JASON
When he opened his eyes, the room was dark. The only light came from the fire in the wood stove. His body felt heavy and warm. Relaxed. Safe.
He glanced over to find Ana asleep on the floor beside the bed, leaning back against the table with her head propped on her arm and her fingers twined loosely with his. Amusement flickered within him. Hadn't she yelled at him earlier for sleeping on the floor like that?
For a long time he just looked at her. Memorized her. His eyes followed the soft planes of her face, the sweep of her eyelashes and the faint laugh-lines in the corners of her eyes. The way her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in a mass of soft waves.
If only an instant could last forever. If only he could stop time around them, and stay with her in this warm, peaceful moment for the rest of their lives.
A stab of pain hit him, and it had nothing to do with his wound. No matter how much he wanted things to remain as they were, he knew it was a fool's hope.
He carefully untangled his hand from hers and pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the unfamiliar sensation of stitches pulling at his skin. He couldn't see them - she'd taped a layer of gauze over the wound - but he was sure they were neat and precise. Ana was capable of nothing less.
The fire was going strong in the stove; she must have replenished it while he slept. At the thought of her watching over him like that, his own beautiful, ethereal guardian angel, the pain in his heart doubled.
He moved carefully, not yet willing to test the depth and extent of his wound. Like Ana had said, he'd gotten lucky. The first time he'd been shot, almost fifteen years ago, he'd nearly bled to death. He'd been laid up for weeks, struggling to regain his strength and range of movement. Since then, he had taken particular care when it came to firearms.
He shook his head; he didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to spend what little time they had left dwelling on the darkness of his past, and the endless, empty abyss that was his future.
He reached down and touched her cheek, sliding his fingertips along her jawline. Her eyelids fluttered, and she lifted her head and yawned.
"What… did I fall asleep?" she mumbled. Then her eyes sharpened. "Are you okay?"
He nodded.
She gave him a small, relieved smile, and Jason's heart ached at the sight of it. Several hours earlier, there had been a moment – a moment that had lasted a lifetime – in which he had thought he would never see her smile again.
Christ. How had he survived it?
He wondered if that was what it felt like for Ana, that blind terror, that all-consuming agony that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
The pain was like a fist, squeezing his heart in an iron vice.
She stood slowly, probably sore from sleeping on the ground. Jason considered teasing her about it, but decided that would not be a very wise course of action. Ana walked over to the stove to add another log to the fire. He watched the play of light across her face, wishing for the first time in his life that he had some way to capture her image so that he would be able to look back on this moment when it was gone.
Oblivious to the darkness in his mind, Ana picked up the notebook and handed it to him, and then leaned down to look into his eyes.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
Fine.
She lifted one eyebrow. "Try again."
He sighed.
Tired.
"Hm. That's to be expected," she said, pressing her fingertips to his wrist to count his heartbeats. "Your pupils are dilated, which means some of the morphine is still in your system. It'll wear off in a few hours. Are you in any pain?"
He shook his head. He had a very high pain tolerance, and the morphine had killed any lingering soreness.
Ana's eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Then, a moment later, she smiled at him again, a real smile this time, full of warmth and joy and relief, and the world shifted and fell back into place, right where it was supposed to be.
Jason reached out brushed his thumb across her lips. Her eyes slid closed, and she leaned forward and touched her forehead to his.
"I'm glad you're okay," she whispered. A moment later, she sighed and started to turn away. In a flash, Jason reached out, hooked his arm around her waist, and pulled her down onto his lap.
Her squeak of surprise turned into a breathless laugh.
"Wait, watch your stitches!"
Thanks to the morphine and Ana's intoxicating proximity, Jason hardly felt the wound at all, but he allowed her to shift around until she was well clear of the injury. He leaned back against the mesh wall and Ana curled into his lap, resting her head in the hollow of his right shoulder. She fit there so perfectly. She fit him so perfectly.
They sat together in silence for a while, as Jason basked in the warmth from the fire and the feel of her body.
Then Ana reached up and brushed her fingertips across his clavicle, then down through the coarse hair on his chest. He made a rumbling noise of approval, deep in his throat.
"I'm sorry," she said in a voice soft he almost didn't hear it. "I didn't mean to scare you."
He picked up the notebook that he'd dropped to the side of the bed when he pulled her onto his lap. He settled it on her thigh, and she held it there while he wrote.
I think I scared you more by getting shot.
She huffed a short, humorless laugh. "Good point. Don't make a habit of it."
Yes, ma'am.
Her lips twitched, almost a smile.
You handled that very well, by the way.
"No, I didn't," she said honestly. "I froze up. I was completely terrified. I thought…" her voice faded to a whisper. "I thought you were going to die."
He covered his hand with hers and tightened his grip around her.
I can't die, remember? I gave you my word.
"Yeah," she said, and her lips curled up a bit as she remembered his promise. "You did."
After a moment, Jason's curiosity finally got the better of him. He gently tapped her leg with his pen and pointed to the notebook.
Where did you learn to treat gunshot wounds?
"Um. Paramedic school."
Jason blinked down at her.
You're a paramedic?
"No, I just took the classes." Her gaze shifted away, avoiding his. She didn't sound upset, but her voice was suddenly… distant.
He looked at her for a long moment, wondering what sort of circumstances would prompt a beautiful Russian orphan with a severe anxiety disorder to pursue an education in emergency medical care.
Why?
She shrugged one shoulder. "It's a long story."
I'm a very good listener.
She nudged him gently with her elbow. "As if you have much of a choice," she teased. "I've been talking your ear off since I got here."
He watched her closely for any sign of resentment or frustration or regret, and found absolutely none.
Even now, after everything that had happened between them, he still half-expected her to turn to him at any moment, and look at him with fear and that sudden, horrible comprehension in her eyes.
But she never did. She never even hesitated. Her eyes were calm and content.
You have a beautiful voice.
Ana blushed, lowering her head to hide her smile.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
A rush of affection surged through him, so strong and fierce that it took his breath away.
He didn't press the subject; if she didn't want to talk about it, he would not force the subject. But then, after a few minutes of silence, she took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.
"I grew up in Atlanta," she said. "One of my fosters was in a bad neighborhood – well, to be completely honest, most of my fosters were in bad neighborhoods. I was fourteen or fifteen." She snuggled closer, as if his presence might be enough to ward off the darkness of her memories. "This boy, Marcus, he was a few years older than me. Lived across the street with his mom and baby brother. He was a good guy, funny, nice, crazy smart." She glanced up at him and her lips twitched. "Almost as smart as you."
Jason huffed and rolled his eyes.
"Anyway, he... he struggled. We all did, but him more than most. His dad bailed when he was a kid, and his mom was addicted to… well, pretty much everything. And Marcus, he was just trying to keep head above water, trying to keep his little brother fed and clothed. He made some mistakes. Fell in with some bad people." She paused, and Jason felt her body tense as the memory hit her. "Eventually, he tried to get his head on straight. And then, one day, those bad people drove by and shot up his house."
