She was sitting beside his hospital bed.
It had been nearly a week.
The doctors said they didn't know when he'd wake up.
They didn't even know if he'd wake up.
She'd hardly left his side.
She'd been sleeping in a hospital chair.
Eating cafeteria food.
She'd spent one night away from the hospital, however. Rusty had brought her a burger and sent her home.
"You should get some rest, Sharon," He'd said. He promised to call her if anything happened. He never called.
She hadn't been back to work in days. She hadn't been much of anywhere in days.
She couldn't bring herself to face the empty space in her bed. She couldn't bring herself to look at his vacant desk.
He had to pull through. He had to.
She felt so helpless. There was nothing she could do.
The waiting was the worst. Watching him, hooked up to all those machines, barely holding on.
She wanted to scream.
Two weeks passed; no change. Rusty had dragged her home again. He'd cooked her a nice meal. Made sure she slept.
The next morning he'd found her on the bathroom floor. Clutching one of his shirts. Crying. He'd pulled her into his arms, hugging her as tightly as he could.
There was nothing he could do.
Three weeks. Still nothing.
She didn't understand how a simple three weeks could be so draining. She could feel the hopelessness, it was gnawing away at her.
Her daughter, Emily, had been by the day before. She'd dropped off flowers, inquired about her mother's health, asked if there was anything she could do. Of course, the answer had been no. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing anybody could do.
When one full month was gone, and his condition had not improved, Sharon didn't give up.
She stayed by his bedside, watching over him.
She went home at night. 'No use sleeping in a hospital chair.' She'd told herself. 'They'll call if anything happens.'
They never called.
The nights were even harder. Sleep had lost its appeal after she'd had the first nightmare. It happened the first night she'd spent in the hospital.
The sounds of gunshots, a tortured yell, and that God-awful gurgling sound. Images of him laying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes glazed over, his skin pale.
Her eyes had shot open, a scream escaping her before she even realized where she was. She'd woken up half the people on their hospital floor. Nobody had said anything. It was nothing they weren't used to.
She began talking to him after the second month had ended.
"I miss you." She'd whispered, taking his hand in her own. The doctors said they didn't know if he could hear her or not. She didn't care. It was all she had left.
After two months, one week, and three days, she returned to work. It was different without him. It was empty. The only reason she'd even come back at all was because she'd gotten a call from Chief Taylor.
"The Major Crimes division can't run itself, Sharon."
No, it certainly could not.
"You can't wait by his hospital bed for the rest of your life."
She had wanted to respond with a curt 'Just watch me,' but had opted for hanging up on him, then showing up for work the next day instead. She quickly found that she disliked the way they all looked at her. Tiptoed around her. Patronized her.
She was the Captain after all.
Maybe you should act like one.
The words had come through her mind in his voice.
Slowly, as the days crawled on, she had slipped into a routine.
Wake up.
Go to work.
Stop by the hospital.
Come home.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Six months, three weeks, four days.
Things were looking grim. The doctor had brought up the subject of pulling the plug.
"No. Not yet." She'd said sternly, with all the confidence she could muster. Confidence that crumbled the minute she'd stepped out of those familiar double doors.
That night she'd cried herself to sleep. Even that wasn't an unusual occurrence anymore.
One week later, her sixty-fourth birthday rolled around. She didn't feel much like celebrating. Not without him.
That night had been one of the worst. Rusty had heard her crying from across the hall. He'd walked into her room, finding her curled up in a ball, her hand trailing along the empty space next to her in bed. He'd taken her hand in his own and told her everything would be okay. A lie they told themselves every day. A lie they were both thoroughly sick of.
Seven months, two weeks, exactly.
Sharon was standing in the middle of the murder room when she got the call. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the hospital number on the caller ID.
"Captain, he's awake."
She dropped her phone, letting it clatter to the floor as she swiftly made her way out of the building.
Ten minutes later she arrived at the hospital. She headed straight for his room, gasping when she first saw him. He was, indeed, awake. He was even sitting up.
"Louie..." She breathed. Crossing the room, she gently wrapped her arms around him and cried. She cried so hard her legs began to shake. She cried until her head began to pound and her eyes began to burn. She cried until her entire body ached.
Eventually, she pulled away slightly, bringing her forehead to rest against his. He reached up to brush away her tears, tilting her head down just enough for him to kiss her.
"I hear I've missed quite a bit," he said when they broke apart. She nodded, not knowing what to say.
"I missed you," she told him softly. "I missed you so much."
"It's alright. I'm here now. You could never get rid of me that easily," he joked. She laughed. For the first time in months, she laughed.
"Without you there was nobody to pick on me."
"I'll be sure to make up for it," he replied.
He hadn't seen her in seven months. She looked different. She was thinner. She was paler than he remembered. There were dark circles under her eyes. Eyes that were not the same bright green that he remembered so well. It looked like they were both going to need some recovery after this.
"Come here," he said, moving over as much as he could in the small bed.
"I don't think we're allowed to do that," she said.
"I've been in a coma for the past seven months. If I want to hold my wife, I'll hold my wife."
Without another word, she climbed into the bed and snuggled up against him. She laid her head against his chest, rubbing it slowly with her delicate hand. She'd missed the feel of him beside her in bed. The way their bodies fit together. The sound of his quiet snoring.
She started to cry again. Tears of joy. Tears of relief. He was awake.
"Sharon?"
"Hmm?" She asked, unable to speak through her tears.
"It's over now. I'm back. I'm right here," he whispered, kissing her temple as she lifted her head to look at him.
"I was so scared," she said shakily. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Please don't ever scare me like that again," she sobbed.
"I won't. I promise, I won't."
That night, Sharon was afraid to fall asleep. She was afraid she'd wake up the next morning and it'd be a dream. He'd still be asleep. Still be hooked up to all those machines and monitors. She'd have to look at his empty desk again. She'd have to look at his empty space in their bed.
She wouldn't be able to take it.
"Get some sleep, Sharon," he said suddenly, his voice ripping her away from her fears. He was watching her. She had moved into one of the chairs across the room and was staring out the window. He knew the last seven months had been hard on her. By the looks of things, they'd been harder on her than they'd been on him.
"I will," she said, not moving away from the window. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her.
How has Rusty been? How was your birthday? Has work been alright?
He had plenty of time to ask about all that. Right now she needed rest, and he was going to make sure she got it.
"Sharon." He said somewhat sternly. She turned to look at him, a small smile on her lips. She joined him in the tiny hospital bed once again. With her body pressed up against his, she fell asleep quickly. It was the best sleep she'd gotten in months.