Log: Penelope and Cullen WHO: Cullen Rutherford and Penelope Featherington WHEN: Friday evening WHERE: Their quarters WHAT: A discussion of the new normal WARNINGS: References to sex and drug addiction
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It could be worse, Cullen thought as he looked at the highlighted numbers on the page.
The healers had put him through test after test for the past two days, trying to determine the source of the morphine and the dosage of it throughout his body and if it would at some point begin to affect him. The answers were not ideal, but they were also not the worst Cullen could have imagined. He had done a lot of imagining the worst over the last two days.
Doctor Gates had walked him through the test results, explaining both the basics and the more complex aspects as thoroughly as he could. He assured Cullen that he and Doctor Crusher would both be there to answer additional questions as they came up. They certainly would, but to start with Cullen was still processing this ton of new information: that his bone marrow had rewritten itself, and he was now producing morphine naturally.
It was present in all his bodily fluids, though nowhere in as great a concentration as his blood. The good news was that morphine was not easily absorbed through the skin; he could touch people without putting them to sleep. The saliva concentrations was negligible; they were fairly certain that he could kiss his fiancee without putting her in the hospital again. Sweat was more of a problem, though. That had led to the most frank, straightforward, and clinical conversation Cullen had ever had about sex, which had left Cullen with the feeling that while things might not be able to return exactly to normal, intimacy was not impossible. It would, however, require a great deal of care and creativity.
Children, however, were out of the question. For one, they would carry this curse, and that was not something Cullen was willing to visit upon a child. More important, the act of conceiving them could very well kill Penelope. She was also at risk for developing a tolerance to morphine, and potentially a dependence--but those were conditions they knew how to manage, the doctors said. With regular check-ins, and with appropriate precautions taken at home, they thought they could keep Penelope safe. It just meant so much more care and deliberation about things that used to be easy and normal.
It meant serious changes to their life, and everything they had imagined for themselves. Cullen still wasn’t sure he should ask that of Penelope...but the Inquisitor and Major were right. It was Penelope’s decision to make, not his. She was a grown woman, an intelligent person, and he could not be so arrogant as to take her choices out of her hands “for her own good.” That was something parents did for their children, not something that a man did to his betrothed. He would prepare himself for the possibility that she would take this news and begin packing her things, but he would not break off their engagement without consulting her.
Cullen came to Penelope with a small, tight smile on his face, trying to keep a good face on things for now.
“Well, we have some answers,” he said, sitting at the edge of what was for now still their bed. He handed the paper over to her and braced his forearms on his knees, as if the strength of his spine wasn’t enough to hold him up on its own. “The good news is that I can touch you or even kiss you with relatively little impact. The bad news is that coming inside you is definitely out, and that if I’ve broken a sweat you should definitely keep your tongue to yourself. And…”
Cullen was running out of energy for being matter-of-fact about the whole thing, the support and volume draining from his voice as his head bowed and exhaustion set in. “And that we cannot have children, and that...that we will always have to be careful, every time we touch, forever. And that if you choose to stay with me, you will be at risk for developing a resistance to the morphine, and possibly a dependence on it, and you will need to visit the doctors regularly to check levels, and…”
His voice trailed off, his words as lost as he felt. When he spoke again, he was very quiet. “If you do not want this, I will understand. I was enough of a mess already, and this is far more of a mess than you signed on for. I would not fault you in the least for deciding it is more than you can bear.”
Penelope was exhausted, emotionally, physically, mentally. She barely understood what had happened to herself, let alone with Cullen. She was angry at the situation they found themselves in, grief stricken at the idea of not being able to touch her beloved. And she was afraid that he would walk away, having decided to be noble for her sake.
She had argued with one of her closest friends. Alison had had the audacity to imply that she knew better than Penelope her own heart, that Cullen hid terrible secrets and had a secret agenda to hurt her, to bring her to grief and to try to end her life. Penelope was hurt that Alison didn't trust her judgement, that she didn't believe her when she said that she knew Cullen well enough to know that he would not ever wish to hurt her or cause her pain. The idea that Penelope needed someone else to make her decisions for her was foolish, and indicated a level of mistrust that reminded Penelope of Colin and his high-handedness that he had continually doled out to Penelope in the remainder of the book that chronicled a portion of her life story.
Penelope was curled into the armchair that she had made into her own corner of their bedroom, a blanket draped over her lap more for the comfort of it than for warmth. She worried the edge between her fingers, twisting a piece of the fringe into a ball and then smoothing it out. Cullen was throwing a good deal of information at her, at once, and as he came to the end of his speech, her stomach tightened into a hard, cold ball.
No children. Less touching. A swift and unyielding change in their lives and how they conducted their intimacies. It was frightening, but it was doable. Penelope swallowed back tears against a throat that had been sore with them for days, and rose from her seat to cross the room to sit next to Cullen on the bed. She leaned against him, and put her hand on his head, gently running her fingers through the hair near the base of his skull. "I can not like the lack of children."
She swallowed, determined to go on before he could speak. "But I am not marrying you to have children. I am marrying you because I love you, and because ... because I love you and living without you is not an option I am willing to consider."
Cullen had not deliberately held his breath, but he realized then that he must have because it was all coming out in a heavy sigh. He lifted his head just a little, and reached over to take her free hand in his. He hesitated, almost didn’t take it, and then reminded himself that the doctors said a skin to skin touch was perfectly safe. His fingers wrapped around hers, and that felt almost as good as her hand in his hair.
“I must be the worst sort of selfish bastard,” he said quietly. “Because all I can feel right now is relief that you would still want me with all this.”
Penelope's fingers squeezed his briefly as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. "If you are -- which you are not -- then you are my selfish bastard and I will not let you go easily."
She'd thought long and hard throughout the mostly sleepless night she had endured the night before, and during the long, lonely day she had put in, in the privacy of their quarters as she continued hand-darning clothing and putting precise, even stitches around the edges of the handkerchiefs they clothing makers were making ahead of a long winter. "This did not happen to us individually, my love. This happened to us, and we will face it as we would face any other challenge life or the Maker or God throws at us: together. That is part of what being married means. I will be the first to support you, just as you will do the same for me."
She was right, Cullen knew. Of course she was right. Meeting whatever trials they were given as a pair rather than two individuals was indeed part of the very nature of marriage. If this had happened a few months down the line, after the vows had been spoken, he would not expect her to leave him. That she would choose to stay now should not be a surprise, either. Even so...Cullen’s trust had been broken more than once by people he had trusted implicitly. The fact that it was not happening this time could only be a relief.
“If you are amenable, I would like to postpone the wedding somewhat,” Cullen said quietly. “Not for lack of desire to be married, but because I...I would like it to be purely a celebration, untainted by all this. Let us have some time to accustom ourselves to the new reality first.”
Cullen's request warred with Penelope's desire to move the ceremony up, but she could see the sense in Cullen's idea. She nodded. "A month. We will postpone the wedding for only a month."
Relief swept through her as she realized that this entire business had not left the two of them adrift, that the fear and the worry that had been her constant companions for the last two or three days were lessened. She and Cullen were surviving and would survive. Tears stung her eyes, and she inhaled sharply in an attempt to hold them back.
It was useless, of course. Hers was the natural reaction to an immense amount of emotional and mental stress. Within seconds, she was crying, her arms closing around him as she clung to him in the embrace that she needed.
Cullen wrapped his arms around her in turn and let her cry. If she needed to cry, that was all right; she had let him go out and ruin a tree with his sword without complaint, after all. They each had their ways of dealing with the utterly overwhelming situation.
“I am sorry, my love,” he said softly. “I know this is not what either of us had planned.”
Penelope wanted to refute him, to tell him that he had no reason to apologize. None of this was his fault. But while she cried, she was robbed of words. Eventually she quieted, the storm having ended and she merely sat within the circle of Cullen's arms, sniffling. Her eyes were red, her nose stuffed up, but she felt better for having vented her emotions in such a way. Finally, she spoke. "This isn't your fault. I... was afraid. I nearly d-died and... I'm sorry for crying all over you."
She looked up at him, tear-stained face and all, and smiled. "I'm all right."
“You can cry if you need to,” he assured her gently, and offered a weak smile in return. “I’m the one who has to watch it. My tears probably require a healer’s direction to be around now.”
Cullen wasn’t necessarily good at making jokes to relieve pain or stress. His way was generally more to snap, yell, or take a sword to things. That only worked when there was a reasonable target for the rage, however, and Penelope certainly wasn’t that, and of course he couldn’t stay angry forever. He was a person who solved problems, and solving problems meant moving forward. Maybe a little joke would help, even if it wasn’t much of one.
She laughed a little, at his small joke. It felt good to do so, and with this small, shared moment of levity, it was easier to believe that this was not an insurmountable problem. It also helped that touching was no longer to be denied to them, and that comfort could be taken in simply resting against Cullen and the strength of his arms around her. "I love you."
“I love you too,” he replied, and he actually managed a real smile at that. The whole situation was an undeniable mess, and Cullen knew he wasn’t anywhere near done being angry or frustrated with it, but at least he wasn’t facing it alone. He had Penelope--and he had his friends, too, and Major...an entire net of support that hadn’t existed in the Templars. He didn’t have to take this one on by himself, and even though part of him still felt selfish for it, he was glad of that.
“Doctor Crusher wants you to come in for what she calls a baseline test,” he said. “To see what is normal for you, so they will know what level of response is needed if anything goes wrong again. She suggested that we--ahem--not get too involved before that’s done.”
Penelope nodded. She would do that in the morning. Doctor Crusher had been endlessly sympathetic in their dealings with her, and would undoubtedly answer any and all questions that Penelope would ask her the next day. The doctor has also been firm in what she needed and wanted as their physician, and Penelope admired that greatly.
"I suppose that sort of reunion will wait, then. Perhaps we can, instead, together become reacquainted with our pillows and blankets and sleep? Neither of us truly slept last night." And the lack of sleep was making itself known. Even if Cullen did not sleep, he could rest.
Cullen laughed softly, and kissed the top of Penelope’s head. That was a safe enough gesture, and probably what he would have done anyway. Not everything had to change in the wake of this Trouble, and that was a comfort.
“I think at this point I may be tired enough that I actually might sleep undisturbed,” he said. “The past few days have been a bloody waking nightmare, and I don’t think I’ve managed more than a couple of hours together of sleeping the whole time. Between the tests and the hike with Major, I’m ready to lie down and stay that way for some time.”
Penelope closed her eyes at the familiar pressure of his mouth against the top of her head, and sighed. It was a sweet reminder of what was between them. After a moment, though, she straightened, only to lean in to kiss the corner of Cullen's mouth. "Then by all means, let us sleep."
She stood, tugging him with her. Clothes must be changed, and bedding must be turned down. When they finally stretched out beside one another and slid into sleep, hers was deep and dreamless.