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It was after three AM by the time I got home. Even then it was because the staff had told me I had to, that it was ridiculous for me to sit there all night. And I knew that. But every time I stepped out of the room, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, barely wanting to leave him long enough to go to the bathroom. The nurse watched me as I gently kissed his forehead, unable to help stroking his hand when it made him fidget.
He'd had a rough evening. It had taken another round of vomiting to knock him out - he hadn't been able to sleep, but throwing up while he was already so malnourished sucked what little energy he had left. And then his wounds had bled through, forcing the nurse to change his bandages and bedding while he struggled into a clean change of clothes. "Sorry, Gar," he'd whispered to me as he caught me watching. The lighting was low enough that I couldn't see much, but I could see that he'd ruined more perfect skin. He fell back into bed, asleep again within a few minutes.
I tucked the blankets more closely around him before heading out into the darkness to my car. I wanted to cry on the drive home. It was hard to swallow away the urge. I'd almost made it to our apartment building before making a violent U-turn and booking it to the closest 24-hour department store.
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$15 later, and I had a bag of supplies I knew Carlisle would murder me for. I went through everything in our entire apartment, installing padlocks on a couple of the higher kitchen cupboards and fighting tears the entire time. I looped the only set of keys around my car keys and set about moving everything I could possibly think of that he could use against himself up there. No more knives, no more razors, no more pills. I even pried the lock off of the bathroom door.
He was going to freak out. I knew that. He was going to hate me for it, but it would be worth it if it stopped his behaviour until he found a decent coping mechanism. He'd have to put up with measured amounts of painkillers and not being allowed to cook. It was better than being in an institution.
Despite how ill I felt, I forced down my first meal since he'd been admitted. I had to work in the morning, and it was going to suck even worse if I was sleep deprived and starved - and I could hardly push Carlisle into eating if I wasn't doing it myself. I only lasted twenty minutes before dinner went straight through me. That entirely ruined any chance of rest I'd hoped for that night, the twisting and turning in my gut keeping me awake.
I cocooned myself in our bed covers, Fox beside me on the mattress as I hugged his pillow in place of him. I hoped to god he would get some sleep tonight; he was unstable enough as it was.
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I hadn't slept at all by the time my alarm chimed the next morning. I showered in a daze, purposefully choosing a sweatshirt I knew he'd slept in to pull over my uniform, trying to avoid looking in the mirror once I'd seen how much of a disaster I was. It seemed like a painfully long time until I could see him again, and sitting alone at the kitchen table made me agonisingly homesick. Today was already terrible. It was far too many hours until I could go to the hospital.
I didn't trust my stomach not to betray me at work, foregoing breakfast as well as a precaution. The longer I was away from Carlisle, the more my chest hurt, and the worse my insides cramped up. I knew it would all go away as soon as I could check on him again. I really needed to get a grip. And to see him. And for my stupid brother to quit texting me crap that I really didn't care about right then. I would have switched off my phone if it hadn't meant I was cut myself off from my partner.
My hands shook on my drive into work, my vision blurry as I squinted through the windscreen into the oncoming traffic. The light was too bright as I followed my coworkers into the building, burning into my retinas. The fluorescent bulbs inside weren't much better, the throbbing behind my eyes too distracting for me to hear what my manager was saying to us - I just put my hand up for the first task. My stomach was aching again, this time because it was empty. God, I missed my boyfriend. I was such a pathetic mess.
"You alright today, Parker?" Seth, one of my coworkers, asked during lunch. I realised that I hadn't spoken at all since I'd arrived. I'd landed myself with the floor polisher, and thankfully the machine had been loud enough to drive everyone away from me until this point. I'd tried to wander off and sit by myself as soon as our break started, but he'd sought me out anyway.
I tried to smile, to pretend that the exhaustion didn't make my ears ring so loudly that I couldn't hear. "Yeah." The words didn't come out properly and I coughed to clear my throat.
He nudged me with his shoulder. "Really?"
"I just need a good night's sleep," I admitted reluctantly. Scrubbing at my face didn't fix 48 hours of sleep deprivation, but it did give me an excuse not to look at him for a moment.
"I'll buy you a coffee? You look miserable." He stood, offering me his hand to pull on. "How are things at home? Your boyfriend was sick?" His attempt to get me talking just formed a lump in my throat.
I reluctantly gave in to him, letting him yank me to my feet and following him the few steps to the coffee shop on the floor below us. "He's in hospital again. It's only been two nights, but it feels like so long."
"I'd never have pegged you as being clingy," he teased, a comforting hand on my shoulder anyway. My silence became awkward after we'd placed our orders. The hum of people around us blurred into white noise, and I could barely focus on him. "I'm sure you can visit him after work," he said as our drinks arrived, turning to hand me a disposable cup.
"I know, it's just- I miss him." I forced a burning sip of coffee down my throat to shut myself up before I said something else embarrassing. Maybe the scolding my tongue had taken would keep me quiet for the rest of the day.
"You can go and see him in like five hours, dude, chill," he chuckled. He still patted my back, rubbing at my shoulder blade.
"I know." I didn't feel good suddenly; the coffee was churning in my stomach. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and although I initially planned to snap back at Eleazar, my nerves eased a little as I saw the name on the screen.
I gave in and called him, excusing myself from Seth's attention. It took a while for him to pick up, and I only got more and more worked up as time passed, sneaking off again to sit on a bench for a bit of privacy. He sounded sleepy once he eventually answered. "Hey," I started awkwardly. I didn't really have anything to say to him, as badly as I wanted to hear his voice.
"Everything okay?" The question was odd coming from him while he was tied up with IV lines.
"Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you," I admitted.
"About? Are you alright?" The rustling of fabric sounded down the line as he jostled the phone, coughing to make himself more alert. It only resulted in a quiet groan as it presumably hurt his stomach.
"I'm fine, Carlisle. I miss you. How are you feeling?" I leaned back against the wall behind me, finally managing to relax now that I had proof he was in one piece.
He swallowed nervously. "Do you want to come up later? I, um, my test results came back; I got a diagnosis, and it's, ah, not what I expected."
My heart leapt, the room spinning as I sat forward too quickly. This could all be over. "They figured out what's making you so sick?"
"Y-yeah, but I think we need to talk about it. The doctor is coming in again at five, if you wanted to be there for that?"
"I do - I'll be there as soon as I finish work," I promised.
"How much longer do you have on your break?" he asked carefully.
I pulled my phone away from my ear to glance at the time, whining a little as I read it. "Only another few minutes," I groaned.
"Promise not to freak out?" It was practically a whisper, quiet and calm.
"Oh god, what, Carlisle?" I hated the tone he was using, already trying to soothe me before he'd given me something to be worked up over. My heart crept into my throat, the cramping in my abdomen getting a little more persistent.
"I know it's not your fault, Gar, and I trust you have nothing to do with it, but Heidi contacted me today," he said slowly.
I saw stars, my throat closing as I tried to get air into my lungs. "I promise I haven't so much as spoken to her; I've had the kids, and I've been with you. Baby-"
"I believe you. We can talk about it once you get here tonight? I just thought you should know, Gar, but everything is fine. She didn't change anything." Hearing my silence, or perhaps my panicked breaths, he continued. "You okay? I didn't want to scare you?"
"Are you okay?" I asked breathlessly.
"I'm fine, really. Breathe, babe," he soothed. "Don't worry about it until you get here; it's just a few texts - I'll show you them if you want. It's not a big deal." He was far too calm, trying to hold me up while I dissolved. I couldn't say anything for a few moments, trying to fathom how that bitch had found his number in the first place. "Garrett?"
I urgently had to go to the bathroom. Really, really bad. The coffee had been a terrible idea. "I-I have to go; I'll see you as soon as I can," I told him anxiously. My hand drifted to my middle, and I edged my way toward the toilets, suddenly feeling like I was going to cry.
"Are you alright?" he pressed again.
"Yeah; I'll be there in a few hours. Don't answer her if she calls you." Knowing I was rude but not wanting to tell him I was about to shit my pants, I hung up the call and rushed into the closest stall.
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Embarrassingly, I couldn't move for the next fifteen minutes. Seth checked on me a couple of times, calling out through the door and telling me we were due to be back at work, and I tried to keep the heat out of my face. It was only making me anxious. My stomach hurt, and I needed my boyfriend so fucking bad; all of this was humiliating. I hated myself a little more as tears welled up, threatening to overflow as I desperately tried not to cry over nothing for the umpteenth time in the last two days.
Stupid fucking Heidi. And stupid work. And my stupid fucking stomach. I was 27 fucking years old; I should have been able to handle a little stress.
I needed Carlisle.
Five hours.
My fingers trembled relentlessly as I stood in front of the sink to wash them. Splashing water over my face didn't make me look any less dreadful, but the twisting inside of me had eased. "Hey, are you alright?" Seth asked lowly as soon as I was in reach of him, his hand closing around my bicep, dragging me in the direction of the rest of my coworkers. His words made our manager glance at us once we were close enough.
"Yes," I said tightly. They were all looking at us - I'd made us late back. I couldn't help the heat in my cheeks as I accidentally met my manager's eyes again. Not wanting to explain myself, I tried to head off towards the job with the rest of the crew, only for her to pull me aside before I'd made it two steps. "I'm really sorry," I started, trying to figure how this day could be worse. No doubt I'd be written up for this.
She shook her head. "Do you need to go home?" she asked gently. Her genuine concern confused me; my superiors had never shown me any kindness before.
"N-no, I'm okay." Now I was really blushing, stupidly feeling that same burning in my eyes returned. This would all go away if I could just see him for a little bit.
"I don't want you working with a stomach bug."
"I haven't- I, um, I'm not throwing up or anything; I think it's just, um, stress," I admitted quietly, hoping the others wouldn't overhear as I awkwardly shifted my weight. "I'm fine."
She only rolled her eyes. "I'm sending you home, Garrett. Get some rest and come back tomorrow, if you're well enough."
I could have hugged her. Would have if it wasn't entirely unprofessional.
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I didn't go home. I went straight to the hospital, in search of the only person I knew would make any of this remotely better. I'd tried to calm myself down before stepping into the room, but it wasn't really helping, and I'd gotten myself into a state. His guard jumped as I burst into the door, shooting me a glare and shifting in his chair. "Carlisle," I greeted stupidly, absolutely dying for his attention.
The other man grunted, my boyfriend visibly confused as he glanced at me. "Hey," he smiled anyway. "What's the time? You're early?"
"Almost two PM," I replied guiltily as I came closer to him. Warmth crept up my throat to heat my cheeks, and I tried to stop myself spewing nonsense about how horrible everything had been at him while he was very clearly worse off. "I missed you," I said instead.
He reached up for a hug, humming softly as I drew his body toward mine, my arms snaking around his waist to crush the space between us. My heart slowed from it's frantic pounding as his fingers slid against my scalp. "I missed you too."
"Are you feeling any better?" I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, but he looked not quite so pale, not so rigid as he lay against the mattress.
"A little, yeah." He drew me into a careful kiss, his thumb brushing over my cheek. "Long day, huh?"
"Sort of," I admitted, pushing my lips to his again. The guard fled the room with a grumble. I couldn't bring myself to care, sitting myself on the edge of the bed beside him as I forced myself to release him. "What'd Heidi say to you?" I asked nervously, repetitively rubbing my palm over his knuckles while I had his hand trapped. Repressing the sick feeling in my stomach, I nudged under his sleeves where they brushed his wrist, following the plastic tubing from the IV. Still bandaged.
"She was asking after you mostly." He momentarily tightened his grip on my fingers, a reassuring pressure.
"I don't know how she got your number; I never gave it to her." I took his phone from him when he offered it, letting him show me the screen of texts she'd sent. Each one was similar to the last, querying my whereabouts, only the last one being derogatory toward him.
"I know that; why would you?" His fingertips smoothed the collar of my shirt around my throat.
"Block her." I kissed his shoulder through his shirt, my hand resting on his thigh as he took his phone back. "How's your stomach?"
"I haven't thrown up today - the nurse gave me some stronger antiemetics."
"Have you eaten, though?"
"I had a cup of tea this morning, and none of the water I've had has come back up either. Hopefully the IV fluids can come down tomorrow; I'll get my arm back."
I kissed his temple this time, not voicing my disapproval that he'd had nothing solid while he seemed so pleased about it. "Sick of being tied down already?" I teased. I let him pull at me as he shuffled over, trying not to wrap either of us in the lines as he tugged me down beside him.
"Lie with me for a while?" he pleaded when I resisted. His hand crept over my chest.
"The nurses are going to tell us off," I warned softly. I didn't have the willpower to resist really, not while he was warm and seemingly craving my company. Everything today up until this moment had been shitty. Sleep deprivation was turning me into a petulant child, and lying in his arms certainly did sound good.
"I don't care; I really need a hug," he mumbled. "Please?"
That was all it took for me to give in. I needed him too badly. "They're going to kick me out," I grumbled. I still didn't protest as he slipped his leg over mine, fitting himself against my side and hugging my waist. "And we're going to piss off the guy watching you."
"He's suffocating me anyway." His words got lost in my shirt. "I'm really nervous about seeing the doctor again," he said eventually.
"What'd they tell you this morning?" I trailed my hand up and down his ribs, letting my eyes drift closed as I leaned back into the pillow.
"Not a lot. They wanted me to have someone with me when we discuss it. I'm really glad you're here."
"You don't have to cope with this on your own," I reminded him gently. "It'll be alright; we'll deal with whatever it is." My worst fears had been smothered by that scan; no cancer, and nothing wrong in his brain. Everything they'd found could be fixed, bar the hemophilia which so far hadn't been too disabling for him. And I was sure that it can't have been life threatening - they obviously weren't rushing around to treat him.
He was quiet, his breaths a little wobbly suddenly, obviously not sharing my feelings about it. "Are you able to stay until the doctors are gone? I know it's a long time, but-"
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Cullen. We can have dinner together afterwards?" There were a multitude of restaurants and fast food places in the immediate vicinity of the hospital, and I was desperate to get something substantial in his stomach while he wasn't vomiting. Leaving him wasn't appealing either; I wasn't going anywhere until I was kicked out.
"Okay," he agreed uncomfortably.
I smiled to myself, finally starting to relax as I pressed my cheek against the top of his head. I'd been just about asleep when he spoke again.
"I really don't like having that man in here all the time." It came out as a plea, softly begging for me to put an end to it.
I tightened my arms around him. "It's for your own safety, baby."
"You don't trust me," he accused. It wasn't hostile, just sad, the realisation hurting.
"I just know you're not in a good place, and I think it's best that you stay under supervision until you're feeling a bit better," I worded carefully. "It's not that I wouldn't love to have you home, but until your meds are sorted out, I'm not going to disagree with them on this. You need the guard here, and you need to stay in the hospital." I continued rubbing his back, wherever he would let me touch him, not wanting him to spiral into an anxiety attack.
He groaned quietly but didn't argue it.
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We'd made awkward conversation with him for far too long before the doctor finally acknowledged what we were so desperate to hear. He sighed, shifting in the chair he'd settled in, clasping his hands around his clipboard. "We've run some further tests on your blood work, and it appears you've developed a dysfunction in your immune system. You have what's called common variable immunodeficiency." He handed us both pamphlets, the syndrome in bold letters across the top, still warm from coming from the printer. "It means your immune system is ineffective in defending itself against viruses and bacteria; it explains why you find yourself ill over and over again. It's possible that this disorder contributed to the development of your hemophilia as well. It's not curable, but it is treatable-"
"Will I give it to my partner?" Carlisle interrupted, frantic all of a sudden. "We're- we've- um, we're sexually active, and it's not always…protected," he stumbled over the words, his face heating as we exchanged a glance.
"It's confined to your immune system, Mr Cullen; it's genetic," he assured us, his eyes flicking to me.
I stoked my thumb over my boyfriend's knuckles as he relaxed slightly. "The vomiting? That's due to this, then?" I asked the doctor. Carlisle had lost his focus, paling as he tried to process what he was being told.
"He is predisposed to gastrointestinal infection, but it's more likely he's had enough psychological stress or contracted a virus that's triggered cyclic vomiting syndrome. The right antiemetics should help to bring the nausea under control. The persistent vomiting has caused an electrolyte imbalance; we can repair that intravenously, and it should relieve some of the dizziness. We're already in the process of correcting the anemia."
"And you said it's treatable? The disorder?" My hand shifted further up Carlisle's arm, needing him to pay attention. He was long gone, not hearing either of us.
"Yes; we'll start him on immunoglobulin replacement therapy as soon as possible. It'll help to replace the deficiency. He'll need to have the medication every four weeks from now on; it should help to deter recurrent infections, but he can expect to need to come in for treatment if he does contract an illness that his body can't fight off." The man went through more information with us - exactly what component in his immune system was missing, how he'd need to try and manage his symptoms, when he needed to come back to hospital, but he still wasn't listening, staring blankly. "You should feel a lot better in a few days, Carlisle."
"But Garrett won't get this?" he repeated, dazed. Still stuck on that one point.
The doctor shook his head. "It's not contagious," he reiterated. He glanced between us, seeing his expression. "I'll let you two talk," he murmured as he stood to leave the room.
I expected my boyfriend to say something. To have any reaction. But he was still fixated at the wall. I sat on the edge of the bed at his hip, my arms around his waist as everything caught up with me at once. The relief of knowing what was making him so miserable was torn with the knowledge of how difficult this was going to be for him. The tears welled up before I could stop them, the kiss I planted on his lips broken by an uncontrollable sob.
It quickly snapped him back to reality. His arms tightening around my shoulders as he pulled in a shaky breath. "Are you going to leave because of this? I mean, leave me?" he whispered.
"God no; we're going to get you better. We're going to deal with this," I promised, trying not to dissolve, to have an exhaustion-driven meltdown when he wouldn't be able to handle it.
"I have to have IV infusions for the rest of my life," he reminded me. He'd been listening more than I thought. "It's not going to get better. If you don't think you can deal with it, then I'd rather know now, than-"
"I'm not leaving you, Carlisle. We've been through this." Although I tried to keep my voice steady, it wobbled and shook.
Something broke inside of him, his calm melting into a stifled panic attack, pulling at me as he tried to draw me closer. "I still love you," he cried into my chest, his quiet words punctuated by sharp intakes of breath.
"Are you sure?" I asked gently, my fingertips grazing his cheek as I tried to brush the tears away, biting at my lip to keep myself from going in the same direction as him. "I think you're just upset and overwhelmed, and we should talk about it once you've had some time to process-"
"I never didn't love you," he told me through hushed sniffles. "I just- what you did hurt so much, and I wanted to hate you so badly, but I just- it's really hard when you're looking after me and everything else feels terrible."
"That doesn't mean you love me, baby. I know you need support right now and I'm happy to be here, but I don't think you love me, Carlisle." I wanted to punch the part of me that was arguing with him, but I knew it was the only logical thought I was having - one he wasn't having.
"I do, though." More tears, slowly soaking through my shirt as his body shuddered. He was going to make himself ill if he continued.
"Okay, baby," I soothed. I couldn't push away the swell of happiness those three words created. Pure, unadulterated joy.
He was quiet for a little while, his fingers knotted in my shirt as he ducked his head against my shoulder. "I'm going to die, Gar," he whispered eventually. "This is going to kill me, you understand that, right?"
"The doctor said they can treat you; you're still going to get sick, but they can manage it, and I can look after you if you're not feeling well at home. It'll be okay," I said, pleading with him to agree with me.
"I can't ask you to do that. You've already had to do so much for me." Somehow, he was calming down again, still a little tearful but breathing a bit more steadily. He used the sleeve of his shirt to try and scrub his face dry, only successful in irritating his skin.
I caught his chin with my thumb, tilting his face up to lightly kiss his lips, forcing down the lump in my throat. "You're not asking me to do anything; I'm not going anywhere. It's one infusion every four weeks - that's manageable, Carlisle. You can still have a life around that."
He forced himself to breathe for a while, his voice shaky once he finally did speak. "D-do you still want to have dinner tonight? Dinner with me?"
"Yeah, of course." He might have been able to stabilize himself, but I couldn't. "What do you want? I'll go and get us something."
His hand drifted to his middle. "I don't know."
I kissed him again, my hands resting on his hips. "Are you hungry?"
"Y-yeah, but I'm still scared it'll make me sick once I've had something. Can I...can I come with you?"
My chest cramped painfully. "You'll be dizzy, baby; I don't think that's a good idea. Sorry."
"I know," he admitted. "I just don't want to stay here with him."
"I'll be half an hour. Sit tight, and I'll be back as soon as I can." With another brush of my lips against his forehead, I forced myself to stand and leave the room before either of us lost our nerve.
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