When it really hit him, it hit him while he was in the shower, and left him kneeling on the water-warmed tile throwing his guts up. Luckily, there wasn't a whole lot in there right then, and it washed down the drain.
Scotty knew he was in for it when he felt that half-familiar dizziness, that sensation of being colder than he should be, not quite right, but it still wasn't pleasant when it kicked in full force.
Harold was always there when he got sick, usually just stroking at his back, trying to soothe and reassure. It was times like this, when he was sitting sprawled on the floor of the shower with shaking limbs and stomach clenching before the next wave, that Scotty realized how much that gentleness meant. It hadn't happened too often, and when it did it had always been driven by sheer grief or shock or horror or pain that was too overwhelming and overcame him like a tsunami. Now, it was just a mundane bad reaction to whatever it was that had knocked him out.
The tenderness Harold handled him with was the same, regardless. The faith he had that he was allowed to be this defenseless was learned because of it.
The waves finally passed, and then he was just shivering. Harold didn't even pause before he reached up and turned the cold water pressure down a little, carefully, bringing the remaining cascade up in temperature. Then he just sat back down, wet black hair hanging in his eyes, and wrapped Scotty into a hold.
"Promise, I'll be a'right by mornin'," Scotty managed to say, tucking his head under Harold's despite the wet. "It's nae bad, just a pain."
"I know." Harold shifted them carefully, so they could talk without the artificial rain choking them off, but so that Scotty was still mostly under it. "Got you anyway."
"Aye." He was still shivering a little, but felt a bit warmer at least. Emotionally, he was plenty warm. That helped, too. "Bit like a knight, my husband."
Harold chuckled at that. "Oh, yeah. Check out my shining armor."
"Well, ye've got th' gallantry down right, savin' fair me." Scotty was trying for a laugh with that one.
It did, too; a minor explosion of giggles, even through the worry. "Man, that wasn't gallantry, that was f--ckall panic." Harold shook his head, and Scotty could feel it.
"But it was a gallant panic," Scotty teased, grinning. He let his eyes slide closed to combat that dancing sensation in his vision, and pet on his husband's arm, drawing lines though the droplets of water. "Ye were really good," he added, more seriously.
Harold didn't answer for a long moment. Scotty didn't know if it was because he disbelieved it, or if he was still just processing it all. It didn't change the facts -- Harold did do good. Really good. And finally, Harold just said, tightening his grip slightly, "I'm glad we're home safe."
"Aye," Scotty answered. But he was smiling some. "Still did really good."
Scotty knew he was in for it when he felt that half-familiar dizziness, that sensation of being colder than he should be, not quite right, but it still wasn't pleasant when it kicked in full force.
Harold was always there when he got sick, usually just stroking at his back, trying to soothe and reassure. It was times like this, when he was sitting sprawled on the floor of the shower with shaking limbs and stomach clenching before the next wave, that Scotty realized how much that gentleness meant. It hadn't happened too often, and when it did it had always been driven by sheer grief or shock or horror or pain that was too overwhelming and overcame him like a tsunami. Now, it was just a mundane bad reaction to whatever it was that had knocked him out.
The tenderness Harold handled him with was the same, regardless. The faith he had that he was allowed to be this defenseless was learned because of it.
The waves finally passed, and then he was just shivering. Harold didn't even pause before he reached up and turned the cold water pressure down a little, carefully, bringing the remaining cascade up in temperature. Then he just sat back down, wet black hair hanging in his eyes, and wrapped Scotty into a hold.
"Promise, I'll be a'right by mornin'," Scotty managed to say, tucking his head under Harold's despite the wet. "It's nae bad, just a pain."
"I know." Harold shifted them carefully, so they could talk without the artificial rain choking them off, but so that Scotty was still mostly under it. "Got you anyway."
"Aye." He was still shivering a little, but felt a bit warmer at least. Emotionally, he was plenty warm. That helped, too. "Bit like a knight, my husband."
Harold chuckled at that. "Oh, yeah. Check out my shining armor."
"Well, ye've got th' gallantry down right, savin' fair me." Scotty was trying for a laugh with that one.
It did, too; a minor explosion of giggles, even through the worry. "Man, that wasn't gallantry, that was f--ckall panic." Harold shook his head, and Scotty could feel it.
"But it was a gallant panic," Scotty teased, grinning. He let his eyes slide closed to combat that dancing sensation in his vision, and pet on his husband's arm, drawing lines though the droplets of water. "Ye were really good," he added, more seriously.
Harold didn't answer for a long moment. Scotty didn't know if it was because he disbelieved it, or if he was still just processing it all. It didn't change the facts -- Harold did do good. Really good. And finally, Harold just said, tightening his grip slightly, "I'm glad we're home safe."
"Aye," Scotty answered. But he was smiling some. "Still did really good."