24
“Mom wants to talk to you.” Ben offers his cell phone to Alex as soon as he returns to from the nurse’s station where he’s been signing discharge papers.
Despite the circles under his eyes, Ben looks well enough. He slept through most of the last thirty-six hours while Alex dozed in the armchair next to his bed and had woken this morning in a good morning. That had lasted until, trying to sit up, he noticed the catheter, to which he voiced a loud and offended protest. By the time the surgeon arrived to check him, he’d complained to every nurse he’d seen until Alex threatened to go home if he didn’t shut the hell up. When Doctor Morgan had inspected the wound, and spoken with the nurses, he’d turned to Alex with a knowing grin.
“Are you able to deal with this at home if we organize prescriptions?”
Alex replied yes, snapped at Ben again to shut up about the damned catheter, and trailed after the doctor to discuss treatments. It’s clear Ben is not in any danger and if Meg can keep Bart for another night, they’ll be fine.
It’s only just gone ten, not even forty-eight hours since Fiona called him, but it feels as though he’s been here for a year. Sighing, he takes the phone from Ben.
“He says he’s going home,” Allie says before he can say hello. “And that you’re going ahead with next Saturday.”
“Yes, I’ve just signed the discharge papers and just as soon as the nurse comes to remove the catheter and IVs we can go,” Alex says, handing Ben the paper bag of personal affairs he collected from the nurse’s station.
“But it’s so soon, how can that be good?”
“Well, they’re short on beds and it is a clean wound, Allie. Besides, he’s had a good night. His blood count is stable, there’s no sign of hemorrhaging and he’s showing no sign of a fever,” Alex says, texting Matt with his free hand to ask if he can pick up some track pants and a tee-shirt for Ben. “And if he stays the nurses here might kill him. The one at home might too if he doesn’t behave.”
Ben glares at him and he turns his back.
“Oh Lord, he’s never been a good patient,” Allie says, and Alex thinks he detects a hint of laughter in the tone. “But next Saturday? Alex is that wise?”
“Well I know what he says about next Saturday, but nothing is set in stone yet so I’ll ca-”
“Yes, it is,” Ben interrupts, reaching out to prod Alex and wincing when something hurts. “We are not postponing.”
“Allie, I’ll call you when I get him home and settled, okay?”
He hangs up and hands the phone back to Ben, folds his arms and purses his lips.
“We can’t go anywhere until Matt gets here with some clothes for you and a nurse has been to remove all the tubes, so you may as well stop behaving like a three-year-old and just settle down before you tear something and end up in here for another night.”
Ben has been adamant since he woke that the wedding will go ahead as planned and is clearly winding up for another argument. Alex holds a hand up to forestall him.
“No, we are not discussing it anymore until we get home and I swear, Ben, if you try I will wait for Matt downstairs in the cafeteria. On my own.”
Ben thinks for a moment, then relents and grins.
“Will you give me sponge baths at home?” he asks.
Alex gives him what he hopes is a stony glare and shakes his head.
“No,” he says dropping into the chair by the bed.
He rubs his eyes, they’re gritty and sore and he hopes Matt brings coffee.
“Hey,” Ben says softly and when Alex looks up he’s holding his hand out. Alex takes it and gives it a squeeze. “I love you.”
Alex leans forward to rest his chin on the mattress and places Ben’s hand against his cheek.
“I love you back,” he says.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He closes his eyes against the surge of tears.
There’s a tap at the door and a nurse comes in, pushing a cart of supplies. She’s looks nervous, possibly because she was the first to be berated about the catheter. Ben’s face lights up but she shakes her head.
“I’m not here to take it out, sorry, just to change the dressing. Someone will take everything out when the paperwork is signed off.”
Alex shoots Ben a warning look. There’s no point making this poor woman miserable just because she’s following procedure. He watches as she lifts away the dressing. The wound looks red and swollen but no more than he expects it to and it’s clean and not bleeding.
“I’m sorry I gave you a hard time earlier,” Ben says as she washes the area. “Normally I’m a pussycat.”
She glances up at Alex and he shrugs.
“Yeah, actually, normally he is,” he says.
She grins and pats off the skin before spraying it with antiseptic. Ben hisses and jerks his leg away, groaning in pain.
“Cold,” he bites out and Alex tries to hide his grin as he tells him to hold still before he pulls his damned stitches out.
#
Ben leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. It’s good to be home even if it has taken longer than it should have. His discharge was delayed by the police arriving to interview him and they’d had to wait another hour before anyone could remove the Ivs and the damned pee tube. Having it removed was even more humiliating and uncomfortable than having the thing in place he thinks. He shuffles into a more comfortable position and glares at the crutches leaning against the end of the couch. They hurt his armpits and he feels clumsy and stupid when he uses them – a feeling he has decided to keep to himself.
He can hear Alex in the kitchen heating something from one of the cartons of food Matt and Claire left. Meg has been through to say hi but Alex won’t let her bring Dork Dog back yet because he’s worried he’ll tear the stitches. Ben, surprised at how disappointed he is to not see the Labrador, spent ten minutes trying in vain to convince Alex to change his mind. Matt and Claire stayed long enough to put the varying dishes away in the fridge while Alex helped him get settled on the couch, his leg propped up on cushions. There are two large paper bags on the coffee table containing dressings and antiseptics and a variety of pills and potions Alex assures him he needs.
After phoning Fiona to reassure her, he happily surrenders his cell phone to Alex who puts it in the bedroom and shuts the door. It keeps chiming and ringing with people texting and calling to find out how he is.
Alex returns with a tray of food that he sets on the coffee table. Ben considers joking about being fed but when he sees how tired Alex looks, changes his mind. He does however take exception to there being only one glass of wine on the tray.
“Hey, where’s my wine?”
“With everything you’ve got in your system?” Alex says handing him his plate and utensils. He sits on the floor, leaning against the couch, and picks up his own plate. “I don’t think so.”
“Well I’m having champagne next week,” Ben says.
Alex sighs and puts his plate back down.
“Ben, you got shot two days ago. We’re postponing the wedding until your leg has healed and that’s all there is to it,” he says.
Ben concentrates on cutting his lasagna into small pieces using the side of his fork. Knows the longer he is silent the more impact his words will have; it’s a technique that serves him well in the courtroom. Spears a piece and puts it in his mouth, chews, swallows, repeats. He’s aware Alex has been coping by being in professional nurse mode all day, he can tell by his tone of voice. But the fact that Alex is sitting on the floor next to him rather than in an armchair, or draped over one of the suede bean bags, tells Ben that Alex is more unsettled than he’s showing. He hands his plate over and combs his fingers through Alex’s hair.
“Alex if that bastard had known the first thing about guns or had decent aim, you’d be planning a funeral right now,” he says. “My mother is dying. My grandmother is ninety fucking two. I nearly broke us. I don’t want to wait, okay?”
“God, Ben,” Alex leans back into his touch, “you can barely stand on a tiled floor let alone on sand.”
“Then I’ll sit,” Ben says, turning Alex’s face to look at him. “Hell, I’ll lay on the goddamned recliner if that’s what you want, but we are not postponing this wedding.”
Alex sighs and sips his wine. Ben wants to pull him up on the couch next to him, so he can hold him but knows neither Alex nor the pain in his thigh will let him.
“It’s a week away, baby, I’ll be fine.”
“You know we’ll still have to postpone the trip, there’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to fly for six hours with that leg,” Alex says finally.
Ben smiles. He knows a victory when he hears it.
“So we’ll stay down at the beach for a week instead, that’s what travel insurance is for,” he says. “We can go to Jamaica anytime. Eat your dinner.”
Alex passes him his plate back before picking up his own. They eat in silence and Ben is relieved to see Alex eats most of what’s on his plate, before clearing the dishes away to the kitchen and bringing back an apple, some cheese, and a paring knife. As Ben watches he sets to peeling the fruit and slicing it into eighths. He watches the peel fall away in long even curls, admiring Alex’s long, slender fingers controlling the knife.
“When you were out signing all the papers and stuff this morning, one of the nurses from the other day came in,” Ben says, accepting an apple slice. “She says you created quite a ruckus when you got there, demanding to see your partner. Telling anyone who listened that we’re getting married. Even told the attending team you love me. That true?”
“What? That I did that or that I love you?”
Ben tugs a strand of hair and Alex smiles; pairs a piece of apple with some cheese and bites it.
“I didn’t even think about it to be honest,” Alex admits with a shrug. “I didn’t know how bad it was and I just wanted to find you. Nothing else mattered.”
“That is how I felt when I was looking for you on the beach at Christmas,” Ben says. Suddenly it’s important Alex know this. “Nothing else mattered. Nothing else has mattered, pretty much since I met you, Alex, and I’m not going to let anything come between us, okay?”
“God you’re such a control freak.”
“You know it, baby,” Ben says, wriggling to try and find a more comfortable position. The movement sends a spike of pain up his leg and he groans. Alex is on his knees in an instant.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to get more comfortable and it pulled a bit is all,” Ben says, refusing to admit that it was more than just a bit. Alex glances at his watch and reaches for the bag of pills.
“Okay, you’re going to take a couple of these, then we’ll get you in the shower and I’ll change the dressing and you can go to bed. I’ll call your mom and let her know we’ll be down on Monday after your check up.”
Ben is getting tired of having everything done for him but is too tired and too sore to object. Everything below the waist on his right-side hurts and the thought of stretching out flat in bed is appealing. That doesn’t stop him making a face when Alex picks up the crutches.
“Look, if you don’t use these, I’m not agreeing to next week,” Alex says. “Come on I’ll show you how to use them properly.”
After five minutes of instruction, Ben makes a begrudging admission they help as he makes his way to the bedroom. Alex helps him undress and shower, then towel off. Reaches for a clean pair of track pants.
“Nope,” Ben says, “I haven’t worn pajamas in over fifteen years, I’m not wearing them now. Forget it.”
Alex sighs and spreads a towel on the bed for Ben to lay on while he changes the dressing.
“Well don’t go getting any ideas in the middle of the night,” Alex says as he peels back the adhesive holding the bandage in place. “I’m not explaining to the emergency team how you popped your stitches.”
Ben laughs and puts a hand behind his head, feeling tired and a little stoned from the painkillers. The truth is, the idea of anything physically more taxing than finding a comfortable position to sleep in, holds little appeal right now.
“I could still take care of you,” he says wanting to tease Alex a little anyway.
“Or not,” Alex says without looking up. He inspects the stitches and swabs the skin. “How about you just do as you’re told for a change?”
“Oh, so now you get bossy.”
“Uh huh, you know it.” Alex mutters and finishes applying the fresh dressing. He pulls the covers up and gathers up the discarded bandages and wrappings. Ben captures his hand as he’s about to go, eyelids already drooping.
“Baby, do me a favor?”
“Mmmmm?”
“Get Dork Dog. I miss him.”
#