Work Text:
Owen had never been good at taking care of himself. Helping others, however, was a no brainer. He always dove right into it, putting everything on hold until his loved ones had received the proper love and care to get past whatever hardship troubled them. Taking care of Joan was his absolute favorite, even though she was one of the worst patients ever, clinging to her insane conception of independence and refusing to acknowledge her physical needs until the very last moment her body gave up. For a therapist, she had yet to get a handle on the whole “self-care” thing. Admittedly, he wasn’t much better, but at least he wasn’t a certified mental health specialist.
***
It started with a headache, nothing much, nothing truly bothering or worrisome. A simple headache one could get from being dehydrated or spending too much time on screens. So he chose to drink more tea and ignore it. Monday went by with Tuesday in its wake, and he got used to it. Lowering the brightness of his computer helped a bit, so that was nice. He was swamped with meetings, usually back to back, which forced him to write and review reports from home. Thankfully, Joan wasn’t one to be annoyed with working from home as she was usually the one to bring back files and recordings from her week. Their apartment had an office that they shared though none of them was opposed to work in the living room or even in bed. On Monday, he had worked beside Joan on the couch while she read several issues of psychological and scientific magazines she was subscribed to. Tuesday night found them both at their diner table, a glass of wine, their laptop and phone buzzing, and reports piling between them as they both worked madly on an alarming breach of security that had happened in the afternoon. It had been quickly solved, without any casualties, but as directors of the facility, it was on them to make sure everything had been dealt with, reviewing and authorizing everything. No pressure. On Wednesday morning, he woke up late. Well, he actually slept straight through his alarm and only woke up when Joan gently jostled him. His mind was foggy and it took him a second to get Joan’s face in focus.
“Morning” he mumbled, forcing his body to sit in spite of its sudden heaviness. He looked at her and blinked a couple of times, confused. “Why are you wearing your coat inside? What time is it?”
Joan brought a soft hand to his forehead and brushed away a lock of hair.
“You needed your rest so I let you sleep but I thought you’d worry if I was gone when you woke up.” She had a soft voice on, like she was talking to a new patient, trying to get them at ease.
“You should have woke me up, I’m gonna be late now.” He grunted as he threw the covers away from his body and put his feet to the floor. A flash of dizziness forced his eyes closed for a second, but he pushed past it and stood anyway.
“Don’t you want to take the morning off?” Joan proposed, watching him move around the room as he gathered a clean outfit.
“I’m the director, Joan, I can’t take a day off.” He walked off into the bathroom, not bothering himself with closing the door. Joan followed him but stayed on the doorway, leaning on the wall. His headache had him on edge, he didn’t have time to have that discussion with Joan. He forced his brain to work around the pain, trying to remember what were the many follow-ups that needed to be done after the crisis of the day before.
“You’re co-director, Owen.” Joan’s be-sensible voice interrupted his thoughts and made him sighed.
“So that’s it? You can do everything on your own? I’m not needed?” His headache was making an angry come back and the dizziness was more persistent than he had anticipated. He didn’t have time for that. Rushing through his morning routine, he missed the brief glimpse of hurt in Joan’s eyes.
“Don't make me say things I wasn't even implying.”
“You know what I meant” he grumbled around his toothbrush, trying to tame his hair at the same time.
“Yes, I guess I do. See you there.” Joan made her exit before he could spit and he was left alone to rush around.
Throughout the day, they had several meetings together, but Joan seemed to always be needed somewhere else before he could make a move to talk with her. Because they needed to talk, he knew that. But the pain in his head was so loud that he could barely form coherent thoughts, his stomach was weird and there was so much to be done. Between meetings in official settings, he made a point of seeing a maximum of staff members to get their input on what happened, making him walk around quite a lot. If his legs were a bit wobbly, well, no one seemed to notice. He was utterly exhausted. But that didn’t matter, not really. He was the director after all, people were counting on him. Weren’t they? He couldn’t leave Joan to do everything, it wouldn't be right.
When five came around, he collapsed in his chair and begged whatever gods might be listening to stop making the world dance in front of him. He closed his eyes and waited for the wave of nausea to pass. After getting that under control, he reached for his laptop and tried to focus on budgets and funding. Just a couple hours more, then he’d be done.
Time passed in a blur until a cold hand found his forehead and gentle fingers ran in his hair. Blinking himself awake, he straightened himself from his desk and groaned. The light was too bright.
“God, Owen, are you alright?” He frowned, the voice too loud. It took his brain a rather painful minute to put a face on it.
“Joan?” Why was everything so hard? He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Could one's head be spinning even when one was sitting? Gosh, his head hurt. And his stomach, had he mentioned that already? Wait… someone was talking to him. Joan.
"What?" He grunted, peeking at her face with one eye. The worry was evident in her eyes, and… wait, what happened? He forced himself to move, lifting his hand to her face. "Are you alright?"
"Am I alright?" Joan scoffed and looked down, shifting on her knees. She was kneeling on the ground, he just realized. Why was she kneeling? Had she been kneeling the whole time? "I'm not, Owen. I waited for you at the apartment, I called you twice, I even texted you." She wasn't rambling, but her speech had a peculiar inflection that made his stomach clench…well, sort of.
"You were worried," he finally deduced, feeling rather proud of himself for making the connections.
"Of course!"
Owen was about to add something but the words left his mind when another wave of nausea hit him. He closed his mouth and bent down, breathing deeply. He could hear Joan's voice beside him though he couldn't make out her words. He could feel her hand on his back, and that single point of contact between them left him feeling more grounded than he had been the whole week. At last, the wave passed, and he looked up at her, offering her a small smile to ease her worry. Her lips moved but his brain refused to turn the sound on.
“Joan?” he interrupted her, she closed her mouth on whatever she was saying and nodded once. Her hand was still resting on his back, a spot of warmth trying to propagate to his entire being.
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m not feeling well,” he admitted and Joan chuckled briefly, though it held the barest amusement ever.
“I noticed, dear. Come on, let’s get you home.”
Words seemed too ambitious for now, so he settled for a tiny nod instead. He leaned on her, a bit awkwardly because of their height difference, but Joan was a rather strong woman. The walk to her car and the drive back were a blur. He remembered waving at the night guard, Joan buckling his seatbelt, but not much else. The night had that singular heaviness promising a storm, the wind having already claimed his sovereignty of the streets. They took the lift, and even with his closed eyes he could feel Joan hovering by his side, her presence keeping him here somehow, wherever there was. He blinked twice and found himself sitting on their bed. Joan was untying his shoes while talking on the phone.
"I don't think so, his breath doesn't smell of anything." She removed his socks while shaking her head. "I'm not sure he'd be able to keep it down."
Standing back up, she helped him out of his jacket and ran a hand on his neck before going up to his forehead and losing itself in his hair. The gesture was soft, like a memory, or a dream. Was he dreaming?
“He seems pretty out of it, I’m worried…”
He looked at Joan's face intensively, taking notes of her slightly disheveled hairdo, the pink shade on her cheeks, the slight frown of her brow.
"You're pretty" he mumbled, the clumsy words surprising them both. She looked at him closely, and the worry seemed to lift from her face for the briefest second to let room for a gentle smile.
"I have to go, Sam," she said quickly before hanging up. Joan sat on the bed by his side and handed him a glass of water with a couple of pills. He made a face.
“Don’t be a child, Owen, take the medicine.” She raised a single eyebrow and waited for him. Were he not so tired, he would have tried to get out of it. But he was in no state to go against Joan and her stubbornness. He took the pills, gulped down the water and prayed his stomach wouldn’t make a show. Once he was sure the road was clear, he gave back the half empty glass to Joan and tried to get himself more comfortable on the bed.
“Don’t you want to put your pajamas on?” Joan asked but he shook his head.
“‘m sleepy” he mumbled simply, feeling the heaviness of the day close his eyes. He felt the brush of her lips against his forehead before her weight on the mattress left. A weak protest, more of whimper, got past his lips but he didn't have to explain, Joan knew.
“I’ll be back in a second, dear, I’m just changing.”
“‘right. I’ll wait” he agreed, but the pit of sleep was already pulling him into its thick shadows.
***
Owen slept through the night, lost in the deepest slumber he ever experienced, only woken up by a sudden and sharp hunger. He forced his eyes open and tried to find a way around the confusion of his mind. The curtains were closed but some light still filtered through it, lighting the bedroom enough for him to see he was alone. What time was it anyway? He had no clue, it could be 7pm or 1am it would be no difference for him. He sat against the headboard and frowned at himself. Why was he still in his work clothes? He reached for his phone on the nightstand but only found his glasses. Better than nothing, he thought. Putting them on, he stood and made his way into the bathroom. He went through an abbreviated version of his morning routine, which included getting out of his clothes into some casual pants and sweater. Slowly, he made his way to the living room, squinting under the assault of the daylight. Definitely not morning then. He found Joan on the couch, sitting legs crossed with her laptop resting on her knees, a cup of coffee on a coaster nearby.
“Hey” he greeted her, his voice low and scratchy from disuse.
She smiled at him as she closed her laptop and patted the spot by her side. She didn’t seem surprised at all to see him, probably heard him in the bathroom.
“Hey you” she said back, her eyes rooming over his face, trying to evaluate his physical state. “No more dizziness?”
Owen shook his head as he let himself fall on her right. “Nope.”
“What about your head? Still aching?”
He nodded. It was faint, nothing as loud or throbbing as yesterday, but still bothering him.
“I’ll get you something to eat so you can take more pills.” Joan said, already standing, before he could stop her. She went to their kitchen and grabbed the bowl of fruits and yogurt she had prepared for him, with a glass of water and a pill for his head.
“Here,” she said simply as she offered it all on a platter. She wedged a cushion in his back and waited for his first bite before getting back to her computer, her fingers running quickly on the keyboard. Even though she was working, he could still feel her regular glances at him, checking on him. It should be annoying. It wasn’t. It felt nice. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to see what she was working on but quickly gave up, the light from the laptop too fierce for him. Once he finished his small meal, he settled back against the couch, feeling the tiredness come back softly. He closed his way briefly and felt the weight of a blanket covering him.
“How are you feeling?” Joan asked, her hand checking for a fever in a touch that quickly morphed into a caress of his face.
“Fine, I think the worst has passed.” He was still unclear of what made him sick, but he felt confident it had peaked yesterday and could now only settle down.
"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling good?" She sounded a bit hesitant. He opened his eyes, trying to catch hers, but she was fixing her computer, avoiding him.
"We had work," he said simply, stretching his legs on the space left. He knew it wouldn’t be enough, but he was tired, not in the mood to get into an argument or a deep conversation with her.
"It could have waited," Joan replied, her tone lacking its usual spark. Maybe she was tired too. “I could have dealt with it while you took a day off.”
He sighed and closed his eyes, wondering if he could get out of this discussion by playing the sick card.
Joan didn’t add anything but she didn’t appear to get back to work either. The silence hung between them, not really awkward, but somehow heavy.
“I’ll leave you to rest” she said at least, standing to gather his dishes before meaning, but Owen gripped her hand and stopped her, nudging her until she sat back.
“Stay with me, for a moment?” He didn’t whine, but if he did… It worked. Joan sat, inviting him to stretch on her lap. She took his glasses off and put them down on their coffee table.
“Sure, dear”. Her fingers ran through his hair, traced the shape of his ear and followed the line of his jaw. Her heartbeat was slow and peaceful, it could almost lull him back to sleep. Almost. But it wasn’t how they do things in their relationship. Communication was key, obviously, but it was also about letting the other in, trusting them not to judge and to be gentle and understanding with whatever thoughts they have. Owen sighed again.
“I’m sorry” he started but stopped when Joan playfully picked his ear.
“Don’t be, it’s okay. I just want to understand.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything, trying to gather his words in spite of the fog in his brain. It was getting heavy again, a bit distracting.
“I don’t want to let you down.” He admitted at last.
Joan looked at him with a confused frown. “Me?”
“Yes, you, the others. I don’t want to let you all down.” Avoiding her gaze, he looked down at her socks. They had cartoon Avengers on them, a present from Caleb for one of their movie nights at Sam.
“And how would you do that?” Joan wondered, prompting him to go on.
“I don’t know…” He shrugged. “We have all those plans for the AM, all those changes to make. It’s important.” The superheroes on her feet seemed to be mocking him. With their silly costumes and super abilities, they’d have easily managed it all.
“It is, but it’s not up to you to make it all work by yourself.”
“Yes, but... isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was at the AM the longest, I allowed it to be the messed up institution it was for so long, I let Mark…” he stopped and bit his lips. It was still a sore point in their relationship. He knew and understood that it would take her time to untangle the feelings she had toward him about the whole thing, and it left them in an awkward situation of turning around the elephant. “I messed up. I can't mess up again. You shouldn’t have to deal with my mistake again.” She shouldn’t have to suffer because of him again. But he kept that last part for him. “I’m supposed to do better,” he concluded instead, nodding to himself. Sure, lying sick on his partner’s lap didn’t really help his case, but his point still stood. A second passed, and other, and still Joan didn’t say anything, not even a “it’s not that easy, dear” or a good old “give it time”.
“I-I didn’t know you still felt that way” Joan said at last, her voice low and almost uncertain, as if she wasn’t sure they were the right words. “I mean, we talked about it, about what happened, the mistakes we both made. I thought we agreed that the past was to be put behind us, so that we could go on, go forward together.”
Maybe he should sit, it seemed like the kind of conversation that should be held face to face. But Joan’s hand on his shoulder was grounding, for both of them, and maybe it’d be easier that way.
“We have,” he agreed. They had. It was the result of many conversations, arguments, late night confessions and tearful embraces. “And, I still want that,” he felt the need to clarify, just in case.
“But you still think you have to make it up to us… to me.” It wasn’t an accusation, more of a resignation. Owen didn’t know how to answer that without causing her more pain. The whole thing was not to be cause of pain anymore, and there they were again. He sighed and snuggled deeper against her, grateful for their closeness. The pill had settled his headache into a dull pain in the back, but he was getting more sleepy with each second.
“I don’t have to, I guess,” he tried. “I just… I need to?” He sighed, annoyed at himself. He felt Joan take a deep breath and he matched her breathing.
“You know that I love you, right?” Joan asked, startling him a bit. God, he was tired.
“Of course.” It felt good to be able to hold this truth with such certainty again.
“And that I need you?” This time, he simply nodded, a bit more hesitant. “I need you as a co-director, but also as the man I’m in love with, the man I want to share my life with.” Her hand found his face again, tracing invisible patterns on his cheek as she waited for his answer.
“Yeah” he admitted at last. Because deep down, behind the guilt, he knew she was right.
“The guilt you’re feeling, I know I can’t make it go away,” she whispered, and the sadness of this fact was evident in her voice. “But I need you not to let it keep you from taking care of you, and trusting me-”
“I trust you,” he protested weakly but she went on.
“Trust me to take care of you too. I want to be better for you too.”
“You’re already perfect” he mumbled as his eyes closed, holding the blanket closer to him. Wait, where did it come from?
“I’m not” Joan whispered, brushing his hair away from his face. “But that’s okay, I’m also trying to do better.” She dropped a single kiss to his forehead and it felt like the last nudge he needed.
“Just trust me, my dear. We’ll be fine.”
***
Owen Thompson had never been great at taking care of himself. It was so easy to lose himself in the care of others and the imperatives he put on himself. But right now, at this precise moment, it was alright. He had backups.