This was supposed to be two chapters, which is why it took so long to post, but it didn't really make sense to split it into two little parts so here we are. Thank you for your patience!
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Carlisle kept his promise without me having to bring it up again. It was slightly awkward when I came home from work the following afternoon, though I never received the retaliation from Al that I expected. Instead, he seemed to be avoiding Carlisle, his face flushing when he accidently let their eyes meet, the conversation between them strained as they worked around each other in the kitchen to scrape a meal together for the three of us.
It blew over quickly. We'd barely finished dinner before Alistair was back to his usual self, and I was pretty sure nothing but his pride had been damaged. Whatever had happened between them a few hours earlier had passed, and the peaceful evening my husband had hoped for when he'd picked up the latest novel he was invested in wasn't about to happen. He'd abandoned us to stay at the table, away from the noise of television but close enough that Al and I didn't have to pick at each other for conversation.
"He hasn't done anything else all day," Alistair complained to me while we sat beside each other on the couch, predictably in front of the TV. "It's been like talking to a wall - he's got that damn thing every time I turn around. You should hide it tonight, or he'll never come to bed." His parental tone earned him a glare at the back of his skull, but he didn't turn his head to see his response.
"Tell me staring at your phone all day is any better," Carlisle grumbled, quickly rising to the bait.
"Nobody is that excited about a book," he insisted. "Besides, you made it very clear this afternoon that I needed to get a life so-"
"That isn't what I said."
He grinned at me but kept his back to him. "Close enough. Since you're more invested in my sex life than I am-"
"Still not what I said."
"-I've slaved away this whole evening to find myself a husband. You've been no help." When that didn't garner the reaction he wanted, he added; "at least I'm not reading fairy porn at the kitchen table; this is a family establishment, Cullen."
The book in question, a thickly bound hard cover, thumped softly against the tabletop as Carlisle sighed, his eyes briefly meeting mine as I glanced over to gauge whether Al had succeeded in making his cheeks warm - he had, although my husband was viciously fighting it. "It isn't," he said, despite himself. I wasn't sure who the statement was actually directed at now that I had his attention. "It has nothing to do with fairies, and-"
"Elves, whatever. You're two steps away from Fifty Shades, and you know it."
"It was just a kiss; don't be such a baby."
"That isn't what I read," he teased immediately.
"Honestly, Al, I was just shocked to see you holding a book," he countered. His attempt to return to the pages lasted all of two seconds, just long enough that he was able to hope that his friend had gotten tired of it.
"I'm more than just a pretty face, you know."
"Yeah, you're a real pain in the ass." That was grumbled under his breath. The ad break interrupting our movie still hadn't ended, the TV muted, and Alistair swallowed a laugh as he overheard him. I was just pleased to be out of the firing line for the time being, even if it meant throwing Carlisle under the bus.
"I'm just saying, it's not very practical and we're not in the nineteenth century; I've got some websites that I'm sure you and Garrett-"
"Shut it." He'd lost the battle and his face was burning, though I wasn't sure what aspect of all of this was making him squirm. I still couldn't fault Alistair for the entertainment. The book was shut now, and he groaned at him as he ducked his head against the table.
"Did I kill the mood?" Al chuckled. Even without confirmation, he was clearly enjoying himself, his quiet laughter shaking the couch. He snatched the remote from me to turn the volume back on as familiar characters returned to the screen - much to Carlisle's palpable relief. The next time he spoke, the mocking was gone, concern overlaying his attempt to dob him in to me. The look he threw over his shoulder to check on him prompted me to the same - he still hadn't moved. "Still got that headache?"
There was a beat of silence, Carlisle hesitant now he'd been caught out. "Yeah, it's…not so bad now that I'm not staring at my computer screen," he finally admitted.
"Still there after the medication, though," Al informed me.
"It isn't a migraine. It's just uncomfortable," he mumbled at the wood, sinking down in his seat.
He shook his head as he met my eye, mouthing 'liar'. "He hasn't eaten today."
"I'm fine, Alistair."
"Of course you are. You took those pills on an empty stomach, too - you'll get another ulcer if you don't knock it off."
"Stop it, Al."
"Sure."
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It was only seven PM, but the fatigue seeping through my body had me longing for bed. Alistair had apparently felt the same, going home as soon as the film had ended instead of spending the usual evening with us. I'd resigned myself to sitting up for another few hours with Carlisle, resting my head against the back of the couch as I tried not to fall asleep, genuinely debating whether I did need to take that book off of him after all - he hadn't moved from the table. Each blink got longer and longer until I was actively fighting to stay awake.
"Garrett?" He nudged me suddenly, jolting me back into reality. I must have fallen asleep after all - he was next to me now, no longer behind me.
"Mmm." It seemed like too much effort to open my eyes, though keeping them closed was becoming a slippery slope. I blindly reached for him. He was further than I'd anticipated, and I never felt the warmth of his body as I grappled with thin air.
His hand closed over mine anyway. "Can I have my medication?"
That caught my attention. We'd developed a pretty comfortable routine with each other since we'd come home from our trip, and this strayed from it. It also deviated far from his attempts to lengthen the time he was awake each day. "You want to get ready for bed now? It's early." I peaked at the clock to make sure - it was still just after 8pm.
"Yeah."
Reluctantly, I forced myself up. He followed me to the kitchen, getting water while I organised the tablets, still unfortunately held behind lock and key. "You're feeling alright?"
"I just want to go to sleep," he mumbled. He barely checked what I'd handed him before he swallowed it, wincing a little as it went down.
I loosely slipped my arms around his waist to pull him in to me, lightly kissing his forehead once he'd put down the glass. "Did you take your shots today?" It was the only prescription medication that I didn't keep from him - he was the only one of us with the gall to administer it in the first place.
He nodded. "You can check."
"I believe you. Is it really just a headache? You're not nauseous again?" We'd gotten to a point where he did seem to be doing well enough that I could trust him to at least try to look after himself. At the very minimum, he was listening to the medical advice he'd been given. I just wished one of the doctors would outright tell him to quit his job - it wasn't doing him a service to be pushing to manage it. The amount of time he'd spent on his laptop today obviously hadn't done him any favours.
"Not sick so much as just 'off'." His arms looped around my shoulders, a light kiss pressed to my lips.
"I can make you a cup of tea? Or toast?" The immediate discomfort that flashed across his face ruled it out. I was too tired to argue over it; I couldn't force feed him, didn't have the energy even if I could. I still couldn't resist tormenting him a little. "Fairy porn, huh?"
"It isn't; I promise." He groaned and pulled free of me, seeming to realise my intentions to follow him to bed as he caught my wrist and pulled me in that direction.
Fox threatened to trip me the entire way, weaving between my feet with every step, and I held off my rebuttal until we'd safely reached our bedroom. The bed wasn't made, but neither of us were about to do it, settling for pulling the top sheet flat instead. "You sure? I'll be mad if you're holding out on me, Carlisle," I teased. "Maybe you should let Al give you those websites after all."
"I don't think you'd like what he's watching, Gar."
"Don't knock it until you try it, right?" I grinned at him.
He rolled his eyes. "Please get in bed."
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The next morning, I made it to the kitchen before realising it was more than just tiredness, the deep ache in my muscles from more than just sleeping wrong, the pounding in my head not dehydration. Clearing my throat didn't erase the irritation there, the urge to cough not far off.
It took me a little off guard.
I dithered about calling in sick for the best part of an hour, hoping maybe coffee and breakfast would fix the problem, but it was very clear that it wouldn't as the dull thudding behind my eyes didn't get any less. After Carlisle had been ill for so long, it barely occurred to me that I could get sick. I didn't know what to do - I'd be cursing him with whatever it was I had if I went to bed, but we'd slept next to each other the whole night. He drank from my glass the day before, and we'd kissed. I paused in the bedroom doorway, hesitantly calling his name but partially wishing he'd sleep through it so I could pretend that I wasn't the worst partner in the world.
He was more awake than I gave him credit for, managing to be coherent enough to respond within a few seconds. "Are you leaving?" he asked softly.
"No." I swallowed tightly. "I'm not going in today."
He was quiet as he processed it, eventually stretching over to grab his phone off of the bedside table to check the date. "I've gotten your schedule mixed up."
"You haven't, I've…I think I have a cold - I don't know what to do," I admitted stupidly. It was slowly dawning on me that this was the consequence of having my niece over, mild panic setting as I realised that if it was contagious enough that I had it, he was screwed.
Now he was really awake, pushing himself up on his elbows to sit up, concerned for an entirely different reason than I was. "What'd you mean? Come back to bed if you're not feeling well. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine but I'm going to get you sick. We can't be near each other - I can probably go to Eleazar's, but that means that Al will have to-" Overwhelmed suddenly, I felt oddly childish, anxious and unsure. The lump in my throat was entirely unexpected, hard to breathe around as I selfishly craved his comfort.
"Garrett, if I'm going to catch whatever it is, it's too late - if you already have symptoms, I already have it. Get in bed." That seemed final. He'd started to pull the blankets away from my side of the mattress, easy access for me apparently, but I didn't move.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes - get back in bed; it's fine." He watched me hesitate, fighting the exhaustion as he sank back into the bedding, battling the urgent need to sleep. "Please."
I still felt too guilty to climb in beside him. He sighed but didn't push me when I refused. The cat had already taken my place anyway. I stole a blanket from him and dragged it into the lounge with me, switching on the news for some background noise so I could mindlessly scroll my phone. I passed an hour that way, too unsettled to relax and on my third cup of coffee by the time Carlisle made it to the kitchen.
I glanced up as he dropped the cat into my lap, confused as he passed me the beeping thermometer at the same time. The measurement lodged a rock in my stomach. It wasn't severe, but it was definitely higher than it should be - all my hopes of him escaping were instantly dashed. "Are you sure you won't come back to bed?" he asked again. He fell into the seat next to me when I took too long to answer, stealing part of my blanket to pull across his lap, throwing all my efforts of segregation out the window.
"This is my fault - I shouldn't have watched Kate while she was unwell," I sighed. Too needy to be responsible any more, I was reaching for him before I could stop myself, drawing him into me to bury my face in the shoulder of his sweatshirt.
"It isn't," he mumbled. He came to me easily, slouching down in his seat so I could melt into him.
It was. "Have you heard from Alistair?"
"Yeah; he's sick too."
"Great."
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The same process repeated the following day. The aches were worse, mild nausea in the pit of my stomach, the congestion in my sinuses making it difficult to take a breath as I spoke to my manager over the phone. I turned off my alarm as I got back in bed, risking touching my husband and trying to gauge whether he still had a fever. It was hopeless while he was so wrapped up in the blankets. Instead, I shuffled down the mattress and rolled over to face him, slipping my arm over his waist under the bedding. Despite his initial protest to the movement, it didn't take much convincing once he'd realised I wasn't trying to make him get up. He shuffled his hips back into mine, gone as I kissed his shoulder.
It was his coughing that woke me up a few hours later. He'd tried to roll away from me before it had started, but the motion was jarring his chest and he hadn't made it further than the edge of the bed. He fumbled with his water bottle until the first swallow choked him. I watched his chest squeeze, far too fast even after the fit had ended, his breathing not calming any.
I reached over to place my hand on his spine, a weak form of comfort while my bicep burned at the effort, but forced myself up once I felt the heat radiating through his shirt. "I'll get you some cough syrup; stay there." My back ached as I stumbled to the kitchen, my fingers thick while I fumbled with the key to unlock the stupid cupboard - I probably shouldn't keep that from him anymore anyway. I took a shot of the thick liquid as well, sure we'd be headed in the same direction with how my throat felt.
He was pale when I returned with the medicine measure. "My chest is so tight," he mumbled after swallowing its contents.
I kissed the top of his head, guiding him into a one-armed hug. The warmth of his body soaked into me as he leaned against my abdomen and my eyes fell closed, the comfort of his weight enough to make me irresistibly tired. I felt better holding him, but he'd obviously deteriorated overnight. "Have you been able to sleep?"
"Little bit. It's harder to breathe when I'm lying down. Are you okay? You already have to look after me, and-"
"I'm alright. I have it, but I'm fine; you need to tell me if you need to see a doctor, though." Eleazar could shove his baby-sitting privileges the next time he asked.
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He ended up back on the couch once it was too difficult for him to lie flat. The bed was suddenly lumpy and cold, and it took less than half an hour before I was pathetically seeking him out again. "Uncomfortable," I mumbled, catching the look of concern my reappearance caused. He smiled grimly but didn't tease me, passing me the TV remote as I took my usual seat, already absorbed in his book again. At least one of us was semi-functional.
Sitting up wasn't good for my spine. The ache was back, leaching into my shoulders and down my arms. It eased the moment I lay down, better again with my head in my husband's lap, his soft fidgeting with my hair near putting me to sleep. "Better?" he asked softly.
"Much better."
We wasted the whole day like that. I slept through it, only briefly awake when he coughed a little too hard, and he finished his novel. Neither of us ate much. We didn't have the energy to cook anything, and ordering greasy food wasn't appealing. The cups of tea he made for both of us were enough to make my stomach uneasy.
Each trip to the bathroom felt like a marathon, rigors setting in as soon as I put too much effort into standing. My nose dripped continuously but was rubbed raw from the tissues, a hot shower only mildly helping, Carlisle absent-mindedly rubbing the back of my neck while I refused any space between us.
I felt a little guilty for how much I enjoyed spending the whole day cuddled up to him, especially while I was convinced that I was freezing to death and he was so warm. The cat loved it too. Alistair had shown up at midday, just as miserable as we were, sniffling and feverish. It wasn't until Carmen called to let us know that everyone in their household had been taken down with the flu that I started to feel like we were in trouble. Al groaned when I told them, Carlisle silent but tense.
She had driven across town at rush hour to deliver a casserole and far more baked goods than we'd ever need, endlessly apologetic, guiltier again once she found out that Alistair had been sucked into it as well. If nothing else, it was a relief to not have to worry about cooking for a couple of evenings. Despite not being actually hungry, Al and I picked at the hot food, the warmth making sleep all the more appealing. I didn't have the energy to bicker with my husband over the three spoonfuls he was apparently calling a meal.
Nobody bothered with the washing up. Carlisle had crawled into bed as soon as he'd eaten, routine be damned, and looked terribly queasy when I brought in his medication. I still didn't question it as I handed the tablets over. "Is this making you lightheaded?" he asked nervously. Talking irritated his throat enough to make him cough again, and I cringed a little as I hoped it wouldn't make him vomit - I'd go out in sympathy if he did.
"No, but it doesn't take much to make you feel like that at the best of times; I don't think we should be surprised." I supervised while he climbed under the covers, leaning down to kiss him lightly once he'd settled. Lying down didn't provide the relief it usually seemed to, his hand locked over the edge of the sheet, tension hammered into his spine. "Are you alright?"
"Nervous," he admitted.
"About being sick?"
"Yeah."
"We can go to the ER if you get too bad." He was due another infusion the following day anyway, so he was going to end up at the hospital regardless of whether it had anything to do with the flu.
"I know."
I watched him a little longer, hoping he'd relax, frowning while he didn't look comforted. "I'll take you right now, if you're feeling that awful."
"No, it's- I'm alright, I just don't want it to get to that." He uncomfortably avoided meeting my gaze while I couldn't bring myself to walk away and leave him like that. Glancing up at me nearly ended in tears. "I'm okay, Gar, I just don't want to go back to the hospital; I'm scared that my insurance is going to stop covering me, and then my residency will fail and I'll have to move back and leave you and-"
"Has the insurance company contacted you about anything you've tried to claim while all this has been happening?" I interrupted before he could spiral. I sat on the end of the bed, trying to force myself to focus while my head thumped and my body ached. God knows where he was finding the energy to worry about it right then.
He shook his head. "Only about my deductible when I'm late with the payment."
Not wanting to induce a meltdown while we both felt awful, I purposefully avoided getting into that - he'd not mentioned anything being late before, and had always paid his part of our bills on time. I wasn't pleased that he'd chosen to omit that detail. "Then you're fine, Carlisle. Do you want me to sit with you until you fall asleep?"
Again, he refused me, despite obviously being on the verge of losing very carefully held composure. I couldn't exactly fault him for not wanting me to watch it.
Unconvinced, I squeezed his leg as I stood up again. "I love you. It'll be alright."
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Sweating and shivering in another clinic wasn't our ideal morning. The doctor hadn't wanted Carlisle's appointments cancelled even while he was ill, in case he lost the progress he'd made. The blood tests he'd had a few days before had shown some improvement, and missing his scheduled dose today wasn't worth the risk. With the infusion running through the line in his arm, he was barely daring to breathe, sitting perfectly still, his eyes squeezed shut against the light. His hands remained locked around the vomit-bowl the nurse had handed him.
I'd slept through both of our alarms this morning. It had been a mad scramble to get here on time, but I was suddenly grateful that he hadn't had time to eat anything. He'd not wanted to come. Even under threat of worsening, he'd struggled to find the willpower to get out of bed, miserably bundled up in far more layers than appropriate for his fever. The nurse had made him strip it all off to get to his arm anyway.
I couldn't look at the line. Whether it was the illness or how squeamish I was at baseline, I just kept my hand on his thigh, watching him in my peripheral vision as I kept my eyes on the doorway. We'd been here nearly forty minutes, and I'd started to recognise the owners of the various scrubs rushing back and forth. My legs had fallen asleep in the horrible plastic chair.
Carlisle let out a shaky breath, shifting uncomfortably next to me. Whatever he mumbled was too low for me to hear. "I'm really dizzy," he got out when I prompted him again. "Can you call the nurse back in here?" He slouched forward in his seat, risking a glance at me and paleing considerably as the room spun around him.
I pushed the buzzer on the wall and hoped he wouldn't vomit until she came back. The bowl tumbled to the ground as the shakes got too bad for him to hold onto it, his arms locking around his middle as he ducked his head against his knees. "Breathe, Carlisle," I murmured. I held his shoulder as he slid forward a little. It would slow his descent to the floor, but I was sure he would end up there anyway.
Thankfully, the nurse had shifted us to another cubicle where he could lie down before anything had happened. Once he mentioned how nauseous he was, she arranged antiemetics and fluids to run through the line as well, colour finally starting to return to his cheeks as the feeling began to ease.
I kept hold of his hand on the bed but was starting to think he was too dazed to realise I was still there at all. "You should go home," he mumbled eventually. "You're sick too."
"Barely. I'm fine; let's find out what's happening first." I was starting to feel like the worst of it had passed today - for me at least; I was sure he'd disagree.
"It could be a while."
"I know. Is the nausea better?"
He nodded tiredly. Still struggling not to fall asleep, he leaned his cheek against my palm as I touched his face. "Sorry we're back here. I really thought we were going to make it in and out without any issues this time."
"It's alright." I hoped the fluids would help; it had been obvious that he was going downhill again since he hadn't been able to drink much.
"I really don't want to stay here tonight - I thought I was doing better until we all got sick."
"You've kept yourself out of hospital for a while," I agreed.
"It's been really difficult."
"They're not admitting you yet." I kept my hand in his hair, repetitively brushing it back from his face. "You should sleep if you can; you'll feel better." He wouldn't admit to it, but I was pretty sure he'd been awake until the early hours of the morning.
"Hope so."
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He did, thankfully. He slept for a couple of hours while the medication ran through, his vital signs looking more stable the next time the nurse checked. She made him prove he could walk without collapsing before letting us go home, and I had him back in the car not long after. In bed forty minutes after that. Asleep twenty minutes later.
It had taken me half a day to figure out that Alistair was too awkward to ask me for anything, no matter how unwell he was. At four o'clock I'd realised he hadn't eaten anything all day, except for the tylenol he'd dry-swallowed in the morning. His attempts to sleep were foiled by the shivering and aching, the thin blanket he'd cocooned himself in on the couch not enough to soothe him. It was only when I was trying to make Carlisle a little less miserable that I realised I should double the effort.
"Al, here." I didn't wait for his consent before throwing another blanket over him. Dragging the edge of the coffee table closer, I set the TV remote down where he could reach it - the loop of infomercials must have been driving him crazy by now. He watched me skeptically as I brought him a bottle of water. "Do you want a hot drink? It might help your throat."
"No, thanks," he mumbled. Manners and everything - he must have been sick.
"Are you sure?"
He squirmed - then gave in to the weight of the bedding and settled into the furniture. "I, um, I'm a bit nauseous. Is Carlisle okay?"
"He's not feeling great, but he's alright. Are you?"
"Yeah, just so fucking tired," he mumbled. "Can I stay here tonight?" It had been weeks since he'd bothered to ask, and I had to curb my need to tease him about it now. "I'm not sure I can drive."
"Yeah, Alistair. And you don't have to suffer in silence, you know."
"Thanks." I was sure that was all I was going to get out of him as he shut his eyes again, pulling the fleece closer around his throat, but he spoke again before I moved away. "Cullen really survived that appointment?"
"Barely; I was pretty sure he was going to have to stay in overnight for a while, but he seems alright now." We made small talk for a while while I sat across from him and tried to convince myself that I wasn't at least a little concerned about him. The shivers he was barely suppressing seemed to be worsening, the faint flush in his cheeks abnormal.
"Can we turn the thermostat up?" he asked.
I frowned at him but stood to do it anyway. "I think you have a temperature, Al, it's not cold in here."
"Stop mothering me," he grumbled. "Why aren't you written off? That seems unfair."
I wasn't about to tell him how much Carlisle had babied me when this had first set in; I felt less like death this evening. "Superior genetics?" I teased instead, narrowly avoiding the pillow he launched at my head.
"Your mistress called this morning."
"Heidi?" My stomach knotted, painfully tight suddenly.
There was a pause as he started to cough and grabbed at the drink bottle, and I impatiently waited for the spasms to stop. "Yeah," he got out eventually. He choked on the water, fumbling to get the bottle top back on, about to spill it until I leaned forward to take it from him.
"What'd she want?" I almost didn't want to ask, putting all of my focus into screwing the lid into place before I gave it back.
"I don't know; I hung up on her." His eyes were shut, his arms disappearing back under the blanket, fighting falling asleep again.
"Please don't tell Carlisle?" I lowered my voice, nervous that he'd immediately blurt it out. At least my husband wasn't in any condition to listen.
He just shrugged. "Didn't plan on it."
I swallowed tightly. "She, um, told us she was pregnant while we were away. Carlisle thinks she's lying, but I'm scared that she's not."
"Isn't she married?"
"Yeah."
"Doesn't make sense, unless the husband is shooting blanks." Upon my silence, he peeked over at me again. "It's been over four months; your husband regularly checks her social media and she isn't exactly modest - he would be well aware if she was that far along." I hadn't realised Alistair been keeping a running tally of my infidelity.
That wasn't the worst part of his statement; I suddenly didn't care about the pregnancy so much anymore. "Why?"
"Why, what?" he mumbled, starting to fall asleep again.
"Why the hell is Carlisle-?" I trailed off, already sure that I wasn't going to like the answer.
Alistair sighed. "I don't know; he likes hurting his own feelings, apparently. I think he wants to keep tabs on her."
"That can't be healthy."
"I don't think he does it because it's good for him, Garrett. If he didn't squirm so much when women flirt with him, I'd be worried he was into her; she is hot - you really managed to pull-"
"Stop," I interrupted, feeling the blood rush to my face. There was absolutely no way in hell I was about to engage in that conversation.
He laughed but did thankfully shut himself up before it ended in another coughing fit.
"Is he searching for Caius as well?" It instantly broke me out in a cold sweat; all of the progress I'd thought he'd made wouldn't be so solid if he was still checking on him. Alistair shrugged, but we both knew the answer, realistically.
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I felt a lot better the next morning. The congestion had eased, the scratching in my throat almost gone, and I was hungry for the first time in four days. I tiptoed out into the kitchen in search of breakfast to avoid disturbing Carlisle and Al - hopefully they'd be feeling better too.
Carlisle was awake the next time I checked on him. Still wrapped in the blankets, he had only moved enough to free his hand to hold his phone, tucked under the covers as much as he could be. "Cold?" I asked softly. He jumped at the sound of my voice.
"A little," he agreed unsurely.
"The pot is still hot if you want a cup of coffee?" I sat down on my side of the bed when he declined the offer, pulling the blankets back over myself to get to him underneath. I could see what he had on the screen once I was close enough, and fought not to scold him for answering work emails while he was off the clock. "Feeling any better?"
He shook his head, dropping the device to roll over to face me, his arm slipping over my waist. "My fever is higher."
I sank down against the mattress. "You do feel warm." I held the back of my hand against his forehead as he rested his head on my chest, keeping my palm there once it seemed to help the discomfort. "You shouldn't keep yourself so wrapped up while you're so hot."
"Everything aches, and it's worse when I'm cold," he mumbled into my shirt. "But I tried to have a cold shower anyway and my heart rate got so fast; I'm too dizzy." God knows how he'd attempted that without waking me up - maybe I was still a little sick.
"You didn't get much sleep last night, huh?" My free hand wandered down his body, settling between his shoulder blades. I was sweating already, his skin starting to stick to mine, clammy as he tremored against me.
He shook his head. "Not really. This is nice, though."
"Do you think you can sleep if I stay here?" As much as I wanted to help, I mostly just wanted to be close to him, and it seemed like an easy route to affection. His noncommittal agreement seemed to come from the same place, his knee creeping over my thigh as he squeezed me. I shoved off the duvet to compensate.
"Hopefully; I can't think straight," he told me eventually.
"No more working in bed, please. Especially while you're like this."
"It was only emails."
"I know, but still."
He fell quiet long enough that I'd hoped he'd fallen asleep, before he shifted again and blew his cover. The heat of him was slowly becoming unbearable and I didn't know how to push him off me while I craved the contact and he was seemingly comfortable. I wiggled enough that he had to put his leg back on his side of the bed, his arm retracting from my middle to hold a fistful of my t-shirt at my waist instead, not wanting to be moved again.
"This really sucks."
I nudged him back against the mattress, kissing his temple and moulding myself around him as I hoped it would make us both a little more comfortable in the long run - I wasn't going to be able to stay with him long at this rate. He held his breath as I forced his joints to flex, his body rigid until the pain subsided. I watched the discomfort dissolve from his face, his breathing evening out a little. "I really can't tempt you into a drink?"
He shook his head.
"Water?"
"I'll throw it up, and I'm going to faint if I have to sit up too quickly."
"We're going back down that route, huh?"
"Not intentionally."
"Take that sweatshirt off; you're burning." Surprisingly, he did it without too much protest, the long sleeve shirt underneath going with it before I had a chance to complain about it. I shoved the rest of the blankets onto the floor as well, leaving us only with the top sheet, shockingly getting no complaint about that either.
"Happy?" He didn't wait for a response before tucking himself against me again, his head on my as I stretched it under his pillow. Again, it was a few seconds for him to relax, and even then he was struggling, his jaw clenched tightly.
"Yeah. Would more pain relief help you sleep?"
"I don't want to take it," he admittedly, barely audible.
"Why? Because of Caius?"
"Mmm."
"He's not drugging you, Carlisle. If you're sore, we need to deal with it." He was definitely more nervous about that while he wasn't feeling well. His paranoia wasn't about to serve him well, but I wasn't sure how I'd ever get him to overcome it while he was in his current state.
He picked at the loose threats on the sheet, my fingertips teasing the back of his neck in an effort to keep him from working himself up. "I guess. I think he's calling me; it's a private number, and I don't want to answer it. I don't know if I can handle hearing his voice again."
"Give it to me next time. You have a restraining order against him; he's not allowed to contact you like that, and we can report him if he does." And it was far more likely it was a realtor calling about one of the apartments we'd applied to. Giving Carlisle's number had been an oversight on both of our behalfs, apparently.
"I don't want to piss him off; he knows where we live."
"We're going to move soon, and he's known that the whole time anyway," I reasoned. "Right now, though, you're going to take some painkillers, and then we're going to have a nap. Have you taken your other medication?" I'd given it to him, but I wasn't hovering as closely as I used to, assuming - wrongly, apparently - that we were past all that. Maybe it was just the flu bringing this all back again.
"Yeah, I- I know it's not rational, I think I just need to go to sleep for a while."
"I think so too."
.
.
The voice down the other end of the line wasn't Caius, but my blood still ran cold. I froze, anxious before rage took over, trying to breathe enough to form a coherent thought as Carlisle wrapped his arms around his knees, frantically searching my face for confirmation that he was in danger. I purposefully name-dropped her before he became so tense that he pulled a muscle. "Stop calling us, Heidi."
"Don't you want to hear from the mother of your child, Garrett?" she snapped back. We'd been in bed a couple of hours before she'd ruined it, the sound of his phone ringing catapulting him upright while I struggled to compensate for him abruptly throwing the device toward me.
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly full of cotton wool. "It isn't mine. It can't be." My husband was getting pale, shaky, no doubt dizzy. I grabbed his hand to pull him back down beside me. The shock seemed to be wearing off, annoyance replacing it once he was sure he wasn't about to be murmured by his ex-employer. I wasn't sure if having to deal with Heidi was any better.
"Did you miss that part of biology class? Of course it is," she argued.
"I haven't been near you for months; why would it be mine?" I was starting to squirm, suddenly unable to look at Carlisle despite his hand finding my sleeve. "And we were safe. Leave us alone - we don't need this right now."
"I'll take you to court," she threatened. "You're not getting out of this-"
"I'll get paternity testing; that baby isn't mine - if you're actually pregnant in the first place." I felt sick, my chest tight, my husband patiently squeezing my forearm. He shook his head when he caught my eye.
"You're an idiot, Garrett."
I couldn't argue against that.
.
.
My mother had doubted her adult son's abilities to look after themselves so much that she'd driven into town to check up on us. She hadn't known that Carlisle and I were sick until Eleazar had dobbed us in, and she'd promised to visit after righting the chaos currently happening in my brother's home. Sometimes I was glad we couldn't have children.
Alistair immediately started to pack his things when I told him, out of breath after a few steps and visibly exhausted after pulling on his sweatshirt. "You can stay, Al; I'm not kicking you out," I told him. I couldn't quite find the energy to physically stop him, my legs aching when I shifted them. I hadn't entirely recovered from my encounter with Heidi, my nerves still on edge, hands shaking if I didn't squeeze them around my coffee cup. "You shouldn't be driving if you're feeling that unwell anyway."
"I'm not sure I want to meet your mother, Garrett. Especially not while I haven't showered in two days," he told me uncomfortably. His efforts to leave stopped while he considered it.
"You don't have to meet her - go and sit with Carlisle; I doubt he'll want to see her right now either." I didn't plan on telling him unless he woke up. He hadn't moved since I'd abandoned him to nap alone - his fever had dropped enough for him to fall asleep and he'd been calmer since we'd confirmed that it was Heidi bothering us. There was no way in hell I was disturbing him to deal with my parents.
Still cautious, he sat back down on the couch across from me. "Are you sure? Isn't it going to be…weird?"
"Probably, but it's our house. She can deal."
.
.
It was more than weird. Despite looking like absolute death, Alistair had been too uncomfortable to remain cuddled up under the blankets on the couch once she arrived, but did stay in the kitchen with me to wait it out. All I could think about when I opened the door was the photos, heat burning down my neck, my heart hammering in my ears. I couldn't look her in the eye. My shame only worsened as she took in Alistair - obviously in his pajamas, not long having woken up.
"Who's this?" she asked cautiously, accusatory while I blushed violently and stuttered and he vaguely introduced himself.
"He's Carlisle's friend - Al has been helping us while he's been sick," I clarified quickly, desperate to throw my husband's name into conversation to smother her assumption - not that she'd been filled in about what had actually happened with Carlisle. It hurt to see that she didn't entirely trust me, that she'd suspected that I'd replace him so quickly if we had broken up, or that I was cheating again if we hadn't.
She just nodded and started to set down a bag of groceries on the bench.
"He's not- Carlisle really isn't well and I don't want to wake him while he's managing to sleep."
They were both looking at me like I was a fucking idiot. I could hardly argue that it was the flu that was making me so frazzled. "Do you want coffee?" I asked to fill the silence.
"Go and sit down, Garrett, I can get it myself," she assured me. "I've brought you some snacks and some tea - you'll dehydrate yourself if you only have coffee, love, you'll never feel any better."
"Thanks. Carlisle has been making tea," I mumbled, unable to stop myself. I really needed to close my fucking mouth.
"You're acting like you're trying to cover up his murder, Garrett," Alistair informed me. He turned to my mother, who'd raised her eyebrows, mildly entertained as much as she was disapproving. "I promise he's very much alive."
"I'm glad my son isn't a murderer," she chuckled uncomfortably.
The whole visit was painful. Mom could barely look at me, and I was dying to crawl back into bed, Al in a similar state. At least she liked one of us - he could be charming when he wanted to be, and I could suddenly see why my husband had such a persistent crush on him. The thought instantly made me nauseous.
It only got worse when Carlisle did finally make an appearance. Half asleep, he cut himself off halfway through saying my name as he reached the kitchen doorway. He buffered when he saw my mother. She did too, not quite masking her shock at the condition he was in now, certainly not disguised at all under the t-shirt, the line in his arm obviously visible. His face burned at her hesitation, his posture crumbling instantly as he crossed his arms across his chest. "Hi, Sasha."
"Hi, love." She forced herself to move, to pull him into a careful hug, like she was scared she'd break him by squeezing too hard. A grimace flashed across her face as he put his arms around her, silent acknowledgement of the frame beneath the fabric. "It's nice to see you again."
He retreated to my side as soon as the awkward interaction was over. His head was on my shoulder within a few minutes, shuffling closer to me and down in the seat, somewhat shielding himself from my mother.
"What'd you need?" I asked lowly. Mom was momentarily distracted by Alistair, pointedly engaging him to avoid Carlisle, hyper-fixated while they made cheap small talk about the weather.
"It wasn't important," he mumbled.
"Are you alright, aside from the obvious?" I shifted my arm around him, squeezing him softly as it made him fall into me. His nod was obviously a lie. "Why'd you get up?"
"I didn't realise your mom was here."
"I hoped you'd sleep through it. Are you sure you're alright?"
He nodded. Although he'd started to relax, his breath caught suddenly, and I felt the shudder go through his body as he winced, his hand pulling free of mine to grip the edge of the seat, the other moving to his middle as he tried not to double over.
I waited until the tension had eased before questioning him. "You're getting stomach pain? That's not part of the flu, Carlisle."
He couldn't respond until the wave had passed, shakily sucking in deep breaths until he was more steady. "It's the same pain as usual, just a bit worse. I think I strained something when I was throwing up."
"You're vomiting again?"
"That isn't new; I'm always sick, Gar," he argued under his breath.
"Less lately, though," I reminded him. I wasn't entirely certain, but I was pretty sure he'd managed to gain a little weight over the last few weeks - at the very least, the weight loss had slowed down. My mother's reaction wouldn't have helped his confidence any, but he either was making progress or I was delusional.
He didn't get a chance to answer, initially trying to swallow away the urge to cough but entirely unsuccessful. I watched his face get redder and redder the longer that he couldn't take a breath, until he finally managed to control it again. It had caught the attention of the other two as well, mom fumbling through the cupboards until she found a mug, filling it with water and bringing it to me, suddenly reluctant to interact with him. Exhausted, I didn't think he noticed, fighting his middle cramping again. "Can you have a shower with me later?" he asked once he could breathe again.
Now my mother was really uncomfortable. I had to fight to keep my face from flushing once I realised she could see the marks I'd left on his body, almost faded but obviously left by my lips.
Carlisle didn't register it. At least his affection toward me had made my claims of us still being together a little more credible. "If you're feeling that bad, I don't think you should risk it, baby," I murmured. "You're not so hot anymore."
"I know, but it helps the pain, and I can breathe better with the steam." He took another careful sip of the water, avoiding Mom completely to study the carpet across the room. I kept slowly rubbing the small of his back while I perched on the edge of the furniture, the conversation in the room quickly dying. It crashed further when she started to bring up Christmas, and she quickly cut herself off after sensing it wasn't a welcome topic.
It was enough to drive her out of the department. I stood to open the door for her, allowing the most off-kilter hug that had even existed between us as I mumbled another thankful. Carlisle and Al mumbled the same from the across the room, though neither of them dared to come any closer, my husband wrapping the blanket around himself to shelter from her.
"Your mother is upset with me," he murmured to me when I came back to his side. "But I don't know what I've done. Is it because I tried to leave you?"
"I don't think so; I think she's uncomfortable after everything Heidi sent her - everything has been awkward today; it's not just you." God knows how I was ever going to fix that. She really would disown me if she found out my affair was not only with Kate's teacher, but that she was threatening pregnancy as well. "Do you still want my help?"
He nodded, hesitant to move suddenly. "Gar, I don't think I'm going to get through this without going to the hospital."
"We'll deal with it if it happens, Carlisle."
.
.