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Hospitals were always something Chris hated.
His first memory of a hospital was when Claire had been born. His father had brought him to hospital, adamant to make him part of their growing family. Chris should witness and welcome the wonder of Claire’s birth, and while Chris had just been happy to come along in the beginning, his father soon became too stressed to make not of him anymore. Doctors said something about complications, causing his father to pale and run around in circles. He had almost forgotten about Chris entirely, speaking again and again with doctors and nurses, phoning family members and work, while Chris had sat on the bench in the waiting room, staring holes into the door where the crying and screams of his mother came from. Those still had echoed months after Claire was born inside his head.
His second memory of a hospital was from when he was still a kid. Claire, trying to impress her big brother recklessly, had had an accident on the way to school. While his mother had cried the whole time they were in the long, empty corridor, listening to every approaching step, Chris remembered the sterile smell of disinfection the most. It made his nose flinch, and even years and decades after the incident, the smell of disinfection still caused Chris’ toes to curl. Claire had turned out being fine – thanks to her endless stubborn head – and Chris personally had made sure she’d wear a helmet from that day forever.
But hospitals, hospitals never were something good.
To Chris’ child hood memories, endless more came throughout his life and career. Endless visiting of his injured soldiers, shaking hands with crying relatives, mumbling soothing words, comforting and promising hope when there was none.
And now Chris was one of those relatives himself.
Nurses and doctors had approached him, asking him to go home, to rest, to shower, but he didn’t want to hear lies or instructions, or any words of comfort. He wanted Piers.
He wanted Piers being back to the living, back to being happy and bratty, back to telling him what to do.
Piers always had been the better soldier of them. The best friend one could imagine.
The most amazing boyfriend.
‘Boyfriend’ didn’t even bring close what Chris felt for him, what he felt right now. He wasn’t mourning for his ‘boyfriend’, it was like a physical part of his chest had been ripped out, squeezed together and then was stomped upon.
Without Piers, Chris couldn’t think, live or even breathe. He would never get used to losing men, but this time, with Piers, he wouldn’t recover.
He would not lose Piers. He just couldn’t. It was impossible.
Hours turned to days and days turned into weeks. Someone even called his sister, who dragged him to a hotel and the shower, promising him to wake him as soon as she heard something.
The worst thing was, he didn’t hear anything. They had taken Piers out of the escape pod and just brought him away. Out of his grasp.
“We’ll do what we can, Captain.”
Chris narrowed his eyes down to a thin line, building himself up in front of the doctor who didn’t even blink at him. Chris growled quietly at her, lowering his voice into a thin whisper.
“He won’t be your fucking lab rat. He won’t be anything else to you than your fucking patient, do you understand me?”
After a long moment, the doctor swallowed and nodded. Chris watched her go back into the room they had brought Piers.
He wanted to see him. He needed to see him. Deep inside him, he knew he needed to trust them, these were his people. They had to their work. They couldn’t do magic.
A shudder run down his spine, and defeated, Chris sank down on the bench.
Piers’ body was a mutation. They needed to get the virus out of him or-
Jolting up with a loud yell, Chris’ fist landed on the tiled wall. A sharp pain crawled up his wrist and elbow, helping him to focus. Wincing, he rested his head at the cool wall, as first sobs formed in his lungs.
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t lose him.
After three months since the Haos incident, Chris was allowed to see him. The first time he saw him, Chris froze, shock running through his entire body.
Piers looked thinner, and a lot paler. His arm was gone, and his head was still wrapped up with a lot of bandages. He wasn’t responsive.
After nine more days, Piers finally awoke and Chris spent the entire day just sitting next to him. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t have to.
Chris looked at Piers and Piers looked at him and that was it – two magnets being pulled into each other, finally united again.
After six months, Chris was allowed to take him home.
Regular, monthly blood testing were in order, to make sure the virus didn’t return. Piers had to swallow a lot of medicaments, but he was fine. He was alive. He was already getting used to live with one arm, and while he had lost his right eye as well, otherwise he was getting slowly, but steadily back on his feet.
Muscles grew back. His smile came back.
He wouldn’t ever be able to go back to active duty, but Chris didn’t want him anyway. Never again he wanted him to risk his life again, for him of all people. And Chris had enough as well.
Laying in bed here with the love of his life, Chris breathed out heavily, burying his face in Piers’ hair. His fingers, intertwined with those of his love, gripped tighter. Pulling his boyfriend closer to his chest, he smiled, focusing on the steady heartbeat of his own, which beat in the rhythm of his boyfriends.
United – the two of them. Finally.
“You’re quiet today.”
Chris crooked a smile. Piers eyed him with his one eye carefully. Chris gently pulled his eye-patch away, kissing the scars tenderly. Piers shuddered under the touch, but at least the frown on his forehead disappeared with the distraction.
More kisses followed, and Chris gently pushed him on his back, pinning him between his arms.
Piers was beautiful.
He always had been, and he’d always be. Chris wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve him, but he sure as hell wouldn’t let go of him ever again.
And that’s why he’d do this.
“Did something happen?”
Again, worry on Piers’ face and in his voice. Chris brushed over his cheek, pecking a soft kiss on his lips. “No.”
For a while, they simply looked at each other. Sitting up, Chris let out a heavy huff, as he reached to the night stand and opened the drawer.
A tiny, little, black box. Chris stared at it, then stared back at Piers and took it. As soon as his love caught sight of the box, Piers froze.
Chris swallowed. “Claire told me I’m stupid for waiting with this for so long.”
Piers blinked, then he snorted, then his eyes filled with water and he started crying. Chris hesitated, his heart clenching painfully at the sight of tears on his lover’s face, but with a forceful push, Piers grabbed the ring and jumped him.
Chris’ arms wrapped around his lover by reflex, his own eyes filling with tears as well. Piers was here, Piers was alive, and soon enough, Piers was his.
“Yes. Yes, fucking yes.”
Chris’ smile became wider. He went out of their embrace, cupping Piers’ face and pressed a gentle kiss on his lover’s lips. “I didn’t even ask you yet.”
Piers snorted, his grip around the box clenching. He hadn’t even opened it yet.
“You don’t need to. I know you’re better with kissing than with words.”
Proving his lover true, Chris leaned forward, burying him with kisses, love and affection he deserved, spending the rest of the day in bed.
“So, this is it?” Piers sniffed, staring at the ring on his finger, cuddling up closer to Chris’ chest. Chris smiled and intertwined their fingers again, smiling warmly at the sight of his happy fiancé.
“Yes. This is it.” He pressed a soft kiss on Piers’ head. “The two of us. Forever.”