He crosses the room slowly and kneels in front of me, one hand bracing on the couch cushion near my hip.
“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he says quietly. “But I’m glad I did.”
My heart stutters.
“You heard?”
“Enough.”
His hand comes up carefully, like he’s approaching something fragile, and cups my cheek.
“What happened to you didn’t change how I see you,” he says. “It didn’t lessen you. It didn’t stain you. And it sure as hell didn’t take anything from me.”
My throat tightens.
We’ve had this conversation before, but I can’t seem to get past it.
“I was saving…”
“I know,” he says gently, stopping me before I can spiral. “And listen to me very carefully, Abigail.”
His forehead rests against mine.
“I’m so thankful for anything you’re willing to give me. Because you’re choosing me. Because you trust me.”
Tears slip down my temples.
“And if your body needs time,” he continues, “we take time. If you flinch, I stop. If you panic, I hold you. If all we ever do is lie in bed and breathe together, I’ll take it. Fuck…I’ll devour every second of it.”
His voice drops lower.
“Until that moment comes,” he whispers. “Let me love you so damn much that your body will forget those horrible memories and replaces it with memories of mine. My hugs. My kisses. My caresses. My…love.”
“I love you,” I whisper, my throat burning with each word.
“My sweet baby,” he whispers back. “I’ve known that for a long time. I’ve loved you just as long. I just didn’t realize it.”
“I did,” I admit. “I always knew you loved me. I just didn’t think you’d ever figure it out.”
“I’m a fucking idiot,” he says. “Now, please, stop talking. I need you to save that voice so you can scald me properly for dumb shit I do in the future.”
I laugh, but my voice is so far gone that it only comes out as a puff of air…which in turn, causes another coughing fit to happen.
Fun.
***
I’m half-buried in blankets on the couch pretending I’m not listening.
I’m absolutely listening.
“She’s got an upper respiratory infection,” Patch says. “Most likely viral. Airways are inflamed. Sinuses are a mess.”
“Dammit,” Tank mutters.
Patch ignores him. “Her lungs are clear. No crackles. No signs of pneumonia. Oxygen’s good.”
“Hospital?” Tank asks immediately.
