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“Roman. I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry… Brian… God, I’m so sorry.” If Quick wasn’t concentrating so hard on Cayson, there was no way he would’ve heard what he was saying. Not only were Quick’s ears still ringing from his episode, but Cayson was barely gusting out each word on very shallow, labored breaths. His voice sounded so small and he was apologizing. For what? Was this what Cayson usually did? Take on blame that wasn’t his own? The blood pressure cuff inflated on Cayson’s arm, and Quick blinked, realizing the paramedics had moved back in and were calling out vitals.
“Sir. Sir, your blood pressure is slightly elevated, but your pulse is slowly returning to normal. How are you feeling? Are you nauseous? Dizzy?”
“It was a panic attack. I’m pretty sure I had one earlier and its lingering effects triggered this one. I’m fine, really. I’ll monitor my blood pressure through the night,” Cayson said, sounding winded.
The paramedics didn’t look convinced, and honestly, neither did Quick. Cayson was still quite pale, and his lips not the normal soft pink color, instead they held a disturbing bluish tint, like he’d been deprived of oxygen too long.
“I’m a surgeon. I know the symptoms if my blood pressure and pulse start to elevate and things become more serious. Right now I’m just… just exhausted.” Cayson slumped against Quick’s chest and he thought he’d heard a chorus of hallelujahs over his head as he squeezed his love to him. He wasn’t feeling any rage, only need. An extreme need to protect the man in his arms for the rest of his life.
Cayson was staring at Quick, his bloodshot eyes pleading for forgiveness. Quick needed Cayson alone. He couldn’t deal with all the other noise going on. He rose up, his eyes squinting into the crowd. There was more noise, more commotion, as more police officers filed into Cayson’s home.
Duke was standing off to the side with Dana and Judge. All three of them with their IDs out, speaking with the detectives, but Quick brushed them off. It looked like some uniformed officers were reading Dr. Joe his rights. No sooner had they finished, than he started to yell for Cayson.
Cayson rubbed his forehead against Quick’s chest in frustration, his hands hovering over his ears. He barely heard the pained, “Get me out of here,” from Cayson’s mouth with Joe losing his shit as soon as the metal cuffs clicked around his wrists.
“Just go, please,” Cayson whispered brokenly.
Quick didn’t take another second to think of his next move. Cayson needed to get out of there and he was going to do that for him. Not paying any more attention to the paramedics who were packing up their huge duffle bags, Quick lifted Cayson in his arms like a man would carry a woman over a threshold, and squeezed him close. Pain didn’t register in his mind as he hefted Cayson up higher on his chest and made his way through the crowd. He was at the base of Cayson’s stairs when he heard the detectives calling out to them. They weren’t Quick’s concern or priority, nor were their reports.
“Sir. You can’t leave yet. Not until we get a statement.”
Quick climbed each step gingerly, careful not to jostle his tired doctor too much. Quick tuned out the angry men at the foot of the stairs and tucked his face into Cayson’s neck, breathing in his scent, letting it continue to settle him down.
“Sir. You can’t go until we’ve spoken to you.” The detective was trying to radiate a little more authority, but Quick wasn’t stopping. And it would be a pity for anyone who tried to force him to.
“Just give him a minute. The guy he assaulted is still standing here and he already said he’s not pressing charges, so pipe down. Goddamn. There’s not a fuckin’ heliport up there, he’ll come back down.” Quick heard the end of Duke’s bitching right before he turned the corner into Cayson’s bedroom. It sounded like his partner was about out of patience and needed to get home to his man, too.
His best friend always had his back, no matter what. Sighing wearily, Quick knew he was going to owe everyone. He was glad to hear that Ford wasn’t going to press charges and have him arrested, but the consequences of his actions hadn’t even crossed his mind. Cayson was still occupying 99% of his brain space.
Cayson
Cayson blinked his eyes awake, squinting at the faint light coming through the open curtains in his bedroom. He didn’t remember opening them. He fought to come fully wake and remember why he was in his bed still dressed and feeling like he’d been dragged behind a truck for a couple miles. His body ached all over and his limbs felt too heavy to lift. What was going on? As the memories flooded back to the forefront of his mind, a throbbing pain began behind his eye sockets and radiated to the base of his skull. Ugh! Tension headache. He’d loathed them in college. Used to get them frequently until he’d learned to manage his stress level.
