Title: "Feel It"
Rating: T for language/ blood
Disclaimer: Rookie Blue? Not mine. I just like to write about them.
Synopsis: Based on spoilers/ the Rookie Blue Season 5 promo- the kiss and my idea of how it might happen. Probably totally wrong but it's fun to speculate, right? Set approximately a week or so since the interrogation room kiss.
You try to shift quickly, the crinkle of the stiff hospital sheets echoing in your ears for a moment before the deep, throbbing sensation in your face begins anew. You close your eyes and wince, trying to prop yourself up just that little bit more before you drop your shoulders to the side, listless, the drugs they'd pumped you with upon your arrival forty five minutes ago finally taking effect. Your mind begins to drift, thoughts of the bastard who'd blindsided and cold cocked you with the barrel of a rifle, knocking you to the ground and busting your skull open and then continued to kick you while you were down. You'd stared down the barrel of the gun for a moment after he'd turned it on you, your face on fire, your eyes wide, your brain screaming, pictures, people-her- running through it at rapid succession. And then- others were screaming- an arrest, a kind hand on your swollen cheek and the feel of the medics as they raised you onto the stretcher. It turns spotty form there- the last thing you remember is the feel of the I.V. in your arm and the whisper of her name on your lips after they'd asked you if there was anyone that they could contact.
When you woke, the first thing they'd told you is that they had done everything they could. The fear had paralyzed you for a moment and you tried desperately to retain your faculties- until the doctor had gently smiled and simply pointed at your head. You'd gently, gingerly, let your hand drift up to the top of your skull expecting to find soft, thick strands but find fuzzy remnants instead, your eyes wide, your hands reaching, trying to make sense of what you were feeling versus what you knew should be there. They'd taken your hair to staple your goddamn skull back together.
That motherfucker.
The tears pricked at your eyes and you swallowed hard against the lump in your throat. The staples at the top of your head throbbed and you shut your eyes against the feel of it, letting the tears run stinging down your swollen nose. You don't know how long you stayed that way but when your eyes opened, the doctor and the rest of the hospital staff was gone. You'd taken your uniform off the back of the chair where they laid haphazardly and dressed simply in the long sleeved v neck that you wore underneath your vest and your uniform pants. You sat there for long moments after that, lost in the sensation of short, blood caked hair underneath your fingers.
You jolt when you hear your name softly from what seems like so far away. You freeze, your eyes wide when you recognize the voice. Your heart starts to pound, your mouth goes dry. Your body goes still and you panic. Not a word. Not a sound. You see her shadow behind the curtain that separates your room and the rest of the emergency ward. Silence. You watch her as she shuffles her weight from foot to foot, transfixed for a moment by the shape of her body- even just the shadow of her and still the grace with which she moves takes your breath away. You look around the room desperate suddenly for something- anything- to cover your battered, (almost naked) head. And then she says it again- your name, so simply but with such sadness and longing and worry that you grit your teeth and close your eyes and tear back the curtain, afraid of the look on her face. Of the disgust you might see there.
But then her hands are on your cheeks and she's touching you so lightly and carefully and kissing your bruised jaw and then there's little you can do except to slump in her arms and wrap your own arms around her waist and bury your face into her hair and inhale as deeply as you can, a soft, shuddering cry emanating for your lips no matter how hard you try to stop it. You stand there for a few long moments, your breath coming more evenly as she rubs soothing circles on your back. When you quiet almost completely, she pulls back, ghosts her thumb over your split lip with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, her hand finally finding your hairline and running her fingers back to lovingly soothe the top of your head, taking in your face, your new appearance.
"Come on," you hear her say softly, a small smile tugging at her lips, "Let's break you out of here."
You nod, breaking free from her only to silently grab your uniform shirt and jacket, tucking them away into the small bag the hospital had provided you with. It's then- with your back to her, stuffing your dirty, sweat-laden uniform into a plastic bag- that you hear words that make your heart leap into your throat.
"You are so goddamn beautiful, Gail."
Your spine goes ramrod straight, the bag drops out of your hand, and you turn around, eyes wide as you take her in- all soft smiles and dark, heavy eyes. You gulp, overwhelmed by her sudden close proximity, certain she must have come closer when you'd had your back turned. But you're glad- you're glad because it only takes three short strides to get to her- your eyes locked onto hers and then her lips as your hand slides to the back of her head, burying itself in the thick dark strands you find there as the anxiety, the fear, the insecurity melts away with the words you didn't know you so desperately needed to hear. You only pause for a moment before you're guiding her head to yours, her mouth already open and wanting when you greet it with you own. You press hard once, twice, before slipping your tongue into her waiting mouth, swallowing the groan that rips from her throat when you do. Her hands slide from their respective places against your arm and cheek to grip hard against your hips. You surge closer together, your mouths finding each other's over and over again. You give a hard nip to her bottom lip before you soothe it over with your tongue, wincing slightly when she returns to favor.
It all slows to a near stop then- you'd urged her to forget the slight bleeding of your lip and to continue on ('a bed mere feet away and everything!' you'd urged, to little success) but then somehow she's leading you out the front of the hospital, arm around your shoulder, your prescriptions tucked neatly into her handbag. And as she leads you to her car and tucks you into the passenger side with a lingering kiss and another gentle brush of her hand over your head, you don't even ask where you're going, don't even ask what the plan is. Because you don't need to know. You don't need to know anything else except for the fact that the woman beside you- this weird, gorgeous doctor, against all fucking odds- finds you beautiful and engaging and wants to take you home and kiss you and maybe- just maybe, if you play your cards right- love you even after you've been knocked out and scalped and left to bleed out on the floor.
As the car starts and you begin the increasingly familiar path to Holly's flat, your hand finds hers, intertwining your fingers and holding it in your lap, your head lolling against the headrest as the drugs continue their assault on your senses. You don't have to see her smile to know that she's doing it. You just feel it.
You just let yourself feel it.
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