"By standing outside every patient room? By positioning yourself between me and every person who walks past?" I shake my head. "Thatcher, I need space to work."
His jaw tightens. "Someone tried to kill you. That same someone just ran when we got close. You think I'm going to back off now?"
"I think you need to trust that increased security and your presence nearby is enough. You don't need to be on top of me every second."
"The parking lot attack happened when you were alone."
"And you happened to be there. You saved me." I step closer. "But I can't function with you breathing down my neck."
"I'm not—" He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. "I'm doing my job."
"Your job is protective detail. Not prisoner guard."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" I gesture between us. "You're treating me like I can't take care of myself. Like I'm helpless."
"I don't think you're helpless. I think you're in danger."
"I know I'm in danger. But I'm also a trauma surgeon who deals with life and death every day. I'm not fragile, Thatcher. Stop acting like I am."
Silence stretches between us. His expression shifts from defensive to something more vulnerable.
"I'm concerned," he says quietly. "About missing something. About them getting to you because I wasn't thorough enough."
The admission catches me off guard. "So you're hovering because you don't trust yourself to keep me safe from a distance?"
"Something like that."
"Then trust me to tell you if I need more protection. Trust that we're in this together." I reach up, touch his face. "That means you don't carry all the weight alone."
He covers my hand with his. "I'm not good at this. Letting people help."
"I noticed. Very Marine of you."
"It's kept me alive this long."
"And now it's making me crazy." But I'm smiling slightly. "Meet me halfway?"
"How?"
"You stay close but not suffocating. I promise to tell you if I feel unsafe. We compromise."
He considers this. "I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it. You just have to do it."
"You're very demanding."
"You like it."
His mouth curves into a slight smile. "Only when you do it."
He pulls me closer, kisses me hard. It's not gentle or sweet. It's possessive and desperate and everything he can't put into words.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Compromise," he says.
