“You’re still here,” she whispers, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth like it’s holy. “That’s all that matters. You’re still mine to fight for.”
The medics crowd closer. Numbers barked. Syringes flash. Pressure builds on my side where the shrapnel still festers. My vision tunnels again, but her face holds me steady.
“Stay with me, Butterfly,” I rasp, voice shredded under the mask.
Her lips tremble. She leans lower until her forehead presses to mine.
“Always,” she breathes. “Even if I have to drag you back from hell myself.”
And I believe her.
Even as the dark drags me under again, I believe her.
The dark wants me.
It drags me under, heavy and endless, no sound but the pulse in my ears. But every time I start to fall, her voice claws me back.
“Dax. Stay with me. Don’t you let go.”
Hands tear at me. Cold compress on my ribs. Sharp sting in my arm. A line shoved into the crook of my elbow, tape biting my skin. Voices slam together?—
“BP forty over palp?—”
“Push two of epi!”
“Get another line in!”
The mask clamps down harder on my face. Oxygen hisses. I gag, choke, but she doesn’t let go of me. Her forehead stays pressed to mine, her breath warm, shaking.
“You’re not dying,” she says, like it’s law. “You’re not. Not like this.”
My body jerks. Pads slapped to my chest. The zap comes a breath later, white fire tearing through me, lifting me off the table, dumping me back down in my own skin.
I grunt, broken, but her hands catch my face again.
“That’s it,” she whispers, wild with relief. “Come back to me, Dax. Come the fuck back.”
Numbers spit from the monitor, frantic, jagged, but climbing. A second zap. Another wave of fire. My spine bows, my breath rips out, but my heart—fuck, my heart claws back.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Weak. Erratic. But steady enough to count.
“Hold it,” someone barks. “Keep it steady. Don’t you dip again.”
Sweat stings my eyes. My chest heaves like it’s full of knives. My hands twitch uselessly against the straps holding me down.
Her grip doesn’t ease. She doesn’t flinch. She leans closer, so close her tears drip hot onto my cheek.
“You stubborn bastard,” she breathes. “You don’t get to quit on me. Not after everything. Not after—” Her voice breaks. She swallows it. Hard. “Not after I found you again.”
The world tilts, blurs, but it doesn’t vanish this time.
The hissing slows.
