Wait For Me To Come Home

~*~

The hospital waiting room is about the same as I remember it. It still smells like cleaning agents, and sounds like repressed emotions. Soft coughs echo in otherwise silence, and there are no noisy, unfortunate kids here for vaccinations today to break the monotony. There are only a few people waiting, calm and distracted by out of date magazines, or a book they thankfully remembered to bring. I've sat with them many times before, and I know the routine enough that I might as well scratch my name on the arm of a chair or put in an application for frequent travel miles. But, for once, I don't have to wait.

I stride up to the nurse's station where I see Redheart is on duty today, trying to feel as confident as I hope I look. For all I know, I look awkward and skittish and uncertain, which would be about right, but I'm trying to hide it. The long walk here has been enough to set the wheels of my mind in motion. What if he's angry at me? He wouldn't yell or anything, but what if he's disappointed, or demands I leave? What if my being here somehow makes things worse? I mean, I'm healthy, so I'm not going to get him sick, but what if my presence stresses him out, and puts further strain on his already strained immune system?

Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Maybe I'm being too selfish and I should just go. Maybe-

"Miss Berry, hello there!" I hear the nurse say, snapping me out of the slippery doubt spiral I was headed down. "I don't have you down for an appointment until next week. Is there anything I can help you with?"

She's scanning over some clip boards in front of her, but she seems jovial enough. Must be a quiet day. This also reenforces the idea that Anon is not dead. Probably. She'd be acting differently if he was dead.

...wouldn't she?

"Er, hi," I manage, an obviously brilliant opener. "I was just... I..."

"Are you here to see Anon?"

I stare at her, a little bewildered. I can feel that I must be blushing, but maybe my liver has made me pale enough that it's not obvious. Or it could be even more obvious. Either way, she's smiling quite knowingly at me, and it's clear she already knows what answer I'm going to give.

"Well... yes," I mumble out.

It's no secret anymore, but I still have to fight the urge to whisper it.

"That's fine, you can head on back if you know where he is."

"I... actually don't. Is he accepting guests?"

She pauses, and checks a chart in front of her, before looking back up and nodding.

"Seems so! At least he hasn't specified he doesn't want any."

Maybe he wanted me to come? It seems unlikely, but it's at least a nice little hopeful thought. It almost gives me enough strength to manage a smile back at her.

"Okay, well then, I can go back and just search, or... is there a specific place I should go, or..."

As I gesture like some sort of idiot towards the side door that leads to the rest of the hospital, Nurse Redheart seems to catch sight of the basket I'm carrying on my back. She clears her throat a little, and the sound is enough to cut off my confused ramblings and leave me staring mutely back at her.

"We have to check that bag, you know. Before you go in," she says. She still sounds kind, but she's a little firmer in tone now. This is a business matter.

"I-is that really necessary?" I stutter out.

I'm sure I don't seem shifty or suspicious at all. She nods.

"Yes, afraid so. It won't take more than a moment. We just don't allow weapons of any sort, as well as anything that could start a fire or..."

"I know the routine," I say weakly.

"Still, I've got to take a little peek, okay?"

I don't know why I feel so embarrassed all of a sudden. I'm not doing anything illegal or wrong, but it's also all kind of... feelsy and over the top and dumb. It's not what others usually associate me with, and I suppose it feels weird for anyone besides Anon to see that side of me. But it can't be helped. I pull the rather sizable basket off my back, and hold it open on the counter just a little for the nurse to peer into

She looks over it, probably trying to figure out why I'd be carrying all this stuff into a damn hospital in the first place. Extra clothes or some toiletries would make sense, but this stuff is more confusing. Then I see some current of understanding flow through her expression. She smiles down at my basket, then up at me, and gives a slow approving nod.

"Sure, you can take all that inside," she says gently. "Just don't make a mess or spill anything, okay?"

I wonder if perhaps the doctors and nurses at the hospital were the first ones to figure out that we were dating. After all, they saw us visit each other, saw the dread in our faces when the other was having tests done or was sick. The way she looks at me now, so tenderly, I have to wonder if our romance is some sort of odd little soap opera to all of them. Not that I'm complaining, though I do feel put a bit center stage right now. At least she's keeping her voice low, not blowing my cover. I finally return her smile, still feeling sheepish and a little foolish, and give a small nod back.

"Of course. I won't." I pause as I move to turn away, then make eye contact with her once more. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," she says. "Visiting hours are over at eight, and if anyone gives you trouble about having that stuff in a patient room, just send them to me. Now go on. Room 201, on the right."

She makes a little shooing gesture towards the side door that leads to the patient rooms. As I move towards it, I hear her hiss one more thing after me.

"And have fun!"

~*~

I find the room easily among the mazes of hallways. As I reach it, I pause by the entrance to check for a chart I can look over to see how he's faring. I'm not so lucky this time, but I still hesitate there, unwilling or maybe unable to open the door. I remember how I stood outside a hospital door like this once, still less than a year ago, waiting before busting in and confessing my love for Anon. It feels like it's been lifetimes since then, and perhaps it has been, in a way. I'm a different pony now. Perhaps he's also a different person. But here I am, outside another hospital room, all the same, hesitating about busting in and talking about my feelings. In that way, I guess I haven't changed much after all.

I take a deep breath and swallow it like medicine, then push the door open.

At first, he doesn’t see me. He’s lying back in the hospital bed with a variety of wires and tubes emerging from his hospital gown. The gown fits him funny, probably because it was originally made for a horse, but also because there is some sort of device against his chest. I can see that his near hand has what looks like a clothespin on one fingertip, and that it hooks up to a large machine making a very faint beeping noise. In spite of my surroundings, I recognize the beeping rhythm as that of his heart.

On the other side are still more machines, all reading numbers and dials, and the plethora of wires branches out to connect to each one. There’s also a clear bag on a stand by the bed, with a tube feeding into his inner arm. He looks like he’s sprouted new limbs, grown the machines right out of his body. When I take it in, it hurts me in some small way. I know how he feels, I know what it’s like to watch the dials, check to see if you can make them move by force of will, shift and feel tubes moving in your veins. You don’t feel like you own your body at that point. You’re just confined in it, waiting.

As I hesitate there, he turns his head and spots me. The wave of emotions across his face are too many to count. He’s shocked, of course, but then there’s this fluctuation of things I’m not certain the mix of. Confusion, annoyance, denial, and maybe… relief? Maybe joy at seeing me? A part of me deeply hopes so. His words, however, show more of the surprise than anything else.

“Berry? What are you-”

He moves to sit up in bed, but mess of beeping from the machines cuts his sentence short, and he freezes. I see him tense, then relax a little, and it looks like it takes great effort. The beeping subsides.

“Hey, easy,” I say quickly and quietly as I move to keep him from trying to move any further. “Yeah… it’s me.”

It feels lame to just say that, but I’m not really sure what else to say. Everything I rehearsed on the way over is just gone. I’m just left feeling small and foolish at his bedside. He looks me up and down, like he’s waiting for me to vanish or that he might wake up.

“What are you doing there?” he tries again.

There’s wonder in his tone, but I can also hear an edge of annoyance now. I expected that. I’d had a way to shut it down all planned out, but it too has left me. I shrug.

“I… wanted to see you. I was worried.”

He shakes his head slowly.

“Berry, it’s just tests, there’s nothing to worry about. I told you not to come, I asked you to just wait for me.”

Now I’m the one who feels a spark of anger.

“Yeah,” I snap, before I can reel myself back in. “Just waiting with no word from you, no news, no idea if you’re okay, that’s a wonderful way for me to not worry.”

I shut my mouth as quickly as the words are out of it. There’s a short silence, and I’m eventually the one who breaks it.

“I just… couldn’t do that,” I say, much more softly. “I couldn’t sit at home knowing you were here in this… place. I didn’t want you to be alone. And… I didn’t want to be alone.”

I can feel a tremble in the last words, but I catch myself and steady them just enough to get the whole thought across. He blinks at me, and I can see his mind working, piecing thoughts and feelings together into a more full understanding. And when it all comes together, I see his expression go gentle. His lips hesitate between a smile and a frown, unable to make up their mind.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel alone,” he says at last.

It’s hard to keep myself steady this time.

“You didn't, not really. I did. I’m good at that. But I needed to be here for you, even if it’s an inconvenience. I needed to…” I try to find the words. “I needed to be sure that, no matter what happened, I was with you when it did.”

“Even if nothing happens?”

“Even if it’s nothing, yeah.”

I drop my gaze. I feel ashamed all at once, though still determined. I believe every word I’m saying, but it still leaves me with a sense that I’m in the wrong here. And I can’t place why that might be.

“I know it’s selfish,” I say. “I know you wanted to do this alone. But… if it’s okay with you, can I please stay here? At least for a little while?”

I feel a hand gingerly cup the bottom of my chin. He lifts it slowly, making sure I’m willing for it to happen, until I can’t help but look him in the eye. I find, to my immense relief, that he’s smiling at me.

“Of course,” he says softly. “And you’re not selfish.”

“I said my actions were, not me,” I mumble, glancing away briefly.

“I don’t think they were either.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

I’m half joking, and we’re both used to the self-depreciating humor we swap on occasion. But he doesn’t let it go or play along this time. Still very gently holding my chin, he leans towards me so that our noses almost touch, so his eyes become a blur of light colors, of sky and morning ocean.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers. “I didn’t want you to see me like this, and I didn’t want to worry you. But at least this way I can tell you it’ll be okay.”

“I… need to hear that sometimes. More like all the time.”

“So do I.”

"Then… should we just tell each other that in loop?”

Now he does laugh, just a chuckle, but he’s close enough to me that I can taste the laughter in my breath.

“If you want to.”

“What If I want a hug instead?”

“You can always have those. So many, until you’re sick of them.”

“That’ll never happen,” I say with a chuckle of my own.

“Then you’ll always get hugs.”

With that, he closes the distance between our faces, and presses his lips onto mine. I feel his arms wind around my neck, the hand on my chin slipping up to stroke my cheek. I close my eyes to savor it all, and try to remind myself not to cry from the overwhelming surge of emotions rising in me. I fall towards him to place a hoof on his chest and…

I abruptly step back from him in surprise as my hoof meets something that feels like metal or plastic concealed under his gown. It hasn’t hurt me or anything, but it’s so different from the soft flesh and warm heart that usually great me that it's kind of jarring. I break the kiss, regretting that I’ve done so almost immediately. The dials and numbers on the nearby machines spike a little, then fade back to more normal patterns and figures. Anon seems to be confused for a moment as to why I’ve retreated, but then he nods and taps the center of his chest with one finger.

“Oh, yeah, that,” he says dryly. “They’re monitoring me for the rest of the day up until I go to sleep. I did a minor stress test earlier, and they’re making sure my body doesn’t panic and react negatively to it somehow.”

“Why would it?” I ask, wondering if I should be more concerned about his stress levels rather than just his immune system.

Anon shrugs.

“It shouldn’t, to my knowledge,” he says. “But it’s all part of the tests, I guess. So… here I am.”

He gestures to the mess of wires, machinery, and tubes. Again, I feel a prickling of sympathy pain at how I know he must feel with all this hooked up to him.

“Well,” I say, trying to shake the sensation away. “Could you use some cheering up?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m here, let me do things for you,” I snap good-naturedly.

“You really don’t have to,” he says almost pleadingly.

“Well, I’m going to anyway, so the least you can do is try to enjoy it.”

He sighs, but I see the hint of a smile on his face, and I know he won’t put up any more of a fight.

“Okay, just… don’t make too big a thing of it.”

Oh. Well. I know it's not exactly a huge production, but I know that the effort and thought I've put into this might make him feel uneasy. He was always uncomfortable getting gifts and the more elaborate, the more the discomfort. Too bad I also like giving gifts so much that I sometimes forget that fact. I try to hide the blush as I lift my precious basket up off the floor and show it to him. He stares at the massive thing, then back at me, seeming curious as well as concerned.

“T-too late!” I stutter out while barely maintaining my smile.

“What is this, you didn’t have to get me anything,” he practically groans.

“Lucky you, I got us something, not just you,” I say quickly. It's a good cover, and he's more willing to accept without feeling weird about it this way.

“Fine what did you get us?”

I feel an impish grin spread across my face as I set the basket down beside one of his legs in the hospital bed, and carefully open it. The first thing I pull out is a pair of petite containers, both containing finger sandwiches, cheese, and crackers. After setting those at his bedside, I also drag out a small hard salami, the cabernet infused one from our local market. It doesn't count as alcohol, but hot damn if it doesn't taste of it, and I know he's very fond of the stuff. At long last, I pull up an unlabeled green wine bottle with the cork still pushed most of the way in. It's our first date in a basket, recreated nearly perfectly, with only a few particular tweaks.

Now I glance up at his face to see his reaction to all this. His eyes are transfixed on that bottle, and I hear a catch in his heart rate as he looks it over. Before I even hear him speak, I can already tell what his concern is. And really, I don't blame him. It does look like I've just brought alcohol into the hospital room with us.

"Berry, that's not... it isn't..."

I roll my eyes.

"Oh please, I wouldn't do that to myself."

"So it's not that cheap non alcoholic wine I brought on our first date?"

I wrinkle my nose. Okay, I guess I didn't know what he was worried about.

"Anon," I say solemnly, "I wouldn't do that to either of us."

He lets out a soft chuckle.

"Still sorry about that, by the way. So, what is this thing, then?"

Using my teeth and swelling a little with pride, I tug the cork out with my teeth, and deposit it back into the picnic basket. I have the desire to be grand right then, present it to him, seem sophisticated. But I also realize I've forgotten any drinking glasses, and that's enough for me to lose composure. I stutter, then blurt out the first thing that comes to me.

"Cranberry, it's supposed to help you pee."

"Gee thanks."

"That isn't... I mean... hush you," I groan. "I was being sweet and you know it."

"I know, I know," he says, again laughing through his words, "It's a very nice thought, thank you, Berry."

"Only the finest things for my Shnookums."

He recoils from me. Just the reaction I intended.

"No. Never again."

"Pookie bear then? Sweetness? Hot butt?"

"Just go get some cups from the orderly cart before I start bullying you into silence," he grumbles, his cheeks visibly pink.

I smile in victory and stand up from his bedside. He always did hate pet names, and while he's pretty good at pushing my buttons and getting a rise out of me, I know this is a surefire way to go after him. And, on occasion, I like having the upper hoof.

"Whatever you'd like my love," I say, practically rolling the last two words off my tongue.

He sighs heavily as I walk to the door in a near skip.

"That one's not so bad. At least it's better than hot butt."

"Oooh, so I can call you that from now on?" I say excitedly.

I glance over my shoulder, smiling broadly, and he glares at me with no real malice.

"Don't push it."

"I won't, I won't... my love." I sing out as I slip out the door.

I can hear him call after me with an even louder groan of frustration.

"My stress test was supposed to be over hours ago, Berry! One more time and I'm calling the RN to have you added to the no visit list!"

I'm smiling as I go grab a pair of flimsy plastic cups, and I keep a lightness to my step. But inside there's something sinking deeper and deeper. Something with a weight I can't fathom and a surface so slippery I can't catch hold. It's to dark in those parts of me for me to see what it is and name it. But I know its taste in a vague, instinctual way. In me, there's a fear. Despite our jokes, our banter and games, there's something serious in that hospital room awaiting me when I get back.

I realize that there's one more thing I have to say to him. And I won't be able to do it with a smile.

~*~