For the Drabble thingy:
7. "You look like you need a hug" in a waking up in the infirmary after being wounded on a mission situation?
"You look like you need a hug" from this fic drabble ask.
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He wakes, blinking his eyes open before screwing them shut in response to the bright lights around him. He panics immediately, if only for a brief moment, the response ingrained into him due to his upbringing at the asylum. There's a faint ringing in his ears and a dryness in his mouth. He pushes himself to open his eyes again and as the fixtures finally come into view, he cues into where he is. He's at home, his home, in the infirmary.
Without much thought, he tries to shift his seating to get more comfortable but winces terribly as the pain blooms throughout his ribs and his shoulder. He grits his teeth together as he pushes through the jarring sensation.
He remembers now, having left Mumbai in a fury of bullets. The auto rickshaw he managed to steal proved to be a less than sufficient shield against the group of trigger-happy local security.
Almost as if on cue, the door to the infirmary slides open and Diana enters with a small tray. On it are a glass of water, a mug of soup and two sandwiches, no short of all the trimmings. A good meal for someone on the mend.
"You're awake," she says softly as she walks in.
"You're here," he breathlessly responds, perhaps a bit too astonished to see her. He fully expected to hear her voice, but not to see her in person.
"I am," she sets the tray down on a cabinet by him. "You were quite poorly when I intercepted you at the airport. I was worried."
"I don't remember that."
"Well you're in a much better spot now. You just need to rest... and don't worry about rushing back to work. I need to look into a few new syndicate leaders and secure you some new tools."
He nods in response, looking down at his feet.
She crosses her arms, standing at his bedside for a quote moment. "Perhaps I should go pack up, I don't want to overstay my welcome."
He furrows his brow. "What makes you say that?*
"I...," she fumbles with her words, "this is your space, 47. I should respect that."
He scowls, unable to hold back his emotion. "My space," he huffs.
"Is something the matter? Is the house not up to your expectations? We can redecorate-"
"It's not the house, Diana."
"It's not?"
He shakes his head. "I'm all alone here. I'm lonely."
"Oh."
He was no stranger to living alone but after all these years, he had figured she would have spent more time with him. Perhaps it was because they still hadn't talked about what happened between them. Her parents, the Olive Grove, the demise of Arthur Edwards, and their time apart; it all felt like a lifetime ago now. They had simply picked up from where they had left off, carrying on as they once had. He wanted more for them, especially with the ICA now long gone.
"I can stay longer, if you'd like," she softly proposes.
"I would like that very much."
She gives him a small smile. "Can I get you anything else?"
His eyes search her face, before they fall to the ground. There's a sadness he can't quite hide from her.
"It looks like maybe you could use a hug." She offers. "If that's alright, of course."
He looks back up at her, nodding slowly as he motions his uninjured arm open.
She's gentle with him, mindful of his wounds as she softly fits against him, her chin resting on his healthy shoulder. He relishes in the feeling of having her close. Her blouse is silky soft and she's warm against his bare, bandaged chest. She smells good too, and so he burrows his nose into the crook of her neck. He doesn't let go, holding her for a long moment.
When they separate, she gives him a knowing look, resting her hand on one of his as she gives it a good squeeze. She had left him alone for a bit too long.
"I'd like to eat upstairs with you."
"Are you sure? Can you make it up the stairs?"
"I can," he grunts as he sits up, "with your help."
They share a smile as she positions herself to better help him off the bed. He'd have no problem making it up there, as long as he had her by his side.
