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Zane had a plan.
Three days ago, he’d travelled to Texas to help out with the cattle because his father’s back had been too painful to do as much as he had wanted to, and Ty hadn’t been able to come because the CIA had sent them an informant that needed to be debriefed and handled as soon as possible. Ty had been miserable to see Zane go, and he’d called him every night since he’d been gone, telling Zane how much he wished that Zane was home.
So when Zane finished what he needed to do at the Carter-Garrett ranch two days before he’d expected to be finished, he’d decided to fly home early without telling Ty so he could surprise him.
It had been an awesome plan.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that Zane was married to a former Marine.
He’d arrived at the bookstore after midnight, and the building had been dark and quiet as he let himself in. There had been no movement from the apartment upstairs. Zane couldn’t even hear those damned cats anywhere, which meant that his husband had gone to sleep for the night – probably with Jiminy and Cricket occupying Zane’s empty side of the bed in his absence.
Zane was smiling as he crept up the stairs as quietly as he could, the building remaining silent around him as he moved. Just as he opened the door to their bedroom, though, somebody launched at him, sending him flying out into the hallway. The weight Ty’s body completely took away Zane’s chance at keeping his balance and he fell backwards to the ground, knocking the back of his head against the edge of the small table where Ty kept his favourite orchids before knocking against the floor with a loud ‘thump’.
In retrospect, it might have been a shitty plan.
Zane groaned, lifting a hand to the back of his head to cup it where it ached. “Son of a bitch.” He muttered.
He could hear scrambling and fumbling in the dark, and then the hallway light was switched on, stinging Zane’s eyes and making him hiss from the brightness.
“Zane?” Ty asked in surprise, as he hurried to his husband’s side and kneeled next to him. “What are you doing home so early? You weren’t supposed to be here for another two days!”
Zane groaned again, blinking against the bright lights. “Surprise.” He muttered, as he pushed himself up sitting and moved his hand from the back of his head. His fingers were moist, and Ty gasped next to him.
“Shit, are you bleeding?” Ty exclaimed in horror, and Zane blinked down at his hand. The tips of his fingers were covered in blood.
“Oh.” He said, non-puzzled. Honestly, that wasn’t even remotely close to being on the list of the worst injuries he’d ever suffered through.
Ty was fussing, though, clearly upset, as he shifted to sit behind Zane so he could inspect the wound.
“Holy shit, you’re bleeding!” Ty gasped, pressing and prodding at the back of Zane’s head, making him hiss and jerk away. “You’re bleeding, and it’s all my fault! Zane!”
Zane turned, swatting at his hands and then catching Ty’s wrists. “Ty, calm down. I’m fine. It’s just a cut.” He insisted, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing. It didn’t seem to be doing much good, because Ty looked absolutely horrified.
Years ago, Ty wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at having hurt Zane. He’d have rolled his eyes, made sure it wasn’t fatal, and then told his partner to quit bitching and get up. Now, though? After years of marriage, nothing upset Ty more than knowing he was the cause of Zane hurting – whether that be physical, mental or emotional pain.
Zane loved what marriage had done to Ty, even though there were still times where Zane was told to quit his bitching and get back to work if he got hurt accidentally, and it wasn’t a major injury.
“But you’re bleeding! I cracked your head open!” Ty was ranting, getting to his feet and pulling at Zane’s hands.
Zane moved to stand up, regretting it instantly because his head started spinning and his stomach lurched with nausea.
“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Zane murmured, bending over as if he was on the verge of throwing up.
Ty stared at him in horror, and he didn’t feel particularly better when Zane didn’t end up puking his guts out after all. He’d still done that to his husband.
“We’re going to the ER.” Ty announced, and Zane could tell that he was still worried and upset. He wanted to argue, but Ty was already dragging him towards the stairs; one arm tight around Zane’s waist and the other at the ready to reach out and help if Zane stumbled.
Zane could walk just fine, though, but he knew better than to try and argue with Ty when he was like this, so he let himself be lead down the stairs, through the bookstore and out the backdoor, where Zane’s truck was parked.
It wasn’t until Ty had put him in the passenger seat, buckled him up, and then climbed into the driver’s seat that Zane noticed that Ty was only wearing boxers.
“Uh, baby?” Zane began, pressing a rag Ty had grabbed from the kitchen on their way out of the building to the back of his head as Ty started the engine and guided the car onto the road.
“We’re going to the ER, Zane.” Ty said firmly, eyes trained firmly on the road in front of him as he drove further away from their home, towards the nearest hospital.
Zane gave him a pointed look, which went ignored.
“Ty, you’re not wearing pants. Or a shirt.”
That seemed to get Ty’s attention, and he glanced down at himself, frowning as if he was disapproving of life in general. Then he shrugged, turned his attention back to the road, and kept driving, and Zane’s head was aching too much for him to try to say anything else.
——–
There’s still a picture of Ty and Zane hanging on the wall at the nurse’s station at Johns Hopkins Hospital, Ty begrudgingly posing with the night-time nurses in nothing but his dark blue boxers, scowling at the camera, while Zane stands next to him, a bandage wrapped around his head and the biggest grin on his face.