It was forty five minutes to the hospital. Carlisle sat quietly for the first half of the journey, but I couldn't tell if it was because of the pain or because he was pissed at me. Suddenly, he was begging me to stop the car, the first words he'd said to me since we left the car park. His lack of communication would have annoyed me if his outburst hadn't given me such a fright.

"Jesus," I grumbled. I was only met with more pleading, my pulse slowly calming again as I fought to get the car over to the curb - he was pressing his fingers over his mouth, and I really didn't feel like cleaning vomit out of the car today. "Please don't make a mess." Rush hour traffic wasn't helping.

Ashen and not looking well at all, he didn't respond, pulling at his seatbelt as it squeezed his middle. He ripped open the door as soon as we were off the road. Our car was still partially obstructing the normal flow of traffic, but it was the best I could do without running us up the path. Immediately uncontrollably sick, his stomach kept heaving, and I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel so I didn't have to watch the ordeal as he somehow managed to get the door open in time - thank god. Once the onslaught eased off, he shakily brought the back of his hand to his lips, wincing a little. "Garrett...blood…" he mumbled breathlessly. "Help me."

I glanced over to see what he was talking about, only to realise that everything he'd brought up was streaked with blood, and that he had it on his hands. The state he was in seemed to be distressing him more than anything, the tissues I tried to hand him not making much of a difference. "Can I drive?" I really, really didn't feel like dealing with this while we were arguing. Before I could even move, he was vomiting again.

This time it was worse.

He was throwing up mouthfuls of blood, dizzy and falling back against the seat as he panicked. No longer leaning forward, he ended up ruining his clothing, still grasping at his shirt to try and stop the pain. My chest tightened sharply; we needed to get him to hospital now and we still had so far to go. An ambulance was going to take way too long to get here, but I wasn't sure I could get him there in the car in this state either. "Carlisle, I don't know what to do," I told him stupidly. I reached out to touch his thigh, more for my comfort that his - feeling the warmth in his skin was reassuring while he looked like death.

"Drive," he pleaded. He was barely conscious now.

I listened, pulling him back into the door and slamming it shut. "Don't go to sleep- You're not allowed to go to sleep," I said, my voice too loud for the confined space as I barged my way through the traffic again and back into the right lane. Several times, I had to reach over and hold him steady as we rounded corners, him not being awake enough to stop himself being thrown around in his seat, despite the seatbelt. I felt ill when his head hit the window with a sick crack. Just when I was sure he'd knocked himself out, his silence starting to scare me, he gingerly reached up to touch where it had hurt.

He was gone by the time we got to the hospital. His eyes fluttered open when I said his name, but his attempt to move was so weak it was hopeless. He loosely wrapped his arms around my neck as I pulled him out of his seat, his knees buckling until he fell back.

"Come on, Carlisle, please," I pleaded. It was pointless. I knocked his legs out from under him, fumbling to lock the car and not lose my balance as I held him. Despite the stares we were getting from passersby and the slow realisation that I was getting covered in his blood, the only thing I could focus on momentarily was his spine digging into my arm, and that I could feel the sharp edge of his hip through his jeans. He'd been sick far too long.

We had staff hurrying to us as soon as we set foot through the double doors. For once, I would have rather sat for hours and hours in a waiting room if it had meant that they weren't so disturbed by the sight of us, but Carlisle's comatose state definitely got people's attention. I tried to ignore the shock on the other patient's faces as we were led down the corridors, trying to reassure myself with the shallow breaths he was taking. He mumbled something that almost resembled my name as I jostled him too much. I couldn't speak past the lump in my throat. He was going to be gone before we had a chance to work everything out. He was going to die upset with me.

As soon as he was settled on a gurney, a doctor was shoving me out of the way. It was instantly a struggle not to cry. I felt safer when I could still feel he had a pulse. The paperwork they handed me was blurred by the burning in my eyes as I tried to fill it out. I couldn't lose him. Whether he made it out of this or not.

"Garrett, right? Come and sit down." A gentle hand closed around my wrist, guiding me back down the hallway. "We need you to get in contact with his parents," she murmured. "Does he have an emergency contact?"

"It's me, I guess. He's an immigrant; he doesn't have family," I managed to stammer out. It was taking everything I had not to cry. "Can I see him? I need to see him. Please." My focus shifted to the man behind her, the tag hanging off of his shirt identifying him as a doctor. He wasn't smiling, and it turned my stomach. All my hopes that someone would tell me everything was fine was quickly smothered.

"Who are you to him? We need to contact his family," he demanded abruptly.

"We're engaged and he doesn't have any family," I snapped back. I could see he didn't trust me, but he was losing patience. "What's wrong, what's happening to him?"

He huffed. "It looks likely he has ruptured something in his abdomen; we need to pass a scope - a camera, rather - down his throat to find the source of the bleeding before we can treat him. I need his next of kin to consent for the procedure on his behalf."

"Will it hurt?" I could feel the colour draining from my face.

"It'll be done under anesthetic, but there's a high chance we'll need to operate to stop the bleeding."

"I don't- I don't think I should be letting you cut him open without talking to him about it- can I see him?" Panicking, I tried to edge around him, to bolt back to the room, but he blocked me.

"Mr Parker, if he was able to speak to us, I would be having this conversation with him. He's losing a lot of blood, and we need to do this now."

The tears I'd been holding back broke through as I tried not to hyperventilate. "Is he going to be okay?" I hadn't meant to ask, but the words were out before I could stop them. I just wished that I could stop his answer.

"His life will be in danger if something isn't done soon." He started to go over the procedure, the risks, what would happen if they didn't do it, but I wasn't really listening, my pulse in my ears drowning him out. He kept holding out a pen and paper to me, wanting me to sign, but I was panicking too much to agree.

"I can't- I can't do this- I need to talk to him, please, I-"

"If he could speak, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he snapped.

I snatched the paper off him, quickly scribbling a signature across where he'd indicated. This wasn't right. None of this was right. Carlisle was going to hate me for agreeing to this.

.

.

I sat alone in the waiting room for hours, as far away from everyone else as I could get. Planting my elbows on my knees, I buried my face in my hands, trying to ignore the stares I was getting as I couldn't keep it together any longer. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't do anything but shake and cry, hyperventilating until I saw stars.

It seemed like an eternity before anyone said anything to me. My heart was pounding and the sun had set outside, and I vaguely recognised that I needed to eat something. At some point I had wandered out to park the car properly, but I couldn't remember how long it had been that the nurse had been standing in front of me. "Is he…?" I asked anxiously.

She gave me a very forced smile. "The surgery is finished, he's alright," she assured me. "He'll need to stay for a while, but he's stable."

"Please can I see him?" I pleaded. I was going to go insane with worry. I was already getting to my feet before she replied, not willing to take no for an answer at that point.

Thankfully, she nodded. "Yes, Mr Parker, I'll take you up to him now."

.

.

They were pumping units of blood into him when I reached the ward. My vision blurred and the room swirled at the sight of the dark red barely contained in a plastic bag. Why they hung it so casually at the bedside, I'd never understand. I fell into the chair beside the bed, sweating and forcing myself to breathe before I passed out at the sight. Or threw up. Both were very likely.

Carlisle's fidgeting distracted me. He was too dazed to be considered conscious yet, but he was still disorientated enough to get distressed. His body was too heavy with anesthesia to follow the instructions he gave it, and he was going to hurt himself.

I closed my hand around his wrist, rubbing his hand. "Try not to move too much, Carlisle."

The nurse came in, sending another wave of pain relief down his IV to calm him down. "Just give him some time; he'll be pretty tired for a few hours yet. The doctors will be up as soon as he's awake enough."

I nodded, kissing his forehead. The morphine pushed him back into unconsciousness as soon as it hit his bloodstream, but I found myself touching him more and more, rubbing his arm and playing with his hair each time he started to struggle. I was staring at my phone when I felt him move again, my hand shifting to his shoulder without looking up from the screen. It had been almost two hours, and I was going a little crazy.

"Gar," he mumbled eventually.

I was instantly smiling, shoving my phone into my pocket and scooting my chair closer to him. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Okay." Still a little incoherent, he managed a small smile in return. Sedated Carlisle didn't hate me half as much as sober Carlisle did, obviously. He clumsily reached out to touch my cheek and I couldn't keep myself from leaning into his hand, even though I knew he was just disorientated. "Are you okay? You look upset." His words were barely coherent, running into each other as he struggled to stay awake.

"Am I okay? Carlisle, I thought you were going to die." The lump in my throat started to grow as I braced myself for rejection. It was only a matter of time before he could make enough sense of the situation to hate me again. "I can go, if you want."

"I feel really weird," he slurred, completely bypassing my last statement.

"The nurse said you'd be groggy for a while. Do you want me to leave?" It would suck, but I felt better about it now I could see he was still in one piece.

He tried to think for a moment, but I could already tell he couldn't quite connect the dots yet. "No," he got out eventually. He kept trying to move, disrupting the monitors he was stuck to every time he did so, but was quickly comforted if I held his hand. He kept holding on to me, wanting to be hugged and have his hands on me in his confused state. "I don't think so?"

"Alright, but just tell me if you do." It was pretty clear that he wasn't thinking straight. Leaning forward, I trapped his hand in mine, rubbing his knuckles. It seemed to calm him down for the time being. "I'll stay until then."

"Why would I want that?" he mumbled. On the brink of giving in to all the drugs in his system, all it took was a few seconds of silence between us for him to fall asleep again.

I stayed there for another half an hour until someone knocked on the door, my hand still in his when a doctor strolled in a second later.

His entrance startled Carlisle. He flinched, suddenly violently awake and wincing as moving so abruptly hurt him. He glanced at me again, wanting reassurance and struggling to catch his breath. "I think I'm going to throw up."

The doctor looked unimpressed. "Carlisle, you lost a lot of blood. An abnormal amount for the procedure you had and your condition. We suspect you have a disorder which stops your blood from clotting normally," he explained. I felt sick, but Carlisle wasn't really comprehending it, more concerned about his stomach hurting and being tired and that I'd let go of his hand. "Have you been bruising easily? Do you bleed excessively?"

"No," he started, leaning his cheek against my hand as I touched his face.

"Yes," I corrected. "He's been bruising badly for a while. I haven't noticed bleeding, but he doesn't always tell me when things are wrong."

"Well, we have to run some more tests to confirm it, so don't worry too much about it yet. It'll be best for you to stay in hospital until we're sure that you won't bleed again." He said it so flippantly, like everything was fine, but Carlisle panicked - as much as he could while he was incopacitated.

"No, I- I can't-" He sat up quickly, his pulse racing on the screen and his blood pressure dropping.

"Hey, slow down, you've just had an operation," I soothed, my hands on his shoulders to hold him steady. "Lie down, baby, you're going to hurt yourself. Careful, Carlisle."

He whimpered quietly, pressing his hand against his abdomen. Seeming to realise that he was actually in quite a bit of pain, he tried to take a deep breath, leaning his head against my shoulder as I leaned over him, fighting passing out. "I want to go home. I want to go home with you."

"I know, just keep still so you don't hurt yourself. Lie down, okay? I'm right here." I kissed him again, nudging him back down again.

"I can't feel my fingers," he mumbled.

"Your blood pressure is low," the doctor said absentmindedly. "You've got fluids running, and you should start to feel better after you've had that blood too." He gestured to the bag, offering me a forced smile before quickly fleeing the room.

I expected Carlisle to try and get up again, but he just held my hand, relaxing into the bedding again. "Why don't you go back to sleep?" Pulling the blankets back over him, I couldn't resist kissing him again, a rush of sadness setting in as I realised I might not get to do this again once he'd recovered.

"Gar, what happened? Did I hit my head?" he mumbled tiredly. "I can't think straight."

I took down the bed rail from where I was sitting, shuffling closer to him. "You've had an anesthetic, Carlisle. You didn't hit your head, you've had surgery," I repeated. "You could have died, baby. You lost a ton of blood, and you passed out in the car. Do you remember anything? You scared the shit out of me."

Initially, he started to shake his head, trying to get himself free enough of the blankets to be able to lift up his shirt. "How bad did they cut me?"

"I don't know, I haven't looked - I don't think I can," I admitted. I stilled his hands before he could move the fabric away. "I love you. I'm so glad you're okay." Just for the novelty, I brought our lips together again.

He wrapped his arms around my shoulder, burying his face in my neck. It made the IV lines in his hands pull, but he didn't seem to notice, still dazed. "What's the time?" he mumbled into me. When he refused to release me, I sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing his thigh through the blanket.

"It's almost 7pm. Are you feeling better? You weren't looking too good there for a bit." Gently settling him back against the pillows, I sifted my fingers through his hair, unable to help a smile as he started to relax.

"Yeah." He reached for my hand, linking our fingers together. "Can you stay a little bit longer? I-I'm…"

"I can stay as long as you want me here," I assured him, kissing his knuckles. "I don't think they'll kick me out while you're in a room by yourself."

.

.

He was being awfully quiet. I glanced up at him over my phone, frowning as I saw his expression. Tears weren't far off, and he'd rolled onto his side to hide his face in the blankets, his shoulders slumped. "Everything alright? You're safe now, the worst is over," I murmured, reaching over to rub his arm. Part of me already knew where this was going. The confusion had worn off.

His back stiffened, his arms slowly wrapping around the pillow as a substitute for hugging me. It seemed like an eternity before he got any words out, so long that I started to think he wasn't as clear-headed as I'd assumed. "You're having an affair," he said eventually.

"Carlisle, you've just had surgery; I don't think now is a good time to be talking about this," I said slowly. And I didn't want to have it in the hospital, in earshot of the other patients and countless staff.

"Do I know her?" He was too tired to raise his voice, but clearly wasn't about to drop it either.

Sighing, I scrubbed my hands over my face and gave in to him. "No, I don't think so."

"I don't understand; I was only away for three days. What'd I do wrong? Was I not good enough?" His eyes followed me as I got up to close the door, drawing back the next time I tried to touch him.

"It didn't...It didn't start while you were away, it was before that," I mumbled at my phone, focusing on the screen so that I didn't have to see the hurt on his face. "I promise it wasn't while you were with Alistair-"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked sharply. "What'd I do?"

I frowned, slouching in the uncomfortable plastic chair, ignoring it digging into my back. "You didn't do anything, Carlisle. What do you mean?"

"What did I do to make you do that?" Slowly getting more and more agitated, his fingers wrapped around the sheets, his breaths starting to catch. "Garrett, how long did this go on for?"

"Nothing you did caused any of this," I told him again. Already knowing that this was not going to go away that easily, I continued, deciding to just tell him the truth. "It was a couple of months. I'd see her on the way home from dropping Kate off home most of the time, but I never stayed with her. It was never romantic, it was just sex."

There was another very load pause. "I think you should go." His voice shook, and it took every inch of my self control not to immediately reach for him again.

"I love you; I don't want to leave you while you're in this state," I protested.

"I wasn't asking you. Go home. I don't want you to be here," he snapped.

"Carlisle, come on, please. I don't think you should be alone-"

"You've been fucking some whore for god know's how long and were too cruel to just break up with me; I don't care what you think. Just get out." His voice was creeping up in volume, his throat irritated from having a tube shoved down it a few hours before. "And don't call me."

I tried to ignore his outburst, swallowing away the bubble of hurt in my chest. "I'm not doing that. Not while you're upset-"

"Of course I'm fucking upset! Did you expect me to be okay with this? Get out!"

"I love you; I want to marry you, please can we just talk this through?"

"No! Are you insane? I'm not marrying you after that; you can shove that proposal. Get away from me."

"Carlisle-"

"What is there to talk about? That you don't value me enough as a partner to keep your dick in your pants? Are you kidding me?" His voice cracked and he buried his face in the pillow to hide from me. "Go home, Garrett."

"I'm sorry. I really love you, I never wanted you to get hurt; I love you so much." Unable to see his expression, I watched his pulse hammer away on the screen, racing and skipping as he forgot to breathe. "I really don't want to leave tonight; I was so sure I was going to lose you." I stayed firmly sitting in my chair, refusing to give in. It wasn't like he could physically make me do it. "Are you okay? Your heart is really-"

"You're cheating on me- no I'm not okay." Unfortunately, he managed to shout that at me as the nurse came in to see what the fuss was about. The noise of the door opening made him look up, both me and the nurse able to see the tears in his eyes. "Go away; I already feel like shit, and looking at you is making it worse. Go home."

The nurse's eyes ficked from me to him. I stood up. "I'll come and see you tomorrow," I told him, fleeing the room before he could contradict me. I bolted back to the car, well aware that I was running with my tail between my legs, but I couldn't deal with him yelling at me after being so scared for him all afternoon.

My heart leapt into my throat as my phone buzzed in my pocket. As much as I hoped that it was my boyfriend, my hopes were shattered as soon as I answered. Alistair. Great. "Now really isn't a good time," I told him shakily. It was hard to speak past the lump in my throat, and I threw myself into my car and slammed the door, desperate for at least some privacy - there was no way he wasn't about to disembowel me. I kind of hated that Carlisle had told him so quickly.

"We don't have to talk, but is Carlisle okay? He's not returning my calls, and you never got back to me," he replied quickly. "Sorry, I know it's late."

"Alistair…" That was all it took to break me. I lost it, shaking until I wasn't sure I could do up my own seatbelt.

"Are you alright? Garrett? Are you okay?" he asked anxiously. "What happened?"

"No- Carlisle's in hospital- I thought he was going to die, Al, he lost so much blood." Hearing his breath start to catch only made my panic worse. I explained the rest of it to him in a rush, fighting to keep my voice steady the whole time. "And we're fighting - he doesn't even want to speak to me, but I'm scared to leave him by himself in case something happens to him."

"He'll do whatever you ask him, Gar, he loves you. He can't actually be mad at you, he'll just be stressed; you know as well as I do he turns into a wreck as soon as a doctor comes near him," he sighed. "Are you sure he'll be okay? I can fly over if you think he's in danger-"

"I had an affair, Alistair. He kicked me out." It somehow felt better for him to hear it from my mouth. I knew he was going to kill me, but I was sure it was less dangerous for me to tell him than Carlisle.

He sighed as I braced myself to be yelled at for the second time that day. "Garrett…why would you do that?" His voice was low, but I could hear that he was angry, like he was speaking through gritted teeth. "What the hell were you thinking? And you just told him?"

"I know- I know I fucked up, but I love him. I didn't want to hurt him, Al. Now he won't speak to me, and I don't know how to fix this, and he's sick. I didn't want him to find out like that - I wanted to tell him," I rambled. "I've ruined everything, and I don't know what to do. I'm scared that something's going to happen to him and I can't be there with him anymore-"

He cut me off, but didn't scream at me like I thought he would have. "I think you should go and spend some time with your family, Garrett. Your brother lives close, right? I think you should go and stay with him. At least for tonight. And I'll talk to your boyfriend in the morning."

"I don't think he's my boyfriend anymore, Alistair, I think he dumped me- he called off our engagement, and…"

"He'll be hurt, Gar, I don't know what you expected him to do when he eventually found out," he grumbled. "If he's that sick to begin with, you know damn well he's not going to be rational with you."

"I think he is being rational," I mumbled. "I think he's right to hate me. I screwed up, and I've hurt him.

"I don't know what to tell you, but I think you should go and spend the night with Eleazar. You've had a rough day, and probably shouldn't be by yourself. Regardless of whether you two are fighting or not, having him spew blood all over your car must have been traumatizing. I would help you if I could, but it's kind of hard when I'm hundreds of miles away."

I huffed, trying to force the right amount of air into my lungs. "Why are you worrying about me?"

"Because Carlisle loves you, and I can't be there for him right now, so it has to be you. I need you in one piece. Don't get me wrong, I'm pissed at you, but I need you to be alright so you can make sure he's alright. I'm so mad at you."

"He doesn't want me near him. He made me leave, and I don't know if he'll let me come back in," I whined to him.

"I'll talk to him, but you need to go and stay with someone," he groaned.

"I miss you, Al," I mumbled.

"As much as I want to punch you right now, I miss you too. Go to your brother's, and I'll call you tomorrow." He hung up without giving me an option.

Facing my brother was almost worse than being alone. Almost.