There's some sort of splashing sound. I mute the computer. The tub sounds like its running, guess Charles is taking a bath. I never seem to have time for those anymore. I turn up the speakers, listen to something moody. This is how I'm spending a Saturday night, illegally downloaded TV shows and Pandora. I need a beer.

I go out into the hall way, and water's seeping from the bathroom. I can hear Charles mumbling on the other side. It's like tunnel vision as I make for the door, walking slowly for some reason, the trickle of the faucet resounding louder than it should. When I turn the door knob that strange fog of Déjà vu settles over me. It's like me and Ruth in the middle of the night creeping to the bathroom, pounding on the door, dad never opening it.

I walk into a puddle, push the door open, and thank god it's not locked. That's never a good sign.

"Charles, your clothes are on. And your bandages are getting wet." These are what tumble out of my mouth, rather than some sort of demand or curse. An expletive. "Also the lights are off. The toilet seat is up. And you are wearing mismatched socks." It doesn't make any sense. He always wears stripped Tweed socks. These look like Raven's.

There's a beer in his hand. At least it's not whiskey and a bottle of antidepressants, but damn it I should have fucking dumped those.

I turn off the tap and grab brown bottles off the floor. Charles just watches me, his eyes glazed. It's almost scary. Devoid. It makes me angry. The bottles make a harsh sound as they crash against the tin of the garbage. Charles doesn't say anything. Defend the situation. Offer explanation.

I grab towels from the hall. My foot guides them through the mess, the flood seeping through the tile and wood. I am a mop. The floor's still wet by the time the towels are swollen. "Erik."

I look up. He's watching me. "Hmm?"

"I'm cold." I walk over and look him in the eye, put my hand on his. Physical contact is comforting, that's what all the books say. But, I'm not sure if it's me comforting him or the other way around.

"Then get out of the fucking tub." He nods and stands. Water gushes out of the bath and back onto the floor. He's shivering. I grab his shoulders and help him out.

He drips all over the hallway as we make it to his bedroom. I open the door; close it when he gets in and walk to the hall closet and grab the last towel. I knock a couple times.

"Here." Charles opens the door and takes it. He stares at me for a second, like he's going to say something. "Dry off." Beat him to it. I go to my room and shut the door a little too loudly and just listen. Barely a breath or movement. I hear the sound of something wet hit the ground, a couple swears. Maybe even something that could pass for a sob.

I slide down the wall. My hands find their way to my hair and pull in different directions. Inhale. Exhale.

His head wasn't under the water; it didn't even look like it might be slipping, so whatever just happened wasn't a suicide attempt. Charles wouldn't anyway. Too much to do. Papers to grade, medical journals to read, the premier of The Hobbit, the chance to finally tell me about his crush.

This whole cancer thing is making me sentimental.

First, there's the Shaw reunion.

In the lulls between Charles conscious hours in the hospital I thought about my family. I thought about how I hated Shaw, about how long it's been since I last saw him. How long it's been since my mother died.

Course, those thoughts then irreversibly led to memories.

How my mother and Ruth would fry potato pancakes in the kitchen, mom singing some hymn. That was how she incorporated religion into the everyday. Not that my father cared for it. He was one of those 'let's blend in and change our last name to something more Anglo-Saxon' Jews. They fought about it sometimes. When she died though, he saw fit to follow.

Thinking about my family goes hand in hand with thinking about death. My family was taken away by some malicious man in a white coat. No god. Just an evil man.

But just on the cusp of all my angers and anxieties lately is Charles.

I don't voice it. I never will because saying the words is like giving them a power, validity. There's a real chance that Charles might die. Even if he gets to remission there's a possibility that the cancer comes back later, I've seen the movies, the TV specials.

Then there's last night. That stunt with the bathtub.

Now I worry that he might be going crazy, and if not exactly crazy, then close, that anxiety and stress level that just pushes some people over the edge.

"Erik."

I look up. Things come back into focus, the TV, the remote in my hand, and Charles skirting around the living room furniture like some small animal.

"Hmm?"

"Erik last night…..ah hell last night, I'm sorry. I don't know-I can't-"

"Charles." He looks at me and this time his expression says something, is alive with something. "You look like hell."

He croaks a nervous laugh. "Yeah well, I didn't want to go into the bathroom this morning." He's got just a hint of stubble.

"Me neither." He sizes me up and decides to walk over and sink into the couch. There's a lump forming in my throat, one big ball of vocal emotion, but it all comes out in a whisper. "Charles I don't know what the hell last night was about, but you don't have to try to explain it to me. I probably won't understand." I look up at the ceiling. "Just don't try pulling anything like that again." I blink a couple times because I wasn't expecting a talk. "I'm not buying us anymore alcohol so get used to the sober life."

"Yeah." Charles lays his hand over mine, rubs circles there. I don't pull away because physical contact is comforting, just like all the books say. "Drinking hasn't been all that great for me lately anyway." We sit and listen to the TV for a while, but it occurs to me that this situation is completely flipped. I'm a bastard. A bastard because I'm not the one who had a breakdown. I'm supposed to be taking care of him through this shit.

"So, you're alright and everything?" I move my hand.

His eyes linger where it was for a second. "Just have a small headache. I'm also dreading my next session with Frost. Definitely going to be some psychoanalysis about suicide-not that that was what I was trying to do. I don't even know what I was doing-"

"Like I said, just don't do it again." I pat his shoulder. Give him a side hug that feels so incredibly awkward, it's palpable. "Any requests for breakfast? We're fully stocked with Campbell's'. "

"Actually I was kind of hoping for something solid. The cancer hasn't affected my ability to chew you know."

"Not gonna happen after you threw up before yoga. I saw the cookie crumbs on your jacket." I go into the kitchen, dig around the cupboards. We need to go shopping again.

"I called Raven last night."

"Yeah?" I wonder if she ever told him about Angel.

"Well she's all worried, kept insisting that I stay with her."

I turn around. Cross my arms and lean against the countertop. "You live here. You're a grown man Charles; you can take care of yourself."

"I'd like to believe that. But-"

"And when you can't I will." I grab a pot and boil some water.

"How're you doing Erik?" Ruth's voice is so small over the phone; I have to turn up the volume.

"Alright, you know… same old same old." Edgy. I'm on batshit crazy alert five.

"Hmm, how' Charles doing?"

"Oh him….. he's fine, won't stop grading papers, I think he has some sort of idea that he's going to change the world, one student at a time."

"Erik."

"What is it, you usually never call." I stretch out my legs.

"I just heard about your run in with Shaw."

Damn.

Course she heard. Forgot her husband's a janitor there. Rather, as she puts it, custodian. Like the word changes what he does.

I rub at my eyes. "Yeah I gave him a good punch to the face. It's not a rumor or anything."

"I didn't think it was. Sounded exactly like something you'd do."

"Did you know he was working there?"

"….yes."

"Course you did."

"Are you in trouble or anything because of it? I could go in, you know, maybe ask to see him, talk him out of anything legal-"

"No. No, the bastard excused my behavior. He doesn't want to press charges against the man whose mother died from brain surgery and whose friend was going into brain surgery." My hands are shaking. I roll over to the desk and turn on the computer monitor. Need a distraction.

"Oh- wait, what? You had a friend in surgery? Are they okay? I mean, I know complications are rare and everything- oh god it wasn't Charles was it? What am I asking, course it was. What other friends do you have?"

"Calm down. And I resent that. I have other friends, just none that I'd like to introduce to you." She snorts.

"Whatever. What's wrong with him, he's okay right?"

"Yeah he's fine, just got a stupid bandage wrapped round his head." I Google noodle recipes. "He's got brain cancer- had a tumor in his head."

"Oh my god, that's awful. I'm so sorry." Everyone's been saying sorry. I didn't really understand why. I'm not the one sick. But after that night I think I get it. Sorry it's you who has to be there. "I couldn't even imagine what you two must be going through. I hope he gets better. What does he have exactly?" There was a bit of inflection at the end of that sentiment that sounded doubtful. It is cancer after all.

"Meningiomas. It's pretty rare, especially in men, but all the stuff I've read about it say they're usually benign. Course that's not Charles case. He had to get stuck with the cancerous kind." Google reveals page after page of noodle recipes. Charles wants to play daredevil and move onto solids. Asian noodles, Italian noodles, German noodles. They all sound gag reflex worthy. At least for a chemo patient.

Hell, I'll probably end up making chicken noodle for the next damn week.

"Erik, how're you doing with this? You're alright right? I don't want you stressing yourself too much."

"When did you start getting all concerned about me? It's my job to take care of you."

"It used to be. Just be careful okay? I don't want you to breakdown or anything. You don't usually handle these sort of things too well."

"No I don't, not when it's easily avoidable." I stare at a family photo on the nightstand.

Silence.

"And you make it sound like he's going to die, cause he's not. He'll be fine." He will be.

"I'm sure he will. I know he will." If only I could be convinced.

"….Well, other than the cancer, how are things going between you two?"

My pulse has gone up in the last few minutes. Taking too Ruth's always been strenuous. "Normal considering. Haven't fought too much, though, we disagree over how to approach his homecare."

"Take it easy. You don't want to drive him away with your smothering. He's a good catch."

"Yeah well, he's a pretty damn good roommate, I gotta admit. Didn't think we'd get so close though." I still don't regret the friendship now that it's so painful.

"Yeah, you have. I mean I didn't peg you as the type, what with mom being so orthodox but I figure it's the 21st century and I'm glad you found someone."

"What're you-ah. You've got the wrong idea." Everyone seems to come to the same conclusion.

"Sure I do. Just take care of each other okay? I'll visit soon, bring some tea for Charles. I know those Brits like that. Plus tea's got all those health benefits. It's gotta help, certainly can't do any harm."

"Yeah."

"Love you."

"Me too."

"He'll be fine. You'll take good care of him, I'm sure." Last person I took care of ran off as soon as she turned eighteen and only calls every few months.

"Take care of yourself Ruth."

"…Tell Charles I hope he gets better."

"Mmhmm."

"See you around."

I hear the phone click. She won't visit. She wants independence, convinced that she was going to get it through matrimony. I hit the monitor button. Get up and throw the phone onto the bed. Walk out of the room and see Charles on the couch watching TV. There's a half-eaten Twinkie on the coffee table. I need to find his stash.

"Who were you talking too." he gives me a sidelong glance.

"Ruth, she heard about the whole Shaw thing."

"Oh. How'd that go over?"

"Fine. Not anything too dramatic" 'Cept she's got it in her head that we're together. "I told her about, you know. She hopes you get better."

"That's sweet of her. Tell her thanks." Charles opens up his laptop. He's smiling, the corners of his mouth wrinkling upwards. I think about mentioning how Ruth thinks we're together. It's kind of funny. We've had all sorts of neighbors think the same thing. Crazy coincidence huh? Then we'll laugh.

Charles types something, and the sound of the keys makes me realize that I've been staring. I reach for the remote and turn to Fox. Something will come on to distract me from, from whatevers going on in my head.

Sorry about this taking so long. life got in the way and motivation was lacking, so review please cause it definately helps