Happy new year! Let's hope 2021 is less of a shitshow than 2020.
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"I made waffles!" I announced dramatically, grinning as I set the plate down on the bed. I dropped myself down next to it, my own plate in my other hand. For some reason, the gesture made his face flush, and he quickly curled his legs up under himself to make room for me.
"Thanks, Garrett." That sweet pink colour crept further across his cheekbones as he glanced down at the plate in his hands, seeing his food already cut into pieces ro him. "Oh, um…"
"I didn't want you to hurt your wrist again," I admitted, suddenly wondering if I'd crossed the line. If nothing else, it had embarrassed him a little; he didn't want me looking after him.
He opened and closed his hand a few times, testing it. "It really is fine; it was just a sprain."
"If you say so." I didn't believe him; it looked purple and swollen, his hold on his fork was weak as he tried to put pressure through his fingers, and it was the same hand he'd snapped in his struggle with Caius. I'd just have to look out for him until he came to the same conclusion I had - the damn hand was broken. Breakfast in bed wasn't supposed to look this guilty, but we were both aware that this was just a sad attempt on my behalf to try and mend things between us.
"Thanks," he repeated, shoving a piece into his mouth. The lapse in conversation quickly became unbearably awkward, until all I could hear was my own pulse pounding in my ears. He eventually broke it. "When you were a kid, what'd you want to be when you grew up?"
"Not a cleaner, that's for sure," I shot back, chuckling out of relief to be talking again.
He laughed a little too, slowly chewing his food. "Yeah, but really, what'd you want to do?"
"I don't know, I'm sure my mother would tell you plenty of embarrassing stories about me relentlessly wearing a fireman's costume, but I don't have the stamina for that." There was no way she hadn't already shown him a plethora of pictures of me as an unfortunate looking child, but I wasn't sure why he was asking me all this anyway; it seemed like a silly conversation to have with your ex. Especially while we were sitting on the bed together with less than a foot of space between us. "What'd you want to be?"
"A zookeeper," he told me matter of factly, smiling at his plate. "Specifically with the tigers."
"God, you would be quite literally eaten alive," I teased. "Tigers, huh?"
"They wouldn't dare," he laughed. "What'd you want to do in highschool, then?"
"Something with food, I did a lot of home economics - don't you laugh at me!" Grinning, I nudged him with my elbow, loving every second of having him joking with me again. He was trying not to smile, biting his lip to smother teasing me. "I really wanted to be a baker, but I think that was just because I liked sweets too much. How far did tiger-keeping get you as a teenager?" Shooting him another smile, I tried to suppress the goosebumps that pickled over my skin as his arm brushed against mine.
"Oh, I was far more lame by the time I got to secondary school. I wanted to be an english teacher," he chuckled. "And then um, because highschool sucks so much, I wanted to be a librarian - hey, you don't laugh - but I guess I actually got kind of close to that one." Without thinking, he'd leaned his head on my shoulder briefly, just long enough for me to horribly crave the affection between us before he realised what he'd done and pulled away. God, I missed him.
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He'd fallen asleep again after we'd eaten. I had suspected that he'd had a rough night, and that had only further confirmed my suspicion. Sitting on the bed with him, our empty plates precariously balancing on the bedside table, felt a little invasive. It was hard to keep my hands to myself, even harder not to pull at his clothing to make him a little more comfortable.
But I left him alone. I forced myself to go into the kitchen, slowly doing the dishes, going as far as wiping the insides of our cupboards down and carefully restacking everything so that our plates were ordered into matching piles, the handles of our mugs all pointing the same way. Our stuff. I hoped it stayed our stuff.
At least the kitchen was spotless. He'd managed to clean up after himself fairly well, but he was quite clearly not managing much more than that. I didn't want to think of the effort it took him - he should not be on his own, not if just eating a meal that he hadn't even made had exhausted him enough to sleep for a few hours.
It was midday by the time he stumbled into the room with me, half asleep as he rubbed his face. "You want coffee?" I asked, trying to be casual despite my heart thumping erratically in my chest and the sudden overwhelming to have my lips on his washing over me.
"Um, yeah, coffee would be great actually, I'm supposed to be working today, but I guess I…" he trailed off, suddenly swallowing his words. "What are you doing?"
"Cleaning." So I don't get ahead of myself and try to kiss you. We'd had a nice morning, and I didn't want to ruin it by being a fucking moron.
"No, with the kettle." He wrapped his arms around his middle, tucking his hands under his arms as he leaned his hip against his bench.
"Making you a drink," I said slowly, confused. Although he seemed fine before, I was starting to wonder if he'd hit his head. "You feeling okay?"
He frowned at my teasing. "Garrett, I'm serious. You don't have to be doing this. You shouldn't be doing this."
"Doing what, Carlisle? It's a cup of coffee," I sighed, frustrated.
"And breakfast. And dinner. And going to the drug store. And-"
"Alright, I get it. I'm being too much," I grumbled. The mug scratched on the table as I roughly set his drink in front of him, and I kind of hated that I knew exactly how he liked it.
"No, that isn't what I meant; this isn't exactly reciprocal at the moment, is it? How is this alright?"
"Nothing about any of this is alright," I reminded him bitterly. "Least of all you being ill enough to need to sleep until 1pm." Unconsciously mimicking his posture, I folded my arms across my chest, my back pressing against the edge of the counter as we faced each other.
He seemed to buffer for a moment until he found his tongue again. "It was only because I couldn't sleep last night and-"
"You couldn't sleep last night because you were in pain, and you weren't well," I pointed out. "This isn't an argument you're about to win while your hand is broken, you passed out on me yesterday, your wrists look like shit, and I don't even want to see how terrible your stomach-"
"Don't come near me if I'm that fucking horrible," he interrupted. "The offer still stands; I can still leave, you don't have to stand there and tell me how awful I am!"
"Hey, come on; I wouldn't be doing any of this if I didn't still love you. I don't want you to go anywhere except back to bed." I had my arms around him before I could think about it, my hands against his back to guide him into me. His spine was stiff, the panicked breaths filling his chest making it very clear that he didn't want me near him like this.
He suddenly tried to shove me off him, a sharp jab against my chest. It only resulted in him hurting that damn hand, his teeth so deeply in his lip to keep himself from making any admission of pain that he was drawing blood.
"You need a x-ray."
"No I don't; it's just a stupid sprain. And your nose is broken from being punched in the face, so drop it."
I didn't heed his warning. "If it was a sprain, it wouldn't hurt you this much," I pointed out, brushing my thumb over his cheek as he desperately tried not to cry. "Carlisle?"
There was a long pause where he tried to calm himself down enough to speak without freaking out at me, and I waited impatiently for him to agree so that we could get the bloody thing fixed. "It's not the pain, this whole situation just sucks. I don't know if it's better or worse having you here, but I can't- I can't do this by myself and now we're just- I can't be with you like this," he stammered out eventually. "It's too close."
I narrowly suppressed rolling my eyes. "What do you want, then? I can go back to Eleazar's if you're that uncomfortable with me being here." I only made the suggestion because I knew he would refuse - as pissed as he was with me, I already knew that he'd much rather have me with him than be alone.
Just as I expected, he was shaking his head before I'd even finished the sentence. "No. Please don't." It should have irritated me that he was so codependent, but I wasn't any better, and it was all that was giving me the opportunity to get back in again. Even as he was telling me that he didn't want me, his good hand was still knotted in my shirt, holding me there.
Pushing away my annoyance, I ran my hand up his spine, rubbing between his shoulder blades. "Are you finally admitting you're not alright on our own?" It was a subtle jab, but he either ignored it or didn't pick up on it.
"I guess. I'm in so much pain all the time that it makes me nauseous, and I can't get anything done because I pass out when I stand too long, and I'm losing so much weight and I don't want to end up in hospital again," he admitted, mumbling at the floor. That was progress, I thought. A change in his 'I'm fine and independent' attitude, at least.
"You're giving me whiplash," I groaned, pressing my cheek against the top of his head. Part of me still wanted to argue with him over his wrist, but I doubted that was going to go over well right then. "It's either me or Alistair you've got to put up with." There was no question in my mind that Al would come crawling back the second Carlisle asked him to, even if it was for the wrong reasons.
"I don't want- I can't- I don't want-" Panicking, he was too anxious to get a complete sentence out, the ultimatum making his head spin. "I can't- Garrett, he's gonna- he's- Alistair's going to freak out at me, and I don't want to deal with him."
"Carlisle, I don't think he'll be able to freak out more than you are right now. Why don't you sit down, and uh, maybe not have that coffee after all. Would you rather have a cup of tea?" Trying to be gentle, I carefully nudged him toward the table, pulling the chair out for him. I kept my hand on his shoulder as he did was he was told, supervising as he put his head down against the tabletop. "It doesn't have to be Alistair. If he's being a manipulative asshole, then it doesn't matter whether he's your best friend; leave him out of it." Huffing, I sat down next to him, hesitating before closing my hand over top of his.
"He's not," he whispered into the wood.
"Not what?" I grumbled. There was no way I was about to put up with him defending that jerk.
"Not my best friend; you are. Were," he corrected quickly, heat rushing through his face.
I melted immediately. "Well, then it'll be me." I let my fingertips lightly graze over the lines of his hand, smiling as it tickled and he wrinkled his nose.
"Be you, what?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Be me that stays with you until you're feeling better."
"I'm such a burden."
"You're not, Carlisle. I love you." The lump in my throat almost choked me as I swallowed. "I'm sorry that I chewed you out about taking painkillers the other night, I didn't realise how much you were hurting." Shifting my hand up his arm, I rubbed the back of his neck, lightly threading my fingers through his hair. "How did you...You were on your own for three weeks, how did you manage as much as you did?"
"Weren't you mad before that I wasn't taking care of myself?" he tried to tease.
"Well yeah, but you didn't completely drown either," I reminded him.
"I don't know, everything was difficult," he murmured. "I didn't have a choice; I had to work it out."
Something else dawned on me, and I felt a little ill. "Is your job still okay?" Going through that drama again was the last thing I wanted.
He nodded though. "Yeah, I don't have to go into the office very often, and I try not to stay very long when I do."
I sighed and frowned at him, not really knowing what to say. It grew uncomfortable after a while, and I couldn't leave it alone any longer. "Hey, um, I hate to ask you this right now, but I really need to know whether I'm chasing something that's never going to happen. I love you so much and I know you'll need time, and I can give you as much as you need, but I'm asking if there's a possibility that we can…" I trailed off, absentmindedly squeezing his arm through his sleeve. "I'm not going to abandon you if you say no."
He paused for so long I wanted to be sick. "You really, really hurt me."
"And I'll never be able to tell you how much I wish I could take it back." Kissing his hand was instinctual, despite the way it made him cringe.
"I mean...I guess maybe we...I could...You…" It was rather clear he didn't want to give me a clear answer.
I sighed, trying to restrain the need to have an absolute meltdown at the thought of him rejecting me. It wasn't as though as I thought he was just going to magically forgive me, but the thought of it still made my head spin. "It doesn't matter, forget about it," I mumbled.
"No, Garrett, listen. I do still...have feelings for you, but I don't know how I can trust you anymore. I can't really love you right now after what you've done." He picked at his sweatshirt, refusing to look at me.
"Okay. That's okay," I said quickly. My heart skipped, heat flushing through my face at the thought of us together again. "I just wanted to know where we stood now."
"Gar, I'm really not doing great at the moment," he mumbled. "Do we have to have this conversation right now?"
"No, Carlisle, I'm done," I promised. "Sorry I had to ask." I kept hold of his hand, my fingers curled around his palm. "Why don't you go and get some more sleep, if you're not feeling well?'
"Because that's all I ever do; lie in bed."
"Yeah, but I wouldn't be surprised if you get sick all the time because you're burnt out; you've been through a lot in the last year, and haven't really had a break. And we know about your bleeding disorder now, so you're had to deal with that as well. I think it's pretty reasonable that you're exhausted."
"I don't feel like I'm sick just because I'm tired," he argued weakly, losing conviction.
"It's not helping though, is it?" I didn't really expect him to be reasoned with right then, but I was sure a lot of his problems could be solved if he gave his body what it needed for once. He still looked unconvinced, but I forced myself to smile. I felt his eyes on me as I got up from the table, ferreting through the seemingly endless amount of pill boxes on our cabinet before finding what I was after. It was a little hypocritical of me, seeming as I'd hassled him for taking pills, but I knew they'd make him sleep. "I just want you to feel better, Carlisle. It'll help, right?"
"It might make me puke, and I can't get up quickly like that at the moment; I'll faint, my blood pressure drops," he explained, shaking his head. "I don't think it's a good idea."
"You can have a bucket or something just in case," I tried. Seeing his apprehension, I reached for his hand again. "I think it will help, if you can get some actual rest. Lying in bed isn't going to help if you can't sleep, and you're not going to be able to sleep if you're uncomfortable."
"Yeah, but...I'm going to throw up." He was considering it at least, watching our hands together.
"Then I'll clean up. I don't care as long as you feel better." Seeing that he was still hesitant, nervous now, I backed off a little. "Look, I'm not about to force tablets down your throat if you don't want them, but I really do think you should try and sleep for a while. I'll make you a cup of tea?" I took the liberty of removing the coffee from his reach, not that he was interested in it anyway. "And please go and lie down for a while?"
"This isn't going to work," he insisted, shaking his head as my insistence started to irritate him. "It's not going to make me feel better."
"Just go and get back in bed."
"Fine, Garrett." His tone reminded me of a petulant child, but I didn't bother trying to pull him up on it. Not right then.
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I took the mug and a hot water bottle back to the bedroom, still half expecting him to suddenly be mad at me again. I wasn't far off.
He looked so hurt, like I'd beaten him, like he'd already cried and now he was trying to hide it from me despite having only been out of my sight for five minutes. "Do you just want me to go to sleep so you don't have to deal with me anymore?" he burst out.
"Jesus, Carlisle, for god's sake. I'm trying to help you. I love you," I snapped. Slamming the mug down on the bedside table, I tossed the heat pack in his general direction, done with getting caught in his whirlwind of emotions. The tea spilt, the hot water bottle making him flinch as it landed on him.
"That's not true if you're screaming it at me!" he yelled back, defensively wrapping his arms around his knees.
"Is this what I'm going to walk into every time I leave you alone for ten minutes? Because it's fucking insane!" I'd matched his volume, and it had made him shrink into himself, but at least it shut him up. I couldn't remember if he was always this terrible at confrontation. "You can't scream at me every time I'm out of your sight for ten seconds just because you're insecure and over-think things."
"You cheated on me!"
I could already see that being his defense every time something went wrong in our relationship from now on. "I haven't cheated on you in the last ten minutes though, have I? You're being crazy."
"You should have just let me bleed to death!"
I walked away from him. Standing in the kitchen, I panted to get my breath back, trying to shove back the wave of nausea that hit me every time he brought that up. I'd never be able to get that image out of my head, or forget the metallic smell of his blood soaking the towels as I tried to mop it up. No matter how hard I'd tried to scrub the tiles, to get rid of what Alistair had missed, I hadn't been able to lift the stains. The towels had been a lost cause - I threw them out before I'd even bothered to wash them.
I took the cloth from the kitchen sink back into the bedroom once I felt like I could look at him again. He didn't speak to me as I wiped up the spilt drink. "Do you want me to make you another cup of tea?" I asked to break the silence.
"Are you going to throw that at me too?" he asked bitterly.
"A 'no' would have been fine," I grumbled under my breath. "Look, Carlisle, I'm trying my best. I'm trying to do what's right, but you're sending me so many mixed messages that I don't know what you want."
It was a bad move. He sat up so quickly that he struggled to acclimatise to the movement, pissed. "I want things to go back to how they were before Heidi ruined everything, I want to be able to trust the man I live with, but I'm living with a stranger now, and I want to be able to get out of bed without wishing I was dead. Happy?" he demanded.
Sighing, I sat back on the edge of the mattress, deflated. "You've got to stop saying things like that. Are you going to be safe if I go to work tomorrow morning?"
"Yes."
"What the hell am I supposed to do with you?"
"I don't know!"
I huffed. "Just go to sleep, Carlisle."
"Are you going to leave?" Nervous. All his hostility melted away instantly, his anger replaced with anxiety. I knew what he was really asking - this wasn't about me leaving. He just couldn't stomach being on his own any longer.
It was difficult now to be mad at him, the gnawing feeling of being used not far in the distance. I still gave in. "No, I'll be out there."
He nodded, uncurling himself to reach under the bed to grab a sheet of pills, swallowing two of them before handing the rest to me. As soon as our eyes met, and I saw how much he wanted to come apart, I understood what he meant and couldn't be upset with him from hiding the medication from me.
"Is there any more that's not in the kitchen?" I checked carefully. It didn't help that I was so out of my depth with him now.
Thankfully, he just shook his head.
In a stupid moment of weakness, I lightly kissed his forehead. "I'll check on you in a bit; tell me if you start feeling sick."
For once he didn't shrink back from me.
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