Page 48 of Carver
“I’ll come see you later,” Carver said, his expression neutral.
“Good looking out, Boss. Enjoy your meal.”
Trix left shortly after with a big smile and wave for them both. Carver pondered over whether the expression was for show or if the news Trix had wasn’t as bad as his doomsday mind created. The outcome would have to wait since his boy needed to be fed, cleaned, and put to bed first.
“Someone must love you in the kitchen. This lasagna smells delicious.”
Gideon opened his mouth at the announcement of what was in the plastic to-go containers. He was clearly ready to get the meal going. It made Carver chuckle in appreciation. He could remember a time when they had to basically force feed the boy. Amazing what changes came with time and care.
Each serving he spooned into his boy’s mouth was met eagerly. It was as if he were starved with how quickly he gobbled it all up.
Before he knew it, the plate was empty. Carver stared at it in wonder. It was so rare for his boy to finish his own serving. Usually Carver had to polish it off.
“Are you still hungry, sweet boy? I can share some of mine if you are.” Carver reached for his plate only to be stopped by a touch against his arm. The bandages Gideon wore scratched against his skin.
Gideon bumped his arm once. Carver gave a nod of understanding.
“No more? Ok, then. Let me scarf this down. I’ll help you in the shower after. We have to wrap your hands in plastic first, so they won’t get wet.”
His boy didn’t appear bothered at the news. He probably heard them discussing it in the med bay earlier. Carver couldn’t tell how in or out of it his boy was back then. He’d been too worried about his care to pay that any mind.
Now though, he thought about how observant Gideon was. He knew his sweet boy never missed a detail of anything. Does that mean he knew the cage was hot when he went to get in?
Carver shook away the idea. He had no reason to believe his boy was trying to hurt himself again. Since the last attempt, he’d been doing better. There were no outward signs of distress, no moments where Carver worried.
And yet…
No. That wasn’t the case.
When he finished his own portion of dinner, Carver tugged Gideon into a seated position and led him to the bathroom. Though his boy had been solely using the tub, Carver knew he didn’t oppose showers. He wasn’t sure which would be best given his state.
As he wrapped his boy’s hands in the plastic bags Trix had brought up with dinner, Carver asked, “Do you want a bath or shower tonight? We can do either.”
Carver watched as Gideon’s head tilted towards the bath. He grinned and shook his head.
“My sweet boy does love his bath time.” The whispered words were meant to be said in jest. It wasn’t until he felt Gideon shiver that he wondered if maybe they’d been taken a different way.
This wasn’t the time to find out. Gideon was newly injured. The wounds were in such a way he needed Carver to take complete care of him. It would be foolish to cross any lines.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Carver suggested when the quiet got too loud. He turned on the water to prepare the tub before focusing his efforts on the hard task ahead: touching a naked and wet Gideon.
With a sort of detached effort, he slipped Gideon’s shirt and pants off. Then he quickly removed the boy’s underwear and turned away. Only his hand extended behind him until he latched onto an arm.
Gently tugging forward, Carver got them over to the tub. He steadied Gideon as he sank beneath the water. Carver felt an immense relief once the boy’s body was hidden away.
“You should soak for a bit, then I’ll scrub you clean.” He pulled up his seat beside the bath and waited. There wasn’t anything else for him to focus on. Normally, he watched Gideon to make sure he bathed himself properly. Since that wasn’t possible, the pair was left to stare at one another.
After a few minutes, he realized the boy wasn’t all that relaxed. He decided to go ahead and rip the Band-Aid off.
“Time to scrub,” Carver said, voice infused with false joy.
His heart raced with nerves. To counteract the feeling, he decided to do what his father used to—he spoke about any and everything.
“You know, the Angels are something like a family tradition for me. One of the men in my bloodline has run it since its inception. When my father told me I would take over, I told him it was a mistake.”
Carver soaped up the washcloth. With a steadiness he didn’t feel, he swept over his boy’s face and neck, cleaning away the day’s grime.
“He’d asked me why I thought so. I told him it was because I probably wouldn’t ever have kids 'cause I liked men and men couldn’t have babies. The old bastard found my confession hilarious, especially considering he already knew.”