Trials, Temptation and Triumph - Ch12.5 (Charlie/Shark, NC-17)
In which some important decisions are made and the story concludes.
For introduction and warnings go here
12.5 Lost Direction
Monday 23rd August (continued)
"Oh my god, you're having a heart attack!"
Rory sat down on the settee and tried to hold on to consciousness. He vaguely heard Charlie calling 999, demanding an ambulance, giving the address and then rushing back to him.
"It's all right, Rory, the ambulance is coming. Just don't die on me."
"Not going to die," he managed to whisper. It was getting harder to breathe -- as if someone had put an iron band around his chest and was tightening further it every minute. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was getting rather frightened. He was starting to feel sick from the pain, and he concentrated on not throwing up. He grasped Charlie's arm and clung on for dear life.
"You can't die, I love you." Charlie was holding him and stroking his hair with his free hand, kissing him and muttering words of love and fear and devotion.
He wasn't sure how long it took the ambulance to get there; it was at once an eternity and a moment. There were two of them, ambulance officers, taking his pulse; fitting an oxygen mask on to him; putting a tablet under his tongue; inserting a needle into his arm -- and that hurt like a bitch. He tried to fight them off but he was as weak as the proverbial kitten. Then he was being lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled out of the flat.
By the time he was secured in the back of the ambulance the pain in his chest had eased a fraction, but was still significant. The oxygen coming through the mask was cool and reduced the almost claustrophobic feeling he'd had earlier, which was good. He took breaths as deep as he could -- still not nearly as deep as he wanted -- and tried to remain calm.
Charlie was allowed to ride with them, in the front seat, while the paramedic stayed with him in the back. Rory was glad of that -- Charlie might have his licence back but he was in no state to drive safely. He had to make sure that Charlie was all right.
The paramedic asked him if he still had chest pain. When he nodded, he was given another tablet, placed under his tongue like the first one. He grimaced, but had to admit that the pain was easing a little further.
Then they were at the hospital, and Rory was being wheeled into the Emergency Department and transferred from stretcher to trolley. Charlie was dismissed to the waiting area as a doctor and a nurse started their assessment. They moved around him, examining him, taking blood and attaching electrodes to his chest, wrists and ankles, all the while questioning him. How long had he had the pain? How bad was it? Did it go through to his back or into his neck or down his arm? Had he had it before? Had he been sick? Was he feeling sick now? Did he feel faint? Was there any history of heart attacks in the family? Did he have asthma? High cholesterol? Ulcers? Was he on any medication? How much did he drink? Did he take any other drugs, prescribed or recreational? Did he smoke? Had he ever smoked? How much exercise did he do? Was he under a lot of stress?
The last question almost made him choke. He knew damned well he was under a lot of stress -- work contracts, his father, Charlie, the band, his grandmother's death, and the police interview that had hit him like a ton of bricks that afternoon -- but it was far too dangerous to start going into details. He mentioned work pressures and his grandmother's death and hoped that they would leave it at that. He was exhausted, and all he wanted was to get rid of this pain in his chest and go to sleep.
The questions stopped soon after that, and the doctor started injecting something into the cannula in his arm. "It's just a bit of morphine to ease the pain -- it may make you feel a little bit sleepy."
He could feel the chill of the liquid moving up his arm. It wasn't painful, really, but the cannula was uncomfortable. Soon, however, he felt the pain in his chest melting away, and found that he could take the deep breath he'd been craving for what seemed like months. It was a blessed relief.
"All gone?" asked the doctor.
He nodded.
"Excellent. I've ordered a chest X-ray for you, that should happen soon." He placed a call button under Rory's hand. "Press the button if you need anything or if the pain comes back."
Rory drifted in and out of sleep -- or unconsciousness -- for the next hour or two. Charlie was allowed back in and stayed close to the trolley, clutching his hand, looking wild-eyed and anxious. Rory tried to smile at him, but was too drowsy. He squeezed Charlie's hand, though, and got a weak smile in response.
"I'll be all right, Charlie. Don't worry." His voice sounded muffled through the oxygen mask, and he tried to speak a little more loudly so Charlie could hear him. "I'll be fine."
"You're having a heart attack, I can't help worrying."
"They aren't sure yet, they said so. And I'm not going to die. Not today, anyway."
"You'd better not." Charlie attempted a smile, which turned out rather watery, but at least he was making an effort.
People wandered in and out of his cubicle frequently, all with their different tasks. The portable X-ray equipment was rolled in and the radiographer took the X-ray, apologising as the cold plate was put under his back. A nurse wanted him to pee in a bottle so that they could test his urine. Another nurse took his pulse and blood pressure again and ran another ECG. They were waiting on the blood results, they told him, to determine whether he went to a ward or to coronary care, but it wouldn't be long now. They all had professional smiles and a cheerful confidence, whether real or assumed.
Finally the doctor came back, looking quite cheerful. "Well, Mr McManus, it's good news. You doesn't look like you've actually had a heart attack, just a severe attack of angina. The ECG shows some ischaemia -- that's basically stitch in the heart, indicating that the heart muscle wasn't getting enough oxygen. However, the blood tests show no significant rise in your enzymes so far, and that means that you haven't killed off any of the cardiac muscle."
Rory felt a huge sense of relief. "That's good news."
"Definitely."
"Can I go home then?"
"No, not right now, I'm afraid. I've paged the medical registrar to come and review you. It's still a fairly severe angina attack, and there is the possibility that the ECG and enzymes may change by morning. I'm also concerned about your health in general. Your blood pressure is very high -- though some of that will be due to the pain -- and so is your cholesterol. Both of those are risk factors for heart attacks so we want to try and get them under control as soon as possible. Also, your liver enzymes are up a bit -- we'll have to talk to you about your alcohol intake too."
Rory groaned. Whisky was the only thing holding him together at the moment; if he had to give it up he'd go to pieces.
"So, the medical registrar will see you and will decide if she wants you admitted or not. I'd say she probably will, mainly because of the risk factors. I think that we should make sure that's all under control before we let you go."
That didn't sound good at all. "How long will I be in?"
"That's up to the medical team. If all goes well, just a couple of days." He smiled and was gone, on to the next patient in the never-ending queue of emergency cases.
Charlie looked a little more relaxed now that he was assured Rory wasn't going to die. "A couple of days isn't too bad."
"With luck I'll be back home by the weekend."
"That would be good. Can't have you in hospital on your birthday."
Rory blinked, but then remembered -- his birthday was on Saturday. He'd forgotten about it completely in all the dramas of the previous few days. "I'll be home by then. I hope you're going to make me a cake."
"Of course. Rich chocolate cake. I even went and got some couverture for the icing."
"Sounds delicious."
"Well, I know it's your favourite, and I found a new recipe for the icing I wanted to try."
"I'll definitely have to be home then."
"You will."
There was a long pause, then Charlie said, in a small, quiet voice, "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"This is my fault."
"You didn't cause it."
"It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been so keen on getting the band back together."
Rory closed his eyes. Whether or not he agreed with it -- and it was very tempting to blame the band for all of this -- he didn't have the strength to cope with Charlie indulging himself in an orgy of guilt and self-recrimination, not right now.
He squeezed Charlie's hand. "Look, we can talk about it when I get home. Not here."
"But -"
"Not here, Charlie."
Eventually Charlie nodded. "All right. But I'm still sorry."
They sat in silence until the medical registrar, Dr Graham, arrived. She went through all the same questions again, then asked Charlie to leave while she did a brief examination. After that, she spent a few minutes examining the test results, then gave her verdict:
"Yes, I think we need to keep you for a few days to make sure that this doesn't develop into an infarct -- and yes, that's still a possibility. You have a lot of cardiovascular risk factors that we need to get under control, otherwise you'll be back in here in a couple of months, and I really don't think you want that."
"Definitely not." He grimaced.
"Right, then, I'll go and do the paperwork. I'm not sure which ward you'll be on -- we're a bit tight on beds tonight -- but I'll make sure that you have some bloods written up for the morning, and another ECG. I'm also going to write you up for some drugs for your blood pressure and cholesterol. I'll come and see you before lunch."
"OK."
She smiled at him. "And please don't worry too much. I know it's been very unpleasant for you, but this is probably a good thing in the long run -- you've had a warning, but you haven't lost any heart muscle. This gives us the chance to get all the other things under control and reduce the risk of you ever having a heart attack in the future."
"Aye, I can understand that." He hoped that she was right, and that everything else could be brought under control, especially the things that the hospital knew nothing about.
She left him, intent on her paperwork, and Charlie returned. It was nearly eleven o'clock now, and Rory was exhausted, but he found sleep difficult on the uncomfortable trolley and with so much going on around him.
"You'll have to get yourself to the chemist in the morning," he said, in a low voice.
Charlie made a face. "I guess so. Still," he continued, more cheerfully, "at least I have my licence now."
"Could you drive after taking the methadone?"
Charlie nodded. "Shouldn't be a problem as long as I don't hang around too long and drive straight home. It's only five minutes away, and the methadone doesn't make me as sleepy as the heroin, you know that."
Rory knew that, but he still wanted to be sure. "You'll have to ring Chris too, let him know what happened." That was vitally important after the police interview earlier, but Rory didn't want to discuss that here. He hoped that Chris would have the sense to keep it to himself and let Rory break the news to Charlie in his own time.
"I'll do that as soon as I get back from the chemist."
After another hour or so, a porter came to take him to the ward, and Charlie was sent home in a taxi, with Rory's wallet and phone (since he had completely forgotten to bring his own with him), promising to return just as soon as he could the next day.
Rory was taken to a general medical ward and transferred to a bed. There was more delay while the nurses took their own history and wrote up a nursing plan, and then made sure he was attached to a small portable monitor and an IV pump. Finally, long after midnight, he was allowed to sleep ... or at least, to try and sleep. The hospital bed was more comfortable than the trolley, but there was too much noise around him -- machines humming and beeping, other patients snoring, footsteps in the corridor, and even traffic outside. Nurses did their rounds, waking him just as he had dropped off to sleep so that they could test his pulse and blood pressure. He wasn't allowed up to go to the toilet, and was forced to use the bottle they gave him. The electrodes they had attached to his chest started to itch, but he wasn't allowed to take them off. His back was starting to ache from the unaccustomed immobility, but he couldn't roll over because of the drip in his arm.
All in all it was a pretty good candidate for being the worst day of his entire life. He wallowed in self-pity for a few minutes and then then told himself that at least he still had a life.
Tuesday 24th August
At six the ward began to come to life again as the day shift started. Rory had dozed off for a couple of hours, but was woken to have more blood samples taken, and that was followed by another ECG. Breakfast was delivered at seven -- a small packet of cereal with skim milk and some toast -- and the tray collected at half past. He was allowed up for a shower, which he found very refreshing, and was able to swap the hideous hospital gown for a set of equally hideous hospital pyjamas. After that, though, there was nothing to do but wait for the registrar. He had no books to read, he had no interest in daytime television, and the hospital radio featured only bland "easy-listening" stations. All in all, he was very glad to see Dr Graham when she turned up at a little before eleven, with an intern, a medical student and a ward nurse in tow.
"Well, Mr McManus, how are you this morning?"
"Not so bad."
"Any chest pain during the night?"
"Not pain, just a little bit of discomfort."
She frowned at that and spent a couple of minutes looking at the morning's ECG while the intern phoned the lab for the blood results. She listened to his heart and chest again, and seemed happy with what she heard. When the intern came back, with the results scribbled on a piece of paper, she compared them with the ones from the night before. Finally she seemed satisfied.
"Well, Mr McManus, it looks like everything is stable, so that's good news. The cardiac enzymes didn't go up overnight so we're confident that it was merely angina and not a myocardial infarct."
"That's good."
"It is. I'm a little worried about the continued discomfort, though. It could be a partial obstruction of an artery, or it could be just a spasm. I'm ordering a nuclear medicine scan of your heart to see if there are any perfusion defects -- any areas of heart muscle that aren't getting enough blood. I think we should also do a coronary angiogram -- that's a type of X-ray where we put some contrast into your blood and watch it going through the coronary arteries. We'll be able to see any blockages or constrictions."
"What happens if there are blockages?"
"There are procedures we can do to widen a partially blocked section, using an inflatable balloon. If there's a complete blockage -- and I doubt that, because it would have showed up on the ECG and blood tests -- we can try replace that section with a vein from your leg. That's coronary bypass surgery."
Rory shuddered. He hoped that wouldn't be necessary. It was bad enough that he was in hospital in the first place, but he definitely didn't want an operation.
"We'll get the scan booked right now, and I'll see you again tomorrow morning. If you get more chest pain -- or even a mild discomfort -- please let the nurses know at once."
"I'll do that."
"Your BP is a bit lower than yesterday, which is good. I expect it to fall significantly over the next couple of days, so be very careful getting up. If you have any giddiness or feel unsteady on your feet, let the nurses know."
Rory nodded.
The registrar left, trailing the others behind her, and Rory was left in relative peace for a few minutes, until the lunch trolley arrived. The meal was as bad as he had expected: some sort of mince, with boiled cabbage and mashed potato. He shuddered. Other containers revealed canned tomato soup, which he wolfed down, and a small serving of apple pie, with low-fat ice-cream. There was a plastic mug of hot water, accompanied by a small sachet of instant coffee and a teabag, but given the choice of revolting coffee or revolting tea, he decided he wasn't that thirsty after all.
After the meal trays had been collected, there was nothing for him to do but contemplate his navel until visiting hours started. He couldn't count the cracks in the ceiling, because the ceiling was a layer of noise-reducing Styrofoam panels, all neatly arranged. There weren't even any water stains to add interest. The other men in the ward were all extremely old and slept whenever they weren't being attended by a nurse, or were glued to their TV sets (thankfully equipped with headphones).
At last, a wave of relatives and friends trailing into the ward announced the commencement of visiting hours. Rory knew that Charlie would be visiting, but as the minutes passed without his lover appearing, he started to worry. Had anything happened to Charlie? Had the police decided to question him again over Tuomi's death? Had he had an accident? Had he been wrong about being able to drive after methadone?
Just as he was starting to worry that the worry was raising his blood pressure, Charlie came into the ward, his face anxious as he scanned the beds and their occupants. As soon as he caught sight of Rory his features relaxed, he broke into a smile and hurried over.
"I'm sorry I'm late, it took them forever to find out which ward you were on," he explained, grasping Rory's hand and sitting on the edge of the bed. "This isn't the usual ward for heart cases."
"Well they said they were full. And you're here now, that's what's important."
"I know, but I was worried you'd be bored."
"I was."
Charlie rummaged in the bag he was carrying. "I brought you some books to read, and my mp3 player. I know you don't like my music much but I thought it would help pass the time."
Rory had to smile. He doubted that he'd like half of what was on there, but it was a thoughtful gesture on Charlie's part, and he appreciated it. He set the books and the mp3 player to one side to look at later.
"Thanks. Did you have any trouble this morning?"
"No, went like clockwork."
"Did you ring Chris?"
"Yes, he said that everything was under control and he hopes you get better soon."
"Good. Did he say anything else?"
"No, just that he could handle anything that might come up in the next few days."
Rory nodded. He was extremely lucky to have Chris and he knew it.
"I told Mum you're in hospital -- she said she hopes you're feeling better."
"I am. Say hello to her for me."
"I will. She can't get in to see you, she's on late shift this week, but if you're still in at the weekend she'll come over then."
"I hope I'll be home by then."
"Me too." Charlie hesitated, then asked, "Should I ring your Dad?"
"No." The flat denial was out of his mouth before he could even think about it.
Charlie blinked. "Look, I know you don't get on, but -- "
"No. There's no need for him to know." He was not going to give his father any excuse -- any further excuse -- to call his capabilities into question.
"OK," Charlie subsided.
Rory felt foolish for having over-reacted. He reached out and grabbed Charlie's hand. The smile that such a small gesture of affection elicited was enough to make him feel even more guilty for his spurt of temper.
"Has the doctor been in to see you this morning?"
"Aye, she came in around eleven."
"Is everything all right?"
"I think so. She seemed happy anyway. She said I have to have a scan and some other thing to look at the arteries."
"What sort of scan?"
Rory shrugged. "Something about looking at the heart muscle."
"I'll ask Mum when I get home, she'll probably know."
"Aye, that she will."
"It's a pity we couldn't go to the Royal, she'd have been able to visit you then, and she could explain everything."
"With my luck I'd have ended up on her ward and she'd be bringing me bedpans. I think I'm better off here."
Charlie grimaced. "I hadn't thought of that bit. It would be embarrassing as hell."
"Mind you, it could be worse."
"How?"
"It could have been Tessa."
That cracked them both up.
~~~~~
Chris came round in the evening, Charlie having rung him as instructed. He brought the customary hothouse grapes and set them down on the table.
"Thanks, Chris."
"How are you? Charlie said you had a bit of a turn last night."
"Aye. I'm not so bad. It's not a full heart attack, the doctor tells me, just a warning."
"I suppose that's a good thing."
"It is."
Chris nodded. "I spoke to Ken last night and he stayed out of sight today. I think the polis will catch up with him tomorrow, though."
"Good. As long as he sticks to the story, they've nothing to use on any of us."
"Aye, I made sure he knows that. I don't think he'll be any bother."
"I hope not." He sighed. He knew the police would be back for a second interview, hoping that they would find discrepancies in their accounts, but with a bit of luck they'd hold off for a few more days until he was back at work. He didn't want them bothering him at home, where Charlie might overhear. Charlie was even less capable of holding a secret than Ken was, and while he hoped that Charlie hadn't worked it out yet, more than once he had caught Charlie looking at him oddly, speculatively perhaps. He'd never said anything, and nor had Charlie, but if the police kept on harassing him they would have to have a serious discussion. He couldn't afford any loose ends, not now.
He dragged his attention back to Chris, and asked about work. Chris gave him a rundown on the day's news -- which wasn't much -- and they discussed the tender they'd submitted the previous day. It was odd to think that it had been only a day ago -- so much had happened in the twenty-four hours.
~~~~~
That night, as the hospital slowly quietened, Rory put his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. He had some thinking to do, and since a day's forced inactivity had left him wide awake, he was going to use the opportunity to give his whole life some serious consideration.
He couldn't afford to let things slide any more. He was going to have to stand up to his father and demand some changes -- or be prepared to walk away from everything he had built up over the last six years. It was stupid the way his father clung to the old ways, when the post-war world was dead and gone. Being a tough man didn't mean being on the wrong side of the law any more, especially not when the criminals were drug-dealers and predators. It simply made no sense to continue the loan-sharking side of the business, and the sooner Frank realised that the better.
After that, he was going to have to deal with Ken, and either secure his loyalty or let him go. Right now was a very bad time for that, given that he needed Ken's cooperation in the matter of Tuomi's death, but that couldn't be helped. He couldn't allow Ken to go on reporting his every move back to his father.
Finally, he had to face up to Charlie and the band situation. He thought about that for a few minutes and came to the conclusion that with a little luck and a bit of judicious manipulation he could probably force Charlie to postpone any decisions on the band offer for a month or two, and if he could achieve that, then there was a fair chance the whole offer would lapse and he would be safe. If not, then he would have to try more devious means, such as getting the right people know about Sinjin's drug use. He had a feeling that Northern Lights wouldn't be quite so keen on signing up a drug user on a long contract. If that failed ... well, then he'd think of something else.
With these plans in mind, he gradually fell asleep.
Friday 27th August, 9.30am
It was with a mixed sense of frustration and relief that Rory greeted Dr Graham on Friday morning. After three days in the hospital he was out of his mind with boredom and his back was aching from the prolonged inactivity. He'd had the promised tests and as far as he knew they were all fine, so all he needed now was clearance to leave.
Dr Graham was accompanied this morning by Dr March, the consultant. Rory listened as one of the students ran through his history, and then he answered the consultant's questions reasonably truthfully. Dr Marsh read through the results from the perfusion scan and the angiogram and checked the daily ECGs he'd had.
Dr March appeared to be satisfied with the results and gave him the same advice about diet and exercise and staying on the blood pressure tablets even if he didn't feel they were doing anything. As soon as he had turned away, Rory looked up at Dr Graham.
"Can I go home now?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so. You're recovering nicely from the angina attack and we've made a good head start on getting the risk factors under control. Who is your GP?"
"Dr McKenzie in Whitefield."
"Oh, yes, I know her. You should make an appointment to see her as soon as possible."
"I will."
"Right, then. I'll write you up a script for medication to take until you can see your GP. We'll send her a copy of the discharge summary, of course. The nurse will give you a couple of information pamphlets on dietary changes you can make to help with the cholesterol."
Rory grimaced. He had a suspicion that pastries, curries and cream cakes were going to be forcibly removed from his diet, to be replaced by tasteless, low-fat, low-calorie crap. But maybe he could hide the pamphlets before Charlie came ... and of course there was always lunchtime. He mentally tallied up the number of takeaway food shops in the area around his office building and reassured himself that he could get a decent filling meal when he needed one.
The nurse brought him the phone so he could call Charlie, who promised to drive over immediately. Then followed a long wait for the discharge paperwork and the hospital pharmacy, but then he was free.
By four o'clock he was safely at home again, sitting on the sofa and watching Charlie fussing over him. He managed to get Charlie to sit next to him and snog for a while, but Charlie was adamant about making him rest and not letting him over-exert himself.
"I nearly lost you," he said, his eyes still dark. "I don't want to lose you for real."
"I'm tough, love. I don't break easily."
"I know, but ... "
"But nothing. Now go and get me a cup of tea and them come back and keep me company."
He dozed off for a while, only to be woken by the phone ringing. Charlie answered it and took the handset into the kitchen, but whatever he said was in too low a voice for Rory to hear. He waited until Charlie came back.
"I'm sorry it woke you."
"It's all right. Who was it?"
"Pat. I told him I can't talk to Liam just now. I can't make any decisions until you're better."
"What did he say?"
"He understood. He said Sinjin's having second thoughts too."
Rory noted that piece of information with a spark of gratitude. He looked at Charlie, who was biting a fingernail, a nervous habit he'd never been able to break.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"Right now, or about the offer?"
"About the offer."
"I ... I just don't know. But I do know I don't want to be away from you." He set the phone down in its cradle and then sat down next to Rory on the settee. "I've been thinking a lot, these last few nights -- well, it's been lonely without you."
Rory reached out for him and pulled him in close. He didn't like the thought of Charlie being lonely, or anxious, or anything less than happy. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to be there so long."
"I know, and I'm glad you're all right. I was so worried, especially that first night, when the doctor said there was still a chance that it could be a heart attack. I was scared, Rory. I thought you might die."
"I'm not dead, and I'm not going to die anytime soon."
"I know, it's just that ... I don't want to be on my own again. I'm happy being with you and I hate it when we're apart."
"I hate being apart from you too."
"I don't want us to spend a night apart ever again. Not if I can help it."
Well, that was a lovely sentiment, and Rory heartily approved, but he had to say it ... "We'd be apart if you go on tour, or to an overseas studio to record."
"I know." Charlie fidgeted a bit and then said, in a small voice, "I don't want to go on tour with Liam and Sinjin again. I don't really even want to work with them again."
Rory barely restrained himself from crying out a hallelujah. For Charlie to admit this was a huge step and he didn't want to risk upsetting him. Instead, he controlled his voice and asked, calmly, "Does that mean that you are thinking about saying no?"
"I guess. But I can't help thinking that this might be the only chance I get, and I don't want to lose it."
Rory hugged him more closely. "You'll have other chances. Better ones. The EP is selling steadily, word's getting around -- you know the audiences are increasing every week."
"Yeah, but that's different. That's just the music."
"And what's bad about it being just the music? Would you prefer they came for the nail polish? Christ, Charlie, do you want to be respected as a musician or do you just crave the adoration?"
Charlie thought about that for a minute, then sighed and nodded. "You're right. It's the music I want. I mean, I loved being a rock star, I really did, but I love doing the clubs and pubs too. You get so close to people, you get to talk to them, not just stare at them from fifty feet away." He gave a shrug. "I'm just afraid that I'll never get another chance at a recording contract. I want to be a success, Rory, I do. I want to have my name on a CD in the top ten."
"Your name? Or some band's name?"
Charlie grinned. "My name. Yeah, my name. 'Charlie Pace, Britain's greatest singer-songwriter.' That would be really cool."
Rory smiled. Sometimes Charlie still looked and sounded like an adorably cute teenager instead of the supposedly mature 25-year-old he pretended to be. "My boyfriend, the famous Charlie Pace."
"I will be. One day, I will be."
"I know you will. I can feel it."
"Like that sixth sense?"
"Something like that. So, no more booking trips to Sydney? Please?"
"All right. My feet will remain firmly stuck in British soil -- no midnight flights to Australia. Not without you, anyway."
"Promise?"
"I promise. And I'll tell Pat that I'm sorry, but it's just not going to work for me. If he wants to talk to Liam and Sinjin about re-forming he can, but I'm going to tell Northern Lights where they can stick their offer." He leaned forward and kissed Rory lightly on the lips, as if to seal his promise.
Rory felt the world tilt for second as a huge weight disappear from his shoulders, and he almost sagged with the unexpectedness of it.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Just felt a bit faint for a moment."
"It's the heat. I'll get you a cool drink." Charlie raced off to the kitchen to get a drink from the fridge.
Rory leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt better, now, anyway. It was just shock, anyway, as if the world -- their world -- had suddenly changed direction ... which, he mused, it probably had, in some arcane and metaphorical sense. He was glad he'd never told Charlie just how frightened this proposed flight to Australia had made him. He had brushed off the nightmares as a product of his subconscious mind influencing his dreams. Now, however, he wondered if he should have listened a little more closely to his grandmother and her stories about The Sight.
Had he really had a premonition of disaster? Some form of sixth sense? No, it was impossible. All that psychic stuff was a load of bollocks. This was just natural relief that Charlie had made a decision -- the right decision -- and was going to stay safe and sound with him. And if Rory had had to suffer chest pain and a few days in hospital to get that result, well, it was probably worth it.
Charlie hurried back with a large glass of iced water, complete with a wedge of lemon. "There's beer too, but I thought you'd better have the water first."
Rory took a deep swallow, wincing as he registered the chill down his gullet. "Thanks. I'll just lie here for a little bit. Why don't you bring the beer in and sit here with me? You can tell me what else you did today."
So Charlie got the beers and sat on the floor beside Rory and chattered about the new song he'd started writing and the visit that morning from Kevin (temporarily in disgrace due to an unlucky juxtaposition of cricket ball and back window) and the advert he'd seen for a Lord of the Rings convention in London that weekend and the latest results from the Olympic Games. Rory closed his eyes and let it all wash over him, thankful that the world was back to normal.
Charlie was his and only his, and that was the way the world should be.
THE END
If you would like a glimpse into the future of the DDD-verse, go here
The complete Charlie-Rory Series is now up at AO3. I've split TTT into two parts: chapters 1-5 (spanning 1999-2003) are now called "Rise and Fall", while chapters 6-12 (Jan-Aug 2004) are still TTT.
This entry was originally posted at http://alassenya.dreamwidth.org/102881.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
For introduction and warnings go here
12.5 Lost Direction
Monday 23rd August (continued)
"Oh my god, you're having a heart attack!"
Rory sat down on the settee and tried to hold on to consciousness. He vaguely heard Charlie calling 999, demanding an ambulance, giving the address and then rushing back to him.
"It's all right, Rory, the ambulance is coming. Just don't die on me."
"Not going to die," he managed to whisper. It was getting harder to breathe -- as if someone had put an iron band around his chest and was tightening further it every minute. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was getting rather frightened. He was starting to feel sick from the pain, and he concentrated on not throwing up. He grasped Charlie's arm and clung on for dear life.
"You can't die, I love you." Charlie was holding him and stroking his hair with his free hand, kissing him and muttering words of love and fear and devotion.
He wasn't sure how long it took the ambulance to get there; it was at once an eternity and a moment. There were two of them, ambulance officers, taking his pulse; fitting an oxygen mask on to him; putting a tablet under his tongue; inserting a needle into his arm -- and that hurt like a bitch. He tried to fight them off but he was as weak as the proverbial kitten. Then he was being lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled out of the flat.
By the time he was secured in the back of the ambulance the pain in his chest had eased a fraction, but was still significant. The oxygen coming through the mask was cool and reduced the almost claustrophobic feeling he'd had earlier, which was good. He took breaths as deep as he could -- still not nearly as deep as he wanted -- and tried to remain calm.
Charlie was allowed to ride with them, in the front seat, while the paramedic stayed with him in the back. Rory was glad of that -- Charlie might have his licence back but he was in no state to drive safely. He had to make sure that Charlie was all right.
The paramedic asked him if he still had chest pain. When he nodded, he was given another tablet, placed under his tongue like the first one. He grimaced, but had to admit that the pain was easing a little further.
Then they were at the hospital, and Rory was being wheeled into the Emergency Department and transferred from stretcher to trolley. Charlie was dismissed to the waiting area as a doctor and a nurse started their assessment. They moved around him, examining him, taking blood and attaching electrodes to his chest, wrists and ankles, all the while questioning him. How long had he had the pain? How bad was it? Did it go through to his back or into his neck or down his arm? Had he had it before? Had he been sick? Was he feeling sick now? Did he feel faint? Was there any history of heart attacks in the family? Did he have asthma? High cholesterol? Ulcers? Was he on any medication? How much did he drink? Did he take any other drugs, prescribed or recreational? Did he smoke? Had he ever smoked? How much exercise did he do? Was he under a lot of stress?
The last question almost made him choke. He knew damned well he was under a lot of stress -- work contracts, his father, Charlie, the band, his grandmother's death, and the police interview that had hit him like a ton of bricks that afternoon -- but it was far too dangerous to start going into details. He mentioned work pressures and his grandmother's death and hoped that they would leave it at that. He was exhausted, and all he wanted was to get rid of this pain in his chest and go to sleep.
The questions stopped soon after that, and the doctor started injecting something into the cannula in his arm. "It's just a bit of morphine to ease the pain -- it may make you feel a little bit sleepy."
He could feel the chill of the liquid moving up his arm. It wasn't painful, really, but the cannula was uncomfortable. Soon, however, he felt the pain in his chest melting away, and found that he could take the deep breath he'd been craving for what seemed like months. It was a blessed relief.
"All gone?" asked the doctor.
He nodded.
"Excellent. I've ordered a chest X-ray for you, that should happen soon." He placed a call button under Rory's hand. "Press the button if you need anything or if the pain comes back."
Rory drifted in and out of sleep -- or unconsciousness -- for the next hour or two. Charlie was allowed back in and stayed close to the trolley, clutching his hand, looking wild-eyed and anxious. Rory tried to smile at him, but was too drowsy. He squeezed Charlie's hand, though, and got a weak smile in response.
"I'll be all right, Charlie. Don't worry." His voice sounded muffled through the oxygen mask, and he tried to speak a little more loudly so Charlie could hear him. "I'll be fine."
"You're having a heart attack, I can't help worrying."
"They aren't sure yet, they said so. And I'm not going to die. Not today, anyway."
"You'd better not." Charlie attempted a smile, which turned out rather watery, but at least he was making an effort.
People wandered in and out of his cubicle frequently, all with their different tasks. The portable X-ray equipment was rolled in and the radiographer took the X-ray, apologising as the cold plate was put under his back. A nurse wanted him to pee in a bottle so that they could test his urine. Another nurse took his pulse and blood pressure again and ran another ECG. They were waiting on the blood results, they told him, to determine whether he went to a ward or to coronary care, but it wouldn't be long now. They all had professional smiles and a cheerful confidence, whether real or assumed.
Finally the doctor came back, looking quite cheerful. "Well, Mr McManus, it's good news. You doesn't look like you've actually had a heart attack, just a severe attack of angina. The ECG shows some ischaemia -- that's basically stitch in the heart, indicating that the heart muscle wasn't getting enough oxygen. However, the blood tests show no significant rise in your enzymes so far, and that means that you haven't killed off any of the cardiac muscle."
Rory felt a huge sense of relief. "That's good news."
"Definitely."
"Can I go home then?"
"No, not right now, I'm afraid. I've paged the medical registrar to come and review you. It's still a fairly severe angina attack, and there is the possibility that the ECG and enzymes may change by morning. I'm also concerned about your health in general. Your blood pressure is very high -- though some of that will be due to the pain -- and so is your cholesterol. Both of those are risk factors for heart attacks so we want to try and get them under control as soon as possible. Also, your liver enzymes are up a bit -- we'll have to talk to you about your alcohol intake too."
Rory groaned. Whisky was the only thing holding him together at the moment; if he had to give it up he'd go to pieces.
"So, the medical registrar will see you and will decide if she wants you admitted or not. I'd say she probably will, mainly because of the risk factors. I think that we should make sure that's all under control before we let you go."
That didn't sound good at all. "How long will I be in?"
"That's up to the medical team. If all goes well, just a couple of days." He smiled and was gone, on to the next patient in the never-ending queue of emergency cases.
Charlie looked a little more relaxed now that he was assured Rory wasn't going to die. "A couple of days isn't too bad."
"With luck I'll be back home by the weekend."
"That would be good. Can't have you in hospital on your birthday."
Rory blinked, but then remembered -- his birthday was on Saturday. He'd forgotten about it completely in all the dramas of the previous few days. "I'll be home by then. I hope you're going to make me a cake."
"Of course. Rich chocolate cake. I even went and got some couverture for the icing."
"Sounds delicious."
"Well, I know it's your favourite, and I found a new recipe for the icing I wanted to try."
"I'll definitely have to be home then."
"You will."
There was a long pause, then Charlie said, in a small, quiet voice, "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"This is my fault."
"You didn't cause it."
"It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been so keen on getting the band back together."
Rory closed his eyes. Whether or not he agreed with it -- and it was very tempting to blame the band for all of this -- he didn't have the strength to cope with Charlie indulging himself in an orgy of guilt and self-recrimination, not right now.
He squeezed Charlie's hand. "Look, we can talk about it when I get home. Not here."
"But -"
"Not here, Charlie."
Eventually Charlie nodded. "All right. But I'm still sorry."
They sat in silence until the medical registrar, Dr Graham, arrived. She went through all the same questions again, then asked Charlie to leave while she did a brief examination. After that, she spent a few minutes examining the test results, then gave her verdict:
"Yes, I think we need to keep you for a few days to make sure that this doesn't develop into an infarct -- and yes, that's still a possibility. You have a lot of cardiovascular risk factors that we need to get under control, otherwise you'll be back in here in a couple of months, and I really don't think you want that."
"Definitely not." He grimaced.
"Right, then, I'll go and do the paperwork. I'm not sure which ward you'll be on -- we're a bit tight on beds tonight -- but I'll make sure that you have some bloods written up for the morning, and another ECG. I'm also going to write you up for some drugs for your blood pressure and cholesterol. I'll come and see you before lunch."
"OK."
She smiled at him. "And please don't worry too much. I know it's been very unpleasant for you, but this is probably a good thing in the long run -- you've had a warning, but you haven't lost any heart muscle. This gives us the chance to get all the other things under control and reduce the risk of you ever having a heart attack in the future."
"Aye, I can understand that." He hoped that she was right, and that everything else could be brought under control, especially the things that the hospital knew nothing about.
She left him, intent on her paperwork, and Charlie returned. It was nearly eleven o'clock now, and Rory was exhausted, but he found sleep difficult on the uncomfortable trolley and with so much going on around him.
"You'll have to get yourself to the chemist in the morning," he said, in a low voice.
Charlie made a face. "I guess so. Still," he continued, more cheerfully, "at least I have my licence now."
"Could you drive after taking the methadone?"
Charlie nodded. "Shouldn't be a problem as long as I don't hang around too long and drive straight home. It's only five minutes away, and the methadone doesn't make me as sleepy as the heroin, you know that."
Rory knew that, but he still wanted to be sure. "You'll have to ring Chris too, let him know what happened." That was vitally important after the police interview earlier, but Rory didn't want to discuss that here. He hoped that Chris would have the sense to keep it to himself and let Rory break the news to Charlie in his own time.
"I'll do that as soon as I get back from the chemist."
After another hour or so, a porter came to take him to the ward, and Charlie was sent home in a taxi, with Rory's wallet and phone (since he had completely forgotten to bring his own with him), promising to return just as soon as he could the next day.
Rory was taken to a general medical ward and transferred to a bed. There was more delay while the nurses took their own history and wrote up a nursing plan, and then made sure he was attached to a small portable monitor and an IV pump. Finally, long after midnight, he was allowed to sleep ... or at least, to try and sleep. The hospital bed was more comfortable than the trolley, but there was too much noise around him -- machines humming and beeping, other patients snoring, footsteps in the corridor, and even traffic outside. Nurses did their rounds, waking him just as he had dropped off to sleep so that they could test his pulse and blood pressure. He wasn't allowed up to go to the toilet, and was forced to use the bottle they gave him. The electrodes they had attached to his chest started to itch, but he wasn't allowed to take them off. His back was starting to ache from the unaccustomed immobility, but he couldn't roll over because of the drip in his arm.
All in all it was a pretty good candidate for being the worst day of his entire life. He wallowed in self-pity for a few minutes and then then told himself that at least he still had a life.
Tuesday 24th August
At six the ward began to come to life again as the day shift started. Rory had dozed off for a couple of hours, but was woken to have more blood samples taken, and that was followed by another ECG. Breakfast was delivered at seven -- a small packet of cereal with skim milk and some toast -- and the tray collected at half past. He was allowed up for a shower, which he found very refreshing, and was able to swap the hideous hospital gown for a set of equally hideous hospital pyjamas. After that, though, there was nothing to do but wait for the registrar. He had no books to read, he had no interest in daytime television, and the hospital radio featured only bland "easy-listening" stations. All in all, he was very glad to see Dr Graham when she turned up at a little before eleven, with an intern, a medical student and a ward nurse in tow.
"Well, Mr McManus, how are you this morning?"
"Not so bad."
"Any chest pain during the night?"
"Not pain, just a little bit of discomfort."
She frowned at that and spent a couple of minutes looking at the morning's ECG while the intern phoned the lab for the blood results. She listened to his heart and chest again, and seemed happy with what she heard. When the intern came back, with the results scribbled on a piece of paper, she compared them with the ones from the night before. Finally she seemed satisfied.
"Well, Mr McManus, it looks like everything is stable, so that's good news. The cardiac enzymes didn't go up overnight so we're confident that it was merely angina and not a myocardial infarct."
"That's good."
"It is. I'm a little worried about the continued discomfort, though. It could be a partial obstruction of an artery, or it could be just a spasm. I'm ordering a nuclear medicine scan of your heart to see if there are any perfusion defects -- any areas of heart muscle that aren't getting enough blood. I think we should also do a coronary angiogram -- that's a type of X-ray where we put some contrast into your blood and watch it going through the coronary arteries. We'll be able to see any blockages or constrictions."
"What happens if there are blockages?"
"There are procedures we can do to widen a partially blocked section, using an inflatable balloon. If there's a complete blockage -- and I doubt that, because it would have showed up on the ECG and blood tests -- we can try replace that section with a vein from your leg. That's coronary bypass surgery."
Rory shuddered. He hoped that wouldn't be necessary. It was bad enough that he was in hospital in the first place, but he definitely didn't want an operation.
"We'll get the scan booked right now, and I'll see you again tomorrow morning. If you get more chest pain -- or even a mild discomfort -- please let the nurses know at once."
"I'll do that."
"Your BP is a bit lower than yesterday, which is good. I expect it to fall significantly over the next couple of days, so be very careful getting up. If you have any giddiness or feel unsteady on your feet, let the nurses know."
Rory nodded.
The registrar left, trailing the others behind her, and Rory was left in relative peace for a few minutes, until the lunch trolley arrived. The meal was as bad as he had expected: some sort of mince, with boiled cabbage and mashed potato. He shuddered. Other containers revealed canned tomato soup, which he wolfed down, and a small serving of apple pie, with low-fat ice-cream. There was a plastic mug of hot water, accompanied by a small sachet of instant coffee and a teabag, but given the choice of revolting coffee or revolting tea, he decided he wasn't that thirsty after all.
After the meal trays had been collected, there was nothing for him to do but contemplate his navel until visiting hours started. He couldn't count the cracks in the ceiling, because the ceiling was a layer of noise-reducing Styrofoam panels, all neatly arranged. There weren't even any water stains to add interest. The other men in the ward were all extremely old and slept whenever they weren't being attended by a nurse, or were glued to their TV sets (thankfully equipped with headphones).
At last, a wave of relatives and friends trailing into the ward announced the commencement of visiting hours. Rory knew that Charlie would be visiting, but as the minutes passed without his lover appearing, he started to worry. Had anything happened to Charlie? Had the police decided to question him again over Tuomi's death? Had he had an accident? Had he been wrong about being able to drive after methadone?
Just as he was starting to worry that the worry was raising his blood pressure, Charlie came into the ward, his face anxious as he scanned the beds and their occupants. As soon as he caught sight of Rory his features relaxed, he broke into a smile and hurried over.
"I'm sorry I'm late, it took them forever to find out which ward you were on," he explained, grasping Rory's hand and sitting on the edge of the bed. "This isn't the usual ward for heart cases."
"Well they said they were full. And you're here now, that's what's important."
"I know, but I was worried you'd be bored."
"I was."
Charlie rummaged in the bag he was carrying. "I brought you some books to read, and my mp3 player. I know you don't like my music much but I thought it would help pass the time."
Rory had to smile. He doubted that he'd like half of what was on there, but it was a thoughtful gesture on Charlie's part, and he appreciated it. He set the books and the mp3 player to one side to look at later.
"Thanks. Did you have any trouble this morning?"
"No, went like clockwork."
"Did you ring Chris?"
"Yes, he said that everything was under control and he hopes you get better soon."
"Good. Did he say anything else?"
"No, just that he could handle anything that might come up in the next few days."
Rory nodded. He was extremely lucky to have Chris and he knew it.
"I told Mum you're in hospital -- she said she hopes you're feeling better."
"I am. Say hello to her for me."
"I will. She can't get in to see you, she's on late shift this week, but if you're still in at the weekend she'll come over then."
"I hope I'll be home by then."
"Me too." Charlie hesitated, then asked, "Should I ring your Dad?"
"No." The flat denial was out of his mouth before he could even think about it.
Charlie blinked. "Look, I know you don't get on, but -- "
"No. There's no need for him to know." He was not going to give his father any excuse -- any further excuse -- to call his capabilities into question.
"OK," Charlie subsided.
Rory felt foolish for having over-reacted. He reached out and grabbed Charlie's hand. The smile that such a small gesture of affection elicited was enough to make him feel even more guilty for his spurt of temper.
"Has the doctor been in to see you this morning?"
"Aye, she came in around eleven."
"Is everything all right?"
"I think so. She seemed happy anyway. She said I have to have a scan and some other thing to look at the arteries."
"What sort of scan?"
Rory shrugged. "Something about looking at the heart muscle."
"I'll ask Mum when I get home, she'll probably know."
"Aye, that she will."
"It's a pity we couldn't go to the Royal, she'd have been able to visit you then, and she could explain everything."
"With my luck I'd have ended up on her ward and she'd be bringing me bedpans. I think I'm better off here."
Charlie grimaced. "I hadn't thought of that bit. It would be embarrassing as hell."
"Mind you, it could be worse."
"How?"
"It could have been Tessa."
That cracked them both up.
~~~~~
Chris came round in the evening, Charlie having rung him as instructed. He brought the customary hothouse grapes and set them down on the table.
"Thanks, Chris."
"How are you? Charlie said you had a bit of a turn last night."
"Aye. I'm not so bad. It's not a full heart attack, the doctor tells me, just a warning."
"I suppose that's a good thing."
"It is."
Chris nodded. "I spoke to Ken last night and he stayed out of sight today. I think the polis will catch up with him tomorrow, though."
"Good. As long as he sticks to the story, they've nothing to use on any of us."
"Aye, I made sure he knows that. I don't think he'll be any bother."
"I hope not." He sighed. He knew the police would be back for a second interview, hoping that they would find discrepancies in their accounts, but with a bit of luck they'd hold off for a few more days until he was back at work. He didn't want them bothering him at home, where Charlie might overhear. Charlie was even less capable of holding a secret than Ken was, and while he hoped that Charlie hadn't worked it out yet, more than once he had caught Charlie looking at him oddly, speculatively perhaps. He'd never said anything, and nor had Charlie, but if the police kept on harassing him they would have to have a serious discussion. He couldn't afford any loose ends, not now.
He dragged his attention back to Chris, and asked about work. Chris gave him a rundown on the day's news -- which wasn't much -- and they discussed the tender they'd submitted the previous day. It was odd to think that it had been only a day ago -- so much had happened in the twenty-four hours.
~~~~~
That night, as the hospital slowly quietened, Rory put his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. He had some thinking to do, and since a day's forced inactivity had left him wide awake, he was going to use the opportunity to give his whole life some serious consideration.
He couldn't afford to let things slide any more. He was going to have to stand up to his father and demand some changes -- or be prepared to walk away from everything he had built up over the last six years. It was stupid the way his father clung to the old ways, when the post-war world was dead and gone. Being a tough man didn't mean being on the wrong side of the law any more, especially not when the criminals were drug-dealers and predators. It simply made no sense to continue the loan-sharking side of the business, and the sooner Frank realised that the better.
After that, he was going to have to deal with Ken, and either secure his loyalty or let him go. Right now was a very bad time for that, given that he needed Ken's cooperation in the matter of Tuomi's death, but that couldn't be helped. He couldn't allow Ken to go on reporting his every move back to his father.
Finally, he had to face up to Charlie and the band situation. He thought about that for a few minutes and came to the conclusion that with a little luck and a bit of judicious manipulation he could probably force Charlie to postpone any decisions on the band offer for a month or two, and if he could achieve that, then there was a fair chance the whole offer would lapse and he would be safe. If not, then he would have to try more devious means, such as getting the right people know about Sinjin's drug use. He had a feeling that Northern Lights wouldn't be quite so keen on signing up a drug user on a long contract. If that failed ... well, then he'd think of something else.
With these plans in mind, he gradually fell asleep.
Friday 27th August, 9.30am
It was with a mixed sense of frustration and relief that Rory greeted Dr Graham on Friday morning. After three days in the hospital he was out of his mind with boredom and his back was aching from the prolonged inactivity. He'd had the promised tests and as far as he knew they were all fine, so all he needed now was clearance to leave.
Dr Graham was accompanied this morning by Dr March, the consultant. Rory listened as one of the students ran through his history, and then he answered the consultant's questions reasonably truthfully. Dr Marsh read through the results from the perfusion scan and the angiogram and checked the daily ECGs he'd had.
Dr March appeared to be satisfied with the results and gave him the same advice about diet and exercise and staying on the blood pressure tablets even if he didn't feel they were doing anything. As soon as he had turned away, Rory looked up at Dr Graham.
"Can I go home now?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so. You're recovering nicely from the angina attack and we've made a good head start on getting the risk factors under control. Who is your GP?"
"Dr McKenzie in Whitefield."
"Oh, yes, I know her. You should make an appointment to see her as soon as possible."
"I will."
"Right, then. I'll write you up a script for medication to take until you can see your GP. We'll send her a copy of the discharge summary, of course. The nurse will give you a couple of information pamphlets on dietary changes you can make to help with the cholesterol."
Rory grimaced. He had a suspicion that pastries, curries and cream cakes were going to be forcibly removed from his diet, to be replaced by tasteless, low-fat, low-calorie crap. But maybe he could hide the pamphlets before Charlie came ... and of course there was always lunchtime. He mentally tallied up the number of takeaway food shops in the area around his office building and reassured himself that he could get a decent filling meal when he needed one.
The nurse brought him the phone so he could call Charlie, who promised to drive over immediately. Then followed a long wait for the discharge paperwork and the hospital pharmacy, but then he was free.
By four o'clock he was safely at home again, sitting on the sofa and watching Charlie fussing over him. He managed to get Charlie to sit next to him and snog for a while, but Charlie was adamant about making him rest and not letting him over-exert himself.
"I nearly lost you," he said, his eyes still dark. "I don't want to lose you for real."
"I'm tough, love. I don't break easily."
"I know, but ... "
"But nothing. Now go and get me a cup of tea and them come back and keep me company."
He dozed off for a while, only to be woken by the phone ringing. Charlie answered it and took the handset into the kitchen, but whatever he said was in too low a voice for Rory to hear. He waited until Charlie came back.
"I'm sorry it woke you."
"It's all right. Who was it?"
"Pat. I told him I can't talk to Liam just now. I can't make any decisions until you're better."
"What did he say?"
"He understood. He said Sinjin's having second thoughts too."
Rory noted that piece of information with a spark of gratitude. He looked at Charlie, who was biting a fingernail, a nervous habit he'd never been able to break.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"Right now, or about the offer?"
"About the offer."
"I ... I just don't know. But I do know I don't want to be away from you." He set the phone down in its cradle and then sat down next to Rory on the settee. "I've been thinking a lot, these last few nights -- well, it's been lonely without you."
Rory reached out for him and pulled him in close. He didn't like the thought of Charlie being lonely, or anxious, or anything less than happy. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to be there so long."
"I know, and I'm glad you're all right. I was so worried, especially that first night, when the doctor said there was still a chance that it could be a heart attack. I was scared, Rory. I thought you might die."
"I'm not dead, and I'm not going to die anytime soon."
"I know, it's just that ... I don't want to be on my own again. I'm happy being with you and I hate it when we're apart."
"I hate being apart from you too."
"I don't want us to spend a night apart ever again. Not if I can help it."
Well, that was a lovely sentiment, and Rory heartily approved, but he had to say it ... "We'd be apart if you go on tour, or to an overseas studio to record."
"I know." Charlie fidgeted a bit and then said, in a small voice, "I don't want to go on tour with Liam and Sinjin again. I don't really even want to work with them again."
Rory barely restrained himself from crying out a hallelujah. For Charlie to admit this was a huge step and he didn't want to risk upsetting him. Instead, he controlled his voice and asked, calmly, "Does that mean that you are thinking about saying no?"
"I guess. But I can't help thinking that this might be the only chance I get, and I don't want to lose it."
Rory hugged him more closely. "You'll have other chances. Better ones. The EP is selling steadily, word's getting around -- you know the audiences are increasing every week."
"Yeah, but that's different. That's just the music."
"And what's bad about it being just the music? Would you prefer they came for the nail polish? Christ, Charlie, do you want to be respected as a musician or do you just crave the adoration?"
Charlie thought about that for a minute, then sighed and nodded. "You're right. It's the music I want. I mean, I loved being a rock star, I really did, but I love doing the clubs and pubs too. You get so close to people, you get to talk to them, not just stare at them from fifty feet away." He gave a shrug. "I'm just afraid that I'll never get another chance at a recording contract. I want to be a success, Rory, I do. I want to have my name on a CD in the top ten."
"Your name? Or some band's name?"
Charlie grinned. "My name. Yeah, my name. 'Charlie Pace, Britain's greatest singer-songwriter.' That would be really cool."
Rory smiled. Sometimes Charlie still looked and sounded like an adorably cute teenager instead of the supposedly mature 25-year-old he pretended to be. "My boyfriend, the famous Charlie Pace."
"I will be. One day, I will be."
"I know you will. I can feel it."
"Like that sixth sense?"
"Something like that. So, no more booking trips to Sydney? Please?"
"All right. My feet will remain firmly stuck in British soil -- no midnight flights to Australia. Not without you, anyway."
"Promise?"
"I promise. And I'll tell Pat that I'm sorry, but it's just not going to work for me. If he wants to talk to Liam and Sinjin about re-forming he can, but I'm going to tell Northern Lights where they can stick their offer." He leaned forward and kissed Rory lightly on the lips, as if to seal his promise.
Rory felt the world tilt for second as a huge weight disappear from his shoulders, and he almost sagged with the unexpectedness of it.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Just felt a bit faint for a moment."
"It's the heat. I'll get you a cool drink." Charlie raced off to the kitchen to get a drink from the fridge.
Rory leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt better, now, anyway. It was just shock, anyway, as if the world -- their world -- had suddenly changed direction ... which, he mused, it probably had, in some arcane and metaphorical sense. He was glad he'd never told Charlie just how frightened this proposed flight to Australia had made him. He had brushed off the nightmares as a product of his subconscious mind influencing his dreams. Now, however, he wondered if he should have listened a little more closely to his grandmother and her stories about The Sight.
Had he really had a premonition of disaster? Some form of sixth sense? No, it was impossible. All that psychic stuff was a load of bollocks. This was just natural relief that Charlie had made a decision -- the right decision -- and was going to stay safe and sound with him. And if Rory had had to suffer chest pain and a few days in hospital to get that result, well, it was probably worth it.
Charlie hurried back with a large glass of iced water, complete with a wedge of lemon. "There's beer too, but I thought you'd better have the water first."
Rory took a deep swallow, wincing as he registered the chill down his gullet. "Thanks. I'll just lie here for a little bit. Why don't you bring the beer in and sit here with me? You can tell me what else you did today."
So Charlie got the beers and sat on the floor beside Rory and chattered about the new song he'd started writing and the visit that morning from Kevin (temporarily in disgrace due to an unlucky juxtaposition of cricket ball and back window) and the advert he'd seen for a Lord of the Rings convention in London that weekend and the latest results from the Olympic Games. Rory closed his eyes and let it all wash over him, thankful that the world was back to normal.
Charlie was his and only his, and that was the way the world should be.
THE END
If you would like a glimpse into the future of the DDD-verse, go here
The complete Charlie-Rory Series is now up at AO3. I've split TTT into two parts: chapters 1-5 (spanning 1999-2003) are now called "Rise and Fall", while chapters 6-12 (Jan-Aug 2004) are still TTT.
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