Garrett POV
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"When are you going to break it to him?" Alistair glanced over at me as he spoke, setting the screen of his phone down against his chest while he slouched down in the chair. The plastic was getting increasingly more uncomfortable to sit in. Almost as uncomfortable as the silence we'd been stewing in for the best part of two hours. Neither of us had said a word since Carlisle had fallen into a morphine induced sleep.
"Once he's awake enough." It had terrified both of us that the minor fall had resulted in an ambulance trip. Cracked ribs were becoming a repeat offense, as was the concussion. He'd still been immobilised in a collar when I'd arrived, the paramedics suspicious that he'd injured his neck, but a CT scan had ruled that out alongside any serious head injury.
He'd been in and out of consciousness for the last few hours, only ever waking enough to pull at the line in his arm in his confused state. The nurses had started weaning him off the IV painkillers in hope that he would be discharged again once he was coherent enough for us to deal with. So far, it seemed to be working. Everyone had agreed that admitting him would be more traumatic than sending him home, unless it was strictly necessary - everyone except Alistair. We'd argued until I started to watch Carlisle's heart rate leapt on the screen at our raised voices, and then I'd forced myself to bite my tongue.
"He's going to panic; he was agitated enough this morning about his job - he's not going to be able to deal with this," Al continued.
I sighed, squeezing Carlisle's hand but getting no pressure in return. For a while I'd suspected that his paranoia about Caius had set in again; his behaviour had been getting more and more erratic since he'd come home, and Alistair and I had both been aware that he was deteriorating again. His condition had pushed forward his referral to the specialist - within an hour of being here, his doctor had organised an appointment for him in less than a week. "I can't keep it from him - we're leaving in three days."
We'd have to fly across the country. Alistair had helped me book flights and accommodation while we were stuck in the cubicle together. He would drive us to the airport and pick us up a week later, feeding Fox inbetween, and we'd see someone who specialised in immune disorders to hopefully get a medication that was more tolerable and worked. We'd all have to deal with the meltdown that doing all of this without Carlisle's consent would cause. I was ready for hysterics. The emergency physician had prescribed sedatives - both for when he woke up today and for the plane trip.
"That's a terrible idea; he'll lose it; you can't tell him."
"What else am I going to do, Alistair? Blind fold him and drag him onto the plane like a fucking hostage?" I snapped back. It was like he was trying to get me to hit him. "He's an adult; I can't make him do anything against his will just because he's my partner."
"Not for much longer," he grumbled under his breath.
"Not for much longer, what?" I sighed, exasperated. As if today wasn't stressful enough without his bullshit.
Continuing to glare at the wall, he rolled his eyes. "You two. He won't stay with you. He should never have taken you back in the first place. He wouldn't be in this state if he'd just come to Georgia with me."
Asshole. "You stay here with him then." I'd been holding Carlisle's jacket until I stood up, seeming as the nurses cut it off him as he was rolled into the emergency room, but threw it into Alistair's lap. It repressed the need to punch him long enough for me to storm out the door and into the corridor.
I was breathing so hard that my fingertips tingled. Fucking dickhead. Of course he had the fucking gaul to start that again while things were crumbling around us. He was bouncing from being helpful one minute to a pain in the ass the next, and it was playing havoc with my head while Carlisle wasn't awake enough to diffuse it.
The tears came unexpectedly. I ignored the stares from the other patients until I could hide in the bathroom, away from Alistair for a little while. We might have needed him, but my hatred for him was quickly mounting, and I desperately wanted him to go back home but wasn't sure what I'd do with Carlisle if he did. All of this sucked. But maybe we'd come back from this trip, and the new doctors would be better, and my boyfriend would start resembling who he used to be; he was a shell of the person I'd been dating a year ago.
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I'd debated buying coffee as a peace offering for at least fifteen minutes, and then spent another ten standing in the ever-growing line at the hospital's cafeteria hoping that the caffeine might make Alistair a little more tolerable. If nothing else, it was going to stop my empty stomach from churning so badly - I hadn't made it until break time at work before Alistair had called me from the back of the ambulance.
Carlisle was a little more coherent when I got back. Now sitting up with the back of the bed raised, he was gingerly taking sips from a disposable cup while a nurse took his blood pressure. He managed a small smile as our eyes met. I didn't say anything as the nurse started to hang a bag of saline, a little smug when I sat back in my chair and he instinctively dropped his hand closest to me onto the mattress from his lap, letting my fingers link through his. "How are we doing?" I asked cautiously. It looked awfully like they were working toward an admission.
"He needs observation for another few hours since he's hit his head, and then if he is able to have something to eat and move independently, he'll be discharged," the nurse explained. "Your vital signs are getting better," she told him, earning herself another unsure nod.
Carlisle waited until she'd left the room before speaking. "Did he find me?" Panicked, his eyes locked on mine. "Caius? Was he there?"
I saw the anxiety in his face, barely contained, but Alistair butted in before I could reassure him. "It was me, idiot; your coworker said you were sick, and then you slammed the door in my face and passed out. The man doesn't work there anymore." Apparently, he wasn't going to be any nicer to Carlisle than he was to me today.
"You don't know that, Al," he started to argue, immediately starting to tear up at his friend's resistance.
I wanted to warn Alistair to shut up, to not start this now, but he was grumbling again before I could get a word out. "Yes I do - so do you, if you think rationally about it. Jesus, Carlisle, the company helped you file a court case against him; they're sure as hell not going to employ him again."
"Now really isn't the time, Alistair," I interrupted. My boyfriend had fallen quiet again, looking pale as he leaned into the bedding. I watched him breathe unsteadily for a few minutes, until his lips were white and he was blank as he studied our hands on the bed. Tugging his hand, I tried to get him to focus again. "You still with us?" I checked carefully.
"Yeah, just a little lightheaded," he mumbled.
I swallowed. "We're going to get your medication adjusted."
Alistair glared at the side of my head and I refused to acknowledge him.
Carlisle just nodded. Somehow, he managed not to freak out too much as I told him about the travel and his appointment. His heart raced on the monitor and his hands trembled, but he accepted it without protest. "What happens if I'm not out of here in time?"
"You'll be out, Carlisle, we'll be out of here tonight."
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It was another eight hours before he was discharged. We were all exhausted, Alistair and I settling for takeout for dinner – somehow without a fight - on the way home while Carlisle struggled to keep himself awake in the passenger's seat next to me. He wasn't coherent enough to order food, but did sip at the soft drink I handed him. "Don't – he'll only throw up while we're driving," Al grumbled at me from the back, watching as I tried to convince him to eat while we were parked in the parking lot of the restaurant. I was sure he was just picking at me to piss me off now, and that the comment didn't come from concern for Carlisle's wellbeing.
I rolled my eyes. "He hasn't eaten anything since this morning; give me a break."
"They gave him fluids at the hospital. He's not going to die of dehydration in the next half an hour."
"They've given him an antiemetic; nothing is coming up for a while." I hoped, anyway. God knows he'd only fall asleep as soon as we were home, and I doubted he'd eat anything once bed was an option. Carlisle's eyes met mine as I glanced over to make sure Al's comments weren't hitting him too hard, but he was already looking a little worried. "Don't listen to him; drink if you want to. I bought you food if you feel up to it."
He nodded, his face flushing slightly, shifting in his seat as Alistair grumbled a curse. "I don't…I don't feel sick; I think I'm fine," he said quietly, still watching me, wanting approval.
"Good. Ignore him; he's been a jerk all day." I couldn't help but be pleased when he had to hide a smile. I didn't wait for Alistair to start complaining before I turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the carpark, fixing him with a hard stare in the rearview mirror when Carlisle risked stealing a few of my fries, willing him to keep his mouth shut about it.
He did, thankfully. By the time we got home, he'd curbed his attitude a little. He held my boyfriend's door for him and offered him his hand as he stood. "Are you alright?" he murmured to him.
Holding our bag of food, Carlisle shook his head, setting it on the roof of the car to avoid dropping it. "It really hurts to move - I don't want to fall again, and it's making me dizzy," he mumbled. "There's stairs, and-"
Alistair looked between the two of us as I crossed around behind the car, and eventually sighed and grabbed the bag. He snatched the keys out of my hand and skulked toward our apartment building. "You deal with him," he told me sourly.
As much as I was pleased that I didn't have to watch him with his hands on my partner, I wished he had waited for us on the chance that my boyfriend did faint on our way up. My anxiety only heightened when we made it into the lobby to find the elevator taped off for maintenance.
Carlisle panicked a little, making himself breathless before he'd even taken the first step. I was sure he was going to hurt himself. I kept my arm behind him the entire way, blocking him from tumbling backwards, but it took me off guard when he did trip, the way I grabbed him wrenching his arm and making both of us gasp as he caught himself on the handrail. His shakes became worse, making it a struggle for him to take steady steps. Somehow, he made it the rest of the way without incident.
Alistair wasn't in sight when we reached the top. The door to our apartment was already open, light flooding through the doorway and into the corridor. My hand stayed knotted in Carlisle's jacket as I pulled him forward and he leaned his shoulder against the wall, clearly wanting to stop. I didn't let him until we finally got inside.
He completely bypassed Alistair and the kitchen, barely saying goodnight to me before immediately retreating to bed. By the time I'd shrugged off my coat and made it to the bedroom to check on him, he was already out cold. It wasn't worth waking him up to undress - I was sure the discomfort of sleeping in his clothing would be smothered by the leftover morphine in his system. I just threw the blankets over him instead.
It wasn't until I'd sat at the kitchen table with my plastic container of food that I bothered to pay any attention to Al. He hadn't touched his meal. Hadn't taken it out of the paper bag yet. His eyes locked on mine when I eventually glanced up at. "What?" I asked through a mouthful of noodles. My disposable fork bent under the weight of my portion of meat - chicken supposedly, though I was starting to doubt it by its plasticy texture.
His eyes were wide as he silently handed me a piece of paper, the swallow he took seeming dry. I wondered if he'd managed to catch something at the hospital - he was starting to look sick.
"You alright?" I unfolded it, smoothing the edges as I started to read. I selfishly didn't want to deal with him while my boyfriend was in the state that he was.
"It was under the door," he said, his voice hollow.
The letter was typed and printed, Carlisle's details on the top like a letterhead despite the note appearing otherwise informal. It was nonsense, a flyer that he'd worked on for the company a few weeks ago stapled to the back of it, areas of it randomly circled with a thick marker. "That ad is already published," I pointed out. "I'm sure if the company had issues with it, they'd just email him - they wouldn't have let it pass in the first place." Annoyed that he was opening mail that wasn't his, I started to reprimand him, only for him to cut me off.
"Look at the name, jackass, it's not from his company. It was shoved under the door, not sent in the post," he told me sharply.
I felt blood drain from my face. Caius's name at the bottom started to blur as my hands began to shake. I felt like I was going to throw up. "We have to call the police," I whispered to him. "He's violating the restraining order."
For the first time that day, he agreed with me without bickering. "Not where he can hear you."
God knows what Carlisle would do if we sat him down and told him that the irrational fear he'd been insistent on for weeks had turned out to be real. "He's going to notice when the cops turn up, Alistair; if he's in danger, he has the right to know about it."
"Not tonight, though. Not after today. He has to be well enough to get on a plane in a couple of days."
"The bastard's been to our home - we don't know where he is now, and he can't have good intentions. We have to deal with this now," I snapped back. Not about to debate it, I had emergency services dialled on my phone, my thumb hovering about the call button.
"We can; Carlisle doesn't have to. You know he can't take it, Garrett, just let him sleep. I'll stay here tonight, we can…if anything happens, then we'll both be here, and..." Neither of us were that athletic - I didn't know what the fuck Alistair thought we were going to do if Caius did actually break in.
I made the call in the corridor, retreating back down to the elevators. Despite Alistair's insistence that I stay inside the apartment, I was fairly confident that Caius was gone; we would have seen him coming up the stairs. The police weren't orderly helpful. So long as he wasn't actively harassing us, they'd deal with it in the morning and I needed to save the letter as evidence. And I had to tell Carlisle. We were going to need those sedatives.
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Neither of us wanted to sleep. We were sitting in a tense silence, both staring at our phones, at opposite ends of the sofa, straining our ears in the intense quiet of the apartment. "Should we watch a movie?" I asked eventually, sick of us jumping at every little sound outside. Our floor wasn't particularly noisey, but it was deafening tonight. I was going to have a heart attack if we carried on like this.
Alistair let out a tight sigh. "Yeah. Anything's better than…this."
I laughed to release some of the tension. "I'll get some snacks," I told him, throwing the remote at him to avoid arguing about that too. It didn't matter what he put on; I just couldn't stand the silence any longer. I made it back to the couch in time to watch the opening credits of whatever crap he'd chosen - it wasn't something I'd seen before. Setting the bowl of crisps between, I ignored his mumbled thank you in exchange for the half a blanket he was offering me.
Neither of us looked at each other. Entirely focused on the screen to ignore that he'd had to shuffle closer to me in order the drape the fabric over my lap, the foot of space between us uncomfortably shallow. It was another fifteen minutes before I could acclimatise to the proximity he was keeping. I refused to let my eyes wander from the TV, shoving my hands under my thighs to avoid accidentally touching him while he was in Carlisle's spot.
It became more comfortable over time. We were both starting to relax, the threat of Caius snuffed out for the time being, both of us breathing a little easier once we stopped expecting him to burst through the door at any second. The low volume on the TV kept us from leaping at the jump scares in the film.
"What're we actually going to do, if he does break in?" I dared to ask eventually.
"I don't know, but I think Cullen would sleep through it at this rate." We shared a morbid chuckle, knowing he was right. "It can't be traumatising if you're asleep though, right?"
"Right," I agreed reluctantly.
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"You two look cosy."
Alistair and I both leapt to our feet at the sudden intrusion, spinning to face Carlisle over the back of the couch. He jumped at our abrupt movement too, defensively holding up his hands in front of him as he lingered in the kitchen doorway, clearly as shocked at our reactions as we were by his presence. It would have been funny if my pulse hadn't been hammering so hard behind my ears.
"Jesus, I was kidding," he told us quickly.
"Why are you up?" Alistair demanded, his nerves making his tone harsh.
"Am I not allowed to be out of bed?" He bristled slightly, pressing his shoulder into the doorframe. "I do get some autonomy, you know - even if you both think I'm crazy. You can't enforce a bedtime."
His friend was managing to breathe a little more, relaxing slightly now the imaginary threat was neutralised. "That isn't what I meant. You were basically asleep from the second we got home; why are you awake again?" Despite the circumstance, seeing Alistair flustered was a little entertaining.
Carlisle shrugged, wincing as he regretted the movement. "The painkillers have worn off, and I'm not…I can't sleep."
"Watch the movie with us?" I suggested softly. Mostly, I wanted him off of his feet; whether or not he thought the medication was out of his system, he still looked unsteady, not entirely present. I moved to close my arms around him, nudging him toward the couch to sit with us.
He pulled away to sit in the armchair rather than settling between us, and I couldn't entirely blame him. Al sat back down beside me, stretching the blanket back over his lap, more space between us now. Carlisle glanced away from the TV at me, but whatever he'd wanted to ask was apparently suddenly unimportant. "You can still cuddle; don't stop on my account."
"Shut it, dickhead," Alistair grumbled at him. "We weren't even touching."
I fought to keep my face from flushing but couldn't fight off the smile at his teasing. "Jealous, Carlisle?"
"I'm a little upset that I missed the beginning of the movie, but I'm pleased you two are finally getting along so well." The sarcasm made me grin, but didn't have the same effect on his friend.
Alistair threw a pillow up at him. "Don't push your luck."
"Sure, Al."
It was less nerve-wracking to have him in my line of sight. I was watching him more than the film, acutely aware that he was too uncomfortable to settle in the chair, despite the obvious fatigue. His eyes eventually met mine, offering me another awkward shrug. "Sore?" I whispered to him during an ad break.
"Headache," he mumbled, refusing to look at me now. Fixated on the TV, he ignored that both of us were staring at him now, and that he was getting progressively more agitated.
"Maybe because you hit it on the concrete," Alistair countered, his playfulness weary.
"It was tile," Carlisle shot back, as though it made a difference.
I left it. I had nothing to offer him, no way to make it better, and just had to hope that he'd be able to relax enough to get some rest. By the end of the film, Alistair was out cold, snoring softly, his arms folded across his chest to fight the cold. It was close to 2AM, and the late night was starting to catch up with me too, tiredness seeping into my limbs as I stood up. I surrendered the blanket to Al, pulling it to cover him entirely. In the dim lighting, I had assumed that my boyfriend was out too, but he glanced up as I neared him. "Bed?" I murmured.
He uncurled his legs from under himself, stretching out his spine as he nodded. "Okay." His usual lack of coordination was worse as he walked in front of me, and I found myself lurching to catch him as he stumbled but not needing to touch him. It was a relief to both of us once he was finally sitting on the mattress. He still looked unsure, anxious.
"Lie down with me." Tugging the back of his sweatshirt, I was met with resistance.
"The x-rays were clear, weren't they?" he asked me suddenly. He'd frozen, hands knotted in the covers, stiff again.
"Yeah. What's hurting?" There was no way I wanted to go back to the hospital at this hour, and I was praying to every god I could think of that we weren't heading in that direction. He didn't answer my question, gingerly climbing into bed and shuffling over to me, groaning softly into my chest as I wrapped my arms around him. "Please sleep." I urged. God, please sleep.
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The following morning was rough. Initially, I'd been pleased that my boyfriend didn't wake up when I'd clambered out of bed at my alarm. I'd fixed coffee and breakfast for the three of us, sure that he'd join us at some point. Alistair was conscious, but not enough to be functional yet. By the time I'd showered, Carlisle was still unconscious, the noise of my pulling at the draws on our dresser not affecting him at all. It didn't feel right - he'd never been a heavy sleeper.
"Carlisle." I pulled my shirt over my head, watching him as I fastened the buttons. No response. I said his name again, louder, this time stepping closer to the bed. He'd rolled onto his side at some point during the night, the covers pulled up around his face to fight the cold. His breathing was shallow, barely perceivable. He didn't move when I pulled the sheets back. My heart leapt.
"Carlisle- hey." I squeezed his shoulder hard enough that I knew it'd make him jump, digging my fingers in around his collarbone.
It hurt. I was sure it did. Proven when he clumsily reached to get my hand off, his eyes fluttering open for a second before the light burned and he turned his face away from it.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Dropping to my knees beside the bed, I threaded my fingers through his hair, gently brushing it back from his face, softly kissing his temple. "Do you want me to bring you breakfast?" Mostly, I wanted him to speak to me, to prove that he was alright.
He blinked against the light again, attempting to push himself up right until the movement made him groan, his hand shooting to the back of his neck. The sweatshirt he was still wearing from the day before obscured my view of him, but the bruises that peaked under his sleeves seemed too dark to be real. "Breakfast sounds good," he agreed eventually, his voice tight. He still couldn't relax, holding his breath while his body protested.
"You alright?" I wanted to hold him, to get back in bed and pull him to me, but it wouldn't do any good judging on how much trouble he was having moving. I was less concerned about the obvious swelling in his joints though. "You hit your head pretty hard yesterday, huh? Are you feeling okay?"
He didn't answer immediately, not seeming to hear me. "Can you help me up?" he asked instead. The blankets had tangled around him during the night, restraining him as he struggled to wiggle free enough to sit up, and he didn't make any attempt to free himself. "Garrett?"
I doubted there was anywhere I could touch him that wasn't painful, hesitating as I stood, but eventually offered him my hand regardless. "Watch your shoulder," I warned, seeing him reach for me with the arm he'd fallen on. Whatever pain pulling on me caused him, it didn't break through his confusion enough for him to feel it. "I don't think you should get out of bed, Carlisle, I think you should stay there a little longer until you're awake properly."
"I am awake." He was still clumsy, uncoordinated as he linked his fingers through mine, not listening at all and still pulling his weight through his bad side.
"I know, but you have a concussion." Tugging the blankets out of his way, a wave of anxiety washed over me - I couldn't leave him like this. Even with Alistair here, I didn't trust him to keep him safe while he had a head injury and I was at work. I ignored it for the time being, forcing Carlisle to sit with his back against the pillow for a few minutes before letting him get his feet on the floor - it wasn't unlikely that he'd leap out of bed if I let him. "Do you know what day it is today?"
"It's Saturday. Can I get up?" Not annoyed, but definitely bewildered by the sudden question.
"What month?"
"Garrett- what?"
"What month is it?" I pushed, still not trusting that the correct answer wasn't a fluke.
"What are you doing? Are you alright?"
"Are you?"
"Y-yeah." He looked up at me expectantly, worried, his hands dropping into his lap. "What are you-?"
"Are you dizzy?"
"Sort of."
I barely resisted rolling my eyes at his lack of commitment. "Are you going to pass out if you stand up?"
"I don't think so. We were going to have breakfast?"
"You really want to eat with me?" I sighed.
He nodded obediently. Liar.
"Move slowly, Carlisle." I let him up against my better judgement.
For once, Alistair and I were on the same page by the time we reached the kitchen. My boyfriend had started to look terribly faint, shaky in a way that had my hands hovering at his waist, ready to grab him. Al caught the leg of the kitchen chair he'd attempted to pull out, jerking it back in again. "I think you've lost the privilege of sitting above hard flooring for the time being," he told him. "Go back to bed; you look like shit."
"I'm okay here, I just- my head hurts," Carlisle protested.
"You did a good enough job of slamming it into the tiles yesterday, let's not go for round two."
Apparently, he was dizzy enough to listen, all but collapsing onto the couch as I exchanged a glance with Al. Lying back, he folded his arms over his face, trying to breathe through the sensation until it passed. "I'm alright," he complained breathlessly as his friend started to hover. He was even less impressed as Alistair snatched his wrist, making a point of checking his pulse, threatening to take his blood pressure as well if he didn't behave.
"We're not spending another day in the emergency room," he quipped back. "Anyone would think you enjoy it, at this rate. Have they given you a loyalty card yet?"
"Fuck off, Alistair, it's eight in the morning." He rolled his eyes but ultimately did what he was told, sighing as Al grinned down at him.
"He can still tell the time," he told me triumphantly.
I helplessly shrugged back - it did ease my mind a little. "Are you two going to be okay today?" I was asking Carlisle mostly, willing him to ask me to stay home so I'd have an excuse to call into work without getting on his nerves, but they both agreed they would be fine. Something was still off. I caught Alistair's eye as I slowly pulled on my coat. "Take him back to urgent care if he gets worse," I pleaded.
"I'll look after him, Garrett." I was sure those were the first genuine words that man had even said to me.
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I was checking my phone every few minutes all day at work. Dropping Caius' letter into our local police station didn't help, especially as I lied through my teeth about Carlisle's knowledge of its existence. The ridiculous amounts of coffee I'd poured down my throat throughout the day had manifested into caffeine jitters but the time I got home.
Everything was fine. They both greeted me as I unlocked the front door, the cat even prancing over to sit at my feet. Al was cooking dinner. I couldn't recall a single time I'd seen him make an actual meal, and my skepticism was quickly reinforced as I realised that my boyfriend was periodically giving him directions. I also didn't have the most faith in Carlisle's culinary abilities - I'd need to somehow hijack the kitchen at some point.
Making the most of it, I settled next to Carlisle on the couch, my hand landing on his thigh. "Still feeling okay about our trip?"
He swallowed tightly. "I guess so."
"Not really, huh?"
He frowned, groaning quietly, his fingers drifting to knot in my jacket. "I know it's going to suck; it's painful to walk, and I'm scared they're going to cavity search me if I'm not well when we try to get through security. It's only a few hours, but flying makes me lightheaded, and I'm scared that I'm not going to be able to get off the plane. I get travel sickness anyway, but now I'm nauseous on top of it, and worse with the concussion; I don't think I can do it."
"We have letters from your doctor; they aren't going to search you," I chuckled. "You can take the sedative if you feel like you need it."
"Are you sure you can't just take Al with you?" It was only half a joke, a nervous one.
"I'm not spending a week sharing a bed with him," Alistair grumbled. He had Fox gathered in his arms when I glanced back at him, the two of us chuckling a little, in a considerably better mood now.
"You're the one that snores," I told him matter of factly.
He flipped me off but struggled not to smile.
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"Slip it in his drink; he's not going to take it voluntarily."
"I'm not drugging him, Alistair, Jesus." Not that it hadn't crossed my mind as well.
It was 5am. Carlisle was up before either of us but so nervous he wasn't functioning, still refusing the sedative. Al and I were loading ourselves with caffeine to take the edge off, but it wasn't making either of us more patient.
"It'd make both of our mornings easier," he grumbled into his mug.
I rolled my eyes and took a scalding sip of coffee to shut myself up.
"We're going to be late if he doesn't hurry up." He wasn't wrong; we needed to be out of the house in half an hour, but he hadn't been dressed the last time I'd seen him.
"Don't start throwing that word around; he's nervous enough," I reprimanded. Still, I knew I needed to check on him or we'd never make it out of the apartment. My little optimism about making our flight dwindled as I met him in the bedroom.
"I can't do this, Garrett," he told me immediately.
I floundered a little. "It's going to be fine; I know you're tired, but you can sleep as soon as we're on the plane." He'd barely slept once we'd made it to bed. The repercussions of it were already far too obvious.
"I'm not going to make it to the plane." He still let me nudge him into the bathroom, the motion enough to throw him into routine, his toothbrush in his mouth next time he tried to talk to me. "It's worse- everything is worse this morning; I can't think, and-"
"I've got your passport and the paperwork you need to show to the specialist. Right now, I just need you to get dressed - you can have breakfast on the way if we run out of time," I told him as gently as I could. "It'll be okay." I tried to leave him to his own devices without intruding, but couldn't stand it once we had twenty minutes to leave the house and he was still in his pajamas. Pulling out a change of clothes, I lay them on the bed, sighing as I went to find him.
Our mission to get out of the house was derailed as soon as I set foot in the bathroom. He'd worked himself up into a state, hyperventilating a little but trying hard to hide it from me. "My work visa is expiring," he told me tearfully.
I caught his waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom. "We can deal with that while we're away. I need you to get changed so we can get on a plane in less than two hours."
"I don't think I can get on the plane," he protested.
"Carlisle, we're catching that flight." I caught the hem on his shirt, tugging it up until he took it off. "You need to; you'll freeze if you go outside wearing this." It took everything I had not to react to the marks across his torso - there was no way he wasn't going to be miserable for the next few hours. His joints looked painfully tight, obviously swollen, stopping him from bending properly. Sitting on the plane was going to be hell.
He numbly started to follow my directions, until his clothing rubbed against his wounds, the waist of his pants digging into the swelling across his hip and rendering him frozen again. "I can't. I can't do this, Garrett."
"Do you want to take the tablet?"
He shook his head. "I don't want to be high at the airport; they'll detain me."
I couldn't help the laugh that slipped out. "It's not international travel, Carlisle, and you're not going to be high. It'll make the trip more pleasant."
"Your trip or my trip?" he countered, thankfully playful with his accusation despite his visible distress.
"Uh, our trip," I admitted ruefully. "I don't know how else to make you feel better about this. I love you, but I don't know how to help."
Quiet, he let me wrap my arms around him, sighing softly as I kissed his neck. "I don't know either."
"Please get dressed; we need to leave," I urged.
He finally nodded, defeated. "I will, I just…I'm coming. I already hate today. I'm too late for breakfast?"
"I'll pack your food; you can eat on the way."
.
.
Our trip went surprisingly well once we made it to the airport. Carlisle had surrendered to taking the sedative once we were in the car, calming down considerably by the time we arrived - somehow on time. He let me guide him through security with my hand on the small of his back, asleep before the plane had even left the tarmac. My worry that he'd get sick during take off came to nothing. Once, during a patch of turbulence, he woke up enough to anxiously tell me that he was nauseous, but a few sips of water was all it took for him to settle again.
Despite being exhausted by the time we exited the airport, he'd survived. We caught a taxi to our hotel, and he was on the brink of passing out again as he held my hand in the backseat.
The reception was cute. I was pretty sure that Carlisle wasn't looking at the decor as we made our way to the elevators though. I slipped my arm around his waist while we waited to reach the right floor, seeing him sway unsteadily.
"It looks nice?" he offered as our gaze met in the mirrored interior.
I laughed, giving his hand a quick squeeze. Enough time had passed that the medication was wearing off, his sentences finally becoming cohesive again. "Are you awake enough to tell?"
He smiled at the ground to avoid me,rolling his eyes. "I'm waking up."
"You did well on the plane," I commented. "It went better than I thought it was going to, to be honest."
"Mm. That pill helped," he mumbled, blushing now.
"I'm glad it worked, even if you have been terrible for conversation the entire trip." I nudged him with my shoulder, both of us giggling a little as he lost his balance. The doors binged opened again, and I linked my fingers through his on the assumption he was still a little wobbly on his feet. Swiping our keycard, I let him enter the room first, watching him hold the doorway for a second to keep his balance. Much to my relief, the room was almost identical to how it was pictured online - practical, but nice enough that we'd be able to enjoy being stuck here for the best part of a week. "We may as well be comfortable while we're here, right? Especially if you're unwell," I tried to justify to him. I shook my head as he opened his mouth to protest, and he had the good sense to swallow the comment, a thank-you replacing it.
He dropped the bag he was holding as soon as he was inside, already starting to shrug out of his jacket. The light rain had dampened our outer layers of clothing as we'd ducked out of the cab and into the building, tapping softly on the windows outside. Still, he'd frozen in place when I'd done the same and turned to face him.
"What?" I frowned.
"Do you still want to celebrate our anniversary?"
That wasn't what I'd expected him to come out with. It shocked me into silence for a few seconds, leaving him to become awkward.
"Do you?" It was supposed to be in a few days, but I'd tried to put the date out of my mind as best as possible, assuming he'd avoid it, especially since it was supposed to be our first one where we were engaged. As much as he seemed to have faith in our relationship again, I wasn't under any illusion that we were getting married now.
Shifting, he fought to answer me, eventually sitting on the edge of the bed to stall a little longer. "Yeah, I think so. Do you not..?"
Now it was my turn to flounder. I stepped around our luggage to sit next to him, leaving my hand on the mattress between us in hope that he'd hold it. "It's just that you're ill, and we still haven't been able to address this while you're not ill. I think you're going to feel differently about this once you're well again." We'd already had this conversation. More than once. I wasn't sure that I could be more explicit with him.
"I'm not using you for comfort," he mumbled. "I mean - I am, but I love you. It isn't just that."
I studied him while he fixated on my fingers, eventually covering them with his own. "I'd like it if we did, but you're still allowed to feel differently about this later," I reminded him softly.
"I'm not going to, Garrett. I want things to go back to how it was before Heidi and Caius and all this, but I don't know how to fix it. We were good together, right?"
Caius. Right. I still hadn't had the nerve to tell him. It took a few seconds for me to process what he was saying to me. This wasn't the meltdown I'd expected. I wondered how much of the drugs he still had left in his system.
He took my silence as opposition. "I know things can't have been perfect, otherwise I wouldn't have driven you to her, but it was…we were engaged, and…" Trailing off, he couldn't hide the tears that threatened to fall, barely held back.
"You didn't drive me to anything, none of that was your fault. How'd we get back here?" It had been over a month since he'd voiced anything like this to me, and I'd assumed we'd gotten past it as best we could.
"I don't know," he admitted shakily. The few breaths he took to steady himself seemed to help. "I just want that back."
I let my free hand drift to his jaw, dipping my lips to his to guide him into a gentle kiss. "I'll find something for us to do to celebrate while we're here," I promised.
If nothing else, it'd be a nice distraction from the appointments.
.
.