The steady beeping of machinery, the cold, whitewashed walls of the small room. The buzz of a small television in the corner.
The body lying still on the crisp-sheeted bed.
All of this, Juliet O'Hara takes in as soon as she steps into the hospital room.
She slowly approaches the patient, disbelief and guilt fogging her senses. She's not sure if this is real. A tear rolls slowly down her cheek as she takes a seat next to the bedside.
He is everything to her. Sure, he acts immature, makes bad jokes and isn't a fantastic singer, but he is funny and inspirational and so damn clever. And Juliet admires, loves him for it.
A knock comes at the door.
"Come in," she says, in a tone barely above a whisper. Carlton Lassiter, her partner, walks through the door. Juliet is glad that her back is to the door, because she doesn't want Lassiter to see the tears that are streaming steadily down her cheeks.
"Is he okay?" Lassiter asks quietly. He's not really one for tact, but Juliet can tell he's concerned.
"Asleep," she chokes out. In a rare gesture of genuine kindness, Lassiter squeezes her shoulder comfortingly and sits down in the chair next to her.
"What's on your mind, O'Hara?" he questions.
"This is my fault!" she bursts out in a strangled sob, unable to repress the anxiety, the guilt, any longer. "I-it was me… I t-told him to go on ahead of us… that we'd bring backup as soon as we c-could… and he got shot… we didn't take any of it into account, Lassiter, we didn't think that the perp might be armed! We didn't consider it, I didn't consider it! And now… now Shawn's… he's…"
She can't continue anymore. Lassiter pulls Juliet into an awkward hug, not quite sure how to respond to her grief. She cries for a minute or so before she notices that Lassiter is highly uncomfortable, and pulls away.
The two of them gaze upon the sleeping face for a few minutes.
"I don't know what I'm going to do if he…" Juliet trails off in a small voice. She sounds so hopeless, so lost. Lassiter bites his lip, then gruffly excuses himself to go get coffee. He can't handle it; his partner is breaking down before his eyes and one of his teammates may very well be on his deathbed. Juliet understands. She buries her face in her hands.
Her tears are interrupted by a sharp intake of breath. Juliet looks up in alarm to see a pair of hazel eyes watching her intently.
"Jules," he croaks.
"Shawn…oh, Shawn…" She can't speak anymore. Sobs wrack her frame as she pulls her eyes from his.
"Hey, I'm not dead yet, it's okay," he jokes quietly, though he winces as he tries to sit up. He's been shot twice in the side and once in the shoulder, and is extremely lucky to be alive. Juliet can't help noticing that his shirt is off, though his chest is wrapped in bandages.
She can't stand it anymore. She takes off her shoes and joins him on the firm hospital bed. She needs to know he's okay, she needs to know that he won't leave her. It's all she can to do refrain from cuddling into his chest, for fear of aggravating his wounds. She contents herself with entwining her fingers in his.
"I'm sorry…" Juliet gasps through tears. "I'm so, so sorry…"
"I'm alive, why be sorry?" Shawn tries to joke again, even though it hurts to move.
"Because I almost got you killed," she whispers, finally voicing what she had been so afraid of.
"But you didn't, so it's not a big deal," he assures. Leaning over, he kisses her on the forehead, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side. "I'm not leaving you."
I'm cheesy. And yes, Shawn's gonna be okay. Yay for Shuliet fluff!