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It had been days. Weeks, maybe. But after some time, Tyrell stopped counting. The only thing that mattered was Elliot lying in bed, alive. He hated seeing him in that state, especially when he was the one who put him down, the one who shot him. But he hated it less than seeing his unmoving body on the floor right after the bullet left the gun.
He knew he had crossed a point of no return when he saw him, almost lifeless, bleeding from the inside out. That's when he started to panic, that's when tears rolled down his face and his throat burnt, burnt so much because of his screams.
But it was all good now. Elliot was alive. He hadn't killed him. He hadn't lost him. Everything was fine.
At least that's what he kept repeating to himself.
Angela kept checking on Elliot every day, but only stayed a few minutes, getting updates on his state.
Tyrell was there all the time. He had nowhere else to go, anyway. He didn't want to be anywhere else.
The first days following the shooting were the most difficult. Elliot wasn't quite stable yet, sometimes convulsing in his bed. The doctors from the Dark Army had to inject God knows what into his IV to calm him. Every time it happened, anxiety and fear spiked through Tyrell and invaded his thoughts. It couldn't be like this. He couldn't die. Not now, not like this, not because of him.
Eventually Elliot stabilized. At least that's what the doctors said. Tyrell wanted to believe them. He needed to believe them. Watching Elliot breathe more and more regularly, he could breathe too.
Tyrell always stayed near Elliot.
At first, he couldn't get too close. The guilt creeping inside him was ordering him to stay away, that he'd only hurt even more. But every passing day, the need to touch him was getting stronger and stronger.
One day, he shut down his guilt and he placed his palm over Elliot's.
The following day, he took his hand.
The next day, he kissed his knuckles.
Another day, he stroked his face with the tip of his fingers.
Then ran his hand through his hair.
He kissed his forehead.
He knew Angela saw him act a couple of times.
The days were getting long, too. He couldn't get bored watching Elliot but he needed a distraction. So he brought his favorite book and started to read. To Elliot.
Every day.
Angela stopped coming.
It was quite late when Tyrell knew something was different than usual. He was dozing off, his head resting against Elliot's legs, his face in his direction so he could watch him while falling asleep. Sitting on a chair in that awkward position wasn't the most comfortable way to be, but it was Tyrell's favorite.
That's when he felt a spasm under him. Elliot had moved his leg. Or was he dreaming again?
He straightened up and took a closer look at Elliot before his breath got caught in his throat. Elliot's lids had fluttered.
All of a sudden, he felt joy, relief, fear, guilt, and sadness all at once. The overwhelming wave of emotions left him shaking while Elliot slowly opened his eyes.
Tyrell stayed silent, not daring to move, waiting for Elliot to assess his surroundings. His heart was painfully beating too fast inside his chest and his hands were sweating.
Elliot's eyes finally settled on him.
How long had he been waiting for this moment?
"Hi," Tyrell finally managed to say. One syllable was all he could take. His voice was croaked but he tried to smile, hoping to reassure Elliot.
The man kept staring at him, eyebrows furrowing. He blinked a few times but stayed silent, his mind seemingly working at full power. He finally licked his lips, trying to get the dryness out of it, getting ready to talk.
Tyrell had dreamed about this a lot. He was scared but also hopeful. Elliot used to always surprise him. He could hate him, he could forgive him. None of this mattered now because, in the end, they had been through so much. They were gods destined to stick together. All that mattered was that Elliot was awake and Tyrell close to him. That's what he should focus on. Elliot.
"Who are you?"
It was Elliot's voice. He was still looking at him. He was speaking to him. The three words took time to sink in Tyrell's mind.
And when they did, he felt his entire world fall in pieces.
Everything seemed to slow down around Tyrell. His mouth was dry as sand, his throat tight. "You… don’t know who I am?"
"Should I?"
The words felt like needles in his chest.
he doesn't remember he doesn't remember me he doesn't remember us
Elliot started to move, his traits looking uncomfortable.
"Don’t move!" Tyrell exclaimed. He quickly stood up to get closer to Elliot, placing his hands on his shoulders. "You’ve been badly hurt, take things slow."
Elliot oddly did as told and lied back down. "Are you a doctor?"
Tyrell thought about lying. That seemed the easiest solution. But did he really want that?
He looked away, towards the door. "I’m not. But I should probably get one—"
"No!"
Elliot gripped his wrist before he could move away. Tyrell glared at the man who looked as surprised as he was. Elliot hurriedly released him, as if the contact had burnt his palm.
Confused, Tyrell stared silently at Elliot.
"I’m sorry," the man finally murmured, rubbing my eyes as if he was trying to solve the hardest code.
"What was that?"
He sighed, seemingly lost. "I don’t know."
Tyrell unconsciously brushed his wrist where Elliot had touched him. It was warm.
"What do you know?"
Elliot looked around. "We’re not in a hospital".
"Not exactly, no."
"Ok."
Elliot stayed silent and just kept looking around, not that there were a lot of things to look at. The room didn’t even have windows. It was cold and grey and sickening.
"You don't have questions?" Tyrell asked, wary.
"I’m not sure I want to know." Elliot turned to look directly in Tyrell’s eyes, gaze piercing through his skull. "I don’t know if I can trust you."
It hurt more than what Tyrell had expected. "I’m not your enemy." His voice was so low that he couldn’t even hear himself.
"What are you, then?"
Tyrell looked at all the possible answers. None of them seemed right at the moment.
"The doctors need to know you’re awake."
Tyrell left the room when the Dark Army arrived. Time went by slowly as he was nervously fidgeting against the wall, wishing the solution would come from the sky.
Elliot had forgotten about him.
It’s not the first time.
He tightened his jaw. The fidgeting was getting faster. Nails were starting to dangerously graze his skin.
He forgot about you so many times already.
"Shut up," he heard himself say. He was on his knees, clenching his head. When had he fallen onto the ground?
And now he forgot you entirely.
"Shut up!"
"Mr. Wellick?"
Tyrell looked up. One of the doctor was staring at him, almost scared by the sight.
"What? What’s wrong?" He stood up, still trembling. "Is he ok?"
The woman took a step back. "Yeah he— he asked to see you."
Tyrell’s heart sank to the bottom of his chest. He rushed to Elliot’s room, now empty of anyone else. Elliot was still lying in bed but looked better, less tubes attached to his arms.
He looked like Elliot.
Tyrell took several hesitant steps to him, analyzing every movement of his face, every reaction.
He stopped near the chair he was dozing off in before. It felt like a lifetime ago.
"They said you wanted to see me."
"Yeah."
Silence.
"Why?"
Elliot seemed to search for his words. "From… all the faces I’ve seen… yours seemed the most familiar."
"Oh." Was it relief he felt? Happiness?
"Sit? Please?"
If he hadn’t asked, Tyrell's legs would have probably given up.
Elliot straightened up a bit in his bed, pain showing on his face when he did. "Retrograde amnesia."
Tyrell gripped the armrest.
"The doctors," Elliot continued, now in a more comfortable position, "or whatever they are. They explained me I’ve been shot and ended up a coma for a couple of days. They asked me questions and told me I had amnesia. Considering how went our first conversation, I could have diagnosed this myself."
"Did they…" Tyrell's hands started to hurt. "Did they say anything else?"
"That it can come back. It might not."
"You have history of memory loss."
Why was he saying that now? Tyrell disgusted himself, bitter at Elliot for not remembering him, not remember them, bitter at himself for blaming Elliot when he was the one who shot him.
"Have I? Does my memory come back?"
The hope in his voice was breaking Tyrell's heart. "Sometimes."
"Ok. That’s good."
A pregnant silence weighed heavily on them.
"What do you remember?" Tyrell finally asked, the question burning his lips.
Elliot frowned, focused. "Watching a stupid movie with Darlene." He turned back to Tyrell. "You know Darlene?"
"I’ve heard about her. Never officially met her, though."
"You still haven’t told me who you are."
I just wish you'd know the answer.
"Who do you think I am?"
"Safe." Elliot didn’t even hesitated and looked startled by his own answer. "You…," he tried again, "you feel like something safe."
Tyrell wished he could reach up to take his hand.
"But in the meantime…," Elliot continued, "something inside of me is telling me to stay away."
Tyrell froze.
"I guess that’s just a weird feeling—"
"Maybe you should."
Elliot's eyes widened at his cold tone. "You told me you were no enemy."
"Maybe because I’m worst." Tyrell stood up, now trembling. He could sense the pain in his heart, spreading through his entire body, aching deeply to his soul. Tears were starting to form in his eyes, and he turned away, not wanting to face Elliot.
"I don’t believe that."
Elliot's voice was too soft, too gentle for Tyrell to bear. He didn't deserve this voice.
"I’m the one who fucking shot you, Elliot!" he hissed, clenching his fists.
"I know," Elliot said calmly.
Tyrell froze again. "What?"
"They told me, earlier."
"Why—" The words were stuck in his throat. He turned back to Elliot. "Why asking for me, then?"
"I didn’t want at first. But I changed my mind."
"What made you?"
Elliot exhaled deeply, intensely making eye contact with Tyrell. "The way you look at me."
Tyrell wasn't aware of his surroundings anymore. Only of Elliot.
"How do I look at you?"
His voice was shaking.
Elliot was thoughtful for a few seconds, trying to gather his words. "Like you want to protect me."
"I shot you, Elliot."
"Like you want to kiss me."
Tyrell almost choked. "What?"
"You look like you want to kiss me. All the time."
"That's not—"
"Don't you?"
Tyrell wanted to disappear. That wasn't what was planned, none of this was supposed to happen—
"Don't you want to kiss me?" Elliot asked again, his gaze never leaving him.
He was waiting for an answer.
Tyrell swallowed hard, his throat dry.
Elliot still looked at him, expectantly.
"Yes," he finally managed, but it sounded more like a sob between his lips.
Elliot's face seemed to relax. "Then what are you waiting for?"