"What if I don't want you to take care of me?" She asked bitterly, her soul ached. Her heart so shredded, she thought it might never be healed.
He fucked up bad, he knew he had. But he needed Lindsay. He needed her in his life, and he was willing to fight for her. It wasn't just because she was carrying his child. The moment he heard shots fired and found out it was Lindsay who had been hit, he felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Just because you come in here and say all the right words, and act like you actually care about me, doesn't mean that we are automatically fixed," she said, the tears of anger stinging her eyes.
He had no defense. He had caused all this so the least he could do was sit there and take her rage. He wanted so badly to wipe her tears away again.
"I think it's time for you to leave," she said suddenly. Her eyes closed, her head dropped forward.
Shoulders slumped in momentary defeat; he stood up and gently kissed her head, "I love you. She doesn't mean a damn thing to me," he heard her sob, watched her body shudder, "I'm not giving up on us, Lindsay Monroe," he said with conviction and left.
He stood in the hall outside of her room, and watched her small wounded body curl up into herself as much as she could and cry. Her whole body shaking from the effort.
He fucked it up, and he damn well was gonna fight to make it better. No matter what he had to do.