. A few moments of silence followed.
After several moments, the receptionist poked her head in. "A Mr. Irvine is here to pick-up Mr. Brooks."
Christina smiled, "Your boy-toy is here to pick you up." Over the course of his therapy, Phil had gradually opened up about life with Chris. Christina was very understanding, and sometimes even found ways to incorporate Chris in Phil's therapy. "I'll go tell him that you're just finishing up and will be out in a minute."
She was about to leave, when Phil piped up, "Actually," she turned back expectantly, "could you ask him to come back? I just... I haven't seen him in awhile... and I want to tell him the good news." It had been hard, what with Chris touring the world was Fozzy. His availability to come to therapy with Phil had dwindled drastically.
Christina nodded, "Sure, I'll bring your boy-toy back." And then, motioning to his abdomen, "Keep your stomach flat and relaxed, alright? I'll be back in a second."
"Yeah, can do." Phil told her affirmatively, fixing the compress on his abdomen.
After several moments, Christina returned with Chris in tow. The tawny blond smiled at the sight of his boy, and immediately made his way over to the bed where he lay, sitting down beside him and placing his hand on the nearby knee. Christina smiled, before leaving to allow the two some time alone. She liked Mr. Irvine and knew that he took excellent care of her patient, but even more than that, knew that he had a vested interest in Phil's well-being. That was more than she could say about a lot of the relationships she saw come in and out of her practice. Then again, she could say the same about Phil and his dedication to healing.
Chris was gently stroking Phil's sweaty dark locks, proudly staring into the smaller man's tired emerald eyes. He was so proud of how hard Phil was working to get better, how much he wanted to return to the squared-circle, to the fans. His eyes slowly lowered to the hot compress on Phil's stomach, and memories of finding Phil in that hallway, soaked in his own blood... dying in Chris' arms... Phil reached out and took hold of Chris' hand, squeezing it tightly. Even if Chris was not voicing his thoughts aloud, it was clear what was going through his mind. Phil didn't want him to be troubled by it any longer.
"I have some exciting news." Phil told Chris, a small smile lingering on his lips. "Christina says that I'm about two weeks ahead of schedule in my recovery."
"That's wonderful, Philly!" Chris' eyes lit-up at the news, and he gently squeezed Phil's knee.
"Oh, but it gets better. You know that WWE recommended this physical therapist, right?" A nod. "And that they've been in contact?" Another nod. "Creative is pitching an idea for my return at the Payback Pay-Per-View." Here, Phil broke out into a wide grin. "A match. Together."
Chris' eyes widened as the reality of the situation sunk in, and a curious mix of excitement and honor filled him. "You really want your first match after your injury leave to be with me?" Phil nodded, looking a bit confused as to why Chris would even question that.
"Of course." Phil told her. "Who is going to take better care of me in the ring than my boyfriend?"
"Actually..." Chris reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. "I was hoping to talk to you about that. I know that we're kind of in an awkward position here, so bear with me." Chris rose off of the bed and got down on one knee, "Don't move too much, okay?" Taking hold of Phil's hand, "Will you marry me?"
Just then, the timer went off, allowing Phil to sit up just enough to see the ring Chris proffered. It had been handsomely carved from silver and was thick, almost a half-inch in width. The center stone was a deep, blooming red garnet, which Chris explained to symbolize commitment, love, and devotion. It was surrounded by six marquis-cut rubies, meant to symbolize Phil's zest for life. Finally, much smaller stones, which almost appeared to be chips, had been set all around the band. Chris said that they were white sapphires, which were protective stones for 'when he couldn't be there'. Phil stared at the ring in awe, while Chris gulped nervously.
"So, what do you say, baby? Will you marry me?" Chris was becoming more and more nervous by the minute, and Phil continued to stare at the ring reverently.
Finally breaking out of his reverie, Phil nodded hurriedly, offering Chris his hand. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you!" Quickly slipping the ring onto his finger, Chris took his boy into his arms, drawing him into a deep, long kiss. Phil had just made him the happiest man in the world... and he hoped he could do the same in return.
Upon arriving at their hotel room, both men had immediately crashed. However, taking one look at the bed, it was clear that something - or, rather, someone - was missing. Roman had gone out like a light mere seconds after hitting the mattress, while Seth found sleep a little more difficult to achieve. He found himself clinging to Dean's side of the bed, waiting for the dirty blond man to come out of the bathroom and (lovingly) push him over into the middle of the bed. He found himself waiting for those familiar arms to snake around his middle and pull him in close... arms that reminded him that everything was going to be okay.
Slowly, he turned his head, offering Roman a glance out of the corner of his eye. He felt lower than ever, not remembering how much Dean had meant to Roman as well. The loss of a submissive is never easy, no matter if they are still your submissive or not. And then his eyes flickered over to the marks on his wrist. What if he had succeeded? What if he had ended things way back at WrestleMania, when they had found him slowly dying in that shower stall? Would they be laying here now, a gap between their bodies, feeling irrevocably damaged and not knowing how to proceed?
Not for the first time, Seth wished that Roman was a little more open with his emotions. While it was clear that he was hurting because of this, Seth hadn't the slightest inkling about just how deep those wounds ran. He needed to know if he was the only one that was crying - even if those tears were on the inside. And so he found himself reaching out, hand hesitating just above Roman's arm. Now, was the moment of truth. Roman was a beast to wake up, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't be an issue this time. Gently lowering his hand onto Roman's arm, he gripped the muscles there and pushed once, twice, and the big man cracked an eye.
Groaning, Roman stretched, loosing Seth's hand in the process. "What's the matter, Seth? Can't sleep?" While he seemed totally oblivious to the gap between them, he was more aware of it then he cared to admit.
"N-No, I just..." and now, suddenly, it was so hard for him to form the words. For some reason, it was so difficult for him to communicate what he so desperately needed. "I just..." Roman was watching him expectantly now. Swallowing hard, he finally forced out, "Would you hold me?"
"Is that all? Why didn't you say something earlier?" Roman's unexpectedly nonchalant response through Seth for a loop, and he all but yelped when Roman wrapped an arm around his middle and drew him in to lay against his chest. "Now, go to sleep, hmm? We have breakfast reservations at seven."
"Okay..." with Roman's arms around him, sleep came considerably easier. And he rested well with the knowledge that the most strenuous thing he'd have to worry about over the next three months was remembering where his next reservation was at...