A/N: This came out slow like molasses but it's my canon and I couldn't be happier. Please forgive my amateur medicine, and happy Valentine's Day.
Jake is back in the holding tank when Leslie wakes up in the hospital, but she isn't alone. Rose has fallen asleep on the edge of her bed, holding her hand, and Malachy is across the room reading the newspaper under lamplight. She barely twitches in waking, but still Malachy sees her out the corner of his eye and turns his head to look. At the sight of her he grins, standing up and pulling his phone out of his pocket.
As he crosses the room and hits redial, he says, "Leslie! How are you feeling?" He reaches her bedside and slips his hand into her free one as Hood picks up. "She's awake," he says into the phone, and Leslie watches quietly.
In seconds Jake is on the phone, saying, "Leslie? Leslie?" and Mal gives Leslie the phone.
"Jake?"
"Oh my God."
She can hear the tears in his voice and they bring corresponding ones to her eyes. "Jake, I'm okay. Are you okay? Where are you?"
"They locked me back up," he says, like it's the most insignificant fact in the world. "I'm fine, I just hate that I can't be there with you."
"I'm okay," she says again. A nurse bustles in then, and Leslie sees that Mal has pressed the call button. "The nurse is here Jake, hang on." She lowers the phone but keeps it close enough for Jake to hear.
"Hi sweetheart, how are you feeling?" The nurse tells Leslie that she experienced oxygen deprivation and has been on IV fluids and pure oxygen for the four hours she stayed unconscious. "The doctor will want to examine you, but he thinks that once you get your sea legs back you should be good to discharge."
When the doctor comes in, he shines a light in her eyes and asks a few cursory questions—What year were you born? What's seven times five?—before pronouncing her "hopefully no worse for the wear" and instructing the nurse to get her up and walking before signing her release form. "You'll have three days of bed rest, and you'll be going directly home to your own bed, y'hear?"
Leslie nods eagerly, having no intention whatsoever of obeying him. Instead, she insists Malachy drive her to the police station. As soon as Hood can unlock the cell door, she's in Jake's arms as he gives her a crushing hug. She then sits herself down on the bench next to him and refuses to leave until he is released.
"Come on, Leslie," Hood says. "Don't make me do this."
"Have you charged him? Where's Walter?"
"Walter was here, Leslie. You know we have twenty-four hours to charge him."
"If you want me sitting here for twenty-four hours you do," and she crosses her arms, Jake's wrapped securely around her waist. Leslie can be stubborn as a mule when she wants to be, and she's not leaving Jake.
Hood, scratching at his bald head, goes to fetch the Inspector.
She looks at Leslie behind bars and says, "You've thrown down the gauntlet, have you Sergeant?"
Slightly less confident, Leslie shrugs and avoids her eyes. The Inspector and Hood have a whispered conference and then the Inspector takes Hood's keys and unlocks the cell.
"Go on home with you then, but don't be leaving the city, Mr. Doyle."
Jake gives her a half-hearted salute and hurries out with Leslie. As Mal and Rose have gone home to sleep, and Jake was driven there in a police car, they find a cab out front to take them to Leslie's house—never more than a few inches and their tangled fingers apart. Once past the door Jake kisses her soundly and then carries her up the stairs, as if it is their wedding day. Except upon arrival, he lays her down on the bed and lies down next to her, wrapping his arms around her and tucking his face into her neck.
It's been enough of an ordeal that Leslie steals swiftly off to sleep, though Jake cannot stop his mind from spinning and stays awake next to her, long enough that when she starts fighting off a nightmare, saying, "Jake, please, Jake," he is awake to squeeze her tighter and tap his finger on her arm, tap-tap-tap, until she wakes up.
When she does, it's like rising from the deep: a long, sharp inhale as her eyes pop open. Almost immediately she sees her ceiling, she feels Jake's arms around her and she knows she's safe.
Without a will to, she starts to cry, and Jake holds her and says, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
After the shaking subsides, she turns her face and presses her lips to his forehead. "It's okay."
"It's not okay," he says, voice tight. "They took you to get to me. It's my fault."
She doesn't say anything for a minute, smoothing her hand over his arm. Safe in his sturdy arms, in her own house, the ceiling high above them. Maybe this recovery won't be free of bumps and potholes, maybe she will be having nightmares for days and weeks to come; but, "It doesn't matter, Jake. It doesn't matter because I love you and you're the only person I want to spend my life with. It doesn't matter."
He doesn't respond, just kisses her shoulder and sighs into her neck.
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you, Leslie."
In the morning Jake wakes before she does, and he thinks about having breakfast ready for her when she wakes up; but he can't leave her side, so he breathes her in and out, would watch creepily as she sleeps if he weren't too close and unwilling to move. Instead he watches her chest rise and fall with every breath; and he thanks God.
She doesn't stay asleep much longer, and rouses slowly now, blinking drowsily at the ceiling and then stretching like a cat. As her arms come down she turns and wraps them around Jake's neck, scratching her fingers through his hair and looking deep into his eyes. He smiles just seeing her, he can't help it, and she smiles too, kissing him.
"Good morning."
"Morning, missus. If you'll keep me company in the kitchen I'll make you some breakfast."
"Sounds good to me," she says around a yawn.
First, though, he follows her around as she checks the locks on all windows and doors. She tugs experimentally at both the front and back doors, and Jake offers to add security measures.
"Thanks," she says, preoccupied, and takes his hand as he leads her back to the kitchen. She peers out the window as he opens cupboards and heats a pan on the stove. Then she perches on a stool and watches unabashedly as he cooks for her. His muscles flex under his t-shirt and she sighs happily. Every ten seconds he glances over, as if checking she's still there, and he grins every time their eyes meet.
Jake scrambles up some eggs and makes coffee, setting a plate and mug in front of Leslie and then sitting down with his own. Having not eaten for at least a day, maybe longer, Leslie tucks into her meal with gusto and Jake can't do much other than watch her and smirk. She grins with her mouth full and he averts his eyes and shakes his head, still smirking.
"Good eggs, Jake."
"Glad you like them," he says, cutting into his eggs with his fork and then looking up again, not taking a single bite.
"You should eat," she says, pointing at his plate with her fork.
"Oh yeah?"
She raises her eyebrows, eyes wide. "Yeah."
He eats.
After breakfast they take a walk around the block to aid in digestion and get Leslie a little sunshine and fresh air. She clings to Jake's arm, occasionally having to ease up when her knuckles go bone-white.
She tells herself she's strong; she's a survivor; she can get past this. Still she's terrified. She can't lean on Jake forever, but today, for three days, she will take the safety he offers. Will she be strong enough to return to work in three days? She has to. But she isn't sure.
At the house, Leslie needs another nap, and Jake parks himself in the corner of the room with a book from her nightstand. He opens it to a random page and skims a sentence before looking up to watch her breathe. She has developed a snuffly snore that helps to no end, but he still needs to see it with his own eyes.
Now, in this quiet moment, as he sees her safe and breathing before him, Jake's mind turns to Sloane. Rose told him, albeit reluctantly, about the theft, and he assigned Rose and Tinny to keep trying to track her down in his absence. Sloane is his own blood but he only has so much to go around, and Leslie... Well, Sloane has left of her own accord, to all accounts, cleaning out their safes and banks on the way, and Leslie nearly died as a result of something he did.
He knows that when he has the capacity to process it, the loss of Sloane, both her very self and the family unit he had been imagining for them, will split his heart in two. For now, he can help Leslie and so he will.
Paralleling Leslie's thoughts earlier, he knows that she will return to work, in the line of duty, however safe that duty may seem in a city like St John's, very soon. He too, needing the cash flow, will return to work. He would give anything to be able to protect her from the dangers they both face in their godforsaken career choices; instead he will have to learn, they will both have to, how to move forward from such a terrible, terrifying turn of events.
Does it make him a bad father that he can only focus on Leslie right now? Or is it a kind of triage for his head and heart? Either way, the guilt threatens to crush him, but he refuses to let it; Leslie needs him.
From the place his thoughts have taken him, he returns to see Leslie watching from the bed.
"Heya," he says.
"Hey," she replies softly, sliding her hand over the covers toward him.
He smiles and stands up, all other thoughts fleeing once more. Lying down next to her, he props himself up on an elbow and brushes her hair away from her face. "How are you feeling?"
"Wonderful," she says plainly, and puts one hand on his cheek, rising up to kiss him.
Jake shifts gently, his hand slipping over her back as he moves closer and cups her body to his. Now is the time to drink her in, to focus every fiber of his being on her body pressed close to his, her mouth on his, her eyelashes brushing his cheek.
"I love you," he says, as they begin to make love. Steamy as their tryst in the van was, now it is slow and careful—adj., done with care—and he feels the love in his heart pulsing out to his fingertips, to his toes. Jake has never been a religious man, but he can't help saying thank you, thank you, over and over in his head as they move together. Someone, something, somewhere gave him this love and this woman and he could not be a luckier man than to love her.
They don't use a condom. It's not particularly on purpose, but at the same time it is; Jake will never forget their little exchange about babies, and though the back of his mind can't imagine the amount of love he would feel for a baby made with Leslie, the back of his mind also wants it more than anything else.
So it seems to follow, when they're snuggled under the covers missing all their clothes, and Jake says it.
"Leslie, please marry me."
She freezes and stops breathing and Jake jiggles her shoulder.
"Breathe, Leslie. You need the oxygen."
She inhales on demand and pushes herself up, looking Jake in the eye. She doesn't say a word, just stares at him seriously for a full minute. He does his best not to fidget, returning her stare evenly. He knows better now than to fear Leslie; still he has a worry in the pit of his stomach. Who could blame her if she didn't want to risk another ring?
"Yes."
Or she could say yes.
He laughs in surprise and a grin takes over his face. "What?"
"Absolutely yes," she says, same serious look on her face. Then she grins. "I would like nothing more."
"So… courthouse tomorrow?"
She laughs and kisses him. "Maybe not. But soon."
"Well, we'll see what Mal and Rose think."
"What's that?"
Jake looks over at his phone. "Oh, they invited us for dinner. I said we could make it. Is that okay?"
Leslie laughs again and puts her head down on Jake's chest.
"Is that a no?"
She looks up past her bangs with her chin on his chest and says, "No, no, I'm just not doing a very good job of bed rest. Don't tell my doctor?"
"Never." He grins. "We'll do better tomorrow."
She pushes herself up again and says against his lips, "Oh, will we?"
He laughs into the kiss. "Maybe not." Wrapping his hands around her waist, through the comforter, he deepens the kiss and then mumbles, "We are in bed now, though."
Leslie grins against him. "Not quite what the doctor meant, I don't think."
"What does he know, anyway," as he slips his hands under the comforter and traces his fingertips over her sides.
She convulses in giggles and says, "Don't. I'm ticklish."
"Oh, really. Never woulda guessed that one." He slides his hands over her back instead, holding her close. She sighs and lays her head down on his chest and in moments is fast asleep again. Jake is happy—could not be happier—to simply lay under her weight and feel her breathing. Yeah, breathing might be a theme today—what more could he ask for?
When his phone vibrates again he figures it's Mal telling him to get his butt over to the house, so he slides out from under Leslie and checks it.
Dinner in 30. Don't be late.
Nice, Dad. Sniffing at his shirt, Jake opens the closet and peers into the dark corners. Sure enough, right at the back of the top shelf he finds some of his clothes neatly folded and hidden under a fedora (why does Leslie have a fedora?) so he takes a quick shower to finally wash off the remnants of the mad day previous.
As he walks back into the room, a towel around his waist, Leslie turns to face him, stretching and yawning and grinning through it all.
"Looking good, mister." She glances across the room at the clock and then back at Jake. "I don't have time for a shower, do I?"
Jake sits down beside her on the bed and lays one hand on her stomach. "I don't think so. I didn't want to wake you up."
She stretches again and says, "That's okay. Do I smell?"
Leaning down, Jake presses his nose to her neck, and then his lips. "You smell delicious."
She giggles again and pushes him away, then pulls him back for a kiss. She watches boldly as he drops the towel and gets dressed, then gets up slowly herself and goes into the washroom to freshen up.
At the house, Rose hugs Leslie tight for a full minute. Mal is less effusive as a rule but can't stop grinning, especially when Jake and Leslie hold hands through dinner. He makes jokes about Leslie making a huge mistake, get out now, it's your last chance, and Leslie grins shyly and says, "I'm afraid it's too late for that, Mal."
The grownups raise their eyebrows and Jake says, "This may come as a complete shock to you, but Leslie has agreed to marry me."
Cue shouts of glee and Mal breaking out the good scotch. Although "breaking out" is an exaggeration since the bottle is half-gone; still he makes a big production of it, proposing a toast to all future happinesses.
Jake leans over and says into her ear, "You can't get out of it now."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she says back, squeezing the hand still in hers.
That night, they fall into bed weary, though they have little excuse for it. With the lights off Leslie closes her eyes and she feels the box closing in on her again; when she opens them she can't see a thing and though Jake is inches away she feels desperate for his rescue. As she shifts to get out of bed, he says, "Hmm?"
"I can't…" she says softly. "It's too dark."
"Okay." He relaxes his arms and she sits up, turning to switch on the bedside lamp. "Do you have nightlights?"
"No," she says with her back still to him. "I guess… I guess a police officer should have emergency lights or something."
He strokes her hair for a moment and says, "We've fitted out private homes before. We have a checklist, all the best brands. I can do it tomorrow, if you want."
"Yeah." She turns and slides back under the covers. Crossing her arms over her chest, she makes herself small so that Jake can wrap his arms around her and tuck her close to his heart. "That sounds good," she sighs. With the light on, with her forehead against the fabric of Jake's t-shirt, she manages to relax, and it isn't long before they are both drifting off to sleep.
Finally comes to an end what may be the longest day of Leslie's entire life, and as she slips into unconsciousness there is one thought front and centre: It can only go up from here.