musicalluna

Title: 010 Breathe Again - One Hundred Reasons
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Lassiter/Polly
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Drama
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: One of my responses for my 100 themes collection revolving around Lassiter and Polly.
A/N: YAY New prompt. I didn't start this one until 11:30 when s_c gave me the genius idea for this prompt. Thank her for the PWNSHIP of this idea.
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or it's characters.

“…and five minutes later, he was in the paste again,” Polly said, and Carlton chuckled, nodding gratefully as their waiter set their dishes before them. “I swear, that child is single-minded when it comes to that stuff.”

Carlton smirked, sprinkling his salad with pepper before drizzling the salad dressing on top of it. “He’s an addict,” he said. “Maybe you should bring him down to the station. Make a report.”

Polly gasped indignantly, slapping his arm. “Carlton, that’s awful. He’s only five years old.”

Taking a bite of his salad, he smirked but his reply was lost as he felt a familiar unpleasant prickling start on his tongue. He immediately leaned forward, spitting out the mouthful. It took a few tries, his tongue already felt thick, a quiet wheezing starting in the back of his throat as it warmed and swelled.

“Carlton?” Polly said and concern was creeping into her voice. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head, silently cursing himself for not checking the salad for the popular garnish and leaned back in his chair, the wheezing only growing worse as his throat continued to swell. Damn.

“Carlton?” Polly repeated, and there was definite worry there now, her chair scraping backwards on the floor as she got to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

Reaching in his pocket for the epinephrine pen he always took with him when going out for dinner, just in case, he winced, curling in on himself as his abdomen spasmed painfully. He could barely breathe now.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, Carlton, Carlton, what’s happening?” Polly cried, and she sounded frantic, her hands hovering uncertainly around him. Her voice turned away as she yelled, “Somebody, please, call 911!”

Carlton managed to get the EpiPen out of his pocket, working hard for every breath that he managed to suck in and grabbed Polly’s hand, meeting her gaze as he pressed it into her palm. Her eyes widened, panic and confusion plain on her face.

“C—Carlton, I don’t understand—”

With a trembling hand, and another wince as his gut seized again, he mimed jabbing the pen into his thigh. When Polly simply continued to stare at him, he repeated the gesture jerkily, lungs burning for air. He was relieved when Polly finally pulled off the top, and, after a moment’s hesitation, grimaced and jabbed the needle into his thigh.

It took just a moment for the medication to kick in and he relaxed as the swelling in his throat receded slightly, allowing him to breathe again. He took several deep breaths to satiate his angry lungs and grimaced as another spasm clenched in his stomach. The worst of it was over though.

“Carlton? Carlton are you okay? What happened?” Polly asked, her voice laced with anxiety and he could hear the tears in it. Her hands tentatively cupped his face, stroking lightly and he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He began to laugh, low and quiet at first, but it quickly rose, moving into his aching stomach and coming out in bursts between his halting gasps of air. It hurt to laugh, but he couldn’t help it, wetness collecting in the corners of his eyes.

“Carlton!” Polly cried, obviously distressed. “Are you okay? I don’t understand!” He continued to laugh, despite the difficulty it caused his breathing. “Oh my gosh,” she mumbled despondently, “Your brain was oxygen deprived…”

That only made the laughter worse.

The paramedics arrived then, before he could stop the laughing and he caught hold of Polly’s hand, holding on tightly as they moved around him, assisting him onto a stretcher and fixing an oxygen mask over his face, which was a good thing, because he was starting to get light-headed. “Your—your face,” he finally gasped, managing to get some control of himself, his cheeks wet with tears of mirth.

“Wh—what?” Polly stammered bewilderedly, squeezing his hand in her own.

“Your face,” he repeated and the memory only served to restart the breathless laughter. Polly followed as the stretcher began moving, looking distressed.

“Carlton, this isn’t funny!” she exclaimed, and the tears were back in her voice, collecting in her eyes.

He took a deep breath, sobering at the sight of her tears, and reached up with a shaky hand to brush her cheek, still grinning despite himself. “This happens every once in a while, Polly. Now breathe,” he ordered. “Don’t stop on my account. It’s annoying as hell, but I always breathe again.”

Polly bent over him, a tear slipping down her cheek to land on his as they came to a stop outside the ambulance.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t,” she whispered.