And your heart is lead, and your stomach stone [closed]

[andhiswife]

Greta sets down her phone and twists her hands together. Jay's back. He's back, and he needs her help, and--and he will have it. It feels like the least she can do, after the embarrassing misunderstanding in her dream, and after all the trouble he and Tim have had lately (which doesn't seem to be letting up, from the sound of things). It feels, a little, like penance for the ill treatment she gave another lad who was far younger but not quite so sad. But mostly it feels like the right thing to do, something she can do. Granted, she'll have to see just what sort of shape Tim is in with her own eyes before she makes any promises, but maybe it won't be so bad. Like a--like an oversized infant who only sleeps and never cries. That sounds manageable, right?

She might be a little too invigorated by this sudden rush of people needing her help and asking for it so plainly.

Jay didn't make any mention of needing food, but she has some freshly made apple turnovers, so she wraps up a couple of them and tucks some teabags into the bundle for good measure. He could probably use something sweet - and something he doesn't have to worry about preparing himself, when he has so much else to worry about.

It's not a long journey to their apartment building, but it feels long, and it's hard not to spend all of it fidgeting. Half a block away, she has her phone out, and she nearly walks into a stranger as she texts him to let him know she's arrived. Then she shoulders her bag, absently patting it to make sure the pastries haven't been crushed, and waits.

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[deadeyedchild]

Jay's been sitting relatively motionless for a while, staring at the folded paper he knows is the letter he wrote, when Greta stirs him with her suggestion.

"Yeah," he murmurs, nodding. "Okay." He gets up and fumbles around for his phone, putting in a text to his sickly, Biblical landlord.

What is his life, even.


Aziraphale arranges the whole thing with rather absurd ease - transportation, expediting the check-in procedure, convincing the dubious Dr. Ruiz that this is an entirely ordinary situation, and covering the fees. It's ridiculous - it's too much, and yet Jay has no alternative but to expect all the charity he's offered. He's grateful for Greta's continued presence, standing with him in shared embarrassed bewilderment at all the help.

It ends with Aziraphale flitting back home, Jay standing with Greta in Tim's room, watching him breathe.

"Can we get out of here," he says softly.

He'll be back. He knows he will. He probably won't be able to stay away much at all. But right now he needs a fucking break, and he doesn't want to drag Greta down with him.

[andhiswife]

Thank goodness for Aziraphale. Even ill, he seems to have little trouble navigating the necessary steps to get Tim taken care of. Greta can't say that being in a hospital makes her any more disposed towards liking them. The harsh lighting and constant bustle leave her with uncomfortably contrasting impressions of being terribly exposed and completely overlooked. At least Dr. Ruiz gives off a reassuring air of well-worn competency despite her doubts about their story, which Greta leaves completely up to the angel to fabricate.

She wishes they didn't have to leave Tim behind, but she can't help liking the idea of getting out of here, herself. So when Jay puts his question, it's easy - perhaps a little too easy - to nod. "Yes," she agrees, steering him to the door with a light touch to his back. "Come on. I'll take you home."

It's easiest for her to handle the cab, leaving Jay to either save his strength or spend it other ways. He's very quiet on the ride back, and she doesn't press him to make conversation. They're both tired, she suspects.

She's left her bag in Tim's apartment, so when they return to the building, that's the one she aims for. As they step off the elevator, she gives Jay an assessing sidelong glance. He might prefer to be left alone at this point, after the day he's had, but she doesn't want to presume and unwittingly abandon him. "Would you like me to stay for a bit longer?" she asks quietly. "I don't mind."

[deadeyedchild]

Jay feels so tired. He's grateful everyone else is picking up the pieces of this mess, a mess he still feels at fault for, because he feels certain he's going to pass out at any moment. He leads her back to Tim's apartment, unlocking it without answering.

"Um." He steps in and watches her gather her things. He wants to say no. Get away from me while you still can. Just go back to your nice life, get on with your day.

"M-maybe," stumbles out of him instead, and he suddenly sways and crashes to the floor, his knees buckling entirely under his weight. He's trembling all over. He can't breathe.

[andhiswife]

"Jay..." Greta lets her bag drop to the floor and crouches beside him, bracing her hands against his shoulders. What is this? Is he ill, or is the day just catching up with him? Either seems possible; regardless, there's no question of her leaving him, now. The poor lad. Hasn't he been through enough for one day?

She tuts softly, lifting one hand from his shoulder to brush back his hair. "I'm staying," she says, shifting her grip down to his elbow, the better to help him back to his feet. "Can you make it to the couch?" The bed might be more comfortable, but she doesn't think he'd want to lie down in the space so recently vacated by Tim. "Come on," she wheedles gently. "I'll help you."

[deadeyedchild]

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, resisting her efforts until she overpowers him, drawing him up. He doesn't want her to see this, to have to deal with this again, doesn't know what's wrong with him. He feels so ashamed, not just for falling to pieces, but for letting them win.


"What if he - What they never give him back?" he says quietly, brokenly. "What if he never wakes up?" He tries to draw a steadying breath and it comes in sharp and shallow, and comes out a sob. He drops onto the couch, curling up onto it, shrinking inward. Words start pouring out in an uncontrolled flood. "He's always the one who knew how to, how to keep going, I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him, I'd have - I can't - I need him, I can't do this by myself."

Shut up. Shut up.

"I don't know what to do," he whispers, his voice giving out, his hands clamped tight over his face.

[andhiswife]

"They will," she insists, as if she can make such a promise. "He will." Goodness knows if it will be anytime soon, but she can't believe the Rift would never restore Tim, just leaving his living body behind like a discarded shell. If they truly wanted to take him permanently, why bother leaving anything at all?

That line of reasoning might not actually be a comfort. She sinks down onto the couch beside Jay as he curls in on himself, his hands covering his face, all of his misery tumbling out of him in a rush. Her gut twists in sympathy. It's not hard to imagine how lost she'd be if something happened to Iman; the Rift had its way with her, too. And she was only a little less helpless than Jay is now, really.

Greta sighs, then reaches out to grip his shoulder. "You're not by yourself," she says firmly. "I'm right here, for as long as you need me." She gives him an assessing look, her mouth a thin line. "Now, I'm going to get you a glass of water, and then you're going to get some rest." There's nothing else to be done for Tim today, and Jay's clearly exhausted. It's either sleep or fret, and he's done plenty of the latter already. She gives his shoulder a brisk, encouraging little rub. "Okay?"

[deadeyedchild]

That isn't what he means, but there's no way she could know that. It isn't being alone, it's being the only person who knows - who understands what they went through. He can't explain it to anyone else, doesn't dare try.

But she's making sense, and she's still so kind and maternal and it's better, far better, than nothing. So he shuts up and gives her a small nod.

[andhiswife]

"Okay." Greta gives him another gentle pat as she rises from the couch. A few moments later, she sits back down beside him and presses a glass of water into his hand.

"Here we are," she says, her tone almost businesslike, as if to counterbalance the surplus of passion that's been going around. "Drink up." Under different circumstances, she wouldn't be quite so overbearing. But Jay had seemed relieved to let others take the reins when it came to moving Tim to the hospital, and he clearly isn't ready to have them handed back to him, yet.

Well, that's what she's here for. Greta rubs his back gently while she waits for him to finish up the glass.

[deadeyedchild]

He drinks the water as directed, drinking it all down - he was thirstier than he realized. Sets the glass aside and just leans against her, too grateful and too exhausted not to. There's no one to give him this anymore. He was never super affectionate, at least he's pretty sure - always shy and reticent and ducking away from hugs. But he hasn't made that a conscious choice in a long time. Now that it's freely offered he doesn't have it in him to turn it down.

And he's so, so tired.

He slumps against her, still feeling the urge to cry but having nothing left, no tears, just a hollow, relentless headache. He needs to sleep. He can't ever sleep, especially not when he needs it.

Maybe it's that there's someone here this time, warm and soothing, keeping an eye out for him - no longer just relying on the camera to catch whatever's watching him, but a person who can wake him. Not that he'd ever ask her to protect him from his nightmares (no one can), but.

Regardless, he starts drifting off. Impossibly tired. Ground down to almost nothing. He slips away, gradually becoming more horizontal until he's curled up fully on the couch, his head in her lap, his breathing slow, his eyes fluttering in a dream he won't remember.

[andhiswife]

Greta can well imagine that he hasn't been looked after in a while - too old to still be under his mother's care, and too young to be married. Well, not too young by her universe's standards, but people seem to grow up less quickly here in the future, devoting more years to youth since they have more years to spend. Regardless, he needs looking after now, and it's... nice, being able to do this for someone, if not a member of her own family.

The line between leaning against her for comfort and dozing against her is subtle enough that she doesn't realize Jay's crossed it until it's too late, and he's slowly slumping his way down into her lap. She could rouse him, try to coax him to the bed, or at least edge out from under him before he gets too settled. But when was the last time he actually slept? And does she really want to leave him to his own devices and hope he'll take care of himself instead of dwelling on Tim and climbing the walls?

She doesn't have anything more important to do. She can stay for a while longer, and make sure he at least gets some sleep before she risks waking him by seeing herself out.

Greta looks down at the boy who isn't quite a man, and isn't even close to family, and gently brushes her fingertips through his hair. The weight of his head, some distant part of her notes, isn't so different to the weight of an infant.

There's a blanket neatly folded over the back of the couch thanks to her earlier tidying spree. She carefully turns to pull it down and drape it over Jay as best she can, keeping her movements slow so she won't wake him. Then she settles back against the couch with a quiet sigh. She has her phone, and there's still enough of a charge for her to entertain herself for an hour or so, long enough for him to get some rest.

And when he no longer needs her, she tells herself, she'll go.