The next morning was consumed with bloodwork and scans. I'd expected more anxiety around all of it, but it didn't appear to be hitting him as hard now we were away from home. I was pretty sure I could guess what was making the difference; he'd been more relaxed since we'd landed on the tarmac yesterday.
My suggestion to go out for lunch was met with more enthusiasm than I anticipated. Despite the nice weather, we didn't risk attempting the walk to find a cafe - he kept insisting he was alright, but couldn't mask the discomfort his injuries were causing, and we'd both silently agreed that aimlessly wandering around would be the final nail in the coffin. I'd looked up a few places on my phone before we'd jumped in a taxi, very aware that it was going to be a short excursion before he needed to get home again.
"Are you sure this is okay?" he asked for the fourth time. He squeezed my hand as we reached the door of the establishment, pausing us before I could push it open. His concern for my wellbeing seemed to be overriding any discomfort he was currently in, though his free hand continuously lingered at his middle. Maybe he just didn't have the energy to deal with me if I had a meltdown.
"Yes, I'm fine," I promised. It didn't feel like too much of a lie; the meals I'd forced down at work were starting to pay off. I stole a kiss as I shouldered the door, holding it open so that he'd have to walk in front of me and catching his waist once he did. "You look nice today." Happier. Less exhausted.
Not so paranoid.
As I knew he would, he rolled his eyes and grumbled a little at the comment. "I don't feel like it," he complained under his breath.
I tugged him to a stop before we could join the que at the counter. "If you're not feeling well, we can go back to the hotel, Carlisle."
"No, it's not- I don't feel sick. I want to have lunch together; I'm supposed to be eating, right?" Turning away from me, he slipped into place behind the customers at the register, willing me to drop it.
"Nobody can tell that anything is different," I tried to soothe as I came up behind him. I coiled my arm around him, resting my chin on his shoulder as I tugged him back against me. Both of us were focused on the scrawled menus hanging above the barrister like we weren't about to order things fitting exactly within our comfort zones.
"You know that isn't true." He elbowed me lightly in the ribs.
"Why does it matter so much to you? It seems like it's really been bothering you lately." I squeezed him as he sighed quietly.
"I don't know. I'm fine- it's fine, Garrett, I'm sorry I said anything - we were having a nice morning."
I didn't bother to ask him how being a pin-cushion in a nurse's station qualified for 'nice'. "I'm still having a nice morning," I offered instead. It earned me a small smile, a quick kiss on my cheek, and a huff from the man in front of us who caught it. That was enough of a cue for me to cut the affection between us. Hint taken. We placed our order, Carlisle waving his card over the machine while I was distracted, avoiding eye contact once I'd caught him. "I'm supposed to be taking you on dates, remember?"
"You've had to look after me for weeks; let me pay for your damn coffee."
I swallowed the reminder of what I'd done, what I owed him, how much of all of this was my fault.
.
.
It took an agonisingly long time, but he managed to get down all of the pastry he'd picked apart. I tried not to be too outwardly pleased about it. He'd let his coffee go cold, absentmindedly taking a sip of it and wrinkling his nose at it as he realised his mistake. "We should go?" he suggested, pushing the mug into the center of the table to clink against my empty one.
I ordered us both another drink before we left. The urgency of tomorrow's appointment seemed like overkill, seeming as he'd been doing so well all day - until we reached our hotel room. Despite the caffeine he'd just ingested, Carlisle barely lasted ten minutes before falling asleep once he'd made the mistake of sitting on the bed. I left him alone.
A nap didn't sound like the worst idea after the intensity of the last few days, but it was harder than I anticipated to fall asleep when I lay down beside him, and I didn't want to risk disturbing my boyfriend by adjusting his position for my own selfish need to be close to him. It was still nice to rest, comforting to lie with him while he was relaxed, watching his chest fall with each gentle breath. Despite the awkward position, it must have been months since I'd seen him sleep so easily. It was late afternoon by the time he woke up enough to make himself comfortable. He struggled out of his jacket, shifting up the bed to collapse onto the blankets, sinking into the pillows. He didn't curl up against me like I'd hoped, but his hand did drift over the mattress to rest on my forearm, and he rolled over to face me.
"You alright?" I checked. My eyes were heavy, drifting closed in the silence of our room.
He nodded, gone again seconds later. It was quite clear he was going to be written off for the rest of the day. I caught his hand, testing how much I could get away with, holding it in mine as I shuffled closer to him. My movement had little effect - his eyes fluttered open for long enough to confirm I wasn't getting up, and he went easily into my side as I scooted my arm under his shoulders. "It's midday," he complained softly. Pulling his fingers free, his arm draped over my abdomen, one knee creeping over my thigh.
"What do you suddenly have against cuddling at lunch time, Carlisle?" I teased. It was easier to relax now. The warmth of his body soaked through his clothing, his gentle fidgeting comforting. I let my eyes shut, feeling the tension drain from my muscles, suddenly exhausted.
"Don't want you to get bored," he mumbled.
I chuckled a little. "Go back to sleep."
.
.
It was dark outside, late in the evening, the remains of the room service we'd ordered for dinner now on the floor by my bedside table. The only time either of us had been out of bed had been when I'd needed to open the door to get our food. With the ambiance of the TV in the background, we hadn't really been speaking, my boyfriend drifting in and out of consciousness after we'd eaten, the short distance between us bridged by his constant need to be touching me, his hand resting over my thigh.
That in itself was reassuring. For a long time since Heidi, he hadn't been as affectionate. Now, though, he seemed to crave the contact as much as I did, and he'd stopped waiting for me to initiate it. I sank a little deeper under the covers, biting back a smile as I picked up my phone.
The notification made my stomach churn. I didn't need to open the email to know what it was about, but couldn't stop myself from doing it anyway. I only just managed to suppress a groan when I realised they'd sent it to Carlisle as well; I hadn't wanted to tell him about the latest Caius revelation until we were home again, but the police had sent him a copy of the report I had filed. I couldn't leave it for him to find out from their message.
"Are you awake enough to talk about something?" I asked softly. Closing my fingers over his wrist, I shifted his hand over my chest, squeezing. He'd stirred a while ago, sending a few texts back and forth with Alistair, disturbed each time his phone buzzed, but couldn't be deemed entirely conscious yet. I was fairly sure he was falling asleep during each lapse while he waited for his friend to reply.
He nodded, but his eyes didn't open.
"Carlisle."
He hummed softly in acknowledgement, fidgeting a little as I ran my hand up his spine. "I'm awake," he promised.
"It's about Caius."
That caught his attention. Suddenly upright, he recoiled from me as if I'd slapped him, his eyes wide when they met mine. "What about Caius?"
I swallowed. It had to come out now. No going back. "Everything is alright-"
"It can't be if he's involved," he interrupted sharply.
"He sent a letter to our apartment; it wasn't threatening, but he'd copied one of the advertisements you'd worked on and sent it to you. I filed a police report - I think they've sent you an email. I didn't want to tell you while we were traveling, but I don't want you to find out next time you open your computer." I couldn't tell whether he was upset with me, but he buffered for a few seconds. I studied his face while he blankly focused on the bedsheets, his shoulders rigid. His silence went on so long that I was starting to worry he was having some kind of episode. I tugged his sleeve. "Carlisle?"
"But you didn't see him? He wasn't physically there?" he asked anxiously.
"No, it happened while we were at the hospital. He slipped the envelope under the front door."
"But you didn't see him? It could have been anyone," he pressed. His spine was stiff as he silently pleaded with me to agree, his breathing a little too fast.
"I guess, but he signed it. Who else would it be?" I probed gently. "It's alright, though; it's dealt with. I don't think you should be spending your energy on this when you're seeing the doctor tomorrow."
He breathed unsteadily. Quiet again, frozen.
"Can you hear me?" I touched his face this time, cupping his cheek in my hand, my other one at his hip. "Carlisle? You alright?"
"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."
He'd always been a bad liar.
.
.
His appointment with the doctor wasn't until midday, and we spent the best part of the following morning properly recovering from the past week. He was extraordinarily calm for someone who had a consultation hanging over their head, having spent the last couple of hours absorbed in a book while I tried to coerce him into giving me attention rather than the pages. He might not be nervous, but I was terrified, a little calmer while I could touch him and prove to myself he was currently alright, even if he was too quiet. There wasn't any protest when I wedged my arm underneath him, my other over his middle to hold him against me, my cheek on his shoulder. "We should order breakfast."
"We've well and truly missed breakfast, Garrett," he chuckled. Folding the corner of the page over, he set the book down, rolling over so that we were face to face. One hand tangled in my shirt, the other against my throat as he kissed me lightly. "You're really worried about today, huh?"
"You aren't?" I countered.
"A little, but I don't think anything is going to change immediately. They'll give me more tablets, and we'll go home again." It wasn't going to be that simple. He wasn't that oblivious, either - he must have known that too.
I just nodded. Anything else, and I didn't trust my voice not to break. It was unlikely that they'd send him home again. Even without being able to interpret his blood results or see any of the scans, I was sure that they'd want to admit him again.
"Stop worrying."
"I'm not," I argued lamely. My hands tightened over his waist, squeezing, as I fought to keep my breathing in check, the lump in my throat growing. Maybe if we never made it into the office today, we could just pretend we were on vacation for a little while; we both needed a holiday.
"Yeah, you are. I'm fine," he soothed softly.
"This wouldn't be happening if you were."
"I'm okay right now, though," he insisted. "What's going on?"
"I don't want anything to happen to you; I love you so much, and-"
He cut me off as my voice started to break, pushing his weight into me until I rolled onto my back, his lips against mine suddenly. "I'm not going anywhere today, please don't worry. It's just an appointment."
I nodded again to avoid answering him. "We should order some food before we run out of time," I tried again. We didn't know for sure how long we'd need to be there, and I desperately wanted him to eat something in case he was too anxious later on. Or if they admitted him, he'd be stuck with hospital lunches. I selfishly couldn't stand to lose him to the hospital again, especially while we were in a forign place.
.
.
Carlisle had shoved his fingers under his thighs to hide his hands shaking. He'd hid his nerves fairly well all morning, but his anxiety was visible now, his fidgeting and shifting in the uncomfortable plastic chair giving him away as we sat in the doctor's office.
His blood results were terrible. His immune system had crumbled further, and the malnutrition was destroying his body. He was horribly anaemic. The new schedule of medications the doctor had prescribed would have side effects before he got better. We needed to come back to the clinic tomorrow morning to start the infusions.
I got the pleasure of watching my boyfriend almost leap off of the examination table any time that the other man pressed his into abdomen, wincing as he forced his joints to flex and poked and prodded him. Carlisle was barely able to hold it together throughout the examination, pale and shaky by the time he was allowed to sit up again, struggling to tolerate being in the chair again.
"It'd be best if you were to arrange a nurse to do home visits - you need to be closely monitored, but it'd be safer for you to stay out of the hospital unless strictly necessary, to avoid other infections. If your insurance will cover a nurse to administer the medication-" the doctor was explaining.
"It doesn't," Carlisle harshly cut in. "I'll- my partner has to work; I'll have to learn."
The doctor looked unimpressed. "It'll be difficult for you to manage on your own - you'd need to learn how to inject yourself, and keep up with the regime regardless of how you're feeling. It would really be wiser to have someone take care of that for you."
"I can't," he repeated. Bewildered, his eyes met mine briefly, unsure and worried. I couldn't offer him any reassurance.
The other man sighed and changed tactics. "Carlisle, we need to insert a semi-permanent type of IV line; the medication is too harsh to go directly through a cannula into a small vein - you need to have a PICC line placed; it will be fed through a vein in your arm into a large blood vessel in your chest. It's safe for you to have in at home; if you're able to hire a nurse, you will be able to have the medications at home too."
He drowned in the information for a few seconds, starting to tell him again that the nurse wasn't an option, but cut it out once he saw his disapproval. "Can I…will it happen today? When?"
He shook his head. "It'll happen through your local hospital. You'll have one dose through a peripheral IV tomorrow while you're here."
I couldn't breathe. Queasy suddenly. I thought I'd been aware of how bad things had been until Carlisle stepped on the scales. The doctor's silence was telling, though neither of them seemed shocked by the number. My boyfriend had tried to stand so that I couldn't see the reading, but that didn't stop the other man verbally repeating it as he wrote it down. He was explaining doses, how they'd need to increase with his weight, that if he didn't start eating he'd be prescribed feeds through the tube. Carlisle's defense that he was doing better was entirely unconvincing.
"Do either of you have any questions?" the doctor asked once he'd finished rattling off side effects.
I wanted to ask about the mortality rate. About whether he'd actually survive this, what the chances were of the medication working now that it had progressed so quickly, but couldn't bring myself to do it with Carlisle sitting right next to me.
He didn't have the same reservations. "Am I going to die?" he asked bluntly.
My hand reflexively jerked to grab his, immediately trying to shut down that train of thought. "Hey."
"The team is hopeful you'll recover, Carlisle," the doctor replied calmly.
That was enough for both of us. I couldn't see through the haze of tears as we stood to leave, my hand locked in his, squeezing like he'd float away from me if I ever let go. It was taking everything I had to keep taking slow breaths, my concentration only broken when he tugged me to a sudden stop.
"I- sorry, I just need a minute, please?" he asked, gesturing to the bathroom. He was too calm. Pale. Numb.
"Are you alright?" I wanted to hold him, suddenly too scared to touch him in case I broke him, like he'd shatter if I squeezed too hard.
"Yes."
I nodded. I didn't dare follow him, too much of a coward to deal with the aftermath. The corridor around me was blurred and watery, the lump of emotion in my chest refusing to be swallowed enough for me to get any words out.
It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life. I couldn't work up the courage to face him. Couldn't handle seeing him cry. He knew it too, judging by the distance he'd put between us. Instead, I leaned against the wall in the corridor, folding my arms tightly across my chest like it would help the heaviness there, keeping my head down to avoid the traffic of the hospital. This was my fault. He wouldn't be this bad if I'd been able to look after him properly. If I hadn't hurt him in the first place - that was what had been the boiling point for all of this. I couldn't make him go through this by himself.
"Carlisle." I'd been sure that I wasn't going to cry in front of him until the moment we locked eyes. My heart broke along with my resolve. I suddenly couldn't breathe, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing him against my chest, resting my forehead against his shoulder as I held fistfuls of his jacket. "This is all my fault-"
"It's genetic, Garrett, that isn't true," he whispered to me. His words were shaky, the silence sob he swallowed sending a shudder through his body.
I tried to suck in enough air that I could calm down. It didn't really work. Failed miserably when I pulled back enough to see the tear streaks down his cheeks.
The stall behind us opened, a man awkwardly clearing his throat as he came to the sinks to wash his hands, Carlisle meeting my gaze as we both came back to the reality of being in a public restroom. "We should- we should go home. Back to the hotel," he said, quickly wiping his face dry with his sleeve.
I tried to do the same, but it was all I could do to keep from openly bawling in the elevator, the guilt of making him deal with me when it was his diagnosis making it worse. I hadn't realised I was hyperventilating until he lightly touched my chest, urging me to slow down.
Somehow, he'd calmed considerably by the time we reached the ground floor. He quietly told the cab driver the address and pulled me into the backseat beside him, keeping a tight hold on my hand over the middle seat. The drive was near silent. I put all of my effort into keeping myself quiet, watching the scenery fly past the window as I fought to hold in the tears.
"There is no way they're going to approve my visa," he mumbled eventually. He must have assumed I'd been strong enough to get a hold of myself. "Not while my health is this bad and I can't support myself. I'm going to lose my job."
"Marry me." I reached over to squeeze his leg, risking a glance at him, hating the space between us, how much I was sniveling. "For residency perks, if nothing else."
He shook his head, avoiding me as he focused on the road ahead of us.
"Nothing will change, except for a bit of paper; we've lived together for over a year. Why does it matter?"
"Because I'm going to be kicked out of the country with a ton of debt, and you'll be tied to me."
"I want to be tied to you." I never wanted to let him go again. Never let him out of my sight. Unfortunately, it had reduced me to a blithering idiot again, not calmed as he patiently rubbed my arm, shushing my apologies.
.
.
It was a rough night. We had to be back at the clinic by 8am, the alarm on his phone chiming just before six. Harsh light filled the room as he flicked on the lamp. I didn't squeeze my eyes shut fast enough, the fluorescent bulb burning into my retinas for a second before I folded my arm over my face. I still had a headache from crying so much the day before. It should have been embarrassing, really. "Jesus."
"Sorry," he mumbled.
Slowly, I adjusted enough to be able to watch him, my eyes trained on him as he methodically started to get dressed. He had his back to me as he pulled on a couple of layers, unaware that I was staring, oblivious to how horribly fragile his bones looked under his skin. I dug my elbows into the mattress to sit up. "Carlisle? How are you feeling this morning?" It was awkward, too formal, but I didn't know how else to ask him.
"Okay."
"Did you sleep alright?" I asked skeptically, waiting until he'd reached the kitchenette in the corner before getting the words out.
His eyes flashed to mine, then quickly back down to the bench top. "I couldn't."
"Not at all?"
He fractionally shook his head, clearly unwilling to answer me.
"Maybe you can nap a little at the hospital - I doubt they need you conscious the whole time." It felt like we'd been on a rollercoaster for the last forty eight hours. Sitting on the edge of the bed made the room spin a little - I'd been awake with him until 2am, neither of us having eaten since the morning before, but my stomach was too heavy for anything now. It'd be nice if he'd sleep. Give me time to deal with the dread all of this brought on without his constantly trying to pretend it wasn't a big deal.
"If I can't sleep here, I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep there," he told me bitterly.
"Yeah, but…" I choked, my throat constricting until I was forced to cough to clear it.
He swallowed tightly. "You're allowed to be upset, Garrett."
"So are you." The crack in my voice instantly made him come back to me. I pushed his hand away, on the brink of losing it again, needing to breathe through it before I could risk glancing at him. I could already see the question before he said it. "I'm good. I promise. Let's go and get you better, yeah?"
"Guess so." He didn't sound optimistic.
.
.
"Will you stay with me today? In case I have a reaction to the medication?" he asked nervously as we stood in the elevator. The book he'd brought - the same familiar paperback that he'd read countless times - was now clutched in front of him so tightly that it's spine was bending, the pages threatening to tear.
"I was planning to," I assured him softly. "It's going to be alright, Carlisle." I stole a glance at him in the reflection of the doors, finally seeing the barely held back emotion and absolute fear on his face. I slipped my arm over his shoulders. "You'll be okay."
"I know," he answered quietly, unconvinced.
My reassurances fell flat while we were both so anxious. I didn't even believe it myself. We fell silent. Following the signposts on the walls, we made our way deeper into the hospital, a wave of relief washing over me once we arrived at the reception number corresponding with the map the doctor had given us the day before.
It was warmer inside. We were taken into a cubicle, my boyfriend stripping off his jacket so they could get a line in his arm. He must have looked pale enough to worry the nurse, because she didn't waste any time in making him lie down on the bed and getting the monitoring onto him.
"Afraid of needles, hon?" she asked him. I could see where the assumption had come from; he was shaky, white, the fluorescent lighting making it worse.
"Not so much," he mumbled.
She had focused on the monitor screen, frowning at the reading. "Is your blood pressure usually low?"
"Yeah, it has been recently." His hand was clammy in mine, my eyes trained on his face while she prepared the IV and he forced a dry swallow. "I'm okay." Carlisle didn't flinch as the needle went in, but I knew that I'd pass out if I peaked at what she was doing, watching the ceiling to save myself. The crunching of thick plastic signaled the first bag of medication going up, but I deemed it too risky to lose my visual on the paneling above us until she'd closed the curtain around us and slipped into the next cubicle.
"Are you sure you're alright?" I whispered once we were alone again. Finally, I could look at him safely - he'd hidden as much of the line as he could under his jacket, the fabric draped over his arm to hide the worst of it.
He nodded. "Just nervous. Thank you for coming with me."
I didn't bother to acknowledge it. He'd been so insuffereably apologetic the entrie trip that I was sure he thought he was torturing me. Even if he didn't know it himself, he quite obviously wasn't feeling secure in our relationship. "You do believe I love you, don't you?"
"Yes," he answered quietly. His eyes darted away as his spine stiffened, though I couldn't place why it had made his cheeks sting with heat so violently.
I sighed. "You don't need to thank me for doing the bare minimum. I know that you…weren't treated well when you were growing up, and that I've really hurt you, but this is how things should be. I'm your partner; I'm supposed to support you. I'd be terrible if I didn't."
"I…you have to do so much for me, and-"
"I love you, Carlisle. Christ, I want to marry you - I'm not doing anything that I don't want to," I reminded him. The resulting silence was long and awkward. I willed him to look at me, and he studied his lap to avoid me. I continued anyway once I was sure he wasn't going to answer. "So, I was thinking, we could see a movie, if you were feeling up to it?"
More hesitation, followed by a harsh gulp. "Tonight?" It was a distraction at the very least, though I desperately wished we could still go out together. Sitting in a theater for a couple of hours was the least taxing activity I could come up with.
"Yeah. Or tomorrow, if that's better. Or not at all if it's too much."
"Our anniversary?"
I nodded, and he finally glanced at me. The urge to kiss him was overwhelming, but I didn't dare to while he looked so horribly fragile. Instead, I sank down into the plastic chair, settling to have my palm on the bed beside him.
Unexpectedly, tears bubbled over. The line in his arm pulled as he hurriedly tried to scrub them away, to hide them from me even though we were barely two feet apart. His teeth dug into his lip until the skin split, the run of blood smearing as he wiped it with the back of his hand, turning his cheek away.
The handful of tissues I passed from the caddy on the wall only seemed to make it worse. I could recognise the guilt from a mile away. "Don't," I reminded him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered anyway. He spent the next half hour shivery, his shoulders shaking the more he tried to suppress how badly he needed to cry, unable to bury it enough to hide it from the nurse when she returned. He apologised to her as well, though she too murmured that it was alright and then largely ignored the state he was in as she prepared the next drug.
We were there for nearly seven hours. It was dark by the time we reached the street, the shadows long in the pale moonlight, the sunset waning. It could have been romantic, if either of us were able to appreciate it. "Can we just go home?" Carlisle asked me. He'd shut down over the last few hours, barely speaking, unfocused as I talked to him.
I nodded, turning to press a kiss to his temple. I didn't bother asking him about dinner, sure he wouldn't commit to a meal option and would only pick at whatever I ordered for him anyway. "The weather is so much warmer here," I tried lamely.
He nodded at the pavement.
"I wish we were here on vacation."
Again, the best I got was a shake of his head.
"Carlisle?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look like you're fine right now."
"I'm tired, Garrett."
"That's all?"
He choked a little as he tried to swallow. "The last week has really sucked. I miss our cat. I miss things being normal."
"We'll be back home in two days," I reminded him.
"It's not going to be the same."
"It won't be, but it'll still be alright. No doubt Alistair will be around a while longer once he knows what's going on, and I'm sure my family will help out if we need them to."
"I don't know how I'm supposed to tell anyone in the first place. And Eleazar doesn't like me, and your parents aren't going to trust me now they know what happened between us, and I don't think it's a good idea for Al to be with us so much."
"Stop worrying about everyone else; you've got enough on your plate right now."
"It's easier than worrying about me," he whispered, barely audible over the traffic.
"The medication is going to work, Carlisle." It had too.
.
.