Davily | 34. Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.
Where is she?
(628w), Post 6x08: Lauren, Angst, Established Relationship
“Where is she?” Dave had followed right after JJ had left again, Spencer sobbing in her arms. He’d followed after Aaron’s hunched form. "Where?"
They could feed all the lies they wanted the others to swallow for safety reasons, all of them, but Dave would be damned if he let Aaron think for a moment that he could fool him – he would be damned if he let them take her away, if he let Doyle win.
“My wife, Aaron, where?”
Aaron’s face crumbled, his sigh long enough to make Dave want to punch his best friend’s face right there, at least there would be doctors to take care of his broken nose nearby.
“She’ll be flown to Bethesda under a fake name as soon as she’s cleared to travel.”
“Where is she, right now?” Dave was growling by now, but he was beyond politeness, beyond appearances and certainly way past manners. Aaron’s scan of his face took another couple of seconds before he finally spilled it–
“Fifth floor, recovery room.”
Dave didn’t wait. The others were still in the waiting room; there would be protocols, more lies and tears, and Dave didn’t know if he could face them all after but as much as he loved them, as much as he wanted to be truthful with them, if Emily’s life was on the balance, like it had very much been for the past months, he didn’t care. He didn’t care to do anything but stride out the other end of the hallway opposite the waiting room they were packed in, punch the elevator button and punch the big bright white ‘five’ once he was in. He needed to see her. Needed to see for himself that Aaron and JJ’s words had all been lies, had all been to protect her and not to make him lose his mind which, he would; if he lost her he’d lose his mind, too. He’d lost too much, had said goodbye too many times to too many people – he needed her to live, needed her to breathe and laugh and make a fool of herself, needed her to make nerdy comments he didn’t have the references to understand, wanted her to swirl around shily in new dresses she thought he’d like, craved the sight of her in sweatpants and sports bra, hair a mess, eating ice cream out of the carton on their sofa.
He needed his wife alive, and seeing her lying in that bed hooked up to too many tubes to count shouldn’t have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but it was.
With trembling fingers, he found her inert hand on the bed. With tears running down his face, he brought her cold palm to his lips, pressed a kiss right over the lifelines there, and then another in the green and purple veins he traced at night at her wrist and down her forearm. He cried, and the crook of her elbow received his tears. He kissed every piece of her he could touch without disturbing her IVs, every inch of her pale skin, too pale, that he could brush his lips against without rocking her and her fresh, terrible wounds.
Dave kissed her lips last, a kiss that slid from her forehead, down her nose, to end at her lips – he said goodbye, sobbing still. A wreck, he said see you soon. Dizzy, he promised her – they would do everything to catch this son of a bitch. They would trap him and never let go, until she could come back, until he could see her again, until he got to hold her close and never again let her drift away.
“I’ll have Chunky Monkey in the freezer and Ruinart in the fridge, waiting for you.”
Marie Writes 50 Kisses Masterlist
