CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IT WASN'T until he got into his car that Arthur became aware of just how much he smelled and only when he saw his own bed did the exhaustion hit. He flopped onto his bed, but didn't sleep. His mind was rushing ahead, trying to make lists of all the things he had to do. The nutritionist had left a diet plan, the physiotherapists an exercise plan. They were given a long list of things Martin couldn't do for a couple of weeks with his concussion, which included reading or looking at anything on a screen. He wasn't going to like that. He grabbed his phone and sent off a quick email that he was taking another day off. He had no doubt the Agency knew exactly where he was and if the higher ups wanted to call him on it, well, he had a few things to say to them.
"I NEED to go into the office tomorrow." Was the first thing Martin said when Arthur stepped back into his room. It was late morning and he'd spent the day shopping for all the things Martin might need during his recovery.
"Like fuck you do. The only place you need to be is at home in bed."
"There are reports that need to be made and people-- "
"You can do it from a laptop. I'll-- "
"Arthur." Martin snapped. It was the first time he'd ever heard a harsh tone from him. It was a jolt and he closed his mouth with a snap of his teeth. Martin closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "I am aware that I will not be able to fully care for myself for the next few days. I am also no longer in possession of a vehicle. I will be needing assistance." Arthur could hear the pain and frustration in his voice in admitting that he might not be entirely self-sufficient.
"Don't worry about it. I'll make sure you're okay."
"Thank you."
THE DOCTOR who eventually signed them out didn't look like he particularly wanted to. He gave them a long lecture about warning signs for organ failures and brain bleeding followed by an intense interrogation as to where exactly Martin would be recuperating and what was on hand. It was decided that at least for that night he would be staying with Arthur.
Physically getting out was a trick. He couldn't handle crutches with a broken arm, but even braced he couldn't put pressure on his knee without some help and he refused to use a wheelchair. A limp hop with a four-footed cane was the compromise with Arthur by his side.
He was covered in a light sheen of sweat by the time they got through the door of Arthur's, thankfully first floor, apartment. He helped Martin lower himself onto the couch. Then suddenly it was awkward. Those words Martin had spoken before he left. What he said Arthur could have. Those rambling voice mail messages. All of it hung between them.
"I'll get some dinner started."
'That's right, default to food.'
"I think I need a shower first."
Arthur had to agree. The sponge bath the nurses had given didn't come close to scrubbing off the layers of grime on him. "Sure. I'll show you where it is."
"I'm going to need help." Martin's voice was low and his eyes were focused on his hands.
"Of course," Arthur helped him to his feet and for the first time since he'd stumbled drunk out of Hanh's restaurant he was aware of Martin's body. His body that he kept carefully covered and would never be able to give.
He helped Martin get as far as the bathroom and sat him on the closed toilet before rushing back to the kitchen and grabbing a couple of things.
"Plastic bag and large rubber band." He held them up to Martin. "To keep the cast dry."
"Thank you."
"Lets... umm... let's get you undressed." It had been a nurse who helped Martin get into the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants since there was no way he could get the clothes he'd been brought in with over the cast and knee brace.
'Get it together. He's seen you slobbering drunk. This is clinical and he needs you.'
Martin raised his arms and Arthur slid off the t-shirt as carefully as he could. It was the first truly good look he'd gotten. His torso was covered in greens and yellows with a few patches still dark red. Waterproof bandages encased the stitches and there were far too many of those. There were thick scabs on his elbows and he could count every damn rib. And dirt. He was simply dirty.
He helped Martin to his feet, carefully helping him out of his pants and knee brace. His legs were no better than the rest of him. Scarred, scabbed, bruised and thin. He wished he had a chair he could put in the shower. The air wasn't cold but Martin began to shiver. He was thin before, but there wasn't a drop of fat on him now.
"Okay, let's get you in."
There was probably some great debate to be had or at least some poetry. Could you look at someone without seeing them? Touch someone without touching them? Martin didn't try to hide his body but Arthur still did his best to disconnect, somehow give him privacy in his nakedness. It wasn't easy though. Every bruise filled him with rage and the cuts raised bile in his throat. The water ran to the bottom of the tub a red brown with dirt and dried blood. A half bottle of shampoo and a bottle of body wash later, Martin was as clean as he was likely to get and his body was shaking with the strain.
Arthur turned off the water and grabbed his largest towel. "I'm going to carry you out of here because right now I don't think you have the energy to walk."
Martin looked up at him but didn't instantly object. Arthur took that as a cue to wrap him up, carry him out, and lay him into bed. "I'm going to make dinner." He took a spare pillow to brace it under Martin's broken arm. "Try to grab a nap."
His head was already nodding and his eyes fluttering shut. "Okay."
IN THE kitchen, Arthur shredded cilantro by hand, ripping at the leaves and stems with all his strength. He'd held himself together as he'd scrubbed the dirt from Martin's body, watching the shriveled muscles jump and twitch when he wasn't gentle enough on bruised flesh. Now he let anger just flood him. He didn't think he could make congee aggressively, but by the time the handful of rice had cooked down into a silky porridge, he'd burned through a lot of his rage until it was just simmering worry and confusion.
A part of him had believed that when Martin returned he'd be able to simply say I understand and I accept and I love you, too. He'd said something similar in his messages, but in his fantasies Martin had reappeared by knocking on his door one night or simply turning up at work. Beaten and starved half to death in a hospital bed had not been the plan. He balanced the bowl as well as pain killers and antibiotics on the tray he usually used when he was working on his laptop in bed. Martin was fast asleep. It was tempting to leave him that way, but he needed to eat.
"Martin." He kept his voice low. "Martin. You need to eat." He put the tray aside and touched his shoulder.
Martin's whole body jolted upright, his broken arm swinging wildly. Arthur jumped back. "It's okay. It's okay. You're safe. It's Arthur and you're in my apartment and you're safe."
Martin flopped back down with a pained grunt. His lips moved slightly in what Arthur was pretty sure was a swear word.
"I'm not seven. You can say fuck in front of me."
Martin smiled then winced again.
"Okay. Let's sit you up and get you fed."
He tried to think of small talk as Martin ate and took his pills but he seemed to have used all of that in the hospital. Now the air was heavy between them, full of secrets Martin couldn't or wouldn't tell and feelings Arthur couldn't find the space to share. Martin's head nodded over the bowl. "Those painkillers are kicking in. Let's get you ready for bed before those just knock you out cold."
"Good idea."
Getting ready for bed was nearly as much of an ordeal as the shower; simple things like using the toilet and pulling on shorts and a t-shirt suddenly seeming like nearly insurmountable obstacles. Finally, he got pillows tucked in under Martin's arm and knee. "Comfortable?"
"Not really."
"I think that's as good as we're going to get for a while."
"I know."
"Okay. I'm going to be on the couch, but I'll leave the door open and-"
Martin's good hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. "Stay." Arthur just blinked at him unsure how to respond. "I know what I said but can you just, can we just-- " His breath was becoming fast and agitated.
"Of course, Yes." Arthur answered. He would love nothing more than to lay next to Martin, feel him close, know he was there. "Let me just clean up the dishes." Martin nodded and let go of his wrist.
Arthur's hands shook as he loaded the dishwasher. He'd thought a lot about a relationship with Martin while he was gone. At least in that first month before the panic really set in. He'd flitted around the idea of sharing a bed. He was fairly certain Martin was asexual, but there was so much more physical contact possible before sex even came into the equation. Could they hug? Would he want to cuddle? Would he want to share a bed or sleep separately? He'd decided that he would be glad with Martin's heart and head, both amazing. Those things would outlast any physical relationship anyhow. But this would still be close. Just a couple layers of thin fabric between them was closer than anyone had gotten to Arthur in years.
He took his time brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed, calming himself as much as he could.
Martin seemed to be asleep as he slipped in. His bed wasn't large and with Martin tucked in closer to the middle, there was no way he couldn't touch. Even if he crunched himself up, as soon as he fell asleep everything would relax. His arm brushed against Martin's.
Martin opened his eyes and turned his head. "It's okay. This is okay."
Arthur nodded and in exhaustion instantly fell asleep.