Broken String

XLVIII

Todd opens the cans of chopped tomatoes and dumps them into the pot he's got going for the sauce. It smells delicious. The mince is almost cooked, spreading its aromatic oil through the pot, its scent beautifully mixing with that of the vegetables he's sauteed just now. He grabs a bay leaf and throws it in after. Look, he loves cooking, and even though Eddy jibes him he knows its appreciated by all of them. But he just can't seem to find his normal relaxation in it today, and he knows why, of course. 
Eddy may not want to Google what that doctor's not saying, but he himself sure as hell will. He wants to know what's going on with his friend. He wants to know whether he'll be good as new in a few weeks, or if this will be it, him done, no more con. Or worse. 
God, he doesn't know how Eddy manages to be so normal, so upbeat. Is he showing his pain to Brett, at least? Todd's not even sure. 
He takes a deep breath and grabs the pot of flour, stirring some into the butter that's melting for the bechamel. He's going to put this thing together on the double and then he's going to find out what he can, fuck it. 

"Alright, that needs like forty minutes. Imma practise some." he says offhandedly as he closes the oven door. Brett and Eddy are happily chatting on the couch. Ian is already practising again, of course. How that guy has never injured himself he'll never understand. He walks into their bedroom and smiles at his love, who is in the corner with his viola. 
"Hey, baby."
"Hey. Lasagne in the oven? You practising too? Want me to take a break?"
"Yeah. Nah, go ahead. I want to look something up first."
Instantly realisation dawns on Ian's face and he puts his viola down in its case, his perfectly formed eyebrows scrunching together. 
"You're going to do research?"
Todd shakes his head with a tiny scoff.
"You know me too well."
"You know you won't be able to tell him anything you find out, right?"
Todd nods. 
"Yeah, I know. I just... I guess I'm not a wait and see kind of guy."
Ian walks over with a big sigh and puts his arm around him, just for a moment. 
"Okay then. So Google."

Todd opens his laptop and presses the enter key impatiently, three times in a row. The machine springs to life quickly enough, though. He opens the browser and types in the symptoms. 
Pain. Not being able to stand. Or walk. His screen fills with millions of hits.

Two minutes later he sits back and eyes Ian helplessly. His love nods sombrely. 
"Yeah, I get why she didn't say, now."
"There's so many horrible things it could be!" Todd exclaims. God, he could cry just reading it all. "Baby, didn't you have a relative with M.S.?"
Ian nods. "Yeah, my uncle had it. He died a few years ago. He'd been in a wheelchair for ages."
Todd looks down at his legs. 
"Was it like this?"
"Somewhat." Ian shrugs. "But look, I know there's like a million forms of it."
"This was a mistake." Todd whispers. "I thought... I thought I'd feel more calm about it once I knew more. But now I feel..."
"I know." Ian says gently. Then he closes Todd's laptop and turns his chair around, sitting down on Todd's right leg and hugging him with his right arm. His mouth is in his curls and he feels his gentle kisses. 
"He'll be okay." Ian whispers between kisses.
"Hmmm." he hums. 
"Yeah?"
It's easy to turn his face to the right and claim his love's mouth, Ian's soft, sweet tongue dancing with his own for just a moment. Then he lets go, though. He can't go there, not now. Not with his mind all scrambled and his emotions all over the shop.
"Much as I'd love to lock myself in here with you, the lasagne will burn and the boys will starve." he says, after another quick peck to his love's lips. 
Ian chuckles and gets up from his lap, gesturing to Todd's bulge, which admittedly has gotten a bit bigger than normal just now. As always his love knows just what he needs. 
"Later, then."
He gets up too now, and before he walks away he kisses him one more time, his hand gently grazing Ian's bulge in turn. Of course he's not the only one who has grown. 
"Yes. Later." he says gently, as a promise, and he braces himself as he starts walking back to the kitchen, back to his lasagne and back to those boys, who must never know what he's just read.