Gabriel Bautista (xochipilli) wrote in paxemerituslog, @ 2018-01-13 23:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | freyr, xochipilli |
don't leave me out in the cold
Who: Gabe & Rafe.
What: Gabe has a bad, no good, very poor day, and Rafe makes things worse.
Where: Pax Letale, then Gabe's vet office.
When: Early to mid December.
Gabe shook his head, flipping through channels on his TV; he set the remote on his thigh, hand reaching instead for his shoulder as another spasm of pain worked its way through his limb. Not for the first time he regretted throwing out his pain medication. The thought connected to Rafe, and Gabe wondered what his significant other was up to. Even after their conversation, the man had remained distant, closed off. The more Gabe thought about the encounter, the less he was certain that any actual inroads had been made—they had, after all, ended up in bed, even if they'd only slept. But Rafe had seemed insistent that he'd do better, if only to keep Gabe from walking away.
He hadn't honestly thought that far, that, so shortly after getting Rafe back, he'd remove himself again. Everything felt so good, but that didn't outweigh everything that had happened to Rafe between their reunion and their resummation of their relationship. It left Gabe feeling helpless, that he could do so little to make things right between them. Threatening Rafe with ultimatums seemed unfair and unduly punishing—he didn't feel that that was what his anjo needed. Gabe reached for the remote again, sighing, and flipped through more channels of garbage, eventually landing on the Discovery channel and something about native birds on some small island in the Pacific. A vacation sounded good right about then, especially to get away from the sleet and snow that suddenly surrounded their building.
His eyes fell on Spot, quietly sleeping in his corner. Getting out and about would be good for both of them, Gabe decided, and it was long overdue for Spot's walk. The dog had continued to grumble about the required exercise, moving ever slower. The frisson of pain working through his shoulder made Gabe rethink the idea, but perhaps movement would aid them both. He clicked the TV off, making Spot's ears perk ever so slightly.
"Let's get outside, old man," he said, the dog's eyes opening a fraction. Though the dog's face didn't change, Gabe could immediately sense the dislike he offered toward the suggestion. "Don't be like that—we both know a little exercise is good for the body. Lemme get your leash." He rose from the couch, heading toward the closet near the kitchen for the required item. Then he was clipping it onto the elderly Australian shepherd's collar, Spot unhappily rising to at least two paws while his back half still lingered on the floor.
"C'mon," Gabe urged, tugging slightly. Spot huffed, lurching to all fours. They made their way slowly toward the front door, Gabe in the lead, walking slowly. The elevator was gained five minutes later, despite their apartment's close proximity to the contraption; the lobby crossing took just as long, with two additional minutes tacked on. Then they were outside, and Gabe slightly regretted the khaki three-quarter shorts he was wearing as a wind blew over his semi-bare legs. Spot likewise cowered at the door, not wanting to go out into the cold.
"It's just a couple of yards, old man, then we'll be in the warm," Gabe said to both himself and his dog. Spot huffed again, clearly wanting to sit, but Gabe's tugging pulled him out into the snow. His sneakers crunched salt underneath, and some snow, but the cold never abated. Spot continued his slow drive, but somehow remained consistent, as though he were driven merely to get away from the snow itself before plunking himself down. Gabe took the second wind as a blessing, that maybe being outside was the right call. A small sense of purpose lit itself in his chest, and for the first time in a few weeks he felt much more like himself.
Then they were past it, onto a clear sidewalk and waiting for the traffic light to change so they could cross the street. Spot took the opportunity to sit, relaxing with his eyes closed in the sunshine, a gruff noise coming from his throat when Gabe tugged on the lead once more to get him moving.
"Just a couple of minutes, OK, old man? Ten? Can you do that for me?" Spot made no verbal reply, his hooded eyes focused merely on what was in front of him—which, more often than not, was Gabe himself. They continued on, Gabe glancing at the waves, trying to see if he could pinpoint Rafael. It seemed unlikely, but Gabe's hand went to his phone as he considered texting his anjo to see if he'd like to get out as well and linger on the sand for a few hours; then he realized that he was tugging the lead and Spot wasn't moving.
"OK, you wanna head back? That's fine, you did good, old man," he said, turning toward his dog who'd sat down in the middle of the sidewalk almost a quarter of a mile from Pax Letale. Spot blinked, and then laid down completely. Gabe crouched next to him. "Ah, OK, we can chill for a minute. But then we've gotta head back, all right?" He swapped his lead to his bad hand, his good one reaching out to scritch Spot between the ears. A jogger smiled at the both of them as he passed by, Gabe's mouth reflecting the expression, then turning down at the corners as he looked back to his dog.
"OK, Spot, let's go," he murmured, trying to get the dog to rise. Spot's eyes had slipped closed, and as far as Gabe could tell, the dog wasn't breathing. His hands wandered over the animal's side, feeling for a heartbeat. When nothing showed, Gabe gritted his teeth, worrying. There was no way he'd be able to carry Spot back to Pax himself, and guilt from overdoing it with his dog when the animal had so clearly indicated he couldn't handle it settled heavy on his shoulders.
He reached into his pocket, fishing out his phone, dialing Rafe. The phone pressed to his ear rang, and rang, and rang. Eventually, it hit the familiar sound of his voice, telling the caller to leave a message after the beep.
"C'mon, Rafe," Gabe muttered, dialing again. He briefly thought about Obed, maybe the front desk, and when Rafe's phone hit his voice mail once more, he tried both with similar success. His eyes fell on his dog, murmuring fuck as he tried to think about what he was going to do. He was left with few options, especially as he glanced around and suddenly saw no one in his immediate vicinity. What was more, the longer he left Spot like this, the less certain he was that there was potential to bring the dog back from the brink of whatever was ailing him.
Sucking in a deep breath, Gabe removed his injured arm from its sling and carefully reached forward to pick up his large pet. Spot had always seemed like more fur than meat, but the complaint his shoulder put out immediately put that assumption to rest. He had to put Spot down again, and then lift once more, this time putting the majority of Spot's weight on his left arm and shoulder as he focused on leaning his body in that direction. The required strength of his right still complained, but then they were up, and moving, and Gabe beelined back toward the traffic light and the Pax parking lot covered in snow. He glanced both ways at the crossing, not waiting for it to change—instead, he darted quickly across the painted lines, heading for his car.
He put Spot in the back seat, still unmoving, but he felt a small, steady heartbeat when he pressed his hand to his side.
"Just hang on, OK? We're gonna get there," he muttered, more to himself. He closed the door, his right shoulder aching, and got in the driver's side. Salt, snow, and gravel crunched under his tires as he all but peeled out of the parking lot and headed toward the closest vet ER.
Carrying Spot once more, his right arm complaining all the while, he walked into the calm lobby and right up to the front desk.
"What can I—" The male secretary seated there looked up, a worried look immediately coming over his face. He plucked up a phone, and suddenly Spot was taken away from him (both relieving and worrying Gabe anew, as his shoulder was freed from the dog's weight, but answers were not immediately forthcoming about Spot's condition). Once he'd answered a few questions for a technician (yes, he'd been slowing down over the past few weeks, they'd just been out for a walk, Spot's pace) and had a moment to breathe, he dialed Rafe again.
Voice mail. Gabe squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to Rafe's voice, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought back exhaustion and tears as he was, once more, denied the one comfort he wanted in all of this. Then the technician was back, pulling him into a small room. Gabe left a short voicemail, explaining.
"I'm at the ASPCA ER on Clover. Just. Call me, please." He hung up, and followed where he was bid.
Ten minutes ticked by, each one slower than the last. Soft sounds carried from the waiting area: Other patients and their owners entering or leaving, the receptionist greeting each in turn. Then a louder commotion sprang up. The receptionist attempted to intercede, but whoever the source of his exasperation was, they were not listening to his repeated admonishments.
Then the door to Gabriel's waiting room opened and Rafael stood just outside it. One hand clutched the doorknob. Concern shone in his eyes, but not brightly enough to distract from the wild wideness of his pupils, or the dark shadows that framed his eyes like deep bruises.
"Gabe." He paused beside Gabe, reaching out to his partner. "I'm sorry, I just saw… is he OK? What happened?"
Gabe turned half around, gaping at the other man. Rafe was still dressed in the same outfit he'd seen him in two days ago. He'd put trying to reach Rafe completely out of his mind, absorbed in what the technician was telling him. Spot was on his last leg, and it was kinder to let the senior dog go rather than attempt any life-saving surgeries. Gabe had just started to grapple with the information and the possibility that he'd walked into the vet and would be walking out sans dog when Rafe's interruption threw him completely.
"Sir," the technician interrupted, rising from where they'd been leaning against the counter, clipboard in hand. "This is a private conversation, I'm going to have to ask you to step out into the hall—"
"No, he's...he's all right," Gabe said. "This is... I'll handle this." He rose, pushing Rafe back outside, toward the furthest corner that stood away from other people. His hand still on Rafe's shoulder, albeit lightly, he leaned into his personal space and hissed. He felt exhausted, his shoulder throbbed, and he was barely holding back tears from the events of the day. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Rafael's face fell into hopeless confusion. His brow knit, a crease marring his sun-browned brow. When he spoke his words were too quick by far, tripping over one another in his rising, throat-closing fear. "I'm… you called, and I thought if it's the ER, something happened to Spot, so I was going to call, but it was probably urgent. So I thought I should just come in case you needed me, or anything. It's… wait, are you OK? Ah amorzinho, where's your sling?"
"Stop, just..." Gabe's hand slipped from Rafe's shoulder, held palm up in front of Rafe. Then it went to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose while his eyes closed for a moment.
"Are you high right now? After everything..." He dropped his hand, eyes fixing themselves with anger on Rafe's gaze. "Are you high, Rafael?"
Rafe's eyes slid away, off to the too-close waiting room, where sat so many listening ears, so many prying eyes. His face burned, shame painting its colors from the tips of his ears to the deep V of his worn white tee. "I, um… I didn't mean to, Gabe, it just…" His guilty gaze flicked back to Gabe. He reached out, blindly clasping for Gabriel's hand. "I wouldn't have come but I thought… I haven't…" He squeezed Gabe's hand, plaintive and desperate. "I'm sorry, Gabe. Really. I'm sorry."
Gabe let Rafe grab his hand, but also did nothing to encourage the motion. His exhausted face was underscored by his mouth set into a grim line. His head swung gently back and forth, his eyes turned toward the floor.
"Yeah, me too." Then, he slowly extracted his hand from Rafael's touch. "I want you to go back out to the waiting room, and wait for me there. I have to finish a few things up, and I just... I can't handle this right now."
Rafael stood there for a moment, his lips parted on an argument he knew he had no right to make. He ached to stay with Gabriel, to help him through the difficulty that was to come, but it was clear his presence had only made things worse. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khakis and slowly nodded understanding.
"OK, Gabe. I'm sorry."
He moved away, out into the waiting room. Only the receptionist and a single waiting pet owner glanced up at him, but to Rafael it felt like every eye was on him. He shrank from them and slipped outside, where he lit up the first in what would soon become a series of hastily burned-down cigarettes.
It was twenty long minutes before Gabe joined him, pausing in the lobby to wonder where Rafe had disappeared to. He stopped by the receptionist's desk long enough to pay and receive a few words of condolences; then he moved outside, spying Rafe and moving toward him, the glass door to the ER closing behind him. He carefully schooled his face, which looked as though he'd shed a few tears but was now holding back more, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he approached. One pocket bulged, holding Spot's collar and tag; the lead was rolled up and stuffed in his back pocket.
"Did you drive?"
Rafe shook his head. He took one last drag from his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, grinding it out beneath his heel. He waved away the worst of the smoke. "A friend dropped me off." He glanced down to Gabe's hands, kept quite purposefully from him. Unable to give or receive that small comfort, Rafael mirrored Gabe's motion. "I… so, Spot..."
Gabe sighed, a hand rising to rub at his temple; then it went to his right shoulder, a simple touch causing him to wince as the body part made its dissatisfaction plain.
"I guess him being slow over the past few weeks was a sign. I should've brought him in sooner." He wet his lips with his tongue, and used his left to fish in his pocket for his keys. "They're gonna cremate him. There's a program where they spread the ashes in a preserved area. Hoping he likes that... I don't know what I'd do with them.
"Anyway, come on. We've... we've got a lot to talk about." Hitting the keyfob, his nearby car lit up and beeped in response. Gabe went to the driver's side and pulled the door free. The car smelled like Spot, but he worked to not let it bother him. He pulled out the collar and the leash and tossed them into the back seat, then sat down and pulled his door closed.
Deeply and visibly uncomfortable, Rafael slipped into the passenger's seat and quietly shut his door. His hands fidgeted with the seat belt longer than they should have; his hands were subtly trembling, panic rising in his throat. He did not trust himself to begin this conversation, though he knew well enough what it would be about. He folded his hands in his lap to stop them shaking.
"I'm very sorry about Spot," he said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. "I'm sure he'll like that. You… you took good care of him."
"Doesn't really feel like it," Gabe replied, the surprising honesty in his words cutting him deeper than the loss itself. "Doesn't really feel like I have a handle on anything, right now." He moved his right arm to settle on the wheel, wincing from his shoulder. He shook his head, starting up the car, and pulled out of the spot and the parking lot.
"So what was it this time? You just... you told me you'd stop, and then you thought you could pretend like nothing was wrong? That I wouldn't notice?" He kept his gaze carefully fixed on the road in front of him; anger and disappointment threaded through his words, but mostly they were weighed down by an extreme amount of exhaustion.
Rafael would rather he have shouted, or simply left him at the vet's to find his own way home. This tired sadness was too like their discussion years before. There was too much resignation in it, too much terrible finality. He struggled to find the right words, already knowing there were none. His hands squeezed more tightly together.
"It wasn't that," he said at last. He watched Gabe's face, though his partner would not do the same for him. His sickly glittering eyes darted over every change in Gabe's expression, searching for any sign of softness, any hint of potential forgiveness, feeling less deserving of both the longer he looked for them. "I did stop, for a little while. I thought I was doing OK. A little irritability, shaking, some insomnia, which was actually…" He stopped, clearing his throat. It all sounded like excuses, weaker and more useless the longer he spoke.
"I had another nightmare. It was late and I didn't want to talk about it or bother you with it, so I just went out to meet some friends. And I just… I messed up. I was going to stay away until I got my head straight, but then…"
Gabe's teeth ground, the knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel going white. The movement sent a reverberation through his arm, to his shoulder, making him wince; he slowed down, letting his right arm drop into his lap.
"I feel like we're on two different planets," he murmured. He glanced at Rafe as best he was able, as he was able to feel comfortable doing so. His voice rose, the next words perfectly audible. "Are we in a relationship, Rafe? Or are we just... Is this just us messing around? Or am I your boyfriend? Because I don't know where we stand, right now."
They came to a traffic light, which allowed Gabe to turn fully in Rafe's direction, his cool gaze settled on Rafe's expression, waiting for an answer.
Rafe's heart had settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Every breath felt hard to draw. When he spoke—and he spoke quickly, now—his tongue felt thick in his mouth. "I love you, Gabriel. So much it hurts, sometimes. Yes, you're my boyfriend, the only one, meu amorzão. And I don't—" His voice broke, and with it, his lingering gaze. He stared down at his hands, where his fingers interlaced and twisted, restless. "I don't know why I can't stop fucking it up. It's just like before, and I don't know how to stop. I swear I'm trying to make it right. I'm trying."
Gabe stared at Rafe's face, his gaze pinging from the other man's eyes, to his mouth, to his hands in his lap. He wasn't sure how much to believe, how Rafe might be manipulating him even now. What was worse, he immediately felt guilty for sloughing this all off on Rafe, putting him in that huddled over position in the passenger seat of his car.
A honk broke him from the spell, the light in front of him having turned green. He turned back to the road, and concentrated on driving for the next ten minutes that it took to bring them back to Pax Letale. Thoughts raced through his brain, trying to piece together some solution to this seemingly impossible problem. Then he was pulling into his spot; he turned the engine off, but made no move to get out of the car.
He sat for a long moment, staring out ahead into the cold snow that surrounded Pax this mid-December. Rafe continued to stare at his hands, watching nothing but the patterns his fallen tears drew on his skin.
"If I offered you a way to help, actually help, would you take it?" He glanced at Rafe, not turning his body more than was necessary to look at the other man. "If I told you that it was this choice, or we're done, would you do it?" His heart beat in his chest, tears stinging his eyes again as voices chastised him in the back of his head for hanging this ultimatum over Rafe's head.
Though his voice was small, Rafe did not hesitate. "Yes." He looked up, swallowing down the lump in his throat, and forced himself to meet Gabe's gaze. "Yes." This time, his voice did not waver. "Anything, gato. Anything. Name it."
"I want you to go to rehab. I know a place, a few friends have been through it. I'll pay for it." Gabe held Rafe's gaze, his look gentler than it had been before. Under that sofer gaze, Rafael utterly crumbled. He could not hide his renewed tears, so he did not try. "It won't help...with the assault, but it would get you through the drugs. Get you away from here for a month. Time to relax and get yourself straight.
"I love you, anjo," he finally said, his hand reaching out tentatively since it was his injured arm. "But I want to feel like I'm important enough to you that you can talk to me. I feel like you're scared of me, of everyone. I want you to feel safe, and the drugs? The drugs are just temporary. Truth is, they're probably making things worse."
His fingers reached for Rafe's hand, gently touching a wrist. "I want you to get better. A month in rehab. Just you focusing on yourself. Can you do that?"
Rafe's hand turned beneath Gabe's fingers, basking in that soft, sweet slide. He told himself it did not have to be the last time he felt that, but some cruel, quiet voice answered otherwise. He opened his mouth, but found he could not speak. Fear paralyzed him: fear of losing his work, his livelihood, his reputation, his relationship. But he nodded and turned his wet, bloodshot eyes at last up to Gabe's. He nodded again, more vigorously.
"OK. I…" He sniffled, his free hand rising to swipe at his dripping nose. He still did not dare reach for Gabriel's hand, and where Gabe's fingers rested on him, Rafe remained perfectly still. "I'm sorry. OK. Gabe, there's nothing more important than you. Nothing. So yes, I can. I will. But I need…" He drew a short, hitching breath. "When can I go? I need to go soon, Gabe. And I need to stay with you until I do. Please? I… is that OK?"
Gabe nodded, fully agreeing. "I... I need to go to the hospital to get my arm checked out. But I'll make calls tonight. You can stay with me. I want you to stay with me," he repeated, his words underscoring a different point. "And I'll make arrangements for you to go tomorrow. Is that too soon?" Before he quite realized what he was doing, Gabe turned his hand in Rafe's, threading his fingers through the other man's gently. Tension removed itself from his shoulders, making him feel more at ease than he had in weeks.
Rafael allowed himself one small slide of his thumb over Gabe's skin. Then his hand was still again, content to simply enjoy that touch. He shook his head. "No, I think that's… that's probably the best thing." He thought for a moment; then words spilled over one another, every thought coming too quickly, but helping him focus, drawing his attention away from his pain. "I need to call and reschedule some shoots. I could call Dale and let him know. He's… mmhm. And can you take Mr. Fishy? No, that's OK, I can ask Isobel… and then you can help me pack, I guess, after we call?"
"Of course," Gabe said, an earnest smile on his face. He shifted, wincing slightly. "I can take Mr. Fishy, if you want. I think I could handle something that small, and I like that you have a reason to come back to me." His gentle barb was teasing; Rafael's answering smile was small. "Whatever you want, anjo, I'll help with. For now, let me walk you upstairs. I don't... I don't think coming with me to the ER would be a good idea." Nurses and doctors on staff would immediately pinpoint something off about Rafe, and quickly discern the cause of that oddity.
He nodded understanding, but he did not leave just yet. Instead he clasped Gabe's hand and leaned over the center console, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to Gabriel's lips. Gabe found himself leaning over, unable to dismiss the allure that his anjo presented. When Rafe drew away he took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for the long road to come.
"Thank you."
Then he slipped away, moving out of the warmth of the car and into the snow beyond. In tee shirt and shorts he was unseasonably dressed for the unnatural weather; still he waited, shivering, until Gabriel could join him. They walked together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, into the building, their first steps into a new and uncertain future.