God, when is he going to wake up?
The thought comes unbidden to me and I can't make it leave, and, honestly I don't want it to. It keeps me from dwelling upon more… unpleasant thoughts… like what if he doesn't wake up, like I should be the one lying there, broken and life hanging on by a thread, like what happens if I never see his eyes again.
My partner has incredible eyes. Anyone who's looked into them, really looked into them, sees that. They've seen the world. They are old and young at the same time. They often belie a razor sharp sense of humor, an immediate grasp of the moment and compassion.
People see him and think they know him, but they don't. They look, but they don't see, not really. He doesn't miss anything, the smallest detail he picks up on. Nothing evades those eyes. I know, I've tried to hide from them more than once and he seeks me out, whether I desire it or not. He truly sees me for who I am and not the facades we pass on to the world.
I first saw his eyes the night we met at the airport – our first meeting as UNCLE agents. Both of us so new, we still squeaked and not destined to be together, not yet. That came months later, after the horror of Survival School, so named because only survivors made it out of there alive. It had taken its toll, - sun stroke, Cutter's vindictive streak, and being ostracized by fellow agents. The memory of his eyes stayed with me. Without meaning to, they became the focus of my world, a reason to make an effort to get through the day and the one after that.
He stirs in his hospital bed and I am immediately all attention, just in case, but after a moment, nothing and I return to my vigil.
That night we met up again and our partnership was… established. It doesn't surprise me now of the path it took, knowing the man as I do. He's one of action and reaction. If he's not the one creating the situation, he's the one in the middle of it shortly thereafter. And you can see the joy in his eyes for the experience, the sheer delight of being alive and feeling.
I'd never seen anyone who enjoyed his work as much as he does. He truly loves what he does, enjoys that he's making a difference. The thrill of the fight makes his eyes come alive and the quiet interludes after make his eyes fill with completion, compassion, and a sense of self.
He is always so strong and in control of situations and that comes through in his eyes. The determination and the sense of purpose I see in them often gives me the strength to take one more step, make one more decision, take that one last leap of faith that often defines the veil between failure or success. Without him, I'd be half the man I am and I'm not ashamed of admitting it.
This is why I insist that we face each other when we make love. I want that connection between us, I need to see his eyes, to get lost in their depths, and see our future together. It might only be for a few weeks, months, or, if we're very lucky, years, but I will take whatever we are offered.
That's when I glance up and see him looking at me. He'd awakened so quietly I wasn't even aware of it. Even though he can't talk because of the respirator, I can see the question being asked in his eye and I nod.
Yes, I'm fine… now. I take his hand, taking care to mind to various tubes and lines, to squeeze it gently, reassuring him, and then watch him drift back to sleep. I know I need to get the doctor or nurse and tell them that he woke, but frankly, I'm selfish and want this moment just for myself. Is that so tremendously wrong? UNCLE may own his soul, but I have his heart, I see it in his eyes whenever he looks at me. And for now, that's all I ask of life.