Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. All credit goes to Meg Cabot and Disney. If you see something you remember from the books or films, it does not belong to me. You can't sue me, I don't have any money.
Author's note: This is not the sequel to Resignation. To be honest, I have no idea what this is or where it came from but I had to write it anyway.
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She stared out through the window at what was truly a rather beautiful view of the capital city. The streets had been cleared, the detritus had been removed and now, in the late afternoon, the gentle rain would wash away the last of the evidence.
She hated hospitals. She hated the uninviting white walls, the antiseptic smell that seemed to cling to her skin even after she left, the coldness of starched cotton sheets… She had very few good memories of hospitals, aside from the births of her children. She had visited her husband here when he had been ill, in those last week's before he had been moved back to the palace at his own request, against the recommendations of his doctors, and she attended the children's parties where she would put on a brave face, read books and hand out gifts for hours on end, but she hated all of it.
The monitors beeped steadily and even though she didn't know exactly what they were doing, she had enough experience to know that it was a good thing.
The hard plastic chair had grown unpleasant long ago but she ignored it, she couldn't leave him alone like this.
It was only after she threatened to leave on her own that her security had brought her here. The gunman had been killed, the threat was, for now at least, gone.
She could make out the silhouette of a man with broad shoulders clad in a black blazer through the frosted glass that separated the private room from the rest of the hospital. She knew Scott, the boy with the ridiculous penchant for sunglasses, was just as nervous and upset as she was but she could not bring herself to give him some comfort and invite him inside. They would be allowed to sit with him later, for now she needed to be alone with him.
The bullets had been meant for her, the blood on her coat belonged to him.
She had just started to step out of the limousine when she heard the clapping noises once, twice and then a third time, so loud and close that she was willing to swear it had come from right next to them. She must have felt the hot spray against her but it wasn't until later that she realised what the sticky fluid was, that she could smell the sick metallic scent that she couldn't seem to get rid of.
She was forced back into the car by his bodyweight, the last act of a desperate man. From behind him she could see the madness in the narrow street as onlookers fled in all directions, and then he was pulled away from her and the door was closed. She could hear screaming, even after the soundproofed door had been closed.
The doctors spoke of blood loss and infection, but she hadn't heard them, the words seemed to drift slowly towards her as if she were underwater.
He seemed oddly pale against the cotton sheets. He was dressed in one of those papery hospital gowns and what she could see of him seemed unnatural to her. A stranger may have been fooled into thinking he was simply asleep but she knew from many thousands of miles in the confines of a private jet that he slept on his side, and very lightly. She ran her hand along his cheek in an old familiar gesture but his lack of response was unnerving and she pulled her hand away again. He would be angry if he ever found out she had been here, but even that would be preferable to this.
The hand closest to her was laying on top of the sheets, connecting him to monitors and plastic tubing with iv fluids and donor blood. She took his hand into her own and turned it over so she could see his palm. His hand was bigger than her own, and heavy. It was the hard hand of a man used to physical labour and she could feel callouses under her fingertips.
She had no idea when this change had come over them. When had he become more than just her friend, her employee? He had been just a step behind her for as long as she cared to remember, always there, always steady and safe and comforting. When has she started to feel for him more than what would be considered proper for a married woman, even a widow, to feel towards her bodyguard?
There were tears running down her face and she let out a shuddering breath that she hadn't realised she was holding.
She lifted his hand and held it against her cheek, pressing a small kiss to his palm and the words fell out of her mouth in a hoarse whisper before she realised what she was doing.
"Please don't leave me alone, Joseph, please, I've already lost so much, I can't lose you too. I love you."
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Yeah, I know it's sad but I really wanted to write this, I've been thinking about it for ages. I'm sorry for the lack of updates, but with varsity starting up again and some unexpected personal stress I haven't really had the time or inclination to write anything.
Chapter 4 of Stolen Moments should be up some time next week and I promise I'm still working on the sequel to Resignation.
Please review, good or bad I'll respond if possible.