For Joan

[theodorelasso]

Continued from here.

(warnings: sexytimes. also, panic attacks, brutal violence, attempted murder, discussion of suicide and actual murder... )

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[theodorelasso]

"We could get you a spit cup," he answers. "And set an alarm for the medication."

He gets to his feet, grabbing the crutch and heading for the bathroom, frowning gently at the pain in his legs. One broken, one probably developing sciatica. Lovely combo.

"Hey Sherlock, we're heading to bed. Well, to sleep," he says as he comes out of the bedroom. "Could you do me a favor and fetch a bunch of extra pillows?"

[formersurgeon]

"Those will work," she says with a smile.

Sherlock is on his laptop again. He looks up as Ted emerges, and closes the laptop, tucking it under his arm as he stands.

"Certainly. She isn't sleeping yet, is she?"

[theodorelasso]

"No, she's still awake, or I wouldn't leave," he answers. He'd either text Sherlock, or just come to the door and ask him to come before he left.

She can fall asleep very quickly though. So he turns around and peeks in the door. "You hear that? No going to sleep without us," he says, pretending to be stern, but smiling playfully through it anyway. He doesn't want to be overbearing, but it's more about acknowledging his and Sherlock's hypervigilance.

[formersurgeon]

"Yes honey," she says, amused. She meant the term of endearment to be a tease, but discovered it actually feels nice.

Sherlock nods and heads toward the stairs. "I shall gather as many pillows as I can find."

[theodorelasso]

He very much likes the endearment too. Ted grins and blows a quick kiss at her, before actually heading to the bathroom.

He takes his meds and then quickly brushes his teeth, mostly just focused on getting back to her.

He stacks the two plastic cups there into each other, filling the top one with water, and manages to grab both that, the toothpaste and Joan's toothbrush in one hand, so he can still use his crutch as he heads back.

"Here you go," he says, handing the cups to her. He keeps hold of the toothbrush, and goes ahead and puts some toothpaste on it for her, since he figures she doesn't have the fine motor control for it.

"You just go ahead and tell me to stop doing stuff like that for you if you want to do it yourself," he adds. He doesn't want toothpaste on the covers, but he doesn't want to baby her either.

[formersurgeon]

As he's getting ready, Joan works herself back up to sitting. It's hard, but she's determined to do it by the time he returns. When he comes in she's managed to sit up against the headboard. She smiles at him, taking the cups carefully, her hands shaking a little, and nods at his words.

"I will." He's right, though...she wouldn't be able to put toothpaste on the toothbrush right now.

[theodorelasso]

He hadn't even thought about the fact she's sitting up now until he thinks about it. He's glad she's capable of doing that at least, though he hopes she doesn't overexert herself.

He sits down down next to her while she brushes her teeth and they wait for Sherlock. He offers to take the cups back from her, splitting them so she can spit in the empty one, and sits there being a cupholder in the meantime.

[formersurgeon]

She brushes her teeth carefully. It isn't easy with the current state of her fine motor skills and the weakness in her muscles, but she wants to do it on her own. When she's done she exchanges the toothbrush for the cups. She swishes the water around her mouth, and manages to spit it out into the other cup with only a small dribble down her chin that she wipes away with the back of her hand.

[theodorelasso]

"Nice, now we're both minty fresh," he says with a smile, setting everything on the nightstand so Sherlock can take it away.

He gets to his feet again with a small grunt of discomfort, heading to his side. "I asked Sherlock for a bunch of pillows, that should help."

[formersurgeon]

Almost on cue Sherlock enters, arms full of pillows.

"I hope these will be sufficient," he says, setting the pile on the bed. "221B is now entirely devoid of pillows."

[theodorelasso]

Ted chuckles softly. He would've been fine with a couple fewer, but this is great.

"Thanks, that's perfect," he answers, arranging them so he can elevate his legs properly, as well as a thin pillow for underneath his back. Takes a bit of adjustment, but when he finally lies down, it helps considerably with the back and leg pain. "Ahh yeah, that's good," he says, sighing with relief.

[formersurgeon]

As Ted is getting comfortable, Joan works on lying down again. Sherlock watches her but doesn't move, knowing Joan wants to do as much as possible on her own. When Ted is comfortable she carefully scoots toward him so she can nestle against him.

[theodorelasso]

Ted leans over and gives her a quick goodnight kiss. "Sleep well," he says quietly.

He looks over at Sherlock. "Wake me if you need a nap or something?" It feels strange to be going to sleep with Sherlock watching over them, but it's not too different from how they were in the hospital.

[formersurgeon]

"You too," she murmurs. "I love you."

She's not showing it, but she's a little scared. What if the medication doesn't work? What if she has another seizure? What if it's worse? Sherlock is looking out for her, but if something goes really wrong...

There's nothing she can do about it at this point, though, but trust Sherlock, trust Ted, trust Dr. Bergen, trust the medication. Trust everything is going to be okay.

Sherlock nods as he sits, settling in to watch Joan with the sort of singular focus he excels at.

[theodorelasso]

Ted is definitely also scared, and he's not quite as good at hiding it as Joan is, though he's trying for her sake. He gives her hand a little reassuring squeeze, that's for his own benefit as well. At least he gets to sleep right here next to her.

He's also definitely not going to be able to fall asleep until she has, and then has been asleep for at least as long as it took her to get a seizure earlier. There's no way he can properly relax.

He glances over at Sherlock and his laser-focus. He wouldn't want to be watched like that, but it's a comfort nonetheless, even if it's also slightly unnerving.

[formersurgeon]

Her anxieties aside, it doesn't take Joan too terribly long to fall asleep, feeling comforted by Ted's breathing and warmth, as well as Sherlock's vigilance. As her breathing slows, Sherlock leans forth slightly, his attention sharpening further as he watches for a seizure to set in at the same point it had twice before.

The minutes tick by slowly.

Nothing happens.

At half an hour Sherlock lets out a relieved sigh and relaxes.

[theodorelasso]

Ted tries to sleep, closing his eyes and trying to rest, but he just finds himself just listening to Joan's breathing, feeling for any movement. There isn't any, thankfully, beyond her breathing

He hears Sherlock's sigh though, and lifts his head a bit to look at him, at his now more relaxed posture. That is actually reassuring. He smiles a bit, then lays his head down again and makes a slightly more concerted effort to sleep.

Sleep does come soon after that, but it's still uneasy. Joan shifts at one point, and it almost jerks Ted awake, where for a moment he just lies there to make sure she's not shaking, making sure she's still breathing, before he eventually falls back asleep. He doesn't dream anything coherent, just vague feelings of anxiety and worry.

He wakes up a few hours later, still in the middle of the night, but not quite the time she has to take her meds. He can't go back to sleep after that, his mind cooking, and then suddenly there's a knot in his chest, his face twisting a little.

He realizes his fingers have turned numb, and he carefully but quickly sits up, going to grab his crutch. "Bathroom," he mumbles at Sherlock, back turned towards him as he gets up and heads there.

[formersurgeon]

Sherlock sees Ted wake up, and frowns as he notices some things about the man's demeanor, his respiration, his expression, the tension in his body. He sees how quickly Ted makes for the bathroom, and wonders if the man is sick, if the chicken and rice didn't agree with him. He returns to watching Watson, but every so often he glances at the door, concerned.

[theodorelasso]

Ted closes the bathroom door behind him then stops and leans his forehead against it, his breath turning quick and shallow. He feels desperately afraid, a looming dread threatening to swallow him.

He knows what this is, but it doesn't make it any easier.

The 'what if's are all that's filling his brain right now, and he turns his back against the door and slides down to the floor, sitting down and curling his legs up, covering his face with his tensing hands.

He tries to hear Joan's voice in his head, her instructions on things to focus on. Rebecca's reassurances, telling him to breathe. It's a lot harder to do those things, to envision himself on a field, to try to draw deeper breaths, without those voices in his ears.

It takes a lot longer for him to calm down without that support. He does, eventually, manage to steady his breathing, to try to relax his muscles. He almost feels worse after than during, a bone-deep exhaustion. His ribs feel sore from the rapid breathing.

Eventually he gets to his feet, flushing the toilet for cover, and splashing some water in his face. He looks at himself in the mirror, and he looks about ten years older.

Sherlock's probably getting more worried the longer he stays here though, so he grabs his crutch again and heads back to bed to try to sleep. He's glad for the low light in the room.

"Sorry 'bout that... Stomach upset," he excuses himself quietly, his voice sounding worn, but hopefully not much more worn than someone waking up in the middle of the night with stomach problems would sound like.

[formersurgeon]

Sherlock looks up as Ted enters the room and gives him a small nod at the explanation. It makes sense, and Sherlock wouldn't doubt it save for two things: one, Ted isn't a great liar, and two, he's seen the man break down before. It's likely futile to confront the man about it now, but he resolves to mention it to Joan in the morning.

[theodorelasso]

Ted might admit to it if cornered, but he wouldn't be up for having much of a conversation about it right now. He has a feeling Sherlock is onto him, but he's grateful he doesn't question it either way.

He lies back down and tries to get comfortable, but his discomfort seems to run through his entire being now, not something that can be fixed with a few pillows and some opioids. (Well, maybe a lot of opioids, but that's not really an option.)

He gently takes Joan's hand, holding onto her for comfort. At least he might actually fall asleep now, just by virtue of exhaustion.

[formersurgeon]

Joan stirs as he takes her hand, opening her eyes. She smiles at him...but her smile fades into concern when she sees his face. Did something happen? Did she seize again?

"Hey..." She squeezes his hand. "Everything okay?"

[theodorelasso]

Ted smiles reassuringly back at her. "Yeah, just upset stomach," he whispers, since that masks the tiredness of his voice. "You're good," he adds, because no doubt that would be at the top of her worries.

[formersurgeon]

"Oh, I'm sorry," she murmurs sympathetically. Stomach issues suck, and the medications he's taking can sometimes cause them. She squeezes his hand again to comfort him.

Sherlock watches the exchange, and can understand why Ted wouldn't tell Watson the truth. He wouldn't want to worry her. Sherlock can't blame him; god knows he's lied to Watson tons of times for similar reasons. He knows that it would be better if he told her the truth, but he can hardly interfere now.

[theodorelasso]

Sherlock might start to realize that burning themselves out to take care of other people is not a behavior exclusive to Joan. The two of them match in that regard. Which is another reason Ted doesn't want to tell her, at least not now.

He might've admitted it if the situation was slightly different. But now just isn't a good time. Either it won't happen again, and it won't be a problem, or it happens again and he can maybe retroactively admit to it then.

"S'okay," he answers gently. It's the least of his problems, honestly. "Hey, at least it was me and not you," he adds with a smile. She's the one with a fragile stomach right now, and who definitely needs all the nutrition she can get.

"Hey, how long till her meds?" he asks Sherlock, lifting his head a little. He knows he was in the bathroom for a while, so it must be getting close.