by Kallysten
With each word, Petters’ complexion was turning a deeper shade of crimson.
“Calden,” Eli hissed. “Shut up.”
Calden’s icy stare turned to Eli. “Why should I? Doctor Petters’ record is just as relevant as mine. If we’re going to compare odds of survival—”
“Doctor Hayes! Doctor Wright! How nice to see you both!”
Petters, Calden, and Eli all turned toward Samford as she approached, a wide smile on her lips and her hand extended. She shook Eli’s hand first, then Calden’s, and Eli noticed that, rather than letting go, she tugged gently on Calden’s hand, leading him away from Petters as she said, “I’d be glad to have your opinion about a patient of mine. Do you mind?”
Although Calden followed her lead, he still threw a glare back toward Petters. Having anticipated this, Eli had placed himself between the two men, so that he blocked Calden’s line of sight. Soon, they were in Samford’s tiny office, and when she pushed Calden down into a chair and shone a pen light in his eyes, it became clear which patient she wanted to talk about.
“How are your sleeping patterns?” she asked, holding Calden’s head in place when he tried to look away. “Do you get enough sleep?”
“Caroline, stop that!” Calden demanded, this time managing to pull away from her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s called a follow-up,” she said dryly, leaning back against her desk. “Seeing as how you never came for one, I’m making do. So. Sleeping patterns?”
When Calden did nothing more than glower at her, she turned the question to Eli who, standing against the door, had a hard time hiding his amusement. For all of Calden’s annoyance, he had yet to stand and storm out, proof that he could behave when he actually liked someone.
“Getting back to normal,” Eli said. “Which for him means completely abnormal. He’s complaining when he gets exhausted after twenty hours awake.”
They’d talked about Calden’s sleeping habits during his stay in the hospital. She and Bonneville had repeatedly told Eli to make sure Calden got enough sleep, and while so far it hadn’t been too difficult, Eli didn’t look forward to Calden being completely recovered and unwilling to go to bed for days at a time.
Clucking her tongue, she turned a frown to Calden. “You need to get enough sleep. You just got out of a severe case of encephalitis. I don’t need to tell you—”
“No, you don’t,” Calden interrupted. “Unless you’re like that idiot Petters and you don’t understand what anterograde amnesia is. I know the importance of sleep. I also know how much sleep I need to function. And even if I have hallucinations, seeing someone who I know can’t actually be there isn’t going to stop me from performing surgery.”
At the moment Calden said the word ‘hallucinations,’ Eli knew. Sleep deprivation could induce hallucinations, yes, but that was hardly the only symptom, or even the first in most patients. It seemed too specific for Calden to have mentioned it randomly. And as of an hour earlier, this was the longest Calden had been awake since coming out of the hospital.
“Calden,” Eli started, but before he could decide how to word the question, Samford asked bluntly, “Are you having hallucinations now?”
Calden blinked, apparently realizing he’d said too much. He tried to backpedal. “Of course I’m not having hallucinations. Don’t be silly.”
Samford looked unconvinced. She turned a questioning look to Eli, who had a quick internal debate with himself. Should he mention that, during the last surgery, he’d noticed Calden glancing several times to a corner of the room where there was nothing or no one of interest to be seen? He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now he had to wonder if Calden had been seeing something.
“He’d tell us if he did,” Eli finally said, glad that his doubts weren’t ringing through his words.
Calden turned an inscrutable glance to him.
“Of course I would,” he said coolly. “I’m not irresponsible.”
Samford was still frowning, though she nodded. “All right. As long as you understand we just want what’s best for you.”
Calden actually snickered at that. “Tell that to Petters. He’s in charge of the board and won’t let me do a damn thing.”
“It was your first day back,” Eli pointed out. “There’s no reason to overextend yourself. Besides, I’m dead on my feet. Ready to go home?”
Calden didn’t argue, but he sulked all the way back to his house. Eli was quiet, too, wondering whether he should bring up the hallucinations or not. He hadn’t in front of Samford because she was one of the best allies Calden had at the hospital, but now that they were alone…
“Are you still seeing someone who isn’t there?” he asked when they entered the house together.
Calden stilled, his jacket hanging off one shoulder as he stared at Eli.
“I’m not an idiot,” Eli said gruffly. “Neither is Samford. You didn’t bring up hallucinations for no reason. So you might as well tell me. Are you having hallucinations now? Visual? Auditory?”
For several seconds, Calden did nothing more than consider Eli. In the end, he didn’t reply before hanging his jacket up and walking over to the kitchen. His silence was answer enough.
His stomach twisting painfully, and not from hunger, Eli watched him go, yet again trying to make up his mind. Should he push the issue? If Calden didn’t want to talk about something, he could be as unmovable as a mountain.
Stifling a sigh, Eli went to retrieve the notebook in the living room and brought it to Calden, along with a pen.
“Right,” Calden said darkly, swallowing a bite of the sandwich he’d made for himself. “I should write down that the word ‘hallucinations’ is now banned from my vocabulary.”
Sitting across from him, Eli observed him for a little while. It’d been such a good day… Was it why Eli hadn’t noticed something was off? Or had Calden been hiding it too well?
“Calden?” he said softly, and waited until his friend had raised his head to look at him before he continued. “I need to know when you see things that aren’t there.”
Calden glared at him. “So you can demand I return home even when I’m in the middle of surgery? No thanks, I’ll pass.”
“So I can take care of you,” Eli corrected. “That’s what I’m here for. If you don’t let me, how am I supposed to help? For that matter, how can you even think you can perform surgery while having hallucinations? Seriously, Calden. Think about it for two seconds and tell me I’m wrong. I’m not Petters. I know you can work. But you have to see that there are limits to what you can do.”
Closing the notebook, Calden considered Eli for a few seconds, no longer angry, but clearly troubled.
“I don’t understand why you even do this in the first place,” he complained. “You had a job. An important job. And you were good at it. How satisfying can it be to play nurse to the biggest asshole in the hospital?”
“The humblest one, too,” Eli said with a half-smile, but dropped it when Calden didn’t smile back. “You’re my friend. You’re getting better every day. This was your first day back in the operating room in more than a month and you were amazing. Who knows, before another month has passed Langton will agree that you don’t need a minder. And maybe in a couple of months you’ll thank me for sticking around even when you’re being an asshole.”
“The biggest asshole,” Calden insisted very seriously before finally offering Eli a lopsided smile, and maybe, just maybe, it was something like an apology.
(next chronological chapter)
October 5th
Behind Calden, Eli closes the front door. The sound is so final, it makes Calden’s skin crawl, makes him feel suddenly claustrophobic, more so than he’s felt in a long time. He can’t stand the idea of being inside now. He needs air. He needs space. He needs to not be here.
Whirling around, he almost runs smack into Eli before sidestepping and reaching for the door handle.
“Calden?” Eli, despite his ti
redness, sounds alarmed. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”
“Just for a walk,” Calden says, hating that he has to give an account to anyone about what he does but understanding the necessity of it. It’s hard not to understand, not when he woke up in the hospital a few hours ago and was offered a crash course on what his own life is like these days.
“I’ll come with you,” Eli says rather predictably.
Part of Calden wants to be glad at the offer of company. After all, when he woke up, he had a vague feeling that he was going to be late for his lunch with Eli. Finding Eli here and learning that he lives with Calden—that he is with him in a way Calden hadn’t dared hope for—that’s the one bright side to this whole mess.
At the same time, though, this is all too new, too raw. The words on Calden’s chest feel true. In any case, he can’t imagine agreeing to having them inked permanently into his skin if he wasn’t absolutely sure of their truth. But maybe those words right now make everything a little more painful, a little harder to bear.
“Please.” The word scrapes his throat. “I want… I need to be alone.”
Eli’s brow furrows into a frown, but his tone remains gentle. “Calden, that’s not a good idea.”
“What are you afraid of?” Calden’s voice starts to rise in his annoyance. He tries to control himself and continues more quietly, although just as strongly. “I just woke up. I’m hardly going to fall asleep while walking.”
Eli licks his lips briefly, his frown softening, but not much. “I know you’re upset,” he starts, and Calden can’t bear to hear another word. Throwing the door open, he walks out and starts down the street without looking back to see if Eli is following. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat and takes long strides. The sidewalk still gleams wetly from the rain and reflects the light from the lamps lining the street. Little by little, the sky lightens above Calden, and the lamps start to flicker off. The city is waking up to a gray, damp October morning.
In Calden’s mind, it’s still June.
Without realizing what he’s doing, he lets his steps take him to Victory Park. So early in the morning and after an attack to boot, the park is deserted. Most of the vegetable patches are bare; the first freeze of winter must have come already. Calden tries to enjoy the solitude and silence, so soothing after the hospital, but the relief they offer is ephemeral. He tries not to think about anything that happened today or years ago, but he’s never been able to shut down his brain, not without the help of controlled substances, so it all swirls in his head, a whirlwind that leaves everything in shambles.
One part of the chaos is due to the tattoo on his arm. He can deal with that reality. It’s not like he can do anything about it. The way he sees it, there are two choices, really. Live with his amnesia, or die. If he’s lived four months like this already, there’s no reason to stop now.
The tattoos on his chest are probably in large part the reason why he is still alive. He thought Eli had lost his mind when he took Calden by the hand, led him to the closest bathroom at the hospital, and bared his chest while asking Calden to do the same. But those words explain how Calden has managed to wake up to the same day over and over for months without throwing himself off a roof or resorting to the solace found in a needle.
The one thing that makes everything hurt so much this morning is what happened after he and Eli returned from the bathroom. It’s not like he knew that girl, not like it’s his fault she was wounded.
Abstractly, Calden knows why it hurts. One look at her, and all he could see was Riley, all he wanted was to save her.
Worse, though. Everyone who saw him look at her must have known exactly what was going on in his head. Everyone knew it wasn’t her he was trying to save, but someone who has been dead for years, someone he never even had the opportunity to save. He was already in surgery operating on Eli when she was brought in, and by the time he came out…
With a grunt, he stops abruptly in the middle of the path, raises both hands to his head and grips his hair hard, as though by tugging violently enough he can pull all the thoughts right out of his mind.
It doesn’t work, of course not, but his mind does turn extraordinarily quiet when two arms wrap around his chest from behind while a body presses tightly against his back.
For a second, no more than two, his instincts tell him to pull away, break free, strike at his attacker.
But it’s not an attack. He already knows that. He already knows whose arms, whose body they are. And while he can’t remember ever being hugged like this, not by anyone, or even wanting such comfort, it still feels oddly familiar—and oddly soothing.
“Come home, love,” Eli whispers against the nape of his neck. “Please.”
Calden drops his arms to his sides and bows his head; it’s the second time today that he’s been defeated. This time is less painful than the first.
Eli holds his hand all the way back. He holds on tightly, as though afraid Calden will pull free and flee. Calden wants to do no such thing, though, not when he’s busy memorizing the feel and texture and strength of Eli’s palms and fingers. He pretends to himself he doesn’t know he’ll forget all this soon, and probably forgot it many times already.
They walk up the familiar front steps still linked by ten entwined digits.
“I want you to take me to bed,” he says as Eli unlocks the front door. His voice doesn’t waver, but he still feels his cheeks heat up.
Eli turns back with an expression of surprise that soon shifts to something softer, something sad. He’s still holding Calden’s hand. He pulls it up to his mouth and just brushes his lips to Calden’s knuckles. They ache from when he punched a wall earlier in the OR.
“Come on,” he says, and Calden isn’t sure if that’s agreement or not.
They enter the house and have to separate to take off their coats, but soon enough Eli takes Calden’s hand again in a movement that feels so practiced it makes Calden’s heart ache a little.
The house is dark, but they find their way up to the bedroom easily enough.
“Take off your shoes,” Eli murmurs, toeing off his own.
Calden does as he’s told, all the while watching Eli step into the bathroom opposite the bedroom where he turns on the light and the shower to let the water warm up. When Eli comes back, Calden’s fingers are working at the buttons of his shirt, though they’re trembling too much to make progress. He feels stupid and slow. He asked for this, didn’t he? He wants this. He wants to stop thinking. So why are his hands shaking?
Eli takes over, squeezing Calden fingers between his before finishing unbuttoning his shirt, then his trousers. Soon, Calden stands naked in the middle of his bedroom—their bedroom, it has to be—and it’s not just his hands that are shaking anymore. It’s been a long time since he’s done this. And even longer since he did it with someone he cared about, although even then it wasn’t someone he cared about as much as he does Eli.
He waits for Eli to undress, waits for a touch, a kiss, something, anything at all. What he gets is a smile and quiet words.
“Go on. Get in the shower.” And after a brief pause, “I’ll be right there.”
Belatedly, Calden wonders how long it’s been since his last shower. He doesn’t stink, but he doesn’t smell fresh, either. Of course Eli would want him to clean up before they do anything. Of course. Why is Calden so damn slow today? Too slow. Much too slow.
The water feels scalding when he first steps under the spray, but only because not that long ago he was walking outside in the cold. He stands there, eyes closed, head bowed, letting the water pound against the back of his neck.
When Eli slips past the curtain and steps into the tub, Calden is aware of it, but he still shudders when a cool hand settles on his hip and tugs lightly.
“Turn around for me. There you go.”
Calden does as he’s told and faces the wall, waiting for what comes next, feeling extraordinarily out of his depth. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t
the feel of shampoo being poured onto his head or firm hands washing his hair.
“This would be a lot easier if you weren’t so fucking tall,” Eli mutters good-naturedly, his fingers digging into Calden’s scalp hard enough to draw a hum from him. “You know, I never felt short until I met you. Thanks so much for that.”
Calden feels the beginning of a smile trying to tug at his lips, but it fades quickly.
He asked for intimacy, and in a way that’s what Eli is giving him, but it’s not what Calden thought would happen. It’s like they’re acting a play, but Eli is the only one who got a script, and Calden is supposed to improvise every line or reaction.
“Is this… Is this something we do often?” he asks after Eli has pushed his head back under the spray and rinsed off the shampoo.
Calden turns to face him, opening his eyes for the first time and taking in every line of Eli’s lithe body. He swallows hard.
“Often enough,” Eli says as he lathers a bar of soap between his hands. “Usually under better circumstances.”
His hands return to Calden, one on each shoulder, and it doesn’t feel like it’s so much about soaping him up as massaging him. Calden watches Eli’s face as he works, wanting to touch back but never raising a hand. He’s not sure if he just doesn’t dare to or if he’s loath to interrupt Eli. Maybe both.
Very methodically, Eli washes Calden’s chest and abdomen, and his hand is a little gentler when he touches the words over his heart. Calden’s arms next, one after the other, from shoulder and armpit all the way to the crook of Calden’s elbows. His hands after that, and Eli scrubs them clean, palms and fingers, as though they’re due in surgery as soon as they step out of the tub. Then Eli crouches, and Calden’s breath hitches in his throat when gentle fingers rub at his thighs and calves.
Eli’s face is mere inches from Calden’s cock, but even that causes no more than feeble sparks in his groin. Calden feels his face warm up, and it has nothing to do with the hot water sluicing them both.
