He had done his best to put on a brave face for me. Whenever I was there and he was awake enough to speak, he had never complained, never admitted that he was in pain, and never let on that he was afraid. He'd managed to smile and chat to my mother when she insisted on seeing him, despite the awkwardness it brought on. The reassurance he gave Alistair over the phone had sounded convincing, even though he didn't have the strength to lift the device off the bed.
It was still a long and slow recovery. He spent a week in intensive care before being moved to a ward, the same amount of time unable to move until the inflammation in his brain and spinal cord reduced. The headaches and nausea remained debilitating, the vomiting relentless unless he was tube fed and having near continuous antiemetics. I'd been terrified of paralysis until he'd managed to stand for the first time. The resulting faint didn't seem as important. The medical staff were very reluctant to allow him to try it again.
With the support of my parents, I left my job. There was no point keeping it when I was spending every day at the hospital and we were moving out of town. I hadn't told my husband about any of it. Not while he was drowning in everything he had to deal with and still hadn't regained enough strength to pull the sheets over himself.
Another seizure had thrown a spanner in the works. The call came in the middle of the night, and I found myself driving in despite the doctor's reassurances that he had come out of it alright. I'd expected that he'd be upset - they'd assured me that it was normal to be a little disorientated and drowsy afterwards - but I hadn't anticipated the guilt of watching him try to cover it.
Still, a wave of relief washed over me once I'd seen that he looked largely alright. They'd rolled him onto his side in case he vomited, in case he wasn't awake enough to do it himself and choked, but he was in one piece if nothing else. Tears welled up the second he saw me, not at all helped by my hands on him. I ignored the chair as I crouched beside the bed, my fingers automatically brushing through his hair as I leveled us. "You okay?"
His nod was obviously a lie. "Just nauseous."
I leaned down to kiss his temple, grazing my thumb over his cheek as he bit down on his lip to stifle how badly he wanted to cry. "Are you sure? You can tell me the truth."
"Scared."
"I know." Unable to offer him anything, I pulled down the bedrail, dragging the seat behind me close enough to perch on the edge of it and keep hold of his hand. The next slow hour passed with him drifting in and out of consciousness, occasionally asking me what was happening and suggesting I go home when I told him. The doctor came to see him in the afternoon. The news that they were hoping to discharge him by christmas was as equally unexpected as it was nerve racking. He'd most likely have repeat episodes like this despite the medication to control it. Carlisle just nodded. I wasn't sure how much he was actually able to take in.
I really wanted us to be together on christmas day. I'd expected that we'd be here, just like every other day for the past few weeks, but the prospect of being able to wake up next to him that morning had me grinning like an idiot. I kept my mouth shut about it; my husband only looked more nervous. "Are you happy about coming home?" I asked eventually.
Finally at breaking point, the tears spilled over. "This can't happen at home. They've got to find a way to stop it while I'm here."
"We can deal." I tightened my grip on his hand, desperately craving more contact as a sob shuddered through him. "It'll be hard, but we can do it." People lived with it. We could live with it too.
"I can't, Gar."
"I can, then."
"It's forever, though."
"We're married now; that's forever too."
.
.
It got easier - for me, anyway. I'd started forcing myself to watch when the nurses drew blood, whenever he needed an injection or the bandaging changed, as a desperate attempt to desensitize myself. I commandeered any task that I could do without medical training, trying to kid myself that he was more comfortable under my hands than theirs. The normal rush of stars in my vision never came when his IV dislodged and blood soaked through the sheets, my stomach no longer turning each time he vomited. Day by day, he was able to do more by himself. His constant fidgeting with the blankets, anxiously running the creases between his fingertips, would have been irritating had I not been so relieved that he had the fine motor skill back; it seemed like an eternity since he'd been able to pick anything up on his own. He was frightened, frustrated - but still didn't complain. If nothing else, the weeks of bedrest had healed his fractures nicely.
I started shipping our things to my parent's place. Eleazar helped me load our furniture into a trailer, and suddenly our new apartment was as empty as our old one. My brother also offered to drive the few hours away to pick up Alistair when he was finally able to land at a semi-local airport.
Al was a disaster. I wouldn't have sent my Eleazar if I'd known the state he was in. El had brought him back to our apartment against his wishes instead of taking him straight to Carlisle, and I was glad that he'd insisted on it before they saw each other for the first time. A hot meal and a glass of water seemed to soak up enough of the caffeine in his system for the shakes to subside, his anxious questioning drying up enough to hold a proper conversation.
I drove him to the hospital once he'd managed to calm down a little. I'd done my best to prepare him for what was happening, that my husband still wasn't himself and he'd need to be careful and gentle. He grabbed my wrist as I turned to open the driver's door. "He'll be awake though? They would have called you if they'd intubated him again? If he's had another seizure?"
There was an uncomfortable silence as I thought of the best way to answer him; in all likelihood, Carlisle could have had another episode since I'd last seen him - he'd asked them to stop phoning me unless it was life threatening. "The nurse calls if anything is wrong, but he's still been having a couple of seizures a week, even with the medication," I explained carefully. We'd talked about that too - that it was possible it could happen while we were there, though I'd only ever witnessed the first one.
He didn't release me. "But he's- he can still- is he paralysed?"
"He can move; it's slowly getting better, but he lost a lot of strength - he can't get up yet."
That seemed to be the end of it. Standing next to me in the elevator, he had his fingers tightly knotted together to keep his hands from trembling. His voice shook just as much the next time he spoke. "Can I hug him?"
"He won't break, Al, I promise." I was only so sure of that after watching the nurses touch him for the last few weeks. My prayers that Carlisle was having a good day appeared to be answered as we stepped into the room. His friend crumbled instantly, intelligibly mumbling into his shoulder as he desperately clutched him, my husband murmuring reassurances that he was fine and getting better despite barely being able to lift his arms off the bed.
I stepped back into the corridor as soon as he said 'I love you' to avoid slapping him. Not because he loved him - because of course he did - but rather for springing it on Carlisle again. I was suddenly glad that Al needed to fly home again in two days; that was going to be all I could tolerate if he kept that up. The fifteen minutes I lingered in the hallway was agonising as I stupidly considered if Carlisle might finally give in to him, leave the drama with Heidi and Caius behind and go and start a new life with his friend like Alistair so desperately hoped he would. He didn't even know about the camera footage yet.
Our car ride home was silent and awkward. So was dinner, and the strained hour of TV we watched together on the couch afterwards. I didn't know what to say to him, how to acknowledge what neither of us wanted to. That entire meltdown was obviously something he didn't want me to have witnessed.
"Are you…still moving back here?" I asked eventually.
He didn't look away from the screen as he shook his head. "No point."
"You have other friends here, Al; I can help you find another apartment." Edward and Bella had already offered him a room. I wasn't entirely sure how much they knew about what was happening, but I'd been there when Alistair had taken the call and declined the offer.
"I don't want to come back for any of them." For the most part, he'd been understanding of the upheaval of our living situation. He'd been supportive when I'd explained that I wanted to get Carlisle back into the UK, tolerant when I'd thrown away all of the plans we'd made for the future. His sentiment now seemed a little unreasonable though.
"If you're unhappy living with your mother-"
"I'm not." The lie was transparent.
"Alright, then."
.
.
Al wasn't any easier to deal with the next morning. He was already petulant by the time we reached the ward together, and my husband was struggling, as much as he tried to hide it. I made the most of the opportunity when Alistair ducked out for the restroom, shuffling myself closer until Carlisle was in reach. He tiredly closed his hand around mine, managing a small smile as our eyes met.
"Did you have a rough night?"
He'd been quiet, drowsy to the point that I wondered if he'd rather we just left him alone for the afternoon. "Not feeling so good today."
"Can I help?"
Although he initially started to shake his head, he was suddenly more awake. "Can you bring my book next time you come?"
"Of course. Do you think you're going to be able to hold it?"
"Maybe one of the smaller ones."
"You're that bored, huh?"
"I've been here so long; I just want to go home."
"Soon."
"I'm not allowed to drive anymore."
"You barely drove anyway, passenger princess," Alistair grumbled as he made his reappearance. He wasright, fortunately. I'd already guessed as much - they'd already told me that his license would be suspended for a minimum of a year after his last seizure. Aside from the short journey home from my brother's place, I couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been behind the wheel for any length of time. The perceived loss of independence still must have been a blow.
I squeezed his hand and ignored Al's remark. "You'll be able to get your license back if your seizures stop," I reminded him.
"If they don't, I never will."
"Let's work on breaking you out of here first," Al told him, the first useful thing he'd had to offer all morning. His eyes were trained on the tangle of lines attached to my husband, Carlisle's nonsensical fidgeting with the wiring not helping the knot in the slightest. "You can't drive with all that stuff attached to you."
His fingers froze in their latest ploy to pick the IV dressing off of his arm as he suddenly became aware of it, aware of us being aware of it. "They took the catheter out this morning," he offered as a distraction.
"Congratulations," he teased. "Isn't not having to get up to go to the bathroom more convenient? You're not going anywhere in a hurry."
Carlisle rolled his eyes at him. "Let me know next time you'd rather have a tube shoved up your-"
"I don't want to hear about what you've had shoved where, Cullen," he interrupted.
"Trust me, Al, I'm pretty sure they've put a tube absolutely everywhere they possibly could have when I first got here," he continued anyway.
"Carlisle." He sank down further in his chair as my husband laughed quietly, only just managing to curb it as the nurse came to speak to him. Even if Alistair didn't appreciate it, each little bit closer he got to freedom felt like a milestone. Al kept a wary eye on the nurse as she attached another bag of fluid to the feeding tube - lunch, though I doubted it was half as satisfying. "No three course meals here, huh?" His voice was strained now, the clicking of the pump filling the nurse's absence.
"Not so much," Carlisle mumbled. It was a harsh hurdle for him to overcome; he wouldn't meet his discharge criteria until he was able to swallow his medication and hold down something solid, but his stomach was so insanely sensitive that we were struggling to find anything he could tolerate. For now, it was vanilla flavoured formula dribbled through the tube frustratingly slowly. Even the small amount seemed to make his stomach cramp.
I was immediately hit with a wave of guilt; usually I bought him tea or lemonade each time I came - the only treats that didn't have consequences. I'd forgotten this time. "It's been pretty high stakes lately."
Alistair was quiet for a moment. "You two didn't get much of a honeymoon, huh?"
"It doesn't matter," I told him while my husband refused to look at either of us.
"Wasn't much of a wedding either," Carlisle whispered.
"We did the bit that counts," I reminded him. Instinctively, my left hand moved to fidget with my wedding band, checking that it was still there, that it was still real. I'd started wearing it again once we'd made it official, but I didn't know if he'd noticed yet. It didn't seem like he cared until right now.
He mumbled something about ruining the day, and Al quickly made another joke to get away from the topic as it became uncomfortable. He didn't bounce back for the rest of the visit, suddenly seeming even more exhausted, quiet and eventually suggested that we go home.
As soon as we did get back to the apartment, I dug out the wedding band I'd bought for him all those months ago. The one I'd never given him. It seemed wrong to just unceremoniously hand it to him, though, unceremonious had been our marriage so far.
Instead, I carefully wrapped the box in the same obnoxious paper I'd covered Kate's gift with and buried it in my suitcase. Proposing on christmas day may not have been the best idea, but it wasn't technically a proposal if we were already married, and I sure as hell wasn't going to try it while he was sick. It probably wouldn't fit him anymore either - we'd need to get it resized. If he even wanted it in the first place. I hoped it wouldn't make Christmas day more stressful for him than it historically had been.
.
.
Alistair came and went. I enrolled into the earliest first aid course I could in preparation for Carlisle coming home. The thought of having to push as hard and fast on his chest as I needed to on the mannequin in order to pass the CPR section of the training turned my stomach - I'd go through his ribs. I didn't let on that I'd done the class, trying to avoid his inevitable guilt, but the extra training made me feel far more secure. He was endlessly fighting to gain enough ground to be well enough for discharge - without knowing that we'd immediately be moving in with my parents.
I didn't know how to tell him - how to even bring it up. I kept hoping that he'd miraculously feel better, that it suddenly wouldn't seem so monstrous to spring it on him while he was sick. He eventually solved the problem for me.
"What happened with the apartment?" The question was very careful, measured, and I knew without looking at him that he was gauging my reaction. He didn't give me long enough to figure out how to get around the conversation - the last place we should have been having it was while he was hospitalised. "Did Al break the lease?"
I swallowed uncomfortably, shifting as the back of my neck became hot. I couldn't pick how he knew, how much he knew. "No, um, I did. Carlisle, we shouldn't talk about this while you're unwell." It was the wrong thing to say; immediately pale, he dug his elbows into the bed to fight his way upright, making another unsuccessful attempt to shuffle upwards. He'd stood up for the first time the day before - and immediately passed out, not having gotten back the energy it had taken yet.
His heart rate leapt on the monitor. "Talk about what?"
I reached for his wrist, trying to put the brakes on the oncoming panic attack. "I promise I'll explain it to you, but not right now - not until you're feeling better," I tried to reason.
"Are you leaving?" he interrupted. Underneath mine, his fingers trembled.
I shook my head. He quite clearly didn't believe me, certainly wasn't about to drop it. I gave in. "I don't think you're going to be able to stay here, Carlisle, you need to go back to the UK."
He looked like he was about to vomit. Pass out, maybe. Cry at the very least. Instead, he just froze. "Was my residency declined?"
"No; you're a resident as my husband. Are you sure you're well enough to talk about this right now?"
He nodded obediently.
I sighed and continued. "We're not going to be able to deal with all the medical stuff here; we need to be somewhere where you can access whatever you need to." I tried to push on despite the lump in my throat. "I'll come with you; I've already started working on the legal stuff. I had to back out of our apartment lease - we'll move in with my parents for a little while once you're discharged from here, until we're ready to move. We still have time to work everything out."
"Gar, I can't," he repeated numbly. "You can't."
"I don't know what other option you have, baby. You can't go on like this here." I shouldn't have sprung it on him all at once - the shock of it was going to kill him.
"But your family-"
"You're my family."
"Garrett."
"I'm sorry that I've started all of this without discussing it with you first, but I didn't know how long you were going to be in the ICU for, and I didn't want you to have to stress about this too much once you were awake." I watched him struggle to hold it together, my mouth dry as I did the same. My eyes were burning and my throat was tight, my voice uneven when I rushed to fill the silence. "Obviously I can't force you to move, but I don't know what else we can do."
"But you'll- if I move back once I'm better, we're not breaking up over this? You're not…? You'll wait?"
"I'll move to the UK with you," I repeated. It hit like a freight train that he'd considered this before, that it was only our relationship that held him here.
"When we get over there and you get sick of me-"
"I'm not going to get sick of you."
"Sick of looking after me, then."
"I won't, Carlisle." I could barely speak around the lump in my throat.
He was fighting to get words out as well. "I don't think- if we stay with your parents- I can't expect them to- if I get sick, they shouldn't have to deal with me - it's bad enough that you have to."
I stood to kiss his temple, pulling him into a hug when he reached his arms around my shoulders. "I'll be home with you; I've already handed in my notice at work."
"I'm going to get fired after this," he mumbled into my shirt.
"You need to quit your job; you need time to recover - you can't be trying to meet deadlines. We almost lost you; we're going to do this properly, and you're going to get better." I tilted his chin up to fit my lips to his, lightly rubbing his shoulder.
Although his heart leapt through his shirt, there was no resistance in either his body or words. He wasn't stupid; he knew the consequences of staying here - consequences he'd been willing to accept, apparently. "Have you told your parents that you're moving away?"
"Yes, they know what's going on."
"Are they-?"
"No one is upset with you."
"Al?"
"He doesn't want you to leave, obviously, but he understands." Feeling the shudder that ran through his body, I pulled him to me again, the way he desperately clutched me sending a cramp through my chest. "I know it's a lot to take in while you've already got so much going on, but you don't need to do anything except rest right now."
.
.
I felt like an idiot, buying my adult husband a soft toy. I lied to the lady behind the counter when she asked who it was for in the name of small talk. Still, the plushy resembled our cat, and the tactile aspect of the fur would be nice, considering the amount he picked at his clothing and the bedding. I'd spotted it in the window of one of the hospital gift shops and hadn't been able to get it out of my head since, hoping like hell that he would find it endearing rather than as horribly lame as giving it to him felt.
He wasn't well when I arrived. Pale and exhausted, he was only half awake, the kiss I planted on his temple still producing a small smile. "Hey."
I tried to swallow away my nerves; he was clearly post-seizure, his fourth this week, and I'd suddenly started to worry that I wouldn't have him home by Christmas. "I have something for you."
"Tea?" he guessed. He tried to lift his head to peek at what I was holding, but quickly gave up the effort when it made the room spin.
Threading my fingers through his hair, I desperately tried to stem the oncoming tears. A couple escaped anyway as I forced a laugh; it was an educated guess. I quickly wiped my face dry with the back of my sleeve. "I did bring you a cup of tea, but that's not a surprise at this point, is it?"
"Still nice, though. You okay?"
The ball of emotion hit me like a bullet, crushing in my chest as I caught his hand, squeezing his fingers in mine. "I miss you- I love you so much."
"I love you too, Gar; it's okay." His free hand drifted to the collar of my shirt, trying to tug me down to him. I instinctively leaned down, assuming he wanted a kiss and desperately wanting one myself, but his arms closed around me once I was low enough. "I'm okay."
I kissed his jaw and tucked my face against his shoulder, gripping the blankets around him when I found I couldn't hold him like I wanted, willing the shudders and oncoming meltdown to hold off until I was home again, until I wasn't making him comfort me. "I'm sorry-" The attempt at apologising actively made it worse, until I was crumbling and he was pressing kisses against the side of my face, murmuring comfort while I tried to get a grip.
"Lie down with me," he asked eventually.
"I don't think I'm supposed to, Carlisle." Although I'd tried to get the strength to get the words out evenly, the sentence was fractured with sobs as I pulled back to get a grip. His hand brushed against my cheek, wiping the tears away.
"Just for a little while. I can't get up to hug you."
I couldn't resist. I stayed on top of the blankets but wrapped my arm around his chest as I lay beside him. The attack of emotion died down after a few minutes, as I held him for the first time in what seemed like forever and could feel each slow breath he took. I reached behind me to feel for the bag I'd brought in, fumbling inside of it until I felt the fur of the cat, snatching hold of it and setting it on top of his abdomen. Still dazed, he'd started to fall asleep, but jumped at the weight of it. "Here."
There was a few seconds pause while he processed it. "It looks like Fox," he mumbled, managing a small smile. He was too sleepy to stay awake realistically, his fingers clumsily closing around the toy when I guided his hand to it. "Soft."
"Yeah. She misses you too."
"Thank you for coming."
"I'll always be here." It was only going to be a matter of time before one of the staff told us to knock it off. I untangled myself from him once he'd fallen asleep, taking my usual seat, assuming it'd be a few hours before he was coherent enough to hold a conversation. The time felt like nothing, after I'd spent a few days thinking he'd never be able to talk to me again.
My father's appearance in the doorway made me jump, curse, drop Carlisle's hand so suddenly that it had woken him up again. Dad awkwardly invited himself in, moving to touch my husband's shoulder before thinking better of it and ferreting around in his jacket pocket instead. "House keys," he told me gruffly, holding out a piece of metal to me. His eyes drifted back to the bed, eyebrows knitting together as he took in the state of him. "How are you doing?" he asked him softly.
Carlisle didn't answer him. Suddenly fixated on the toy again, he hadn't heard him, glassy and vacant. "He had another episode this morning," I tried to explain. The sound of my voice disturbed him enough to make him look up at me, and I allowed myself to be hopeful that he'd come out the other side of it. "He's not- he's been better, it's not usually this bad."
Dad nodded, his arms crossing against his chest.
"What's going to happen to Fox when we move?" Although seemingly random, the question came with floods of tears, hyperventilation, his sudden panic to sit up taking me off guard.
Edward and Bella were adopting her. It had seemed like the only logical option, once Alistair had mentioned they'd been looking at getting a pet, although part of me suspected he'd somewhat forced their hand. This seemed like the hardest thing to tell him.
But my father, the same man who'd refused to let Eleazar and I have so much as a goldfish our entire childhoods, was suddenly assuring him that of course the cat could stay with them, that it was no problem and it would be nice to have her around. I stared at him in disbelief. Carlisle was struggling to breathe between 'thankyous' and 'are you sures'. "Of course we'll look after your cat, son; she can stay with us until you're well enough to come back."
"Dad, he might not remember this later," I warned quietly. "Maybe you should ask mom-"
He waved me off. "If he doesn't remember, tell him when he's feeling better."
.
.
We'd decided against getting christmas gifts this year, except something small for Kate that I'd run into a department stall to pick up. Christmas shopping had gone out the window - I didn't have the time, and my husband quite obviously didn't have the ability, and planning an international move didn't leave us with much financial wiggle room. Something about the conversation had crumbled Carlisle far more than I'd expected. He'd mostly held it together when we'd discussed moving, but as soon as I'd mentioned abandoning that part of the tradition he'd gone to pieces.
He was finally discharged on christmas eve. The night before, I'd shoved everything I had thought we could possibly need into the car, hoping to make the trip as smooth as possible. He was being given extra medication for the journey. My father had driven over to collect the cat and all her belongings. I was praying for no hiccups.
Whatever they'd given him was far too strong. Lightheaded and sleepy, he leaned against me in the elevator on the way to the ground floor, barely on his feet, the only words he got out a broken question about where I was taking him. No matter how many times I repeated it, it was clear he couldn't retain it. He had a death grip on the drink I'd brought for him, despite the painful swallows he was forcing. "I feel sick," he told me as we reached the car, as if it was something new. The jacket I'd insisted he wrap himself in had seemed excessive until we'd stepped into the sleet pouring from the dark sky above us. He was still shivery.
My hands were going numb in the cold as I ripped open his door for him. "We can stop if you need to," I promised softly. I pulled his seatbelt across his chest when he fumbled with it, clicking it into place and passing him the water bottle again. "Little sips, yeah?" It didn't give me much faith that he'd remember as he held it between his knees, even less when he needed prompting to put it in the cup holder in the center console.
"Thanks."
"Try and sleep?"
He nodded, quiet while I turned the key in the ignition. "If I get sick in the car?"
"I can deal." In an attempt to reassure him, I fished out one of the sick bags, putting that in his hands in place of the water.
Again, the silence continued, drawing out until we were on the freeway. "I'm gonna get sick at your parent's house, at some point."
"They know you aren't well; they're expecting it." I slipped my hand over his leg, squeezing gently. "It'll be okay."
"Really nervous."
"It'll be weird at first, but it'll be alright. It's not forever." Like I'd hoped, he was out for the count before we got far. I nudged him awake at our usual rest stop halfway through our journey, but couldn't get a lot of sense out of him. "Do you want to go to the bathroom?" I tried. When I was rewarded with him shaking his head, I rephrased it again, only to get the same response.
"I don't want to see Caius again," he mumbled at me.
"He's not going to be there, Carlisle. Come with me." There was no way he wasn't uncomfortable by now. It had never occurred to me that this was going to be an issue - even miles from home, hours away from where the incident had occurred, the mention of needing to step foot in a public restroom had made him squirm, instantly anxious.
He shook his head again. "I can wait."
"It'll be another couple of hours," I warned.
"I'm okay; I'm going to fall asleep anyway."
I pressed a soft kiss to his temple, surrendering. It didn't matter realistically - we could stop again if we really had to. Hoping that something cold and sweet might be a little more tempting than lukewarm water, I bought a bottle of lemonade from the gas station on the way back to the car. The few snacks I grabbed would most likely make it to my parent's place untouched, but I hopefully brought them back with me anyway.
.
.
We got there without incident. Neither of my parents were home, but I opened the door with my key and Fox ran to the door to greet us. I scooped her up as I pushed my husband inside out of the weather, guiding him upstairs before he lost the energy to move. The incentive of lying on a mattress without a plastic cover was enough to motivate him to comply with me.
On christmas morning, we were up before anyone else. "Merry christmas," he whispered to me while we lay in bed, shifting his arm over my waist as he realised I was awake.
"Merry Christmas," I whispered back. I pulled him against me, his knee slipping between mine as I kissed his face, his neck, wherever I could reach. "I'm so happy you're home. Are you feeling okay about everything?" I wanted to get him downstairs, for us to have a little time alone together before everyone else woke up. I squeezed him gently as he gave me a small nod. "Well enough to come into the kitchen for a little while?"
Again, he nodded. We quickly pulled on another layer to fight off the chill in the air, and I took his hand in mine before we reached the staircase. If he was nervous about anything, Carlisle hid it well. The house was cold, the mushy rain from the day before had turned into a heavy downpour of snow, the yard outside white, quiet, perfect.
"Sit." I led him to the couch, handing him one of the festive throw blankets slung over the arm of the furniture - my mother really went all out this year. Again, I couldn't resist stealing another kiss, my hand lingering against his cheek. While he watched, I summoned the last of my boy-scout training to reignite the coals in the fireplace, yellow flames beginning to lick at the kindling before long. I'd turned to tease him, to boast about my fire starting abilities, but he was fixated on the stockings above the mantle. I shoved the little box I'd planted under the christmas tree the day before into my sweatshirt pocket. "Are you sure you're okay?"
He'd frozen, holding his breath for too long as he took in the offending item - a christmas stocking with his name stitched into it in my mother's careful needlework, hanging above the fireplace with the rest of the family's. "Did your mom make that for me?"
She'd done it for Eleazar and I since we were little kids, the toys turning into household items and snacks as the years passed and another nail hammered in for Carmen when she joined the family. Now, my husband's hung next to mine. "Yeah." I got up off my knees, returning to his side to perch on the seat beside him, trapping his hands in mine.
"I've not had- this is the first time- no one's ever done that for me before," he stammered.
"She loves you - everyone does." I watched him carefully, praying that it hadn't spooked him too much, but he seemed to be coping.
"We aren't doing presents this year," he got out eventually.
"They're santa presents; it's different." That, and there wasn't a force on earth strong enough to stop my mother from keeping the tradition. "You okay? If you're uncomfortable, you don't have to open anything."
"I'm okay," he assured me despite his breath catching. The heat of the fire was slowly starting to reach us, the flames throwing golden hews over us while we sat so close. Once he had control over the wave of emotion it had brought on, he shuffled closer to cover me with part of the blanket, his hand on my thigh.
Unexplainably nervous, I swallowed tightly to keep my voice from shaking. "It doesn't count, because the sentiment isn't for christmas, but I have something for you too," I said carefully.
"We agreed on no presents!" he complained lightly, elbowing me softly in the ribs, the flush that rushed across his cheekbones for once seeming healthy.
I grinned at him as I handed over the box. "Well, I got it before we decided that." I kept my hands on his knee while he picked the wrapping paper undone, still half-heartedly complaining about me breaking our pact until he got it open. Again, he just froze, tears welling up as his words choked. I filled the silence around the lump in my throat. The little speech I'd rehearsed in my head suddenly went out the window. "I know we've already signed the paperwork and you weren't ready for it, but I want to be married for more than just residency perks. I married you because I love you, and you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I'm not sure if I can propose to you if you've already done it for me, but I want to marry marry you, if you'd like that too?"
"Yes- I want- yes." His hand trembled so wildly that I struggled to get the ring on his finger, his arms around my neck and his lips against mine the second I released him, pushing me back into my seat. Overwhelmed, the tears overflowed, the uncontrolled sob into my shoulder making me crush him into me. "Stupid pills are turning me into an emotional idiot," he mumbled into my shirt.
"Are you happy?"
"I'm so happy."
"Merry Christmas, baby."
.
.