Fragile Tension (Alan Wilder x Martin Gore)

7: The Repulse

It was all over.

Martin could still hear the ear-piercing sound of the machine as it penetrated and drilled through the thick layers of his bandaging to remove it the day before. After weeks of healing, he finally felt free. Like he could run a marathon. Like he were in a blissful Haven.

Thought after thought rushed through his mind as he was just beginning to wake up, seeing great opportunities in the day ahead of him. Uplifted, he slipped himself out of bed and stood up.

With two feet on the carpet.
~~~~~
'DEPECHE MODE TOUR TO RESUME TOMORROW NIGHT'

Alan was filled with pride as he read the headline. The excitement of resuming the tour was building with every passing moment of the day.

But his excitement was quickly distinguished when he realised that his partner was still yet to join him at the table. Now more concerned than excited, he got up and left the dining room to check on him.

"BABY?" He called out, leaning on the banister.

Silence.

"MART?" He called out again.

The silence thickened.

Upstairs, Martin stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Despite the positivity the early hours had brought him, as the morning drew on he felt less and less like himself.

Blinking slowly, he rode his his loose-fitting shirt up to expose his stomach and the slight pudge it had to it.

"If you hadn't fainted," He spoke to himself. "None of this would be happening if you hadn't fucking fainted."

Having not touched one since his accident, Martin decided to reach for the only thing that would settle his distress.

A bottle.

He opened the cooler of which was stored in the cupboard beneath the sink and took one out. Cracking it open, he struggled to bring it up to his lips. An overwhelming guilt took control as he held the condensed glass before him, but a striking temptation soon accompanied it. There were two choices and one decision.

One decision he couldn't make.

"BABE? ARE YOU GOING TO COME DOWN AND HAVE BREAKFAST? WE'VE GOT REHEARSAL SOON!" He suddenly heard a voice yell.

And his decision had been made.

"UHH, YEAH, I'M COMING NOW!" He yelled back as he poured the liquid down the sink and threw the bottle into the the bin, highly hopeful that Alan would never find it.
~~~~~
"So, are you looking forward to getting back to playing live, babe?" Alan smiled, coffee mug in hand.

"Yeah, I am actually. It'll be nice to get ba-"

Martin's sentence was cut off by a sudden, aggressive wave of nausea, the sight of his breakfast revolting him.

Clearing his throat, he attempted to act as if nothing had happened.

"It'll be nice to- uhh, get back into the swing of things. I've missed it."

"Me too. But it was important that you got all the recovery time you could." Alan sighed, contemplating everything that'd happened over the past month. "Anyways, I'll leave you to eat - I'm gonna go and get the car started up." He added, standing up.

"Okay." Martin said quietly, struggling to hide how sickly he felt.

Towards Alan, it was to no avail.

"Are you alright, my love? You sound a bit sad."

"I'm fine, just tired." He replied, disguising the truth.

"Okay, okay, just checking." Alan giggled. "I'm sure you'll wake up a little more at rehearsal."

"Hah, I probably will."

As his partner briefly left the flat, Martin stared down at his plate and breathed in through his nose, only to realise his sense of smell had majorly changed overnight.

"Oh, wow." He cupped his hand over his mouth at the smell which, to him, was putrid.

Immediately turning his head and attention away from his plate, he coughed and gagged into his hand as an attempt to muffle the sound.

However, the sound of Alan's car keys in his pocket as he walked was impossible to muffle, and it made Martin even more nauseous. He had barely touched his food, gagging every time he attempted to.

Quickly thinking, he jumped up and scraped all the food off of his plate and into the bin, once again hoping that Alan wouldn't take any notice.
~~~~~
But he already had.

As he stood at his keyboard, he shot Martin a worried glance, noticing the loss of colour in his lips and gauntness to his face.

At the next availability, of which was the band's break, he knew he had to speak with him.

"Love, you're looking quite pale. Are you sure you're alright?"

Martin huffed, remembering how he couldn't bring himself to do his makeup that morning due to the nausea.

He couldn't keep it to himself any longer.

"No, I'm not sure I'm alright at all. I feel really really sick." He admitted, his eyes welling with hot tears.

"Oh dear." Alan's forehead scrunched. "Do you think you'll physically be sick or do you just feel that way?"

"I just- I just don't know, Al." Martin winced, fearful of vomiting during the rehearsal.

There was nothing Alan detested more than seeing his partner in such a state. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around him, allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder.

"We don't have to rehearse anymore today," He told him comfortingly. "We can go home, you can have a lie down and I'll make you some tea."

Although appealed by Alan's suggestion, Martin was also appealed by the idea of rehearsing with his bandmates for the first time in weeks.

"But I-I was looking forward to rehearsal today." He said with a cracked voice.

"I know you were, my love, but you're really not looking well. I think you're coming down with something; we don't wanna get anyone else ill, do we?" Alan stroked his curly tuffs of hair.

"I guess not." Martin at last gave in.

"Alright; I'll let the others know that we're gonna be on our way. Have a moment to yourself to relax." Alan loosened his grip on him and kissed his forehead before leaving to tell their bandmates.

Leaning back, Martin swallowed deeply through shallow, shaky breaths.

He just wanted to know what was wrong with him.