A/N: So my muse finally decided to leave Deakins out of something for a change. Nice surprise, really, considering half the stuff I've come up with lately involves him in one way or another. But that's another story. One can consider this another post-ep type thing for Blind Spot, and also be informed that CI is not mine. And I am leaving now.
They had her on all sorts of monitors. It wasn't really something I should've been surprised by, considering what she had been through, but I jumped every time I heard one of them beep. After a while, I got bored and started counting the number of times that I head them, but I soon lost count. And besides that, there were more important things to worry about, anyway. Even if it was going on midnight, and I still hadn't slept.
Sleep, however, was one of the last things on my mind. I knew my partner was all right, physically, anyways, and would be emotionally when she was ready to be. But just thinking of what had happened scared the hell out of me. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see images, born of my own imagination, of Alex, tied, blindfolded, gagged…I found myself silently thanking God as I sat there that nothing had really happened…that she hadn't been tortured…violated.
So I kept my eyes open, and watched her, even though she was fast asleep, and would be until the drugs wore off. But at least they were keeping her comfortable now, and without any thoughts or dreams to bother her. No, I was the one left behind to deal with my own fallout, and damned if I was going to burden her with it when she did open her eyes. And that was only really because I knew the minute she did, she'd look at me, call me an idiot, and tell me to go home. But I knew I wouldn't. Not until the doctors allowed her to get out of bed, therefore enabling her to enforce her "orders" physically, that is.
It amazed me how stupid I could be sometimes. I wondered as I sat there how I could have failed to see it from the beginning of the case, how I could have missed the signs. How someone I could have trusted for so long had turned out to be the same sort of person I had always despised. But then again, one might have seen fit to describe Declan Gage as a chameleon, able to change to fit any situation he was in…able to get into anyone's mind and take it to pieces, trying to figure it out. I had watched his daughter follow in his footsteps for so long that soon, his work was what she became: a murderer, looking only for her father's attention…affection.
Jo Gage's comment lingered in my mind. You could've gone either way. As much as I hated the thought, I knew she was right. I could have. But fortunately, I had gone the right way, and now had a career I loved, and a partner I cared about…probably more than I should have. At least, by department standards, anyway. She'd told me earlier on that she was supposed to keep an eye on me, but what she probably didn't know was that I'd been keeping an eye on her ever since I'd been partnered off with her. The thought of losing her…wasn't one I wanted to ever linger on. And it definitely wasn't one I wanted to have to deal with.
The machines beeped yet again, and I jumped, glaring at them, half annoyed, and half relieved that they hadn't gone into that high-pitched wailing noise that always meant that something had gone wrong. My eyes locked onto the one that was monitoring her heart rate, and there they remained, watching the lines as they moved across the screen, as I thanked God once more that my partner was still here with me. The next time the machines beeped, I, too focused on watching the lines, didn't jump. And one by one, the lines moved, bright green on a black background.
That was all that mattered, really, in that moment…that the lines hadn't gone flat, that there weren't any doctors and nurses running in to push me aside and then tell me to leave. No, things were perfect at that moment, other than the fact that my partner was presently asleep and would more than likely yell at me when she woke up. She was still alive, and well; the case had been closed, and though the outcome of it all wasn't something I'd liked, or what I had wanted it to be, it was over with, and we'd never have to deal with it again.
After a while, I started counting the lines as they moved, absently taking one of Alex's hands and lacing my fingers through hers as I sat there. I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, no matter what anyone else had to say about it, visiting hours be damned. The machines beeped again, but I remained where I was, silently counting, and thinking that nothing in the world could go wrong so long as there was actually something there for me to count.
After all, the lines represented a heartbeat. And every heartbeat meant that when morning came and the drugs wore off, Alex would wake up and everything would be all right again.