I felt sick the whole drive into the city. My hands shook and my stomach knotted until I found myself pulling over at a random highway exit with his number dialed into my phone. He answered quickly enough that I doubted he'd been asleep, reassuring me that he was fine, that nothing would happen to him in the few hours before I was back home.
I was convinced that he still didn't sound right. I called my mother after we'd hung up, but she told me the same thing, insisting that he was alright and that she would check on him. Pressing my forehead into the steering wheel for a few seconds, I considered just turning around. Prosecuting that snake of a woman suddenly seemed less important.
In the end, I had to trust him. I couldn't go home and smother him just because I couldn't tolerate half a day apart. It did feel like a lifetime, and my pulse thumped in my ears as I waited for him to respond to the hourly texts I sent. Talking with the officer also made my hands shake. I shoved them under my thighs to hide it as I sat on the other side of his desk. The foul mixture of shame and anxiety, coupled with the stifling silence in the room that was only disturbed by our voices, made me feel oddly childish and queasy. Every sentence I said was immediately followed by a burst of activity on the officer's keyboard. I wasn't oblivious to the camera in the corner of the room either. It almost felt like I was the criminal.
He was insisting that he needed to talk to Carlisle too. Suspicious of me when I begged him to let me speak with him about it first. Even more so when I argued that my husband couldn't physically tolerate the drive over here, that it would have to be a phone call and an in-peron interview wasn't feasible.
I had a headache by the time I left. We were going to fight for the first time since he'd come out of a coma. I knew we would. He was going to panic, get upset that I'd hidden it, and go back to feeling so violated in his own home that he'd stop sleeping again. Jesus, I didn't want to even think about the conversation he was going to have with Alistair.
By the time I was picking up what used to be his favourite snacks at the grocer as a weak peace offering, I had worked myself up so much that I could barely see straight. I couldn't stomach the thought of him hating me, of not wanting to see me, not wanting me to be near him, after I'd been sure that I'd have to live without him. It haunted me the entire trip home.
"The police are going to call you," I blurted out as soon as I saw him. I'd all but kicked the front door open, both of my parents staring at me like I was a maniac while he came to intercept me. The fact that he was downstairs at all should have been a red flag.
The sentence apparently didn't break through the daze he was in. He slipped his arms underneath mine, around the cardboard drink tray and supermarket bag I was holding, to hug me. "I'm glad you're back."
"God, I missed you." I kissed his temple, awkwardly squeezing him. The front door was still open behind me, letting the breeze rush past my shoulders, and I felt a shudder run through his body as the cold air reached him. I still couldn't bring myself to break the contact enough to usher him in enough to close it. "Have you been okay?"
"I slept, mostly," he admitted. "Your mom- checked on me." The way his cheeks instantly burned suggested he really didn't want me to ask. Whatever the lost end of the cut off sentence was, I suddenly decided I didn't need to know about the details.
Behind his back, I wriggled the plastic bag around the cups, until I could balance both in one hand. My other came up to cup his face. "Bad day, huh?"
He tried to smile. "Not my worst."
"I brought you something to eat. Are you hungry? Have you-? Do you want-?" I felt dumb for offering - I knew the answer. When he couldn't bring himself to refuse me, looking a little bewildered as he looked up at me, I gently pressed my lips to his. "Don't worry about it; I wasn't thinking."
"Thank you, though."
"Son, you'll be sleeping outside if you don't shut that bloody door!" my father yelled at me from the living room. His harsh tone possessed all the irritability of having your younger, more annoying child - i.e. me - doing something stupid. It was oddly reminiscent of my teenage years.
Carlisle's reaction was immediate - he jerked back from me and quickly called back an apology as if it had been him that was being scolded. I'd laughed a little, catching the door with my foot to swing it closed, before it had ever occurred to me that he'd genuinely thought there might be repercussions for our carelessness.
I caught his hip with my free hand, steering him toward my parents and the sound of the TV. He gripped my wrist, anxiously squeezing until my fingers tingled. "Garrett- stop," he hissed at me, a little frantic.
Confused, I did as he'd asked. The longer we looked at each other, the less I understood the emotion on his face. The shuffling of footsteps, of my father getting out of his chair, had him pulling me toward him, hardly daring to breathe. "He's joking, Carlisle. Jesus."
Dad's appearance in front of us didn't help the situation. His affectionate slap on my shoulder clearly didn't register as that to my husband at that moment, and he remained stiff and nervous as my father asked me about my meeting and the drive. Carlisle's tense silence unnerved him after a couple of moments. "Are you feeling sick again, kid? You're looking a little pale."
"Little bit," he told him tightly.
"Perhaps you should sit down."
When he didn't respond, my father exchanged glances with me. I passed him the food with a lame joke about surrendering the goods, and all but dragged my husband upstairs. The fresh linen on the bed was the final straw - I was almost entirely certain that he couldn't manage that himself, absolutely positive that he wouldn't voluntarily ask for help to accomplish it. "What happened today? Did you hurt yourself?" Immediately suspicious that he'd bled, I found myself brushing my hands down his arms, feeling for bandaging, that the line in his bicep hadn't been pulled, touching his chest before he stopped me.
He wasn't really present, lights on but nobody home, and clearly hadn't comprehended that I was talking to him past my touches. "How much…how much do they know about what's happening to me?"
It took me a moment to realise that he was referring to mom and dad. "Just the basics - they came to see you while you were in the ICU, and I had to tell them a little bit before we moved in to help keep you safe." Realistically, I'd told them far more than he'd ever be comfortable with. During one of the all-nighters I'd pulled shortly after he'd been extubated, and with the input of a very tolerant nurse, I'd compiled a list of his allergies and conditions, along with the medication schedule he was currently following, and saved it in a document on my phone. I'd emailed it to Alistair and given each of my parents a printed copy of it, so at the very least they could hand it over to paramedics if something happened to him and I wasn't there, to at a minimum stop anyone giving him anything that would kill him. He'd probably kill me when he inevitably found out, but it made me feel better.
In an attempt to get him back, I squeezed his hand more tightly than I should have. "What happened this morning, Carlisle?"
"I'm fine, Gar," he told me despondently. "It's not worse than normal."
I wasn't sure if he was referring to his state as a whole or something specific, but I left it alone when it was clear that I wouldn't get any further with it. "You realise dad was kidding about sleeping outside?"
"Y-yeah."
"You're not…Did…" I didn't know what I was trying to ask him. Instead, I sat beside him on the bed, taking his hand in mine again. "Are you sure?" I pushed eventually.
"I know he wouldn't do that," he told me again. There was a long pause before he tried to speak again. "My father used to- just for a second, I forgot that-" Again, he didn't finish the sentence.
"You had another flashback? Like what happened with Caius?"
"Not as bad, and only for a moment. It's been happening for a while; it's just been harder while I'm sick. I guess I can't, ah, regulate it as well." He dropped his head against my shoulder, leaning against my side, a little more lucid suddenly. "I'm glad you're home. Did the meeting go well this morning?"
I swallowed dryly. Now was as good a time as ever, I guess. "Carlisle, there weren't any problems with our apartment; I needed to go and speak to the police. They're going to call you." When he didn't immediately spiral into a panic attack, I gave him a quick rundown of what had happened while he was in hospital. His dissociated state was helpful in that respect - aside from being a little stiff, it hadn't gotten a rise out of him.
"I'm so pleased we're out of that apartment," he said eventually, when I was convinced that he'd lost the ability to speak at all.
"I'm sorry that I didn't believe you."
He sighed, groaning a little. "It doesn't matter anymore, Garrett."
.
.
It was during dinner - without my husband - that mom broke the news to me. She waited until I'd wolfed down my meal and was impatiently waiting for them to finish. "We think Carlisle had a seizure this morning," she told me carefully, smart enough to not let me get a word in before she continued. "He wasn't well for a couple of hours, but we went to urgent care for a check up and they were sure that he was okay - he stayed with me until you came back, and hasn't had another."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?" It came out far more accusatory than I meant it. Neither one of them pulled me up on it.
"He didn't want us to, and he believes he just passed out. We don't know for sure what happened, but he was confused and had bitten his tongue - it seemed different to how he's been in the past," she continued. "The doctor that assessed him thought it was very likely that he'd had a fit."
I swallowed down a wave of panic - with the week that had passed since his discharge, I had been falsely hopeful that it wasn't going to happen out of hospital, that the medication finally had it under control. "Did they change anything? His treatment is still the same?"
Mom nodded. "He had blood taken, but that's all. I've saved him both dinner and lunch, if you can convince him to have anything." She nodded toward the fridge. "I know he won't touch it, but it's there if he changes his mind."
"He's been having a hard time with the nausea," I told her sheepishly, as if she didn't already know. "It's not your cooking specifically."
She chuckled. "We're a little past expecting him to have a meal with us."
I winced.
"We knew him before he was sick, Garrett; we know it's not malicious," she assured me. "We're not taking it personally."
"Don't…say anything to him about it, please." That was the last thing he needed; he was guilty enough as it was.
"Just let him know we understand."
.
.
I took the job at the neighbour's cafe. Carlisle had been quiet when I'd first brought it up, picking at the edges of his fingernails while I tried to explain that it was only just up the road, and I'd be able to take time off if I needed to. Eventually, he offered reassurance that he'd be alright here on his own, a promise to go to my parents for help if he needed it while I was away. I had a little more faith that he would after today's apparent incident.
The talk with the police a few days later hadn't gone as smoothly. They refused to take his statement over the phone, forcing him to come into the station instead - thankfully relenting enough to let him go to the local office a short drive from my parent's place. He still wasn't pleased, a little short of hostile toward them by the time he'd endured the trip. I was sure he was about to walk out when they insisted that I leave.
I sat in the waiting room while they held my husband hostage in another room. It dragged on for so long that my legs were full of pins and needles from the plastic chair, and my temper had worn down to its last thread. I was seconds away from reminding the woman behind the desk that he wasn't well, that the toll of the drawn out meeting wasn't worth it, when a door finally opened down the hallway and Carlisle was back at my side.
"Done?" I checked.
He nodded. He didn't say anything until we were in the safety of the car, the way he immediately reached for my hand remaining the only suggestion that although he was clearly irritated, he wasn't upset with me. "They asked me if I feel safe at home," he told me eventually. We'd watched the rain run down the windscreen in dribbles, not quite heavy enough to create a steady stream, threatening to freeze in place.
A sick feeling blossomed in the pit of my stomach. "They were asking if I beat you, essentially."
"I guess. I think Heidi said something again; they were asking about the bruising and my hospital admissions - I told them the truth, obviously, but I'm not sure that they believed me."
I forced a deep breath and tabled the issue for the time being. "Are you okay?" It was the first time he'd been out of the house for any length of time, and it looked like it was starting to wear thin. I couldn't tell if he was feeling sick, in pain, or just exhausted - all three, maybe.
"I'm tired," he admitted. "I'm alright though. This is so ridiculous; they never cared when my father was actively abusing me but they're willing to investigate false claims that I didn't even file."
The reminder that this was a completely different country, in a completely different decade, didn't seem helpful. Instead, I leaned over to kiss his cheek, wanting nothing more than to be tangled in him for the rest of the day - for the rest of our lives. I settled for my hand on his thigh instead. "Let's go home."
"Do you want to get coffee on the way back?" Slipping his fingers over top of mine, he lifted my hand to kiss the back of it.
My heart leapt up my throat, fluttering in a way that should have been reserved for first dates and not our second month of marriage. Perhaps being forced out of the house had been a good thing for him. Perhaps he was feeling well enough to have enjoyed a change of scenery and a little drive - a coffee date even. I wasn't sure that he'd recognised the milestone. "Coffee sounds good," I told him simply, grinning at the layer of thin ice forming around the stagnant rain drops.
He was smiling too when I glanced over, watching our hands in his lap. "Good."
.
.
The caffeine turned out to be a welcome necessity. Pulling back into my parent's driveway, my brother's car was already there, the kids audible from outside. The longing look I sent in my husband's direction was returned with what I could only read as pure regret. Unable to help myself, I took a fistful of his jacket, tugging him close enough to bring our lips together, one hand tangling in his hair. The tea, sugary and fruity and what I'd been teasing him about ordering the whole drive home, made the kiss all the sweeter as his lips parted, my tongue rolling against his. I wondered how far we could get in the car before someone found us. It didn't seem to be something he cared about as one hand moved from the back of my neck to grasp my thigh.
From outside the driver's door a few seconds later, I heard the shrill cry of "He's kissing Carlisle in the car!"
I groaned while he sighed - this wasn't the quiet afternoon we needed. It was the school break, and I should have expected that my parents would be babysitting, especially while I wasn't able to do it, but I'd shoved the prospect of it aside with all that we'd had on our plate. I distantly remembered mom telling me that she was having the kids over for the weekend.
"You know I love your family, but are you sure you can't just back over me with the car as I get out? I don't think I can sit through Kate coming to terms with same-sex relationships right now," my husband whispered. His face, still inches from mine, had started to burn a little. Worse when I kissed his jaw again.
I laughed, though the sentiment was definitely shared, and forced myself to lean back into my seat before I traumatised my niece any further. "Do you want to stay here and finish your drink in peace? I'll deal with the repercussions, and you can sneak upstairs in a few minutes."
"We're married; I think we're supposed to face it together," he groaned. He sank down in his seat as we looked toward the house.
"She already knows you're my partner. She's seen us be affectionate before."
He rolled his eyes. "She's seen us kiss, maybe, but definitely not like that."
"It won't be that bad." I was giggling like a fucking child, and as hard as he tried to fight it, a smile was tugging at the corners of his lips again. He smoothed the fabric of my shirt that he'd been pulling at flat against my chest, as if it would take back our actions. "It was just a kiss, Carlisle," I teased. I caught his hand, giving it a quick squeeze.
From the front door that Kate had burst out of, Carmen was scolding her to get back into the house. Her scowl quickly turned toward me when her daughter complained that I was being too rough with Carlisle, that it wasn't nice to pull someone's hair. We both watched as the child in question ran back to her, bare feet on the frozen ground, snowflakes starting to settle in her braid. I was sure that I didn't have the level of immunity to the cold when I was a child.
The look my husband shot at me clearly screamed 'kill me now'.
I still couldn't wipe the stupid smile off my face. "I'll grant you a temporary divorce," I offered.
He groaned. "It's too late; the damage is done."
"Come on, then." I hurried to get out of the car first, holding his door open and taking his cup out of his hands as he started to get up. "Don't slip - there's ice on the path." Holding the drink had been a mistake - I had a disposable mug in each hand, and couldn't do anything other than nervously supervise until he was free of the car. It was clear that the morning was taking it's toll; he was immediately out of breath despite the minimal exertion, his hands shaking violently enough that I worried his tea might slop over the side as he stole it back. "And don't burn yourself."
"Garrett, I'm fine - I promise. At least until Eleazar finds out that his kid thinks you were mauling me."
"Strike two to me being an abusive partner, I guess." That earned me a soft elbow in the ribs.
Leaving me to trail after him, he ventured toward the veranda. I held my breath until he was safely up the few steps that led into the house. His coordination was worse when he was tired, very obviously so while I was watching him so closely.
I didn't let out the breath I was holding until we crossed over the threshold of the door. It made my husband quickly look back at me to check that I was okay. I let my hand brush down his back, but the action was cut short when my niece charged us again and I couldn't get in front of him fast enough to intercept her.
She was clearly under strict instructions to be careful. Her rush came to a halt before she reached him, gentle as she hugged his legs. He'd braced for impact, but smiled and awkwardly patted her shoulder at the affection. She didn't extend the same courtesy to me. Giggling, she bolted toward me, the weight of her hitting me nearly knocking my knees out from under me.
"What the hell were you two doing out there?" my brother grumbled.
"It was PG at worst," I defended, at the same time Carlisle guiltily mumbled "sorry". I leaned down enough for Kate to wrap her arms around my neck, lifting her as I straightened up again.
She was frowning at me so seriously that it was hard not to grin back. "Mom said we all have to be gentle with Carlisle; that wasn't nice."
I bit the inside of my cheek until I was sure that I wouldn't laugh. "I'll be nicer to him in the future," I promised her as seriously as I could muster, looking over her shoulder to catch his eye, the resulting smirk almost becoming the death of me.
"Good," she told me in the same overly adult tone.
I set her down, a little relieved when she ran back to her parents, done with my reprimand. I draped my arm over my partner's shoulders to guide him back into my side. "At least we know who's her favourite - she obviously doesn't have any concern for my well being."
"Don't get us in trouble." He leaned up to lightly press his lips to mine.
I had to fold my arms to keep my hands to myself. Considering the morning he'd had, he looked surprisingly okay, so much more like he did before he was sick, and I was more than happy to pretend for a while that the last few months hadn't happened. I wished we were back in the city for the first time since we'd moved in with my parents, back in our own space where I had him to myself for most of the day. It wasn't to be - I had to contend with my brother's family today as well as my parents.
Kate had forgotten that she was upset with me by lunch time. She insisted she wanted to sit next to me at the table, whining and grizzling and arguing with her parents that she did not want to sit next to her little sister. Eleazar had already grumbled that she'd been more irritable in the last few weeks, upset that attention was divided between her and Irina, and that she only saw me in passing now.
Guilt made me give in to her despite knowing that I shouldn't. I ignored my brother shaking his head at the tantrum, letting her clamber up beside me. Although she didn't really need me to, I cut her food into bite-sized pieces. Carmen had stopped at a bakery on their way over, the rolls and pastries she's brought going down without complaint. I'd expected my husband to bail and flee upstairs, instead finding him sitting across from me and allowing himself to be served the same as everyone else. He didn't say a word of protest, but his hands trembled slightly around the cutlery.
I trapped his knee between mine under the table, searching his face for any hint of distress. Nervousness, maybe, but he still managed to smile and politely thank my sister in-law, looking a little relieved as she sat between him and Eleazar.
I forced myself not to stare at him and turned back to my niece's chatter. She was explaining the latest episode of 'Peppa Pig' to me through a mouthful of food, and I made a mental note to download it before I was put in charge of babysitting - Carmen and Eleazar may have been strict with screen time, but I was never above using the TV as a distraction if I needed to get something done.
She had far too much energy. The kid needed to be let loose outside. As it was, she'd twisted in her seat to get out of the chair, running into the living room as she called back to me over her shoulder - still about that damn pig. As much as I loved it, it would be a long few days if this is what we were in for. "Fill her up with sugar and drop her off, huh?" I turned back to my brother, snickering when he scowled back at me.
"She's been more fussy lately. I don't think she enjoys not being an only child anymore," Carmen told me with a sign.
"She'll settle into it," mom reassured her. "It's only growing pains."
"I don't want her to be unhappy; she was excited when Irina was born, but I think the novelty has worn off." My sister in-law was frowning, watching the doorway her daughter had run out of.
"She won't be, honey; you should have seen what Eleazar was like when Garrett was born," she soothed, my father chuckling at a joke that only the two of them were in on.
Someone kicked my chair under the table when I laughed again. I doubted it was my mother. Before I could joke that I was the superior sibling, I instinctively glanced over to do a welfare check on Carlisle. His seat was empty. I couldn't remember when he'd gotten up. It took every ounce of my willpower to remain seated, the reminder that he'd been doing well today not quelling the need to tear up the house to find him. I was deaf to my family's conversation, my own heartbeat drowning out any creaks in the floorboards or shutting of doors that I could have used to trace him, my breath picking up as I tried to rationalise running upstairs.
The knot in my stomach didn't relent until he carefully returned to his seat. His absence hadn't been noticed by anyone else, obviously, and no one else looked at him as he leaned back in his chair as if he'd been there the whole time. He was no worse for wear than the last time I'd seen him. I was an idiot.
I grabbed his hand over the table. "Everything okay?" I whispered.
He nodded, flashing me a quick smile.
Lacing our fingers together so I could feel the next time he tried to pull away, I turned back to the others, pretending to listen while monitoring my husband as inconspicuously as I could. He was a little out of breath, maybe paler than he had been before, resting his chin on his free hand as he leaned his elbow against the table top. It took a few minutes for the warmth to come back to his face and his breathing to even out, and I finally managed to relax again too.
Both of the kids would be here for the weekend. Mom was desperate to have her grandchildren over, and Eleazar and Carmen needed a weekend to themselves. That didn't make Carmen any less reluctant to hand the baby over. Later in the afternoon, I bundled Kate up in her wet weather gear and ushered her into the garden. It was far too cold, especially while standing still, and I crossed my arms across my chest, shoving my fingers under my arms to ward off what felt like frostbite. She didn't seem to care, tearing around the property, stamping through puddles and tramping through mud. We were going to have come up with an indoor activity tomorrow - I wondered if I'd be able to convince my husband to come with us if I took her out somewhere.
When we did come back inside, he'd apparently been put in charge of Irina. He was still in his seat at the table, but this time cradling the baby, nervously taking directions from Carmen as she dished up dinner. I worried - briefly - that he wasn't going to be able to lift her, but it didn't seem to be a problem so long as he stayed where he was. I enjoyed the whole scenario far, far too much for my own good.
"Come out with Kate and I tomorrow?" I asked as I sat beside him. I squeezed his knee, smiling when our eyes met.
"Nothing too crazy?" he asked cautiously. Irina had started to whine, her little face reddened and angry the longer he went without knowing what to do about it.
I reached over to take her as he turned toward me. "Only what you feel like you can handle."
"Okay, then." His returning smile was very forced. I pretended if was due to the screaming child in my lap.
.
.
I felt dumb for not catching on earlier. I'd reached to touch him again, to find his hand, but instead had found an empty chair beside me immediately after the table was cleared. Again, I couldn't recall the exact time that he'd gotten up, but I could already guess at what was happening. This time I couldn't stand it. I traced him back to our bedroom, my worst fears abated when I found him upright and sitting on the edge of our bed.
Clammy, his hands were still shaking, knotted in his hair as he leaned forward against his knees. He didn't look up as I approached, blowing out a held breath as I reached him.
"You've been sick." It didn't need to be a question. I sat down beside him, my hand landing between his shoulders.
"Y-yeah. It just- my stomach cramps whenever I eat, and I throw up and then the pain stops, mostly," he mumbled at the floor.
"Are you…intentionally making yourself sick?" I didn't want the answer, really.
He still denied it with a shake of his head. "It comes up anyway."
I couldn't accuse him of anything without evidence. "Does it really make you feel better?"
"Most times."
My hand drifted, rubbing the small of his back as he fought not to curl into himself anymore. "Not this time, huh?" The circles I traced against his spine didn't soothe the frantic way he was breathing. "You're still in pain now."
"It'll pass, I'm just- it hurts a bit. I think I'm- I'm hungry and it's making me dizzy, but I'm so nauseous. It'll go away; I can go back downstairs."
"Carlisle, I'm not worried about whether you spend the rest of the night with my family; I don't want you to spend the rest of the night pretending not to be miserable," I told him bluntly. "Would you feel better if you lay down for a while? I'll get you some water, and I'll sit up here with you."
He floundered, swallowing desperately, his body shuddering as he suppressed the urge to gag. It seemed like hours before he was able to speak to me again. "I can't drink right now," he told me tightly.
Promising that I'd be back in a few minutes, I went back downstairs to excuse us for the rest of the night. Nobody pushed for a reason why we were calling it a night so early - no doubt they would have guessed already. Mom still promised to save dessert for us.
My husband had gone a horrible shade of grey by the time I got back. "Need help getting ready for bed?" I asked carefully.
"I'm scared to stand up," he admitted. "I don't want to be sick again."
I was sure he was in more danger of passing out than he was of vomiting, but I didn't contradict him. Instead, I started to help him pull off his top layers of clothing, getting him down to his t-shirt before he suddenly lay back and folded his arms over his face.
"Dizzy," he explained breathlessly.
I sat next to him again, running my hand through his hair as I waited for the sensation to pass. It didn't seem to. Infact, I was sure he looked worse when he dropped his hands back at his sides, digging his elbows into the mattress to lever himself at least partially upright. I barely resisted scolding him when he fully sat up again, my protective hovering only hindering him as he quickly got changed. He looked confused as I ripped the comforter out from under him before he sat down again. "In bed. You're not going anywhere for the rest of the night."
"Yes, sir," he tried to tease.
I rolled my eyes at him and threw the blankets over him. To be fair, I didn't have any right to be telling him what to do, and he currently wasn't muddled enough for him to need me to do it, but he hadn't complained. Sorry, I leaned down to lightly kiss his forehead, squeezing his shoulder before heading to the bathroom for the world's quickest shower. "Don't move," I told him from the doorway.
"I'll behave."
I couldn't help the laugh that slipped out. "I don't think you have it in you right now to do anything otherwise, baby."
He still rolled his eyes at me despite himself.
.
.
There was no logical need for me to also be settling down to sleep before 7pm, but my husband had wrapped himself around me to suck to heat out of my body the second that I was between the sheets. I ran my hand up his leg as his knee crept over my thigh, one arm thrown across my waist while his chin was on my shoulder. "You're clingy," I accused, whispering in case he'd fallen asleep in the few minutes I'd been in bed with him, my free hand slipping down his back to nudge his hips closer to mine so that he knew I was kidding.
"You're warm," he mumbled back, his voice lost in my shirt. I wouldn't be for much longer if he didn't keep his fucking hands out from under my clothing - his skin was so cool that I jumped each time he accidently brushed any exposed part of me.
"I was warm." I kissed the top of his head, frowning at the ceiling through the dim glow of the lamp next to me. "Do you want another cup of tea?"
"I can't; I'll get sick." The hand over my middle knotted in my shirt.
"You didn't get sick when we got hot drinks this morning, did you?"
He shook his head, but I didn't push the point any further. Instead, I kept rubbing his spine while his breathing evened out, keeping my mouth shut as his hand slipped under the back of my shirt, the resulting shudder involuntary. Whether he was freezing or not, I still loved being close to him.
.
.
It was Irina wailing that woke me up. I didn't remember turning off the lamp before I fell asleep, but it was off now, the only light in the room coming from the slightly ajar door. As I dug my knuckles into my eyes, as if it would make me more coherent, I tried to figure out why the sound was so much closer than it should be, why her soft snuffles were still audible when the crying died down.
"I think she's hungry - I don't know how to feed her."
Through the stars I'd rubbed into my vision, I peeked at my husband - and immediately melted. Although his posture was stiff and he looked awfully worried, he still comfortably cradled her against his shoulder, the crying having tapered off as he patted her back. When I didn't say anything, unable to keep myself from smiling and getting far too sappy for the hour of morning, he offered me a meek smile.
"Help me get her bottle?" he prompted again.
Far too ready to play happy families with him, I threw myself out of bed with enough vigor that my head swum, throwing on a sweatshirt to fight the cold until I could get the fireplace lit again. "Is Kate awake?" I asked him as we reached the kitchen.
He shook his head. "She was, but didn't want to get up; I think they kept each other awake last night - and your mother."
"You too, huh?"
"I was already up."
I chose not to dig into that just yet. Instead, I led him to the kitchen, very aware of him being hyper-focused on the way I cleaned the bottle and mixed the formula. She'd started to whine a little again, not shushed by his quiet soothing, and it had immediately made him anxious as though he was doing something wrong. "She's fine, just fussy," I reassured him.
He nodded in an attempt to convince me he wasn't freaking out just a little. "She's gotten a lot bigger."
"It's been a while since you were well enough to see her," I reminded him, omitting the times that he'd been too ill to remember her being with Carmen when she'd visited him in hospital. It didn't pay to dwell on it. "They grow quickly."
Again, we fell into silence while we waited for the bottle to heat, his attention having drifted back to Irina. "It's less scary to hold her now that she's less…floppy," he commented after a while. He was getting better at holding her, his hands supporting her in the right places and his touch no longer awkward. I tried to pass him the bottle after checking the temperature of the milk as casually as I could, like everything this morning hadn't made me giddy. He took it, but looked back at me wide-eyed until I readjusted her position, repositioning his arm underneath her.
He only floundered for a few seconds before bringing the bottle to her lips, visibly relieved when she took to it easily. "She'll just…stop drinking when she's had enough?"
"She'll let you know," I chuckled. "If you're not comfortable-"
"I'm alright."
I quickly kissed his temple. "I'll light the fire."
.
.
By the time Kate had joined us downstairs and I'd made us breakfast, I felt like my heart might burst. I wanted this forever - the kids, having my husband giggling with me as we cleaned up, bargaining with a moody six year old over what we might do today. Every time I glanced at Carlisle and he looked like himself, I was fighting back tears, until I had to quit doing it altogether.
He'd gotten quieter too, and I dreaded to think what was going through his head, if maybe he'd started feeling sick again - he still hadn't eaten. "What are you worrying about?" I asked eventually, while we stood together at the bench, me washing the dishes while he dried them. I still couldn't look at him, focused on the bowls in the sink instead, watching his hands in my peripheral vision.
He paused for so long that I thought he was going to ignore the question, his hands freezing around the tea-towel. "Do you still want this with me, if I get better?"
"What?" I stalled. I'd heard him correctly - definitely didn't need him to repeat the question. Worrying about children wasn't something I'd done in a while, as much as I used to dwell on it. Expanding my family wasn't something that had crossed my mind while I was in danger of losing the most important member of it.
He swallowed difficultly. "If I get better, I think I want to have kids with you. If you want that too."
I didn't know how to respond to that. My immediate reaction, to grab him, kiss him, pull him into me, was hindered by wet hands, and all that came out was a forced laugh instead. "Biology is a little against you there."
"You know what I mean."
My throat was tight the next time I answered. I knew I'd cry if I looked at him now. "I'd love to have a family with you, Carlisle - you know that."
"I thought things might be different now that you have to look after me nearly full time as well."
"Of course not."
There was a heavy beat of silence where he didn't say anything, the kid's show in the background the only ambiance.
"And you will get better," I said eventually. "You are getting better. It'll be so much easier when we've moved."
.
.