"You don't have to do that."
"I know, but I'm doing it anyway." I settle more carefully beside him. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you actually rest instead of trying to discharge yourself early."
"You know me too well already."
"That's because you're predictable."
He laughs, then groans when it pulls at his stitches. "Don't make me laugh. Hurts like a bitch."
"Then stop being funny." But I'm smiling despite everything, relief flooding through me now that I can see he's really okay.
Falcon pokes his head in, checking on us. "Doctor says you need rest, Ice Pick. That means kicking Ava out soon."
"She's staying."
"Hospital's got rules about overnight visitors."
"Then she's breaking the rules. Won't be the first time." Mason's voice is getting drowsy, pain medication pulling him under. "Make sure she eats, Falcon. She forgets when she's worried."
"I don't forget," I protest, but he's already drifting off.
Falcon smirks. "He's got your number. Come on, let's get you real food while he sleeps."
I let him pull me away reluctantly, and we find the hospital cafeteria where he forces me to eat actual dinner instead of vending machine garbage. The food's institutional and bland, but it's warm and filling, and I realize how hungry I actually am.
"Sarah called," Falcon says between bites. "Asked about Ice Pick and wanted to make sure you're okay."
"I should call her back."
"Already told her you'd check in later. She's doing better, Sterling says. She’s shaken but recovering." He pauses. "She wants to go back to your apartment, but it's still a crime scene. FBI's processing evidence."
"She can stay at the compound as long as she needs. I'll help her find a new place when things settle down." I push food around my plate. "Is it always like this? The violence, the danger, the constantly looking over your shoulder?"
"For us? Yeah. It's the life we chose." Falcon studies me. "Is that going to be a problem for you and Ice Pick?"
"I don't know. I'm a journalist. My job is exposing corruption and illegal activity. His job involves, well, corruption and illegal activity."
"The club operates in gray areas. We don't hurt innocents, don't traffic people or push drugs to kids. But we do things that aren't exactly legal." He leans back. "You can live with that?"
It's the question I've been avoiding, the fundamental incompatibility between what I do and who Mason is. But thinking about life without him, about going back to my apartment alone and pretending the last two weeks didn't change everything, feels impossible.
"I can live with it as long as the club doesn't cross lines I can't ignore. As long as Mason stays on the right side of those lines." I meet Falcon's eyes. "Can he do that?"
"He'll try. For you, he'll try." Falcon's expression is serious. "But you need to understand something about Ice Pick. The violence isn't just what he does. It's part of who he is. Turning it off completely, becoming some domesticated version of himself, that's not happening."
"I'm not asking him to change who he is. I'm asking if we can find a way to make this work despite who we both are."
"That's up to you two to figure out." He stands, clearing his tray. "But for what it's worth? I think you've got a shot. I've seen the way he looks at you, seen the way he's different when you're around. That's worth fighting for."
We head back to Mason's room where he's still sleeping peacefully, the monitors beeping steady rhythms. Falcon leaves after making me promise to text if anything changes, and then I'm alone with Mason and the quiet hum of medical equipment.
I settle into the chair beside his bed, my hand finding his, and let myself just breathe for the first time in hours. He's okay. We're okay. Castellano's in custody and the trafficking network's dismantled and for the first time since this all started, we're safe.
The relief is overwhelming enough that I start crying, silent tears I can't seem to stop. All the fear and adrenaline and terror I've been holding back for weeks comes pouring out, and I press my face against the side of his mattress to muffle the sounds.
"Ava." Mason's voice is rough with sleep and pain medication. "Why're you crying?"
"Because you almost died and I was terrified and I love you so much it hurts." The words tumble out between sobs. "And I don't know how to do this, how to be with someone who risks his life like it's nothing."
