Malcolm Tucker (fuckitybye) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-02-19 20:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !plot |
Who? Malcolm Tucker, Grey White & John Watson
Where? The cottage
When? This afternoon.
What? Malcolm has the superflu, Grey calls for Dr Watson.
Rating? Low for once. Except for slightly morbid talk and serious feels.
Status? Logged, complete.
It had started off just as a cough. Under normal circumstances, neither of them would have thought anything of it. Even when he'd quickly taken a turn for the worse, he doubted that they would have really worried that much about it if it had been any other time or place. It was just the flu- people didn't actually die from that, did they? Not anymore- not with modern medicine, not when they were otherwise healthy. But people were dying- healthy people, people younger and stronger than he considered himself.
He really didn't feel well, and he wasn't the type to give in to sickness. He'd dragged himself into the office no matter what, against doctor's advice on more than one occasion- just drug himself up to the eyeballs and get on with it. He knew this wasn't good, he just didn't want to admit defeat. He couldn't. It wasn't meant to be like this. He didn't die of the flu, that was a ridiculous idea.
He was trying to keep up the denial, but it was really wearing thin now. Grey was beyond wonderful, trying to hard to look after him, but he could see that she was trying so hard to hold it together when she was really falling to pieces. She needed to look after herself first, but these protestations always fell on deaf ears. It had been a few days, but instead of getting better, he knew that he was getting quickly worse. He felt it, but more than that, it was written all over her worried face. So when Grey told him that she was texting Watson he didn't even try to argue with her. There was no more "but I'm fine you fucking idiot", which should have said more than words ever could.
-
This wasn't happening, it just couldn't be. They'd both been trying to avoid truly pissing anyone off, they didn't go out alone late at night for fear of what might be out there in the forest, just waiting. They were being careful, they were supposed to be safe. But of course that was the thing about the island, wasn't it? There was no such thing as safe, it didn't matter what or who you were, it'd get you in the end. She'd managed to delude herself for a surprisingly long time, while she'd sat wiping the sweat off his forehead, giving him paracetamol do reduce his temperature, just generally stayed awake in case he needed anything at all, not that she expected to be able to sleep of course, she was too worried. It was horrible seeing him like this, knowing what was going on outside. She couldn't lose him, not like this, not now. Jesus they'd only just found each other, this was so unfair she just wanted to scream. But of course she didn't, she just carried on, tried to pretend she was okay for his sake, but she wasn't sure he believed she was fine anymore than she did.
She wondered if this would have better if she was ill as well, but then who'd look after him? That was all that mattered, that was all that had happened for such a long time now. A little voice in the back of head kept asking 'what if...' and it was eating away at her, she couldn't ignore it. She wasn't enough, all the meds she'd got, all the water she was making him drink, none of it was enough and she wasn't stupid enough to think it was. All she had to do was l;look at him to know he needed professional help, and he hadn't argued, not even weakly. He knew what was going on. They both knew what was going on, they didn't have to accept it though, she'd never accept that. She just couldn't.
She laid on top of her covers in their bedroom, holding onto his hand, refusing to leave him as she waited for Watson to show up. He'd know what to do, right? He'd call her an idiot for not calling him sooner and he'd give Malcolm various pills and tell her he'd start feeling better in the next couple of days and it would be okay. It was the only option she could accept.
-
Malcolm felt completely pathetic. As she lay there next to him, holding onto his hand, all he really wanted to do was cry. But somehow he didn't- mostly because he was sure he didn't even have the energy available to do it. He was barley holding onto her hand in return.
John was exhausted, and beyond stressed. Of course, he had a duty of care, and he was doing well to respond to the growing number of patients who needed attention. Dr Banner's mysterious disappearance couldn't have come at a worse time, even if that was a terribly selfish thought to be having. He was reluctant to leave the hospital, but at the same time it was probably better to have patients stay indoors, somewhat quarantined. This illness was spreading like a plague, and killing an alarming number of patients. He didn't want to think about how many had gone already. He hated feeling so helpless.
It was only a short time after he had received Grey's text that he arrived at the cottage, and knocked on the door. He already knew what to expect, and he readied himself for the worst.
-
She always knew how bad things were by how quiet Malcolm was, and right now it was obvious things were terrible, all she wanted to hear him call her a cunt, but there was none of that, there was barely any conversation at all, but that was okay, she wanted him to save his energy, he seemed to be sleeping quite a lot, which was probably for the best, though even when he was asleep she didn't let go of him, it didn't matter that he didn't had the strength to hold onto her hand, well it did but not in that way, She was going to hold onto him no matter what, because if she wasn't holding onto him well what was she going to do? And maybe, hopefully her being there might offer him a little bit of comfort.
At the sound of the knock on the door she moved carefully and quietly, not wanting to disturb Malcolm, he was better off sleeping if he could, Opening the door to Watson she tried to smile, but couldn't really manage it."Sorry," she said instantly. "I shouldn't've dragged you all the way out here I just...he's getting worse and I don't know what to do." And she was terrified, but wasn't about to verbalise that, it probably went without saying for a start.
-
Malcolm was only vaguely aware of the knock at the door and Grey leaving. He knew that he was bad because he couldn't even be bothered to put on a brave face anymore. He wanted to be stronger, he wanted to be able to pull it together a bit, just to stop her worrying so much, but it was completely futile.
When Grey opened the door, it was clear to John just how worried she was, and he really couldn't blame her. If it had been Sherlock, he would have been beside himself with worry to the point of risking his own health to look after him.
"No, no, don't be sorry. I know it's the British way not to want to bother a doctor, but it really is what I'm here for," he insisted.
-
She wasn't sure if it was better or worse that he wasn't putting on a brave face, she didn't want him wasting his energy on it though, not that he seemed to have any energy, that was the problem. God, she couldn't even think about how bad he was, so quiet and weak, so completely unMalcolm.
The thing was she wasn't sure it was even about that, not wanting to bother him. It was more that bothering him was an admission that things were really wrong, but she really couldn't delude herself anymore, not at the expense of Malcolm's health. "Yeah," she said blankly, because she wasn't going to get into it, she could talk about her fear, she could barely even admit it inside her own head.
"He's in the bedroom," she said, moving out of the way so John could enter. "I've been making sure he's drinking and all that, but...he's still burning up."
-
John knew what to expect by now, and the most frustrating thing was that he knew without even looking at him that he was just going to be parroting the same advice as he'd given to everyone. He was glad, in a way, that they weren't up at the hospital, where it very much had become a case of 'keep them comfortable until they die'. They needed to find a cure, but these things took time and resources that they just didn't have- and on top of that, the damn virus kept mutating, making effective treatment frankly impossible. And yet there had been a few recoveries.
When the doctor entered the room, Malcolm felt like he wanted to sit up properly and play it down, but what the hell use would that do really? John asked him a few questions, despite already expecting the answers, took his temperature, listened to his breathing and so on- Malcolm remained uncharacteristically quiet, just letting the doctor do whatever he needed to do. He was surprised to find that he was quite afraid of what he might tell him.
The longer John had been away from his own reality, the more often he had felt completely useless. It had to be said that he had a bit of a God Complex about him- he wanted to be able to fix everything right away, but of course it couldn't always be the case. He thought for a moment that perhaps he ought to leave the room and talk to Grey on her own, but that wasn't exactly fair.
"I'm going to give you some stuff to take," he said eventually, pulling out various pills and sorting through them. "These are anti-virals, take one twice a day. I've brought paracetamol and ibuprofen in case you're running low, it's fine to take them all at the same time. Keep drinking water, keep a window open a bit," he was telling him, aware that it was probably nothing he didn't already know. Maybe Malcolm would have pointed that out under normal circumstances, but for now he just mumbled a thanks.
John stood up again, and nodded before moving over to Grey. "Can I have a quick word?" he asked, gesturing to the door to suggest he didn't want Malcolm to hear them.
-
Luckily Grey hadn't really been keeping track of the network, she had much more important things to focus on, and really though it might've been selfish she didn't much care what was happening out there, she only had so much strength, and all of that was going on staying awake, keeping an eye on the time so she knew when Malcolm could have his next dose of pain killers. Anything else would've just been a waste of time.
She really couldn't stand this, she'd thought perhaps the presence of another person might change things a little, that somehow Malcolm might find the strength to sit up, to move, to take the piss, anything, but there was no change and she just didn't know what to do. All she could was watching, standing on the other side of the room so as not to crowd John.
The only new thing was the antivirals, but that was better than nothing, anything they could cling to for a bit more hope, anything that might help. They'd do something, wouldn't they? They had to.
The question from John made her stomach plummet for reasons she didn't want to think about. She wasn't a pessimistic person, she always clung to hope because the other option was just giving up and she was trying so hard not to do that, but she just couldn't help it, she just knew this was something really bad.
"Yeah course," she said following him out of the room, trying to stay calm, to stay positive. Maybe he was just going to tell her she was an idiot for not calling him sooner, but he didn't want to make her look like a dick in front of Malcolm.
Carefully she closed the door behind them and turned to the doctor, she should probably say something, ask what it was, but she didn't want to, if she asked he'd definitely tell her and she wasn't sure she really wanted to know.
-
John didn't even know where to begin. He knew that while it wasn't good to give anyone false hope, it could be even more damaging to just take that hope away from them. Sometimes people survived simply because they didn't know that they weren't meant to.
"Okay, I'm going to leave you the thermometer. Keep an eye, if his temperature goes up any higher, contact me right away. Or if he has any difficulty breathing," he told her. It hadn't been exactly what he wanted to say, but maybe it was enough for now. She looked so bloody tired.
"Look, are you sure you don't want me to take him up to the hospital?" he asked after a pause, sure that he knew the answer already. "It's a lot for you to be dealing with on your own. You need to rest, get some sleep," he told her, although he suspected that even with him in the hospital that wouldn't come easily for her.
-
Okay, that was...okay. All perfectly reasonable, no 'prepare yourself for the worse' or anything like that that might actually kill her. "I will, yeah thanks."
Grey looked at John like he'd gone mad when he suggested moving Malcolm. Under normal circumstances she'd have pointed out how he wasn't exactly in a fit state to be moved, and it really did seem like a lot more stress and effort than Malcolm needed. "He's fine here. I'll call if I need you, but...you must be busy. I'll take care of him. And I'm fine, I'll sleep when he's better. It won't be much longer, will it? Now you've given us the antivirals. He'll start getting better now, won't he?"
-
Under normal circumstances, John never would have suggested moving him, but these were far from normal circumstances. He didn't want to tell her that he was concerned Malcolm would die, and at least at the hospital he could be monitored constantly. That they would attempt resuscitation- no, that was far too graphic an explanation She deserved the truth, but not like that.
Her words made his heart sink, and he found himself looking at the floor for a moment, trying to find the best words to explain things to her better.
"The anti-virals... they aren't a cure. They'll ease the symptoms, but-" he stopped short, giving her a pained look and shaking his head slightly. For some reason, with Grey, it seemed harder to say than it had been to anyone else. "We don't have a cure. There are people working on it, but with limited resources- it takes time that we don't really have," he tried to explain. He was doing a fucking awful job of it. Did she even know that people were dying? Did she know how many? The hospital was like a morgue.
-
That really wasn't the reaction she wanted, his body language was saying so much more than words could, and it was getting so, so difficult to hold on to the belief that this was going to be okay, that they were going to get out this just fine, because they had to, because if anything happened to Malcolm, well she'd already admitted what would happen in that scenario and it really wasn't pretty, or especially sane for that matter, but he was all she had, more than that he was all she wanted.
She was supposed to be tough and strong, she was supposed to be yelling at him to just fucking spit it out, but she couldn't, that fire just wasn't there, not now. "I know but..." She felt like a little girl, just looking to John for reassurance, lies even, like the bullshit they told kids when their pets died. God she wanted her mum, she wanted Malcolm, she wanted anyone that was going to tell her it was going to be okay, just so she could believe that instead of the truth. She took a deep breath. She hated everything about this, about how fucking weak she was, about the state of Malcolm, about how she was apparently so pathetic even a trained doctor couldn't tell her, a grown adult the truth.
"Right," she said, blankly. She got it, she really, really didn't want to, but she did. "Right," she said again, because any other words were just going to start her screaming or sobbing, and she really didn't want to disturb Malcolm. "I should...pills and all that." God she couldn't even speak in whole sentences anymore. "Can you..." she gestured vaguely towards the door 'let yourself out.' Words really were too much effort. She couldn't think, she couldn't really process anything at the moment, there was just nothing, because the alternative was so, so much worse.
-
It was so difficult, and so horrible. The whole island experience made it so difficult to be a professional doctor. He was used to the heat of battle, where people expected to die, or the urban anonymity of London where he didn't know his patients too well, and he would likely never see them outside of his surgery. The island was like a very small village, and the line between professional and personal was often too faint to see. He couldn't be harsh and sterile with her, because maybe next week they'd be in the pub, or god knows what. It changed the dynamic, and not in a positive way.
He could see the pain all over her features, and how he wished he could take it back- but a lie wouldn't do anyone any good.
"There have been some recoveries," he told her, silently adding that for every one recovery there were five who weren't so lucky. "Just- yeah. Pills, keep him hydrated and cool, any changes- you call me," he told her. It was the best he could offer.
"Yeah. Take care," he gave her a sad little nod, and turned to leave.
-
Perhaps texting John hadn't been the best idea, there were other doctors after all, really she wasn't entirely sure why she seemed to keep going to him, perhaps because he'd been there the longest, she was used to him and he was helpful, decent , but Jesus she'd DJed at his fucking wedding, there was no professional separation here, not like there really needed to be.
"Yeah?" she said, perking up ever so slightly, clinging to that bit of knowledge like a life raft, It was better than nothing, wasn't it? And Malcolm - well he was tough, wasn't he? Okay so he was way too skinny and older than a lot of people on the island, but he was still Malcolm, he wasn't going to let something this fucking stupid beat him, was he? "I know, and I will. Promise. Thanks." She stood in the hallway, watching as he left, trying to work out what to do now. She wasn't entirely sure she could trust herself not to just breakdown the moment she went back up to Malcolm, but it wasn't like she had an option, was it? She wasn't just going to leave him on his own, even this couple of minutes had felt like too long.
Right then.
She headed quickly back to the bedroom, grabbing one of the pills John had just left. "Malc?" she said softly, "think you can sit up for second? Just to take this?" she asked, showing him the pill, already moving closer, ready to give him a hand.
-
Malcolm didn't need to be able to hear what they were saying to know exactly what they had been talking about. Dr Watson didn't want to say it in front of him, and he could understand that in a way. He just wanted to feel capable of arguing back. He wanted to be able to sit up and smile and tell her everything was fine and joke that she shouldn't listen to that quack, but it was rather beyond that point now.
She came back, and even her simple requests pained him. She was so gentle and concerned, and maybe it would have been better if she was just impatient with him, maybe that would have tricked him into thinking that he was just being dramatic. But no, Grey was actually so sweet and caring.
"Yeah," he mumbled. He was going to force himself to do this- sit up and take the pill and smile and pull it the fuck together again. Christ, why the fuck was even sitting up such an effort now? The room spun like it was the hangover that was finally going to bloody kill him.
-
She was repeating what John had said in her head about people recovering, he had to be one of them, he just had to, but the state of him, the effort everything was taking, it was just all too much. She couldn't ignore how weak he was no matter how hard she tried, and the weird thing was she didn't want to leave, she didn't want to be alone where she could pretend everything was okay, where she could shield herself from how ill he obviously was, because the thought of leaving him was worse than anything else, even while he barely had the strength to talk.
"I've got you," she said gently, ready to slip her arm round him, hold him up, catch him if it turned out he really couldn't sit up without support. She gave him the pill, resisting the urge to ask him to open his mouth, because he wasn't that bad and she wasn't going to treat him like a child, he deserved better than that, he deserved his dignity. She did keep hold of the glass of water though as she handed it over, not wanting him to spill it, because then she'd have to change the sheets and that would mean moving him and she really couldn't bear to put him through all that effort.
-
He didn't want her to have to look after him like this. He felt weak and pathetic, and he really hadn't had any time to even get used to the idea. The illness had just been thrust upon him almost overnight. But as humiliating as it was, he was glad that Grey was there- of course he was- if it had been anyone else, he'd certainly have told them to fuck off and leave him alone by now. But with Grey, he was being compliant- she didn't need him to be a total dick to her on top of everything else. Not that he even had the energy to argue if he had wanted to.
Fuck, he couldn't even hold a fucking glass of water for himself. It was hard to believe that he was going to pull through when he couldn't even take a drink without assistance. He wanted to apologise, he wanted to hold onto her, he wanted her to say that it was going to be okay, to lie and tell him that Dr Watson had said he would be fine- and he never felt so pathetic as all that.
"Thanks," he told her, rather numbly. He watched her silently for a moment, wondering what to do or say. Probably stupid to be worrying about, really. She looked so worried- beyond worried. No fucking wonder. "It'll be all right," he mumbled, despite having no evidence to back that up.
-
Really she'd have quite liked an argument, him telling her to fuck off would have been more than welcome, because she wouldn't have, of course she wouldn't have, but it was when he didn't argue that she knew things were bad, and they'd never been this bad before, god she really couldn't think about it. She couldn't think about anything other than looking after him, really it was sort of good she had something to focus on, even if it was this.
"No problem," she assured him, looking back at him, hoping she didn't look as scared as she felt. She really needed to pull it together, start making jokes, calling him names, for his sake. He needed her to be normal, she just really couldn't manage it, she didn't have the heart or energy to take the piss and she was sure he'd know what that meant just as much as she knew what it meant with him.
"I know," she said, trying a reassuring smile, but most likely missing. It almost hurt to smile now, it was just so much effort, so difficult. She had to believe it though, she had to try. Putting his glass back on the bedside table she reached out and stroked his forehead. He was still so hot, she really didn't know what to do any more.
"I love you," she said, because she couldn't keep it in, because he had to know, it was vitally important, especially now.
-
He did know what it meant, that she wasn't telling him he looked like shit, or to get a fucking grip on himself. It meant it was bad, and he wasn't stupid- he knew it was bad, he knew that it was beyond bad. He knew that people were dying, he'd known that before he even had a cough. And now? He couldn't think about it. How long? No- he couldn't think it.
He nodded a little when she said that she knew, a useless attempt at trying to convince them both that that was true, but he was sure the panic was clear all over his face. He felt dizzy, he was burning up, every muscle ached in protest. He couldn't remember ever feeling so ill before. It was frightening, of course it was, he'd have been an idiot if he wasn't afraid.
Shit, and then she was saying that she loved him, and it felt like a stabbing ache in his heart. It felt like she was preparing herself to say goodbye, and that just couldn't happen. He didn't want to let her, he wanted to tell her to fuck off, just so she didn't keep talking. But he didn't, because- he didn't want her to leave.
"I know that," he told her, with another little nod. He should say it back, of course he should, but he didn't want to keep going down that path.
"What'd he say to you?" he asked after a pause, regretted the words almost instantly. He was such a dick, putting her in that position.
-
Nothing would have made her leave of course, him screaming that he hated her wouldn't have done, it didn't matter what he said, it didn't matter what he did she was never going to leave no matter how much he might want her to, because where was she going to go? What was she going to do? Anyway it didn't matter what he said, she was used to him - his stubbornness, it didn't mean anything and if he ever thought she was going to back down he was sorely mistaken.
"Good," she replied. It hurt when he hadn't said it back, but it was something she was willing to ignore, it didn't matter anyway, nothing mattered right now and she certainly wasn't about to acknowledge him not saying it.
"Y'know the usual, call him if you get worse, make sure you drink water.. He said people were getting better. You're gonna be okay, Malc," she said, sounding far top much like she had to believe it, like he had to believe it as well, because what else could they do?
-
He could hear the hurt, and he wanted to say it back, but he was just so afraid of it being the last time. He was being dramatic. He wasn't going to die. He had to keep telling himself that. He would recover, and then he would say it back.
She was lying to him. If the roles had been reversed, he was sure he would have done the same. And that was how he knew that she loved him, that she would rather lie to him and deal with the pain on her own. That even now she wanted to protect him, even if she wasn't fully aware of what she was doing for him.
He didn't want to call her on it. "Yeah. Course I am, love," he replied, but almost instantly followed it up with a pained coughing fit, each one echoing in his chest and sending shooting pain through him. It stopped, and he gasped for air, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried his best to control his expression, and hide the pain.
"Fuck," he said eventually
-
She was giving herself away, she needed to try and act normally, she needed to tell him he was being a baby, because that was the only way it wasn't going to seem like things were going wrong. The thing was even if she could manage it it seemed pointless, because she was sure she wasn't going to get anything back.
She was pretty sure she was supposed to be honest with him, because that was how it was in relationships, wasn't it? And she felt bad for lying, but the truth - that was so much worse. He didn't need to know, he didn't need to know how bad it was, because how would that help anything? Okay perhaps he'd get better purely to spite...whatever, but that wasn't enough incentive to tell him, because what would happen if he had confirmation he might die? How would that help either of them?
When his comment descended into a coughing fit her heart leapt in her chest. He was going to be okay, he was going to be okay, he was going to be okay. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from saying his name, from vocalising her fear and worry.
She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to make it better. God she wanted to be honest with him more than anything, but how the hell could she? She didn't even know what to say anymore, because clearly saying anything about how she felt about him wasn't going to go well. "I'm sure it gets worse before it gets better," she said. It made sense, and it rang a bell, he just needed to get it out of his system, cough crap up, it was fine.
"Do you need anything?" she asked, a moment's pause. "Or can I get back into bed with you?" Because she was never going to leave his side, and lying on top of the covers with him just felt strange.
-
A few wheezy breaths later, the pain seemed to temporarily subside again, and he looked up at her a little desperately.
"No, don't need anything," he told her. He really did want her to get into bed with him, he wanted to cling to her, he wanted her to hold onto him. He'd never felt quite so pathetically needy before. But he didn't understand how she could bear to get into bed beside him- he was disgusting and sweaty and wheezing, and he didn't know how she could still want to be near him. As if it was even important.
"You don't have to stay," he mumbled, aware even before the words came out of his mouth that she was never going to listen to his crap.
-
She could hardly bear him looking at her like that, all she wanted to do was make it better, easier, but she just couldn't, nothing was helping, but that was going to change now, wasn't it? Now John had brought the antivirals it was just a question of time.
The fact was Grey didn't give a shit what kind of a state he was in, she still wanted to be next to him. God even when he'd had the hangover from hell months ago now she'd still wanted him, still fancied him and this time was no different, She didn't even mind how hot and sweaty he was, oh it bothered her because it was a symptom of the illness, but it didn't bother her enough to stop her from wanting to wrap her arms around him, to try and distract him from the pain even for a little while.
She gave him the look she reserved for when he said especially stupid things, the one that said 'you're a fucking idiot, Tucker.' It wan't quite as heated as normal, but it was unmistakable. "I know I don't have to," she pointed out, sounding a little annoyed. "I want to...fucking hell Malcolm..." she sighed heavily stopping herself from carrying on, she was far too likely to say something she was going to regret if she wasn't very careful, Shaking her head she moved to the other side of the bed, removing her clothes as she went, laying beside him fully clothed just made her way too hot. Slipping in beside him she slid her arm gently round him and kissed the back of his neck, scared of accidentally hurting him, or making him hotter than he already was.
-
Malcolm knew that look well, and he was actually glad to see it. It would have been easy for her just to give him medication and leave him to sleep, he really wouldn't have held that against her at all. He desperately wanted her to stay close to him, but he would have understood if it was just too much for her to deal with fully. But she was looking at him like he was an idiot, and that was enough to make him smile a little.
"Okay," he replied, which was beyond pathetic. It was really depressing- the illness had just sucked his entire personality out of him, and it was moments like that, when he couldn't even think straight, when he realised just how fucking bad it was.
She slipped in next to him, and he sighed happily. Her presence instantly offered some comfort. He'd never really felt that way about anyone- he was more the type to push others away when he wasn't feeling himself, but with Grey it just seemed to make everything a bit better.
"I love you, too, you know," he said eventually.
-
Perhaps it would've been better to just leave him to it, to sleep on the sofa, because that way he'd be able to rest properly, and it wasn't as if he wouldn't be able to call if he needed anything. Really she was being selfish, she couldn't deal with not being with him.
She was really starting to miss him, there were still traces, but it wasn't the same, it was like when she'd suddenly been faced with his younger self, he was still there yet he wasn't, it wasn't the same. She wanted him complaining and ranting and calling her names, just a tiny glimpse of her wonderful, angry man. It was better than nothing though, she couldn't leave him, she just couldn't no matter how painful this whole thing was.
The sound he made when she laid beside him was incredibly welcome, it was normal, it was him, and it was proof that she was doing the right thing, that she wasn't forcing herself on him when he was really too weak to properly argue, Slowly she moved her hand down his body, coming to a stop at his stomach, her thumb stroking lightly over his skin and then spoke, and she wasn't sure whether she wanted to cry or kiss him again. "I know," she said, though really she wasn't sure that fact made things much better, if anything it seemed to be making them worse.
-
The movement of her hand over his skin offered further comfort, just the human contact he hasn't realised he needed so much. It was good just to know that she was there, that she wasn't abandoning him just because everything was fucked. He had to stop thinking in absolutes, but it was difficult. He didn't want to die, obviously, but what he worried about most was Grey, and what it would do to her. He didn't want to leave her trapped on this island all on her own. He just had to fight it, but he wasn't sure that he could.
He wanted to offer something to cling to, if he did die, but it all sounded so fucking morbid. Nothing was right.
"Thanks for staying," he said after a pause. His voice was strained, heavy with emotion as well as the flu. "It'll be okay. Promised I wouldn't die," he mumbled, almost slurred. It was meant to sound reassuring, but now it was out there he realised it was quite he opposite.
-
Grey practically scoffed when he thanked her for staying. He really had no idea how much she loved him, did he? Even now. He needed to stop talking really, he needed to rest, to conserve his strength, though she had to admit there was a tiny part of part of her that was still glad to hear his voice, even like this, so weak, She held him just a little bit tighter, her forehead resting against the back of her head as he carried on. There was a joke in there about lying politicians, only she missed it because he'd said that world 'die' and that horrible numb feeling returned. She wasn't stupid, she knew there were certain things you couldn't promise, which was why she never really asked for them. "I'm never leaving you, you know?" she said. Of course he might leave her, but she couldn't think of that, because if she started thinking about she'd start thinking about other things, like going after him and she didn't want to be that in love that the very thought of not having him with her made her want to die. She dropped another delicate kiss to his shoulder and tried really really hard not to start crying. She seemed to be doing that more and more often. "I'm so glad I met you, sweetheart," she continued, her voice shaking a little. "You really are the greatest person I've ever met." A pause and another kiss, because even now she couldn't stop, even now there was this fucked up part of her that :wanted him. "I love you so fucking much, Malcolm." So he couldn't die, because that was just too fucking unfair.
-
Malcolm sighed again, relaxing a little more every time she touched him or kissed him- it was going to be okay. Whatever happened, Grey would be there. He felt so selfish for even thinking that, but he just couldn't help it.
And almost like she could read his thoughts, she told him she was never leaving. He made a small noise of acknowledgement, feeling every muscle heavy with fatigue. She kept going, and Malcolm felt his chest tighten slightly with anxiety, a lump in his throat as he tried to hold it together. She was talking as if he was minutes away from death, and for all he knew, he could be.
"Mm, okay, Kate Winslet-" he mumbled. Because it was difficult, and he responded to that with badly placed humour. At least it was more himself, though. "Save the eulogy for when I'm dead," he added, instantly regretting it. It wasn't her fault- did he always have to be so horrible? And fuck, if that didnt sound like admitting he was going to die. He shuffled a bit, wanting to turn and see her, even if he was sure they'd both end up crying if there was eye contact involved.
"Sorry," he said gently, moving his hand to place it over her's for a moment. He was just so afraid. He was more afraid than he cared to admit, even to himself.
-
he needed to remember not to talk, nothing she was saying needed to be said, it was just stupid and overemotional, something to fill the silence, but silence had to be better than talking like this, didn't it? Because he wasn't going to die, he wasn't allowed.
She couldn't help but smile when he took the piss. There he was, her Malcolm, and god she'd missed him, so much it made keeping her tears in increasingly difficult.
When he moved his hand she threaded her fingers with his, she wanted to scream at him, she wanted to hit him and tell him to just stop talking, because even though there was something so very Malcolm about the way he was saying it she couldn't hear those words, not in this situation.
"You know you're not dying like this, don't you?" she asked earnestly. "You remember the plan, heart attack at the moment of orgasm, fucking decades later, when we're off this fucking island and we've found somewhere nice and it's just you and me. But not like this, never like this!"
-
Malcolm smiled to himself, settling more when she linked their fingers. It was amazing how such small gestures had the ability to soothe him.
He smiled to himself as she spoke, not telling her that it still all sounded very 'Titanic'. Telling him some picture perfect way to die, decades away, when they both knew that life wasn't always so kind, and that most people didn't get to choose. Although she was telling him he wasn't going to die, it really sounded quite the opposite. Like giving a dying man something to hold onto. So many had died already. What made him any different? Was he stronger?
"You've got it all figured out," he said softly, before a few rough coughs echoed through his chest. A rush of heat washed over him, leaving him with a feverish shiver.
"Grey..." he started, afraid to go on. It was all so morbid, but what if the next time he fell asleep he didn't get up again, and he'd never have said anything for her to hold onto. "Whatever happens, you know- you've made me so happy, in a way I never thought I could be." He bit into his lower lip, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much, but she had to know. "If you can do that for me, then you can-" do it again? Do it for someone new? Shit, he was so selfish he couldn't even say it.
"I love you so much. Always will, darling."
-
Okay so she knew she had absolutely no control over any of that, that it was nothing more than a story to keep her warm and safe at night. The chance of getting off the island seemed pretty slim, unless they happened to get kidnapped yet again, which she'd have been fine with, as long as Malcolm went with her. But she had to say it, she had to pretend she had a say in the matter, because she couldn't stand feeling so helpless.
She'd been about to reply when he was coughing again and all she could do was hold on to him and wait for it subside. She couldn't let go, even when he was shivering in her arms and she had no idea about whether she should be trying to warm him up or cool him down. Really she had no idea what she was doing, but keeping hold of him seemed to be doing something for him.
Whatever happens. She wished she could just stop listening, because nothing good could come after that, could it? And she really couldn't think about it. She wanted to tell him to stop talking, she couldn't deal with any of this, she just couldn't. And if he was trying to imply she should find someone else he was crazy. Yes there'd been Lex, but it was nothing like this, the way she felt about Malcolm eclipsed everything else. The idea of finding someone else that would make even half as happy as he did was unthinkable. It was rare that Grey met people she truly connected with, that was who she'd known Malcolm was so special because that had happened instantly, and that couldn't happen again, more than that she didn't want it to.
And then he said that word 'always' and it was all too much and she couldn't keep it together any longer, she was so tired, so scared. "You know you're the one, don't you? The only person I can imagine being with" she asked, awkwardly wiping her eyes with her free hand, as the other all but clung to him. "You know if-if anything happens....I'm not wasting my time with someone who'll forever be compared to you."
-
It was getting more and more difficult to hold it together. Maybe talking was a bad idea, but he didn't want to accidentally slip away in silence. It was a horrible thought. He didn't want to die, but more than that, he didn't want to leave Grey all on her own.
She said he was the one, and that lump in his throat was back. This was fucking awful. If anything happens. If he died. Like everyone else with this sickness was dying. He frowned, staying silent for a moment as he thought it over. He knew if it was the other way around then he would feel the same way. He wouldn't bother trying again with anyone, but the difference was that he was old, he'd already done the whole marriage thing, and now he'd had real love- he'd achieved more than most could even hope for. But Grey- she still had her whole life ahead of her.
"I don't want you to be lonely," he said eventually, in a bit of a whisper, like he was scared to say it, because it was almost admitting that he wasn't going to be there.
-
She'd had to say it, hadn't she? In the face of everything he'd said she had to be completely honest with him no matter what it meant, no matter how it sounded or any implications it might have, because he deserved to know just how very important he was to her
"I won't be," she whispered back, somewhat vaguely, trying to reassure him. She knew she couldn't cope here without him, not even Cutler was here like he had been before, and she knew there was only so much vodka could do, even Valium wouldn't be enough to get her through life on the island without him. It didn't matter if she was young, it didn't come into it, not here, and even if she hadn't been here, well she wasn't entirely convinced she'd be able to carry on without him, because the was certain she'd never meet anyone else like him, nor anyone that even came close, and she couldn't settle. It wasn't fair anyone.
-
He felt physically exhausted, all of his energy was drained by his body trying to fight this thing off. He wanted to just fall asleep, as he had been doing off and on for the past few days, but now he was afraid. He couldn't risk leaving her, although if he was being logical he would have realised that rest was probably the best thing to help him fight it.
He wanted to push the point, but what good could it do? Forcing her into other relationships before he'd even died. It was ridiculous.
"You might get lucky. Might get a new me," he told her. It was meant to be a joke, but it was actually really twisted simply because it was exactly the kind of horrible stunt the island would pull. Kill him off and replace him with a new model. No doubt one that didn't even know Grey. That would be worse than just losing him, wouldn't it?
"Fuck. No- sorry. I'm- it's okay. I'm not dying. I'm not," he insisted. "Just fucking feels like all my hangovers come at once. Just need to- give it time. I'm not going- anywhere, darling. Can't leave you all alone- with these cunts-" he told her, breathlessly.
-
Would that have been better? Would she actually want another him? Perhaps the him she had apparently been with for four years would show up and she wouldn't be his Grey and he wouldn't be her Malcolm but they'd just make the best of a bad job, because it was better than nothing, wasn't it? It wouldn't be the same though, it was him she loved. And if it was one that didn't know her she wasn't sure she'd have been able to deal with that, no recognition, no knowledge of her, because that had been her fear when he'd first shown up, that he might not know who she was and there'd be no reason to stop drinking. No it had to be him.
She smiled sadly as he spoke, the little sparks of Malcolm that made her fall in love with him, They were still there, and that had to mean something, didn't it? "Yeah," she agreed, holding him to her, pressing against him, "Exactly, fuck any other reason to stay alive, you've got to do it so I'm not here on my own, surrounded by fuckwits. You've got to think of me now, Malc. I'm more important than anything else, yeah?"
-
Malcolm smiled to himself as she spoke, the sort of easy banter making him feel less afraid right away. He felt so tired- perhaps the medication was kicking in and making him drowsy, every blink was becoming longer, and he struggled to keep his eyes open.
He knew that she was partly joking, she knew that he wouldn't just die out of a selfishness or live just because she told him he had to. But the sentiment was clear. He gave her hand a weak squeeze, more like a twitching of his fingers. "You are to me, more important than anything," he told her, just in case she didn't know. It would have been so easy to take the piss, but he knew he was going to sleep soon, and he didn't want to leave her with any doubt about how he felt about her. "I'll try. Just for you," he barely whispered, feeling as though the world was fading away into the distance. He couldn't stay awake. "Love you, darling."
-
She wished they could just stay like this, keeping up the banter, pretending things were normal and he wasn't really, really ill, that people hadn't died from this, but then things changed again and he was being honest, and he sounded so weak, so tired, and she just couldn't pretend any longer. God what if this really was it? She couldn't let that happen, she just couldn't, there had to be something she could do, or something someone could do.
"So are you," she whispered back. He really was, nothing else mattered, not if he wasn't here. She could feel the change in him, like he was drifting away, drifting to sleep, that was all, it was fine. He'd wake up and take another pill and start getting stronger again. "Love you too, sweetheart," she replied kissing his hair. "Sleep well, get your strength back." She stayed where she was, laid against him, trying not to make him too hot, not moving for fear of disturbing him. "You're going to be okay," she whispered a short time later, when she was fairly sure he was asleep. "You have to be, because I still need to make an honest man of you.."