Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).
Pairing: Jeremy/Betsy.
Genre: Everything (though I guess they're just mostly fluff).
Rating: PG-13/T.
Summary: "So now I think that I could love you back" — a series of one-shots revolving around [the prompts Imagine Your OTP on tumblr and others of] Jeremy and Betsy.

Author's Note: THIS IS BEFORE THEY ARE DATING. Just. To make it clear. Yup. And I kind of slightly alter the whole prompt to fit it into the way I wanna write it.

Prompt: Imagine your OTP where person A is about to have surgery and is very scared. Person B smiles and holds their hand, promising that everything will be alright. After surgery: Person A wakes up with a squeeze to his/her hand from Person B.

Jeremy could still feel Betsy's soft whimpering when the nurses were prepping her up.

The pressure of her grip left a crazy tingling sensation, like pins and needles, all over his palm — and though a few minutes ago (minutes, was it? He felt like ages) he'd wanted nothing more than her to let go of his hand (because goodness gracious, she had a vice grip!) — he sorta wanted to have her here with him instead. He won't care how hard she was holding onto him. Just here.

It was a simple enough surgery.

Nothing a doctor like Dr. Sutton hadn't done before. He would know. He was the one who introduced Betsy to Sutton. He had full confident in him. But yet...

Jeremy hunched forward, his right knuckles dug onto his right palm, and he pressed his lips against his hands. He sighed.

Everything will be alright, surely.

He never left her side.

Mostly everybody he knew visited Betsy — even her parents dropped in a call on him to ask him how she was doing (he's taken a liberty to make sure he still stayed in contact with Betsy's family) — but he never really moved from the spot. She was asleep for at least five hours. It was long. And he could see it, you know. The tiredness wearing on her face, the easiness of resting beginning to take shape of her form.

He didn't realise he was sleeping — head toppled on the mattress, body hunched so low, hands holding hers — but when he woke up, he immediately let out a groan of pain as the stiffness from his shoulders made itself very aware. He absent-mindedly squeezed her hand.

Bloody—

"Dr. Reid?"

Jeremy quickly snapped his attention at the voice: only to be met with a worn looking Betsy— pale face, chapped lips but oh-so-very-awake.

And Jeremy swore his breath caught in his throat. He breathed out, "Betsy. You're awake."

"Dr. Reid..." She managed to respond back, "You stayed." She said it in a weak tone of surprise, like she didn't expect that of him. He almost scoffed.

"Of course I stayed, you dummy." He smiled, brushing his lips across her knuckles and— gosh, she's awake. Gosh, she's speaking. She's smiling! "I didn't have anywhere else to go to, anyway." He paused, just stared at her, because suddenly, he couldn't get enough of her. "You're okay, Betsy. You did it. You survived through the surgery."

"I did." Betsy whispered back, proudness beamed through her faint smile.

"You did," he said, thoughtfully. "I'm glad you did."

She tilted her head to one side, and squeezed his hand in return. Her eyes met his. "I'm glad I did too, Dr. Reid."

And that was, he decided, one of the many first times he really didn't want her to call him Dr. Reid.

...