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“If anyone sees us like this, I’m fleeing the country,” Doc says, standing beside Ren in the hallway outside Martyn’s apartment.
It’s a birthday celebration, technically. When they first started dating, Martyn told them he hated birthdays. He promised that he really didn’t want a celebration. He’d rather it not be acknowledged at all, but Doc has realized something about Martyn, in the years that they have been dating.
Martyn will do or say anything if he thinks it will make someone else happy.
Doc pried the truth out of Martyn last week. He does like birthdays. Martyn craves big parties and all his friends and the proof that someone must care about him, at least enough to host. His studio barely fits the three of them. They didn’t have enough time to plan something, so Ren insisted they surprise Martyn at his apartment.
They’re wearing pointy rainbow hats strapped in place with elastic under their chins. Doc has a present box under one arm and the other is very carefully balancing a Kroger custom cake. Ren was carrying the cake, but halfway up the elevator he got so excited that he began to stim. He started by gently rocking back and forth on his feet, but he asked Doc to take the cake once he realized he needed to move his hands. Ren is tapping his fingers very gently against his collarbone while they wait for the door to open.
It doesn’t.
Ren’s fingers begin to tap a little harder. Ideally, Doc would remind Ren to be gentle. Stimming is more than okay, but he must avoid hurting himself if possible. Besides, he always whines for days about the little bruised dots he leaves on his collarbones sometimes. Doc feels just as worried as Ren though. Martyn is normally quick to answer the door. He only really gets two visitors, both of which are right here, so he doesn’t like to leave them waiting.
“Ren, can you get the key from my jacket pocket?” Doc asks.
“Isn’t it for emergencies?”
He doesn’t want to worry Ren. “The cake is best cold, don’t you want to get it into the fridge before it’s too late?”
Ren accepts the excuse without question and stops tapping with one hand to root around in Doc’s pocket. He comes out victorious with the key they maybe-technically-illegally copied from Martyn’s. What his landlord doesn’t know can’t hurt him.
Ren unlocks the door.
It swings open to a dark room.
Doc drops the cake.
Martyn’s face is tilted towards the door, but it's clear that he is not seeing them. His eyes are glassy and his hair is limp with grease. The bed is bare and there is a bundle of sheets on the floor. Martyn’s arms are pressed into his chest, with bent wrists tucked under his chin. His legs are still moving. Shaking. It's unnatural. A silent declaration of pain.
It hasn't even been that long since they last texted, he shouldn't be in such a bad way already.
Doc doesn’t know what to do. This is unusual for him. He takes care of Ren at times and it’s routine. He knows how to stabilize a dislocation caused by his EDS; he knows how to help when he’s over or under-stimulated. Ren is predictable after years of caring for each other, and he’s communicative of his needs. There has never been a better advocate for Ren than himself.
Martyn is not the same as Ren. He’s never been forthcoming; he hides so many facets of himself out of fear or shame. He’s scared to be a burden, but Doc thought they were doing better. Martyn was opening up. What this is, and how to care for it, has never been revealed to Doc or Ren. Sure, they’ve gone weeks without seeing him before when he claims to be too tired, and Doc has known it was more than that, but he assumed Martyn would explain it one day. Ren always convinced him not to push.
(Doc wonders very bitterly if Martyn has refused his care because of Doc’s own disability. An ocular and leg prosthesis offer him his own bad days, his own need for care. It’s not a hindrance. Doc loves to take care of people.)
Doc steps over the cake and into the apartment. Stops. He doesn’t know what to do. Somewhere behind him Ren sounds terrified, but Doc isn’t making out his words. There is panic of his own coursing through his chest.
Martyn’s phone lights up with a notification on the bedside table.
Doc rushes to grab it. He knows the code, but opens up the emergency call section instead. Please, Martyn, be smart enough to have this at least. Sure enough, there is a small red heart in the bottom corner of the phone labeled, “medical info.”
His name at the top, followed by, in all caps, “DO NOT CALL 911.” Listed underneath that is, “myalgic encephalomyelitis.”
Doc calls 911.
It’s a blur from there. He offers all the information listed in Martyn’s phone. The diagnosis he didn’t know about. The medications he didn’t know about. He lets them know that both other people on the scene are disabled. One glance at Ren tells him they won’t have a way to the hospital. Not once during all of this, does Martyn react to anything.
The paramedics find them and one very gently eases Ren away from the door and into the hallway. Doc can’t see him there. He’s torn between keeping one hand on Martyn’s pulse and wanting to be with Ren. He can’t possibly choose, but a paramedic takes his place and he escapes to the hallway.
Ren’s collarbones are lined with bruises already.
Doc is so scared.
#
They don’t make it to the hospital for two hours after the ambulance leaves with Martyn.
Their city has a transport service for disabled individuals. Doc calls them first, but they require paperwork he doesn’t have time for. It’s just another hurdle set up to make receiving aid as a disabled person harder. He has to run down the list of his friends with cars instead.
He lands on Beef who is kind enough to ask very few questions despite both Doc and Ren’s obvious distress. He even offers to come in with them, but something tells Doc that this is going to be a very private ER visit.
At least there’s some humor in the ER. The check-in nurse isn’t sure which one of them is the patient, becomes even more frazzled when Doc informs her that they are visitors.
Doc, embarrassingly, stumbles while walking away from the check-in desk and they offer him a wheelchair anyway. His prosthesis is not entirely foolproof. Ren asks for one too. Doc can't tell if he's feeling weak and tired and needs one, or if he just thinks it would be funny. It's most likely the latter. He allows it, they need the break anyhow.
Doc throws out a quick hail mary that Martyn has health insurance. Then another that this hospital accepts it.
They get wheeled back to Martyn’s room. The door opens and his head lolls toward them. His expression hardens. The nurses leave and Doc takes a moment to observe Martyn. He's still pale and his hands shake where they're balled into fists around the blanket over him. He's in a light blue hospital gown. There is an IV in the back of his hand. He looks furious.
“Why, the fuck, did you call 911?” he asks, his speech slightly slurred.
Doc reels with surprise. “I'm sorry?”
“You should be.”
“No, that's not what I meant. Of course I called 911. You were unresponsive.” Doc looks for Ren. He's attempting to do a wheelie in the chair. It won't work, Doc remembers Scar talking about centers of gravity and wheelchair styles.
“They said you checked my medical information, it literally says not to.”
Doc reiterates, “you were unresponsive .”
Martyn huffs, turning away from Doc. Doc reaches forward to take his hand. He misses. Or Martyn dodges. It's hard to tell. He's tired and worried and Martyn isn't making much sense.
“Martyn. You understand I couldn't just stand there while you were unresponsive despite your medical information, right? I’m not familiar with your condition; I don’t know your medications or how much of them you took. I couldn’t risk it,” he explains.
Martyn doesn’t respond.
“Do you have insurance?”
“State,” he finally says.
Doc nods. “That’s good.”
Both of them lapse into silence. Someone calls for an EKG to triage. Ren yelps as he manages a wheelie for a few seconds before his chair slams back down. Doc’s hand is still resting on the bed. Martyn finds it.
Martyn sounds so tired when he speaks next. “It was dehydration and exhaustion. Probably a little malnutrition, but they’re being cagey about that.”
“You should sleep then,” Doc recommends.
“Are you okay,” Martyn counters.
“Of course.”
“Why were you even there?”
Ren wheels a little closer. “It’s your birthday.”
Martyn looks wrung out. His expression hardly changes, but his eyes dim. His gaze falls down to the blanket. One hand is still scrunched up in the blanket. The other tenses, twitches where it holds Doc’s hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Neither of them tell him it’s okay. There are few things that feel okay between a hospital bed and two wheelchairs. Maybe back home. Maybe tomorrow.
#
Doc has never been more grateful for the wealth that he stumbled into directly post grad. With his current work as an industrial engineer and a successful patent under his belt, he’s able to afford an independent home health aide for Martyn. Ideally, Doc would have moved Martyn in with him and Ren and taken care of Martyn himself, but Doc is disabled himself. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. The inability to take care of everyone alone. Besides, Martyn values independence and the ability to hide from his partners. At least physically, he’s given the aide permission to pass on medical information to Doc. He knows when Martyn’s having a good or bad day now. It helps. Things are better,
Martyn even lets them hang out on some bad days.
They send the aide home and are planning on spending the night. Doc works on setting up some shitty romcom Martyn and Ren bullied him into picking up from the library. Behind him the other two argue over the best way to cut a new Kroger custom cake.
Martyn falls asleep before the movie ends, wrapped in Ren’s arms with both their feet on Doc’s lap. Thank goodness for an obnoxiously large couch.
For now, everyone is safe. That’s all Doc needs as he shuts off the movie and joins his partners in sleep.