“It makes me feel almost afraid,” Steve reads, “as if something strange was just going to happen. The Splendid ones always make me feel like that.”
Danny gently strokes Grace’s head. “I think she’s asleep,” he says quietly. “Let’s leave the rest for the next time.”
Steve marks the page and sets Grace’s book aside, then leans back against the head of the bed and looks down at Danny and Grace, who are both comfortably sprawled over the bed. Grace has tucked her face against Danny’s neck and wrapped her body around his chest, carefully avoiding his right leg. The bandages are hidden by Danny’s hospital gown and sheets, but they still loom large in Steve’s mind.
He can still remember the blood. The knife had lodged itself in Danny’s thigh and Steve had known it had to have nicked an artery. He’s seen men die of similar wounds, felt their lives slipping through his fingers. A part of him had expected Danny to die there on that street, surrounded by useless gawkers, even as he’d frantically wadded his shirt against the wound and yelled for Kono to call for an ambulance.
The doctor tells him, afterwards, that he’d likely saved Danny’s life.
From where he’s sitting, Steve can catch whiffs of hospital shampoo and soap. It’s disconcerting. He’s gotten used to that particular blend of sandalwood soap and Davidoff cologne that Danny always smells like. He suspects that until Danny gets home and takes a shower, Steve won’t be able to scrub the taste and smell of blood from his mind either.
It was so close.
“Babe,” Danny says. “Stop it.”
“Not doing anything,” Steve says.
“You’re… fretting,” Danny says. “It’s done, I’m alive, a few weeks of PT and I’ll be good as new.”
Steve shifts a little so that his hip bumps up against the side of Danny’s head. Danny lets out a snuffly sort of laugh and turns his head to nuzzle his nose against Steve’s thigh.
“I’ll be fine,” Danny says. “Thanks to you, babe. So stop worrying.” His voice is going fuzzy with the meds again, but he doesn’t sound like he’s in pain or distress. And he’s right, he’s alive and he’ll be fine, and Steve hasn’t lost him like he has so many others, and all Steve has to do now is forget the certainty of Danny’s death. It’s a strange feeling, but not a terrible one.
Grace murmurs in her sleep, then turns a little and sighs. Steve leans down and kisses the top of her head softly, careful not to wake her.
“All right,” he says, and carefully looks away from the warmth in Danny’s eyes.
no subject
“It makes me feel almost afraid,” Steve reads, “as if something strange was just going to happen. The Splendid ones always make me feel like that.”
Danny gently strokes Grace’s head. “I think she’s asleep,” he says quietly. “Let’s leave the rest for the next time.”
Steve marks the page and sets Grace’s book aside, then leans back against the head of the bed and looks down at Danny and Grace, who are both comfortably sprawled over the bed. Grace has tucked her face against Danny’s neck and wrapped her body around his chest, carefully avoiding his right leg. The bandages are hidden by Danny’s hospital gown and sheets, but they still loom large in Steve’s mind.
He can still remember the blood. The knife had lodged itself in Danny’s thigh and Steve had known it had to have nicked an artery. He’s seen men die of similar wounds, felt their lives slipping through his fingers. A part of him had expected Danny to die there on that street, surrounded by useless gawkers, even as he’d frantically wadded his shirt against the wound and yelled for Kono to call for an ambulance.
The doctor tells him, afterwards, that he’d likely saved Danny’s life.
From where he’s sitting, Steve can catch whiffs of hospital shampoo and soap. It’s disconcerting. He’s gotten used to that particular blend of sandalwood soap and Davidoff cologne that Danny always smells like. He suspects that until Danny gets home and takes a shower, Steve won’t be able to scrub the taste and smell of blood from his mind either.
It was so close.
“Babe,” Danny says. “Stop it.”
“Not doing anything,” Steve says.
“You’re… fretting,” Danny says. “It’s done, I’m alive, a few weeks of PT and I’ll be good as new.”
Steve shifts a little so that his hip bumps up against the side of Danny’s head. Danny lets out a snuffly sort of laugh and turns his head to nuzzle his nose against Steve’s thigh.
“I’ll be fine,” Danny says. “Thanks to you, babe. So stop worrying.” His voice is going fuzzy with the meds again, but he doesn’t sound like he’s in pain or distress. And he’s right, he’s alive and he’ll be fine, and Steve hasn’t lost him like he has so many others, and all Steve has to do now is forget the certainty of Danny’s death. It’s a strange feeling, but not a terrible one.
Grace murmurs in her sleep, then turns a little and sighs. Steve leans down and kisses the top of her head softly, careful not to wake her.
“All right,” he says, and carefully looks away from the warmth in Danny’s eyes.