“It’s okay, I’ll help him.” Relieved, Tom let Mischa help him up. He couldn’t have anybody else touching him right now.
Tom had had to look down when he was taken through the hospital, the impressions and noises so overwhelming that he was sweating by the time they got to the entrance. Mischa had brought the car around, and Tom managed to walk the few steps before he gratefully sank into the seat and closed his eyes. He could feel Mischa fasten his seat belt, and then his lover gently kissed Tom’s cheek, telling him that everything was okay. Tom didn’t think it was, but right now he needed to believe it, so he lay back and fell asleep.
It was the longest walk from the car to the bedroom, and he gratefully sank down on the bed when he finally made it. He had to pee, though, and Mischa had to help him up again. Tom already hated being that helpless, but there was nothing he could do about it.
It stung when he peed, making him wince. That tube in his dick had been disgusting and just the thought of it made him shudder. Of course, that might also have been because of the blood in the bowl. They had warned him about it, but it still looked freaky.
He turned to wash his hands, and Mischa stood in front of him. Tom looked questioningly at him, and Mischa reluctantly moved. Tom washed his hands, and by habit, he looked into the mirror.
Fuck.
He felt bad, but he looked worse. “Shit. I look like a monster.” It wasn’t an exaggeration. His eye was swollen, his cheek was an impossible red-black color, and the stitches made him look like Frankenstein. He could see Mischa’s face in the mirror behind him.
“Yeah, you do look like shit.”
Tom couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He turned around and slapped Mischa in the chest. Hard. It did ruin the impression a bit that he lost his balance and clung to Mischa, but it was the principle of it.
Mischa caught him, gently supporting him. “I guess we’re lucky I didn’t take you for your good looks.” The joking words were contrasted by the way Mischa’s voice broke at the end of the sentence. Mischa held onto Tom, so careful not to hurt, hiding his head in Tom’s shoulder.
“Come on, Mischa, I need to lie down.” Tom gently patted Mischa’s side until he let go. Mischa pulled back and smiled a bit sheepishly, his eyes very bright, before he helped Tom back into the bedroom.
Tom sighed when he could finally lie down. “I’m so tired.” He forced his eyes open, though, when he didn’t feel Mischa get into bed with him. His lover sat in the chair next to their bed, seeming determined to keep watch over Tom.
“Come nap with me? I can’t sleep without you here.” It wasn’t exactly the truth -- Tom could sleep in the middle of a highway at the moment -- but Mischa looked exhausted. If a bit of emotional blackmail could make him rest, then Tom wasn’t above doing so.
It didn’t take much work, though, before Mischa lay next to him, and Tom shuffled to get closer. That was when he found out that he couldn’t really touch Mischa. When he tried, either his ribs hurt or his back or his face. The pain made him hiss and stiffen.
“Shh. It’s okay. We can rest like this.” Mischa took his hand, and Tom had to be content with lying on his side, his other arm loosely around Mischa. It wasn’t the comfort that Tom really needed, but it was what he could get, and he was exhausted enough to fall asleep.
***
He woke up before Mischa, almost in the same position as when he fell asleep. Mischa was lying with one arm around Tom. In theory, it was good to be held; in reality, Mischa’s heavy arm rested on top of a particularly sore hematoma. Tom tried to wiggle to move it a bit, and he had to hold his breath when the pain tore through his back. Fuck, his kidneys hurt.
Tom managed to stay quiet, though, and Mischa didn’t wake up. The man looked as if he hadn’t slept at all last night, and knowing him, Mischa probably hadn’t. It made Tom feel a little foolish; he hadn’t exactly been very macho at the hospital, whining and complaining about the pain as he had.
Mischa mumbled in his sleep and dragged him in closer, and this time Tom didn’t manage to keep in a whimper. Mischa opened his eyes, at first looking completely bewildered.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Tom tried to smile, keeping the pain at bay by only breathing shallowly.
“Don’t worry.” Mischa looked at the clock. “I didn’t want to sleep the day away anyway. You need your painkillers?” He gently stroked Tom’s hair, avoiding the cut.
“Yeah,” Tom admitted. There was no way he was going to get out of bed feeling like he did right now.
“Stay here. I’ll get them for you.” Tom obeyed, which was quite simple since he couldn’t move without some part of him screaming with pain.
He was still in the exact same position when Mischa came back. He saw the frown on Mischa’s face, but he just wasn’t strong enough to pretend he was okay. He did hate the worry on his lover’s face, though.
Mischa didn’t say anything, just helped Tom swallow the pills and drink a little extra water. Then Mischa lay down again, his hand on Tom’s hair, caressing. It didn’t hurt; it was just weird not to be touched anywhere else like Tom was used to.
“You’ll be fine, baby. I know it hurts right now, but the doctors told me that you’ll be fine.” Somehow, it sounded like Mischa was trying to convince himself as much as Tom.
Tom reached over and clumsily patted Mischa’s shoulder. The painkillers were starting to kick in, making him a little woozy. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” He wanted to say more, to reassure Mischa that the man didn’t have to be concerned, but his eyes were so heavy, and he fell asleep again.
Chapter 11
The first couple of days were... confusing. Tom stayed in bed. Not so much because the doctors had told him to, but because it hurt too much to move. Besides, he got exhausted just by walking to the bathroom. In theory, he was allowed to rest on the couch, as well, but he preferred the bedroom; it was quieter, and there was too much light in the living room.
Then, after a while, he could see out of both eyes and his kidneys got better, but his cheek and ribs still hurt. Sometimes he was woken up at night by his own whimpering because he had tried to lie on his left side in his sleep. It woke up Mischa, too, and he hated seeing how stressed out his lover was because of him. Mischa tried to hide it, but Tom could feel how much Mischa worried. So Tom tried to stop whining so Mischa wouldn’t have to take care of him constantly.
The worst part was his head, though. Tom had a strange feeling of being... limited, like his mental capacities were reduced to a fraction of what they usually were. He knew that it was all a side effect of the concussion, and in the beginning, it was okay. After a while, the inactivity started to irritate him, though. He couldn’t read very much yet, and TV was out of the picture; the constant movement and noise was way more than Tom could handle. He did listen to the radio a bit, but there weren’t that many interesting shows on -- and when there was, Tom often had to shut it off before it ended because he was too tired to do anything but close his eyes and rest.
It was stupid, unimportant things that really got to him, though -- like the fact that he had trouble eating solid food because of his cheek. Actually, Tom had lost his appetite completely, but he tried to hide that, too. Mischa was a good cook, but the man had never had to cook fucking baby food before, and Tom’s heart sank when he saw how hard Mischa worked and how disappointed his lover got when Tom couldn’t eat it anyway.
When he was served the fifteenth kind of soup by a harassed-looking Mischa, he exploded.
“I hate this!” Tom punched one of the cushions on the couch. “I’m not getting better and this is all I can eat and my brain still doesn’t work at all. This sucks!” He immediately felt bad when he saw how Mischa’s face fell.
“I’m sorry, Mischa, really. I didn’t mean to be unreasonable.” Now he was an ungrateful bastard on top of everything else. It just sucked.
Mischa sighed and sat down next to him. “I know, and you’re not. I just hate that I can’t help you. You’re doing fine, by the way; the doctor said that this was how it was going to be. I guess you just have to be patient.”
Tom smiled bitterly. “Yeah, well, that isn’t one of my stronger traits, I’m afraid. The worst part is...”
“What’s the worst part?” Mischa gently stroked Tom’s hair. It still hurt too much to be embraced. Tom hated that, too, and most of all he hated the fact that he didn’t want to be touched. He pushed the thought out of his head.
“It’s that I don’t even want to do anything else. All I can think about is when I can get to lie down again. It scares the hell out of me; what if it doesn’t change?” If he couldn’t finish his thesis and get a job?
Mischa moved closer and put his arm around Tom, hardly touching Tom at all. “It will be better, I promise you. It has only been a few weeks, and your brain needs time to heal. You remember the numbers?”
He did. Three to six weeks of rest, three to six weeks of recuperation. Maybe more. Tom nodded.
“Good. And you’re not even past the first three weeks. Give it time, baby.”
Tom sighed and let his head rest on Mischa’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to be a drama queen. I’m just tired.” Dead tired.
“I know. And don’t worry. Let your body heal, then your brain will follow.”
Tom nodded. He didn’t know if Mischa was right, but there wasn’t much else he could do other than agree. The alternative to a complete recuperation was too scary.
***
“Tom.” He heard Mischa, but he was just so tired.
“Tom.” Mischa gently shook him. Tom managed to open his eyes. Mischa was bent over their bed, dressed in a nice suit.
“I have a meeting in town today, remember?” Tom blinked. He did now.
“Toby is here to watch you. I’ll be back around six, okay?” Mischa kissed Tom and was out of the door before Tom had managed to say anything. He looked at Toby with disbelief.
“You’re my nanny today?” Tom couldn’t decide if he should be touched by Mischa’s gesture or offended that Mischa thought Tom needed a caretaker. He leaned strongly toward the latter.
Toby grinned as he leaned against the doorway. “It seems so. And at a very good price, too; Mischa agreed to go through my investments for me.”
Tom couldn’t help smiling a little. Doms and their games.
“Mischa told me that you had a bad night. Do you want me to sit in here or in the living room?”
That made Tom’s smile disappear, and for a moment, he hated everything. He hated the fact that he was too tired to talk to Toby, and he hated Mischa for ratting him out on how crappy he felt. Mischa had meant well, though.
“The living room is fine. I’m just going to get a little more sleep.”
Toby straightened up. He looked worried. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” The answer came automatically by now. “I’m just tired. It’s normal.”
Toby looked like the man might have an opinion on that, so Tom shut his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to discuss anything at the moment.
***
Tom woke up shouting, the fear so real that he didn’t even recognize the familiar surroundings. Toby came running into the bedroom.
“Are you okay? Tom?” He grabbed Tom’s shoulder. Tom flinched, the unexpected touch startling him.
Toby let go of him immediately. Fuck. Normally Tom was better at controlling it.
“Are you okay, Tom? You were screaming.”
Tom nodded automatically, trying to catch his breath. “Just a bad dream. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Toby sounded very sure. “You’re drenched in sweat, and you look like shit. What was your nightmare about?”
“I don’t know.” Apparently, all Doms asked the same questions. Toby looked doubtfully at him.
“I don’t! I keep having the same dream, and I don’t remember it when I wake up, okay?” Tom tried to get the sheets off, but he was still shaking too much. Fuck, he hated this dream.
Toby untangled Tom from the sweat-soaked sheets so he could get up. “You need a shower.” The Dom went into the bathroom without waiting to see if Tom followed. For a moment, Tom didn’t want to; Toby wasn’t his master, and he didn’t owe the man anything. But he needed the shower, so he did as he was told.
When Tom came into the bathroom, Toby had got the water running. The Dom turned and reached for Tom’s shirt to pull it off. Tom couldn’t help the reflexive step back. Toby looked oddly at him. Then the man stepped up to Tom again, moving slowly, and gently pulled Tom’s shirt off. Tom managed to stay still, letting Mischa’s friend undress him.
“Good. Now get under the water. I’ll change the sheets while you shower.”
Tom did as he was told. As soon as Toby disappeared, he let himself slide down the wall until he sat on the floor. These nightmares really took it out of him.
Tom let the warm water soothe him; it was about the only touch he could tolerate now. It still felt good, and he let himself relax under the spray.
Tom hadn’t heard Toby until the man opened the door to the shower. He looked surprised, but didn’t say anything when he saw Tom on the floor, just turned off the water and gave Tom a towel. When Tom had dried himself, Toby helped him up and got him dressed in dry clothes.
The sheets had been changed, and the room smelled fresh from the open windows. Tom gratefully let himself sink into bed, closing his eyes. It took a while before he heard the door close after Toby, but he was too tired to talk to anyone right now.
***
Toby was on the couch, reading, when Mischa came back. It had been a long day of meetings, and Mischa was tired.
“How has he been?”
Toby looked up. “Hello, Mischa. Fine, thank you, and yours?”
Mischa gestured apologetically. “Sorry. It’s just... I worry.”
Toby nodded. “I know. And I think you should.”
Mischa abruptly stopped undoing his tie and turned to look at Toby. “Is he okay? Has anything happened?”
“He’s sleeping, like he has been most of the day. He had a nightmare, though.”
Mischa felt his heart sinking. “Yeah, he has those pretty often.” He sat down heavily and sighed.
“He said that he didn’t remember what it was about.” Toby looked questioningly at Mischa.
Mischa shrugged. “I think he’s telling the truth. It seems like it only makes it worse that he doesn’t remember them.”
Toby nodded again. “It wasn’t so much the nightmare, though, even though he seemed upset. It was more the way he reacted when I touched him.”
“He let you touch him?” Mischa couldn’t keep the surprise and hurt from his voice when he interrupted Toby.
Toby looked sympathetically at him. “Not really. I shook him awake, and he acted like I’d hit him. When I tried to help him out of his wet shirt in the bathroom, I couldn’t even get near him at first. He’s... shell-shocked.”
Mischa felt his shoulders slump. “Traumatized. I know. He doesn’t like me touching him, either. He tries to hide it, but it’s not a thing you can hide from your lover, is it?” Mischa tried to laugh. It didn’t come out very convincingly, even to himself.
“Have you considered therapy?”
Mischa shrugged. “Of course. But he isn’t strong enough yet. His fatigue is an after-effect of the concussion and he needs to recover before he does anything like that. I talked to his doctor today.” Mischa looked helplessly at Toby. “I’m really worried.”
Toby reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re doing what you can. If the doctor says you have to wait, then you have to wait.” The man let go of Mischa’s shoulder and got up.
“If anybody can do it, you can. And I’m there if you need me for anything.” They hugged. Mischa pulled back and slapped Toby on the back, trying to smile. He didn’t really succeed, but he felt a little better anyway. At least he wasn’t imagining Tom’s problems. Then he saw his friend out and went to wake up his boy.