"I got you, babe."

[americanskin]

Who: Angela Ashwood and Clint Chevalier
What: Desperate times call for desperate measures
Where: Clint's place, NYC
When: Friday morning

As much as they wished things would stop being so stressful, they just weren't. Not yet. It was too soon. What that meant was the Lincoln was still very much recovering, and because of that, he still needed a lot of help and care from Clint. The knock-on effect of that was that Clint was exhausted. He was doing his absolute best and Lincoln was his Number One priority with everything. But his stress and worry had caused insomnia, which had caused him to fall asleep at the wheel and crash his car. Then, a few weeks later, Lincoln had developed an infection in his stomach and got quite sick, passing out on the bathroom floor. At the time, Clint had been crashed out in a deep sleep because he finally bit the bullet and took the prescribed sleeping pills. Lincoln was left feeling like it was all too much for Clint to handle, and Clint was left feeling like he was failing at caring for his husband.

That's why it was time to call for back-up. Angela had come up with the idea of getting a big place they could all live together, which would give Clint extra help if he needed it. They would all still have their own lives, but they were a family and families were supposed to stick together in times of need. This was one hell of a time of need... but she knew how hard it would be for Clint because he wasn't used to needing help of this level. He was always used to being in complete control of everything. It had all slipped out of his hands when Lincoln had been stabbed and nearly murdered.

That morning was a perfect example and Angela knew it was time to sit Clint down and talk. Lincoln had a few appointments at the hospital with doctors and physiotherapists that morning, but Clint had been up all through the night with a bad migraine. Lincoln had called Emily first thing and asked if she could take him to his appointment because Clint was knocked down with the migraine. Emily agreed without hesitation, of course. But it led to her and Angela having a quiet conversation in bed before they got up about it being time to talk to Clint about this suggestion. Instead of bombarding him, they decided Angela was the best to talk to him. They had an open and honest, yet very close, relationship. Angela was one of the few people who could talk to Clint on a different level.

Emily had bundled Lincoln up to take him to the hospital, fussing over him and him letting her. Twin prerogative. Angela waited a little while before Clint surfaced from the bedroom looking now unlike the walking dead. She went straight over to him and wrapped her arms around him in a secure hug, rubbing his back. "When did you last puke? You probably need some fluids. Are you up to eating? I can make you a bit of toast and a cuppa," she offered quietly and pulled back to kiss him on the forehead.

Comments

[privateinvestigations]

The post-migraine shit for Clint was worse than a hangover. Evan had diagnosed them after a neurological exam, and placed him in the 'moderately severe' category. With this part of his life being a huge pile of stress and worry about Lincoln, he kept getting knocked down with them. He knew some cunts out there called every little twinge in the head they had a migraine and wanted piles of sympathy for it. One thing he knew, if you had a fucking migraine, you wanted to fucking die because the pain was so bad and it knocked you for six to the point you couldn't function. Clint knew the difference between a headache and a migraine. He would swap the latter in a friggen heartbeat. He had always been as healthy as (and hung like) a horse. He wasn't a fan of this new change of events.

The pain in his head was there when he woke up about 11pm, and it wouldn't let up. It felt like he had been stabbed in the head, through his skull and penetrated deep into his brain, all on one side. There were flashing lights in his eyes that affected his vision, and the nausea bad enough to keep making him sick. Lincoln worried about him, which made it even worse. Clint never wanted to be counterproductive to Lincoln's recovery. Angela's hug was accepted and appreciated. "Um, about eight-ish. Just after Linc's alarm went off," he mumbled and stepped back to rubbed the heels of his hands in against his eyes. The pain had abated, but it took awhile for him to feel better. "Maybe tea or some shit. I dunno about the toast."

[americanskin]

With her hands on his shoulders, Angela led him slowly over into the living area attached to the kitchen and carefully helped him sit down, making sure he had plenty of cushions behind his back. She grabbed the remote for the airconditioner and put it own so he wasn't hot. "Just rest, asspain. I want to talk to you anyway, but after I make you some tea and toast. You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, but it's there if you want to try."

She went to the kitchen to find the teapot to make him some real tea. Lincoln had English blood, so of course there was a teapot. Clint was a hardcore coffee drinker, but he had started taking tea when he felt ill, because it was what Lincoln made for him if he did. It was sweet. Clint didn't realise he was as sweet as he was with Lincoln, but Angela hadn't missed a thing. Waiting for the tea to brew, she looked at the line-up of medications on the bench. Lincoln was on a lot, and now there were a couple of bottles with Clint's name on the label. "Do you need a top up on your meds, hon?" she asked him. "Please tell me you have been taking them."

[privateinvestigations]

This time, Clint was doing what he was told. He didn't need to be asked twice to rest and he settled on the sofa, putting his feet up so he could lie down a bit. Hr groaned and settled in with his hand over his eyes because they were still sensitive to light. "Can we just not talk about the fucking jizz and babymaking for once? I feel like shit, I don't want to talk about it today." Today, he was sick of hearing about it. His tolerance for just about everything was below zero. He wasn't sure what else Angela would be needing to talk to him about, unless it was to tell him he was doing too much and not resting enough.

He peered at the clock between his splayed fingers. "Yeah, bring them through. Thanks, love," he confirmed. The last lot he had taken had started to kick in, though Lincoln had been worried he had kept them down to do anything. He had called and made an appointment for him to see Walker about some other medication to try to help. "I've been taking them. I'm not a fucking masochist, despite the rumours."

[americanskin]

The toast and tea didn't take long to make. She brought the mugs through and set the plate down nearby. She only make a couple of pieces with a light sweep of butter, but she was sure Clint wouldn't want it right away. Maybe only once he knew the tea wouldn't make him feel sick again. "No baby talk. It's got nothing to do with that. I wouldn't hound you on that shit when you're feeling like crap, babe." He sat down and gave him his tea. Her mug was put on the coffee table until she could lift his feet and settle into the spot next to him on the sofa. As soon as his long legs were draped across her lap, she picked her mug up to take a sip.

"Hey, I know you at least like it rough and hard sometimes." She handed him the couple of pills for him to take. "What I want to talk to you about is actually a proposal, so I don't want you to just ditch the idea without thinking about it and talking to Linc about it. After everything that's happened, we want to help you and Linc with all this. So, I thought that maybe we should think about all getting a place together. You, Lincoln, Emily, Ains and me. We all have enough cash to get a decent sized place like a loft or something, we would have our own space. But we could also be on hand if you need help, and if anything happened, someone wouldn't be too far away."

[privateinvestigations]

Clint took the pills with a small sip of the tea. He was going slow on it for now. "Live with y'all so you can torture me twenty-four-seven about wanting my jizz? No, thanks. You'll drive me fucking nuts with it. We're fine. I'm figuring shit out. I'm not just saying no to be a cunt, but as much as I love you crazy bitches, I can't live with the constant jizz talk. I need respite from it, even if my sleep schedule's been up the shit. The whole 'My fucking uterus is empty and I can't live until I have a sprog of my own talk'? I can't deal with it. Y'all need to settle the fuck down a bit over it, because you're driving me nuts."

"Two crazy bitch lesbians and a neurotic teenager? Are you trying to fucking kill me?" he mumbled, scrunching his face up and massaging his forehead with his fingertips. "Look, you and I tried to live together in the past and you nearly wanted to murder me, remember? I get what you're trying to do here, and I ain't gonna deny that I've needed help with shit lately, but ain't this a lil extreme?"

[americanskin]

Angela watched as he took his medication, relieved that he was, and wasn't fighting it. That told her he had been miserable and in a distinct amount of pain. He looked much like he was hungover, and she had seen him hungover plenty in her time. Hangovers for Clint meant that he had a really hard night out, because general booze like beer or wine didn't tend to affect him. It was how he could easily be an undercover PI and slip in and out of disguises as he needed, keeping up the whole facade. He didn't get drunk if someone he was tailing offered him booze. "We won't do that. This isn't about us. Our shit can be put on hold for awhile. Our priority his help you and Lincoln, and you need help. It's okay that you need help. I'm sorry I've been a crazy cunt about the baby stuff. The residual hormones made me nuts. I've mellowed now."

She gave him a small nudge in the leg. "No, dickwad. Haven't you realised by now I want to keep you around? Killing you would be counterproductive. You and I living together alone made me want to kill you. This would be more than just us, and in a much bigger space. I don't think it's extreme. People share living spaces all the time. I've been looking at properties, and I found this place. If we all pitch in on some savings, we'll be able to afford a deposit. I'll be an investment on top of everything else. Here, look." She took her phone out and showed him the property listing. "It's just come on the market. The family are moving out this week, so it'll be vacant."

[privateinvestigations]

Because he didn't trust shaking his head when he still had that aftermath pain that wasn't quite enough to make you feel like you were dying, but it still hurt, Clint waved his hand. "Don't put your fucking plans on hold. That wasn't part of the deal. That's exactly the sort of shit I don't want anyone doing. You make us sound like a fucking charity case, Ange. That's not what Lincoln fucking wants, so if we're gonna put the cards on the table here, it needs to be for better reasons than all that. I will, however, gladly take the offer of you stopping being a crazy cunt, because you were starting to sound like those dull-assed lesbos on Queer as Folk, and let's be real, no one wants that shit in real life."

He took the phone nevertheless to look at what she was showing him. It looked big enough, he couldn't deny that. He wasn't really thinking about himself here, though. He was thinking about whether this place could be something Lincoln would like. It was spacious, but it didn't look like it would be difficult for Lincoln to get around or anything. Steps down to the kitchen, but that was workable. If it was steps down to the bathroom, then there would be issues. "Whatever happens, if this is even a thing, we'd need a room with an en-suite. That's not fucking negotiable, either. If Linc's in pain, his stomach can play up, and I don't want him feeling like it's an issue."

[americanskin]

Angela tugged her lips to the side and scrunched her nose up. She hadn't thought about how it might come off as charity, but at least Clint was calling her on it. As he rightly should. If they were going to make a big decision like this, that affected five of them, if not more if they managed to get pregnant, it had to be above board and everyone comfortable with the choice, the why, and the how. At least he was looking at the listing, and he seemed to be analysing it seriously. It wasn't just a quick swipe look of the pictures and telling her it was a dumb idea. She knew Clint's serious think face. Something was going through his mind. "No charity cases. Okay, let me try this again. We're your family. We want to help you take care of Linc, and we want to take care of you when you're not in top form too. Then when you're fine, you guys are on your own. You do your thing, we do ours, in our own parts of the place that also has good insulation, so no one needs to hear anyone else having wild, loud sex. Because as hot as I find you and Linc fucking, I do not want to hear my baby brother doing the horizontal shuffle. It's my job to just make sure he has rubbers. Oh fuck, I sounded that bad? Kill me now."

"Exactly. But two master bedrooms actually have en-suites, and there's another smaller bathroom down the hall from the other bedrooms. There's five bedrooms in total. And two living areas, so if any of us are pissing each other off, no one has to sacrifice TV time. It's also just down the block from Nick and Cheyne, so Ains will be happy with that. He can walk to and from Harry's." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm not trying to get all up in your business. We just think this is a smart plan because we all know Linc isn't just going to get better tomorrow. You've got a lot on your plate."

[privateinvestigations]

"If you're having wild, loud sex, all the fucking kudos to you, but there'll be none of that from out end for the time being." Clint sipped the tea, reading the property listing more closely now he had seen the pictures. Right before the stabbing, he and Lincoln had been apartment hunting for a place of their own. Things with their relationship had gotten serious, once Clint finally fucking opened himself up to it. Things had been going well, and officially buying a place together was their sign of commitment. Then it had all gone horribly wrong. Clint knew both he and Lincoln were on a rough recovery road. Lincoln wasn't on that together, and Clint would never let him be. Clint was supposed to be the strong and healthy one, but with the stress and anxiety, his own health had suffered. His sleep patterns died in the ass because he worried so much, and he developed these atrocious migraines that kept hitting, despite medication. He had taken the prescribed sleeping pills, thinking that it was time to stop being a stubborn cunt with it, and he crashed out so hard, he hadn't woken when Lincoln called out for help. Maybe it all really had come to this point.

He put the mug aside and nursed his head in his hand, thinking it over. It just wasn't an easy task in the post-migraine phase. He hated the fact he got the fuckers because he never had health issues before, but it was what it was. He got them, and they made him feel like crap. Lincoln worried about him, which is what you did when you fucking loved someone. Clint wouldn't spite him that by trying to belittle it. He couldn't really belittle it, because they made him pretty friggen sick when they hit badly. "Maybe you've got a point. He was up all night with me last night, which means he's fucking exhausted for his appointments today. Which means he'll probably be wiped out with pain for a few days. He's doing so much fucking better, I don't want him to think everyone is uprooting because I'm not dealing. I'll talk to him, but same deal. If he doesn't want to live with y'all because he just needs peace right now, it ain't gonna happen."