summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer. In this chapter, Ian bonds a little with Marrow.
warnings: sadness and foul language
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter thirty three
Sunday, July first. It was horrifying to Ian that he once thought he wouldn't live to see the day. It was more horrifying to him that he knew he only had several days after.
He was up early, and quickly found himself on his toilet, tears on his face as he tried to keep his bravery. He didn't want to lose control, not then, when there was so little time left. He took his shower, ignoring the blood dripping down his legs, a deep pink swirling around the drain.
It was only seven when he was dried and dressed, but nerves kept him from returning to bed. He spent under a half hour editing, then could feel his anxiety toying with his ADHD, an irritating combination. He was worried, worried about how long he had, how he would be feeling, how hard it would be to let go.
Ian spun his chair away from his computer, staring at the wall with a painful exhaustion. He felt uneasy, and sought to remedy it. He pulled out his phone and stared at the time, only 7:35. With a sigh, he called Doctor Marrow.
"Doctor Marrow speaking." The doctor picked up after just one ring.
"Doctor, this is Ian Hecox." Ian spoke nervously. "I know it's a Sunday, and it's really early, but, um, could I come in?" There was silence for a moment from the other end. "Later is fine, too." He quickly lied, still nervous.
"No, Mr. Hecox, you are one of my more-more special patients, you can come in whenever you like. I was only in this early to fill paper work, but you can come right away on special hours."
"Thanks, I'll be over soon." Ian said, grateful. He was so electrified by his fear, but so dulled with exhaustion, that discomfort plagued him until he welcomed a guiding voice, a helper. He stood immediately, then became dizzy and regretted it. Taking deep breaths, he left the computer and his editing behind, and went to the garage.
He drove in silence, only his rattling breath shaking the air. He felt nauseas and was sweating buckets, clutching the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and palms numb. He was hot, shaking, and his whole body hurt, and his fears did not help at all. He knew he was dying, he had felt it for months, but it was so intensified now.
Upon arrival, he sat for a moment in the parking lot, attempting to compose himself. Ian knew how Marrow pitied him, and didn't want to go in looking worse than he already was. Shuddering, he left his car, and made his way slowly to Marrow's office.
For a change, Marrow was already in his chair when Ian knocked on the open door, quietly sorting through papers. When he looked up at Ian, connecting eyes only for a moment, pity and panic sparked in him.
"Ian!" He quickly pulled his patient into the cold, metallic chair that Ian hated so much. Ian looked at him, startled, as he took a small flashlight from his coat pocket and shined it into his eyes; the man rarely used his first name, in what he assumed was a fear of connecting with those so close to death. The doctor seemed to regret his outburst, and calmed himself as he slipped the flashlight back into his pocket.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, I was just-just scared, I guess." Ian apologized for coming in so early, but Marrow shook his head.
"No, Mr. Hecox, that's just fine. You're in rough condition now, I'm not surprised you needed a visit. You may recall that I suggested you stay in a hospital for- for your remaining time. If you've changed your mind-"
"The answer's still no." Ian said, voice weak, but the words still sounding firm. "I couldn't."
"Okay." Marrow slowly nodded his head, but looked mildly disapproving. "Just tell me how you're feeling right now."
Ian slumped down into his chair. "Awful. Everything hurts, I'm tired, I'm nauseas, and there's-there's so much blood." Sweat glistened on his forehead, despite the cold hospital blocking out all of the July heat. He looked up at Marrow, breath shallow, feeling foolishly weak, only to find the doctor studying him carefully.
"I know this is hard, Ian." Marrow said after a moment. "But there's little I can do. You're dying."
Ian nodded and stared out the window, watching birds fly by as he held in tears. He was so tired.
"Can you get home on your own?" Marrow asked him, concern and pity lacing his words.
Ian closed his eyes as he felt tears approach. "I honestly don't know." He admitted. He felt too ill to drive, to move.
There was another moment of silence. Marrow sighed, then moved behind his desk and removed his white coat. He draped it on his chair before opening a desk drawer, removing his wallet. The noise of the drawer made Ian open his eyes once more, but that was his only motion, sickness weighing him down.
The doctor frowned at his patient, then closed his desk drawer and moved quickly behind the metallic chair where Ian sat. "Here." He said in a low, gentle voice behind Ian, and the young man felt hands on his shoulder and side. Marrow helped him out of the cold, metallic chair he hated so much, receiving a shock as he did so, until he was standing next to him, hands hovering around his figure, as though expecting him to fall. Ian remained standing, however, although he was weak.
"Come on." Marrow said to the tired boy, encouragement mixing with his bleak view of the situation in his voice.
Strength, Ian, he said to himself, reminded of Kris. Gather your strength. He steadied himself and walked next to Marrow, away from the awful metal chair forever. Marrow only stepped ahead of him to open the door, but walked slowly in sync with him through the hospital hallway, ready to protect him in case he fell. Ian was breathing heavily as they walked past white walls in silence, and Marrow remained silent, only nodding respectfully at nurses and personnel whom they walked past.
After several minutes of their slow walk, Marrow and Ian saw the sun through the doors once again, one more relieved than the other. Marrow was used to the hospital boxing him in, but Ian hoped he would never become used to such a cage.
Still, both were eased by the sunshine and heat that the outdoor world gave them, and they visibly relaxed as they went to the car, Ian slightly in the lead now that Marrow did not know where he was going. They stopped at the blue sedan, and Marrow rushed to open the passenger door for Ian and help him into his seat.
He crossed the car and sat in the unfamiliar driver's seat, then waited patiently as Ian fumbled with his keys and handed them over. Marrow took them, and turned on the car.
"Ian? I need your address." He sounded concerned, and caring, pitying the young man who sat beside him, barely conscious in his chair.
"701 Oakwood Avenue, off of Brookside Drive." Ian muttered, and the car fell silent as Marrow drove him home.
It was odd for Ian to see Marrow without his doctor's jacket, and even more odd to have something this close to casual contact with him. It was clear that Marrow had been afraid to have a personal connection with him, when he was so close to death, but he was slipping now. Saying his first name, driving him home, it was all becoming abundantly clear how much he cared. It was more than just lame pity.
But Marrow would not allow himself any closer. He could not forget that the young man sitting next to him would be dead in just a few short days. And he could not pain himself with losing someone else to cancer. So he did not speak to the man drifting in and out of consciousness, did not admit how nervous he was for him. He drove on in silence, eventually arriving at the house.
He pulled into the garage and assisted Ian in, who was stumbling and barely awake. Ian guided them to his bedroom, and Marrow helped him into the room, then watched him collapse into bed, letting out a groan. He stood there for a moment, pain clear on his features, then moved towards the bed, to help his patient. He gently pulled off the young man's sneaker's, then pulled the sheets over his body, Marrow too caring and Ian too tired for either party to feel foolish.
There was silence once again as Marrow leaned over and examined Ian's now sleeping face. He shuddered, and stood straight, aware of how bad his patient looked. He didn't have much time.
Marrow left the room on soft falling footsteps, closing the door behind him. He called a cab in the living room and waited silently, sitting at the chair usually reserved for Ian during Lunchtime with Smosh. As the minutes passed, he observed the room around him, more sadness flooding him upon realizing that the place was barren- of course, the man was prepared for death.
The cab arrived, and Marrow, giving one last caring look to the bedroom where his patient lay, exited the house, and became indifferent, unfeeling, once more.