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“Mr. Davies.”
Greg glanced up at his doctor, pausing in his completely useless efforts to get the hospital gown to cover any decent stretch of his legs. “Hello,” he said. “I’d, er, shake your hand, but…”
She glanced down at where he had been tugging the hospital gown down his thighs (to absolutely no avail, of course, because the things were lessons in abject fucking humiliation), her lips twitching. “Yeah, you’d best keep those where they are,” she said.
She perched on the edge of his hospital bed, holding her iPad in both hands, and for the image reminded Greg so much of Alex that his chest ached. Not that either was an unusual occurrence these days, since he was rather forcibly reminded of the man every few minutes as he hacked up whatever fresh floral hell awaited him.
“I just wanted to check on you before the surgery,” she told him. “I know brain surgery sounds scary, but this is a relatively minor procedure. We’ll be injecting the first round of medication into the hypothalamus, and inserting a shunt for subsequent doses.”
“Right,” he said. “Look, not to brag but I have seen at least ten episodes of Doc Martin, so I think I’m probably all set.”
But his doctor didn’t laugh, instead pursing her lips just slightly as she fixed him with a stern look. “I know making light of things is your job, but this is mine,” she told him. “And before we do something irreversible, I want to remind you that I explicitly do not condone this course of action.”
Greg heaved a sigh that turned into a cough, and he tossed what only a few months ago he’d never have recognised as squinancywort aside without a second glance. “We’ve been over this—”
“Treating Hanahaki is not a one and done thing,” she interrupted, still stern, and he was tempted to roll his eyes like a petulant student in class. “To effectively treat it, you need to make some lifestyle changes.”
“Respectfully, it’s not like I’ve got lung cancer and you’re telling me to give up smoking,” Greg told her.
She arched an eyebrow. “No,” she said, “though while we’re at it, you really should, since vaping’s not much better for you in the long run.”
“One battle at a time, yeah?”
She shook her head and sighed. “Fine,” she said, “but you’re right, this isn’t like counselling a cancer patient to give up fags. This is worse, because with cigarettes, at least there’s a chance they won’t kill you. There isn’t a chance here. If you get Hanahaki a second time, it is always fatal. And going right back to co-presenting a telly programme with the person who caused your Hanahaki in the first place ups those odds significantly.”
Greg swallowed and looked away. She had a point, of course, and a rather valid one at that, but he was already giving up more than he could explain, giving up the way his heart stuttered in his chest every time he saw Alex, giving up the way he couldn’t help but grin when Alex laughed that stupid honking laugh of his, giving up the feeling of Alex’s hair under his cheek as he rested his head against the top of Alex’s when they hugged.
He was giving up everything that had made the last ten years of his life worth living. But even if it killed him, he couldn’t give up Alex.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” he told her, his voice low and, he hoped, sincere. “But that’s one thing I can’t do. So it’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
She didn’t look remotely convinced, but since he rather pointedly coughed up a bunch of harebell, chose not to argue any further. “All right,” she said instead, patting his knee before standing. “Then I’ll let the nurse know you’re ready. She’ll be in to get you set with sedation before we take you down to the operating theatre.”
Greg nodded. “Thank you.”
She hesitated. “Are there any calls you need to make?” she asked, and he knew this was the last chance he had to turn back.
But he didn’t take it. “No,” he said instead. “I’m all set.”
“Very well.” She managed a small smile. “Then I’ll see you down there.”
“I’ll be the one with the hospital gown barely covering his penis,” he said dryly.
She laughed and patted his knee once more before leaving, and as soon as she was out of sight, Greg let out a shaky breath. His hand twitched towards his mobile on the bedside table, but luckily – or unluckily, depending on how one wished to look at it – the nurse bustled in and his hand fell again to the utterly useless hem of his hospital gown.
“Good morning, my name’s Katherine,” she told him, before asking, “Right or left?”
He blinked. “Sorry?”
She laughed lightly. “Right arm or left arm?” she clarified, indicating the IV kit she’d brought with her. “It’s fine if you don’t have a preference—”
“I really don’t,” he told her, and she nodded, reaching for his right arm, his efforts to keep his hospital gown down even more useless now. “Er, not to question you while you have a large needle in your hand, but is there a reason I’m not getting anaesthetised in the theatre?”
Katherine didn’t look up from his arm. “Oh, you will be,” she said, and Greg looked away as she stuck the needle in. “But we need you under light sedation first while we get you set up. Once you’re in position, you’ll be put all the way under.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he muttered, though he wasn’t entirely sure that it was. “Are you shaving my head before or after I’m under?”
She laughed lightly. “I’ll wait under the drugs kick in, how about that?”
Greg snorted. “Cheers,” he said. “Saves me the twenty quid at the barber, at least. And how soon can I expect the drugs to kick in?”
“Should only take a few minutes at most once I get you injected,” she told him, sounding far too cheerful in Greg’s opinion, given the subject matter of the conversation. “You probably won’t even realise. Most patients say it’s like they blink and the whole thing’s over.”
“Christ,” Greg said. “Can I get some of that to help me sleep at night?”
She just laughed again, shaking her head. “You’re funny,” she told him, and Greg half-wondered if she was taking the piss. He was saved from having to answer by her continuing, “Right, I’m ready to inject the sedative, so if you have anyone you need to call, now’s your chance.”
He shook his head. “No, I already told Doctor—”
“Wait,” someone said, and Greg whipped his head so fast he was fairly certain he twinged something in his neck.
It was absolutely worth it, though, to be treated to the sight of Alex, standing in the doorway to his hospital room, wearing one of his stupid, brightly-coloured jumpers, panting like he’d just sprinted the length of the hospital. “Alex,” Greg breathed, starting to smile on instinct alone before he frowned, his brain finally catching up to his stupid, traitorous heart. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Katherine glanced between the two of them, her eyes wide. “I’ll, er, I’ll just—” she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder toward the door.
Both Alex and Greg ignored her, Alex crossing into the room and sitting down in the chair on his left, reaching automatically for Greg’s hand. “You really don’t want to do that, mate,” Greg told him. “There’s only about an inch of fabric between you and a front row seat to my cock and balls.”
But Alex ignored him, taking his hand between both of his. “I’m sorry,” he said, still sounding a little out of breath.
“For what?” Greg asked.
“For not getting here sooner, mostly,” Alex said. “And for not telling you sooner that you can’t go through with this.”
Greg shook his head and looked away. “We’ve been over this,” he said, his voice rough. “There’s not really another option, unless you’d rather I just dropped dead.”
Alex squeezed his hand. “There is another option,” he said. “You can just tell me.”
Greg stared determinedly at the wall, refusing to meet Alex’s eyes for fear that he would in fact do just that. “I can’t,” he said, with more force than he meant to, as if he was trying to convince Alex – or himself. “Because telling you once isn’t enough. I’d have to tell you repeatedly, every—”
“Every single day,” Alex finished for him, something determined in his voice, and Greg couldn’t help but look back at him, even if just the sight of Alex’s big, blue eyes weakened his resolve more than anything else ever could. “On my children’s birthdays, on my anniversary with Rachel.” Greg recognised his own words being echoed back at him, and he swallowed, hard. “I want that.”
Greg stared at him. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking on the single syllable.
But Alex’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. “If that’s what it takes, that’s what I want,” he said evenly. “Because if my choice is that, is you ringing me when it’s not convenient to tell me something even less convenient, or losing you and everything we’ve made together, I’ll take the former any day. Every day.”
“Alex,” Greg repeated, the word sticking in his throat. But for the first time in a long time, he felt no tickle of flowers at the back of his throat.
For the first time in a long time, looking at Alex didn’t make his chest ache.
Which meant there was only thing left to do – or to say.
“I love you,” he told Alex. “Sorry for not telling you sooner.”
Alex managed a small smile, his eyes crinkling like they did whenever he and Greg shared a private joke. “Better late than never,” he said. Greg laughed lightly, even if it wasn’t particularly funny, and Alex took a deep breath, his smile fading. “There’s something I have to tell you,” he said, and Greg felt his heart beat double time. “Greg, I—”
“Mr. Davies?”
Greg blinked, or tried to, though his eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. “I’m here,” he managed after a long moment, the words taking more effort to say than he thought was possible.
His doctor laughed lightly and patted his knee, though Greg recognised the sensation as if from far away. “Your surgery went very well,” she told him. “Textbook, really. We’ll be keeping you overnight for observation, but there’s no reason you can’t go home tomorrow.”
“Mm,” Greg hummed, struggling to keep his eyes open.
She laughed again. “Try to get some rest,” she said. “I’ll be back in to check on you later.”
Greg must have fallen asleep again, since when he woke up, his doctor had been replaced by Roisin, sitting in the chair next to his bed. “Oh, you’re awake,” she said brightly, and he groaned.
“Head hurts,” he managed to rasp, and she patted his hand.
“Pretty sure that’ll happen when they cut your skull open.” His fingers twitched and she grinned. “Are you trying to give me the finger?” He hummed in acknowledgement and she laughed. “Oh, I’m going to have fun with this.”
He scowled, or near enough, considering she ignored it anyway. “Everyone’s been calling to check in on you,” she told him. “Well, most everyone, anyway. Rhod texted, said he was sorry he couldn’t be here to witness the medical miracle when they found out just how tiny your brain is.”
Greg groaned a laugh. “Fucking…prick.”
She laughed again. “That’s a good sign at least,” she told him, though her smile disappeared in an instant when he pulled a face as some faint memory surfaced. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt? Should I call the nurse?”
Greg shook his head, groaning again when the gesture did actually hurt. “M’fine,” he told Roisin. “Just…was having a lovely dream.”
Her smile returned, slightly more tentatively than before. “I can only imagine,” she told him. “They gave you the good drugs.” She hesitated before asking, “What was the dream about?”
“Can’t remember,” Greg said, yawning. “Someone…maybe. I don’t know.”
Roisin’s smile faltered. “Were you dreaming about Alex?”
Greg blinked. “Alex?” he repeated. “Who’s Alex?”
“Mr. Horne.” Alex glanced up from his phone, a guilty expression flashing across his expression, and he didn’t even usually have Greg’s fear of authority. “We’ve waited as long as we can, we really need to get you down for surgery—”
“Just five more minutes,” Alex said, trying to give her his most charming, or at a minimum his least weird, smile. “Please.”
She shook her head but sighed and relented, “I’ll see what I can do.”
She left the room and Alex went back to staring at his phone, as if he might somehow be able to will it into ringing or vibrating or something. His heart was rather literally in his throat as he waited for the message he was beginning to fear might never come, and he coughed up two dozen daffodils in quick succession without even seeming to notice.
All too soon, though, the nurse appeared again in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” she told him, and to her credit, she did at least sound it. “We really can’t wait any longer.”
Alex nodded numbly and set his phone on the bedside table as she stepped over to his bed, her tone turning brisk. “Right, we just need to run through some pre-operative questions,” she told him. “Can you confirm your name and birthday for me, please?”
“Alex Horne,” he said with a sigh. “10 September 1978.”
“Greg,” she said, and he blinked up at her.
“What did you say?” he asked, sharper than intended.
She frowned at him. “I said, great,” she repeated, and even though Alex didn’t know what he had expected, it still felt as though something in him deflated. She looked at him a moment longer before glancing back at her iPad. “Right, and can you confirm that you received counselling on all of your options for treating Hanahaki, not just surgery?”
“Yes,” Alex said dully. “I understand my options.”
She nodded and tapped something on the iPad, reminding him rather forcibly of Greg mocking him for how he tapped things on his own iPad, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “And can you confirm that you’re aware of all of the potential side effects of the surgery—”
She was interrupted by his phone vibrating, and Alex practically threw himself across the bed to snatch it up, tapping his screen with a trembling finger.
It was an SMS message from Roisin Conaty: He’s out of surgery.
Alex exhaled shakily and set his phone down in his lap, his chest tight in a way that had everything and nothing to do with the flowers growing in his lungs.
After a long moment, he looked up at the nurse. “All right,” he told her, his voice steady. “I’m ready now.”