It all happened so fast. The shot, the sirens, them taking her, seeing her blood, then in the hospital bed, it all ran so clear in his mind.
The movie played so clear in his nightmare that he woke. Horatio brought his hand up to his face. He was drenched with sweat. It had happened a few months back and he was still waking in the night, covered in sweat, cold, and heart pounding. He sat up and pushed the blankets back. He got up and went to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and wiped it off with a towel. As the towel came off he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked tired.
Walking back into the bed room he saw his wife, Marisol, sleeping. She looked so peaceful. She did not wake in the night; she did not have nightmares about the accident, only him. She said that it was because she felt safe with him; as long as he was there she would live through anything. He was not so certain. She had not seen herself, there lying in the hospital bed or on the concert bleeding out, no he was the only one that had to live with that.
Crossing the room he got back into bed. He looked down at his sleeping beauty again and smiled. She was so peaceful. If she was fine, then he was fine. If she could be at peace then so could he, just so long as he could hold her. He pulled her close; she came so easily, her weight next to nothing to him. She felt so right in his arms. She fit, her body shape sliding and mirroring his. She fit in his arms like she was made for him. And to him she was perfect.
"I love you." He whispered to her, she stirred a smile coming to her lips but she stayed asleep.