Elvis lies blank and bleary in bed, mumbling softly as he comes to. You stroke his hair back, dressed in an oversized sweater and baggy jeans.

His bloodshot eyes find you, blinking softly.

"'M angel." He mumbles, almost inaudible. He raises a hand, iv tugging a little as he cups your face. You lean down closer to him, eyes wet.

"So beautiful."

Usually, these remarks would make you smile. Now, all you can do is cry.

"Don't cry, doll." Elvis says, coming two slowly.

You shake your head, lips quivering.

"I love you." You whisper. You kiss his forehead.

"I love you." He repeats, eyes unfocused.

It feels as if he's in a dream, the sun coming in behind you like a halo. Unconsciousness finds him slowly at first, then tugs him downwards all at once.

*

*

*

"We just need you to sign here, ma'am, and we'll have him checked into the center as soon as he's stable."

You sniff, Jerry sitting with crossed arms beside you. The pen is shaky in your hand as you look over at him. He looks as if he hasn't slept in days. None of you have.

The psychiatrist sits in front of you, patient and polite.

Jerry sighs, nodding at you in encouragement.

You look back at the form.

You're afraid of this, afraid of Elvis resenting you for checking him into a rehab facility, but you're more scared of losing him forever.

It had come out- while Elvis was in a two day coma- that the singer had been indulging in the traditional rockstar lifestyle while in LA. Booze, pills, girls. You had done your best to keep the man you loved from the tabloids, releasing vague statements that never really eluded to the exact truth.

You're in constant emotional turmoil. Addiction is hard for you to grasp, something no one in the scene really talked about. You have now idea what Elvis was going through, and therefore no idea how to help him.

Its as if you're out to sea in a leaking raft, bailing endless amounts of water into the sea, only for it to come rushing back in.

You rest a hand on your baby bump, seeking comfort in your child.

You have to do this, you decide. Not just for you, not just for him, but for the life growing inside of you.

You sign the forms, tear drops staining the paper.

*

*

*

"Why'd you do it, Elvis?" You ask. It's quiet in the hospital room. The ticking of the clock makes you anxious, scared of his answer.

It's quiet for a long time before he speaks.

"I don't know."

You shake your head.

"Elvis-"

"Y/N, the one thing about me is that everytime I have a good thing going for me, I fuck it up." He doesn't yell, but his voice is sharp enough for you to close your mouth.

"I'm scared." He rubs the bridge of his nose. "I've got this hole inside of me that only got bigger when I went away to film, and without you I just fell apart."

"It's been like this all my life." He continues. "I just wanted to fill that void, and music was what I used. But then that damn Colonel came and tainted it for me. What do I have left, besides you?"

You feel hot tears prick in the corners of your eyes. You know it's not healthy, the things he's implying. You love him more than anyone else in your life, but you can't be a patch over a bigger, emotional hole. He can't put that on you.

You think very carefully before you respond.

"Elvis, I'm your girl. But I'm not your mother."

He looks up at you with tear stained eyes.

"Y/N-"

"I will love you, and I will stand beside you, but I can't fix this for you."

You feel shaky, but your voice is firmer than you expected it to be.

You look into the eyes of the man you love, the life you've shared together flashing before you.

"I've checked you into a rehab center, baby." Your voice breaks on the word baby.

You see realization hitting him, watch him sigh and slump back into the bed.

"How long?" Is all he says.

"For as long as it takes for you to get better." You move towards him, hand on his shoulder. He takes it in his own, stroking his thumb across the top of it.

"You'll visit me?"

You smile, nodding.

"Couldn't keep me away from you if you tried."

Elvis kisses your hand.

You think about what you're going to say next, and your heart breaks.

"But Elvis," you take a deep breath. "I think we need to separate for awhile."

His head shoots up, looking at you with wide eyes.

"You leavin' me, Y/N?"

You shake your head fast, tears falling from your eyes.

"No, no baby I'm not leaving you." Your voice is thick with emotion, and you feel sick to your stomach.

"We just need a break, and you need to get better on your own first."

Elvis shakes his head, pulling you closer to him.

"You're too codependent, baby, you gotta be able to function without me without turning to the pills. We're gonna have a baby, Elvis. A baby needs two, stable parents."

Elvis's lips part like he wants to argue, like he wants to shout at you, but then something behind his eyes breaks and before you know it he's sobbing into you.

You hold his head to your chest, letting him cry. It breaks your heart.

You don't say anything. You feel hollow, exhausted. You know this is the right thing to do for both of you, but it feels as if you've set your world on fire.

Fifteen minutes later you're still holding him, his sobs diminished to soft sniffles.

A knock at the door startles you both, a nurse peaking in.

"Mrs. Presley?"

The title makes your heart swoop.

"I'm sorry ma'am, visitation hours have ended."

You give her a small smile, kissing the top of Elvis's head.

"Don't go.". Elvis croaks, voice rough from crying.

"I'll always come back." You tell him, and you mean it.

"You'll get better, baby." You take his face in his hands. "You'll get better, and I'll visit you as much as I can and we'll have a real good life together once you get out."

You promise, heart fully in it.

Elvis kisses you. It's soft, broken. It makes you want to cry.

When you pull away, hand still in his, you squeeze his fingers once.

You start to step away from the bed and towards the door, but he pulls you back a minute.

"Hey," Elvis says. You turn towards him, gazing upon the man who had flipped your life upside down and turned your world around, the man who had loved you when you found yourself unlovable.

"When you're forty and I'm fifty, we'll be back together."

You smile.

"Even sooner than that."

He smiles back, a little sad and worn down, but a smile none the less.

And with that, you turn to leave, tears hot behind your eyes.