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Dark grabs Wilford’s arm. His patience is running out.
-Listen to me.
-Well, why should I? You never listen to me.
Wilford yanks his arm away from Dark’s grasp. He growls, frustrated, as he follows close behind him. Suddenly, he vanishes, reappearing right in front of Wilford, blocking the door to the living room where Edward, Bing, and the Googles sit talking on the couch. As soon as they hear them arrive, everyone turns their attention toward the fight.
-What is this really about? –Dark says, his voice a hissed whisper, aware of the audience behind him.
-I won’t say it again, Damien. Not when I know you won’t believe me.
Wilford attempts to push Dark away but fails. Dark grips the door frame, still blocking his path. Breathing heavily, Wilford tries again, in vain. He slaps Dark’s face, hard enough to sting but with little force. Dark hardly flinches but sighs instead, unamused.
-This is ridiculous. You are behaving like a child.
-Fuck off. Let me through.
-Not until you talk to me.
-I’ll shoot you in the face.
-No, you won’t.
-Is everything okay? –a third voice emerges from behind Dark.
Dark turns his head slightly, still looking at Wilford.
-Yes, doctor. We were just leaving.
- No. I was just on my way out. And he won’t let me through! Move already! –Wilford peeks his head above Dark’s shoulder, his hands flying dramatically everywhere. His breathing quickens. His face is slightly flushed. Edward sighs, gently placing a hand on Dark’s shoulder.
-Come on. Let him go –he says in a gentle but serious tone.
After a few seconds of silence, Dark mutters something only Wilford seems to hear. Then he turns around, reluctantly allowing Wilford into the room, who is mumbling something along the lines of “who does he think he is” and “lucky I’m in a good mood.”
Edward looks over to where Dark has settled in a corner, sulking. Before he can begin to approach him, a metallic sound startles them.
-Damn. Butterfingers –Wilford mutters, bending down to retrieve whatever he’s dropped before missing his target and dropping it again– oof.
-Wilford, are you alright? –Edward asks, walking over and retrieving the knife from the floor. Wilford is supporting his weight on the table.
-Yup, never better. Let me just –he closes his eyes, trying to even his breath. Sweat pearls are adorning his forehead. Dark has approached as well, remaining silent but close to his husband.
-Are you dizzy? –Edward asks.
Wilford only manages a nod and a step forward before he collapses. Already aware of the situation, Edward is beside him to catch him just in time. Dark immediately rushes to his side. Together they carefully lay Wilford on the floor. Dark keeps Wilford’s head on his legs while Edward checks his pulse and breathing. The rest of the egos approach the scene.
-Bing, go get water and some towels from the bathroom –the mentioned nods and speeds off– the rest of you, out. Now.
The egos slowly start to make their way out of the living room.
-What’s happened? –Dark says. Edward remains silent for a few seconds, listening to Wilford’s heartbeat through his stethoscope.
-I’m not sure yet. I have a theory. Give me a hand.
Slowly, they lay Wilford on his side with his knees folded up. Bing arrives with a few mismatched bath towels and a bucket of water filled to the brim. He sets everything down beside the doctor, catching his breath.
-Here you go, dude. Anything else?
-No Bing, you’ve done well. You can go. And close the door behind you.
Bing nods energetically, sparing one last glance at Wilford’s unconscious form before rushing back to where he came from, closing the door as instructed. Edward grabs one of the towels and wets it slightly. Dark follows his movements carefully as he begins to wipe Wilford’s forehead, cheeks, and neck with it.
-What can I do –he asks.
-Remove his bowtie and suspenders. Open his shirt if you can. He is overheated.
Dark immediately starts untying Wilford’s bowtie, tossing it aside and moving to undo the buttons of his shirt. His movements appear calm and focused, but Edward doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his fingers as he unclips his husband’s suspenders.
-He’s going to be fine –Edward says reassuringly. Dark briefly looks up at him before returning to his task.
-I know he is.
-He’ll wake up in a minute or two. It’s probably something to do with low blood sugar. Maybe his iron. I’ll need to run some tests to be sure.
Dark nods absentmindedly, grabbing one of the towels and wiping Wilford’s bare abdomen. He stops at his stomach. Edward frowns, observing his movements.
-Is that what that little number earlier was about?
Dark looks at him, an annoyed look plastered on his face.
-So, he’s told you.
-I’m his doctor. Of course, he’s told me –Edward says. Dark sighs, running a hand through his hair.
-He won’t stop. Ever since he told me yesterday, it’s always “baby this” and “baby that” … I really don’t know how to get it out of his head.
Edward hangs the towel on the bucket, checking Wilford’s pulse. He frowns.
-Have you perhaps considered the possibility that he’s telling the truth?
-I don’t want to feed his delusions, Edward, and neither should you. Not this time. Not with this. Besides, he doesn’t even have…
Dark goes quiet, looking away. Edward raises his eyebrows, holding back a smile.
-Really now.
-Don’t get cute with me, Iplier.
-As the office’s physician, everything you say to me will remain under the “confidential” file.
Dark groans.
-I really don’t think this is the time.
-Oh, should we wait until he wakes, then?
-What? No, just –he gestures to Wilford– do your thing and stop talking.
Edward nods, the ghost of a grin lingering on his lips as he puts his hand on Wilford’s neck.
-His pulse is stable. He should be waking up by now. Wilford, can you hear me? –he lightly taps Wilford’s cheek, the relief on his face clear when this earns him a grunt of annoyance from his patient– come on bud, time to wake up.
Wilford slowly stirs, laying now on his back. He opens his eyes, frowning at the two pairs of eyes looking at him.
-What.
-Nothing. How are you feeling? –Edward says, smiling.
-Not great.
-I bet. Think you can sit?
Wilford pauses for a moment, then nods. Dark positions himself beside him, supporting his back with one hand and his arm with the other. When he’s seated, he huffs, grimacing.
-God, my head is killing me.
-Anything else hurts?
-Not really, no. Just very woozy. Like I’m going to hurl. Actually –he pauses for a moment, raising his hand– you might want to stand back.
That’s the only warning Dark and Edward get before Wilford empties his stomach on the living room floor. Dark stands behind him, rubbing his back as he heaves. He looks at Edward, concern written all over his usually stoic face. When he’s done, Wilford sits back down against Dark, breathing heavily and hanging onto him like a lifeline.
-Fuck me, sorry.
-It’s alright. Feel better? –says Dark, caressing his hair back and out of his face. Wilford nods, closing his eyes and leaning on his shoulder. Dark glances over to where Edward has started to mop Wilford’s mess– I think it would be best if you kept him in your clinic tonight. Run those tests you were talking about.
Edward looks at him, nodding.
-Sure. I’ll finish here and help you take him there.
-I can handle it.
Dark slips one arm under Wilford’s legs and the other under his armpits, lifting him up bridal style with no strain whatsoever. Wilford lets his head fall on Dark’s shoulder.
-Don’t forget my stuff –Wilford mumbles, vaguely pointing at his bowtie and suspenders lying on the floor.
Edward smiles reassuringly, picking up the bucket and towels and watching the pair disappear in a cloud of darkness. Wilford blinks and suddenly they are at the doctor’s clinic. It’s not really a clinic, per se, just a regular guest room that has been remodeled into a hospital room. Dark walks over to the bed and gently lays Wilford down. He then takes his shoes and pants off and covers him with a blanket.
-Are you thirsty?
-No.
Dark pours a glass of water and sets it down on the table beside the bed. He then takes his own jacket off and sits on the chair closest to the bed, rubbing his face with both hands. Wilford stares at him. Dark notices.
-What.
-Nothing –Wilford says– you look good.
-Oh? Does stress make my skin glow? –Wilford chuckles. Dark smiles at that.
-Perhaps.
-You are going to be the death of me –Wilford stays silent, still looking at him. Dark crosses his arms, sighing, his eyes hardened with severity– you better not be doing this to yourself just to spite me, Wil.
-Doing this to…? Really now?
-Can you really blame me?
-Yes? –Wilford states, offended– you think I’m enjoying this? I feel like shit.
Dark considers him for a moment, eyes narrowed. There is a knock on the door.
-Come in, doctor.
The door swings open. Edward enters the room. He sets Wilford’s bowtie and suspenders on a nearby chair.
-How are you feeling? –he says, approaching the bed with the paper holder he’s just retrieved.
-Like someone has taken my insides and made mayonnaise out of them.
Edward raises an eyebrow, clicking his pen and humming while writing something down.
-Alright. So, is this the first time you’ve passed out? Have you experienced this kind of dizziness before?
-Not that I remember, no. Well –he looks away and then at Dark– actually... Does the incident with the corndog count?
-No, it does not, Wil. It was two years ago.
-Oh. Then, no.
Edward scribbles on the paper. Then, he looks at the pair, sighing.
-Right. Let us address the elephant in the room. When was the last time you two had sex?
Dark coughs. Wilford frowns, looking at the ceiling with a focused gaze.
-Two… No, three? Three days ago? –he looks at Dark for confirmation, who is occupied picking some nonexistent speck of dust out of his pants– yeah, about three days ago. It was good, too.
-Wil.
-What? It was!
Dr. Iplier smiles, looking up at them and interrupting the incoming argument.
-Let's run those tests now, shall we?