52. Knife

Shadow loathed being inside hospitals. The air was frigid and chilly, regardless of the weather outside, forcing him to wear jacket. There was a medicinal stench in the air that burned his nostrils with every necessary breath he took; it was a potent, repugnant odor that rarely failed to make his stomach churn in distaste. He wouldn't ordinarily be caught inside a hospital of his own accord unless he was either the patient himself or a visitor. In this case, he was the latter, and as he walked through the sliding doors, his heart felt almost uncomfortably heavy with dread.

His shoes squeaked annoying as he walked across the annoyingly pristine, white tiled floor, crimson eyes absently taking in the blandness of his surroundings. There wasn't much to look at, just sick people and their loved ones visiting them. It was a depressing view, and again, Shadow felt that uncomfortable feeling in his chest once more. He was, after all, in the ICU part of the hospital, and the severity of a lot of these patients' conditions weren't lost on him.

His steps slowed to a halt, and as he stared at the solid, wooden door in front of him, the room number seemed to glare at him in mocking manner, as if to say, "You found her room number. So, what? It's not like you're going to actually visit her because you're too chicken-shit to deal with the feelings you have for her."

Shadow scowled something fierce, glaring adamantly back at the gold-plated numbers. He was called many, many things throughout his life, but cowardly? Him? It was such a bullshit, offensive thing to even think about him, let alone associate or call him such a vile thing. And it was with that logic that Shadow steeled his nerves and opened the door, stepping inside and closing it hastily before he convinced himself otherwise.

The room was the standard white hospital room, complete with peeping machinery, useless tv, tasteless garbage masquerading as food, and a few chairs for visitors to sit in. Beige curtains were drawn open, letting in some much-needed sunlight that brightened the room in a way that the above description couldn't.

Shadow was thankful for his leather jacket as he walked to the hospital bed; the room was freezing cold, and he wondered if the staff worried that their patients would die of frostbite before the afflictions that condemned them here in the first place. Quietly pulling a vacant chair up by her bedside, Shadow stared at her. He had to swallow back an audible gasp when piercing eyes, a familiar shade of sapphire, stared right back at him.

"I wasn't expecting you to be awake," was his not-so eloquent statement, and he wanted to slap himself in the face for uttering something so juvenile and idiotic. What kind of icebreaker was that supposed to be? But, when he saw her smile that warm, familiar that rivaled the sun's brightness, he found that he didn't mean it if it brought that kind of smile on her face.

"Well, I heard how hard you were thinking and couldn't help myself," Sally teased, winking at him playfully. At Shadow's indignant look, she couldn't help but laugh, only stopping when it accidentally triggered a coughing fit. Shadow was on his feet at once, helping her sit up and patting her back until her coughs died down. Crimson eyes darting across the room, he saw a glass of water on the tray of half-eaten food and quickly grabbed it, offering it to her and helping her drink it.

"Be more careful, princess. You don't want to further aggravate your injuries," Shadow softly admonished, placing the cup from whence it came from once she had drunk about half of it. His eyes frantically scanned her body, trying to see if she hurt herself or reopened her wounds. He only stopped his search when her hand cupped his cheek, slowly directing her gaze back on her.

This smile was full of something that made Shadow's heart race and cheeks burn in a blush he knew she noticed, regardless of how barely there it was. He only felt better when he saw that, she, too, was blushing, her smile bashful, but no less loving and filled with adoration and sweetness he struggled to believe he deserved.

"My hero," she teased, letting her hand fall from his face. Before he could mourn the loss of her warmth, her hand was grabbing his, their fingers laced together, and he found whatever complaints he had dying on his tongue. He made sure to hold her hand back firmly, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm not much of a hero if I couldn't protect you." Sally frowned at that, blue eyes narrowed in obvious disagreement.

"Last I recalled, you saved my life, Shadow. I'm pretty sure that's standard procedure in the book of heroism." Shadow smirked, and he found it hard to resist the urgency he felt to laugh at her obvious snark. He loved that about her, her wit, her sass, her audacity. She didn't mind challenging him or letting her thoughts be known.

"And," she hurriedly continued when she saw him about to disagree, "me being hurt is not a result of your actions, okay? Your actions saved me. If you hadn't have acted when you did, there's a good chance I would've died from a combination of the stab wounds and blood loss, so please don't blame yourself." How could he hope to resist her when she spoke so earnestly, looked at him with an imploring gaze that threatened to tie his heartstrings into knots? Instead, he sighed and opted to stare at her.

Her usually vibrant, auburn hair was dull, but lovely nonetheless, and her face was still as beautiful as he remembered, no longer wet with blood that was rivaled the redness of his eyes and the stripes on his fur. He was assaulted with the image of her croaky breaths as she fought to breathe, how her blood seemed to be everywhere but where it was supposed to be; y'know, in her body instead of all over it and the floor and the silver blade of the knife that pierced her body repeatedly and-!

"Shadow!" Her urgent cry pulled him out of those dark, terrible thoughts. Their foreheads were touching, and she stared at him worriedly, both hands cupping his face as she tried to ground him back into the present moment. "Deep breaths, sweetie. You're okay. I'm okay. We're going to be okay, so don't worry about it, okay?"

He did as she said, making the conscious effort to calm his breaths and steady his frantic breathing. She was right. She was alive and would recover in time; she definitely looked more alive now then she did when they first got her to the hospital. Without thinking, he closed the gap between them and captured her lips in a soft kiss. She sighed but didn't stop him or pull away. She pressed her lips firmly on his in an answering kiss that made his heart soar with wings he didn't remember them having.

She's okay. I'm okay. We're going to be okay.

So, he'd do his best not to worry about it anymore.