"Hey." His smile is weak but real. "Told you... not leaving."
A sob tears from my throat. I'm crying and laughing at the same time, my hands framing his face like I need to confirm he's real.
"You're awake. Oh God, you're awake."
"Don't cry." His hand comes up to brush at my tears. "I hate when you cry."
"Semyon!" I'm shouting before I can stop myself. "Semyon, get in here!"
The door practically explodes inward. Semyon bursts through, weapon drawn, ready for a threat.
Then he sees Maksim awake, and his entire face transforms.
"You stubborn bastard." The grin that spreads across his face is brilliant. "I knew it. I knew you wouldn't give up."
"Takes more than a couple gunshots to kill me."
"Clearly." Semyon holsters his weapon and moves to the bed, checking Maksim's pupils, his pulse. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got shot. Twice." Maksim's attempt at humor makes my heart squeeze. "And beaten. And—"
"Yeah, we know." Semyon cuts him off gently. "You look like hell."
"Feel worse."
"I bet." Semyon finishes his examination and steps back. "You need to sleep. Real sleep, not fever-induced unconsciousness. We'll talk strategy in the morning."
"Roman—" Maksim tries to sit up and immediately regrets it, his face going gray.
"Is still out there," Semyon confirms, pushing him back down. "But he's not our problem tonight. Tonight, you heal. Tomorrow, we plan. Understood?"
Maksim looks like he wants to argue. Then his eyes find mine, and something in his expression softens.
"Tomorrow," he agrees quietly.
"Good." Semyon heads for the door. "Kira, make sure he actually sleeps."
"I will."
The door closes, leaving us alone again.
Maksim's hand finds mine, our fingers tangling together. "I thought I lost you," he whispers.
"Never." I press my forehead to his. "You're stuck with me now."
"Good." His eyes are already drifting closed, exhaustion pulling him back under. "Love you."
"I love you too." I settle against him carefully. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
His breathing evens out, falling into the deeper rhythm of real sleep. The fever is still there, but lower now. Manageable.
He's going to survive this.
Webothare.
