A/N: I decided to continue in an AU direction. I'm not sure if this is going to be the last section or not yet. Enjoy!
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When Jess opens her eyes again she is disoriented and confused. She assesses her situation, taking in the impersonal white walls and the lines flowing from her body to beeping machines, and comes to suspect she is in a hospital. Jessica Angell is, after all, a detective, and able to discern such subtleties and nuances. As Jess congratulates herself on her masterful detective skills she also comes to suspect that she is heavily drugged. Detective Angell puts her skill of deduction to further use and concludes she has been unconscious for some time, judging by her dry throat and somewhat oily hair. The general lack of activity and the lowered lights leads Jess to believe that it is nighttime and the extremely disheveled Detective Flack sacked out on an uncomfortable looking and much too small chair confirms it.
With his head thrown back and his legs splayed out in front of him, Jess is certain she has never seen a more beautiful image in her life than Don Flack sleeping in a plastic hospital chair. She tries to sit up to get a better look at him, but quickly discovers she is completely and totally unable to maneuver her upper body in any way. For a moment, she wonders why.
'Right,' she thinks to herself, 'Shot. Twice.'
Jess hadn't forgotten, but rather the memory had settled somewhere in the back of her brain, like a disconcerting dream that fades upon waking. But it hadn't been a dream. Despite being stoned to the gills with what she is certain are some high quality drugs, a heavy, throbbing pain spreads like hot tar from within her abdomen and left shoulder. She remembers the dread of dying alone and the uncertainty of every next breath. No, it had been very real. Recalling the terror of being unable to form words, to communicate, makes her abused abdominal muscles involuntarily clench, and it hurts. A lot.
"Don."
The word comes out much softer and scratchier than she expected but Jess savors the ability to speak again.
"Don."
She can still only muster a whisper and Don Flack scrunches up his face in his sleep. Jess notices that his face doesn't hold the usual measure of peace that sleep brings his features. She is certain she is the cause of his deeply furrowed eyebrows and alarmingly pallid skin.
"Don."
This time, his eyes shoot open. He stays impossibly still, not even breathing, as he stares at her.
"Hey."
Like a spell being lifted at the stroke of midnight, that one ineloquent word breaks Don Flack from his trance. He scrambles out of the chair and onto his knees, bringing his face level with hers. Hope and excitement transforms the face that was moments ago aged with worry into that of an eager young boy. Jess feels her dry lips pull as her face stretches into a broad smile. Don's sudden closeness brings happy flutters to her stomach, leaving no room for pain.
'Hospital grade morphine has nothing on this man,' she thinks.
He still hasn't spoken, still hasn't touched her, and Jess feels like he is drifting away, mentally retreating to the unhappy possibilities of the last few days. She doesn't need to know how many days it's been or how extensive the damage was to know how close she came to dying. The weariness that has taken up residence in the soul of Don Flack since the last time she saw him tells her everything. It was damn close.
"Hey Don. Hey, listen to me. Listen. I'm alright. Everything is ok now."
Jess expects him to break out into a smile that matches her own, maybe to even laugh as he finally lets himself touch her and believe that she really is ok. Instead, a sob escapes and Don buries his head in his hands, against the unforgiving mattress, equal parts relieved and apologetic as sobs involuntarily rip from his body like spasms of absolution. Jess is scared to touch him, concerned that running her fingers through his hair might send him further over the edge rather than comfort him. The pain of seeing Don so distraught is made all the worse by the irrefutable knowledge that she is responsible for his current anguish, although Jess is more than willing the place the majority of the blame on the shooter himself.
Jess is too tired and too drugged to worry anymore and gives in to her urge to touch him. She is grateful that Don took up residence on her right side, as her uninjured arm allows her the mobility to sweep her fingers across the back of his head as Don continues to press his face into the mattress. The sobs fade away quickly, much like a violent downpour that swiftly dissipates. Soon his breathing regulates, no longer coming in choking gasps, and for a moment Jess thinks that Don somehow managed to fall asleep in what could probably be classified as the world's most uncomfortable position.
With a final deep breath, Don lifts his head to look at her. As Jess lets her hand fall to cup his cheek, Don finally smiles. Hardly giving her time to worry about just how terrible her breath must smell, he leans the rest of the way forward for a chaste kiss. He pulls back far enough to look at Jess and smile, but quickly leans forward again, pressing their foreheads together, listening to and feeling themselves breathe in unison.
"I missed you."
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A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!
