11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Greg

Greg chopped the peppers while Allen cracked the eggs, and in not too long, they were sitting down at the table, eating breakfast. But the conversation between them had been stilted, the air thick with tension and uncertainty. Greg just didn’t know what to say. Or what to do.

It seemed like a very bad decision to him—for Allen to go into work today to supervise Christopher and Owen. A very bad decision. Particularly after the morning Allen had had—the shaking and trembling, the spiral, the panic.

He wanted to be supportive. He knew Allen needed that above all else. Only, Greg wasn’t so sure being supportive was the best thing in this instance. His gut was telling him he needed to try a little harder to convince Allen to stay home... in the most supportive way possible.

He took the last bite of his omelet and glanced up across the table at his husband as he chewed. Allen had the newspaper open in front of him, but he wasn’t moving—his eyes were unfocused and looking elsewhere, not at the newspaper, and his omelet sat almost untouched, one hand loosely holding his fork.

Greg frowned again and then lightly cleared his throat. “Joe’s barbeque is tomorrow afternoon,” he said, hoping to break the silence and the tension that had come with it.

From across the table, Allen lifted his eyes, looking up at Greg over the top of his reading glasses. His expression seemed dull, or resigned, maybe. Whatever it was, it wasn’t an expression Greg liked or was used to seeing. Greg shook his head softly.

“We don’t have to go, if you’re not up to it. I just...” He trailed off, wholly unsure—again—of what to say or do.

As he watched, Allen’s expression tightened even more. “We can go,” Allen said simply, and although he looked about ready to say something more, he didn’t. Instead, his eyes dropped to his plate, and he seemed to force his hand to move, the motion stiff and hesitant as he cut off a small bite of his omelet.

And it was painful again as Greg clearly heard the words Allen hadn’t said but was obviously thinking. About how he didn’t want Greg to change or cancel plans because of him. How he didn’t want to be a burden. Or disruptive. Or...

Greg nodded a response, although he wasn’t sure Allen saw it. Then he silently pushed back his chair, stood, and picked up his plate to move it to the dishwasher. He was aware that he needed to reassure Allen he wasn’t upset, since he knew Allen would be reading much too much into everything, including Greg’s silence. But at the same time, he couldn’t do that because he actually was upset.

He closed the dishwasher and rested his hands on the counter, staring blankly out the window. His mind kept replaying earlier that morning in bed, when Allen had begged him to “make it stop.” Allen had been shaking, his whole body trembling, and he’d felt cold and clammy. Greg had done the only thing he’d known to do—hold his husband, talk to him, reassure him. And eventually, Allen’s shaking had stopped.

But this was different than he was used to. Scarier somehow than the panic and anxiety Allen had had in the past. There was something deeper happening, something that Allen hadn’t quite told him.

“I can handle it, Greg,” Allen said quietly, and Greg felt one of Allen’s hands on his back. “I have to go. I said I would, and—”

“You don’t have to,” Greg interrupted, shaking his head. His hands gripped the counter tighter. “You don’t have to go. Someone else can handle it today. Annabeth or—or your intern, Casey, right? He can handle it. You”—Greg turned around slowly and had to resist the urge to gather Allen up in his arms and just hold him—“should not be the one handling it today. Not today, Allen. Not after this morning. I can’t... agree with you on this. I won’t stop you, because it’s your decision. But it’s—but I think it’s the wrong one.”

His chest ached as he watched Allen recoil a step, his hand dropping down to his side. Allen’s mouth had tightened into a frown, and his gray-blue eyes held Greg’s gaze but were clouded with pain. Greg’s stomach lurched, and he swallowed hard as he reached out and took Allen’s hand.

“I know you feel an obligation, and I know you want to show those boys what true kindness and compassion are. I understand that, really I do. But you’ve been struggling all week, and even before that, and you said it yourself earlier—this is bad, worse than normal. Allen... please. Please, think about this.”

Allen’s eyes had dropped, and he now stared at their hands, his face taut. Greg moved a step closer, and he watched Allen’s eyes close. The tension in the air between them was almost palpable. He shook his head gently .

“Allen—”

“I feel like I want to die.” Allen’s voice was low, and he didn’t look up at Greg, even as he stepped closer, wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist, and blew out a short breath. Greg’s stomach clenched with a nauseating uncertainty, and he automatically returned the embrace, holding his husband tightly. With a shudder, Allen buried his head against Greg’s shoulder. “I don’t really want to, I mean. I... wouldn’t ever do... that. I-I think. But the thoughts are there. And insistent. And—and that’s what was so overwhelming earlier, in bed.”

“And . . . now?”

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as Allen’s arms tightened around Greg’s waist again.

“Now it’s like... it’s still there—that feeling. And I’ve acknowledged it and told it it’s not welcome, but it didn’t leave. It’s still there.” Allen paused, and the moment seemed to stretch on and on.

Greg closed his eyes and took two measured breaths. Over thirty years together. Over thirty years, and this might be the most scared he’d ever felt for his husband. His heart stuttered in his chest, and he pressed a light kiss into Allen’s hair. He tried not to let himself think how he must have done something wrong this last week—not been supportive enough or not taken care of Allen enough or something. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“It’s not forcing me to think it, not anymore,” Allen continued, his voice still quiet, still shaky. “But it’s still... there. And I—god, Greg, I have no intention of—of trying anything. I hope you don’t—I hope you don’t—”

Greg shook his head quickly, then he pulled back just enough while his hand reached up to cup Allen’s cheek. The familiar roughness of Allen’s neatly trimmed beard felt different somehow, and as Greg tilted Allen’s chin up and searched his eyes, there was another uncomfortable tightness in his chest. “I love you, and—and I’ll help you through this, and we’ll get through this together, as we always, always have. Okay? Okay?”

There was a desperation in his tone, and he could hear it. He was sure Allen could hear it too. In fact, he hoped Allen heard it—heard it and believed him and trusted him.

But he felt it before he saw it and before Allen spoke—that chill again. The distance between them somehow grew, even though neither of them had moved. Allen swallowed, closed his eyes, and just nodded with a quiet “okay,” mumbled through a tight jaw. That was all. And the uncertainty that hit Greg then was strong and intense and sent a fierce shiver through him.

At the same time, he felt Allen cling to him, leaning against him, and he slipped both arms low around his husband’s waist to support him. He inhaled deeply, then blinked and closed his eyes again.

“Has it ever been this bad before?” he asked quietly. He thought maybe Allen had already told him earlier, but he wanted to hear Allen’s thoughts again now—now that he was a little calmer and thinking a little more clearly.

“No.”

“Have you ever—have you ever had these types of thoughts before?”

There was a pause, and Greg felt warmth seep through his shirt as Allen let out a long breath. “Yes.”

“Allen...” He breathed his husband’s name and pulled Allen up against him more, letting his hands smooth up and down Allen’s back. “Allen, you never told me...”

“It wasn’t really like this so much,” Allen admitted, and he straightened up just slightly and lifted his eyes. Greg saw tears in them, and he shook his head weakly as Allen continued. “It was just a fleeting thought here or there. Really, Greg. I-I thought it was maybe something everyone thought about, from time to time...?”

“No, no, I don’t think so, darling,” Greg answered softly, and Allen blinked several times with a weak nod.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, but—” With a rough exhale, Allen scrunched his eyes closed, and his hands pressed into Greg’s back as though needing him to be even closer, to hold him even tighter. “I-I’m scared, and I need you. But I also... I also need you to let me go to work today.”

“Why?” Greg tried to deliver the question without any sort of accusation to his tone, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded. Allen tensed in his arms. “Please explain it to me,” he added quickly. “I need to understand.”

With a nod, Allen pulled away, and he didn’t look at his husband as he dropped his arms to his sides and then tilted his head slightly toward the living room. “Can we go sit?”

Greg agreed immediately, and he followed Allen over to the couch. Allen sat down first, lowering himself stiffly into the middle couch cushion. After Greg took his spot next to Allen, one leg hiked up under him so he could face his husband, Allen scooted all the way over until he was once again in his husband’s arms. Greg kissed the top of his head and then held him while Allen started talking—his words slow and punctuated by long pauses.

“I do know that what Christopher and Owen did is likely the reason things are this bad for me right now,” Allen began. He swallowed hard and rested his head against Greg’s chest, and Greg rubbed his hand up Allen’s forearm to his elbow. “I understand how you see that and know that, like I do, and you’re thinking... and you’re thinking, why the heck does Allen want to spend more time around them? And you see how that’s a bad idea, and I-I understand that too. Because maybe—maybe it is. But I—”

Allen stopped talking abruptly as he started shaking again, and his hand moved to the middle of Greg’s chest. Greg could feel Allen pressing into him as he had earlier, as though he needed to feel Greg’s closeness. He breathed another kiss against Allen’s temple this time and stayed silent, waiting for Allen to continue.

“I know, Greg, I just know that I need to feel... wanted and needed. Whenever I’ve been most down, it’s been reminders of things like that—that I’m loved and that I’m a part of something, like this community and my job and our relationship. Those things, those reminders are what have always given me strength and helped me the most. And I—and so what I think I really need is your support now, Greg. And—”

“You have it, darling,” Greg cut in, and even though he tried to maintain an even tone, he heard the strain in his own voice. “You’ve always had my support, but—”

“But I don’t. Not really. Not this time .” Allen didn’t move or pull away, and Greg was thankful. But his words were filled with an emotional distance, almost a numbness or detachment, and it made Greg’s worry spike even more. “You don’t want me going in today, and I understand that. But I need to, and I need—I really, really need for you to agree with me and support me. Greg, I need to be there. And yeah, maybe I’m—maybe I’m wrong. But I need—”

Allen stopped as he sucked in a sharp breath and then tensed, his whole body tightening in Greg’s embrace.

“I need—”

Again, he started and stopped, and his hand, which had been pressing strongly into Greg’s chest, fell away, down to Greg’s thigh. Then, Allen’s whole body began to shake with sobs, even as he buried his head into Greg’s chest more and began mumbling nonsense words. Something about being sorry, and something else about probably being wrong anyway. Something about how he felt such a deep, utterly dark hopelessness sometimes, and how he was so sorry he needed all the constant reminders that he was loved. And then Greg heard him say how he knew he was loved, how he really did know, because Greg showed him all the time, but the negative thoughts and the despair could somehow sneak in, take over, snuff out all the good and all the love and replace it with an intense sadness. All the words were jumbled, stuttered, out of order. Wetness seeped through Greg’s shirt, and his own tears stung at the corners of his eyes, but he barely noticed. He just held his husband tightly and started reciting his own truths.

“Shh, my darling. You are loved and wanted and needed. And you are worthy of that love, you are enough, just as you are. I love you and need you, and I always have and always will. Please, please, Allen...”

He knew Allen still hadn’t really even given him a clear explanation about why he absolutely insisted on going to work. And he was sure Allen knew that too. But he’d heard enough of Allen’s argument to know one thing—his husband absolutely needed him to be okay with it.

And that felt heavy. Heavy and difficult, and Greg wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Because even though he really did want to be okay with it so he could support Allen—he really still... wasn’t.

And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—lie about that. That would serve no purpose and would only make things worse. He knew that from experience.

Greg took a deep breath and continued rubbing Allen’s back with long, slow, gentle strokes. When Allen’s body stopped shaking, and his shuddering sobs quieted into more regular breathing, Greg lowered his cheek to rest on the top of Allen’s head, and he closed his eyes. “Allen, I’m so sorry,” he started, because he didn’t know what else to say. “I’m so sorry I gave you reason to doubt that I supported you. I do support you. I always will. I just... I just can’t...”

The short silence as Greg’s voice trailed off was thick and yet sharp at the same time. A ragged exhale from Allen broke the quiet after a moment, however, and Allen sat up and pulled away, wiping at his cheeks with one hand.

A strong tug in Greg’s chest sent him reaching for his husband again, but Allen shook his head once and stood, his eyes downcast and his hands balled up into fists at his sides.

“It’s okay,” Allen said, his voice unusually taut and hard. “But I need to go get ready now or I’ll be late.”

“Allen—”

“I’ll walk myself. And I’ll be home maybe around twelve thirty. Maybe we can still go to Seattle after.” His words were clear, but his tone was filled with pain and hurt and doubt.

Greg shook his head, starting to push himself up to stand. “No, I’ll walk with you still, I—”

“I can walk myself, Greg. I’m not a child,” Allen stated, and he turned away from Greg and, without looking back, headed toward the stairs.

Greg’s mouth hung partway open as he watched his husband stalk off, and he quickly closed it and sat back on the couch, his gaze still following Allen up the stairs. His heart ached in his chest, willing him to rush after Allen and apologize, but his legs wouldn’t respond, and instead, he just sat there, staring as Allen disappeared down the upstairs hallway.

A moment later, he heard the bedroom door slam, and then, all was silent.

He closed his eyes and let out the breath he’d been holding.

A fight. How long had it been? Years maybe? They just didn’t really fight. Little disagreements here and there, sure. All couples did that. But a real fight, with Allen getting angry and stalking off? He actually wasn’t sure if that had ever happened. Allen just didn’t get angry like that; he didn’t argue or raise his voice, didn’t yell, didn’t stomp off. In fact, Allen could barely stand when they’d disagree about simple things, like what to have for dinner. It just wasn’t him .

And he certainly didn’t slam doors.

A part of Greg still wanted to hop up and follow, apologize or... something. But another part of him felt too lost to do that. Lost and unsure. And Allen was right. He wasn’t a child, and he could make his own decisions. They didn’t always have to agree on everything, did they?

The simple question didn’t really account for all of the factors in the equation, Greg knew. But he just didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to react. So instead, he stood on shaky legs, turned in the opposite direction, and headed out into his office in the garage.