There was a package on the doorstep when I finally got home that night. I wasn't brave enough to face Eleazar, and telling Riley made me feel sick, so I was staying home alone tonight. The urge to kick the little box in the door was overwhelming; I already knew what it was. The fucking engagement ring I'd ordered a few weeks ago. Just to rub it in my face. Sighing, I bent down to pick it up, shoving open the front door with my shoulder. I just wanted tonight to be over.

I buried the package deep inside my closet, fairly certain it was safe there. And I wouldn't have to look at it. There was little chance that Carlisle would go anywhere near my stuff now that he hated me, and he didn't have a habit of doing that anyway, unless he was cleaning up after me. Which happened far too often. I felt fucking sick. It was high time I went to bed.

Sleep was impossible. So was eating. I was still awake at 6am the next morning, still unable to shake the pit in my stomach. It was pouring with rain outside, but I scrambled back into the clothes I'd worn the night before, grabbed my keys, and ran out to my car. He might not want me, but I sure as hell needed to see him after everything that had happened. Our breakup was one thing, but his health was terrifying me far more.

I'd barely put my foot on the gas when my car spluttered and died. In shock, I turned the key again, the motor coughing and giving out immediately. It was only after I glanced at my dashboard that I realised I was a fucking idiot; I'd meant to get petrol on the way back from the airport, but after our dash to the hospital and him kicking me out, I'd forgotten about it. And now the gauge on my fuel tank was hanging below empty. Just great.

I slammed my head against the steering wheel, swallowing away the lump in my throat. My phone beeped in my pocket and I pulled a muscle in my arm trying to snatch it, hoping against hope that my boyfriend had replied to one of the endless messages I'd sent him overnight. It wasn't him. It was just running out of battery. Fine.

Pissed and over-tired, I got out of the car, throwing my phone back into it and slamming the door. The rain immediately soaked through my jacket, water trickling between my shoulder blades and down my back while I locked the vehicle, soaking into the waistband of my pants. I ducked my head, giving up and starting to trudge my way to the hospital. Any hopes that I could catch a bus at least part of the way were dashed when I realised halfway to the bus stop that I hadn't brought any money with me. Catching a cab was out too, and I was too mad at myself to admit defeat and go back home to pick some up. The trip would be expensive anyway.

I was absolutely drenched by the time I reached the front steps of the hospital. The water made the tiles under my shoes slippery as I recklessly made my way up to his ward, my ankle rolling and protesting when I didn't watch what I was doing. No doubt I'd leave a wet trail behind me for some poor cleaner. I was so thoroughly shitty with everything when I eventually reached his room that I was sure I'd implode if he told me to get out immediately. "Hey." I forced a smile, but he didn't look up at the sound of my voice, and I hovered awkwardly in the doorway.

"Did you spend the night with your whore?" he grumbled back, still focused on his phone. "I've got nothing to say to you, Garrett, just leave me alone." The relief of seeing him again almost outweighed the sting of his rejection. He looked terrible, partially curled up and haphazardly wrapped in the blankets, still too pale and visibly exhausted. He can't have slept either.

"I just went home, Carlisle, I didn't see anyone." The chair wasn't where I thought it was when I tried to sit, it's legs grating against the floor with a sharp shriek as I knocked into it. I barely caught myself before I fell.

The sound made my boyfriend flinch violently, his hands flying to protect his stomach as the abrupt movement hurt. "Don't fucking do that, jesus," he snapped, his anger a thin veil for pain. It made him look at me at least. His face fell instantly, and I tried to find the words to speak again as he struggled to get out of bed, his hands on the tops of my arms when he finally got to me. It didn't escape my notice that his hold on me was disturbingly weak. The blood started to drain from his face and I fought the urge to touch him - I'd only make him cold. "What happened to you? Oh my god, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, it's just been a rough morning. Are you alright? Should you be standing?" I closed my fingers around his wrists, fighting the burning in my eyes. It was rather obvious that he wasn't all together with it, disorientated and glassy-eyed - he was barely upright. I wanted to have my arms around him, but I forced myself to keep my hands to myself. It didn't help that he was suddenly so worried about me. The way he was touching me could almost pass as affection, if he wasn't doped up on painkillers.

"You're freezing. Come, let's get you a towel." He didn't let go of me as he stumbled the few steps to get to the bathroom, stealing one off of the shelf and handing it to me. "Are you crazy? How did you get so wet?"

I sighed, giving up and taking it from him. "I forgot to get gas yesterday, after all that happened, so I had to walk," I admitted. I wasn't sure why he was being nice to me, but I suspected it was morphine induced and force of habit. Despite my clothing still being soaked after I patted as much water off of myself as I could, I was more comfortable now I wasn't dripping. Or maybe it was just because he wasn't yelling at me to get out. "You need to get back in bed. Are you sore? How are you feeling, anyway?"

"Um, yeah, it sort of hurts, and I got some weird test results," he trailed off, but let me turn him around and nudged him back towards his room.

I held a fistful of his shirt between his shoulder blades as he started to stumble. "Back in bed," I repeated. "And we really need to talk." It was still undeniable that he was pissed when he wasn't feeling sorry for me or horribly confused. I supervised as he gingerly sat back on the mattress, in visible pain now, his arms guarding his middle. I sat back down in the visitor's chair once I was sure that he wouldn't hit the ground, chewing my lip as we were silent for a few minutes. I couldn't work out whether he was upset or if he just wasn't feeling good. "You alright?"

He nodded.

"No you're not. Do you need a nurse? Or are you going to yell at me some more?" I asked. I shoved my fingers under my thighs to avoid reaching for him again.

Surrendering and lying down, he squeezed his eyes shut, folding his arms over his face. "I'm so dizzy," he mumbled when the feeling didn't fade after a minute.

"Nurse it is." I scrambled out of the chair to find somebody. The woman I flagged down in the hallway was frowning as soon as she stepped into the room.

"Carlisle, you need to be careful when you move; go slowly. You've lost a lot of blood in the last 24 hours, you're going to get light headed until we get your fluids up," she scolded. She started to hook monitoring to him, frowning at the reading on the screen. "Don't go getting up again; you will pass out if you don't watch yourself. Press the call bell instead of getting out of bed next time."

"Sorry," he told her shakily. It seemed like a conversation they'd had before, and the tone she took with him would have made me chuckle if I didn't think I was about to cop it as soon as she was gone.

"It was my fault; he was helping me," I told her/ I waited until she walked away before speaking to him again. "Do you still want me to go? I'm sorry I came this early, I just needed to know you were okay. I know you don't want to see me, Carlisle, but after yesterday..."

He was getting worked up again, his teeth digging into his lip until he split the skin. "I don't know, Garrett, it's hard to have you here right now, but if you go, I don't have anyone else." He forced himself to swallow to clear the need to burst into tears. "I lost three litres of blood yesterday, and the doctor keeps giving me blood products to replace it but they make me feel sick, and my blood tests aren't good, and I don't know what to do."

"Three litres?" I repeated. It had seemed like a lot at the time, but not that much. Asking only afforded me more silence on his behalf. "I thought you were going to die, you know. Do you remember yesterday? You passed out in the car, and I couldn't wake you up."

He surrendered. "I bled a lot during the surgery, apparently. I remember not feeling well on the plane, and meeting you through security and us fighting, but everything after that is blurry. I don't remember getting out of the car." The reminder of why he was mad at me immediately had him agitated, suddenly snappy again and starting to pick at his clothing and the bed.

"I couldn't wake you up, Carlisle, and they wouldn't let me see you, and I had to sign the paperwork for your surgery but I didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but the doctor said you were in danger, and…" I cut myself off, not wanting to head toward guilt trip territory with him while he already wasn't coping that well.

He stretched to catch hold of a piece of paper off the bedside table to show me. "My migraine medication gave me stomach ulcers because I don't eat enough," he mumbled when I couldn't make immediate sense of the words on the page.

"So you puked blood everywhere? My mother had stomach ulcers when I was a kid, and that never happened, I don't think that's normal," I pointed out, too sour to put up with him telling me half-truths while I was sleep deprived. My relief to see him was quickly giving way to annoyance at not understanding the situation. Distracted, I momentarily forgot that I was holding his sheet of test results, too caught up in venting at him now I had him talking to me.

"I don't know, Garrett! I don't remember yesterday, I only know what they've told me. Don't fucking growl at me." It had almost pushed him to tears, and I sighed through my teeth, trying again with the paper. "I don't feel well; if you're going to be here, you have to be nice, or I'm going to throw myself down the fucking staircase to get away from you." I didn't point out to him that he was the one acting insane right now; it seemed reasonable that he got a free pass for the time being.

The highlighted parts of the medical jargon didn't make any sense to my exhausted brain, and I struggled to find a word I recognised. I almost didn't want to ask while he was already mad at me. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired, and-"

"It's a good thing your boyfriend didn't cheat on you then, isn't it?" he asked bitterly. "Ex-boyfriend; I can't be in a relationship with you if you're going to turn around and do that behind my back. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? You're a fucking asshole."

I guess I deserved that. I just sighed again, glancing over at him. "I'm trying to understand, Carlisle, I really am." Another minute of silence where I willed him just to tell me and he didn't. It was starting to get to him.

"Can you please just read the damn paper- I can't deal with this and you at the same time, just read it, Garrett." He roughly dragged his fingers through his hair, anxious more than he was angry.

I put effort into it this time, not wanting him to have a mental breakdown over me not being able to read. The numbers and measurement would never mean anything to me, but the diagnosis did. "Acquired haemophilia?"

"They have to run some more tests to confirm it, but yeah, the doctors think so."

"That's not stomach ulcers. That's a blood disorder, isn't it?" The realisation of this being serious was starting to hit me, and I reached for his hand. After I'd gotten him to the hospital and he'd gotten through the surgery, I'd assumed that our biggest problem was going to be our relationship.

He winced. "Yeah, its stopping my blood from clotting properly, and it was making the ulcers bleed, and one of them ruptured or perforated or whatever the doctor said, so I bled uncontrollably until I had the surgery, and I can't take my migraine medication anymore but my head already hurts and it hasn't even been 24 hours yet, and the bruising- I can't hide it anymore and it looks really bad and I need to go to work but I'm here." He was running his words into each other, hyperventilating until I was sure his chest ached. His attempt to get upright again was so clumsy he knocked his phone onto the floor, the device disappearing under the bed as his hands shook. There was no way he wasn't going to throw up if he couldn't calm down, and I didn't want to think about the strain that would put on his stomach.

It fucking broke me. I couldn't resist it any longer, standing up to give him his phone back and perching carefully on the edge of his bed. "It's stopped though, right? You're not bleeding anymore?" I pleaded with him, closing my hand around his fingers and barely restraining tears myself. Although I half expected him to push me away, his desperate need for comfort stopped him from doing it, thankfully.

"Yeah, but my immune system is attacking itself, and they won't let me out of hospital until they're sure my stomach won't bleed again, but if I accidentally hurt myself, it's going to start again, and I'm dizzy so I'm scared I'm going to fall." The tears did start then, as much as he tried to bury it.

"It'll go away though? You'll get better again?" Ignoring every breakup rule ever, I pulled him into a careful hug, rubbing his back as he reluctantly leaned his head on my shoulder.

"Maybe, they're going to inject me with something to try and control it, but I don't understand; I don't understand how this can just start out of nowhere. Please don't hug me- I can't process what you did right now." He was begging me, groveling despite the way he leaned on me.

"How about you lie down then? I don't want you to hit your head or something." I waited until he did as I asked before I backed off, getting back in the chair. "And you have been bruising for a while - that part wasn't sudden. That was happening way back when everything was happening with Caius; you were black and blue, and it wouldn't heal," I reminded him. "The medication will fix it; you'll get better." It felt a little like false hope, but I clung to it blindly anyway. I would go insane otherwise. "Are you feeling okay right now though? You're not in pain?"

"It's not too bad." Liar. He saw the look on my face, suddenly realising that he wouldn't get away with it. "I'm just nauseous, but I have stitches in my stomach, and I'm scared that it's going to hurt if I throw up, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do if I can't stop my headaches now, and everything is falling apart."

"I don't know what you want me to do," I admitted. "I want to help you, but I don't know how."

"Neither do I; I just want it all to go away- I can't do this," he cried quietly. "I can't; I moved over here so things would get better, but I'm back where I started, and I can't move again if I'm sick. I can't do all that again."

I felt ill. There was something 'off' in his voice, and I suddenly didn't trust him. "Carlisle, are you...are you going to hurt yourself, if I leave you alone?" There was no way I wasn't having word to the nurse on my way out.

"Why would you ask me that? Why does it matter to you?" he choked out, completely bypassing the question.

"Because you told me five minutes ago that you were going to throw yourself down a flight of stairs, and now you're talking like that."

"I wasn't serious," he grumbled. He saw straight through my intentions, only getting more worked up. "Don't you dare say anything to that nurse; I'm not ending up on a psych ward."

"If you're going to-"

"I'm not!" He cut me off.

"I don't trust that; I don't think you're in the best place emotionally right now, and-"

"You cheated on me, I'm stuck in hospital, I have stitches in my stomach, and my immune system is fucked! Why would I be in a good place?" His voice was edging up in volume, borderline hysterical now, shaking and crying and holding his phone like he was considering launching it at my head. "I miss Alistair- I wish you'd just told me when I was with him; at least then I wouldn't be alone."

"Jesus, alright, I'm sorry. I'm a piece of shit, I know," I groaned. "Look, I don't want to go home and have a nurse call me because you've done something you shouldn't. You might hate me, but I love you." This wasn't the hill I envisioned dying on today, honestly. His emotional rollercoaster was giving me whiplash.

He buried his face in his hands, drawing his knees up again. "I'm so angry at you," he whispered.

"I know, Carlisle, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for what happened; I didn't want you to get hurt like this. I promise I wanted to tell you what was happening, but I was so scared of losing you that I felt like I couldn't. It's not like there's a good way to bring that up."

"I thought we loved each other- do you really think I'd pick that as my out if I wanted to hurt myself? The fucking stairs? I'm not an idiot; I don't want a broken leg." Of course he was offended by that assumption, of all things.

"I do love you," I insisted. "Carlisle, I haven't been able to eat anything. I'm so scared of losing you that I can't function. I can't sleep, I could barely drive here this morning, and…" I trailed off. He clearly wasn't pleased. "I love you; I just want to fix this, but I don't know how. I know I don't deserve a second chance, but I really don't want to lose you. I can't. I'll do anything." I was being too much; I could see he didn't approve of my pleading, that he was uncomfortable and it was making him squirm.

"Garrett, I can't trust you now. It was hard enough the first time, and I don't know if I can get back to that point with you again," he told me carefully. "What you did really, really hurts, and if we keep going now, I can't promise you that I can ever get past this. I don't know if I can love you again."

"But you are willing to try again?" I pressed hopefully. "What do I need to do for you to feel safe in this relationship again?"

Again, he hesitated so long that my stomach churned. "If we do this, I want to know everything. I'm not going into a relationship with you where you keep things from me."

"You want me to tell you the details of my affair," I said slowly.

"Yeah." His voice broke. "I need to know, Gar."

"Okay, but I don't want to make you upset." It was too late; he was already crumbling, barely holding it together. Unable to stand it anymore, I leaned forward to kiss him, my hand finding its way onto his shoulder. That he didn't immediately shove me off was comforting. "I don't want to hurt you more than I already have."

"I need to know," he insisted.

I nodded, sighing. There was no getting out of this. Sliding my hand down his arm, I held his hand, squeezing his fingers before he forced me to let go. "Alright, but please remember that I love you."

He grilled every little detail out of me over the next half an hour. He was in tears after the first few minutes, too angry at me to let me comfort him but just getting more agitated.

We were quiet until one of the staff brought in a tray of food, setting it on the table beside Carlisle and politely ignoring the state he was in. He hesitated slightly, before twisting as much as he was able to so he could shove the meal toward me. "You have it. You haven't eaten anything, and I'll puke."

"I can eat at home," I shook my head. My focus returned to the monitor as moving made his vital signs wobble, his blood pressure dropping and his pulse starting to race. He followed my line of sight, sighing as he relaxed back into the bedding.

"I really don't want it," he insisted. "It'll make me feel better if I know you've eaten something." Again, he pushed the tray, and again, the monitor beeped.

"I don't think you should be moving, Carlisle. That doesn't look good," I frowned. My hand was automatically on his arm as he twisted to look at the screen again. "Stay still. Are you feeling alright?"

He winced a little under my touch, and I tried to smother a bubble of hurt. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you still in pain, though? How badly did they cut you? When I spoke to them yesterday, the doctor said they weren't sure how big they were going to have to make the incisions." Hoping that he would accept it, I closed my hand around his on top of the blankets, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't snatch it away. His fingers were cold, despite the covers over him, and I found myself reaching to tuck the sheets tighter around him.

"I haven't really looked. Honestly, it's been hard to worry about that with everything that happened yesterday, and I didn't really pay attention when the nurse tried to show me," he admitted. "It makes me nervous." It seemed to take all the energy he had left to push the blankets off himself enough to pull up his shirt. He regretted it as soon as the fabric was gone. The bandaging ran the length of his abdomen, the skin around it red and swollen, obviously painful.

It made me a little queasy, and it was only after I'd abruptly helped him get his clothing back into place and wrapped him in the blankets that I noticed the anxiety on his face. Without thinking, I leaned forward to kiss him. It was a bad fucking move - it made his breath hitch and his body stiffen, his fingers wrapped around the bedrail so tightly his nails cut into his hand. "Sorry. I guess I won't…?" Kiss him? Touch him? I wasn't entirely sure what it was that had caused that reaction.

"Don't kiss me," he said sharply. "If you really want us to stay together, we have to start again, because I can't trust you and I'm not comfortable with you touching me like that." His harsh tone was a weak cover for tears. "Please. Or I'm not going to be able to do this, Garrett."

"Okay, no touching, then." I dropped my hands into my lap, clenching my fingers together. "I'm sorry, baby, it's just an automatic response when I know you're unhappy," I corrected softly.

"And don't call me that."

I just nodded this time.

.

.

"Are you angry at me?" The words broke the tension we sat in for a few minutes while I didn't know what to say.

"No, Carlisle, I'm not mad at you. I just feel a bit awkward, that's all. It's odd not being able to comfort you while you're upset."

He was quiet for a while longer, watching the ceiling. We were both aware that the only reason he was considering this was because he didn't have much of a choice - it was going to be a long time before he would be able to look after himself after all this. "Did you start a relationship with her because you're sick of me? Do you love her?"

"God, no. It was never because you weren't enough, or because I didn't love you. I never had feelings for her. It was never a relationship, it was just sex."

His questions only got more intense and far reaching the longer the morphine had to sink into his system, his verbal filter dissolving. "There are nicer ways to tell me you're not attracted to me, you know. Do you still think that you're gay? Or is it just me that you're not into anymore?"

"Carlisle, I want you. I only want you."

"I don't believe you; you wouldn't have cheated if that was true."

"I'll prove it. Just give me another chance."

"I don't know if I can."