[capsy_wennet]

Title: Pulse Nigh to Pulse

Rating: M

Disclaimer: Nothing to do with me

Summary: Personal anxieties and professional stresses are taking their toll on the Allstars when a visitor arrives.

Chapter Ten

Tim banged on the door to what was temporarily Richard's room.

'Up and at 'em, Richie-boy. We need to get going.'

No response.

He went back to the room the Robinsons had allocated him and Paul, and made a clicking noise of frustration. All that could be seen of Paul was a bandaged hand on a pillow, the rest of him was buried deep under the duvet.

'Time to be moving, Paulie.'

'Too tired.'

'You need to shower.'

'Too blind.'

'What?'

'Don't know how to work the shower; don't know where the towels are.'

'I will help you,' said Tim through gritted teeth. 'If you start moving.'

'Bah.'

'It's Sunday.'

Paul emerged looking cross.

'I know what day it is,' he said. 'I'm not retarded.'

'Yeah, but you have forgotten that Rita and Mint are coming, haven't you?'

'Maybe a little,' Paul admitted as he sat up. 'Meant to cancel that.'

Tim was shocked, nothing made Paul miss training. While on tour they'd taken detours hundreds of miles out of their way so that he never had to skip a session, and now he was casually talking about cancellation like it didn't mean a thing.

'Can't walk far.'

That sounded reasonable enough, after all Paul did have a row of stitches in both his knees.

'So stay in the garden and chuck a ball around for him.'

'Shoulder's fucked.'

'Throw underarm.' Tim began to feel impatient. 'Work something out. Christ, you can spend the morning plaiting Mint's tail and telling him why you think the moon landings were faked for all I care, but, please get up.'

It was obvious that Paul wasn't that bad off physically because when he was he went very still and very quiet. In that sense Tim found Paul's complaining encouraging, but in every other it was a hassle that he did not need.

Once Paul was sat on the edge of the bed, Tim took hold of both his hands and, walking backwards, led him into the bathroom.

'So I've lowered the shower so it won't get your head wet – I'll do your hair after in the sink so mind out for the stool that's there – and if you keep your right arm up the bandage should stay dry. And I guess we'll just change the dressings on your knees as soon as you're done, should be okay.'

'Yeah, great,' replied Paul flatly. The loss of independence with being in someone else's home and currently needing help with practically everything was clearly getting to him.

Tim started the shower then glanced over as Paul slipped out of his boxers. Bruised and bandaged that body still drove him crazy.

'Think we should save water and double up,' Tim said.

'Purely for environmental reasons.' A hint of a smile played on Paul's lips as he spoke.

Once they were under the spray and the steam began to swirl around their glistening bodies, Tim reached for the shower gel and began to massage it into Paul's skin tracing wide circles and long caresses. Disappointingly, Paul seemed content merely to stand there and let it happen and made no attempt to reciprocate.

'Keep your arm up,' ordered Tim as he turned Paul around and began smoothing the gel into his well-developed chest: a legacy of years of singing as were his solid stomach muscles. Clothed, Paul cut a slight figure and his blindness gave him a misleading air of frailty, however Tim knew better.

Initiating a forceful, deep kiss, Tim worked his soapy hands lower; following the pleasure trail of dark hair down from Paul's navel.

'No,' Paul whispered. Then with more volume and urgency. 'No!'

He leapt out of the shower and groped for a towel that once found he quickly tied around his waist then stood looking lost and breathing quickly.

'Paul?' said Tim cautiously as he killed the shower then stepped out of it. 'What's going on?'

'I'm sorry.'

'Sit down a second. The stool's just there on your right.'

Once sat down, Paul clutched his chest and leaned forward fighting for breath. And Tim knew what he was witnessing: panic attack. But how could what they were doing have made Paul panic? 'Did I cause this?' Tim wondered, guiltily. 'Is it my fault?'

He reached out for a towel of his own before crouching down in front of Paul and forcing himself to sound calm as he went through the things they'd been told in hospital. Yes, it hurts but it's not doing you any damage. It's not a heart attack. It will pass. You're not going to pass out. You will keep breathing. Don't get scared thinking about what could occur, focus on what is. Acknowledge what's happening to your body and let it. Don't struggle. Roll with it, and it will be all right.

Gently, Tim took Paul's hand off his chest and held it up to his face.

'Remember? Both hands over your nose and mouth like a Darth Vader impression. Breath back in what you're breathing out...that's right. Good, that's excellent. It's all okay.'

And a few minutes later it was. Paul was breathing normally and the rigid tension left his body.

'Shit,' he sighed. 'I don't know why that happened.'

They held each other for a moment, each resting their forehead against the other's.

'Hair?' asked Tim.

'Hair.' Paul confirmed.

Tim folded a towel over the edge of the sink and got Paul to lean back.

'Actually, no. You should shave first.'

Paul rubbed the five days worth of beard growth on his face.

'Might go scruffy for a bit. Do you mind?'

Tim pressed a thumb against Paul's chin. 'Little patch of white,' he murmured, knowing what Paul's reaction to this news would be.

'Maybe I should shave.'

Tim grinned and reached for the shaving cream.

'I can do it,' said Paul.

'I want to. Just be still.'

Tim worked in silence for a while then asked:

'Can I make your sideburns more pointy?'

'Why?'

'Then you'll look even better, like a sexy elf.'

Paul's brow furrowed.

'Thought I was a pixie.'

'That's for onstage,' said Tim. Taking the lack of a 'no' as permission to carry on. 'Being an elf is just for me.'

'Sure an' shouldn't a McDermott be a leprechaun an' all?' asked Paul in his best County Cork drawl.

'Elf,' said Tim firmly, enjoying being silly. It was only since he'd been with Paul that he'd learned to loosen up and be playful.

Shaving done, Tim washed Paul's hair. Shielding the dressing from the water, taking extra care around the pronounced indentation and long, thick scar on the back of his head, knowing how much Paul didn't like them being touched, then following that up by changing the dressings on his knees and the left-hand side of his head.

'And you are good to go,' Tim eventually pronounced. 'Damn that took a long time, still at least Rich got a lie-in.'

As Paul shuffled away, Tim briefly jumped back into the shower to wash properly then went and thumped on Richard's door again. This time when he got no response he assumed that Richard must have gone downstairs in search of breakfast.

*****************

Paul lingered over getting dressed, Tim had blown in and out of their room like a hurricane, but Paul felt as if he was moving through unset concrete or something equally heavy and impenetrable. Suddenly even shrugging on his 'McDermott 3' shirt seemed like an extraordinarily complicated and tiresome thing to have to do, so he sat on the edge of the bed half-naked and shivering. Unable to dredge up the will or the energy to look after himself.

He was glad Tim had been in such a hurry, he didn't want to be seen like this. It wasn't that Paul wished Tim ill, it wasn't that at all, but just once he'd like the chance to be the one who got to do the looking after and the reassuring. Yet again he'd screwed up and their relationship had been spun off its axis condemning Tim once more to being the one who gave and received nothing in return. Sometimes he had no idea why Tim stuck around.

He was feeling really cold now, but reaching out for his shirt was an impossibility all he could do was sit, body frozen as his mind spiralled down and down. He was useless and self-indulgent; anyone else would pull themselves together and get on with their day. What was wrong with him? Why was he so weak? It had nothing to with being blind, he'd always been like this: in the way, apart, despicable. And then the penny dropped and Paul recognised his feelings for what they were: depression. His most long-standing and powerful enemy. He'd been taking medication for it for years, but sometimes it broke through that elaborate chemical barrier and reduced his life to ashes.

'Not again,' He silently pleaded. 'Not now.'

Tim burst in.

'You seen Rich?'

'No.'

Paul heard him check the bathroom then bang on Richard's door.

'Car's gone.' Ted's voice echoed up from downstairs.

'What's happening?' Paul called out.

Tim was quickly back in front of him.

'Read this,' he said in a tone of voice Paul had never heard before. 'What are you doing? You look freezing.'

Paul's shirt was pressed into his hands and he quickly threw it on then held out his hand clutching the sheet of paper Tim placed in it.

'Now read.'

Paul ran his fingers over the paper, incredulity mounting at every word.

'No, he wouldn't-'

'He has. This was in his room. I've got one too,' said Tim. 'And you heard Ted, the car's gone. Rich has left us.'

'I don't understand.'

'Yes, you fucking do!' Tim roared. 'He's gone. Now what?'

'Have you rung him up yet?' Ted's voice sounded from the doorway.

'You do it, Paul. You always know what to say,' said Tim, following up his vote of confidence by shoving a phone into Pauls' hands.

Paul's searching finger quickly found the raised dots on the number five that were a feature of every keypad and served to help him navigate his way around it and dial correctly. The phone rang once and then the answerphone kicked in.

'Hi, this is Richard. I'm not picking up right now. If you'd like to leave me a message that would be great.'

'Rich...um...well, look. I know you said to not call or be worried, but we all know that's crap.' Paul took a breath and frantically tried to think of the most suitable words. 'We are worried because you've just scared the hell out of us, so you've got to call as soon as you get this. Let us know that you got to your parents all right. Okay, Rich? Just that, we won't be angry or anything just say "I'm here" then hang up if you want, that's fine. Whatever you like. But please say something. We love you. Like Tim always says, everything else is just details, and we will sort them out. Talk to you soon.'

'Brilliant,' said Tim, squeezing Paul's thigh. 'I'd have started shouting.'

'All we've got to do now is wait,' said Ted gloomily observed.

****************

In the end Paul and Tim decided to carry on as normal rather than drive themselves mad waiting for the phone to ring. Tim ordered a taxi and headed off to continue cleaning up their flat, and Paul was soon in the Robinsons' back garden throwing a tennis ball left-handed for Mint to fetch, and not paying much attention to whatever point it was Rita was making about using a guide dog on public transport.

'Would you prefer it if we left?' Rita finally asked.

'No, I'm sorry. Having a very bad day.'

'If you weren't well enough to train you could have phoned me, it's understandable after what you've been through.' Paul was touched by the concern in her voice. 'I was so sorry to read in the paper what that lunatic had done. I hope he never gets out of jail.'

'He's not in jail. The police can't find him.'

'I'm sure they will soon.'

The bell on Mint's collar sounded louder and louder as he came bounding back with the ball and nudged it into Paul's hand for what seemed like the hundredth time.

'Why don't I take Mrs Robinson up on her offer of coffee and leave you two alone for a while? Just make a fuss of him; you know how much he enjoys that.'

Paul sat down on the grass and pulled Mint towards him, voicing an unbroken stream of love as he did so. At least he still had Mint, and that was huge as he was terribly afraid that something would happen that would mean he couldn't. Mint was the one thing he had going for him right now.

The two places on Earth where he felt truly secure and everything was easy had been taken from him because he'd fucked up onstage, and Jesse had destroyed their home. Richard was gone, a blow so severe that he'd yet to process it properly. It was unthinkable, but it had happened. Without Richard being around then Paul was very worried about how Tim would cope. If he really was lapsing back into depression then Paul would be forcing Tim into the role of carer again, only this time without Richard's support.

'It's all the wrong way round. I should have gone,' thought Paul. 'I'm the one who causes problems for everyone; it's my fault Rich has done this.'

His parents had wanted him to go home when he'd left hospital after his accident: they'd wanted to look after him. Paul had fought against that decision and gone back to his lover and his best friend instead, and he knew that in the process he had hurt his mum and dad very much. Now he realised how selfish he'd been to inflict that burden of care on Tim and Richard. No wonder one of them had finally snapped, he was ruining their lives. Not for the first time, Paul found himself bitterly regretting the fact that Tim had proved to be so adept at CPR.

Depression effortlessly pushed aside the last of Paul's flimsy defences and consumed him entirely. He wrapped his arms around Mint and wept.

[Teja]

I got so excited when I saw you'd posted more of this story! But oh no, poor Paul Depression is a terrible thing.
Love the way you wrote the reactions of Tim and Paul to Richard's departure, they seem totally believable. I hope Richard is okay...
Loving this Capsy, can't wait for more!

[fairybaby]

Oh Pauly

Thank goodness that Paul still has an attachment to Mint because it would be so sad to see him throw that away when it is such an important part to getting more independence for him.

I do hope that Richard really has gone to his parents house and hasn't done anything stupid....and that he calls the others to say he is ok at the very least.

Such a wonderful emotion-packed chapter and I am so pleased to see more of it capsy!

[Susan]

If they're still looking for evil twin with Rich out there how will they know which one to arrest?

[Mama Flame]

I can't swallow down the lump in my throat. This chapter is so pack full of emotion, and Paul's thoughts are very worrying.

Still loving this story, even if I can't think of anything else to say that will portray how much I love this story.