Under Pressure

LaVieEnRose

I was out to dinner with Gabe when it started in earnest. I'd felt kind of weird and bad all day, just shaky and weak and not right, but I hadn't thought it was bad enough to cancel until I was sitting in the restaurant in front of people and I had to act like some sort of functional human. I ordered water while Gabe got whiskey and I picked at my appetizer, but just the few bites I managed made me feel exponentially worse, so eventually I stopped pretending to eat and just watched Gabe tell me about the new teaching method the administration was trying to implement for his fourth graders. It wasn't like Gabe didn't know about the chronic illness stuff, and he was totally understanding when I had to cancel plans or when I fell asleep in the middle of...everything, but we'd only been dating for a few months, and I didn't really feel like we were at the point where I could stop him him the middle of a story and say, You know what, I think I'm about to throw up in a restaurant.

Gabe nodded to my dumplings. What's the matter, not good?

No, they're good.

He reached across the table and took a bite of one. Sometimes the sauce is too vinegary. This tastes okay.

Yeah, I don't know. I sipped some water, which despite being the Brian Kinney-recommended cure for everything, didn't seem to be helping here.

He tilted his head and touched my wrist. Hey. Are you okay?

I winced. I don't look good, do I?

You look beautiful. But also very bad. He laced his fingers through mine and signaled for the check.

No, I'm sorry, you should stay, I'll just—

Don't be ridiculous. My apartment's two blocks away, is that too far?

I shook my head. You might regret this.

You don't scare me.

**

I threw up in a trash can on the way to his apartment and then twice over the first half hour in his bathroom. Regretting it yet? I asked him, panting. He was kneeling next to me on the floor, eyes wide and so, so fucking worried. Like, he was looking at me for vomiting a few times the way Brian looks at me when I'm literally dying, and it was kind of fucking me up.

Of course not, he said, dabbing at my face with a washcloth. I remembered doing that when Brian had cancer. Do you want me to call Brian?

No, it's okay. I took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. Gabe's bathroom was tiny; his whole place was tiny, this shitty walk up in Morningside that he shared with two other guys who weren't home right now and I was really, really hoping wouldn't come home while I was still puking in their bathroom. He's out, he's been stressed at work, we don't have to bother him with this.

Gabe frowned, sponging at my neck and chest. Maybe food poisoning?

I don't think so. My meds piss off my stomach sometimes, it's probably just that. I wrapped an arm around my stomach and breathed out slowly.

Hurts?

Yeah. It hurt a fucking lot actually, at the top of my stomach straight through to my back. That was new. Gabe helped me up, but as soon as my body was straightened out it got way worse, and I stopped him, gripping the sink.

He said, Baby...

Just a second. I took a couple shallow breaths and nodded. Okay. Okay.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and held me under my elbow on the way to the couch, and I balled myself up with a pillow.

God, I'm sorry, I said. This is so embarrassing.

You're still being ridiculous. He caressed my hair, and I sighed and leaned into his hand. It was weird and different, having someone be all soft with me. It made me feel like I was young, like when my mom used to take care of me. I think you have a fever, he said.

I shook my head. Just hot from throwing up everything I've ever eaten.

Fevers are dangerous for you, right? Because of seizures?

I curled up tighter around my stomach, willing myself not to throw up again because I really did not feel like getting back up. Dangerous is a very dramatic word.

I have a thermometer, I think. He kissed my forehead. Hang on.

Okay.

He got up and went to hunt around the bathroom, and I rolled slowly onto my back and looked at his water-spotted ceiling. The pain in my stomach surged, shooting all the way up to my shoulder blade, and my vision was kind of swimming, and it occurred to me that something was maybe actually going on here.

Gabe came back with the thermometer and I put it in my mouth, and while we waited for it he petted my hair and dropped kisses on my temple. I pulled it out when the display started flashing. A hundred and two. What the hell? I gasped and grabbed my side. Fuck.

Is it your appendix maybe?

I don't have an appendix. I tried to catch my breath, but the pain was climbing and things were starting to get kind of dark and spotty. I swallowed and said, Okay, call Brian, just as everything went dark.

**

If this were a nicer story I would blink my eyes open and wake up in the hospital with everything all settled, but instead this is a real, annoying story, so I wasn't even fully unconscious, just...not really motivated to stay awake. I was vaguely aware of stuff going on around me, but paying attention or opening my eyes for any stretch of time felt really over the top, and it's not like I can hear, so without my eyes I'm pretty worthless. More on that later.

Eventually someone was tapping my collarbone hard, over and over, which I hate more than anything, so obviously I knew it was Brian.

I pushed him. Stop, I hate that.

Always wakes you up, though. What's up with you? He waved his hand somewhere behind me and said, He's awake, and I felt Gabe's lips on my forehead. Brian kept watching me like I was a vaguely interesting science experiment. He always takes the not-worried thing up to eleven when other people are around.

I have a fever, I said.

Yeah, I can see that, Brian said. Why the fuck are you dating with a fever? Haven't I taught you no one wants you when you're sick?

Totally. Definitely the lesson I've—fuck! Pain shot through my stomach.

Hey, hey, Brian said. Where is it, here? He felt around my stomach, and when he got to the top I just about ripped his hand off. I don't know what kind of noise I made while I scrambled to get away, but it definitely freaked Brian out, and Gabe was all of a sudden back beside me, bracing my shoulder as I sat up, giving a stabilizing look to me and then a pissed-off one to Brian.

Brian patted my leg. You all right? he said, businesslike.

Yeah.

He smoothed his hand over my forehead. His hands were cool, manicured, smooth. Yeah, you are really warm, he said, cupping my jaw.

I made myself breathe. What is this?

He shrugged, chuckling, which made Gabe look at him incredulously. Brian didn't notice. Fuck if I know, he said. It's a hospital ticket, I know that.

Can you carry me?

Down three flights of stairs? Doubtful.

I groaned. “Fuck.”

Good news is, your panicky boyfriend called the paramedics.

Something about that wasn't adding up, but I couldn't figure it out. You called the paramedics?

He frowned, and I knew I'd gotten it wrong, and I felt weirdly guilty. No...Gabe did. You're kind of out of it, huh?

I think yeah.

Well, an ambulance ride is pretty excessive, even by your drama queen standards, Brian said.

He was unconscious, Gabe said. Calling 911 seemed pretty rational.

Brian ignored him and watched me. But they'll at least help you get out of this shitty place. You think all of this is a some extended allergic reaction? I wouldn't put it past your immune system. And this place is definitely moldy.

It's not moldy, Gabe said. And he was sick before—

Just a joke, Brian said. I shivered against a new wave of pain and Gabe squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek. Brian was busy doing triage stuff, taking my pulse, counting my breaths, stuff that the paramedics were going to do again as soon as they got here anyway.

I said, Notice anything? because I like to know what's going on, and I knew he wouldn't lie to me.

Yeah, are you freaking out?

Not especially, why?

He said, Your heartbeat is really fast. Like— I gave him a significant look before he could say panic attack fast, because Gabe didn't know all that stuff, and thank God Brian remembered and shut up. Like very fast for just pain, he recovered, and he ghosted his fingers back up my stomach. How bad is it?

I don't know, a four?

You don't look like a four.

Trust me, I said.

Nothing else really stands a chance after skin grafts, Gabe said.

Brian looked like he was trying not to say something, but he was saved by the bell, or the flashing lights, more like. Gabe got up to get the door, and Brian slapped my hand to get my attention. Real quick, he said, signing small and fast. Do you want him at the hospital? I can shake him if you want, I'll be the bad guy.

Can I have oxygen at the hospital?

Yeah, sure. You with me, Sunshine?

Maybe...sort of.

What is up with you, Brian said, with curiosity, almost to himself.

Who knows. Gabe's worried.

Gabe's been through a fire. He really shouldn't be impressed by this. He looked up at the paramedics as they came towards us, two guys who were not at all hot, as if today needed to suck any more. You want me to interpret?

For Gabe, I don't want to talk to them. You just do it.

Lazy.

I nodded and curled up, because everything was starting to get kind of splotchy again. I watched vaguely while Brian spoke to the paramedics, presumably giving them the whole medical saga, and then he interpreted while Gabe told them what happened that night. I kind of drifted in and out of it while the paramedics took my blood pressure and my temperature and all that stuff, and I swallowed and swallowed against the churning in my stomach.

Has he taken anything? the hotter of the two non-hot paramedics asked.

No, Gabe said. He has all these drug allergies, so... My hand started seizing, and Gabe was on my right side, so he's the one who picked it up and put it in his lap. I clung to his knee with my other hand.

The paramedic started going through the process of getting me into the ambulance, and Brian interpreted and then stopped abruptly and said, Hang on. Gabe, let him go.

Gabe let go of my hand. What's wrong?

“Brian, what?” I said, as a wave of dizziness hit me.

He got his hands underneath me and kind of half-carried, half-dragged me to the bathroom, and I didn't know what was going on until I was kneeling in front of the toilet vomiting again. I flailed around with my working hand and Brian grabbed it and laced his fingers through mine.

I panted when I was done. “How did you...”

He gave me his you're such an idiot and I love you, look, though he'd probably deny it gives away that last part. He started to get me up, and Gabe appeared and helped, giving me a little water to sip from.

They said only one of us can go in the ambulance with him, Gabe said. He's a pretty decent lipreader.

Brian nodded and reached into his pocket. He took a bill out of his pocket and slipped into Gabe's palm. For the cab. See you there. Let's get a move on, Sunshine.

Gabe raised his hands like he was going to say something but dropped them, kissed my cheek, and gave Brian the money back. I'm not taking your money.

Take his money, I said. Trust me, he's going to annoy the shit out of you at least get paid for it.

That's enough out of you, Brian said. Let's go figure out what the fuck you've done to yourself this time.

**

Acute pancreatitis, it turned out. They diagnosed it in about a minute and a half in the ER, took some blood, did a CAT scan, and brought me to a room where Gabe was already waiting. Brian gave him a brusque kiss on the cheek and filled him in while a nurse helped me into bed, until Gabe came over and did it for her.

How are you feeling? he asked me.

They gave me morphine, so pretty great. That was really all they could do; fluids, pain meds, and hey, oxygen, until it passed. It was probably going to be about five days, which was way more time than I wanted to take off work, but at that point I wasn't too concerned about it, because morphine.

Brian came to the bottom of the bed and flicked my foot absentmindedly until I kicked him. Should you get a catheter? he said. I don't know about you wandering around and you're getting a ton of fluids here.

Stop trying to stick things in my dick.

Brian snickered. I'm gonna get some coffee. Do you want some?

Yes please.

Are you gonna be a brat and have a seizure from the caffeine?

Maybe. I'm an enigma.

He looked at Gabe.

I'm fine, he said. Thanks.

Brian picked my arm up and made like he was checking my IV, running his fingernails gently up and down the underside of my arm.

Are you going to call Ben? I asked him.

He nodded, so subtle I barely saw it. Don't die while I'm gone.

Oh, fine.

He sauntered out of the room, and Gabe gave me a look. Are you going to be a brat and have a seizure?

Don't. I pulled him down and kissed him.

I just don't get why he puts on the act, he said. Is it just because I'm here?

No...it's not an act really. It's hard to explain. I played with the oxygen cannula. It's so weird just having something in your nose, but I really do like being on oxygen.

So he really doesn't care about you? Gabe said. But not like he really believed it.

So I laughed. No, it's just like...he's not trying to fool anyone or anything. It's just like...this is how we act. It works for us. Keeps me from worrying.

So I should be meaner to you?

No, he's got it covered. I pulled him onto the bed next to me. But if I ever get sick when he's out of town you'll probably have to yell at me and restore the balance of the universe. I yawned and nuzzled him some. He's out there calling a friend of ours who's had this before. And he has to bother the doctors about stupid stuff or he feels like he's not pulling his weight.

I get it, he said, looking around the room. I wish I'd had someone to advocate for me when I was in the hospital.

Gabe was in the hospital after his house fire for almost three weeks. He doesn't like to talk about it much, but I knew enough to say that it was categorically horrific. He was twenty-eight, the same age I was now, and he'd been home for the holidays and there were something like ten people in the house at the time, and they were all really, grievously injured. Most of them survived. Not all.

He doesn't like to talk about it. But he gets it. The chronic illness stuff, yeah, that was different, that was unfamiliar to him, but lying here in pain in a hospital bed, he got that. Brian gets me, and knows me, but aside from cancer he's been healthy his whole life. Gabe has been Deaf in the hospital and in pain we can't describe. It's not simple.

I must have drifted off, lounging on the bed with Gabe, because the next thing I knew Brian was putting a cup of coffee in my hand and cupping my cheek. That's the third floor coffee cart shit, not that garbage they give you at the nurse's station, so you better enjoy it. He grabbed the cup back as my hand started to shake.

Good save.

Years of practice. He put it in my left hand instead just as a doctor came in, with an interpreter, and told me my blood tests confirmed the pancreatitis and that it was, as expected, an adverse reaction to my anticonvulsant. Which they were now going to have to switch.

I knew I should have been focused on that, but I was sort of loopy and nauseous and I kept wondering instead what the fuck the doctor thought of our little situation here. This was just the on-call doctor, not my neurologist, so he wasn't acquainted with the whole me-and-Brian dynamic, and Gabe was the one standing by my bed protectively while Brian pretended to read a magazine while pretending to be bored, though obviously he was listening. The vibe was sort of like Gabe was my boyfriend and Brian was my parole officer.

How serious is this? Gabe asked. Pancreatitis?

With early intervention like this, the outcomes are very good, the interpreter said for us. Survival rates are upwards of 90%.

That's better than his regular daily survival rate, Brian said, and I gave him a look. He smiled at me and went back to his magazine.

The doctor said, “Unfortunately we can only let a family member stay the night, so...” he turned and looked at Brian, who was smirking in all of his man I love awkward shit glory, so I had to end this as quickly as possible.

I waved for the interpreter's attention and said, That's my husband. Gabe is, um...

Just a friend, Gabe said, and Brian's expression changed, and he studied Gabe and then looked away.

The doctor was clearly surprised but recovered quickly, and he told Gabe what time visiting hours started the next day and adjusted the flow of my fluids and told me the on-call neurologist would be there to talk to be in a little while. Brian hopped on that and was all of a sudden all Concerned Partner, pointing out my twitching hand and talking about my dosage thresholds and blood levels and lots of other stuff that made me very, very tired. I was starting to feel pretty crappy at that point, just tired and dizzy and sick, so I curled up in the bed and held my stomach and let Brian take care of it, which was kind of lazy and unfair of me, but he always tells me it's okay to have him handle the boring stuff when I'm sick if I want to, so I might as well take him up on it every once in a while.

The doctor left, and Brian went back to reading his magazine, which I realized was to give me and Gabe some semblance of privacy. Gabe kissed me, scratching the hair above my ear the way he does, and picked his bag up out of the corner. Brian stood up.

I'll call you if anything happens, Brian said.

It was a rare moment of awkwardness between them. This whole thing, this Gabe and Brian thing, had been like...impossibly smooth, to the point where even though it had been a few months and Brian was fucking blue in the face reassuring me, I was still kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Except when I really thought about it, when I tried to take an objective sort of take on it...why should this be hard, really? Brian's never had a problem with me sleeping with other people, and he's never had a problem with me having friends, so why should he care that that's combined into one person? And Gabe's never been monogamous either, and he's been with people before where he wasn't their primary partner, so none of this was new to him.

It was easy with Gabe, that's what it was. The sex was...I mean, look, nothing's ever going to be like sex with Brian, but it was very very good. Gabe was kinky and versatile and open to anything and I was finally learning new shit from someone besides Brian, which hadn't happened in years. We'd talk for hours about literature and philosophy but skim around anything too personal, and I liked that. He was kind of closed off with his emotions, sort of like Brian, but unlike Brian I never felt a real urge to convince Gabe to open up.

I'm making what we had sound shallow, I guess, but it wasn't like that at all. It was just...comfortable, and we let ourselves be comfortable. And me and Brian...I mean, we're a million things, we're huge and endless and fucking, like, interstellar, but Brian fights 'comfortable' like the concept has offended him personally. And like, that doesn't mean we aren't comfortable, but we are because I manage Brian like some scared little animal, not because we're just peaceful and respectful and careful with each other's boundaries, which are three pretty ridiculous concepts in a row to try to apply to me and Brian.

And it's funny, because yeah, Brian and I are everything in the world but easy, except how we kind of are, and as nice as it was having Gabe there, I couldn't deny that feeling of relief as soon as Brian and I were alone together. My therapist says that's a PTSD thing, that I just have a really short list of people I'm a hundred percent comfortable around, and I've gotten so used to being a little on edge that I don't even exactly notice it anymore. I'll be having a great time hanging out at the apartment with Daphne and Brian, and then she leaves and I get that relief feeling like I was holding my breath and I didn't even know it. And I mean, come on, that's Daphne!

All right, come here, Brian said, and I smiled and held my arms up to him, and he bent over the bed and hugged me. He hummed behind my ear and gave me a rough kiss on the side of my head. Gorgeous.

I try.

So Ben had some complications, that's why it was so bad, Brian explained to me a little while after, when he was helping me back to bed from the bathroom. I was doing okay, but my stomach still really hurt if I stood up straight, so I walked kind of slow and hunched over, and I was breathing pretty hard by the time I was back in bed. But those are are rare, and his enzyme levels were a lot higher than yours are.

High is bad?

High is bad. He watched me replace the oxygen cannula and messed with my pillow a little.

You still seem worried, though, I said.

He shrugged. Not really about this. I'm not happy about changing your meds.

Me neither.

Gabe's worried about the wrong thing, Brian said.

I know. He doesn't know. We don't talk about seizure stuff.

Might want to before you start having seizures all over the place during this adjustment period.

Yeah, yeah.

Brian pulled the chair up to the bed and took off his shoes before he put his feet up next to me, crossing his ankles, and I played with his toes. So guess what I was doing when Gabe called? he said.

Getting a blow job from that new It boy, I said, because it was the most absurd thing I could think of.

Brian grinned.

No, I said. No fucking way. Really?

He spread his arms out wide. I'm Brian Kinney. There is nothing I cannot do.

Like, on his knees, in the back room, in front of people.... I said, and he signed Yes, after each one. That's incredible.

Brian nodded at the door. How are his blow jobs?

I smacked him. We're not doing that.

His face softened again. That sucked that he had to say he was your friend.

Yeah.

He stood up abruptly. I have to go to work tomorrow, you know?

Yeah, I know. I tried really, really hard not to look disappointed.

I'm gonna have to take a lot of time off while you're switching your meds, so I have to go in while I can.

I know. It's okay. I played with the blanket. Are you going to stay tonight?

He nodded, climbing up on the bed next to me. He fixed my oxygen cannula. Don't sneeze on me.

I wrinkled my nose. You don't have to stay. If you need to sleep.

I can sleep here. You know how I love hospitals at night.

Do you want to lurk outside my door and I'll pretend I don't see you?

He groaned and laughed. Fuck. He dropped his head onto my shoulder and stayed there for a while. I smelled his hair and closed my eyes and imagined we were home.

It was very different, being alone with Gabe when I was sick earlier and now, being alone with Brian. Gabe made me feel protected, like he was taking care of me, and Brian made me feel capable, like I didn't need to be taken care of. And I know you want me to say one of those is better than the other—I know you want me to say that Brian's is better—but it's not that simple. They're both nice. They're both really nice.

He was looking at me when I opened my eyes. Sucks you don't feel good, he said.

It's okay, I said. I don't mind.

**

I was alone when I woke up, which confused me, because I didn't think Brian would leave without saying goodbye. Then I thought maybe he had said goodbye and I just went back to sleep and forgot, because my short term memory isn't a complete disaster or anything, but it's not amazing, especially when I have a fever. I was wondering how the fuck I was supposed to entertain myself here all day when Brain strolled in, looking fucking devastating in his suit, and then I was just confused thinking I'd slept all day and he was coming in after work.

I must have looked as baffled as I felt because he chuckled and kissed me. Hey. Have you been up long?

No, I don't think so. What time is it?

A little after eight, he said, taking my backpack off his shoulder and setting it down in my chair.

In the morning?

He cocked his head. Yeah, in the morning. You're still kind of out of it? He palmed my forehead. Fever's not that high.

I yawned. Just stupid I guess.

Certainly seems that way, yeah.

What are you doing here, don't you have work?

He nodded while he opened my backpack and unpacked a few things. My laptop, my iPod, the book I'd been reading, a few DVDs, my sketchpad. He nonchalantly put a thermos and a box from my favorite bakery on my nightstand.

I bit my lip. “Brian.”

No checking your work email, you got that? I already talked to Marie.

I twisted my blanket to keep from grabbing at him. “Okay.”

All right. Don't be too entertained. Get some sleep. Call me if there's any problem with the interpreter or anything.

Okay.

He sighed, studying me. Remember when you were hearing and I could just leave you places without worrying someone would kill you?

No.

Me neither. He kissed my forehead, and I laced my fingers on the back of his neck and pulled him in for a real kiss. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands up and down my arms.

“I love you,” I said.

He opened his eyes. Yeah, yeah. You have to raise your bed before you try that shit, though. My back's going to hurt all day.

You want some morphine?

Sure. He checked his watch. I have to go.

I know.

He gave my knee a little shake. Be safe.

Be brilliant.

As if I have a choice, he said, with a put-upon sigh, and he stuck his tongue in his cheek and smiled at me as he backed out of the room. I limped myself to the bathroom, booted up my laptop, and watched Yellow Submarine until a nurse came in for the first of many vital checks.

**

One of the hardest parts of being sick is the amount of time you spend being intractably, inescapably bored. People don't really tell you that. And you'd think if you're sick enough to be in the hospital, maybe that's different, then at least it's exciting, but no, hospitals are the most boring place of all. Even when you're really sick, seriously sick, which I wasn't this time, it all ends up coming down to the same endless stretches of time, waiting for test results, waiting for the meds to work, waiting between procedures. Even pain is boring. The same sensation for ages and ages, keeping you from even having some thought that's not about it. Boring, boring, boring.

So much of being sick is waiting. Waiting for something to change and for you to feel better enough to do something, anything. Waiting for Brian to come home from work, or get off the phone, or be done cooking dinner, just so I won't be alone for a little while.

I watched the movies Brian left me, and read my book, and tried to sleep, but part of being in the hospital is having people walk in on you every five seconds because they want more blood or a more recent temperature or one of your monitors was beeping because you rolled over on it weird and you didn't know because you're Deaf, and they only brought an interpreter in with them if the doctor was coming, so when it was just the nurses I didn't know what they were doing. And I know, I know I was supposed to call Brian if there was a problem with the interpreter, and obviously that qualified as a problem, but I just...didn't have the stamina to fight the hospital about it right then, I guess. I felt so sick that day, just headachey and dizzy and consistently seizure-y, since I was off my meds and my hand was shaking the whole day, and I just was not in the place to start being Brian's mouthpiece about the Americans with Disabilities Act.

So I just waited for time to pass, watched movies on my laptop and bad daytime shows on the TV in the corner and spent way, way too long staring at the weird flower painting on my wall. I got to my phone and returned the sweet goodnight text Gabe had sent me the night before, and sent dirty jokes to Brian every so often so he'd know I was alive, but the second time I got up to go to the bathroom my leg seized hard and I fell, which was humiliating and painful and kind of scary, so after that I called for a nurse every time I needed to get up, which would have been a hassle even if I were hearing.

By the end of the day, I was maybe coming out of my skin a little bit. I'd been on my own in the hospital at the tail end of the burn saga, when Brian went back to work a few days before I was released, and I guess this was bringing me back there in a way, to all that uneasiness and unsafety I was feeling around then, and even though I knew I was okay...I don't know, all my bad hospital memories were coming back to get me. The burns, the bashing, waiting for Brian's radiation treatments. The fever wasn't helping, and I knew the fever wasn't helping, but still...it got to the point where all the shaking I was doing wasn't just from the goddamn seizures. I almost called Brian, just to see him, but I knew he was trying to cram in as much work as he could so he could take time off with me next week. He needed to work, and I needed to just keep my fucking shit together.

But then, all of a sudden, Gabe was there. I tried to play it cool but I just about bounced off the bed, and he came over and gave me a hug that rocked me back and forth. How are you? he said.

I'm good. I'm good. Don't you have work?

He laughed. It's four. Kids are all home doing their homework. He kissed me. Where's Brian?

Had to go to work. Don't judge him, he's going to have to take time off once I'm out of here, and—

He stopped me. I'm not judging. I went to work, right? Can't exactly throw stones. He sat at the foot of the bed. How are you feeling really? Don't bullshit me.

I feel like I'm going to be signing left-handed for the rest of my life.

Yeah, I noticed that. That's a seizure thing?

I nodded. I'm okay mostly. Tired, bored, sick of being trapped in bed. Going a little crazy sitting in here while the hearing people traipse in and out.

Well. He lowered the rail on the bed. I can help with that. Hang on. He disappeared briefly and came back with a wheelchair. Come on.

Where are we going?

I was in this hospital for a million years, remember? I know all the escape routes. Let's have an adventure.

Okay, but Brian's going to be here by six.

We'll be back by six.

I took the cannula off and held myself up on my IV pole. Brian had brought me some clothes to wear, so I was in sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of the gown, which did a lot to make me feel like a human capable of going on an adventure, even if I had to be in a wheelchair while my boyfriend pushed me because my stupid epileptic body was all clenched up. Gabe had to help me situate my right leg on the footrest.

Gabe pushed the wheelchair while I manned the IV. We couldn't talk, with him behind me like that and both our hands busy, but the silence was comfortable, easy. The elevator doors were shiny enough to see our reflection, and he smiled at me in it.

He hit the button for the top floor and we went up, and Gabe parked me in the chair while he peeked around the corner. Okay, coast is clear. But we go on foot from here.

I looked skeptically at my shitty body and the IV pole.

We can do it. Eight steps. Ten, tops. I'll take the pole, and you just lean on me...there you go.

He opened a door, and we very slowly and awkwardly got ourselves up a narrow, dirty staircase. I decided about two steps from the top that this was a bad idea, because my stomach was hurting and my heart was racing and God, how was I this fucking tired, but at that point it would have been way harder to turn back, plus I didn't want to look weak, well, weaker, in front of Gabe, so I just grinned and beared it. Gabe pushed open a door at the top of the stairs, helped me up one more step, and then we were on the roof. The fresh air hit me, and I closed my eyes and breathed in and smiled.

I used to come up here all the time, Gabe said, helping me limp a few more steps. Smoke cigarettes, which I guess is kind of morbid.

Oh, fuck, you don't have one, do you?

No, I quit.

Damn.

We sat down, and I shivered a little and he took off his coat and put it over my shoulders. You good? he said.

Yeah, just need to catch my breath.

Take your time.

I tried to slow my breathing down, looking out at the view of the city. I turned to Gabe, who had his head tilted back at the sky, squinting in the fading light, and he looked beautiful.

I think it might snow tonight, he said.

Yeah? I love snow.

Me too.

Brian hates it, I said. I don't know why. Brian hates any weather that's not sixty-five and partly cloudy.

Gabe laughed. He probably had a beautiful laugh.

We stayed on the roof for about half an hour, until I started to shiver too much, and Gabe helped me up and back down the stairs, and everything was going...well, it was going, until a seizure grabbed me like a damn bandit and fell down the staircase. I didn't go head over heels or anything; Gabe caught me right away, so it was more of just a really shitty slide down four steps, but it was enough to twist my ankle at an angle ankles should not twist at.

Gabe hung onto me. Fuck. Are you okay?

Hang on.

Shit, your ankle—

I don't care about the ankle, hang on, I need to wait for this to pass. My vision was getting spotty and shitty, so I just held onto Gabe and closed my eyes and waited for the seizure to be over. I felt really crappy once it did, just echoey and hollow and bone-tired, but I took a deep breath and opened my eyes and nodded a little.

Gabe nodded towards my foot. That's definitely sprained.

I looked at Gabe and I don't know, I just started laughing, and he did too, tucking his face into my neck. I'm sorry, he said, sitting back up. I'm a terrible spotter.

Help me up?

He got me up on my foot that wasn't turning the color of an old apple and helped me back into the wheelchair. Brian's going to have me forcibly removed from Manhattan.

No, I'll tell him I fell getting to the bathroom.

Except that didn't really work, because even though it barely five, Brian was standing in the middle of my room when I got back, having what looked like a very loud argument with one of my nurses. Shit. Shit shit shit.

“Brian?” I said.

He closed his eyes, and the nurse gave him an angry look and walked out of the room as Gabe pushed me in.

Brian turned to me, very, very barely not flying off the handle. Where the fuck were you?

Somehow the roof didn't seem like the best answer. We just went for a walk.

I have been calling you for half a fucking hour, I thought you were goddamn collapsed somewhere...what the fuck happened to your ankle? Justin...

I was just so, so incredibly too tired for all of this. I wanted to kiss Gabe goodbye and get into bed with Brian and sleep for eighty million years, and nobody was going to let me do any of those things. I started to get out of the wheelchair and back into bed, and Brian rolled his eyes and came over and lifted me up and put me in the bed like I weighed about a pound and a half.

Don't put weight on that, he said. Why the fuck is your skin so cold, where were you? Were you outside? It's twenty fucking degrees—

“Brian,” I said, trying to calm him down, but it made me start coughing, and it wasn't until Brian had the cannula back in place that it occurred to me that might be playing a part in why I was feeling lightheated.

Yeah, he said, and I knew he knew what I was thinking. And your fever's goddamn definitely up—

I said, Gabe, maybe you should—

He shook his head. This was my idea, I'm not leaving you here to deal with him alone, which was very sweet and all, but I knew that Brian wasn't really mad, he was just worried, and what he needed was for me to sit him down and let him fuss over me until he was convinced I was okay, and he wasn't going to do that as long as there was another person in the room.

I said, Really, it's better if—

No, Brian said. No, I want to hear this from him.

I sighed and flopped back on my pillows and wished for a quick death.

Gabe said, He'd been in this room all day, he was miserable when I got here, and this is where I stayed after my fire so I know my way around the hospital.

He's off his seizure meds right now, Brian said. Of course he's miserable.

That's not what he means, I said.

Brian pointed at me. I have heard enough out of you.

“Jesus Christ, Brian.”

He turned back to Gabe. Where were you?

On the roof, Gabe said.

The half-second of fear on Brian's face before he covered it up with anger just about broke me the fuck open, and I hated myself, I hated myself so goddamn much for doing that to him. He has a fucking seizure disorder, Brian yelled. You don't take him up to a fucking roof!

I said, Brian, it was my choice, I'm not a child—

You are sick and not thinking clearly, Brian said, and honestly as much as I wanted to argue with that, the amount of trouble I was having just keeping up with this conversation made me begrudgingly aware that he had more of a point than I would have liked.

So I just said, We weren't near the edge.

He rubbed his mouth and asked Gabe, What happened to his ankle?

I said, Brian, can we talk about it later, please? and I know it was stupid to feel self-conscious about discussing seizures in front of Gabe because Jesus Christ, he'd literally just seen me have the one we needed to discuss, but it was just...it was too much, and I felt naked and awkward and awful watching them talk about this, and the whole thing had been sort of scary as shit and I still felt pretty awful and I just wanted to be able to tell Brian about it in a situation where if I started bawling in the middle of retelling it there wouldn't be any additional witnesses.

And Brian, of course, knew what that meant. Did you hit your head?

No. I promise.

Brian took a deep breath and turned back to Gabe. He's supposed to be here, on oxygen, monitored. Not wandering around with someone who has no idea what—

Okay, no, Gabe said. This is bullshit.

Oh God, I said.

I absolutely have a fucking idea, Gabe said. I know what it's like to be left alone all day and stuck in a little room in pain and sick and going out of your mind. What the fuck do you know about it?

Brian sneered. Yeah, I know I'm not part of your special little club, all right? You want to know what I know? I know how to keep him alive.

He's fine, Gabe said, but I knew that that barely mattered at this point. When Brian gets worried about me, he gets wound up so tight that it doesn't even matter if everything's okay, because he's already catapulted himself to the bad place and nothing but time and patience and letting him lay his hands on me is going to get him out of it. Gabe said, You judged me all fucking day yesterday thinking I was being so overprotective, and now you're losing your shit because what, I didn't coddle him enough? I let him make his own decisions about what he wanted to do?

He's trying to impress you! Brian said. He's trying to keep you from worrying! You know why the fuck I act like I'm not worried? So he doesn't have to reassure me!

I said, Okay, the effect of that is kind of ruined when you reveal all your tactics—

Brian barely looked at me. You're postictal, you're not going to remember any of this.

Yeah, you may be right.

If he has a problem with me, he can fucking tell me, Gabe said. He's not afraid of me. And I like you, Brian, I do, but I do not fucking answer to you.

Brian laughed without light in his eyes. Oh, yes you fucking do.

I felt my heartbeat, then, thrumming into my head, and a kind of static started around the outside of my vision. I took a deep breath. “Brian?”

I care about him, Gabe said. And if nothing I do is going to be good enough for you—

Then you get better! Brian said. You know how many times I've had to get better?

It just needs to be good enough for him! Gabe said. I am here for him, I'm here for him.

I swallowed against a metallic taste in my mouth and grabbed the mattress as tightly as I could. “Brian.”

He looked at me and immediately crossed to the bed. Get out, he said to Gabe.

What? I'm not—

Go get a nurse and stay outside. I mean it. Now. Go.

Gabe left, and Brian cupped my face and said, All alone now, we're fine. On your side, easy...

Everything was getting so, so fuzzy, and my stomach hurt and my head hurt and I didn't fucking want another seizure. “Brian,” I said.

Close your eyes, breathe through it. I'm going to be right here when you wake up.

I remember thinking he was overreacting, that I wasn't going to lose consciousness all the way, but fuck if the next thing I knew I was dragging myself awake to a room full of a doctor and a couple nurses and Brian, who stood by with his arms crossed, looking peaceful and professional as he oversaw the doctors. Welcome back, he said to me, all calm. I fucking love how calm he stays for seizures.

“Fuck,” I said.

I bet. That was a big one, slugger. Going for a record?

“What?”

He laughed a little. It's okay.

“I can't hear anything.”

I know. That's good.

I was so confused, but he seemed confident, so I trusted him. I couldn't figure out I was or who these people touching me were. I winced as the nurse shined a light in my eyes. “Brian...”

I know. Let them finish looking over you and we'll take a nap, okay?

“Gabe?”

Brian, he fingerspelled. I rolled my eyes, and he grinned. I don't think the bed's big enough for three, he said.

I shook my head a little, ignoring the pounding. “Is he okay?”

I've been a little busy with you.

“Can you check?”

He sighed, brushing his hand over his forehead.

“Please?” I said. “You can tell him to go home if you want. Can you...will you be nice?”

No promises, he said, and he bent over and kissed me gently before he left the room. The interpreter was there, signing to me whatever the doctor was saying, but I ignored her and watched Brian and Gabe through the window.

It's my fault, I pushed him, Gabe said. Please don't be mad at him.

Brian looked so exhausted. I'm not mad at him.

It's my fault, Gabe said. Fuck, it's my fault.

It's not your fault. God, fine, come here, Brian said, and he pulled Gabe in for a hug.

I smiled and closed my eyes.

**

This isn't...it's not exactly on topic, but it's something that I've held off talking about for a long time and now I want to say it.

It's something you need to get about Brian, and it's something that until now I haven't talked about, because honestly I get really fucking emotional when I think about it. And also because I'm worried anyone I talk to about it won't understand what a big deal it is, because people have a long history of hyping up shit about Brian that's not all that impressive and then completely, completely ignoring the absolutely incredible things he does, and this one is so wonderful and he doesn't even know it.

Brian was amazing after the bashing. And I'm not talking about being patient with me and helping me with my recovery, not right now. Of course that was amazing, but that's established. I'm talking about how...

Okay, first, you need to understand where Brian and I were after the bashing, because it's kind of automatic that you're going to compare it to how he was when I found out I was losing my hearing, because he was amazing there too so the parallels make themselves. But that was different, when I lost my hearing, and the seizures picked up, and he stuck by me, because at that point there was history, promises, something unbreakable. And I'm not saying that to take away any significance from how solidly Brian has stood with me, because it still counts, it's still everything. I'm just trying to explain how it's different.

Because after the bashing, when Brian took me in, and I could barely move my right hand and I was a PTSD-stricken mess and I couldn't remember basic directions five minutes after hearing them...Brian didn't owe me anything then, not a damn thing, and he'd never made any promises to me. There was no history. We were still in the process of falling in love then, that's what I'm saying. It wasn't settled.

Taking me in, taking care of me, that was Brian being a good person. And that's fantastic. Don't get me wrong.

But Brian continuing to fall in love with me, Brian taking my disabled ass into his bed and looking at me like a fucking sex object...that wasn't a conscious choice. That wasn't Brian trying to do the right thing. I mean, fuck, you can't look at the goddamn dirty things Brian does to me and think that's anyone's idea of a good deed. That was primal, natural, unstoppable.

And if you're not disabled, you're going to have to trust me that someone truly understanding everything that's wrong with you and then effortlessly thinking you're sex on legs, that's not something that happens everyday.

That wasn't Brian trying to do the right thing. That wasn't Brian seeing past what was wrong with me because of our history or even because of his love. That was Brian just...truly, at his core, being comfortable with disability in a way that is so, so rare.

It's something really big.

He's allowed to really, really want to keep me alive.

**

It was dark in my room when I woke up, or as dark as hospitals ever get. I had a kind of vague feeling that I'd been having a nightmare, but Brian's hands were gentle on my back and head, and I knew he'd woken me up before it got too bad. He gave me a minute to collect myself while he rearranged stuff on my nightstand.

“Hi,” I said after a minute.

Hi.

“What time is it?

A little after two. You've been sleeping for a long time. How are you feeling?

I sat up slowly. Okay. Nervous. I don't know why, though.

He sat down at the foot of the bed. The anticonvulsants are mood stabilizers too, you know.

I always forget that.

Well, you are brain damaged.

I kicked him through the covers, and he smiled a little.

“I love you,” I said.

I think you had that seizure on purpose.

“Oh yeah?”

Yeah, I figured that out about an hour ago. Very crafty way to stop us from fighting. You're pretty smart for someone who's so brain damaged.

“Stop making me laugh! My head hurts.”

He crawled up the bed and lay down next to me. Come here, you. Back to sleep.

“Are you going to stay tomorrow?”

He closed his eyes like it hurt. I can't, Sunshine.

“I know,” I said. “I'm sorry.”

Derek's going to come see you between classes, he said. And then the day after tomorrow you're going to be Emily's morning assignment. And then it's the weekend and Gabe can be here during the day if I have to go to the office.

Okay.

And then once you're out of here, you and me, a week at home, No doctors, no nurses. Just probably your fucking boyfriend barging in to tell me everything I'm doing wrong.

I kissed his nose. "Nothing wrong.”

I know, that's what I tried to tell him.

I smiled, and he rested his head on my chest and tried to go back to sleep, but my head was racing, and the bed smelled all wrong, and I was already upset thinking about another day here by myself, and my head hurt and my stupid ankle hurt, and the next thing I knew I was crying. I tried to do it softly, but Brian lifted his head up right away.

“Hey, hey,” he said.

“I'm sorry. Everything's fine. It's just the seizure, I'm not...”

He lay with his head next to mine on the pillow, watching the tears fall without touching them. After a minute he said, I have an idea, okay? Can you get up, you feel up to it?

I nodded.

Okay. Come on.

He sat me up and pulled a sweatshirt and hat over my head and very carefully got me into a pair of socks. I whined as he jostled my foot.

We should get this x-rayed tomorrow, he said.

I'm pretty sure it's just sprained.

Yeah, so am I, but we're in a hospital, might as well.

True.

He helped me into a wheelchair and hung my oxygen tank off the back. Not so fucking hard to bring oxygen, is it?

Let it go, I said.

He pushed me slowly down the halls, exchanging a couple words with some nurses on the way. He got us to the elevators and he wrinkled his nose at me in our reflection and gave me a rough kiss on the cheek.

Hit G, he told me on the elevator.

He rolled me past the front desk, past the lobby, out through the front doors. He stopped us under the awning and rubbed his hands up and down my arms to keep me warm.

It was snowing.