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Tim cracks the lid on the small juice bottle, and puts the straw in. It’s been three days since he awoke to Raylan sweating, shivering and barely conscious next to him. The resort swiftly found him a doctor, who arranged for Raylan’s immediate transfer into hospital on the mainland.
Raylan’s new doctor and the nurses are kindness and efficiency itself. Something that slightly surprises Tim, he had heard a lot about Italian chaos and inefficiency. They’re keeping Raylan in. Encouraging Tim to spend as much time with his lover as possible, it’s very different from the US.
The building is old, but immaculately clean; Raylan’s bed is by the window, he can see Vesuvius, the doctor explains in his faultless and barely accented English that a view can inspire a patient in Raylan’s condition, it can give them something to aim at in their recovery.
Tim’s not entirely sure what the volcano will do for Raylan, but it seems surprisingly comforting, and strangely appropriate given Raylan’s capacity for anger.
There’s the question of tickets, and costs and all sorts of other things, but Tim wants Raylan to stay where he is being so well cared for. That’s a comfort to both of them. One of Raylan’s nurses handles Tim’s accommodation, the retrieval of their belongings from the resort who so carefully packed up everything, they even send a basket of fruit. Tim finds himself charmed by the Italian people without really meaning to be.
His new accommodation is a small studio apartment ten minutes walk from the hospital. It’s tiny, clean, neat and very inexpensive. Which is a relief to Tim, his own funds are not able to stretch to anything fancy. He’s fallen on his feet too, Raylan’s doctor has arranged for Tim’s physiotherapy for his injured shoulder, so that Tim will not fall behind. Everyone has been wonderfully kind and helpful.
“Hey.” He startles from his reverie, Raylan’s awake. The older man is very weak, and he’s been very, very sick; his body is not able to cope by itself with infection, even the slightest illness is risky, he’s hooked up to i.v.s and monitors, nearly as pale as the crisp white sheets he’s lying on.
Tim gently holds the bottle and Raylan sips a little through the straw. There’s a small fridge with a supply of juices and yoghurts, that’s replenished daily, Tim’s encouraged to help his partner eat and drink, and hopefully regain some of his strength.
It’s a measure of how exhausted Raylan is that he just lets Tim feed him without even the slightest hint of embarrassment. Tim finds himself coaxing Raylan to eat and drink, and wonders at his own capacity for caring this much.
They’re both still trying to figure things out, but Tim knows that Raylan won’t be flying anytime soon. Truth be told, he doesn’t actually want to go back himself. Somewhere between the kindness of the locals, and the long-term prognosis that is cautiously optimistic, they seem to have found safe harbor and Tim isn’t sure he wants to go back to his old life and job again. Raylan will get better here. That’s what counts.
Perhaps the truth is that he’s finally tired of bearing arms. There’s a little voice in his head telling him that he can put the burden down. It’s time.
Raylan’s lying on his side, arm folded under the pillow, raising his head a little. He’s staring at the volcano. “almost feels like home,” he whispers.
Something tells Tim that they’ve already decided.