So I apologize for how long this took to post. I was...distracted. Anyway it's the whole hospital scene rolled into one and such and such. I apologize for how rushed it seems, I really wanted to get this chapter hashed out and ready for you all. Big steps here guys big steps. THings are going to collide soon, and then it'll be even bumpier than normal. I want to thank you all for your reviews (and patience) and here is the next chapter!
I own the typos
The first time she woke up, she was in the ambulance. There was an uncomfortable seizing feeling in her chest, followed by a heavy heavy pain in her stomach. She tried to move, but her body seemed to be strapped down, so she could only loll her head, just a bit. Her vision was blurry, but from what she could see, her boss was seated by her face, watching her. He showed no signs of distress or confusion on his face, and the fact he showed no emotion at all calmed her just a bit.
"Sir," she choked out, and he seemed to focus his eyes directly on her, "Your meeting."
He seemed to upturn a corner of his mouth at her. She saw his hand twitch, almost as if he were going to reach out for her, but he clasped them together instead, watching her intently.
"I've had to cancel it. It seems, my assistant, is not feeling well."
"Oh," she said with a cough, "Well how inconvenient of her."
This time, Mycroft actually did crack a smile at her, a strange one, and since it was the first time she'd really seen him smile (and oh what a smile it was) she laughed, inhaling deeply, causing a sharp pain to hit her side, followed by the feeling that she was slowly drowning.
"Punctured lung-" was the last thing she heard before slipping back into the blackness that she had once occupied.
The second time awoke, it was because the pain literally brought her out of her mind, and she came out with a screaming roar, bubbling past her lips, eyes going wide and seeing just white. She'd never been shot before (she'd been beat up, poisoned and burned, but not shot) and so the pain she was feeling was so incredibly disabling that she had no choice but to scream. She tried to breathe, but each breath caused her to strangle off with a cry, black spots dancing around her vision. She was moving but her boss was no where whiteness of her vision seemed to brighten then dim and she guessed she was on a stretcher by the way she moved. A face came into view and she tried to speak, but the air that she had sucked in was already gone.
"Ma'am," she said clearly, "Ma'am can you tell us your name?"
She struggled with words, her brain unable to function, opening her mouth to speak but nothing coming out. The nurse seemed to frown over her and she rolled her head, looking for Mycroft.
"Mycr-" she tried to choke out, wondering if he'd gone back to work or if he was here somewhere.
"Mrs. Holmes, your husband is here, he is okay," she said, and Anthea lolled her head back and forth, trying to disagree, to let them know she wasn't married to him. It must've been a mistake, she was sure Mr. Holmes wouldn't do this on purpose...unless?
She didn't have too much more time to consciously process this as her vision edged back to blackness and the once sharp and horrific pain was soothed over by her shock, ebbing away like an out going tide.
The next time she awoke it was briefer than before. She was in the hospital, in a room obviously paid for by Mr. Holmes ( or herself she couldn't be sure) and she was alone. There was an over-all numbness to her body and as she blinked rapidly, her vision began to clear up just enough to where she could see. The room was empty, not a soul trace that someone other than her had been there. She fumbled around with her fingers, and her fumbling she'd pressed a button lying by her hands. It must've been the drugs button, because she felt her vision fading away again, and this time, she didn't fight it.
The final time she awoke, it was to her brother sitting in the chair next to her, by her face. His fingers were clasped over the guard rail, eyes large and staring, just watching her sleep. She took a moment to survey the room, and upon realizing that he was the only one in there with her, she scowled at him and spoke, for the first time in what felt like years.
"You idiot," she snapped, voice rough from no use, "You missed."
Jim smiled and started chuckling at her, shaking his head back and forth.
"If I remember correctly," he said with a grin, "You jumped in front of him. Sebastian was right on target."
"Stop trying to kill my employer and we won't have this problem," she said again, lolling her head away from him. She didn't feel any pain, just numbness.
"You wouldn't have to worry about it if you just worked for me," he said, touching her chin to get her to look at him. She turned back, a little too sharply and hissed, looking at her brother.
"You know tat's not going to happen," she said, "I like my job."
"You like your boss-"
"I like what I like," she answered with a deadly hiss. Jim just smiled and patted her head.
"Of course you do," he answered. Anthea sighed and lolled her head away from him, her gaze falling on her fingers. Things had gotten so tense between them. It used to be easy, being his sister, and they could run wild together. But things like life got in the way, and now, as much as Jim wants her to stay the way she was, she feels she just can't, like if she were she'd be drowning herself. Jim was an excellent man, a great brother, and he was cut out for the life he wanted. She, wasn't. She just wanted something...else. She loved her brother (as much as she could) but things were getting so difficult between them.
"Can we?" she said, turning her head to face, "I want to go back to the way it was before...all this."
"All what?"
"Your...criminal mastery, my job, choking me, knocking you out, shooting me?"
Jim blinked and stared at her, unable to comprehend what she was trying to say to him.
"You mean this," he said, running his hand down her side, "Is not turning you on like it used to?"
Anthea shook her head and looked away. "We can still fight. There are certain things I miss though, like...," she paused hard, "I miss James," she whispered.
"You're delusional if you ever think I'm going to be him again," he hissed into her ear. She spun her head around and looked him dead in the eye, challenging him with her silence. She was content with that, the usual feisty spark that had been so lacking lately, replaced with a menacing one, recently developed. Her eyes slid to his lips and she knew she'd given away her tell.
Jim dipped his head down and gave her a kiss, forcing her to kiss him back with the same bruises power he'd forced down on her. She nibbled at his lip and when he opened his mouth she grabbed it and bit it, drawing blood and a gasp from her brother. He pulled back and touched it, a grin seeping onto his face.
"Why you litt-"
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything important other than you snogging your sister," Came the drawl of a gravel voice from the door. Jim scowled and sat back down , turning his head to Sebastian, who had in his arms a bunch of flowers. Anthea looked at him and gave him a heartless smile.
"He's some sorry-I-shot-you-flowers," he said, setting them down on the desk, "Because I know Jim would never by them."
"Or apologize," Jim said stiffly, "Because I'm not sorry you got shot."
Anthea scowled and rolled her eyes at her brother, turning back to Sebastian at the door.
"I appreciate the gesture," she said fakely, sweetly. Sebastian rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Whatever," he said coldly, trying to get back to the person he was. Anthea turned her gaze back to her brother, whose eyes where still full of glee from her biting kiss.
"Now that you're all here and reunited, can I please get some sleep?" she snapped at Jim, who chuckled at her.
"Oh of course, sister dear, here," he took the button from out her reach and started rapidly pressing it. She flailed for it for a moment but the drugs were quick and powerful and she began to feel heavy.
"Jim's here now, rest darling," was the last thing she heard and idly she wondered what the hell he was going to do next.
Mycroft was, for the most part, composed. Many years of training and polish had allowed him to keep his face neutral and composed, without an emotion to cross his features. Anthea's shooting shouldn't have bothered him quite as much as it did. He'd had assistants before (loads of them) that have taken the bullet for him. He hadn't been (in the slightest) moved by them one bit. But for a reason unknown to him, he felt just a little bit of panic when she first woke to see him. She made a weak attempt at a joke, and as she tried to laugh, she gasped in pain, the hands of the paramedic trying to stop the bleeding suddenly turning dark red and shiny as she spluttered back away from him. He stilled himself from reaching for her, but the paramedic had caught the movement from the corner of his eye. He eyed Mycroft, in his formal attire, before looking back at the woman on the bed, currently unconscious.
"Sir, what is your connection to her?"
"She's my wife," he lied quickly, knowing that she'd get instant treatment by the best if he swapped her last name. "Anthea Holmes."
The paramedic, unable to speak, just blinked. Mycroft had said it with such an air of importance that he had no response. So he whipped out his security clearance card and watched as the eyes of the paramedic widened to saucers.
"Yes, of course sir," he said stiffly, "I apologize Mr. Holmes."
What he was apologizing for, he couldn't tell, but it made him feel just a little bit better as they swiftly took her out of the ambulance, knowing that now they would do everything in their power to save her life. He knew how it worked sometimes (unimportant people on the brink of death) but he wasn't about to lose her, he couldn't lose her.
What was stranger enough, (other than giving her his last name for the hospital) was that he found himself liking the way it looked on paper. He found himself admiring the way his writing curved the 'a' at the end of her name into an H at the beginning of his last name finishing it with an embellished 's' as he pulled the pen from the paper. He liked the way to sounded "Mrs. Holmes" as it came from the doctors lips (and they weren't referring to mummy) and the way the band sat on her wrist, their names combined. He's never been one for sentimental things, but this, this was all new and so exciting.
When they took her from surgery he sat by her bed, seeing if she'd wake. He sat there, watching her sleep, reading the monitors for about three hours before his phone rang and he was back to the office. He found himself consumed the work she'd left behind, and hired instantly a temp to take her place. He locked himself away in the office for the days she was out, and at night, when he should be home sleeping he came to her bedside, silent and settled, sitting next to her while she slept. It was good, the doctors said, her sleeping constantly, that it mean her body was healing. But to him, he was a frazzled mess.
One night, while she slept he eyed her hand, resting near her leg. It was pale and taunt, the veins and bones showing through her pale skin. She looked cold, lifeless, nearly dead (and he's seen his fair share of deaths) and it frightened him, actually frightened him that she was almost dead. He'd never had that feeling before, a feeling of fear and certainly not over someone else's well being. A flaw, he called it, that he couldn't actually feel. Sherlock had it too. But sitting here, watching her sleep, he couldn't help but feel for her. He reached out carefully and touched her hand. She didn't flinch, didn't move away, and he clasped it between his tentatively, pulling it up to his lips. He let it linger there as he watched her sleep, breathing soft warm puffs onto her cold skin, his eyes calculating, balancing, thinking of all his emotions as they came and went, just sitting there. He decided, that when she awoke, he'd tell her, he would let her know exactly how he felt about her. And they should proceed that way.
Which was precisely what he did the next afternoon when he found her awake. There were flowers by the door, a gift from her brother (doubtful but only solution) and she was awake and aware, staring out the window. He knocked on the door frame and she turned to look at him, her eyes weary from all of the time she spent asleep, her body silently repairing itself. He cleared his throat and nodded at her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked casually. Anthea shrugged.
"Best I can at the moment sir," she said before frowning, "Don't you have a-"
"Cancelled," he said, waving his hand dismissively at the comment. He stepped more into the room, heading for the window.
"Oh," she said, turning her eyes back to her hands. She noticed the name on her wrist band and she opened her mouth to ask him but he seemed to beat her to it.
"There is something we need to discuss," he said, eyes looking out the window."
"Yes sir," she said, watching his back. She'd never seen him like this before, rigid and postured, all...conflicting. Her brow furrowed. "Are you all right?"
"No," he answered, coming to look back at her. His eyes were wide, full of emotion and Anthea could not let her gaze flutter away from his at that moment. He stepped closer to her and finally, in a rush of air, settled himself in the chair by her bed.
"It seems," he started, looking at her wrist where his name sat, "That I have developed...the most...inappropriate feelings for you, my dear. And, try as I might, I cannot quell them. I am so sorry, but I feel this is where I must...release you from your position."
Confused, Anthea blinked, once, twice, staring directly at him, trying to take in the information. He turned his eyes to his lap, trying to keep the straight face he had earlier.
"No."
Mycroft looked up. Anthea was frowning, almost an angry frown. Come to think of it, she did look rather angry. Mycroft, for the most part, was confused and quite unsure of what was going to happen next. It took him a moment to compose himself and speak again.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I said no," she said, "I'm not going to quit."
"You don't understand," Mycroft said bitterly, "You've got no choice. I've fired you."
"Because you have a crush on me?"
"I do not have a crush on you Anthea," he sneered bitterly. He saw the hurt on her face and back tracked quickly. "It's much more than a crush. I think-" he paused, "I care for you Anthea, more than I should and it's not professional."
"So?" she said, looking at him with big eyes.
"What are you saying?"
"What if I were to tell you Mycroft," she started slowly, "That I too, have developed unprofessional emotions for you as well?"
Well, he certainly wasn't expecting that. He stared at her, a mixture of nerves and joy, unable to speak. Anthea stared back at him, eyes wide and a smile plastered on her lips.
"What does this mean?" he said, his fingers aching to touch her, to hold her face in his hands and kiss her but he refrained.
"That I'm not fired?" she said and then carefully added "And that perhaps, when I get out of here, we can go on a proper date to talk about...this?"
Mycroft smiled at her, a real smile and reached for her hand squeezing it. She grinned at him and then rested back, closing her eyes. Realizing that she needs sleep, he stood, squeezing her hand and leaning forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Thank you my dear," he whispered. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her hot breath caressing his face.
"Always," she answered, before closing her eyes and grinning to herself. Mycroft let go of her hand and left the room, passing the flowers her brother left her. He strode up to the nurses station and leered over the desk.
"I need all security footage from that room-" he pointed "Sent to my office. That includes past tape as well."
The nurse nodded and he left, satisfied. He was trying to process what good luck had just befallen him.
He had no idea what bad luck was just about to happen.
Oh snap, security tapes means he's going to see Jim kissing Anthea-I wut? what do you think? a little fluff in the end because I couldn't help myself. I apologize :)