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As a trauma surgeon, Ivan was used to intense days with gruesome injuries. He had the emotional aptitude for a job like that. He didn’t let himself get caught up in bouts of panic. And everyone told him he had very steady hands. Yet, he was always relieved on the quieter days. Quiet days meant that fewer people were getting hurt, quiet days meant a little bit of mental breathing space. It was a quiet day like that when he went to the breakroom and found a cup of yoghurt. He pulled open the tab and sat down. It was strawberry. A relatively healthy treat, even though it certainly had some added sugars.
He checked his phone for messages from Gilbert. There were none, which was surprising, considering his husband had been working from home over the last year and made it a point to text Ivan throughout the day. He sighed, a little disappointed at the silence, and dropped a quick, How is your day going? into the chat.
Nothing. Perhaps Gilbert was asleep? But if he was napping in the middle of the day, it could only mean that he had come down with a bug again. He was so prone to getting all kinds of illnesses. It always kept Ivan on his toes. He made a mental note to leave early today. If Gilbert was sick, then it was Ivan’s job (as much as it was his pleasure, really) to nurse him back to health.
He put his phone away and ate in silence for a little while. Antonio entered around then. “Oh, there you are!” he said to Ivan. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Did you need me? Is everything all right?”
Antonio stared at him for a prolonged moment. Ivan’s stomach dropped. He stood suddenly, the half-empty yoghurt cup wobbling from the weight of the spoon and tipping sideways. “Gilbert’s here? Is he hurt? What happened?”
“He—”
Before Antonio could respond, Ivan grabbed his coat off the chair and rushed to the ER. He knew it. He’d been right. Gilbert was sick. Maybe he’d collapsed somewhere. Maybe he’d had to be brought in by an ambulance, oh god—no, no, Ivan couldn’t let himself think that! Everything was okay, it had to be. He had to be Dr. Braginsky right now, he couldn’t afford to lose his cool.
Ivan rushed down the well-worn corridors to the Emergency Room. He spotted Gilbert immediately, the shock of silver hair, his deathly pale skin, the way he cradled his arm even as he laughed loudly at something Francis—the nurse—was saying.
“Ah, Dr Bragin—” Francis began, but Gilbert cut him off.
“Vanya! You look so hot and bothered. What’s up?”
“What’s up? What’s up? What happened to you?” Ivan gingerly approached the bed, worry spiking when Gilbert winced as he tried to sit. Francis put a hand on his good shoulder to keep him down.
“Funny story,” Gilbert said. “I was taking the dogs for a walk in the park and they chased a bunny down a hill, dragging me along.”
Ivan raised his eyebrows. Gilbert had trained those dogs to perfection. Their German Shepherds were more obedient than most children and some adults. Ivan had never seen them pull on a leash, lot less yank someone down a hill. “I don’t believe you,” he said flatly, crossing his arms. “Try again.”
“Aw, shucks.” Gilbert sighed dramatically. “Fine. The truth is, some kid challenged me to a skateboarding competition and I lost.”
“Skateboarding?!” Ivan cried. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck! Did you hit your head?”
“Nope! Look, I barely hit my arm! It’s probably just a sprain.”
“It’s definitely not,” Ivan heard Francis mutter.
“You just love bringing my blood pressure up, don’t you?” Ivan snapped.
“It’s not the only thing of yours I love getting up, babygirl.”
Francis choked down a laugh as Ivan’s cheeks warmed. But this wasn’t the time nor the place; besides, Ivan was utterly furious with Gilbert. Skateboarding! Did Gilbert have a death wish? As it was, he always ended up admitted to hospital at least once a year—either because of some illness that inevitably became too serious to control at home, or because of an accident. Last year someone crashed into him with their bicycle, fracturing two ribs nearly crushing his spleen, and giving him a concussion. Ivan sometimes wished he could cover Gilbert in a protective force field and shield him from the world. Alas, Gilbert was too lively and adventurous a person to be treated like a delicate doll.
It was just Ivan’s luck. And really, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He needed someone like Gilbert, someone charming and brave and eager to experience all of life’s madness. Without him, Ivan could get too caught up in his own head.
Well, the sweet nothings could wait. Ivan had a job to do. Tenderly, he took Gilbert’s hand and squeezed it. Then he said, “I’m going to ask you to move your arm…ah,” he noted, because as soon as Gilbert tried to lift his shoulder, he let out a short howl and curled in on himself.
“Okay, okay, shhh,” Ivan stroked his back. “Does anything else hurt?”
“No, just my shoulder…” Gilbert muttered through gritted teeth.
“All right.” Ivan quickly checked Gilbert’s limbs for any abrasions or open wounds. He had a pretty nasty scrape on the side of his calf, the top layer of skin sanded off. It was, apparently, what Francis had been about to tend to.
“After you take care of that, I want you to take him to get some x-rays done,” Ivan told Francis.
“Sure, of course.”
Ivan put a hand on Gilbert’s back and eased him into a flat position on the bed. His previous mirth had vanished into a miserable, resigned silence. Ivan stroked his forehead. “You always know how to get my attention,” he joked.
“Worrying about your husband is a form of cardio, you know,” Gilbert grinned. “I’m just looking out for your heart health.”
Ivan chuckled, despite himself. “Sure. Of course you are.”
It was dislocated. Thank god. Ivan was worried it was going to be something a lot worse. A dislocated shoulder was much easier to fix.
“So,” Gilbert said, “what’s the prognosis?”
“Diagnosis,” Ivan corrected, staring at the x-ray with his arms crossed. He glanced briefly to Gilbert. “It’s a proximal humerus fracture. You’ll need surgery.”
“What?!”
“They’ll be putting pins in your shoulder to help stabilise it. Recovery will take eighteen months, and you’ll have to go to physical therapy for a while. I don’t know if it will ever heal entirely. You may not be able to raise your arm above your head.”
If possible, Gilbert went even whiter. Good. Serves him right. “Are…are you serious?” he whispered.
Ivan narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“Wait—no?”
“No, I was lying. It’s just dislocated. I can set it for you right now.”
“Why on earth would you say something like that, then? You are one sick bastard, Vanya.”
Ivan loomed over him. “I need you to understand that you can’t be mucking about with your health. If this was a regular accident I wouldn’t be so angry, but you had no need to challenge a teenager to a skateboarding competition. I can’t even believe you. It could have been so much worse. You could have cracked your skull. Or your spine. You aren’t a twenty-year-old anymore, Gilbert, and when we agreed on ‘till death do us part’, I was picturing a lifetime, and not five-point-seven years. Do you know how ill I feel when you’re in pain? This isn’t a joke.”
Gilbert had the grace to look chastened. “Sorry, babe…it was just a bit of fun…but you’re right, I wasn’t thinking of the consequences.”
“You never do,” Ivan muttered. But then he just sighed, and placed a kiss on Gilbert’s temple. “I love you. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
“I know. I love you too.”
A few minutes later, Francis re-entered the ER to give Gilbert some mild sedatives and Ivan popped the shoulder back into place. Gilbert still whined about how it hurt, but well, nobody could really do much about that. Afterwards, Ivan made Gilbert get another x-ray, just to ensure everything looked good. Then it was just a matter of putting the shoulder in a sling.
“Take me hooooome,” Gilbert complained, mildly drowsy because of the pain medication, and as a result, even more needy than usual. Ivan let him pull him into an embrace with his good arm, as Gilbert placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“Soon,” Ivan promised. His shift ended in another hour, anyway. “Meanwhile, you just stay right here and look pretty.”
“I always look pretty,” Gilbert gloated.
“Yes, yes.” Ivan eased him down on the bed and covered his eyes with his hand. “Take a nap. I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave.”
He felt Gilbert exhale softly as he settled in for a rest. Ivan took his good hand and kissed it. “I love you, you reckless oaf,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”