Just to bridge my writer's block for the next section, this chapter (and possibly a couple more) is in Carlisle's POV. Thanks for reading!

.

.

Carlisle POV

It had been three days since I'd been allowed off the ward. Three days since Garrett was willing to spend unsupervised time with me. Three days since Heidi threatened us. Three days since he refused to take this seriously.

Seventy two hours since I'd been sure that he didn't want me anymore. That I was finally too much for him.

I could go home. I could discharge myself in the morning, and fly back to London. Legally they couldn't stop me. I could forget the last two years even happened. Rot in a shitty public hospital instead of paying enough to put down a mortgage. I could block him. We wouldn't ever have to speak again. I could disappear and he couldn't do anything about it.

Or I could go to Georgia. Give in to Al. He only asked every time we spoke. He always joked about becoming a housewife - property was cheaper there; we could survive on my income. He could finally fulfil his home-barista dreams. Endless coffee wasn't a bad perk. I really needed to call him; the few texts we'd exchanged the past couple of days had been tense.

Refusing to entertain the idea any longer, I sunk back into the pillow, tucking the blanket closer around myself. Being stuck here for so long was turning me into a lunatic. The air conditioning made the hospital far too cold, and I'd be forever grateful for the blanket that Garrett had brought me while he still wanted to speak to me. Now he couldn't even look at me. I wished he'd come back. So much had happened since I'd seen him yesterday, and I couldn't bring myself to call.

The watch shifted in his chair, flicking the pages of his newspaper, jolting me back to reality. His eyes drifted to me again - we both knew he wasn't supposed to be reading, but it made it less uncomfortable for both of us. "You plan on sleeping tonight?" he grumbled to me, irritated. I'd apparently ruined his shift with my insomnia; I hadn't been able to sleep after my last conversation with the doctor, since they'd recommended a nasogastric tube to finally get some nutrition. It was all I could think about. He'd brought a book of puzzles and a phone charger to his nightshift, but it was 6am now and he'd been forced to keep track of me the entire time. "Didn't the nurse give you a sedative?"

I shook my head, silently refusing to explain it to him. Neither of them had paid enough attention to make sure I actually swallowed it - I'd inconspicuously spat it back into the paper cup, letting it dissolve in the few centimetres of water left at the bottom. It never helped. Just made me dizzy. The doctor had promised that it would be good for my anxiety, but the antipsychotic tablet just made me ill. Not that any of them would listen to me now that they thought I was crazy.

Harsh light flooded the room as the door burst open, the night nurse pushing it, trailed by her obs cart. "Can I check your blood pressure, hon?" she asked.

Hon. I hated that. I gave her my arm anyway, watching her cringe a little at the welts that had come up across my skin, irritated by the cotton of my sweatshirt.

"He was awake the whole damn night," the watch complained to her. "On that damn phone." As if he hadn't done the same.

She frowned but didn't comment. Her shift would be over in an hour anyway - she didn't care. Instead, she ripped the cuff off my bicep and tangled it back in her cart, murmuring like they always did about the measurement being low. I ignored that she didn't ask before she shoved the thermometer in my ear. "Your temperature is up a little."

"Wouldn't be if he didn't have every bloody blanket in the hospital," the man muttered. Asshole.

"This has to come off, Carlisle," she sighed. She was pulling at the bedding before I had time to protest, cold air pinching at my skin as she took everything but the sheet.

I threw that off myself as well, digging my elbows into the bed to sit up, ignoring the stinging the movement created. "Can I shower?"

The watch groaned as she agreed. "It's six in the bloody morning."

"You're here for another hour anyway, what difference does it make?" I snapped back. The aggression was a poor attempt to shove back tears - it wasn't taking much to reduce me to that.

He huffed and shoved his phone into his pocket. "Fine. Make it quick."

Fuck him. The room swirled as I stood up, my heart leaping up my throat as it raced. The nurse's hand was on my shoulder, trying to steady me as I tried to control the shaking, my vision darkening. I put my hand out to grab the wall, digging my fingers into the plaster and attempting to take a step forward. "Are you alright?" she asked cautiously.

I nodded. Lied. Avoided being sent back to bed. The movement turned my stomach, the nausea I'd been able to push down all night suddenly returning ten-fold. I ignored the look both of them shared and stumbled across the corridor, forcing the man to follow me.

The shower had blatant disregard for my urgent need to sit down as it took an agonisingly long time to heat. My head was throbbing, the muttering from the guard not holding any relevance as it took everything I had to keep my stomach contents down. He was looking at his phone instead of at me - thank god.

The hot water didn't help. Fever be damned, I'd turned the heat up, but the steam was only making it harder to catch my breath. I rushed my way through, feeling my face burn the few times I caught him watching me - I'd never get used to this. It also didn't soothe the allergy like I'd hoped, the towel rubbing it raw and my clothing grating against it with every breath. In the mirror, it had crept further up my neck, shifting from my collarbones and further down my forearms. Shit.

My body felt like deadweight. Uncooperative and heavy. My chest too tight to get a breath in. It wasn't until I attempted to brush my teeth that the stinging in my throat made sense; the blistering had spread there too. It only made my mouth bleed, the blood bitter as it mixed with the toothpaste. My stomach cramped painfully as I forced a swallow.

"Two more minutes," my guard grumbled. It was somebody different each shift, but he'd watched me consistently for a few nights. He seemed to hate his job as much as I hated him doing it.

I met his gaze in the mirror. The feeling was fading from my fingertips, my knees suddenly weak under me as I leaned against the sink. The tingling crept up my spine until the walls were blurry and the nausea was unbearable, my limbs freezing. The sensation was all too familiar. My attempt to tell him that I needed the nurse was futile; all that came out was a slurred mumble.

He sighed, I imagined with a roll of his eyes though my vision was too clouded to tell. "You know I cannot leave you unsupervised; you brought this on yourself."

"...really need the nurse..." The ringing in my ears was deafening, the holes in my sight growing. I tried to turn, to catch myself, to do anything before I went down, but the prickling cold consumed me as everything suddenly faded.

.

.

"Don't move, gorgeous." A cool weight brushed over my forehead, pausing there as I tried to convince my body to respond. It wouldn't. Couldn't. Everything was so heavy. I couldn't breathe properly. The panic surged up again, and I wrenched myself upright, ignoring the sickening rolling of the room and the painful lurch of my stomach. "Carlisle, careful. You alright?"

"Gonna be sick," I got out between my teeth. I waited for the arm around my shoulders to retreat, for him to become stiff and uncomfortable like he always did whenever it came to anything like this, but he never did.

He drew me closer, murmuring softly as he held a bowl in front of me and I futilely tried to hold down my stomach contents. "'s okay." He waited until my panting subsided - thankfully without event - before nudging my hip. "Shuffle over?"

My body screamed in protest when I tried to put any weight through my arms, my limbs refusing to hold me, my attempt entirely unsuccessful but further blurring everything. I was going to pass out. "...Can't…" Again, I waited for him to freak out.

He didn't. Instead, he set the bowl in my lap and slipped his arm under my knees, his other against the small of my back as he lifted me slightly. It wasn't nearly as painful. Even less so when he perched on the mattress beside me, the base of his spine against my thigh. "Are you dizzy?"

My ears were ringing so loudly I could barely hear him. He hadn't waited for a response before guiding me into lying down again, his hand on my chest as a restraint to keep me against the mattress. It eased the spinning enough for me to be able to see again. It made sense suddenly. Why he wasn't so squeamish today. Why he wasn't scared of touching me. Because it wasn't Garrett. "When did you…?"

"I flew in last night. Edward said you weren't doing so well, and I know we didn't leave things between us in the best state last time I left last time," Alistair explained softly. "If you want me to go-"

"Stay, Al. Please." I hated the tears that welled up, the sudden inability to breathe and the lump in my throat. So fucking pathetic. Every fucking time.

He gave me a watery smile. "How're you? You look like absolute shit."

"Always so charming," I tried to tease. It nearly came out with a sob. I quickly bit down on my lip to smother it, and it wasn't helped as he quickly moved to close his arms around me, hearing it despite my efforts. We didn't speak for a few minutes as I desperately tried to hold it together and he didn't know what to say. I watched his face as he sat back. "Did I pass out?"

"Little bit," he chuckled. "You hit your head apparently; try not to move around too much. The nurse thinks you've given yourself a concussion."

"How long have you been here?" I trailed my fingertips up his forearm as he reached across me to rest his palm on the other side of my torso, leaning his weight on it, until I realised what I was doing and snatched my hand back.

He either didn't notice or didn't care. "I got here while they were hauling your half-conscious ass back into bed," he teased with a glance at his watch. "About forty-five minutes ago - I got an early flight. I got up at 4am for you, you know."

That was enough for the panic to resurface and I struggled to sit up again. "I've been out for-"

"Don't freak out; the nurse got you to walk back to bed. You just knocked your head, and you've been asleep; you're okay." For a moment, it felt like he was going to kiss me, our faces only a few inches apart when he didn't draw back. That was a train of thought I hated myself for having. "You're alright, Carlisle, it's fine. Calm down."

I tried. I really tried. But it was taking everything I had not to come apart. As far as I was aware, I'd never had amnesia following an episode. Never been out longer than a minute. I was going to be sick.

"Jesus, you really are jittery this morning. Do you need a coffee?" Despite his teasing, he was gentle again, closing the space between us as he slipped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me to him.

"I'll throw up, I'm fine, just-" I didn't know. I felt sick and too hot and my pulse was too fast and everything was starting to ache from lying in the same position too long-

"What's scaring you right now? You're safe, you're okay." His voice was soft, his hand drifting up my spine, drawing me closer. I was suddenly very aware of how hard I was shaking.

"Don't feel well," I mumbled stupidly into his shoulder.

"No kidding," he chucked. "Please don't vomit on me, though."

"I'll try not to." That wasn't supposed to be funny, though he laughed anyway.

His smile faded. "Should you call Garrett?"

"It's too early for him to be up yet." I couldn't handle him snapping at me if he was in a bad mood - I'd definitely cry then.

"I wasn't asking if he was awake. If it'll help, then you should do it," he grumbled in my ear. "Not that I'm advocating for your boyfriend's presence, but if it'll get you out of the state you're in at the moment."

"I think he's going to break up with me," I admitted while he couldn't see my face.

"You're arguing?" There was glee in his tone, even if he had made an attempt to bury it. He'd never really liked him.

"No, he's just...I feel like he's sick of me. Because I'm like this all the time. He's going to leave me, and I'm going to be here by myself once I'm discharged, and I'm allergic to the medication I need to take to fix my immune system, and I don't know what to do, Al."

"You're not going to be on your own, Carlisle, what are you talking about? I only live a few hours away, and Edward is twenty minutes drive from you; you won't be alone if you break up with your partner," he argued. "I know you're stressed, but don't be insane about it." The confusion was obvious in his tone when his statement drew a laugh. "What?"

"They put me on antipsychotics," I explained. "Because I'm so anxious."

"Christ, we need to get you out of here," he sighed.

.

.

"You alright now you're up?" He kept his hands on my hips, his body close behind mine as he hovered. The plan had been to go down to the cafeteria again, so that Al could get a belated breakfast and I could get out of my room for a bit. I'd promised him over and over again that I was feeling better after my meltdown.

I nodded. It hadn't entirely been a lie, until I felt something drip from my fingertips and made the mistake of looking at my hand. The grey of my sleeve was dark and glistening, red steadily dribbling down my hand to drop onto the floor. A worried glance only made me light-headed. "Don't look," I told him quickly. I tried to use my good hand to put pressure on wherever it was coming from, but the wet fabric was too slippery against my skin. "Al, go and get the nurse; don't look." Spinning, I tried to get my sleeve up, to turn away from him, but he was already catching me as I wobbled.

"I'm not a child, Carlisle, it's fine; it's just a little blood," he grumbled. His arm still curled around my waist, he'd tugged me toward the bed again.

For the second time in what must have only been an hour, my body was tingling, threatening a drop in blood pressure. "...gonna faint…" Seeing the blood on the bed didn't help. My vision blurred as I struggled to follow Al's instructions while he hassled me back onto the mattress.

"At least you won't end up on the floor this time," he teased smoothly.

"Mmm." My heart was racing. Drumming out of my chest. Making it harder to catch my breath. "Al."

"Relax, Carlisle. You're as white as a sheet."

"I don't...not feeling good…" Couldn't breathe.

"You don't need to have a panic attack over a little blood." He'd grabbed a handful of paper towels from above the sink, squeezing where I had been over my sweatshirt. "Keep your arm up if you can; you won't bleed as much. Is it hurting?"

A deep ache wrapped around the base of my skull when I tried to shake my head. "N-no."

He rolled his eyes at me. "Then hold still. And stop breathing like that; you'll make yourself sick."

I desperately tried to follow his instructions, unable to stop the heaving of my lungs, seeing stars. "I can't- I-"

"In for three, out for five; copy me," he was murmuring, his free hand drifting to rest against my sternum. "Slow down, you're okay."

My frantic attempts to mimic his exaggerated breaths eventually gave way to exhaustion. The aching had eased ever so slightly. And my pulse wasn't so fast. I hadn't realised how tightly I was gripping the sheets until the burn in my fingers finally registered, slowly uncurling my hand and moving it to cover Alistair's.

He still didn't look overly traumatised. "Better?"

"Better," I whispered back. My whole body was shaking. Too much adrenaline. It was going to make me vomit again.

"Are you alright there for a moment?"

Again, I agreed.

His fingers curled around my wrist, guiding my good hand back to the wad of tissues against my shirt. "Put pressure there; you're still bleeding a bit. I'll be back in a moment."

The wet paper almost made me gag. I would have if he hadn't stopped to watch me, making sure I wasn't about to lose consciousness, apparently. "I'm good," I promised.

"Sure," he agreed sarcastically.

.

.

Alistair had obviously forgotten the rules. I had my first five minutes alone in two weeks while he disappeared to god knows where. When he did return, he had a handful of various gauzes and dressings, and I wasn't sure whether to laugh or reprimand him.

"Al-"

"What? You don't trust my first aid?" He was grinning, pleased with himself and the stolen supplies. "Your nurse is busy. Don't be difficult." He'd already taken the liberty of peeling my sleeve back, pulling my arm across his lap.

I tried to peek around him, and he'd repeatedly told me not to, angling his torso so that I couldn't see anyway. "Is it bad?" I asked instead. Whatever he was doing, it was surprisingly gentle. And he hadn't gone into a complete blind panic like Garrett usually did. I was still trying to figure out when he'd learned first aid as I stared at the ceiling.

"No, I just don't want to give you an excuse to puke," he replied cynically. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening as our eyes met. "You've just knocked the old wounds, Carlisle, you must have scratched yourself when you fell - I think you pulled your stitches. Your blood doesn't clot, right?"

"It does, just slowly," I corrected.

"Am I hurting you?" His thumb rubbed over the back of my palm.

"Are you okay doing this?" I could feel my breath catching as it dawned on me what he was looking at.

"I wouldn't be doing it if I wasn't." There was a long pause between us, the sound of the rest of the ward distracting the longer we didn't speak. He eventually couldn't help himself. " Is Garrett really that bad at this stuff?"

The lump in my throat returned. The demise of our relationship was entirely my fault - we'd been doing better before I'd hospitalised myself again. It was going to be difficult to keep Alistair from jumping down his throat as well. "He tries hard, he just gets stressed about anything medical, and he doesn't really cope well with blood - I think I gave him PTSD when I…" God knows he'd never quite recovered from that; I got the pleasure of witnessing the very blatant panic in his expression whenever he was faced with my injuries.

"Your boyfriend isn't traumatised, he just needs to get a grip," he muttered to me. He looped the bandage tighter around my forearm, pulling it taut. "Is this too tight?"

"It's fine." I studied his back as he finished. His posture had dissolved with exhaustion, his hair askew from running his fingers through it one too many times. I couldn't imagine I looked any better. He was still cute. Thankfully, one of the kitchen workers interrupted us before I could get too far with that, bringing in breakfast which automatically broke me out in a cold sweat. It would only be cereal. Non-offensive. I'd still puke if it came any closer.

Alistair ignored the intrusion, trying off the bandage instead and shifting my sleeve back down. "You want to take this shirt off?" His fingers caught the hem across the back of my hand, tugging it enough that I could see how badly I'd wrecked it. I'd have to throw it out - aside from the fact I'd never be able to get the stain out, I'd never get it past Garrett without an explanation.

"Not really," I mumbled, earning myself another eye roll. The lump in my throat wouldn't shift, another panic attack bubbling not far under the surface, the shakes getting worse the more I thought about my partner. I did miss him. Wanted him back. To come and see me without me having to beg him.

"Are you too dizzy for me to change the sheets?"

"I'll do it in a second-"

He scoffed. "When you feel like you can stand up, the most you're doing is giving me directions to the linen cupboard." His teasing was uncharacteristically soft while his hand was against my thigh. It had been far too long since we'd seen each other last.

"I miss you."

"Don't be sappy; I don't want to nurse to come in here and think I'm torturing you when you make yourself cry." He laughed when I did. Not that he was wrong in the slightest.

I didn't heed his warning. "I really miss you."

"Stop it," he grumbled. Still, he was barely hiding a smile. "Are you up to having breakfast? It'll make you less shaky."

"N-no, but you should." My gesture to the tray only got me another huff.

"I'm not taking your food, idiot; I can get my own."

"I can't eat it, Al, and they'll only throw it away."

He eyed the supplement on the tray. "Can you have that?"

I nodded despite it being barely true. It was already making my throat tight and my mouth water excessively. Not good. I let him pass it to me, both of us watching the liquid inside the bottle slopping precariously close to the edge from my hands trembling.

"You don't look sure."

"I can have a few sips at a time."

"That isn't a meal. If that's all you're managing to eat every day, how do they expect you to get better?" He'd clenched his hands together in his lap, setting his jaw, but the relief to hear him blame someone else brought a wave of relief; everything was always my fault.

I swallowed. "The doctor, um, they want to put a feeding tube down, so that I can have slow feeds overnight; what I can have during the day isn't enough." As much as I hated the idea, if it stopped me feeling so bad, I wasn't against it.

Al didn't have an overtly negative reaction either. "Do you want that?"

"A little bit, yeah," I admitted. "I never really recovered after my father died, and I can't keep anything down, and everything makes me so nauseous. They can put the tube down so that the end sits in my small intestine, and I shouldn't vomit the feed so much as if it were in my stomach." My voice got quieter toward the end as I watched his face, desperately searching for any sign that he disapproved. "The malnutrition is weakening my bones, and I really don't want to start having breaks on top of everything else, especially while I'm passing out so much."

He was quiet for so long that I started to get nervous. "Why are you asking my permission, Carlisle?" he asked eventually.

"Because I'm anxious about it, and I think Gar is going to fight me on it, and I need to know if you think I'm crazy because I've been stuck in here so long with nothing else to focus on."

"You're not crazy. And I'll kill your boyfriend if he breathes a fucking word about-"

"He won't, Al, he just won't want to have to deal with anything else medical, and if they've put a tube through my nose, he's going to be faced with it every time he comes here," I defended quickly. "He's been really sweet-'

"If you can deal with having it, he can deal with seeing it - it's necessary; plenty of people have them permanently."

"Mmm."

"It'll be keeping you alive."

That was slightly dramatic. "Helping to. I'll live without it."

"For how much longer, Carlisle?" he asked bluntly. "How much longer do you really think you can keep going like this before it's vital for you to have that, and you end up in a high acuity care unit? You're going to start getting fractures from your falls now?"

My heart did the stupid fluttery thing it always did when I was anxious. "I don't know, Alistair. When my blood pressure was really low last week they did start talking about an ICU admission, but it never came to anything. And there's only a possibility of that happening; I'm okay for now."

"Jesus."

.

.

I sent Alistair home just before lunch. He'd barely eaten and hardly slept, and really needed to get some rest. As soon as I'd given them hesitant permission, the ward had jumped at the chance to put the tube in, and I'd found myself shuffling nervously up the bed to sit up as the nurses laid the equipment out in front of me before I was ready. It'd helped having someone else's opinion, but that didn't take away my nerves.

It wouldn't hurt. Just uncomfortable. I wouldn't suffocate. But adrenaline was making my whole body shake, my breaths catching as I felt tears well up.

I couldn't do it.

"I have to go to the bathroom." I initially thought the nurse hadn't heard me, but she glanced up with a sympathetic smile and nodded that it was okay. I bolted. Away from the purple tubing and their syringes. Didn't wait for the watch to follow me. Locked the bathroom door when I knew I shouldn't. Threw up with barely enough time to reach the sink.

He yelled at me through the door until a nurse told him to back off. The dark spots were getting larger and larger until it was all I could see.

Had to lie down. Had to lie down, or I was going to faint. Hit my head again. Needed to eat. I just needed to eat, and this would go away.

I wasn't sure how long I stayed on the floor. The nausea rose again, but I made it far enough to lean over the toilet, my body aching with the effort of staying upright. At least he'd stopped scolding me - they were both gone from the door. I let myself sink against the tiles again - it was too hard to stay sitting. Al was right; I really, really needed to eat something. I just wanted to go home.

I was so dizzy that I didn't recognise the voice on the other side of the door at first. Once my stomach stopped heaving, I stumbled to unlock it, well aware that I shouldn't have done it in the first place. I didn't want to pass out. Not again.

"Hey, your stomach is playing up again, huh?" the voice asked, a hand on my shoulder to steady me.

"N-need the tube," I pleaded. The promised relief was making my head spin - I needed it so bad, as horrifying as it was to have it down.

"What're you talking about, baby? Come here." He drew me closer to his body, curling his arms around me. "Are you free from your guard now?" The last part was less sure.

Garrett. My knees weakened as he held me, and I let him catch my weight when my body gave out. The explanation that came out didn't feel coherent. I doubted he understood me through the gasps for breath and violent need to cry. The entire world was vibrating; I was going to go down again.

"You really want them to do that to you?" he asked eventually. He caught my hand, guiding it around his neck, giving me leverage.

"Y-yeah." It was hurting to hold onto him. Something was wrong - I hadn't been this bad since the beginning of my admission.

He didn't say anything as he guided me back toward my room again. "I thought you were getting better, Carlisle." It barely registered that he'd sat me on the bed, but I was hit with the sudden fear that he'd leave again.

"Please don't go." I sounded pathetic. Stupid. Like a fucking child. At least everyone else had gone from my room.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised easily. He bobbed down, his hands slipping down the length of my arms to grasp my fingers. "Are you sure you want them to do that to you?"

I nodded, embarrassingly tearful as his eyes met mine.

"Alright, then. It's happening today?"

"Soon." Swallowing to desperately get a hold of myself, gestured to what the nurse had prepared. "Don't leave, Gar, please."

"I won't, baby, it's okay." He softly kissed my temple, both of us glancing at the door as it opened. The nurse was back. My legs were shaking.

"Ready?" she asked.

I forced myself to nod.

.

.

It wasn't so bad. It was horrendously uncomfortable, but not outright painful, and most of the feeling eased once it had been taped to my cheek. And Garrett hadn't run. He hadn't been able to watch, but he hadn't left either, keeping his hand in mine as he sat out of the nurse's way.

"Are you feeling alright?" he checked once we were alone again.

"I think so." The trembling wouldn't stop, though. "Are you?" I was almost too scared to ask.

"Of course." Another gentle squeeze of my palm. He was watching my face more closely than I appreciated. "Does it hurt?"

"N-no."

"I'll, um, if you need it when you come home, I'll learn how to, uh, use it properly too. In case you're sick and you can't." For the first time, he let his eyes wander to it, cupping his hand to the side of my face to guide my lips to his.

I cringed a little, barely containing a grumble about getting him sick too. "I don't want you to have to…"

"I want to. I love you. We'll, uh, manage when you're discharged; it'll be alright."

It seemed like a hollow promise.

.

.