A/N: I know this chapter and the last chapter have been shorter compared to earlier chapters. I promise you the next one will be less of a filler and more of a plot continue-er - if that makes sense. I hope it does. One of these lines I was inspired by from a comment, asking if I could have him buried alive. I hope you all enjoy, thank you for the reviews, and I hope to read more of them from you just like you hope to read more chapters from me.
It took six days before Doctor Martinez even thought about releasing Logan, and then another five to finally agree to it. It turned out that Logan's ANC was so low, his body had almost zero chance of fighting any infection. So, in those eleven days of his hospital visit, she was required to wear a mask, gloves, and - to top it all off - a sterile gown.
"I feel like a mummy," she told him as she sat in the chair next to his bed. His color had slowly been returning, and he smiled at her. It wasn't one of his 'I'm saying I'm fine but I'm really not' smiles. It was real, and that made her a little happier.
"You look like one too, Ace," he joked back, taking a sip of the water that was sitting on the tray-table. He took her gloved hand in his. "I love you."
"I love you too. Your dad wants us to stop by for dinner when you feel up for it. I did tell him that you'd never be up for it, willingly." He nodded with a smirk, knowing it was true. "So, he wants us two weeks after you're out. He's trying."
"I know he's trying but," he sighed, running his hand through his hair, "I hate that he's trying because he knows I'm dying." She understood his concerns, and she'd felt the same way to an extent. Her father had never been there for her, and she wished he had. She wished he'd been there for all the birthdays and holidays, but she only got him when he wanted to show up. Now, Logan's situation was slightly different and she knew that, but she saw the similarities. Both fathers wanted what was best and both showed up in their lives at times that suited themselves, not their children. But they'd made an effort, they'd tried to be there for their children. Wasn't that what fathers were supposed to do?
"Logan, be honest with me. Would you rather be on good terms while you can or would you like for Mitchum to continue to ignore you and push you to be the heir?"
"Rory, that's not fair," he told her. She could tell he was pissed off. His jaw was tight, brow furrowed, but it didn't matter. He knew she was right.
"I know it's not, but you also know I'm right," she replied. He mumbled a quiet 'yeah.' "Let's not argue about it, okay?" she then said softly. The last thing she wanted to do was fight with him. It lessened the amount of good times she'd get to have with him. "You get to come home tomorrow," she reminded him, smiling behind her mask. She wished she could kiss him, could tear the robe and gloves and mask off, but she knew that if she did that he could get even more sick.
"I am," he said softly. She could tell he was in thought, and she wasn't sure what it was. She knew he'd tell her when he was ready, so she didn't push. "Do you believe in an afterlife?" he then asked her.
"I don't know what I believe. I want to believe we just stop existing, but at the same time," she trailed off, looking at him. He was staring off, not looking at anything as he spoke.
"It's terrifying to not know what's after this," he said softly. "To know that I'll cease to exist. I've spent my life defying death, and now here I am and it's caught up to me."
"Don't say that," she said, gloved hand caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.
"I don't want to think that when I die I'm done. I want to think - to hope - there's something. I'm not religious, you know this, so I don't imagine the white light and God standing there. But I think of it more as reliving your life so that you'll never be without it. I'll get to relive every stunt with Colin and Finn, every moment with Honor, every moment with you." He kept his eyes closed, but his hand gripped her wrist of the hand that was on his cheek. It was almost as if he didn't know she was still there, or maybe it was to make sure he didn't slip away.
"I know you're scared," she said soothingly. "You'd be crazy not to be. But don't bury yourself alive," she told him. It was similar to what Finn had told her, to not grieve for him while he was still alive. "We can talk to Doctor Martinez, see if there's somebody you can talk to about this." He just shook his head, taking a deep breath.
"I'm just ready to go home," he finally said. He was getting to go home the next day, and Rory wasn't sure if she was quite ready. Ever since her talk with Doctor Martinez and Mitchum, she wasn't sure if she could handle everything that was required to keep him healthy.
Despite her concerns, the next day came and she was taking him home. The ride back was full of silence, his hand holding hers as if he'd get lost if he let go. She glanced over at him a couple times, only to see him staring out the window as the city went by. But once they walked into the apartment, his lips crashed into hers, not parting as her lungs screamed for air. And he was acting like she was his air, like she was the one thing that kept him from slipping away.