Fugitive Dreams (Part Two)
Pairing: Eddie Kasalivich x reader
Description: After a harrowing escape through freezing water, you and Eddie take refuge in an abandoned house to care for each other’s injuries and determine what your future may hold.
Rating: T
Word Count: 6.8k
Author’s Note: This is one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever written, and I hope y’all will enjoy it as much as I do :) As always, feedback is appreciated!!
link to part one
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By the time you and Eddie find the canned food you saw earlier, your legs are practically buzzing below the knees. You grit your teeth to hide the pain, knowing that it will only worry Eddie more than necessary.
You can’t keep your mind from replaying the things he said to you earlier. He thinks he’s caused you trouble. He thinks he’s responsible for your injuries. He thinks you’d be better off without him.
You push those thoughts from your mind and focus on what’s in front of you. Eddie had settled you into one of the kitchen chairs immediately, knowing that you were having difficulty standing, and you’re sorting through some of the cans that are in the cupboard next to your seat. The owners of the abandoned house left behind a few boxes of preserved food, so you’re not worried that you’ll starve to death, anyway.
Eddie brings over the cans that he’s found on the other side of the room and sets them on the table in front of you, taking a seat in the chair next to you. “What will it be?” he asks you, turning each of the cans over in his hands. “Navy beans, tomato soup, or…” He narrows his eyes to read the label. “Sardines?”
You laugh, showing him the selection of cans that you found, all bearing identical labels. “Well, since our benefactors are apparently so fond of them, let’s go with navy beans.”
Eddie grins at you, picking up two cans of the navy beans. “An excellent choice. Now all we need is a can opener.”
He stands to look for the appliance, and you stack the cans back in the cupboard the way you found them. You shift in your seat, trying to keep your legs in a position that minimizes your pain, and you open the drawer of the cabinet that’s on your level, pulling out two spoons and a knife.
“I guess our benefactors took the can opener with them,” Eddie mumbles from where he’s kneeling on the floor, looking through the empty kitchen cabinets. “Maybe they—oh, never mind. Here it is.” He tugs a very rusty, very unreliable-looking can opener out of the last cabinet, grinning triumphantly at you as if he’s just found an Easter egg.
You’re suddenly struck by how funny the situation is: you and Eddie are on the run for your lives, being hunted by the FBI and terrorists. Yet here you sit, with a rusty can opener as your primary problem for the moment. You watch Eddie prop the first tin can underneath the can opener, his hair falling into his eyes as he tries to make the contraption work, and all you can think is, I could get used to this.
Eddie works for several minutes to get the can opener to work, grinding it as best he can, but it soon becomes obvious that the gears are rusted shut. He sighs in frustration, waving his hand at the can opener and glancing over at you. “I can build a high-functioning frequency generator out of spare parts, but I can’t get a can opener to work.”
You laugh out loud at that, and he joins you. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” you tell him. “That can opener is probably older than you are, and much worse for the wear.”
Eddie sets the can opener aside, shaking his head but still smiling. “I guess there are some things even a machinist can’t fix. Well, we’ll just have to think of something else.” He sits down next to you again, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he looks around the room for an answer to appear out of nowhere.
“How about this?” you ask, playfully nudging his shoulder and holding out the small knife you found in the cabinet drawer.
Eddie’s face lights up, and he gives you a look of admiration that makes your heart swell. “Now that’s some good thinking,” he praises. “And you said I was the one with a lot of common sense.”
“You would have thought of it in a minute,” you laugh. Eddie shrugs modestly as he takes the knife from your hands. He pries open the lid of the first can, passing it to you, then does the same to his own can.
“Dinner is served, madam,” Eddie says, letting a hint of theatricality slip into his voice. You both lift your cans of navy beans and clink them together as if you’re raising a toast. Your first bite of the beans seems like the best meal you’ve ever had.
You and Eddie eat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing your situation a little more now that you’re relatively safe. Night has begun to fall outside, and you can see the dark sky illuminated by a brilliant moon through the small window over the kitchen sink. You catch a glimpse of the trees blowing harshly in the freezing night wind, and an involuntary shiver travels through your body at the sight.
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks you, breaking the silence.
You nod in affirmation, giving him a smile that is warmer than the rest of you. “Just a chill. How does your arm feel?”
“It feels fine now, thanks to your superior medical care.”
Your face reddens at his words, and you cast your gaze down at the can of beans again, trying to think of something to say. You remember a question you’ve been wanting to ask him, so you take the opportunity. “How did you get interested in machines, Eddie?”
Eddie thinks for a moment, seeming unsurprised at your sudden change of topic. At last, he responds, “I don’t know. I’ve always been fascinated with them. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t work with machines.” His face turns thoughtful, his dark eyes catching a faraway glint. “I guess it was because of my dad. He was a mechanical engineer, and he taught me everything he knew from the time I was four years old. He was brilliant.”
“Did he work with scientific machines the way you do?” you ask.
Eddie shakes his head. “No, he was more of a… a technician, I guess. He was the fix-it guy, you know? He could fix anything in the world. I started building simple machines when I was pretty young, and my dad always knew how to fix them when they broke. I came to college to get some formal education, but I already had lots of practical education from working with my dad.” Eddie’s eyes shine as he speaks, and he looks over at you for the first time since he’s been speaking. “I guess that’s how I got into machines. I wanted to be like my dad.”
You smile back at him, turning over his words in your head. You’ve never really known anything about Eddie’s personal life or his family, but you suddenly want to know more, to really know him. “Does your dad still do mechanical engineering?”
You regret the question the moment it leaves your lips, because Eddie’s eyes cloud with sadness, and his gaze drops down again. “No, he… uh, he died.” Eddie clears his throat. “When I was thirteen. He had a heart attack.”
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, regretting even bringing up the subject. “I had no idea. I didn’t mean to—”
“Hey, remember what we said?” Eddie tilts his head to look into your eyes, the sadness in his gaze softening. “No more apologizing. It’s all right. I miss him, but it’s been a long time. I don’t mind talking about him.”
You nod solemnly. “What about the rest of your family?”
Eddie shrugs, casting his gaze out the kitchen window. “I don’t really have any. My mom died about four years after my dad. I don’t have any siblings or any other family that lives around here, so I’ve just been on my own since then.”
“That must be so lonely,” you say softly, your heart aching for him. You had no idea that Eddie had faced such loss in his lifetime, and you wish there was something you could say to express your compassion.
“It’s not bad,” Eddie replies. “I’ve always been sort of a loner. I’ve made some friends at the university though. I probably spend more time with all of you on the research team than I do with anyone else.”
His statement makes you relieved and sad at the same time. You’re glad to know that you play some significant role in his life, but it breaks your heart knowing that he’s alone outside of the team. Especially now that you’re all scattered, accused of treason by the FBI.
Eddie quickly changes the subject, pushing his empty tin can across the table in front of him. He rests his chin on his hand and looks at you curiously. “What about you?” he queries with a small smile. “Do you have family?”
“Yeah,” you answer, smiling at the thought of your family. “My parents live in Indiana with my younger sister. I haven’t seen them in a few months, but we’ve always been pretty close. It was hard for me to move out here for my research, but I knew it was what I wanted to do.”
“Does your family do scientific research, too?” Eddie asks.
You shake your head, polishing off the last of your beans and setting your own can aside. “No, not at all. My parents own a furniture store together, and my sister is studying criminal justice.” You give a soft laugh. “My family supported my decisions, but I don’t think any of them could understand why I’d want to move to Chicago to do research on some top-secret sustainable energy project.”
Eddie laughs with you, and you enjoy the feeling of sharing a simple conversation over a meal with him. You can’t help wondering if you’ll have the chance to do this again, if this is a memory that will bittersweetly linger in your mind for the rest of your life. Another chill overtakes you, and you feel this one from your head to your toes. Your legs tremble again, the icy fire on your skin burning again with the intensity you were trying to ignore.
There’s no hiding it from Eddie this time, and you bite your lip to keep from betraying the pain that shoots through your shin bones. He instantly reaches out a hand to you, touching your shoulder and studying your face intently.
“Still pretty bad?” he asks softly, and you nod in response, sucking in a short breath.
“I don’t know why it’s still hurting,” you say, hearing the note of apology in your own voice. “It seems like it should have stopped by now.”
Another shudder runs up your spine, and Eddie’s hand tightens on your shoulder. “You were in the water for a long time,” he reminds you, “and your clothes aren’t exactly insulated. It takes a while for hypothermia to wear off.”
You nod resolutely. “I’m fine,” you insist, wishing that you could believe yourself. “Once I’ve had a good night’s rest, I’ll be good as new.”
Eddie nods, still searching your face to see how much truth there is in your words. “Okay. As long as you say so.” His hand slides down to hold yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he speaks. “I noticed a garage out back when we first came in. I’m gonna go see what’s in there before we settle in. If there’s a car, we might be able to get out of here by morning. As soon as I get back, we can figure out what to do for the night, okay?”
You smile back at him. “That sounds good.”
Eddie stands from his chair and glances out the window at the pitch-black sky and the whipping wind in the trees. “I won’t be long,” he promises, looking back at you as he moves toward the door.
“I’ll send a search party if you’re not back in ten minutes,” you tease. Eddie laughs warmly at your words, the smile still on his face as he ducks out the back door into the night air.
You feel a strange pull at your heart, a discomfort at being away from him. You can guess that he feels the same way based on the things he’s said. It’s strange to you—how you were just friendly coworkers two days ago, and now you can barely stand to be apart from each other for a few minutes.
“That’s shared trauma for you,” you mutter to yourself. There’s a part of you that hopes that’s not the case, a part that hopes this is something that can last beyond your flight from the law. Buried somewhere below all your logic and rationality, there’s a strange little voice that keeps whispering that you’re enjoying this, you’re still running with him because you want to be with him, you don’t want this flight to end.
You know that’s not true, but you can’t keep your mind from drifting to the future. What if you and Eddie both make it out of this alive? What if you go back to your normal lives? How are you supposed to just pretend this never happened and go back to being simple coworkers? Can you do that? You’re honestly not sure.
Hoping to escape your invasive thoughts, you decide to make yourself useful, sweeping the two empty cans of beans into your hands and forcing yourself to stand. It’s rough at first, and you have to hold onto the chairs and table to hobble across the room. You make it to the sink with difficulty, placing the cans in the sink and leaning against the counter to catch your breath. Every step you take feels like stepping on a floor of prickly burrs.
You hobble back to the table one more time to grab the spoons and knife you and Eddie used, and you take special care to point the knife away from your body in case you fall. This second walk to the sink is even more painful, and you melt to your knees as soon as you’ve placed the silverware in the sink.
The thought suddenly strikes you that you haven’t looked at your legs at all since you were in the water. You’re still wearing your slightly-damp socks and jeans, and you pull your left leg into a bent position so you can tug your sock off. Every movement makes jagged pain shoot through your leg, but you finally remove your sock and roll your jeans up enough to see your skin.
There really aren’t any marks on your legs other than the bright redness that covers your skin. You can’t quite reconcile the simultaneously freezing and boiling feeling that races across the skin below your knees, but you’re familiar enough with frostbite to know that you’re not suffering from that.
With some difficulty, you roll your jeans back down and pull your sock back onto your foot. You feel a little better knowing that there are no visible marks on your legs, but you can’t seem to shake the shudders that envelop your body. You pull your knees into your chest, suppressing a yelp of pain at the sensation.
The longer you sit curled up at the foot of the sink, the more exhausted you feel. The coldness of the room seeps into your tired bones, making your hands tremble and your teeth chatter. The floor is made of cement, and you wish you had chosen a warmer and more comfortable spot to collapse on.
You set your sights on the kitchen chair and set your jaw determinedly, unraveling yourself from your curled position and getting a steady grip on the countertop to haul yourself to your feet. You regret it quickly as the icy pain jolts you, but Eddie’s been gone for about ten minutes—and you really don’t want him to find you on the floor again.
You’ve just collapsed into the kitchen chair, hoping that the pain isn’t evident on your face, when the back door swings open and Eddie stumbles in, his hair coated in snow and his face pale.
“I didn’t think it could get any colder out there,” he remarks dryly, closing the door sharply and rubbing his hands together. “I guess I was wrong.”
You’re distracted from the pain simply by your relief at seeing Eddie. “Did you find anything?” you ask.
“Yep.” Eddie’s smile betrays his weariness, but his eyes are still bright. “There’s an old car in the garage. It’s a little frozen, but I got the motor running.”
“Of course you did,” you say kindly. “You’re the machine man, right?”
Eddie grins at that, a little color returning to his cheeks. “I was thinking we’d head out in the morning. Probably as soon as we wake up. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
You nod affirmatively. “I agree. Where do you think we should go?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly. He mulls over your question as he shuffles back to the table, sitting in the seat next to you again. “Maggie is the only one I knew to go to, and we sure can’t go back there. Do you have anywhere that you think would be safe?”
You shake your head. “The only place I know is my parents’ house, but I can’t endanger them like that. The FBI probably has a watch on their house already anyway.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I guess we should just start driving and see what we can find. Maybe if there’s some place out in the middle of nowhere a few states over, we could stay there. Someplace like this.”
A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you reach out to brush the snowflakes out of Eddie’s hair. “You’re the captain.”
Eddie shakes his head and laughs again, a sound that fills you with fondness. Neither of you says anything for a few moments, and you enjoy the pause to simply look into his eyes for reassurance. He seems to enjoy it, too, his eyes tracing the lines of your face with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.
He’s the one who breaks the silence, his tired voice interrupting your study of his face. “I guess we should try to get some rest. Who knows how long it’ll be before we have another chance.”
You nod. “You’re right. I think I’m about to fall asleep sitting up.”
“Me, too,” he agrees with a small smile. “I think all the blankets are in the living room from earlier, so I’ll get those. There’s three bedrooms upstairs, so…” He seems a little unsure of how to phrase what he’s trying to say, but you help him out.
“I’d feel better if we stayed together,” you say, hoping to mask your sudden shyness. “If that’s okay with you.”
Eddie’s face shows relief at your words, which makes you feel a little less awkward. “Yeah, that’s… I’d feel better that way, too.”
You push your chair away from the table slowly, attempting to ease to your feet painlessly, but to no avail. Your knees buckle immediately, and Eddie leaps to his feet, catching you with a strong arm around your waist.
“Maybe you shouldn’t try to walk,” Eddie says. He doesn’t make a move to release you or set you back in the chair, just holds onto you. His steady gaze gives you the distinct feeling that he’s genuinely afraid for you. “Has the pain gotten any better since we’ve been inside?”
You nod, gripping the edge of the table with one hand and his wrist with the other, trying to steady yourself without looking like you’re going to topple over. “Yeah, it’s much better. I think I’m just stiff from sitting down for so long. Everything below my knees feels like it’s in knots.”
Eddie takes a moment to consider, his eyes glancing up and down. “What do you need me to do?”
You’re honestly not sure, since you’ve never had hypothermia before and you have no idea how to combat the lingering effects. All you know is that your legs hurt and that standing still isn’t helping. “Maybe if we could just… walk back and forth a couple times,” you suggest. “I think I’ll be okay then.”
Eddie nods wordlessly and wraps his arm around your back to support you, while you reach out to hold onto his free hand for balance. You take a few tentative steps forward and are relieved when the pain begins to lessen.
You and Eddie walk the length of the kitchen, entry hall, and living room twice before either of you says anything. “Is it any better?” Eddie asks softly.
Something about the way his voice sounds right next to you ear, his breath gliding across your cheek, and the way he has you securely wrapped in his arms, makes you shiver. You force yourself to concentrate and manage a nod.
“It’s better,” you say truthfully. Your legs still ache sharply, but the burning has been minimized since you’ve walked around.
“Good.” Eddie pauses at the foot of the staircase, glancing up into the darkened upstairs with a hesitance that worries you. “Do you think you can make it up the stairs?”
You haven’t really thought about it until now, a little too distracted by the feeling of being pressed against his side, but now your mind jumps to the next problem. Even if you hold onto the railing, your legs are still far too shaky to handle a trip up the staircase. Still, you’re not willing to admit defeat yet—at least not until you’ve tried.
“Yes,” you say with a confidence that is completely absurd. “I mean, I think so.”
Eddie smiles at you and gives a small laugh. “I figured you’d say that.”
He takes a step closer to the staircase, pulling you alongside him and letting you take your time with venturing onto the first step. Feeling a twinge of nervousness at the thought of climbing the staircase, you swallow your fears and force yourself to take the first stair. You’re holding the railing of the staircase with a death-grip, but it seems to work. You get both feet on the first step and glance backwards at Eddie with a triumphant smile.
“Piece of cake,” you assure him, and he just shakes his head, still smiling up at you.
“Be careful,” he warns. “Just keep your eyes on what you’re doing.”
You shift back into your hard focus on the steps, cautiously edging up the next step. This one proves more difficult—your knees are still protesting the climb, and you can feel them trembling as you bring both feet onto the second step. You only make it halfway onto the third step, your left knee giving way as soon as you put weight on it.
You hadn’t realized it, but Eddie has stayed right behind you the whole time, and he immediately has his hands on your waist to keep you from falling. “I got you,” he says gently, and you hold onto the railing as he helps you ease into a sitting position on the third stair.
“Only ten steps to go,” you say, trying to sound lighthearted. You can’t suppress the worry that’s bubbling in your chest, though, and you know Eddie hears the tremble in your voice.
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Eddie tells you. He’s sitting next to you on the step, and he wraps a comforting arm around your shoulders. You let your head rest on his shoulder, appreciating the warmth that he transfers to you.
“Well, we can’t sleep down here,” you point out. “And I doubt there’s an elevator in here.”
Eddie sighs at your attempted joke. “Yeah, I doubt that, too.”
“I can make it,” you say stubbornly, determined not to be defeated by a staircase and two exhausted knees. “If you can just give me a hand, I think I can make it the rest of the way.”
Eddie shakes his head. “Not on those knees.” He pauses and thinks for a moment, and you decide to let him think in silence. It’s hard to be too worried when you’re enjoying being snuggled into his side.
“All right, new idea,” Eddie finally says. You lift your head from his shoulder, and he moves away to stand on the floor in front of you. You look at him curiously as he holds both hands out to you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
You reach both hands forward and let him gently pull you to your feet, aware of the instant shakiness of your knees. “Eddie, I really don’t think I should do this backwards,” you say, matching his conspiratorial smile.
“You’re not going to do it backwards.” Eddie’s voice is firm as he takes one step closer to you and squeezes your hands. “I’m going to carry you.”
The butterflies that erupt in your stomach aren’t due to nervousness now. It only takes one look at Eddie to know he’s being completely serious, and though you can’t deny the thrill you feel at the thought of him carrying you, your mind immediately jumps to the risk.
“What about your shoulder…?” you ask, but Eddie takes the last step forward and wraps his left arm around your waist before you can protest. His other arm reaches down to hook underneath your knees, sweeping you off your feet and against his chest before you can say another word.
“I think it’ll be fine,” he grins, his face just a few inches from your own. You’re a little breathless—and not from the climb—so you just nod and smile back.
Eddie seems to have no trouble carrying you up the stairs, and though you’re still worried that you’re going to hurt his shoulder, you’re more than grateful not to have the aching pain slicing through your legs with each step. Resting your arms around his neck, you’re careful not to touch the place where Eddie was hit by the bullet.
When you reach the top of the stairs, you expect Eddie to set you back on your feet, but he doesn’t make a move to put you down. Instead, he walks to the door that is to your right in the short hallway.
“This room will probably be the best one,” he says, his low voice echoing in your ears like a lullaby. The door is already cracked open, and he edges it with his shoulder so the door swings open. He’s careful not to let your head hit the doorframe, pulling you a little closer to himself as he angles you through the door.
You venture a guess that this is the master bedroom, since the bed is easily big enough for two people. A small bathroom is adjacent to the room, and you notice that the curtains have been drawn over two large bay windows. The room is mostly empty except for the bed, two dressers, and an end table, but the light from the moon outside illuminates the room enough to see ahead.
Eddie hesitates for a moment, seeming unsure of what to do next. He glances back at you, and you almost sigh at the way his dark eyes envelop you.
“Would you mind if I wash my face for a minute?” you ask him. You can practically feel the dirt and blood of the day’s journey clinging to your face, and you’d like nothing better than to go to bed feeling as clean as possible.
“Yeah, of course,” Eddie answers and immediately moves to set you back on your feet. It feels good to stand again, but you find that you miss Eddie’s reassuring hold the moment he releases you. “I’ll wait out here.”
You nod gratefully, pulling your jacket by the sleeve in an attempt to remove it. It’s still wet from your trip through the water, but the rest of your clothes have dried. Eddie lets you lean against him as you struggle to remove your jacket, but it finally slides from your shoulders, dripping water on the floor.
“I can hang that over here,” Eddie tells you, and you let him take your jacket to hang on the door hook. “You can wear this while it dries.” In one quick motion, he pulls his flannel sweater over his head, ruffling his hair as he does. You try not to be distracted by the movement, instead shaking your head with uncertainty.
“I can’t take your sweater, Eddie,” you protest. “I’m fine the way I am! And you’ll be cold without it.”
Eddie smiles again, pushing the sweater into your hands. “I don’t get cold. You just do what you need to do. I’ll be right back.”
You don’t bother protesting any more, and Eddie slides out the door behind you, leaving you to make your way carefully to the bathroom. You carefully set his sweater over the wicker table next to the sink, then turn on the faucet to wash your face. Not for the first time, you’re grateful that the house still has running water that you can use.
The water is warm and refreshing, and you can’t remember the last time it felt so good to wash your face. Using a hand towel that was hanging next to the sink, you wipe away the last bit of dirt and blood that has lingered on your face. You can’t help but smile remembering the way Eddie cleaned your face so carefully earlier, his fingertips brushing over your skin in a way that made your spine tingle.
You finish by running your hands under the water and then through your hair, picking out whatever mats you can disentangle by hand, then combing it back with your fingers. A glance in the mirror tells you that your hair looks far from perfect, but at least it’s cleaner and smoother—and at this point, your appearance is the last thing you’re worried about.
Before you step out of the bathroom, you take Eddie’s sweater off the wicker table and fold it under your chin, inhaling the scent you’ve come to associate with him—cedar, coffee, and something that smells vaguely of machinery.
You slip the sweater over your head and can’t help but smile; the thick fabric still has his warmth clinging to its threads. You’d love to contemplate the implications of Eddie letting you wear his shirt, but at this point, the exhaustion in your brain is far stronger than your excitement.
When you open the bathroom door and walk back into the bedroom, you see that Eddie has just returned as well, carrying the blankets that he had brought downstairs earlier. “I thought we could use these since it’s so cold,” he tells you.
You don’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes widen at the sight of you wearing his shirt, but he doesn’t let his gaze linger, focusing instead on straightening the blankets on the bed.
“Thanks again for the sweater,” you say, feeling a wave of bashfulness. You start to make your way across the room, the pain in your feet still nagging but bearable.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Eddie replies, still seeming unsure of how to react. He finishes straightening the blankets and immediately takes a step toward you when he sees you slowly hobbling across the room. “Are you okay?”
You give him a thumbs-up and a smile, your knees not aching quite so badly as before. You make it all the way across the bedroom and ease yourself down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Piece of cake,” you say with a flourish.
Eddie smiles at you, some of the nervousness on his face dissipating as he sees that you’re in good spirits after the grueling day. He runs one hand through his hair and sighs, betraying the weariness that he’s been hiding. “I think I’ll wash up, too,” he tells you. “You can go on to bed. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”
“Okay.” You give him one last smile as he turns to walk toward the bathroom. When you’ve heard the door close behind him, you let out a shaky breath.
You’re nervous. It’s one thing to have shared space throughout your terrifying two days—you’ve slept on the train together, and you’ve spent nearly every moment since then no less than a few feet apart. Being close to each other is the only thing that feels normal for you and Eddie right now, and even being in two different rooms feels strange at this point. Not being close enough to reach out and touch him is unsettling.
But this is totally different. This is sharing a bed in a house that feels like a home. This is spending the night together. This is domestic.
It’s not that the thought bothers you. This is Eddie, after all, and you’ve trusted him with your life the last two days. Living in a house with him, eating dinner with him, getting ready for bed with him—it all feels startlingly natural, and you have no idea how to cope with that.
Pushing your thoughts into the corner of your mind, you move onto one side of the bed and pull down the covers. Eddie has layered the blankets over the bedspread so that it will be extra warm. You’re grateful for that as soon as you slide between the freezing sheets, since the blankets trap a little extra heat that wouldn’t be there otherwise. His sweater is warm, too, and you pull it a little tighter around yourself as you lie down.
The moment you turn onto your side and let your eyes flutter closed, you can feel your exhaustion taking over, your mind humming in relief. It’s as if the burdens of the day roll off your shoulders, and you find yourself lulled to sleep by the wind outside and the warmth of the blankets.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been dozed off, but you’re awakened by the sound of the bathroom door opening again. You hear the familiar cadence of Eddie’s footsteps, muffled by the worn carpet, but your eyes are simply too heavy to open. Moments later, you feel a weight on the other side of the bed, then a sliding of the covers, and you finally manage to open your eyes.
Eddie leaves some space between you when he lies down, but he’s facing you and smiling just a little, just enough to make your stomach twist into a knot.
“You warm enough?” he asks you, pulling his side of the blankets around himself. Your eyes flit to his wounded shoulder and the way he’s purposely not putting any weight on it.
“I am, thanks,” you reply softly, trying to keep the tremor in your voice away. “Are you sure your shoulder is okay?”
Eddie nods, burrowing a little further under the covers. “It’ll be fine as long as I don’t roll over onto it.”
You’re more than all right with that idea, since it means he’s facing you. You let your eyes trace over his face—his endless dark eyes, the curve of his nose, the dark stubble on his chin. You wish you could memorize this moment and live in it for the rest of your life, that you could lie next to him and study every line of his face forever.
Your mind briefly drifts back to the day, to the situation you’re both in, and you wonder what tomorrow will bring. If you’ll even make it to tomorrow. You decide not to worry about it yet. Eddie is here with you, and there’s nothing that makes you feel safer.
You can see Eddie’s eyes fluttering as he succumbs to his weariness. “Well,” he murmurs, “goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” you reply, your voice a whisper in your own head. But there’s still one more thing you need to say. “Eddie?”
His eyes open immediately, gazing at you with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “Yeah?”
You hesitate for a moment, trying to decide how you want to say what you need to say. “I just want you to know… I’m glad you’re here with me.”
Eddie smiles at that, the corners of his eyes softening. “I’m glad, too.”
“And I want you to know something else, too,” you continue, feeling yourself unable to stop now that you’re drowning in his gaze again. “None of this is your fault. Nothing that’s happened to us, or the rest of the team, or any of the stuff we’ve gone through… you don’t have anything to feel guilty about.” A shadow passes over his face, the slightest hint of doubt, so you keep talking. “If it weren’t for you, I would never have made it this far. You’re the reason I’m still alive and—” you pause, steeling yourself for the next phrase—“and the reason I still want to go on. I’m… I’m just glad I’m with you, Eddie. That’s all.”
There’s silence for a few moments, and you wonder if you’ve said too much. You can almost see his mind whirling, processing the flood of words you just unleashed. Your heart picks up its pace the longer the silence drags on.
And then Eddie reaches one hand out, gently stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. He keeps his eyes fastened on yours, a deep brown ocean that envelops every one of your senses. You feel your breath catch when his fingertips trail down the side of your face.
“Thank you,” he says softly. “I…” You’re aware of his hand on your cheek trembling, and you gingerly reach one hand up to rest on his wrist. He takes a deep breath, one that seems to echo in your soul, and says, “There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”
You can feel your eyes glistening, a lump in your throat forming at his words. He feels this, too. He feels what I feel.
You give his wrist a squeeze, and he slowly removes his hand from your face, interlocking your fingers with his. You pull your joined hands close to your chest, and he automatically moves closer to you. You’re struck by how much warmth clings to him, how that warmth wraps itself around you and travels straight to your heart.
The words leave your lips before you can stop them. “Promise me something.”
“You name it,” Eddie answers, and the warmth fills his voice, too.
“That when this is over and we go back to normal, whatever normal is, we won’t lose this.” You glance down at your clasped hands, at the way his thumb rubs circles against your palm. “Promise me we won’t just go back to seeing each other nine-to-five. Promise me we won’t just be strangers again.”
Before the last sentence has even left your mouth, Eddie has closed the distance between you and pulled you into his arms. You don’t say another word, instead wrapping your arms around his shoulders and letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. The warmth that radiates off him floods through your body like a deluge. His heart is pounding, matching your own heartbeat rhythm for rhythm.
“I promise,” he whispers, his breath gliding over your skin in a way that makes you shiver. He instinctively pulls you closer, so close that you can feel the shaky breath he draws. “I could never forget this feeling. I don’t… I don’t really know how to put it in words, but when this is all over, I’ll try to show you.”
Your heart soars at his words, at the way they match perfectly what’s been going on in your own mind. You lift one hand to stroke the back of his head, threading your fingers in his soft, dark hair. “That’s something to look forward to,” you comment, smiling against his skin.
You can feel him smiling in return, his mouth so close to your ear that his lips brush against it when he speaks again. “Now you promise me something.”
“Anything,” you breathe.
A moment of silence, then, “That you won’t let go tonight.”
Both your smiles grow wider at that, and his gentle laugh tickles behind your ear. “It’s a promise,” you assure him, and he shifts his position, just enough so that he’s still holding you but can look you in the eye. You reach over him and pull the blankets back over both of you from where they’ve slipped off.
When you’re both settled back onto the pillow, your faces only inches apart, you watch the way his eyes drink you in, as if he’s trying to memorize you the way you did a few moments ago.
For a brief second, you wonder if he’ll kiss you. A part of you is glad when he doesn’t—you want to kiss him, but only when you’re both awake enough to enjoy and remember it.
Instead, Eddie folds you into his arms again, pulling you close so that your head is nestled under his chin and your hand resting on his chest. You feel the way his heartbeat slows, the way his breathing evens out, the way his eyes finally close as he falls asleep.
You allow yourself one more contented smile, one more glance at Eddie’s peaceful face, and then your mind drifts off to sleep. But you don’t dream of another world tonight—your perfect world is the one you’ll wake up to in the morning.
