by A. R. Moler
Mason did so, and tiled walls tilted at sharp angle and kept on going. "Shitshitshit." Mason grabbed at one of the water knobs, trying to steady himself. Cam wrapped both arms around him and held him, preventing him from falling.
"Mas'! Are you passing out on me?" snapped Cam.
"Huh-uh, just trying to stop the merry-go-round," said Mason. He tried to stand perfectly still, hoping to slow down the spin of the room.
"You didn't tell me you were dizzy again."
"It wasn't too bad 'til I tipped my head back!"
"Okay, then don't tip your head back and we'll do your hair last," said Cam, as he started to grab shower gel.
"I can fucking well wash myself!" said Mason. Damn it, he felt like shit as it was, he didn't need Cam to treat him like a two year old. Cam's arms tightened around him, holding him immobile.
"Stop acting like a complete ass. It's not like I haven't washed you before. Or licked just about every inch of your body. So stand still and let me help."
Mason was slightly disconcerted by Cam's even tone. If he managed to ignore the god-awful headache, he could sense the deep concern from his lover. "Just do it," said Mason softly. Keeping his psi shielding in place with the pounding going on his skull was a real bitch.
***
Cam watched Mason dress; every movement was obviously a labor. The man refused any offer to help. Cam had tried to persuade him that going back to sleep was probably the best action, but Mason had stubbornly insisted that he needed to go to work for a little while to sort out his early morning fuck-up. His temperature was down to 101, not enough to make Cam happy but lower was better.
He drove Mason to Norfolk, to his orthopedic office. Mason had protested some more about being treated like a kid, but finally acknowledged that vertigo and driving were probably a bad combination.
***
"This is probably going to take me at least an hour," said Mason, sitting down at the desk in his office. He tapped the keyboard to his computer and called up the OR schedule.
"Is this your way of telling me to get lost for a while?" Cam asked.
"Unless you're really hell bent on watching me type and make phone calls. Go… do something." Mason made shooing motions.
"I'm not thrilled with the idea of leaving you alone for more than about five minutes."
"You have my car keys. It's not like I'm going to walk home. Not feeling like this." Mason rubbed his eyes. The relentless headache was driving him crazy. "Go get some coffee. You know where the kitchen is."
"Mmm, okay, I can do that. Back in a few." Cam headed out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.
Mason sighed and looked at the screen, trying to figure out when he could reschedule. The office door opened up a few minutes later. Kyle Marrin poked his head in. He was a stocky blond man a couple of years younger than Mason.
"Wow, you look like shit," said the other doctor amiably.
"Thanks. That's what everybody keeps telling me." Mason stood up to pull a folder out of the file cabinet. The room took a sideways dive and he grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from falling on his face.
"Flynn! Damn, tell me you didn't drive yourself over here," said Marrin. He grabbed hold of Mason's shoulders and steered him back to the desk chair.
"Nope, that'd be me. The one with the car keys," said Cam, waving the ring of keys. He came back into the room bearing a coffee cup.
"You remember my partner from the party that Steve threw, don't you?" Mason asked Kyle.
"Yeah, I do." Kyle and Cam shook hands.
"Can I convince you to have a look at him? He's obviously sick as a dog and behaving like an idiot," said Cam.
"Steve said you thought you'd caught that viral crap his kids had last week. Tyra was out with it, too," commented Kyle.
"Guilty as charged. Why can't everybody just let me expire in peace?" Mason groaned.
"Obviously you're dizzy as hell," Kyle said.
"His fever was up past 103 early this morning," offered Cam.
"Thank you, mother," snarked Mason, glaring at his lover.
"Okay, spit the rest of it out, so at least we can compare notes," said Kyle.
"Body aches, killer headache, intermittent vertigo, no energy, no appetite. I feel like something a cat hacked up. Diagnosis -- flu," said Mason.
"Yep, sounds like it," agreed Kyle. "Go with the usual. Rest, fluids, ibuprofen, eat if you can stand it. I'll write you a script for some meclizine for the vertigo, since pharmacies tend to look at you sideways when your name's at the top and the bottom of the script. You want me to write you one for a few Tylenol III's too? You did say killer headache."
"Yeah, I guess." Mason rubbed a hand down over his face. He didn't really want the narcotic but the sheer magnitude of the pain on his skull made him acknowledge the need for at least the option of something with a bit more power than Advil.
"Back in a few," Kyle walked out of the office.
"Are you happy now? Told you I only feel like I'm about to drop dead," said Mason.
"And you're just so very objective at the moment." Cam drank some of the coffee while Mason made a phone call to talk to one of the hospital staff. He was going to have to postpone the surgery for three weeks to get a spot that would fit his schedule. Kyle came back bearing a couple of prescriptions slips.
"Here's your scripts. Go home, go to bed and stay the hell away from me, because I sure don't need to be catching this stuff," said Kyle.
"What, no kiss goodbye?" Mason squinted at his colleague.
"I'll pass." Kyle grinned, shaking his head. He turned to look at Cam. "Kick his ass and make him get some rest. Doctors make lousy patients."
"I whole heartedly agree with you on that."
"Call me if his fever goes over 104," Kyle said to Cam, then he turned to Mason. "If you keel over before we find another partner, I'm going to be pissed. Speaking of which, have you seen any resumes you actually liked?"
"Two."
"Okay. We'll talk when you stop looking like one of the med school cadavers," teased Kyle.
***
Watching Mason shuffle through the front door of his house like he was verging on a hundred years old was awful. Cam understood the hating to be sick thing. He could even deal with the piss-ant attitude, but what he didn't get was Mason not touching him. Okay, it wasn't like he was flinching away if Cam touched him, but he wasn't really behaving normally either. Normally, when the two of them were together, and not in public, they tended to be touchy-feely; right now there was something more wrong than just a bad case of the flu, and Cam couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Mason sank onto the sofa in the den and laid his head back. His misery was evident.
Cam grabbed a glass of juice from the kitchen and brought it out, handing it to Mason. "Drink. Drugs. Bed. Which meds do you need?" asked Cam.
"Uh, more Advil."
"What about the Tylenol III and the vertigo stuff?" They'd stopped at the pharmacy on the way home.
"You know what the narcotics do to shields." Mason squinted up at him from the sofa.
"Damn, Mason, it's just you and me here. What difference does it make? I seem to remember you all but forcing me to take the narcotic stuff when my leg was wrecked. Something about the stress making me heal slower."
"I'm sick, not injured."
"Doesn't it amount to the same thing? Between the vertigo and the headache, you move like you think your head's going to explode. Take the stuff and go to sleep," pleaded Cam. Damn, he swore to himself he was going to stuff them down Mason's throat if he had to.
"I guess…" Mason said with reluctance in his tone.
Meds taken, Mason shuffled off toward the bedroom. Cam followed. Mason lay down on the bed, arms curled around his body, looking worse, if that was humanly possible.
"Wanna take your jeans off?" asked Cam.
"No."
"Need anything else?"
Mason gave him a minute negative head shake and drew his legs up part
way like he was thinking about curling up in a ball.
Now Cam was seriously worried. Mason only did the fetal position thing when he was absolutely overwhelmed. The last time had been when he shot someone to save Cam's life.
Cam walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled across, lying down behind his lover. Cam spooned up against Mason and wound an arm around his body, breathing on the nape of his neck.
"I love you," Cam whispered, thinking for just a moment how hard it had been the first time he said that to Mason.
Mason shivered in his arms and Cam could feel his partner fighting to keep hold of his rapidly disintegrating shielding. "Stop fighting it. You're safe. It's just me." He took hold of Mason's hand where it lay curled on his chest and Cam slid his other arm under the pillow to loop over the top of his lover's shoulder and take hold of his other hand. Emotions began bleeding through, slowly at first. Most of it was just hints of physical discomfort, then the damn broke.
It was like standing in front of a fire hose. A torrent of pain/dizziness/ache/abject misery/fear of hurting his lover ripped through Cam. He hugged Mason tightly. He was afraid if he let go, his lover would retreat into the non-responsive state that was so dangerous to any psi.
"Let go!" Mason said, trying to pull away.
"No, damn it! I'm not letting you go."
"Please. I don't wanna hurt you." Mason's hand pushed at Cam's.
"It's okay. I can handle it. Really. Mason…" Cam suddenly understood why his partner had been so reticent to touch him all day. The tighter the bond grew between them, the harder it was to shut each other's emotions out, and it was always about control with Mason. His entire sense of self was wrapped and tied and bound up in control, control of his talent, and control of his life. Any time things spiraled out of that control, it drowned him. He was obviously trying so very hard to protect Cam from the backlash of their connection. Mason struggled some more in Cam's arms. Cam could feel the frustration and the misery from his partner. Mason was hovering close to tears.
"I'm here," whispered Cam. "And I'm not leaving you. Let the drugs do what they're supposed to do. I can't take away the pain like you can, but I can hold you for as long as it takes for the meds to work. You don't have to do this alone. Okay?"
Mason slowly relaxed in his arms, breathing still ragged. The drugs were pulling him further and further under.
"I'm s'posed t' be the one who makes people well," Mason slurred. Feelings of shame and failure were blurred into the physical aches.
"Yeah, well shit happens. You're sick and I'm here to take care of you." Cam placed gentle kisses on the overly warm skin of Mason's neck.
***
The next twenty-four hours were mostly a blur. Mason was woken by Cam every few hours for meds and fluids and temperature taking. He reluctantly gave in to letting Cam take care of him; slowly realizing that Cam's fussing was his lover's own coping mechanism. Mostly though, he just slept.
***
The knock on the front door startled Cam because he wasn't expecting anyone. When he opened it, Tyra was standing there.
"I come bearing food," she said, holding up a bag.
"Come in. Mason's asleep."
"I heard from Kyle he got hit pretty hard by the flu stuff that's going around. I think I slept for almost three days. It's just plain evil. Anyway, I brought soup and Irish soda bread and chamomile tea." She handed the bag to Cam and then followed him into the kitchen.
"Thanks. I'm sure he'll appreciate the soup. He hasn't been very interested in eating."
"I wasn't sure how busy you were with flying and all. Sometimes it's easier not to have to think too hard about what to fix when your family's sick," said Tyra.
"You do have point."
"Call me if you two need anything."
***
There was warm skin beneath Mason's cheek, a heartbeat under his ear, the sound of deep even breathing. Cam. Mason woke slowly to find himself curled in his partner's arms, head on Cam's chest. The sheets and blankets were bunched and knotted around their bodies. Sunlight peeked under the edge of the curtains. Still feeling foggy, he lay immobile, trying to pull his brain cells together. His body had that leaden sensation that came with sleeping with less than the normal amount of unconscious movement, but the deep muscle aches had diminished to a background level. The headache had finally gone too, leaving behind a sort of spacey not quite hitting on all cylinders feeling. He didn't feel fabulous, but decidedly less awful was an improvement.
He stretched a little and tilted his head back. Cam's arms tightened around him in a reflexive jerk, like his lover thought he was about to fall.
"Mason?" mumbled Cam. His hand came up to stroke through Mason's hair as Cam slowly opened his eyes.
"Mmm?"
"Wow, I think your fever's down. You don't feel like a charcoal briquette," commented Cam.
"Yeah, I feel a fair bit better. I need coffee."
"Mmm, me too. However before I go fire up the coffee pot, we need to talk. What makes you think I can't deal with the backwash from you feeling crappy?"
"With the way my Talent works, I process that sort of thing different than you," said Mason bluntly.
"So? Does trying to minimize touching me or walling me out make you feel any better?"
"Cam…"
"Answer the question."
"No, but that was never the point…." Mason squeezed his eyes shut. It would be so easy to cling too tightly, to push too hard and maybe inadvertently drive Cam away.
Cam's fingers caressed Mason's cheek. "Look at me Mason. Your intensity is one of things I love best about you. And when it's focused on me, it just blows me away that you care that much. Sometimes I feel like I can never live up to that, but you have to let me take care of you when you need it. Christ, Mason, the things you've done for me... Please, please, let me feel like I can take care of you, too."
"I love you so much," Mason whispered.
"Love you too." Cam placed a kiss on Mason's forehead.
***
Coffee in hand, Cam slouched on the sofa with Mason leaning against him. The TV was turned on and murmured in the background. An irritatingly bouncy advertising jingle hyped an impending holiday sale.
"Being that we're on the downhill slide toward Christmas, I need a clue on what to buy you," Cam said.
"A new set of chisels."
"Really? That's sounds pretty damn un-inspired, and since I know nothing about your wood working stuff, I'd probably buy the wrong thing."
"What did you expect me to say? I have a decent car I like. I so very do not need a motorcycle. And somehow I have a hard time envisioning you shopping for clothes for me," Mason replied with a slight laugh.
"How about jewelry?"
"Oh yeah, right, that makes me sound like a trophy wife." Mason rolled his eyes.
"I didn't suggest diamond earrings, you doofus." Cam set his coffee cup down and pulled off his Naval Academy ring. "What size ring do you wear?" He picked up Mason's hand and slid it on his ring finger.
"Not that big," said Mason, shaking his hand. The ring wobbled and threatened to slide off.
"You could do an imitation of a teeny bopper high school chick and wear it on a chain around your neck," teased Cam.
"Oh lord, not in this lifetime." Mason slid the ring off and handed it back to Cam.
"Would you wear a ring, if I gave you one… someday?"
Cam watched an odd expression play across Mason's features, and he felt a little thread of puzzled surprise from his partner.
"Was that… did you just suggest getting married?" Mason asked.
"I won't necessarily be Navy forever. And there's enough scuttle butt going on in Congress that DADT might someday be history. And hell will probably freeze over before same sex marriage is ever legal in Virginia, but DC's only a four hour drive. I can't… There's no way I could do it right now, but someday…"
"I would wear a wedding ring for you for the rest of my life." Mason ra
n a fingertip lightly across Cam's lips. "Why now? Because I had the flu? Are you contemplating the whole for better or for worse motif?"
"I don't know, maybe. I worry about you in ways I've never worried about anybody else in my life. Speaking of which, you have got to stop burning the candle at both ends. Between your regular doctor stuff and all the crap you've been doing for Division P, you are just toasted. It's probably why you got sick. Aren't you supposed to be hiring somebody new to help out at the office and with surgery and stuff?"
"Yeah, I've been reading resumes and making notes. I think we're going to do some interviews in a couple of weeks, maybe even before Christmas," said Mason. "If it works out, we'll hire somebody right after the first of the year."
Chapter 5
Snow, skiing, a cabin and a roaring fire sounded like a perfect Christmas to Mason. He let himself surf the website that offered the package. The cottage wasn't actually part of the little ski resort, but the owner of the property was offering to put together the entire deal, for a hefty fee of course.
Mason leaned back in his desk chair and cast an eye in the direction of the doorway. Out in the den, he could hear Cam killing things on the video game. He had no idea which game Cam was playing and he only assumed the sounds of gunfire and explosions meant gleeful death and destruction.
He walked out into the den and made a time out sign to Cam.
Cam paused the game. "What's up?"
"What are the chances you can take a few days off for Christmas?"
"Fair to middling. Why? I mean except for the obvious part of spending Christmas together."
"This year's been somewhat rough on both of us. The practice is planning on shutting down for a few days, with Christmas being on a Saturday and all, and I was thinking maybe we should take this chance to get away."
"Sounds good to me. I'm assuming this means you have some place in mind?"
"Do you ski?" Mason asked.
"No, not even remotely. Do you?"
"Yes."
"You ski? The guy who spends twenty hours a week in the OR screwing people's broken bones back together skis?" Cam said incredulously.