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Robert isn’t brave.
He knows deep in his bones that he never will be; except Aaron wakes and all Robert can think of, all Robert wants, is for him to not be afraid. Protecting Aaron is something he’s allowed now, something almost as natural as breathing.
They’re not going to die. Robert isn’t going to let them.
“It’s okay,” he says, making sure to catch and hold Aaron’s gaze. “We’re getting out of here.”
It’s more confident than he feels, but he has to be strong. He’s going to save Aaron if it takes every last breath he has in his body; if it weren’t for Aaron, well —
Fear wells up in his chest when Aaron confesses that the steering column has him trapped, when Robert sees terrified eyes staring back at him like I meant it, I love you, and he feels sick, dives under because he’s going to break if he doesn’t do something.
Aaron can’t die. Aaron won't die.
It’s futile; Aaron’s trapped and no matter how many times they shift the steering wheel, nothing gives.
“We have to keep trying,” Robert tries, over Aaron’s denials. Aaron doesn’t understand; he has to keep trying, he can’t fail. He can’t leave Aaron to die, can’t leave Aaron behind.
They argue, and Robert feels the hysteria building, throat choked up, eyes burning from more than just the lake water. He can’t do this, can’t leave, not without —
“I’m not leaving you. No!”
It’s high, broken, and Robert can’t, don’t ask me too, Aaron, please, but Aaron is, wants Robert alive as much as Robert wants Aaron alive.
“Robert, I love you. I love you, just go.”
Robert’s never been more terrified. Not when he watched his mother burn, not when he watched his life shatter with rotting floorboards, not when he was confessing to Aaron in a quiet wood that his father’s disappointment ran deep. He’s never felt anything like this, watching Aaron sink below the water, and for a moment he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything.
His lungs are burning, chest tight, but he takes a deep breath anyway, sinks below the water line and shares what little he has with Aaron.
They go together or not at all.
Lachlan.
Aaron’s half-dead in Robert’s arms and he’s a better person than Robert will ever be. He thought of Lachlan, even drowning, and Robert can’t do anything but dive back in.
If Aaron dies, Robert thinks, slamming the boot.
“If he dies,” Robert threatens, anger thick and all-consuming, “I’ll come for you.”
I know what you’d for me, Aaron said once.
Back then Robert wouldn’t have killed, wouldn’t have crossed that line. If he dies, if Robert loses him forever, he’ll strip the very bones of his former stepson, drive the life from his chest like Aaron’s panicked breathing, the fear rolling off of him because he doesn’t want to die, saying I love you like it’s the last time.
“Take me to hospital now,” his mind a litany of AaronAaronAaron.
There’s a clock above Adam’s left shoulder.
Robert can’t tear his eyes away, hands sliding past three, seven, eleven. He’s cold, water-logged clothing still hugging his body. Vic keeps trying to get him to change, to warm up, but Robert’s rooted to his chair. He can’t move, can’t do anything beyond watching the clock, waiting for a doctor to say, “He’s fine, it’s okay.”
“Robert,” Vic tries again. “Please.”
Robert shakes with the force of it, the want to have Aaron back with him, to see him standing in the doorway, hip cocked against the doorjamb, grin in place. His palm itches. He digs his thumb against tissue and bone over and over, but the itching doesn’t stop.
“Robert.” Vic takes his hands, pries them apart. “Look at me.”
He can’t. It’s five past eleven. They’ve been sat here for minutes, hours, days. He doesn’t know, doesn’t care, just wants, needs, something he can’t have.
Vic’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of his wrist and it’s the pain that shocks him into looking at her. He blinks, slowly, frowning as he stares at her.
“Vic?”
She takes a deep breath, tears in her eyes, and brushes a hand over his cheek. It’s wet. “What happened?”
He slides his eyes back to the clock, jaw set.
I love you. You ve gotta go. You’re not a disappointment, you’re amazing. I mean it, I love you.
“It’s okay,” Vic says, hand to Robert’s chest. “Breathe, Robert, breathe with me.”
Robert claws at her arm, chest tight, eyes wide with panic. He can’t, chest burning with the effort to drag in one breath, two. Adam’s hands on his face, Chas shouting, Liv’s there, fucking Liv.
I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Jack was right. I am a disappointment.
“You had a panic attack,” the nurse says, a sympathetic slant to her mouth.
Robert doesn’t answer, just kisses the top of Liv’s head. Shame presses tight around him, flaming his cheeks. Aaron’s dying, his family are waiting to hear he’ll be fine or we’re so sorry and Robert can’t breathe.
“It’s okay to be afraid,” Liv says, her knuckles white against Robert’s sleeve.
He is afraid; afraid he won’t hear Aaron say yeah, I’ll marry you; afraid he won’t hear Aaron’s laugh; afraid the last thing he’ll hear, see, remember about Aaron is the bone-deep terror of knowing he was going to die and not being able to do anything.
Robert says nothing.
He watches the rise and fall of Vic’s chest, her face tucked into Adam’s neck. Adam’s running his phone through his fingers, turning it once, twice, four times, six. Chas is pacing, eyes red-rimmed and fingers digging into her elbows.
“I called him an idiot,” Robert says, finally. Aaron’s face a picture of shock, the ring tucked up in the glovebox of a car logged with water. Vic comes awake immediately, her eyes wide. She knows. “I didn’t tell him that I loved him. He said it to me, told me to go and I couldn’t even—”
Liv’s grip tightens on his arm. “He knows.”
But you know.
Robert pulls away from Liv, digs the palms of his hands into his eyes.
I know.
“I wanted him to say yes.”
Vic sucks in a breath.
Chas stops mid-step, whirls to face him. “What did you say?”
Robert can’t meet her eyes, looks at the clock instead. “There’s a ring in the car. I wanted him to say yes, but I called him an idiot.”
“Robert,” Vic says, sounding wrecked.
“You asked Aaron to marry you?” Chas sounds far away, shocked.
“No,” Robert says with a grin that all self-deprecating. “I called him an idiot and yelled that I was gonna ask. I didn’t actually ask and now I might not —”
Chas drops to a crouch, takes Robert’s chin in her hands. Robert expects the blow, the anger, the hatred. He gets a brush of fingers to his cheek, a touch of Chas’ forehead to his own. “You ask him again, when he wakes up.”
When he wakes up.
When he doesn’t look terrified, alone, defeated.
Robert wants to close his eyes, wants to sleep, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He feels Liv’s fingers tangle with his own, Chas’ breath hot on his cheek.
“I don’t want him to die,” Robert says, eventually, finally. “I thought he was gone, he just sunk into the water and I couldn’t let him die, I couldn’t not save him and I—”
He’s crying, then, gasping in breath like he’ll never take another. The terror, the fear, the anger, all of it rolls into a mess of I’m not leaving you, no! He cries into Chas’ shoulder, clings to Liv’s hand, feels the soft brush of Vic’s fingers in his hair.
“You saved him,” Chas tells him, kissing his temple. “You saved my boy.”
“I didn’t,” Robert says. “Not yet.”
“You will,” Adam promises, maybe for himself as much as for Robert. “He’ll be fine.”
He has to be, Robert hears, for all of them.
The doctor stands in the doorway.
He's going to be fine.
"I love you," Robert says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Aaron's mouth.
"I love you," Aaron says, eyes closed.
Robert wants to sleep.
He waits, fingers tight in Aaron's, watching the steady rise and fall of Aaron's chest.
Robert's not brave, but Aaron makes him want to be.