I tried to take comfort in him insisting that I eat and giving me his bank card so that I didn't have to walk home in the rain, but I knew he was just innately kind. He'd insisted on me catching a taxi, not letting me leave until I promised him that I would. I wasn't kidding myself that I was forgiven; Carlisle was still absolutely livered, he was just too nice to outright punish me.
The exhaustion was really starting to kick in by the time I got into the apartment, having not slept in almost 48 hours starting to get to me. Fox ran to me, crying and meowing and clawing at my ankles. I scooped her up, cradling her against my chest and carrying her around the kitchen with me as I shoved a microwave meal on to cook. It was better than nothing, and I still felt ill.
I took the cat to bed with me again. Her soft fur and gentle purring was comforting, and I kept patting her to coax her into staying. Fox eventually settled enough to fall asleep on the duvet next to me. I shuffled down the mattress under the blankets to lie on my side, burying my face in her back and sinking my fingertips into her coat. She only cuddled me like this when Carlisle wasn't home, and I was going to make the most of it. Except I'd much, much rather have him beside me. I missed him so much. It took me all of five minutes to crash after I'd eaten.
.
.
I had to work the next morning. The fatigue of the last few days was really setting in, and my muscles ached as I forced myself to get up. It was barely light outside, and the rain was still hosing down in sheets, and I had an unfortunate walk to the gas station. Every second of it was terrible, my hands burning with the cold no matter how much I shoved my free one into the pockets of my coat, the other numb and stiff as I clutched my gas can. It was still better than having to walk to work.
Being a cleaner was suddenly perfect for me - I could go most of the day without having to talk to my coworkers, especially once we turned a vacuum on. It was very welcome while I was sulking as much as I was. And Carlisle still wasn't texting me back.
"Rough weekend, Garrett?" one of the guys called to me as I stepped into our main office. He was grinning, teasing as I froze in the doorway long enough that the door swung back and hit me. It only made him chuckle all the more. "Are you hung over? You look like shit."
I floundered for something to tell him, suddenly missing Riley. I really needed to text him. "Uh, yeah, I had a few late nights," I mumbled. I shook my head at him as his grin grew. "Not like that. I had a fight with my partner." My hopes that he felt awkward enough to back off quickly paid off; he mumbled something about that sucking and turned away. Thank god.
My part-time hours meant that I was finished by 2PM, but I was really reluctant to go back home alone. It still wasn't entirely clear what I was going to do if Carlisle decided he absolutely couldn't stand me and moved out - there was no way I could afford to stay in our apartment alone. Nor would I want to be there without him. All of that was weighing heavily on my mind while I was by myself for so long.
.
.
I only saw Carlisle twice in the next week. From what I could gather, the doctors were finally concerned about him continuously being ill and had been running tests to try and figure out what was happening. I'd been there once when they were talking to him about it, the words 'immunocompromised' being thrown around on top of his blood diagnosis, and he'd just been quiet and pale the whole time. He wouldn't let me touch him, wouldn't return my texts, wasn't eating, and barely spoke to me each time I visited. At this point, I didn't even think he wanted to come home; he was so despondent he didn't seem to care about anything. It scared the shit out of me.
Carlisle was still ignoring me when I asked if he wanted me to bring him anything a few days later. I'd messaged him at lunch time, assuming a phone call wouldn't be welcome, but he hadn't responded despite the hours passed. Instead, I wandered the snack isles of the supermarket a little lost. I still wasn't sure if his condition meant he wasn't allowed certain foods, and my google searches didn't really help. Fruit seemed like a safe bet, especially while he was nauseous, but I picked up a few sweets as well. He just needed to eat something, and I doubted the doctors would care if that something was chocolate.
And then he called me. My hands were shaky as I tried to answer the call, my heart skipping at the thought of talking to him again. Even if he wanted to pick a fight, it was better than silence. "Carlisle, hey." My voice shook too. Unfortunately.
"Hey," he replied quietly. "Are you...Can you come and see me tonight?" He sounded just as nervous as I felt, and it formed a pit in my stomach.
"Yeah, I was going to come in an hour anyway. Everything okay?" I jammed my phone between my shoulder and my ear, trying to free up my hands so that I could get through the shop faster. "Are you hungry? Want me to bring you something to eat?" I was going to do it regardless, but he didn't need to know that.
"I need to talk to you. Please."
"I'll be there in a little bit," I assured him. Part of me wanted to avoid him now; I wondered if he was about to end us. Still, I collected the groceries and threw them into my car, wasting more time for a drive-thru stop to get us both hot drinks, just as an excuse to put off facing whatever it was he so badly wanted to tell me.
.
.
I was so nervous about seeing him again that I felt sick. My heart was beating wildly as I climbed the hospital's stairs, my fingers shaking around the bag in my hand. Carlisle was asleep anyway. I crept in and sat in the chair. The grocery bag in my lap rustled each time I shifted, and each time I would frantically glance at him to see if it disturbed him, but he slept through all of it.
I shouldn't have worried about it; a nurse came in a few minutes later and woke him up as she set a cup of water on the bedside table. I listened as she handed him what looked like far too many pills for one person to have, explaining to him what each one was. He was still too sleepy to be coherent, not really understanding but glancing at me in a silent plea for help. "Uh, can we have a print out or a list when he goes home?" I asked her awkwardly. It didn't feel entirely right to step in on his behalf, but I didn't know what else to do.
She smiled at me. "Yeah, we can do that. Or I can show you as well? Is it you that he's staying with when he is discharged?"
"Yeah, I'm his…" I didn't know what I was. Glancing at him didn't clarify anything.
"He's my partner," Carlisle mumbled eventually, avoiding eye contact with me. A weight lifted off my chest; I obviously wasn't forgiven, but maybe he wasn't outright dumping me today. "He's the one that has to put up with me when I go home. Can the doctor give the discharge paperwork to him? I'm not going to remember."
"I'll tell him," she chuckled. "Are you still nauseous?"
"I'm okay as long as I lie still, just dizzy." His attempt to smile didn't last more than a few seconds. "Thanks."
The air between us was awkward as soon as she was out of the room. "I brought you hot chocolate; I didn't think caffeine would be so good for your stomach," I said after a while, trying to pass him one of the disposable cups in my hands.
"Thanks, Gar, I can't really eat anything solid at the moment, so anything that isn't jello is amazing." He took the cup from me when I tried to hand it to him, the colour seeping from his face the second he tried to sit up again.
I found myself reaching to steady him. "You weren't kidding about being dizzy, huh? You okay?"
"Yeah, I just can't walk anywhere by myself."
"Is that from the anesthetic?" I frowned. Without thinking properly, my hand rested around his wrist.
He did glance at my fingers, but either didn't care enough or didn't have the strength to shove me off. "I'm anemic, and the bleeding made it worse; I get really lightheaded whenever I sit up. The blood disorder doesn't help."
Pushing my luck, I brushed my thumb across the back of his palm, desperate to touch him. "That's why you've been passing out on me all this time, hmm?" I was trying to tease, but I just wanted to cry; I wanted him in my arms so badly. "What'd you want to talk to me about?" It was hard to speak around the lump in my throat without my voice cracking.
He hesitated. "I have to come home tomorrow, and I don't know how it's going to work. With us, I mean."
I took my hand back, clenching my fingers in my lap as I leaned back in my chair. "Well, that depends what you want. I love you so much, and I want to help you, but if you're really not comfortable with that after all that's happened, then… I don't know, Carlisle, I think it's going to be weird either way. To be honest, it doesn't seem like you should be leaving hospital this soon anyway."
"You don't want me at home," he said quietly.
"No, I would love to have you home," I corrected quickly. "But that doesn't change that you just had a major surgery, and I don't want you to bleed again, and if you're this dizzy it doesn't seem like a good idea to me."
"I should have been able to go home days ago, but I'm not healing properly."
"What'd you mean?" I frowned. Everything felt hopeless, crushing. There was only so much one person could cope with, and by his tone of voice, he'd far surpassed that limit.
"The nurse took my staples out yesterday, and I bled everywhere as soon as she took the wound dressing off. I can't even look at it; it's going to make me vomit." He squeezed the blankets so tightly that his knuckles were white. "Look what the IVs have done; I look like a meth user." Agitated, he moved his arm to where I could see it, brutish purply-black bruises where he'd previously had luers.
"No one is going to think that, and they'll fade," I murmured. "It'll be nice to have you home; I've missed you a lot." When he didn't reply, I picked up the grocery bag I'd dumped on the floor. "I brought you some snacks. I know you're not hungry, but you can't be starving yourself either."
He tried to smile when I handed it to him. "Thanks, Garrett."
"Are you alright?" My heart raced as I reached for his hand, calming just a little as he let me take it. My fingertips brushed over the bruising on his wrist. "I love you."
It didn't escape my notice that he wouldn't say it back. "I don't know. I don't feel good."
"'Not good' how?" I pushed gently. "Are you feeling sick? Or not good about coming home?"
"Gar, I don't know. I just don't feel good. I've had enough." His voice broke and he curled up, sinking back into the pillow.
"You've been through a lot in the last year, Carlisle." I squeezed his hand. As desperately as I wanted to hug him, I couldn't. "I'm sorry I've made things so much worse for you; I've never felt so guilty in my life."
"I'm sorry too," he mumbled eventually.
"For what?" I frowned. Loving me? Dating me? Meeting me? All of it seemed rational at this point.
"For whatever it was that I did or couldn't give you that pushed you away," he said after a while.
"It's not your fault. It'll never be your fault; you never did anything wrong." We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I kept my hand around his while he was letting me. "Look, it might be strange for awhile at home, but it'll be alright. I'm not going to leave you to look after yourself while you're recovering; you'll be safe." I squeezed his fingers gently, trying to reassure him.
"Can you be here when they give me my discharge papers? I can't think straight because of the painkillers, and I'm not going to remember what the doctor tells me." He shifted uncomfortably.
"Yeah, of course. Just call me tomorrow when you need me to be here." I would have done anything for him.
.
.
The day was a mess from the start. I was already running late, and he'd cried when he'd called me but wouldn't tell me why. The doctors had weaned him off the morphine by the time I got there, but he could barely move. The bruising looked absolutely terrifying now that he was back in his own clothes, dark purple creeping across his arms where they'd taken the IVs out and areas of what I could only assume to be hand prints from being grabbed. He glanced up at me when I came in, but didn't move from the edge of the bed, and my smile didn't stick. "Ready to go home?" I asked awkwardly. It was difficult to cover my shock, and I knew he'd already noticed.
He nodded anyway. "I guess. Can you get the paperwork from the nurse?"
"Yeah. You okay?"
Again, he just nodded. I went back down the hallway to find the woman. It was the same person as the day before, which I was thankful for. "Is he really alright to come home?" I asked her. "I mean, is it safe?"
She hesitated a little, sighing. "It's not ideal, but he's had coagulants so there's a low chance of his stomach bleeding again. It's safer for him to be out of hospital while his immunity is down; the likelihood of him catching something here that his body can't fight off is too high." Upon seeing my skepticism, she added; "He knows that too, Garrett. The doctor spoke with him about it, and he agreed to go. We wouldn't discharge someone in his condition unless everyone - including the patient - thought it was the safest option."
"If he, um, struggles, can I bring him in again?" I asked cautiously.
"He'll need to go through the emergency department again, but if he deteriorates he'll be admitted again," she assured me.
I groaned just thinking about it; he was going to have a mental breakdown if that happened. She handed me the papers - writing down the medications like she promised - and I went back to him. "Ready?" I asked again. Like before, he nodded. "Where's your jacket? It's freezing outside."
He already looked cold, a little shivery as he sat there. "They had to cut it off me when I had the surgery; everything else they could pull off, but not the hoodie. People are going to stare at me; this looks disgusting." Nervous, he glanced down at his arms, anxiously picking at the bruising.
"Don't worry about that, here." I shrugged off my coat, draping that around his shoulders. The cool air bit at my skin immediately, even while we were indoors, and I was immediately glad that Carlisle wasn't going to be outside in the weather without a jacket.
"You're going to get wet," he mumbled.
"I'm not the one that's going to be ill if I'm in the rain for a few minutes," I reminded him. "I'll turn the heaters on in the car; it'll be fine."
I slipped my arm around his shoulders as he gingerly stood up, pretending that I was just trying to hold him steady instead of wanting to hug him. "You're not too bad on your feet? It's a bit of a walk."
"I'm okay." He let me touch him, partially leaning against my side. He was still unsteady, only semi-stable and definitely more dizzy than he wanted to let on.
I used it as an excuse to keep him directly next to me, my hand drifting down to rest on his hip as we stood in the elevator together. "Tell me if you're going to faint; you don't need to fall."
By the time we reached the ground floor, he was leaning against the wall, partially doubled over and not all that willing to move. "It's really painful," he mumbled in explanation. "Walking isn't good; the furthest I've been before now is to the bathroom, and that was fifteen feet." It seemed to hit him all at once. He suddenly couldn't breathe, unable to restrain the tears which he tried to rub away with his sleeve before anyone saw it. Starting to tremble, he just leaned against the wall and tried to shut everyone else out.
"Are you in pain?" I asked lowly. If he was in agony, I was not about to take him home. "Do you need to go back up?"
He shook his head. "No. Please. I can't stay here anymore - I don't know what to do; I can't look after myself, but I can't stay here either," he pleaded with me. He was quickly becoming unravelled, hyperventilating until he choked on a quiet sob. People were staring at him, but he didn't seem to notice them past his panic.
"I'll be with you, it's okay," I murmured, carefully slipping my arm around him to shift him away from the wall, only to be violently pushed away as he freaked out. "Let's go home." I shoved my foot in front of the door as it tried to shut and move off again, sending it open again so I could guide him out, holding his hand despite his protest. The walk to the car seemed horrifyingly long while he was in such a state, but he eventually zoned out enough to stumble alongside me. He'd shut down completely by the time I had him in the passenger's seat.
We drove in silence until I couldn't stand it anymore. "Yesterday you said that solid food was still a little hard on your stomach, so is soup okay for dinner?" I tried to keep my voice light, like all of this was normal, like he hadn't just had a panic attack in front of a crowd of people and refused to let me touch him.
"I don't expect you to cook for me, Garrett, you don't have to do that," he said quietly. His voice broke and he rubbed his face, drawing in a shaky breath. The idling of the car at the traffic light seemed to make things worse, and he leaned forward against his knees.
"At the very least, you're my best friend. Even if you hate me, I still want to help you," I frowned at him. "You don't have to go through all of this by yourself."
"I don't hate you," he mumbled. "I can't love you right now, but I can't hate you either."
The relief almost made me smile. Almost. I couldn't while he looked so miserable. "Then let me cook for you. Please? I've already been to the grocery store and got everything, I just need to throw it in a pot; it won't take long."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, Carlisle, of course I'm sure." I glanced at him while we were stopped, my chest aching as I looked at him. "You okay? It's really hurting, huh."
"I don't know if I'm going to be able to get out of the car, Gar, I feel like I'm going to throw up," he whispered anxiously.
"I won't let you fall." I couldn't help him if he threw up, though. I'd only just managed to get the blood out of the car from the first incident. The neighbours must have thought I had been cleaning up after a murder. I tried to be as gentle as I could as we drove home, not wanting to rock the car too much, but I doubted it was making a difference to his nausea.
"Garrett, I'm really feeling sick," he mumbled a few minutes from our apartment.
"I believe you, Carlisle, but we're almost there; it's only a few more minutes," I assured him. "You'll be okay." I definitely had my doubts. It wouldn't surprise me if he was nauseous enough to throw up this close to home, but I was banking on him not having eaten today. Seeing him start to panic, I reached over to hold his hand, rubbing his fingers. "Have you been sick at the hospital?"
"No, not since before the surgery." His hands shaking, he shoved them under his thighs. He sat very tensely until we finally pulled into the apartment carpark, somehow managing not to lose what little was in his stomach. He carefully pulled himself out of the car, leaning against the door for a few seconds as he got his footing. "Can I hold your hand?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"Yeah." The absolute last thing I wanted was for him to fall. I walked around to his side of the car, threading our fingers together. It wasn't affectionate; he was squeezing so hard that my fingers were numb, clearly struggling. After another elevator ride, we reached our floor, and he was reaching his breaking point. The uneven surface in our doorway tripped him, sending him tumbling into me, the quiet gasp he let out as I caught him making both of us wince. "You okay?
He nodded, coiling both arms around his middle. His teeth were clenched so tightly his jaw must have ached.
Brushing my hand down his back, I held a fistful of his shirt until I was sure he was stable. "Go to bed, Carlisle. I'll bring you something to eat later on." I frowned as I watched him lean against the wall. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"
"Yes." No. No he wasn't. He walked away from me before I could contradict him, mostly to hide that he was rather flustered now. Fox's crying at his ankles hadn't broken through to him yet, and she turned to me as she was left ignored.
I scooped her up, stoking her as her whispers brushed my cheek and kissing the top of her head. It wasn't me she wanted though. Not really. Sighing, I carried her down the hallway, making it to the bedroom doorway just in time to watch my boyfriend struggle to get out of the jacket without hurting himself. I frowned at him and put the cat on the bed. "Let me help you; you're going to pull something."
"I'm fine," he argued meekly.
"No, you aren't." Without waiting for him to agree to it, I carefully pulled the coat off of him, ignoring the heat that rushed to his face as I caught the edge of his t-shirt. "Carlisle, we've been together almost two years," I reminded him. I didn't want to call him out for being ridiculous, but that was where we were heading if he was about to have hang ups about undressing in front of me.
"I don't want you to freak out," he told me timidly. He stepped away from me the next time I touched his clothing.
Frustrated, I sighed. "I've seen the cut, Carlisle, don't be silly. Let me help you so you can lie down already."
"You saw it while it didn't look that bad," he mumbled.
"For god's sake," I grumbled. "Just let me help you. Do you want to lie down, or not? I'm not going to overreact." I was done with all of this. I absolutely could not be bothered playing games with him. I also really didn't want this to end in an argument, which was very likely unless he stopped being difficult.
He nodded. "Yeah, but…" Finally, he gave in, complying and letting me get his shirt off of him. My breath caught in my throat, and he was instantly almost in tears. "You just said you weren't going to get upset."
I fought to regulate the sick feeling in my stomach. "I'm not upset, Carlisle, I just didn't expect you to have bruised like that." I was grateful for the wound dressing still being in place, so at least I didn't have to look at that, but he was black and blue all over, redness creeping around the edges of the bandages. My fingers brushing against it made him squirm. "Are you in pain?" Trying not to make him more uncomfortable than he already was, I helped him into something softer, only just resisting kissing his forehead. "I love you."
"It's okay," he mumbled. It didn't take much prompting to get him into bed, but he winced as I pulled the blankets over him. "Thanks."
"Get some sleep; I'll wake you up when the soup is ready." It was awkward; I badly wanted to comfort him, to be able to crawl into bed and cuddle him until he felt better. But instead, I just sheepishly backed out of the room and slunk into the kitchen. Soup would be a good distraction, even if he wouldn't eat it.
.
.
Soup did not go down well. He threw up everything he'd eaten, locking the bathroom door so that I couldn't get to him. By the time he felt well enough to come back to bed, he was pale and shivery, his arms around his middle. He didn't say anything to me, just crawled back into bed far too early for the time in the evening. Guilt ebbed in. I needed to comfort that boy. I wasn't going to get the opportunity though; he fell asleep almost straight away.
The cat and I stayed up far too late, watching TV on the couch. Everything about going to bed seemed awkward; I didn't know how to lie next to him without touching him. We'd spent almost every night in each other's arms since we moved in together, and I wasn't sure that I could fall asleep without cuddling up to him. It was going to happen involuntarily as soon as I wasn't conscious enough to stop myself.
I got a blanket from the hallway cupboard and went to sleep on the couch. It wasn't great for my spine, but going to bed wasn't going to be good for my relationship.
.
.
Only an hour had passed the next time I opened my eyes. My back definitely ached, and I was definitely too anxious to go back to sleep immediately. My body clicked in several places as I sat up, my neck protesting as I hauled myself to my feet. I was too old for this shit. I cept down the hallway, peeking into the bedroom to see if my boyfriend was still alive.
Alive, maybe, but certainly not comfortable. At some point, he'd wrapped his arms around a pillow, hugging it against his chest and pulling his knees up. Obviously in pain. Somehow still asleep, though. I left him alone; if he was sore now, it wasn't going to be better if I woke him up. I went back to the couch. This was all my fault, and it sucked.
This awkward ritual repeated every hour or so until morning, and I felt like I hadn't slept at all. The thought of going to work filled me with dread. Even after making both of us breakfast that I knew one of us wouldn't be able to eat, I couldn't shake the feeling of something terrible happening if I left Carlisle alone for the day. I didn't trust his ability to keep himself out of hospital on his own.
He also hadn't filled his prescription from the hospital. I found it sitting on the table under his keys, half screwed up after being in his pocket. My chest got tight; he'd obviously been too shy to ask me to take him to the pharmacy on the way home yesterday, or maybe he felt too ill, but either way he sure as hell didn't have any painkillers strong enough to deal with his injuries without it.
I sighed and picked up the piece of paper. I knew he'd feel too guilty to ask me, but he couldn't do it himself, and I couldn't with a good conscience leave him in the state he was in. I called my boss and trudged my way to the drug store.
.
.
"Carlisle?" I asked softly, stopping in the doorway. I tossed the paper pharmacy bag in his direction when he looked up.
"Thanks." He looked uncomfortable again, this time from my actions more than his pain. "You didn't come to bed last night." That hurt. He looked like he'd been hit, but I didn't think me explaining that we couldn't sleep in the same bed because I wanted him too badly to keep my hands to myself would go over well.
"It's not that I didn't want to be with you; I didn't think you'd want that," I sighed. "You know you can still...we still live together. You can still ask me to help; I don't mind." I carefully perched on the edge of the bed, shoving my hands between my thighs to stop myself reaching for him.
He shuffled up the mattress to lean against the headboard putting more distance between us. "I feel awkward about it."
"So do I, but I don't want you to struggle by yourself." I frowned at him.
"I don't want you to be miserable too."
"I'm going to be miserable until we fix this." This whole situation was miserable. And entirely self induced.