TW: Vomiting and Blood

The spell Michael had put on Garte was finally starting to wear off just as he had pulled into his driveway.

As he stumbled to his bed, he ceased to notice that his forehead was yet again bleeding from the severe cut. His head was pounding in a way he had never experienced before. In that moment, a migraine didn't compare to what he was feeling.

He did his best not to collapse on the bed next to Zianna who was sound asleep. He couldn't move his head to turn to his side and fall asleep, he was stuck on his back staring up at the ceiling. Beads of sweat drenched his forehead, mixing with the blood that was now trailing down the side of his head.

Garte wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he had eventually dozed off. His breathing was labored and he woke up again with intense nausea and his head in more pain than he could have ever imagined possible.

He quickly got up, making his headache significantly worse. His vision blurred and blackened as he made his way to the bathroom and immediately began vomiting in the toilet.

Throwing up made his head hurt worse, but there was no way he could stop. The dizziness and the pain just caused Garte to continue vomiting and dry heaving. His body just would not quit rejecting whatever was left in his stomach.

The light was off, but the sound of her husband being sick awoke Zianna. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. Her eyebrows furrowed as she made her way towards the bathroom.

"Garte?" She spoke softly as she reached to turn the light on.

Garte, taking all his strength and resilience to put his hand up and shake his head. He managed to move himself away from the toilet and closer to the center of the bathroom, though he hardly moved very far at all.

"No, no," he sniffed. "Don't turn on the light. Please don't."

At this point, Garte was begging her not to. His head felt like it was about to explode and as though it was being crushed simultaneously. He knew he couldn't take the bright light of the bathroom.

"Okay, okay," Zianna said worriedly as she moved her hand away from the lightswitch. Luckily, the moonlight was shining just enough through the windows for her to see Garte.

She knelt down on the floor next to him. He was still managing to sit up, though he had no idea how he had the strength to.

Zianna put a hand on Garte's neck, feeling the sweat building up. She could feel he didn't have a fever, so she figured he had some type of wildly intense migraine. As Garte began to pull his knees in and rest his head on his forearms, Zianna spoke up.

"Is it just a really bad migraine, G?" Zianna asked. She was incredibly worried.

Garte didn't respond. His head hurt too much to nod, and he was too afraid to tell the truth to shake his head. So, he sat in silence, hoping she would realize how much pain he was in and dismiss the question.

"Do you feel like you need to go to the ER?" Zianna inquired. Garte's lack of response scared her more.

"No, I'll be okay," Garte resisted the urge to cough, feeling both his throat burn and his head throb.

Garte's breathing became shaky. He held his hand to his head, feeling so dizzy that he was afraid to open his eyes.

"Let's get you to lie down for a bit," Zianna suggested. Her heart was racing with concern, but she tried to hide it the best she could.

She placed a hand on the back of his neck and helped lower him gently to the floor. She tried her best to make sure that his head reached the rug and took her hand out from under his head. She then brushed her hand over the side of his face, only to feel a liquid that was thicker than sweat.

She gently lifted her hand and placed her other hand on her husband's chest. He continued to breathe heavily, trying his best to regulate the pain in his head. Zianna glanced down at the hand she had just brushed over his face.

The soft moonlight glow from their bedroom offered little help in seeing what this substance was. However, Zianna was able to see that it was much darker. Without even checking twice, she immediately knew it was blood.

"G, you're bleeding," Zianna stated. "When did you get hurt?"

Garte didn't respond. This time, he was too scared to do so. His mind raced with possible lies that might make sense in the long run, which only made his headache worse.

"Can you talk to me, love?" Zianna egged on. She knew now was not a good time to start snapping at him. "I just want to know what happened."

Seeing as he was bleeding, Zianna now knew that Garte was not showing the signs of a migraine, but rather a concussion. There was no way for her to tell how severe until she took him to the emergency room.

"Just..." Garte hesitated. He was now slurring his words and his mind was going in and out of consciousness. "Just fell while I was working with Michael."

He hated defending Michael. But, he had to. The threat of his son dying was more than prevalent and pressing.

Zianna, not believing him for even a moment, stood up and grabbed her phone. She quickly called Sylvanna, apologizing for calling so early in the morning but telling her it was an emergency. Without a second thought, Sylvanna picked up a sleeping Aphmau and made her way to the Ro'Meave house.

Zianna helped Garte stand up and get downstairs to the couch. Resting his head on a pillow and covering him with a soft throw blanket, she began to stroke his hair soothingly.

"Sylvanna will be here soon," she whispered. "Can you stay awake?"

With his obvious and dangerous symptoms, she was worried that he was experiencing more than just a concussion. Given the fact he was hardly able to hold a conversation, she wanted to keep him awake until she knew it was safe for him to rest.

"Mmhm," he mumbled.

"Good," she smiled softly. "Did you drive home like this?"

"It didn't hurt," he whispered out. Slow and slightly slurred.

Zianna kept stroking his hair, remaining confused by his cryptic answer. She wasn't sure what he meant. But, she knew she could get nothing out of him in this state.

Once Sylvanna came in holding Aphmau, she laid her almost four-year-old on a couch in the opposite room. She came right back over, ready to jump into action the moment Zianna asked her to.

"Okay, Garte, we're going to help you stand up to get to the car." Zianna said quietly.

They both grabbed his arms, Zianna supporting from underneath his right shoulder and Sylvanna supporting from the left. The two women were met only with a groan from him, and the struggle to walk. They made their way out the door, and towards the driveway.

From both the pain in his head and in his ankle, Garte began dry heaving again as he walked. With the contents in his stomach drained, there was nothing left to throw up. His body, however, wouldn't give him a moment's peace.

"You're okay," Zianna whispered to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest. "You hear me? You're going to be okay."

For the first time in their marriage, he didn't believe her.

Sylvanna leaned back the passenger's seat so that Garte would be in a more reclined position as they drove to the hospital. They lowered him in, and shut the door as quietly as possible. Zianna stepped back, tears in her own eyes as she turned to Sylvanna.

"He'll be okay." Sylvanna reassured her with a quick hug. "Have them check his ankle."

"How bad is it?" Zianna inquired.

"I'm not sure, but it seemed like he was unable to put weight on it."

Zianna nodded, thanked Sylvanna again, and got into the car. She held Garte's hand as she drove, trying to find the balance of rushing him to the hospital and driving safely on the road. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, and checked on him here and there to make sure he was awake. Measuring his every breath, they pulled up to the hospital.

She quickly went in to grab anyone she could find, knowing that getting Garte up herself would prove to be a difficult challenge. The nurses quickly grabbed a stretcher and raced outside with her. They quickly asked for his name and a summary of the situation before they reached the car, an eternity to Garte.

"Alright, Mr. Ro'Meave, grab my arms for me. Can you stand on your own?" A male nurse asked. His eyes widened a bit when he saw the blood streaming from Garte's head.

Garte shook his head lightly, his knuckles white against the nurse's arms. Another nurse jumped in, slowly pulling Garte up onto the stretcher. They took him inside and had a valet park the car, so that Zianna was able to follow them in.

"Was he able to say what happened?" The first nurse asked her.

"No, no." Zianna shook her head.

As they reached a small room, the doctor quickly followed. He acted with urgency, shining his light to check Garte's pupils, which Garte resisted at first. His eyes were shut tightly from the bright hospital light.

Zianna's breath hitched in her throat. All she wanted was to take away that level of pain from him. She quickly snapped out of everything when the second nurse began to ask her questions.

"Is he on any medications?" She asked quietly.

"Um, Prozac. Twenty milligrams. He just started it." Zianna responded. "And Concerta. Thirty-six milligrams."

"Okay, thank you. Can you tell me what you know?" The nurse asks gently.

"I just heard him vomiting. I can't say what happened, but he has that cut on his forehead. His ankle I think is bothering him. He said he was working with one of his colleagues."

Before the nurse could ask any more questions, the doctor stepped away from Garte quickly and approached Zianna. He was a tall man, with a calming smile that would ease anyone in the emergency department. He shook Zianna's hand and spoke quietly.

"I'm Dr. Everett," he introduced himself. "The nurses are giving your husband sutures for his cut, and then we'll take him up to CT."

Zianna nodded, "CT?"

"It seems to me to be a severe concussion. He does have a nasty knot at the back of his head, and you've seen the cut on his forehead. I just want to be safe and make sure there's nothing hidden going on in his brain." The doctor replied, knowing that the concept of a CT would scare anyone.

Zianna drew in a deep breath and nodded. Holding herself together the best she could, she wrung her hands lightly. She took a glance at her husband, pale and sweating, and turned back to Dr. Everett.

"Are you going to give him anything for the pain?" Zianna asked. Seeing the grimace etched onto his face only made her heart break more.

"We gave him a strong dose of acetaminophen for now. It seems to be working a bit, just enough to keep him still. We can give him something stronger once we have a more accurate assessment and we have the neurologist take a look." Everett replied.

Zianna nodded. As they rolled Garte away, she planted one more kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back. He did his best to open his eyes and look at her, fighting the pain of the bright hospital light. She smiled at him, and they took him upstairs to get a picture of what was happening in his brain.

Left alone with her own thoughts and fears, Zianna sat down in a chair. She anxiously bounced her leg, praying for the doctor to come in and let her know that everything would be fine. That maybe, just maybe, he was overexaggerating his pain.

Who was she kidding? He could only downplay his worst injuries.

She shakily picked up her phone, quickly tapping on Derek's contact. It rang a few times.

Not because Derek was not awake. Quite the opposite, actually. He sat awake in his room, staring at the ceiling. The second he saw Zianna calling him, his heart dropped.

Was he going to get the news that Garte had died on his way home in a crash? Was the news that he suffered an invisible brain bleed?

He picked up the phone after a couple rings, savoring what he thought were the last few seconds before his life changed forever. He heard Zianna's shaky voice on the other side, almost begging him for an explanation. She gave no apology for her calling so late, or abruptly, for she didn't care.

"Derek, what the hell happened?"