She sat on the bed, her hand resting on his arm. Heat radiated off him like a furnace, his skin shimmering from the sweat. Yet, there he was, shivering and pulling the blanket tighter around him with the occasional cough racking his entire body. She'd sent Eli with Finn, knowing she needed to take care of Logan and she couldn't risk Eli getting sick if it was a virus.
"Logan," she called out softly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and she could see his jaw tighten. "Let's get you cleaned up." He didn't move from his spot. She knew she couldn't get him to, so she stood and walked out of the room frustrated. Michael would be there in an hour, and she needed to make sure Logan was okay. How could she not take care of him? How could she fail so miserably at the one thing she knew she was signing up for? Letting those questions fall from her mind, she walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and a straw before making her way back into the bedroom.
"I'm going to need you to drink this," she told him as she sat next to him once again. He groaned as he sat up, complying with her demands as he drank through the straw. His skin was red, and she was starting to worry more than she was earlier when she saw how much he was shaking. It wasn't shivering, it was full on shaking. He couldn't hold the glass without almost spilling, so she held onto it for him.
"We're going to the hospital." Her voice was firm and direct, but her mind was hesitant. But the need for him to be okay outweighed those doubts of if it was necessary. Max had told her several times to not hesitate to take him to the hospital, and this was one of those times.
"Don't wanna go," she heard him say softly before going into a coughing fit. With a sigh, she kissed his forehead as the coughing subsided. She knew he hated hospitals, hated the constant poking and prodding.
"I know you don't," she confirmed, "but you need to. The sooner you get better, the sooner you can get back to your old self." But that old self was no more. Ever since they'd gotten back from their anniversary trip the month prior, it had been nothing but Logan being sick. First, it was strep, then it was anemia again. After that was a simple cold that landed him in the hospital for the third time in a month. At that point, Rory knew what to expect. She knew the answers to all the questions, knew the names to every test they ran and every drug they considered giving him. "I'll run you a bath then pack your bag, okay?" He just nodded, and she knew he understood her concerns.
She let him lay back down for a couple minutes longer as she ran the bath. She knew he'd prefer it to be steaming hot, but the lukewarm nature - she hoped - would cool him down enough. As she made her way back into the bedroom, she grabbed the thermometer. "Time to get up," she told him, helping him into a sitting position and sticking the thermometer in his mouth. Unwrapping him from the blankets, she looked at the flashing numbers, 102.7. It wasn't the highest fever he'd ever had, but it wasn't good. Anything above average wasn't good for Logan given the circumstances. He handed the device back to her, which she placed on the bedside table before helping him out of his shirt.
When she was alone in their room as he took his bath, she sat down for a moment, allowing all those thoughts she'd tried to push out of her mind to flood back. If she had known things were taking a turn for the worse, she would have tried to prepare herself better, but she hadn't so she couldn't. It was draining her, her mom saw it, Finn saw it, even Logan commented on it the last time he was in the hospital.
"Rory," he said, rousing her from her book. He'd sat down the journal and looked at her. When their eyes met, she didn't know what was happening. She didn't know what she was looking at. She stood from the chair, sitting on the bed next to him and taking his hands in hers. His eyes closed and he swallowed. "Thank you for everything you've been doing. I really appreciate it."
She looked at him, confused. It wasn't the first time he'd thanked her, but this time seemed different. It seemed as if it was the final time he would. She squeezed his hands gently as he opened his eyes. "You're making yourself sick," he then told her. "You're worrying about me too much, you're worrying about Eli. I mean, obviously, you should worry about him, but you need to calm down. He doesn't need both of us sick."
"Logan…" she said, still confused. She did admit that her late nights and her worries made her nauseated, made it hard to eat or sleep some days. But she had every right to worry about him, had every right to be upset about what was happening.
"Ace, listen." And she did. "I love you. You know that, but this is becoming too much for you. If you… If you need to distance yourself…" She cut him off with a searing kiss and tears stinging her eyes. She couldn't believe he was actually telling her it was okay to leave him. She separated their hands, lacing her fingers in his hair. She felt his hand on her waist, the other on the back of her neck. Pulling away, she could see the tear marks on his face.
"Don't you think for one second that I'd leave you because of this," she told him in a hushed voice. His eyes were still closed, their foreheads pressed together. "I love you too much to even consider it. I want as much time with you as I can." He kissed her, softly this time. Their kisses mingling with the saltiness of the tears on his face.
She smiled, the bittersweet memory in the back of her mind as she stood from the bed and packed a bag for him. A couple tshirts, his journals and some pens, a couple pairs of sweats. She didn't know why she packed clothes considering they typically didn't allow him to wear them depending on the diagnosis. A part of her knew it was because she hoped it was something simple, something easy to treat.
"Ace," he said from the doorway. He was dressed in basketball shorts and a Yale tshirt. "You ready?" His voice was scratchy and he went into another coughing fit, leaning on the doorframe for support. Looking at him, she could see the differences. The shirt hung on him rather than clinging to him as it used to. He was pale, the bronze tan he used to sport long gone. The circles under his eyes still ever present, if not more at that point from his sleepless night spent coughing.
She walked over to him, his arm wrapping around her shoulder as hers wrapped around his waist as they made their way to her Prius. She'd called Michael after packing his bag to let him know they were going to the hospital, then she'd called Max to inform him of the same news.
The ride was silent other than his coughs. They held each other's' hand like their lives depended on it, and she wasn't sure who had the tighter grip. Parking the car in one of the empty spaces, she turned to him.
"I love you," she reminded him with a small smile. He returned to look and the sentiment before coughing yet again.
"It feels like I'm drowning," he admitted to her as they walked into the building. She wanted to close her eyes, wanted to pretend that it wasn't happening, but it was. And she could only assume the worst.
He was admitted right away with minimal paperwork considering the amount she'd done in the past two years. Had it really been two years since he'd come home from London? She knew it had, and it was as if that time had flown by. July of the previous year, she'd been pregnant. And August the year before was when he'd shown up out of the blue with his death sentence. She waited in the waiting room until a nurse brought her to him.
It was a sight she was used to, but that still knocked the wind out of her. He was hooked up to an IV along with several medications that she read the labels on. They were painkillers and antibiotics. He was wearing an oxygen mask, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling. He wasn't battered, bruised, or scraped. The battle was inside his body. She wanted to reach in, to take away all the pain and all the cancer. But she couldn't, no matter how much she wanted to.
"He has double pneumonia," the attending had told her when he'd come in an hour after Logan's admittance. "Max Martinez said he'd be in within the hour to discuss options with you guys." Options? She didn't want to think about what that meant, knowing fully well what it meant. She wasn't ready for hospice care. She didn't want to think about it yet, but it was staring her in the face. It was the embodiment of her husband, of the love of her life, of her Logan laying in the hospital bed at the end of his rope.